A Total Bog

‘Didn’t say a word.’

From the depths of the big chair, Maggie presented an ashen face. ‘You didn’t need to. Oh, Wilma, I’ve made a total bog of the Struthers case.’

‘Shush,’ Wilma soothed, from a comfy corner of the settee. ‘It’ll all work out.’

‘No, it won’t. A client comes to me saying her husband is trying to kill her. I can’t find a shred of evidence. Next thing I know you’re texting me she’s in intensive care.’

Shrug. ‘Thought you’d want to know.’

‘Too right I would,’ Maggie retorted. ‘How did you find out? No, don’t tell me. You heard it on the hospital radio at Foresterhill?’

‘Pretty much. And there was me thinking I could give up the ARI job any day. But that was before Ian threw a wobbly over the agency.’

‘He’s okay with it now,’ Maggie prompted, heart in mouth. ‘He is, isn’t he?’

‘Perverse bugger won’t commit himself either way. What I can say,’ Wilma grinned wickedly, ‘is his sex life has never been better.’

Maggie groaned. ‘Too much information. But, to get back to Sheena Struthers, the latest is she’s at death’s door.’

Wilma crooked an eyebrow. ‘Where did you get that from?’

‘I had a coffee with Brian.’

‘Did you, now? He still got the hots for you?’

‘How would I know?’ Maggie could feel her colour rise. Prayed it didn’t show in her face.

‘What’s he saying, then?’

‘Oh.’ Maggie ran a distracted hand through her hair. ‘Other than they think she’s not going to make it, he wouldn’t be drawn. Clammed up tighter than a…a…’

‘Nun’s arse?’ Wilma completed the sentence.

‘Wil-ma!’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘This is no time to be cracking jokes.’

‘I wasn’t,’ she responded innocently. ‘Just trying to be helpful.’

‘Well, don’t. Anyhow, as I said, Brian wouldn’t offer another word on the subject. No doubt trying to keep his nose clean after the fall-out from the Simmons affair.’

‘Can’t blame the guy.’

‘That’s all very well, but where does that leave me?’

‘Us.’

‘This is my mess, Wilma. And it’s all down to false pride. I hold my hands up to that. I thought I knew better than you, and I was wrong.’

Wilma leaned forward. ‘You do know better than me. You’re that smart, Maggie. It was you landed Innes Crombie, remember?’

‘Yes,’ she conceded with a wavering smile.

‘And look at the business you’ve brought in since.’

‘Nothing major.’

‘Small cases, I grant you, but they’re building. And these are corporate accounts, Maggie, companies like Harlaw Insurance. Once we have their confidence they’ll grow even more. And they pay. That’s a consideration. And more than can be said of some people.’

‘Don’t remind me.’ Maggie blushed as she recalled one of her major boo-boos: a sweet-talking patter merchant who’d left them out of pocket to the tune of several hundred pounds.

‘Do you remember thon day you said we’d to divvy-up?’

Maggie frowned. ‘Vaguely.’

‘Oh, come on, you gave me the full-on lecture on how we were to divide our workload according to our skill set.’

‘Really? Did I do that?’

‘Aye. And to anyone looking at us, it’s pretty obvious. You’re the brains and I’m the…’ She affected a macho stance. ‘Muscle.’

Maggie grimaced. ‘Not where my kids are concerned.’

‘How no?’

‘Ever since Kirsty brought that boy home I’ve been worried sick.’

‘Thought something was bothering you. You’ve had a face on you this past while like a bulldog chewing a wasp.’

Bristles. ‘I have not.’

‘Don’t come the high horse wi’ me, Maggie Laird. I ken you ower weel.’ Wilma draped herself on the arm of Maggie’s chair. ‘What’s the matter with him?’

‘Oh.’ Maggie shrugged. ‘He’s a bit on the brash side for my taste. And much too familiar: the way he comes up close, sticks his face in mine. And his accent. Nice, is it? or Good, is it?’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing at all. It’s just the way it comes out: the curled lip. Challenging, confrontational almost. That boy’s too cocky for words.’ She paused. ‘If I’m honest, I think he’s too working class for Kirsty.’

‘You fucking snob!’

Maggie shrugged. ‘I know. Blame it on my parents.’ Who she hadn’t seen for long enough, she reminded herself, neither her nor the kids.

‘Och, dinna fash yourself. He’s likely just her bit of rough.’

‘That’s precisely what’s concerning me. The way he behaved in front of me, her own mother, I worry about what…’

‘Chill, Maggie!’ Wilma cut her short. ‘Kirsty will be fine. It’s a phase they all go through.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Aye, well, we know about you.’

