Madness Lies Page 26

  ‘What is it?’ He sat beside her and put his hand on her arm. ‘You look terrible. Do you want coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  She could hear him clattering about in the kitchen next door, and all she could think was that the coffee would be too strong, he’d forget to put the milk back in the fridge, and he’d leave a trail of splashes and dirty spoons that would annoy the admin staff tomorrow.

  She took the mug from him. Sure enough, the coffee was far too dark and there were drips running down the side. Under her notepad, she found a coaster.

  ‘Do you want to talk?’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘I really would have to kill you if I told you this.’

  ‘Damn. Was that a local crime lord I saw you with earlier? He looked a bit dodgy.’

  Lucy laughed, and shook her head, but she didn’t tell him. Why shouldn’t she have secrets too? She shook her head. ‘No, but I have some information that would be of interest to the police, and I don’t know what to do about it.’

  ‘Tell your brother?’

  ‘Yeah; that’s what I should do.’

  ‘But?’

  Lucy took a sip of her coffee, then she looked out the window. ‘By delaying, I’m already compromising myself. Perverting the course of justice.’

  ‘How long have you delayed?’

  She looked at her watch. ‘About ten minutes, although if I wasn’t such a numpty, I’d have worked it out days ago.’

  ‘And every minute counts?’

  She nodded.

  He stood. ‘I’m not going to keep you talking, for obvious reasons – you need to decide what to do, Lucy. If you want any help, you know where I am.’

  As soon as Drew closed the door, Lucy called Joe.

  *

  The suitcase was eyeballing Sharon from the corner. And it wouldn’t stop until she’d emptied it. Wimp; she’d faced up to everything else. Accepted that her life was going to be shit again. Accepted the mood swings that had taken her up and down several times today, as she waited to hear from Smish.

  She had packed carefully, soberly, for London. Though she hadn’t imagined for a minute that his family lived in a four storey villa with a spaceship in the attic, she’d known it was going to be somewhat upmarket of her flat in the Ferry. What wasn’t?

  As she took out the most modest of her clothes, the ones she’d packed just in case he’d managed to persuade her to accompany him on a visit to his mother, she felt like throwing them out the window.

  More tears. She had to get a grip. He was a chancer and a liar. A murderer. Don’t think about it, she told herself. He’s made his bed. You have to move on.

  When she saw the envelope at the bottom of the case, she thought it was from Ruby. The child had been inconsolable when Sharon and Uncle Chris left that morning that seemed so far away now. She’d asked them to come straight back, with Sharon’s boys. She was waiting for them.

  It wasn’t from Ruby. It was a letter from Christopher, and it broke Sharon’s heart.

  ***

  Chapter 54

  Just as well Liam was going to play with his pal, Jody, after school. Sharon would have hated to have him see her like this. He’d seen enough in his short life, wee soul. He always knew when she’d been crying, even a couple of hours later. Maybe if she had a walk, she’d get rid of the red eyes and the blotchy face. She was just leaving the flat when Galbraith phoned. Ryan wanted to see her.

  Sharon stopped off at Jody’s mother’s flat in the next block. ‘Elaine, I’ve got to go somewhere. I thought I better let you know in case I’m late in picking Liam up.’

  Elaine smiled. ‘No worries. He can stay as long as he wants. They always have a great time. He’s a wee darling.’

  ‘Sound, that’s great. It’s…’ Maybe she didn’t have to let on where she was going. Or maybe she could just start telling the truth, like a normal person. ‘Did…did you know that his brother, my boy, Ryan, well…he’s in custody?’

  Elaine put her hand on Sharon’s arm. ‘That’s awful. I saw in the paper they were looking for him. I just thought he’d run away from home.’

  ‘Aye, he did, for a while. He’s at the station now and he’s asking to see me. I don’t know how long it’ll take.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter; take as long as you need. Liam will be fine. If you’re too late back, he can stay here.’

