Sewing the Shadows Together (18 page)

As they emerged from the gloom of the chapel into the bright autumn sunlight, she felt overcome with tiredness. She would have liked to go straight home and lie down, but Babs had insisted that everyone go somewhere after the ceremony. In the end it had been decided – by whom, Sarah wasn’t sure – that they would go back to her Great King Street flat.

The young ones had gathered under the angel’s moss-covered sightless eyes again and Miranda’s twins had lit up cigarettes. Abigail came over to her mother with her phone in her hand. Babs shook her head.

‘Look, Mum. I’ve discussed it with the others and we want a record of this occasion,’ said Abigail firmly.

Babs pursed her lips. ‘We’ve gone to so much trouble to keep this secret. The funeral directors won’t say anything and I’d trust Melanie with my life. We don’t want photos floating around.’

‘Mum, I’ll only share it with the others. I’m not putting it on Facebook, for heaven’s sake. We’ve all lost our dad, but we’ve found each other, and we’ll keep in touch. We want this photo.’

She thrust the phone at her mother, who took it and began squinting into the viewer as Abigail arranged the family in age order. Sarah was amazed there was anyone who could get the better of Babs, but obviously Abigail could.

The camera clicked. Sarah had to admit there was something impressive about the scene. Abigail stood on the left, then Lottie and Nick, up to Daniel towering over the others, down to the handsome twins, Simon and Sean, and then a long way down to Jamie standing on the edge. They were all dressed in black and smiling, except for Jamie who just looked puzzled. With the sun shining down on them and the trees in the background, they looked for all the world like a group of the groom’s drinking friends at a wedding.

Detective Inspector Fergus Chisholm was sitting behind his desk at Police Headquarters in Fettes Avenue peering into a computer screen when Tom was shown in. He had broad shoulders, a large head with a high shiny forehead and intelligent eyes behind rimless glasses. Tom immediately felt he could trust him.

The detective stood up and shook hands and then indicated that Tom should sit down. ‘Thank you for contacting us. Our information was that your family had emigrated to South Africa. We would have caught up with you eventually, of course, but you’ve saved us a lot of time and trouble.’ He pushed his glasses up and looked at him keenly. ‘Are you in Scotland because of the news about Logan Baird?’

Tom shook his head. The coincidence of the timing had struck him too. ‘No, my mother died recently and I came to scatter her ashes at her birthplace on Eriskay. But I’m glad I am here at this time, and I’ll do anything I can to help find Shona’s murderer.’ Tom hoped this was true; he was still uncertain about whether he should implicate his father. ‘I’m the only one of the family left now.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss and I realise how distressing it must be for you to have to go through all this again now. The death of your sister must have been a terrible thing. But we have to do this. We know that Logan Baird is innocent. It isn’t one of those cases where a long-term prisoner has been released on a technicality. Undoubtedly there were errors made in Baird’s arrest and conviction, which may have been enough to secure release, but the subsequent investigation has shown that Baird could not possibly have been the murderer. That means that the real killer has never been found.’ Tom nodded. Archie Kilbride had been right.

Chisholm took off his glasses and continued. ‘Semen left on the victim’s cardigan was of his blood group O+, but the more advanced tests available to us today have proved that he could not have been the killer. At the moment we have no leads. We have run the sample through the National DNA Database, which at present has over five million samples, without finding a match. Therefore, we have reopened the case and will leave no stone unturned to find the real killer.’

Tom nodded again as Chisholm shrugged his shoulders. ‘Of course, with such a very old case, it is exceptionally difficult. Witnesses have died or moved on, or have simply forgotten. There is, of course, the possibility that the perpetrator is also deceased.’

Tom hesitated. Should he bring up his suspicions about his father or was this a case where it really was better to let the proverbial dogs lie. No, he had to know the truth. He took a deep breath. ‘I think I may know who the murderer was. I went up to my father’s birthplace in Lewis and there I found some very,’ he searched for the right word, ‘disturbing images which made me see my father in a different light. I know that in most cases of murder a family member is responsible. And also his behaviour afterwards–’

Chisholm waved his hand, cutting Tom short. He had an air of authority and, although he was probably younger than Tom, made him feel like a schoolboy. ‘Let me stop you there, Mr McIver. You have no need to worry about your father, as that possiblilty was already excluded at the time of the original investigation. The family is always the first place a good investigator looks. We checked your family’s blood and your father, and you, are both blood type A+. The perpetrator was type O+.’

He looked up at Tom with a weary smile. ‘So you and your father are absolutely out of the picture. We are looking for someone who has not been caught in our DNA net, and what’s more no member of whose family has ever been involved in a crime as far as we can see.’