‘What about me?’

Wilma gave Maggie an affectionate nudge. ‘Methlick’s got a lot to answer for.’

Maggie brushed her off. ‘Don’t you start, Wilma Harcus.’

Grins. ‘I’m not. Seriously, though, your Kirsty’s got more sense than to get in the sack with some nutter.’

‘Who said they were sleeping together?’

‘Aren’t they?’

‘I sincerely hope not.’

‘I sincerely hope not,’ Wilma echoed. ‘Seriously, though, I’ll lay a tenner on it’s just a passing fancy. ‘

‘I’d like to think so. But I have my doubts. Usually, Kirsty gives as good as she gets. Not this time. I’m fearful she lets him push her around.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘There’s a fine line between horseplay and full-on abuse.’

‘Relax,’ Wilma urged. ‘Kirsty can look after herself.’

‘To get back to what we were talking about…’ Maggie changed the subject. ‘I’ve screwed up. Landed myself in another hole. And now I’ll have to dig myself out of it.’

‘No you don’t.’ Wilma stood up. ‘We’re partners, are we no’?’

‘We are. And thank you.’ Maggie blew a kiss. ‘What are we going to do now, then, the two of us?’

‘We’re going to do what we always do.’ Wilma advanced across the room. ‘First, establish the facts.’

‘How the hell are we going to do that,’ Maggie countered, ‘if Brian won’t tell me anything and the client is quarantined in the ITU? Sheena Struthers might even be under police guard, for all we know.’

‘She’s not.’ The words were out before Wilma could stop herself.

Maggie leapt out of the chair and squared up to her. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because I had a wee go at getting in there.’

‘To the intensive therapy unit?’

‘Aye.’

‘I don’t believe it.’ Maggie’s eyes were wide. ‘First Seaton, now this. Have you been snooping on me again, Wilma Harcus?’

‘No. All I was doing was taking a leaf out of your book: using my connections to move the agency forward. Plus, I still work at the infirmary, remember? Have a problem with that?’

‘Of course not.’ Maggie dropped back onto the chair. ‘And I’m sorry, Wilma. I didn’t mean to have a go at you. It’s just, I feel such a fool. And never mind me, think of that poor woman.’ She drew breath. ‘How did you find her, anyway?’

Wilma perched on the arm. ‘Horizontal.’ She grinned.

‘Wil-ma!’ Maggie reached up, threw a mock punch. ‘If you crack one more joke…’

‘Didn’t get much more than you got from Brian. Charge nurse threw me off the ward.’

‘Oh,’ Maggie’s face fell. ‘So…’

‘Nearest I got was a look-see through the window. It was weird an all, being on the other side of the glass: her laid out wi muckle tubes runnin out o’ her and close to death by all accounts. Bit like thon day I took you down the mortuary, only… Oh, Christ!’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Maggie, I didn’t mean…’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes. It was upsetting at the time, seeing George lying there dead: the way they’d combed his hair all wrong, things like that. But, now, what I remember is the weird stuff: the fake flowers in the viewing room, the sheet that covered him. Green, it was, not white like you see on TV. And there was this pillow. I hadn’t expected a pillow. Not a pink one, anyhow. Creased to death, they were, too.’ She looked embarrassed at the pun. ‘I remember thinking – imagine the Council supplying a washing machine and no iron.’

‘Oof!’ Wilma exclaimed. ‘Must have been a man.’

Maggie sighed. ‘To get back to Sheena Struthers…’

‘Stuck-up bitch of a charge nurse wouldn’t tell me a thing.’ Wilma wrinkled her nose. ‘Not even who it was brought her in.’

‘So what did you do?’

Grins. ‘Used my detective skills. I’ve ways, you know. Hot-tailed it round to the ambulance station. Lucky our guy was on shift.’

‘And?’

‘Overdose.’ Triumphant look. ‘Official line is it was accidental, but between you, me and the gatepost,’ Wilma tapped the side of her nose, ‘they’re treating it as a suicide attempt.’

‘But…’ Maggie struggled to compose herself. ‘We both know it’s not suicide.’

Wilma cocked her head. ‘Do we?’

‘Of course we do.’ Irritated voice.

‘What difference does it make?’ Wilma shot back. ‘It’s two cheeks of the same arse.’

‘Whatever.’ Maggie wasn’t going to argue.

She felt like a dead weight had been lodged in the pit of her stomach.

Sheena Struthers was going to die.

And if she did it would be all Maggie’s fault.