Mhairi crossed her arms in a shivering hug, then said, ‘Stan?’
Gilchrist shook his head and placed an arm around her shoulder, his silence telling her all she needed to know. She fell against him then, her sobs taking her breath away, and he could do nothing to stop his own tears welling. He stared into the darkest recesses of the barn, hugging Mhairi closer, as much for himself as for her, while images of Stan flickered in the shadows of his mind.
When Mhairi’s sobs finally shuddered to a stop, she managed to say, ‘I loved him, you know.’
‘I know,’ Gilchrist whispered.
He had loved Stan, too.
He just wished he’d had a chance to tell him that, and to say goodbye.
Together they turned and walked to the barn door.
CHAPTER 42
Mhairi was driven to Memorial Hospital in St Andrews, while Gilchrist was flown by helicopter to Ninewells Hospital in Dundee for treatment to his arm. Despite the makeshift tourniquet, his wounds continued to bleed, and he was given a local anaesthetic so the surgeons could repair a torn vein. All in all, his forearm required thirty-six stitches and three pints of blood were transfused into him. The largest of several lumps on his head – where Purvis had clubbed him with the shotgun stock – required four stitches, but he declined to have a CT scan. The consultant advised that he remain in hospital for observation, but Gilchrist signed himself out and took a taxi straight back to Cauldwood Cottage, his left arm strapped in a sling.
He thought of calling Cooper, but instead sent her a text: call me. By the time he arrived, Cooper had not contacted him, and dawn had broken to a blue sky and stiff winds.
The roads were closed, and the taxi could approach no closer than two hundred yards. Gilchrist had to show his warrant card to a young WPC before she would permit him to proceed by foot. He paid the taxi fare, asked for a receipt – mainly to irritate Greaves – and stepped into the fresh morning chill.
When he reached the cottage, it seemed as if an army had invaded. Purvis’s Ford Focus had been towed away for forensic examination, and rows of vehicles – marked and unmarked police cars, SOCO vans, private cars – were parked in the long grass to the rear. Gilchrist had to step aside to let a tow-truck ease down the driveway. A car covered by a tarpaulin was on the back, which he presumed was Purvis’s Beemer.
The cottage was taped off, and dragonlights lit up its rear wall like a stage. SOCOs busied themselves in silence, flitting through the scene like ghosts. Gilchrist decided to return to the barn, see it in daylight, maybe even go a few steps farther and risk a look in the basement warren – the Meating Room – provided Stan’s body was no longer there.
To his surprise, Jessie caught up with him.
‘I was inside filling out a report,’ she said. ‘Thought I should join you.’
‘Been up all night?’
‘Went home for a couple of hours’ kip,’ she said. ‘Couldn’t sleep, though. Too much going on up here.’ She tapped the side of her head.
‘How’s Robert?’ he asked.
‘Asleep in his grow-bag.’ She shook her head. ‘I sometimes wonder if he remembers he’s got a mum.’
‘You should go home,’ he said. ‘Spend some time with him. You look knackered.’
‘Thanks a bundle. You’re looking not too bad yourself.’ She sniffed, turned her face into the wind as if to shift her irritation, then returned with, ‘You’re standing there like a one-armed bandit. How’s the arm?’
‘Getting better,’ he said.
‘And the mess on your head?’
‘That, too,’ he said, then lowered his voice. ‘What about the Beretta?’
‘I handed it over. Told them I found it.’
‘They’ll check the registration.’
‘It’s stolen.’
He mouthed an Ah, and said, ‘Right.’
They continued in silence towards the barn. The compound gate was open, and they stepped through.
A SOCO Transit was parked to the side, its engine running, doors open, as if it had been abandoned on arrival. Ahead, the barn doors were open, too, revealing a tidy interior. All sorts of tools glistened on metal peg-hole racks. Stacked shelves lined the walls, holding plastic containers, boxes, tins, filters, even books.
Jessie stopped at the entrance, as if reluctant to step inside. She nodded to a bloodied spot on the floor. ‘They took the dogs away,’ she said. ‘These things shouldn’t be allowed. They should be drowned at birth.’
Drowning sounded good, but he nodded, and said, ‘What about Stan?’
In the blink of an eye, Jessie’s anger vanished, and she stared off to some point over his shoulder. Her eyes glistened from the cold, or from memories of Stan, Gilchrist could not be sure. ‘That’s why I couldn’t sleep,’ she said. ‘Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that bastard shoot him.’
Silent, Gilchrist waited for her gaze to return to him, then said, ‘You should make an appointment and talk to-’
‘I’m not talking to any psychiatrists,’ she said, then ran a hand under her nose. ‘Did that once before. Spilled out my heart to some prick who never uttered a word. He just sat there like a doo-wally and listened to me rattle it off. All he did in the end was offer me sleeping pills. I was so pissed off, I nearly took them.’ She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t trust myself. Thought I might take the lot. Lights out, and all that.’
Gilchrist frowned. ‘When was this?’
‘Years ago. Before your time. Before Robert’s, too.’ She stared at him. ‘Does Mhairi know about Stan?’
He nodded.
Jessie’s breath clouded in the morning chill. ‘I really thought they were going somewhere, you know? Stan seemed happy. Mhairi too. It’s so bloody sad.’
Gilchrist could think of nothing to add, and said, ‘What about Magner and Purvis?’
‘What about them? Cooper and her lot have already been here and done their stuff. Photographed the bodies ad nauseam then transported them to Bell Street. Cooper’ll be doing her best to cut them up. I hope she slices their balls off. That might cheer her up.’
He caught the emphasis, and said, ‘Cheer her up?’
‘She didn’t seem her usual self, you know? Miss Woman-of-the-World looking down in the dumps. Didn’t suit her.’ She shot a smile at him. ‘Think I might even have seen a hair out of place.’
He tried to cover his emotions with a smile of his own. ‘Well it would have been early on a Monday morning,’ he offered.
He thought Jessie returned his gaze for a moment too long, as if searching for something behind his eyes – the truth about his relationship with Cooper, perhaps, or some explanation as to why she might not have been herself. But what could he tell her? That Cooper was suffering from morning sickness? Or depressed over the imminent end of her marriage? Or – and this was even more troubling – that she had already decided to have a termination? Which he knew would be heartbreaking for her.
‘What happened across the road?’ Jessie said.
The non-sequitur confused him. ‘When?’
‘When I called Purvis on Magner’s phone.’
‘That was you?’
‘The IT guys were only trying to get a trace on his location, not set off a shooting match.’
The memory of the change in Purvis’s expression sent a chill down Gilchrist’s spine. If not for that chance call, he would not be standing there now. ‘You saved my life,’ he said. ‘Your call distracted Purvis and I took a chance. His shot still nearly took my head off, though.’
‘It nearly blew my ear out,’ she said, and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Uh-oh. Here’s trouble.’
Greaves was approaching them with his eyes fixed on Gilchrist. Not quite as bad as a Rottweiler eyeing his throat, but close enough for Gilchrist to brace himself for the onslaught. But Greaves surprised him by shaking his hand, and almost cracking a smile.