Tom felt the most enormous sense of relief. He hadn’t realised until that moment how much the suspicions about his father had been weighing on his mind. He experienced a momentary sense of outrage that he had also been considered a suspect, it was his sister after all, but then he felt a lightness come over him.

‘So what’s the next step?’

‘We’re going to reinterview all the original witnesses we can still trace. This is a very difficult case and we have to face up to the fact that we may never find out who did it.’

‘But you must.’

Chisholm rubbed his eyes. ‘We’ll do our best. There are only limited resources and, because the appeal will be granted anyway, it is not one of our major priorities. We are going to invite as many of those who gave an original statement as possible for another interview. However, many are deceased and it’s difficult to trace women especially, as their names change on marriage. I can assure you, though, that we will do our utmost to find out who was responsible for this terrible crime.’

Tom nodded. It seemed that was the most he could hope for.

‘Well, as you’re here now, Mr McIver, perhaps we can use this opportunity to go over the events of that night.’

Tom described what had happened as accurately as he could, and this time he did admit that he’d been at the bandstand with Jennie. He didn’t tell Chisholm exactly what had happened, though.

Chisholm picked up a pencil and wrote a couple of notes. ‘Jennie Howie, you say. She was one of the young ladies who originally accused Logan Baird of exposing himself to her. She withdrew the statement and would not give evidence in court, none of them would, actually.’ He scratched his head with his pencil. ‘So she was also on the prom that night. Do you know where we could contact her? Her married name or address?’

Tom shook his head and explained she lived in Singapore, but had been in Scotland recently, staying in a hotel. Chisholm nodded. ‘We may be able to trace her through hotel records. It’s a long shot but we have so few leads we have to follow them all up. Tell me, were you in the park that night after your,’ he coughed, ‘encounter with Miss Howie?’

Tom shook his head. He should have been there to look after Shona. His Mum had asked him to look out for her, but he hadn’t. Instead he had been with Jennie. Afterwards he’d felt so ashamed he’d gone straight home and hidden his head under his covers. The old feeling of guilt welled up in him again. He should have been able to protect his sister. He hadn’t been there and it was his fault.

He answered the rest of the questions about Shona’s friends and habits as best he could, his mind whirling with a mixture of emotions: the guilt he felt about not protecting his sister but also relief – his father was not a murderer.

*

Back at Sarah’s flat, everyone quickly made themselves at home. Lottie had organised sandwiches and was preparing coffee for everyone, but the whisky bottle was quickly opened and the young ones settled down in the front room with something approaching a party atmosphere.

Sarah noticed that Babs quickly moved over to the whisky group in the front room. Flora reached into the cupboard for a sherry glass and helped herself from the drinks cabinet.

‘Do you have a gin and tonic?’ Miranda asked Sarah, removing her dark glasses.

Sarah was gratified to see the wrinkled skin round her eyes and her red lipstick seeping into the lines around her mouth.
No wonder she had to wear dark glasses,
Sarah thought, relishing her bitchiness. She automatically reached into the freezer for ice and served the gin and tonic. ‘Sorry, no lemon,’ she said but any irony was totally lost on Miranda, who took it without thanks and joined the others in the drawing room.

Rosie and Jamie hovered awkwardly at the doorway of the kitchen and gladly accepted orange juice. Rosie seemed to be about to say something, but then thought better of it and moved away, holding Jamie’s hand tightly. Her barmaid duties over, Sarah put her hands on the kitchen table and let her head drop. Her limbs were aching and she just wanted to go to bed. She just wanted them all to go.

A roar of laughter showed that the young ones were bonding well. As the voices got louder the doorbell rang. Nick moved to answer it, followed closely by Abigail. He opened the door and John Coltrane, Rory’s lawyer, came in.

He moved over to Sarah, muttering words of condolence. Nick stood at his shoulder.

‘Mum, we thought it would be best if John came and read the will now, when everyone’s together. I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to worry you with details like this.’

Sarah felt numb. Everything seemed to be taken out of her hands. She just wanted this day to be over and everyone out of her flat. A scintilla of fear ran through her:
her
flat. Please let it still be hers after the will was read.

Nick led her by the elbow into the front room and chased one of Miranda’s twins from the high wing-backed chair. John Coltrane, looking like an overgrown schoolboy with his pink cheeks and slicked-back hair, coughed to get everyone’s attention, opened his briefcase and began to read through some formalities.

Sarah’s attention was wandering until he got onto the bequests. ‘To my dear wife, Sarah, I leave the property at 95 Great King Street and all of the contents, with the exception of items chosen in clause nine.’ Sarah’s heart pounded with relief.

