Madness Lies Read online

  The caravan was clean enough, but there were dark patches of mould on one wall and a small hole in the roof, above the shoogly table. An empty rusty baked beans can sat underneath the hole. Carla lifted a book about birds and a pair of binoculars from the seat. She put them on the narrow bed beside a rolled up sleeping bag and a black rucksack. There was nothing else in the caravan that gave any clue as to Will’s character. Maybe he was a mad axe murderer. Too bad. She didn’t have the strength to care. Her headache was gone, though.

  Will was crouched at the fire, waiting for the kettle to boil. He looked lean and fit, and nothing like Ronald’s description of ‘a poor soul’. He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. His teeth were whiter than white. Must have a toothbrush somewhere.

  He brought the pan of water inside, with a mug and a spoon. He put them on the table, then he reached for his rucksack, his back turned to Carla while he rummaged. ‘I’m sure I’ve got another somewhere. Aha.’ He pulled out a small enamel camping mug. ‘It’s been there for a while; you’re my first visitor.’ He used his t-shirt to wipe the mug, then he poured water into the first mug. ‘I forgot to say I’ve no milk. How do you take it?’

  ‘Just as it comes.’ She really hoped he wasn’t going to give her the camping mug. ‘Not too strong, please.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve no sugar. That might help to pick you up.’

  ‘It’ll be lovely. Sorry to put you to this trouble, Will.’

  He looked a little taken aback, then he smiled and lifted the tea bag out with the spoon, before dropping it into the enamel mug and filling it with water. He passed the first mug to her.

  She thanked him. ‘I’m Carla.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Carla.’

  ***

  Chapter 41

  Sharon’s head was banging. Her mouth felt like the bottom of a budgie’s cage, and her hands were shaky. She hadn’t slept much, too scared to close her eyes. When sleep came, Christopher was trying to throw her off the bridge at Black Rock Gorge, while the Lady of Balconie cried, and her hounds barked. Peter was there. He was holding Liam, as he laughed and encouraged Christopher. And a dark presence in the background, his scent filling the forest, thick and strong and evil. She’d awoken, certain the evil force was in her room. As a shadow moved by the door, she’d screamed. It was Liam, and he was petrified.

  Poor wee soul didn’t want to go to school. Maybe she’d need him to look after her, he said. That was it. No way was another man going to muck up their lives. He had to go to school, she told him; he had to be clever, become a policeman. That was the best way to look after her.

  On her way home from the school, she met Mina. She lived downstairs with her daughter. She was looking rough. Shivering and scratching. And tapping. ‘Got a tenner, Shar? No food for the bairn. I’ll give you it back on Monday when I get my dole.’

  Sharon gave her a tenner, though she knew the bairn had been taken into care weeks ago, and the money was going straight into Mina’s veins. Still, if she didn’t get it from Sharon, she’d go shoplifting or worse. Sharon watched her go, and she regretted her generosity. Never mind what Mina was going to do with the money. What was Sharon going to do without it? She didn’t have much left. Not after giving thirty quid to that skanky bastard, Smish, last night.

  Would she get to see Ryan today? They’d told her any visit would have to be accompanied, and that was fine by her. She’d told them everything. No secrets. Well, almost none. She hadn’t mentioned the sock or that she’d heard from Ryan after he’d left home. She should have, but she couldn’t face a charge and possible detention. She had to be here for them both. She wasn’t going to think of Christopher and how he was coping in a cell. It wasn’t her problem. She’d thought she knew him. She didn’t. She had to move on.

  That was easier said than done when the post arrived. It wasn’t often she got a parcel. The contents made her cry out loud. Immaculate second-hand copies of six of the children’s books her former foster mother, Alison, had written. They’d come from a book dealer in Chelmsford. No one but Christopher had heard the story of Alison and Mark. No one else would think of doing something like that for her. She’d asked in a local book shop years ago if they had any, but they were out of print. She’d told Christopher that too.

