Dirty streaks of gray began to materialize in the sodium-smudged city darkness. Alex slumped on a chilly bench by the Simpson Memorial Pavilion, tears chapping his cheeks. Nothing in his life had prepared him for a night like this. He’d gone beyond tiredness into an altered state where he felt he’d never sleep again. The emotional overload was such that he no longer knew what he felt.
He had no recollection of the drive back from Glasgow to Edinburgh. He knew he’d called his parents at some point, had a vague memory of an agitated conversation with his father. Fears tumbled headlong through his head. All the things he knew could go wrong. All the things he didn’t know about that he was sure could go wrong with a baby at thirty-four weeks’ gestation. He wished he was Weird, so he could place his trust in something less fallible than the medical profession. What the hell would he do without Lynn? What the hell would he do with a baby without Lynn? What the hell would he do with Lynn without a baby? The portents couldn’t be worse: Mondo lying dead in some hospital mortuary; Alex not where he should be on the most important night of his life.
He’d abandoned the car somewhere in the Royal Infirmary car park and managed to find the entrance to the maternity wing at the third attempt. He’d been sweating and panting by the time he arrived at the reception desk, grateful that maternity nurses had seen so much that a wild-eyed unshaven man gibbering like a fool didn’t even register on their Richter scale.
“Mrs. Gilbey? Ah yes, we’ve taken her straight up to the delivery suite.”
Alex tried to concentrate on the directions, repeating them under his breath as he navigated the corridors of the unit. He pressed the security intercom and looked anxiously into the lens of the video camera, hoping he looked more like an expectant father than an escaped lunatic. After what seemed an eternity, the door buzzed open and he blundered into the delivery suite. He didn’t know quite what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this deserted foyer and eerie silence. He stood uncertain in the foyer. Just then, a nurse entered from one of the corridors radiating off in all directions. “Mr. Gilbey?” she said.
Alex nodded frantically. “Where’s Lynn?” he demanded.
“Come with me.”
He followed her back down the corridor. “How is she?”
“She’s doing fine.” She paused, her hand on the door handle. “We need you to help keep her calm. She’s a bit distressed. There have been one or two dips in the fetal heartbeat.”
“What does that mean? Is the baby OK?”
“It’s nothing to worry about.”
He hated it when medical professionals said that. It always felt like a blatant lie. “But it’s far too early. She’s only thirty-four weeks.”
“Try not to worry. They’re in good hands here.”
The door opened and Alex was confronted with a scene that bore no relationship to the routines they’d practiced at the antenatal classes. It was hard to imagine anything that could be further from his and Lynn’s dream of natural childbirth. Three women in surgical scrubs bustled around. A monitor with an electronic display sat next to the bed, a fourth woman in a white coat studying it. Lynn lay on her back, legs apart, her hair plastered to her head with sweat. Her face was scarlet and damp, her eyes wide and anguished. The thin hospital gown stuck to her body. The tube from a drip stand next to the bed disappeared under her. “Thank fuck you’re here,” she gasped. “Alex, I’m scared.”
He rushed to her side, reaching for her hand. She gripped him tightly. “I love you,” he said. “You’re doing just fine.”
The woman in the white coat glanced across. “Hi, I’m Dr. Singh,” she said, acknowledging Alex’s arrival. She joined the midwife at the bottom of the bed. “Lynn, we’re a wee bit concerned about the baby’s heart rate. We’re not progressing as fast as I’d like. We might have to consider a section.”
“Just get the baby out,” Lynn moaned.
Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity. “Baby’s stuck,” one midwife said. Dr. Singh studied the monitor briefly.
“Heart rate’s down,” she said. Everything began to happen more quickly than Alex could comprehend as he clung to Lynn’s clammy hand. Odd phrases penetrated. “Get her to theater now.” “Catheterize her.” “Consent form.” Then the bed was on the move, the door open, everyone bustling down the corridor toward the theater.
The world turned into a blur of activity. Time seemed alternately to race and to crawl. Then, when Alex had almost stopped hoping, the magic words, “It’s a girl. You’ve got a daughter.”
Tears welled up in his eyes and he swung round to see his child. Blood-streaked and purple, frighteningly still and silent. “Oh God,” he said. “Lynn, it’s a girl.” But Lynn was past noticing.