Coltrane drawled on in his typical Edinburgh lawyer whine. Sarah wasn’t listening properly, just so relieved that she could stay in her flat, but she did hear that the trust fund established for his offspring was to be equally divided between his dear children, Abigail, Nicholas, Charlotte, Daniel, Simon, Sean and Jamie and that they and his dear mother-in-law, Flora Campbell, could each choose one personal item from the flat in his memory. All bequests were conditional on their maintaining the same level of personal discretion as had been previously agreed. The remainder of his assets were to go completely to Sarah Dunbar. Sarah bit her lip. Rory did love her; he made sure she was going to be all right.

When Coltrane mentioned the personal items, Miranda’s eyes began flicking around the room. The lawyer finished and was offered a glass of whisky by Nick, but he refused, before sidling out of the front door, muttering something about important appointments.

Miranda stood up and said, ‘We don’t have to choose the items today, do we? I mean we don’t know what he has and I would like to have a valuation of the worth of the items before I come to any decision.’

Abigail stood in front of her, her eyes blazing. ‘It appears that you have not understood the significance of the bequests, which he made to his
children
.’ She emphasised the word, glaring at Miranda. ‘It is so they can have something personal to remember him by, not to make the most monetary gain from his estate.’ Sarah looked at Abigail with new respect. She may be dumpy with no neck, but she had a powerful magnetism.

Sarah cleared her throat, emboldened by Abigail’s forcefulness. ‘Actually, I would prefer you to make your choice today. This has all been difficult for me and I don’t wish to prolong it.’

Nick shot her a guilty look and raised his voice above the others. ‘Please make your choice within the hour, and you should all check the objects with my mother before taking them away.’

Sarah looked at him gratefully, her head throbbing, ‘I think I’m just going to have a lie down now.’ She went into the cool darkness of her room and lay down on top of the covers. She let out a deep breath; it was as if she’d been holding it all morning and could finally breathe again.

Outside she heard the sounds of activity. She tried to block it out but she knew she could not relax until they had all gone. There was a tap at the door. Lottie opened it gently. ‘Mum, are you awake?’

Sarah raised her head. ‘Come in, darling. I can’t sleep with all these people milling about but I just wanted to get away.’

‘I can understand that. God, that Miranda’s a cow, isn’t she?’

Sarah pretended to look shocked. But then she laughed. ‘You can say that again!’

Lottie sat down on the bed next to her. ‘Mum, Nick got Dad’s things from the hospital and he’d like to keep his watch, the one he got from his father.’

‘That’s perfect. I’m glad he’s got it.’

Lottie hesitated. ‘And I’ve got his wedding ring. Is that all right?’

Sarah paused. Rory’s wedding ring. She wondered if he’d taken it off when he was with all those other women. What had it meant to him? She was surprised Lottie had chosen this, when they were all surrounded by evidence that it had not meant much to him.

Lottie seemed to sense her mother’s hesitation. ‘It’s a lovely heavy ring, eighteen-carat gold – seems a pity to waste it!’ She laughed.

Sarah felt confused by the levity in her daughter’s voice. Lottie leant over and kissed the top of her mother’s head. ‘And is it all right if I give it to Liam?’

Sarah saw Lottie’s eyes were shining. She put her arms round her daughter. ‘Lottie, is there something I should know?’

Lottie hugged her. ‘It’s all unofficial, but we do want to get married. Everything that’s happened has made me realise what’s important in life. And I’ve also realised that everything’s better, everything’s bearable when I’m with Liam.’

Sarah felt a surge of emotion, a wave of love for Lottie, tempered by a tinge of sadness. Rory had never made her feel like that – not even at his most understanding – but Tom… How she wished he could be here with her now.

She pushed Lottie’s beautiful curtain of hair back from her face and kissed her cheek. ‘You’re lucky to have found each other. I’m so happy for you.’

Lottie’s face lit up into a smile and she kissed her mother. ‘Thanks, Mum. But it’s a secret mind, not a word to anyone at the moment – especially not Granny!’ Mother and daughter exchanged a look and Sarah laughed out loud, feeling better than she had all day.

The sound of voices outside the bedroom grew louder and Lottie stood up. ‘We’d better go and see what’s going on out there.’

They went out to where Liam was standing awkwardly in the hall. Lottie ran over to him and his face relaxed in relief as she whispered something to him. Sarah smiled as she left them kissing tenderly.

She turned towards the kitchen and saw Miranda’s twins, slouched against the marble-topped work surface, drinking large tumblers of whisky and blowing smoke from their cigarettes towards the ceiling.

‘Excuse me,’ Sarah said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I’d prefer you not to smoke in my home.’ The boys turned their heads towards her like two meerkats, raised their eyebrows in unison and gave her a ‘what are you making such a fuss about?’ look.