  *

  Ryan’s hair. What was he like? Sharon hardly recognised him. And he looked small and lost. He barely glanced at her before he sat. To anyone else, it would have seemed like he didn’t care, but Sharon knew. He was ashamed.

  Anne Morrison nudged his arm. ‘Ryan, I think your mum might like a hug.’

  ‘Too right I would.’ Sharon looked up at Galbraith. He was standing at the door. ‘Is that allowed?’

  He smiled and nodded. Ryan felt so thin as he clung to Sharon. Tears were welling in her eyes and she could hear him sniffing. And then a whisper in her ear, as he started to pull away: ‘Don’t mention the sock.’

  He was staring at her. She looked at Galbraith. He was looking at his phone. Sharon nodded.

  Ever the big man, Ryan had little to say. He wasn’t about to tell his mum how he really was, but she knew. ‘I heard you’ve been helpful,’ she said. ‘That’s the best way, son. Tell them everything you know.’

  Ryan raised his eyebrows at that. Sharon smiled. She chatted about Liam and his weekend trip, then she told Ryan about her visit to the Job Centre. And through it all, he barely indicated he was listening. Until she mentioned the possibility of a move to Dingwall.

  He straightened up. ‘No way, Mam. That would be well minging. I’d rather be in here.’

  Galbraith laughed.

  Ryan was taken away, and it was just Sharon and Galbraith. He sat down opposite her. ‘How are you doing?’

  Sharon shrugged. ‘So so. Thanks for letting me see him. He looks so thin and tired. Do you think he’s okay?’

  ‘He’s like you, Sharon; he’s strong. I haven’t told him – don’t want to get his hopes up – but there’s a chance he won’t go down for this. The psychiatrist thinks he’s suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, as a result of seeing what his father did to you. A good report to the court, or the Children’s Hearing, and he might be home again, with restrictions.’

  Sharon closed her eyes and felt as if her heart might soar through the roof. Though Christopher’s letter had left her as raw as she’d ever felt in her life, her boy might not go down.

  ‘Sharon, can you…will you talk about Christopher?’

  She opened her eyes and nodded. ‘I swear we were in London before I knew anything. I tried phoning you, but you weren’t available. I was going to come to the station whenever I got back.’

  He nodded. ‘You must have got a shock at the airport.’

  ‘Too right. I can’t believe Christopher would kill anyone. He’s gentle, and…’ Her voice tailed off. ‘But I’ve no idea where he went that night. Those pictures in his bedroom, and now she’s dead. It’s horrible.’

  ‘Did you ever suspect he might be having a relationship with someone else?’

  ‘No. Yes.’

  Galbraith looked confused. Sharon wasn’t sure she could explain it, but she tried. ‘My heart would say no, absolutely not. He was kind and loving and attentive. I didn’t see him every night, but he always phoned, and I had no reason to doubt him. But that didn’t stop my head telling me he must have someone else, someone better, someone normal. Why wouldn’t he?’

  Galbraith’s hand moved towards hers, but he didn’t touch her. He shook his head. ‘Don’t put yourself down.’

  She shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter now. I’ve got to put Ryan first, and you’ve got to find that bastard, Curtis. I thought Christopher would help you with that. He said he was going to come and see you, tell you everything.’

  Galbraith smiled. ‘That was before he was arrested for murder. Even if he wanted to talk, his lawyer would advise against it. Can’t blame him, really. I
don’t want to worry you, Sharon, but do you think you might be at risk from Curtis? He’s a very dangerous man.’

  ‘I saw how scared Ryan was when he went to meet him. You will keep Ryan safe, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course we will. I’m concerned about you, though. Do you think Curtis would have it in for you?’

  She shrugged. ‘I doubt it. I’ve never even met him.’

  ‘Would he have it in for Christopher?

  ‘I don’t know. Probably not, after all they’ve been through.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The letter was in her pocket. She’d been turning it over all the way down to the station, and several times since she arrived. It was her letter. It was deeply personal. She pulled it out and threw it on the table, then she stood. ‘I can’t…I don’t know what to think about anything. Tell me a killer wrote that letter and I’ll accept it. I trust you. Just tell me.’