  Sharon inhaled the smell of the top book, hoping to find a hint of Alison, but it just smelled like a book. She put the books in the cupboard. She would look at them another day, when her heart felt less fragile. She set her mind to tidying up. In her bedroom, the suitcase was still sitting on the bedroom floor, taunting her. When she’d packed it, although Ryan was missing, and her heart was sore, she’d been chuffed to bits, going away with her man. Unpacking it seemed like rubbing it in. She kicked it into the corner. She’d do it later.

  When the flat was tidy, she made her way up the town to the Job Centre. There was no getting away from technology these days. The last time Sharon had looked at jobs, they were displayed on little cards on stands, and in the window. Now it was all on computer. She must be learning something, as she managed to access the jobs without too much panic. She could have done it at home on her netbook. Another thing that was going to have to change; Christopher had been paying her broadband subscription. Waste of money; she’d hardly used it. Maybe she’d get a few quid for the netbook.

  Could she live on the minimum wage? That was all she was going to get with these jobs. And she wasn’t qualified for anything except cleaning. So? She’d been a cleaner at a primary school for a short while after she met Peter. She’d taken pride in doing a good job. But Peter hadn’t liked it. Not when she’d mentioned having a laugh with the janitor. That was the end of that. But the minimum wage? No more organic food, and the e-cig would have to go. If others could do it, why shouldn’t she?

  Next stop was the council’s Service Point. It was time to enquire about a transfer. Maybe they should become gadgies. Or maybe Dingwall was just a step too far.

  *

  The narrow aisles of the island Co-op were quiet. Just two women with trollies and a young guy filling shelves. Joe smiled at the guy. ‘Hi. It’s a great day.’

  The guy nodded. ‘Not bad at all. Can I help you find anything?’ He had a strong island accent.

  ‘No, thanks; I’m sure I’ll find what I’m looking for. You wouldn’t happen to know a Ronald MacKenzie that lives near here, would you?’

  He looked blank, shook his head. ‘Don’t think so, but I’m not from around here.’

  ‘Are you sure? You sound like an islander.’ Jeez. As if the guy didn’t know where he came from. Lucy always said interrogation was his default mode; he’d been determined not to come across as a cop.

  ‘I’m from the other side.’

  Joe nodded. Presumably the other side of the island, rather than anything more sinister. ‘Anyone else here who might know?’

  ‘I’ll find out. Ronald who?’

  ‘MacKenzie; he’s a crofter.’

  ‘A crofter, eh? That narrows it down.’

  Was he taking the piss? It was hard to tell.

  ‘Annie,’ the guy called to the customer at the end of the aisle, ‘you live round here, don’t you?’

  Annie nodded. ‘Aye, for my sins. Why?’

  ‘This fellow’s looking for a Ronald MacKenzie. He’s a crofter.’

  He was taking the piss.

  ‘Ronald MacKenzie?’ It was the other woman at the opposite end of the aisle. ‘Raghnall Sheonaidh Ailean?’

  The guy looked at Joe in expectation. He shook his head and shrugged. There was a volley of Gaelic conversation, up and down the aisle. The Co-op guy joined in now and again, while Joe waited.

  Annie nodded her head. ‘Aye, that’s who it’ll be. He’s the only MacKenzie around here.’

  The Co-op guy turned to Joe. ‘Does that help?’

  ‘Aye, but it’d help even more if I had directions to his house.’

  It was the second woman’s turn. ‘You’ll not get him in. He left early this morning,
himself and his dog, heading up south, I’d say.’

  ‘Up south?’ Joe was intrigued.

  ‘Aye. Up south. I’ve not seen him pass since.’

  But he could have passed while they were in the shop, Annie suggested.

  ‘Aye. That’s a possibility.’

  Joe smiled. ‘Maybe if you could just give me directions, I’ll find out for myself.’

  The directions were straightforward, and Ronald’s house was less than five minutes away. As Joe paid for his coke and crisps, the two women queued behind him. Annie looked him up and down and said something that sounded like ‘Polish’ to the other. He was pretty certain they hadn’t mistaken him for a Pole. He sighed and made a mental note to ask Ronald for the Gaelic for police.