A midwife hastily wrapped the baby in a blanket and hurried off. Alex stood up. “Is she OK?” He was led out of the theater in a daze. What was happening to his child? Was she even alive? “What’s going on?” he demanded.
The midwife smiled. “Your daughter’s doing great. She’s breathing on her own, which is always the big concern with premature babies.”
Alex slumped into a chair, his hands over his face. “I just want her to be OK,” he said through the tears.
“She’s holding her own. She weighs four pounds eight ounces, which is good. Mr. Gilbey, I’ve delivered quite a few premature babies, and I’d say your wee girl’s one of the strongest I’ve seen. It’s early days, but I think she’s going to be just fine.”
“When can I see her?”
“You should be able to go down to the neonatal unit and see her in a wee while. You won’t be able to pick her up yet, but since she’s breathing on her own, you’ll likely be able to hold her in a day or so.”
“What about Lynn?” he said, suddenly guilty that he hadn’t asked sooner.
“They’re just stitching her up now. She’s had a rough time. When they bring her through, she’ll be tired and disorientated. She’ll be upset because she won’t have her baby with her. So you’ll need to be strong for her.”
He could remember nothing more except for the single defining moment when he’d looked into the transparent cot and met his daughter for the first time. “Can I touch her?” he’d said, awestruck. Her tiny head looked utterly vulnerable, eyes scrunched shut, threads of dark hair plastered to her scalp.
“Give her your finger to hold,” the midwife instructed him.
He’d reached out tentatively, stroking the wrinkled skin on the back of her hand. Her tiny fingers opened and gripped tight. And Alex was a captive.
He had sat with Lynn until she woke, then told her about their miraculous daughter. Pale and exhausted, Lynn had wept then. “I know we agreed we were going to call her Ella, but I want to call her Davina. After Mondo,” she said.
It hit him like a train. He hadn’t given Mondo a thought since he’d arrived at the hospital. “Oh Jesus,” he said, guilt eating into his joy. “That’s a good thought. Oh, Lynn, I don’t know what to say. My head’s all over the place.”
“You should go home. Get some sleep.”
“I need to make some phone calls. Let people know.”
Lynn patted his hand. “That can wait. You need to sleep. You look exhausted.”
And so he had left, promising to return later. He’d got no further than the hospital entrance before realizing he didn’t have the strength to make it home. Not just yet. He’d found the bench and collapsed on it, wondering how he was going to get through the next few days. He had a daughter, but his arms were still empty. He had lost another friend, and he couldn’t begin to think about the implications of that. And somehow he had to find the resources to support Lynn. Until now, he’d always coasted, safe in the knowledge that Ziggy or Lynn would be there in his corner when push came to shove.
For the first time in his adult life, Alex felt horribly alone.
James Lawson heard the news of David Kerr’s death as he drove to work the following morning. He couldn’t resist a grim smile of satisfaction as it sank in. It had been a long time coming, but finally Barney Maclennan’s killer had got what he deserved. Then his thoughts turned uneasily to Robin and the motive he’d handed him. He reached for the car phone. As soon as he arrived at headquarters, he made for the cold cases squadroom. Luckily Robin Maclennan was the only one in yet. He stood by the coffee maker, waiting for the hot water to filter through the grounds into the jug below. The machine covered Lawson’s approach, and Robin jumped when his boss said abruptly, “Did you hear the news?”
“What news?”
“Davey Kerr’s been murdered.” Lawson narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized the detective inspector. “Last night. In his home.”
Robin’s eyebrows rose. “You’re kidding.”
“I heard it on the radio. I phoned Glasgow to double check it was our David Kerr, and lo and behold, it was.”
“What happened?” Robin turned away and spooned sugar into a mug.
“At first glance, it looked like a burglary gone sour. But then they realized he had two stab wounds. Now, your average panicking burglar might strike once with a knife, but then he’s going to leg it. This one made sure Davey Kerr wasn’t going to stick around to tell tales.”
“So what are you saying?” Robin asked, reaching for the jug of coffee.
“It’s not what I’m saying, it’s what Strathclyde Police are saying. They’re looking at other possibilities. As they put it.” Lawson waited, but Robin said nothing. “Where were you last night, Robin?”
Robin glared angrily at Lawson. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Calm down, man. I’m not accusing you of anything. But let’s face it, if anybody has a motive for killing Davey Kerr, it’s you. Now, I know you wouldn’t do something like that. I’m on your side. I’m just making sure you’re covered, that’s all.” He put a reassuring hand on Robin’s arm. “Are you covered?”