  ***

  Chapter 55

  Sharon, I can’t sleep, so I’ve been watching you. You look so beautiful. I shouldn’t have asked you to come here while Ryan’s still missing. You must have felt so torn, but you came anyway. You’re a brilliant mum, and you’ve given me so much. I don’t deserve you, and I’m worried about us. I’m sorry for taking you to that place, and not keeping you safe. I wasn’t thinking straight. I should have insisted on keeping you beside me.

  I wanted to tell you more tonight, but it’s not easy to talk about this, and you looked so tired. However, if you and I are going to have a future, you need to know everything about that day, and afterwards.

  In London, you learn not to see anyone else, especially on public transport. That day, ten years ago, I was too busy thinking about the relationship I’d ended, and how upset she was. I was feeling sorry for myself, wondering if I’d ever settle with anyone. I don’t remember being aware of anyone else in the carriage.

  I didn’t see the bomber, though he was sitting opposite me. Others saw him; they said he was fiddling with his rucksack. I remember the sound, like a giant balloon popping. This amazing bright white light, and I was dragged into a vortex of black smoke, tearing metal and flying glass. I was aware of the others then. I can still hear them. Not their voices, but their screams and groans and swears, desperate prayers and pleas.

  The medics tried to tell me I was imagining it. I was right in the centre of the blast; my hearing must have been affected; I couldn’t possibly have heard anything. But I knew. No one’s imagination could create what I heard.

  My theory is that the pain forced me into a heightened state of consciousness. I couldn’t see my injury, but I knew the bone had been crushed, and shards of glass or metal were pinning my leg to the floor, and my life was draining away. And it was such a shit life, Sharon. I’d done nothing good. Nothing bad, either. Just nothing.

  I worked for my father in his property business, but I didn’t work very hard. I didn’t have to. There was always plenty of money and no need to do too much. It’s not good for your self-worth when you don’t really have to work for your money, when things come too easily.

  So I knew my life, my useless life, was seeping from me. And I wanted so much to keep it then. I wanted to be something. Something good. A husband and a father. I wanted it so much.

  There was someone lying beside me. A pretty young woman. She wasn’t conscious, but I started talking to her. She didn’t open her eyes or answer, but I felt she could hear me; I was helping her to hang on. And then I lifted my head and saw the lower half of her body was missing. There was worse than that, Sharon; much worse. Things that could, and probably did, drive people to madness, to drugs, to God knows what.

  I became aware of this battering noise, endless banging and grating. I thought it must be the emergency services. When it stopped, I saw him. Hair standing on end like something you’d see in a cartoon, and his face covered in dirty great streaks of smoke and blood. He had a huge smile. A smile? In the middle of such carnage? I thought I was hallucinating. He took off his belt and tied it round my leg to stop the bleeding. The pain was excruciating, so I knew it was real. Then he started chatting. Every time I drifted off, he’d bring me back with more chat. I told him things I’d never told anyone, and he just listened and kept smiling.

  When he took my hand, I felt a surge of power, of goodness, of healing. It reminded me of John Coffey in ‘The Green Mile’. I knew I was safe, and I was going to live. And it was all because of him. A passenger in the next carriage, a stranger that could have run for safety, had heard my cries and smashed his way in. He didn’t have to. Others ran, and no one would have criticised him for following them. If he had run, I would have died.

  It took the emergency services ages to come. I guess they were stretched pretty thin, with bombs going off all over the place, and so many wounded. By the time they reached us, he had saved my life and my leg.

  I’ve seen references to an old Chinese proverb that states if you save a life, you are responsible for that person forever. Another version, in books and films, is that someone whose life is saved by another owes that person a life-long debt. Whichever version one prefers, the outcome is the same – a bond between two people that cannot be broken.

  I can hardly believe I’m writing this now, but I want that bond broken. Though he gave me my life, I feel like he has held me back for almost ten years, stopped me from moving forward. It…he…has become a burden. And saying that makes me feel guiltier than I’ve ever felt before.