  There was no car at the well-kept house, and no answer when Joe knocked on the front door. He opened the side gate and went round to the back door. Still no answer. He glanced around, but no one was watching except two fat brown hens. He looked in the kitchen window. There was a note on the draining board. He couldn’t make out what was written on it, but it looked like Carla’s writing.

  He knocked again, waited, then he tried the handle. The door wasn’t locked. It was the done thing in the islands, he told himself as he stepped inside. No one thought anything of you opening their door and walking in. ‘Hello. Anyone in?’ The smell of her made his heart beat faster. ‘Carla?’

  It was only two steps to the sink. Fab breakfast, thank you! Off down to the shore. I won’t go far. See you soon. Cx

  ***

  Chapter 42

  Beneath the beard and the hair there was a good-looking guy not much older than Carla. Will’s eyes were blue as sapphires, clear and bright, and full of warmth. His description of life on the island captivated her. The summer days were long and still, he said, the light and colours changing constantly as the earth turned, the height of the sun shortening his shadow on the deserted sands. If he was an artist, he would paint from dawn until dusk. Instead, he tried to hold the changes of the earth in his mind, reliving the colours on days when the land had forgotten.

  ‘Do you write?’ she asked.

  He shook his head.

  ‘You should.’

  He laughed and said he was too busy exploring and foraging. Fish and plants and seaweed, masses of shell fish – he had little need for the shops. He trapped rabbits, but he spared her the details.

  Carla smiled. ‘I was sure there were more rabbits when I was last here; that explains it.’

  ‘No. Once or twice a week at most; I doubt I’m making much difference. I think many of them died in the bad storms when the machairs were flooded.’

  She looked around the caravan. ‘I wouldn’t fancy being in here in bad weather.’

  ‘No indeed.’ He smiled. ‘The storms rage across the machair, flattening anything that dares to stand in their way. I lie on my narrow bed feeling the wind tilt the caravan this way and that, the rain battering on the feeble windows, the elements howling accusations and wild threats. Just waiting to be exposed.’ His eyes were wide and a little wild, and Carla wondered what he meant. ‘I’ve squatted in the odd barn or ruin when it’s been bad, and come back wondering if the caravan might have made it to Harris in the night.’

  ‘You have a fantastic view of Harris.’

  He nodded and looked pensive. ‘Do you know Harris?’

  ‘We used to go over for the day when I was wee. Beautiful beaches.’

  ‘Better than here, do you think?’

  Carla shook her head. ‘Definitely not. Nowhere is better than here, but I’m biased.’

  He smiled. ‘They’re different. I like that the beaches here are hidden. You have to seek them out. Like the beach over the dunes.’ He nodded towards Traigh Iar. ‘It’s wonderful. And then there are more little sandy bays before you come to Aird a’ Mhorain. There’s a cemetery down there; the last resting place of the MacLeans of Boreray.’

  ‘I’ve never been to Aird a’ Mhorain, but Traigh Iar defines Uist for me. I can’t wait to get over there, even if it’s on Ronald’s tractor. What brought you here?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’d been before and liked it. I needed somewhere to get my head sorted out. This seemed as good a place as any. I’m not too fond of modern living.’ The sound of a ping from his pocket made him blush. He pulled out a phone. ‘Cheapest model and tariff you can get. I use about 50p in credit every three months.’ He read his text, then he put the phone back in his pocket. ‘Are you staying with Ronald for long?’

  ‘Not sure. I’ve been signed off work. I’m…I’m waiting for some lab results.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that. What do you do for a living?’

  She hated telling people, but she couldn’t lie. ‘I’m a police officer.’

  He grimaced. ‘Demanding job. Doesn’t give you much time for a private life, I’d imagine.’

  ‘Not if you’re stupid enough to date another cop.’

  ‘Ah. I expect the logistics can be quite difficult. Still, if it’s right for you both, I’m sure you can make it work.’

  ‘If it’s right for us both; there’s the question.’ He was such a good listener, she’d have liked to elaborate. But that would be stupid.

