Smoke and Mirrors

‘A feeling, you said, last time we met.’ Maggie eyed the woman opposite. ‘I’m afraid we’ll need something more solid than that if we’re to progress with your case.’

This was her second visit to Patisserie Valerie, and Wilma’s first. They’d been ahead of the game: getting to the meeting place early, securing a secluded table at the rear, observing the woman’s approach. It was astonishing how much you could learn just from watching and waiting – standard stuff for a private investigator and second nature to them, now.

Sheena squirmed in her seat. ‘I don’t know how to answer you.’

‘Well?’ Maggie prompted. They’d agreed she should lead the interview. ‘Has your husband done anything specific to give you cause for concern?’

‘Nothing major.’ Sheena drew a deep breath, exhaled at length. ‘More, lots of little things, I suppose.’

‘Such as?’ Maggie pressed.

Sheena’s eyes flicked from Maggie to Wilma, vibrant in sky-blue eyeshadow and shocking-pink lipstick. An embarrassed silence ensued before they slid back again.

Finally, she spoke. ‘The way I catch him looking at me, sometimes.’

‘And what way is that?

‘Cold. No love there at all. Like he could see me dead and buried.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie noticed Wilma’s lips were twitching. ‘Oh,’ she rushed on, ‘I’m sure we’ve all looked daggers at our spouse at some time or other.’

‘Point taken. But there have been other things.’

‘Can you give me some examples?’

‘He snapped at me the other day because I creased his morning paper.’

‘You don’t say!’ The words were out of Wilma’s mouth before Maggie could silence her.

Maggie shot her partner a filthy look. ‘Anything else?’ she asked.

‘He refuses to switch off his phone at night. I don’t sleep well as it is, then it pings and wakes me up.’

‘Mmm.’ Maggie made a show of stirring her latte.

Wilma inspected her nails.

‘He won’t let me open his mail, and…’

‘Let me stop you there.’ Maggie had a growing feeling Wilma was right about Sheena Struthers, but wasn’t ready to admit it. ‘Has anyone else noticed anything amiss?’ She pressed on in desperation. ‘Your kids, for example?’

‘Gordon and I, we don’t have any children.’

‘Oh.’ Small voice. She’d dug another hole for herself.

‘No.’ A shadow crossed Sheena’s face. ‘When it wasn’t happening, I wanted to get us both checked out, but he wouldn’t agree to it. Male pride, I suppose.’

Wilma let out a loud snort.

‘And, then, well, we were both working. Gordon was still studying for his professional exams and I was teaching. Time runs away, doesn’t it?’ She looked to Maggie for confirmation.

‘Doesn’t it just!’ Maggie could barely believe that this time last year she’d been happily married. Well, perhaps not so happily given the nightmare George had been through. But they were together, still, a family unit. Maybe this Struthers woman should be thankful for what she’d got.

‘His behaviour has been so out of character. That’s what first alerted me. Gordon’s so considerate, normally. So…equable, I think, is the right word.’

‘Sounds like my Ian,’ Wilma chipped in. ‘Right pussy, he is.’

‘At least he was, until…’ Sheena eyed Wilma like a scared rabbit.

‘Still,’ Maggie continued, ‘singularly or taken together, what you’ve described hardly constitutes a threat.’

‘I know it doesn’t sound much. But there have been other things.’ Sheena engaged both women in turn with a beseeching look. ‘Incidents.’ She looked around, checking she wouldn’t be overheard.

A clear case of paranoia was what was running through Maggie’s head. She wondered what Wilma was thinking. She needn’t have worried. Her companion was hungrily eyeing the tempting display of cream cakes on the counter.

‘Fill me in on the background, will you?’ She’d give it one last go. ‘How long have you and Gordon been married?’

‘Twenty-five years, give or take.’

Much like herself. Maggie raised the mug to her lips. Only what she wouldn’t give to have her husband back.

She set the mug down. ‘How did the two of you meet?’

‘At school. Cults Academy,’ Sheena clarified. ‘His folks moved up from Fife. Dad worked offshore. It was the end of fourth year, as I recall, and in comes this new boy, all plooks and prescription glasses.’

Maggie smiled. ‘Sounds a bit of a geek.’

‘He was. Right swot, we all thought, so much so we called him “Inky Fingers”. Not that I was the class pin-up,’ Sheena hastened to add. ‘I was spotty too. A vision in puppy fat. Wore glasses as well.’

‘So you felt sorry for him?’

Wilma shot her a warning look. Shut up, Maggie. Don’t go putting words in the client’s mouth.

‘Not at all.’ Coy smile. ‘If anything, it was the other way around. I used to take it to heart, you see. Being left out of things: sports fixtures, not being asked up at school dances. But Gordon seemed impervious to what other people thought. Maybe that’s what drew me to him. He might not have been a hunk like some of the rugby players, but he was funny. Had a quick mind and…’ Wry face. ‘A savage tongue. Anyhow, we started going out, stuck together right through uni, and, as they say, the rest is history.’

‘Is he still like that, your husband?’ Maggie fished.

‘Oh, yes.’ Fond look. ‘Sharp as a tack. Maybe that’s what makes him such a good accountant. I retired some years ago from my teaching post. Not that I’d lost interest. But Gordon didn’t want his wife going out to work, not when he became senior partner. Argued it could harm his…’ She hesitated. ‘Connections. I didn’t mind, not at the time. The discipline – or lack of it – at school was getting to me. I understand you work in education, so you’ll know.’