  If you haven’t guessed, it was Todd that saved me. Ordinary likeable Todd. A civil servant, he’d moved back home with his father a few months before the accident, after his mother died. He was on his way to work that day, and he saw things no one can safely live with.

  He needed counselling. God knows I had enough of it – two years, and I was still a mess. But Todd wouldn’t accept my father’s offer of help. He’d saved someone’s life. That was all he needed. He went back to his work, but he couldn’t stick it. He said it was too ordinary; he was meant for something better.

  The Todd I met in 2005 was gentle and kind and simple. I have clung to that memory for ten years, ignoring the obvious. Even today, I found it impossible to believe he could be involved in the things you mentioned. But I have to face it now; the guy that saved me is gone, and has been for a long time.

  Shortly after the accident, Todd’s father died. He discovered he’d been adopted. He was devastated at first, then he convinced himself that his real parents were special; they must have given him up for some great cause. He started to look for them, through an agency. He thought his mother might be in Manchester, but after a while he told me the trail had gone cold. It was then he seemed to change. His ideas grew more and more grandiose. He believed he was special, better than others.

  I told you the truth that I no longer ask what he’s involved in. He scares me now, the way he talks, the way he treats women, the mania that sometimes seems to stalk him. A few months ago, a young girl on drugs approached us in the street, offered us sex. He went mental, shouting and swearing at her. I had to drag him away, or he would have hit her. The Todd that saved me would never have done that. Is it my fault? Did I create a monster?

  Sharon, this is one of the hardest things I have ever had to face, but I know what I must do. If we don’t find him tomorrow, I’ll go to the police. I owe it to you to do what’s best for Ryan.

  I’m going to put this letter at the bottom of your suitcase, so you don’t see it until you’re on your own. I know I should have told you all this before, but I was scared and confused. I still am. But one thing I’m not confused about is you.

  Sharon, I love you. I hope you can forgive me. I want you in my life always.

  With all my love

  Christopher xxxx

  Joe’s head was bursting. It was already full of Stephen MacLaren, but he wasn’t allowed to investigate that. Ten years…the ten years Todd mentioned in his emails. He should have known as soon as Roz Sutherland mentioned the London bombi
ngs. He asked Sharon to wait. He didn’t have to go far. Roberts was hurrying down the corridor with the information from London. Todd Curtis and Gordon Sutherland were in the same carriage that day, sitting side by side. ‘And there’s more, Sarge. There’s more.’ He could hardly get his words out with the excitement. ‘Guess who was in the next carriage, where the bomb went off?’

  He should let Roberts have his moment. He didn’t. ‘Christopher Brent.’

  The disappointment on Roberts’ face. ‘How…?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘What else did you get?’

  ‘Gordon Sutherland was one of the first to escape. Todd Curtis broke his way into the next carriage and saved Brent’s life. He was recommended for a bravery award, but he couldn’t be traced.’

  Joe held out the photo Sharon had found in London. ‘This is probably Curtis eight years ago.’

  Roberts shook his head. ‘Looks like a decent guy. Doesn’t bear much resemblance to the e-fit, does he? Speaking of which, we had a call from a woman on Fairfield Road, about ten minutes after the e-fit went up. She was in her garden when he ran past on Thursday afternoon, around the time you saw Ryan on Kenneth Street.’

  ***

  Chapter 56

  Galbraith hadn’t said much to Sharon after he read the letter, but it had certainly got him wound up. He wanted to keep it as evidence. Sharon had shrugged. If she took it home, she’d only keep reading it, over and over, tormenting herself with wishing and doubts and useless speculation. She was tormenting herself anyway, as she crossed the Black Bridge. Turning it all over and over in her head until she was so mixed up, she didn’t know what to think. He loved her. Wanted to be with her always. Fucking typical.

  Another sentence kept coming back to her: It’s not good for your self-worth when you don’t really have to work for your money, when things come too easily. She had taken so much from him, without a thought for her self-worth.