  ‘Twitcher alert.’ Will reached for the binoculars and looked across the sand, towards the hills of Harris. ‘One never knows when a rare species will appear. I like to log them before the townies arrive in their droves.’

  Carla looked out the other window. There was a figure on the shore. She wondered if Ronald had come to look for her.

  Will lowered the binoculars. ‘Nothing interesting.’

  ‘There’s someone there. Can you see if it’s Ronald?’

  Smiling, he raised the binoculars again. The smile faded. When he lowered the binoculars, he looked like a different person, all the laughter and life gone from his face. ‘It’s not Ronald.’ His voice sounded weak.

  ‘Are you all right? Will?’

  He nodded and tried to smile. ‘It was lovely meeting you, Carla. I better let you get back.’

  Disappointed, Carla knew she was being dismissed. At the door, she thanked him. He stood by the bed. ‘Bye, Carla. Take care.’

  She felt inordinately sad as she walked away. She hardly knew him, but his perspective of the island had been so insightful and refreshing. She was determined to come back.

  And then she looked to the shore and saw Joe walking towards her. Her head felt as if it might burst. The phone in her pocket vibrated. She took it out and saw another text from him. It had been sent in the middle of the night.

  I love you more than I can say xxxx

  They sat at a table in the picnic area as the tide came in. Oystercatchers paraded the last of the sand, pecking and pulling up titbits. Carla had so many questions. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? And how could you get away in the middle of a major investigation? Have they got someone?’

  Joe didn’t know where to start. ‘I wanted to surprise you, and apologise. It was unforgivable of me not to take you home from the hospital, not to keep in touch and see how you were.’

  ‘It was. Why didn’t you get in touch, Joe?’

  He kicked at a clump of seaweed, and wondered how it got over the wall and into the picnic area. Must have been some storm. It had been so hard not to throw himself at her when they met, but she had looked so confused and fragile. She was sitting close now, her thigh touching his, and it felt so right, but would she want anything to do with him when she heard what he had to say?

  At the tale of Ryan MacRae’s deceit, Jackson’s fall, and Joe’s predicament, she took his hand. ‘No wonder you couldn’t call me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I kept trying your phone and then I got pissed off. I was feeling more than a bit sorry for myself. You must hate me.’

  ‘Never. Carla, you don’t know – ’

  ‘I’ve been such a bitch. I’ve felt like shit for so long, and it all just got to me. I should have made more of an effort to speak to you. I convi
nced myself you weren’t interested, that you didn’t care. I couldn’t think straight. But you’re here now. It’ll be good for you. I got your texts, well, two of them, this morning. The flowers are beautiful; I’m sorry they’re wasted. And just when I saw you coming towards me, the third text came. Joe, I feel – ’

  He stopped her, though he didn’t want to. How easy it would be just to leave it there, accept her apologies, let her tell him how she felt. But he didn’t want to know if she felt the same as he did. If she told him she loved him before she’d heard about Tina Lewis, it would make it all the harder to cope with losing her.

  As the tide almost covered the sand, the oystercatchers took off, their mournful cries echoing around them.

  ‘There’s something else…’

  *

  Tina Lewis. The thought of her made Carla feel sick. She’d only met her once, at a wedding dance. Tina was drunk and flirtatious and gorgeous, with trouble written all over her. Carla had refused to allow the faint stirrings of jealousy inside her to grow into anything more. There was no hope for her and Joe if she did that. She knew some of his female colleagues fancied him, but she also knew he wasn’t a flirt or a player. Or so she’d thought.

  ‘I didn’t know she’d come to the pub alone,’ Joe said. ‘I was expecting her and Roberts. I only meant to have a half-pint, then I was going to come to the hospital. It was too late to visit, but I thought at least they’d tell me if you were still in. I wanted to speak to you so much, but they’d taken my phone, and I didn’t have your number. I’m not trying to make excuses, but I was devastated at what I was being accused of. And I was weak. I could have said no when she bought more drinks, but I couldn’t even think straight.’

  It wasn’t easy watching him tear himself to bits, but Carla said nothing. She couldn’t. Not until she knew exactly how weak he’d been.