‘I’m only a teaching assistant,’ Maggie responded. ‘And the job’s just a few hours a week. But, yes, it’s an uphill struggle, some days, getting the kids to settle.’

‘All the same…’ Wistful look. ‘I came to regret my decision. It’s lonely being at home on your own all day. You lose your confidence.’

‘Mmm.’ Maggie could identify with that.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Sheena continued. ‘Gordon and I have a good life: bridge, golf, foreign holidays. We’re comfortable. More than comfortable. We own a lovely home. Move in rather an elevated circle.’ Knowing look. ‘Our friends would say we’re a solid team.’

‘Can’t be all bad, then,’ Wilma offered with a curled lip.

Maggie ignored this. ‘And you?’ she pressed. ‘What would you say?’

‘I’d say,’ Sheena chose her words with care, ‘we have a marriage that’s traditional, some might say old-fashioned.’

Like Maggie’s own had been. ‘I see.’

‘Not perfect. But it has worked for me. Us,’ she corrected. Her brow furrowed. ‘Until now, that is.’

‘Then why,’ Maggie persisted, ‘if your marriage has endured and your husband still demonstrates the same qualities that attracted you in the first place, would you want to rock the boat?’

Sheena looked puzzled. ‘I don’t. That’s why, as I said at our first meeting, discretion is paramount.’

‘You’re still of a mind, then, that your husband has designs on you?’

‘I’m convinced of it.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Wilma could contain herself no longer. ‘You’re telling us he wants to kill you, but you’ve no evidence to support this, only vague “feelings” and trivial incidents. Not one single concrete fact. When it all boils down, there’s nothing there but smoke and mirrors.’

Sheena’s eyes welled. ‘You don’t need to be so hurtful. I know it doesn’t sound like much, the things Gordon has done, but you weren’t there. And now you’re going to send me packing,’ she sniffed. ‘I feel so alone.’ Her voice tailed off.

‘Then why don’t you go to the police?’ Wilma pressed on, relentless. ‘That’s what they’re there for.’

‘I can’t. The publicity…’

That, Maggie could understand. During the long months between George’s suspension and his eventual resignation, her hitherto tight family unit had been subjected to horrendous strain: her husband the subject of false rumour and innuendo, her children in distress, the Laird name making lurid press headlines.

‘Better that than being dead,’ Wilma snapped.

This provoked such an anguished sob that other customers eyed the trio with some asperity.

‘Perhaps it would move us forward if you were to jot down these “incidents” as they happen,’ Maggie sought to calm the situation. ‘Then, next time we meet…’

Viciously, Wilma dug her in the ribs.

‘…we can work through them, decide where to go from there. Is that a good idea, do you think?’ She engaged Sheena with a questioning look.

‘Yes.’ There was silence, then: ‘Thank you.’ The woman’s eyes shone through her tears. Ignoring Wilma, she rose to her feet. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

*

‘I don’t bloody believe you did that,’ Wilma hissed when Sheena Struthers was safely out of sight.

‘Did what?’ Maggie played dumb.

‘Let the bugger off the hook.’

‘Don’t know what you mean.’

‘Christ,’ Wilma spluttered. ‘I set you up with an exit plan and you fuckin blew it.’

‘If you mean I was supportive of another woman in distress?’ Maggie recalled her own sense of isolation and helplessness after her husband’s sudden death. ‘Then I’m not going to apologise.’

Wilma eased herself out of the confines of the red tub chair. ‘Don’t give me that crap, Maggie Laird. Some days you really are up yourself. Admit it, you fucked up, instead of killing the thing stone dead.’

Maggie ducked her chin.

‘We’re supposed to be partners, remember?’ Wilma wasn’t going to let her off the hook. ‘And you pulled rank on me.’

‘I did not.’

‘You did so.’

‘Well,’ Maggie retorted, ‘if I did, that’s us just about even.’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘Serves you right for snooping on me when I was investigating the Seaton drugs business.’

‘I was watching your back, I told you.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

Wilma pulled a face. ‘Whatever! That aside, have you forgotten what we agreed? If I still had my doubts about your Mrs Struthers after meeting her face-to-face, you’d show her the door.’

‘And do you?’

‘Too bloody right I do. From what I’ve seen, she’s just another menopausal woman having a loopy moment.’

‘Who said she was menopausal?’

‘Isn’t she? She’s about the right age.’

‘She’s only a few years older than we are.’

‘Aye.’ Wilma grinned. ‘We’ve that to look forward to.’

She was met with a grimace.

The grin vanished from Wilma’s face. ‘Ah’ll tell ye one thing, Maggie, and that’s for nothing. If this Sheena Struthers lands you in the shit, dinna come runnin tae me.’

Maggie set her jaw. ‘She won’t land me in trouble.’

‘So you’re hell-bent…’

‘As I’ve said already, I’ve agreed to take on the case.’

‘Well, it’s your business.’

‘Ours.’

‘Aye,’ Wilma sneered. ‘Some days.’

‘Oh, Wilma…’ Remorseful look. ‘Don’t be like that.’

‘I’ll tell you this, pal, and that’s for nothing. If you go ahead with this Struthers thing…’ Wilma looked Maggie straight in the eye. ‘Make no mistake, you’ll be on your own.’