Robin ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, no. It was Diane’s mother’s birthday and she took the kids across to Grangemouth. They didn’t get back till after eleven. So I was home alone.” Worry creased his forehead.
Lawson shook his head. “Doesn’t look good, Robin. First thing they’re going to ask is why you weren’t in Grangemouth, too.”
“I don’t get on with my mother-in-law. Never have. So Diane uses my work as an excuse when I don’t show up. But it’s not like it was the first time. It’s not like I was trying to get out of it so I could drive across to Glasgow and kill Davey Kerr, for Christ’s sake.” He pursed his lips. “Any other night, I’d be home and dry. But last night…Shit. I’m screwed if they get a whisper about what Kerr did to Barney.”
Lawson reached out for a mug and poured himself a coffee. “They won’t hear it from me.”
“You know what this business is like. Bloody gossip central. It’s bound to get out. They’ll start unraveling Davey Kerr’s past, and somebody will remember that my brother died saving him after a stupid suicide attempt. If it was your case, wouldn’t you want to talk to Barney’s brother? Just in case he’d decided the time was right to settle the score? Like I said, I’m screwed.” Robin turned away, biting his lip.
Lawson put a sympathetic hand on his arm. “Tell you what. Anybody from Strathclyde asks, you were with me.”
Robin looked shocked. “You’re going to lie for me?”
“We’re both going to lie. Because we both know you had nothing to do with Davey Kerr’s death. Look at it this way. We’re saving police time. This way, they’re not going to expend time and energy looking at you when they should be looking for the killer.”
Reluctantly, Robin nodded. “I suppose so. But…”
“Robin, you’re a good cop. You’re a good man. I wouldn’t have you on my team otherwise. I believe in you and I don’t want your good name dragged through the mud.”
“Thanks, sir. I appreciate your confidence.”
“Think nothing of it. Let’s just agree that I came round to your house and we had a couple of beers and a few hands of poker. You won about twenty quid off me and I left around eleven. How’s that?”
“Fine.”
Lawson smiled, chinked his mug against Robin’s and walked away. That was the mark of leadership, he believed. Figure out what your team needs and deliver it before they even knew they needed it.
That evening, Alex was on the road again, heading back to Glasgow. He’d eventually made it home, where the phone was ringing off the hook. He’d spoken to both sets of grandparents. His parents had almost seemed embarrassed to be so thrilled, in the light of what had happened in Glasgow. Lynn’s mother and father had been incoherent, devastated by the horror of their only son’s death. It was still far too soon for them to take any consolation from the birth of their first grandchild. The news that she was in the neonatal unit only seemed another cause for grief and fear. The two phone calls left Alex in a zombie state beyond tiredness. He’d e-mailed their friends and workmates a simple announcement of Davina’s birth, then he’d unplugged the phone and crashed out.
When he woke, he couldn’t believe he’d only been asleep for three hours. He felt as refreshed as if he’d been out cold round the clock. Showered and shaved, he’d grabbed a quick sandwich and the digital camera before heading back to Edinburgh. He’d found Lynn down in the neonatal unit in a wheelchair, gazing happily at their child. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she’d demanded at once.
“Of course she is. Have you had a hold of her yet?”
“The best moment of my life. But she’s so tiny, Alex. It’s like holding air.” She flashed a look of anxiety at him. “She’s going to be OK, isn’t she?”
“Of course she is. Gilbeys are all fighters.” They held hands, willing him to be right.
Lynn gave him a troubled look. “I feel so ashamed, Alex. My brother’s dead, but all I can think of is how much I love Davina, how precious she is.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I’m elated, and then something reminds me of what’s happened to Mondo, and I come crashing down to earth. I don’t know how we’re going to get through this.”
By the end of the afternoon, Alex too had held his daughter in his arms. He’d taken dozens of photographs, and he’d showed her off to his parents. Adam and Sheila Kerr hadn’t been up to the journey, and the fact of their absence reminded Alex that he couldn’t stay cocooned in the delights of new parenthood forever. When the auxiliary brought Lynn her evening meal, he’d got to his feet. “I should go back to Glasgow,” he said. “I need to make sure Hélène’s OK.”
“You don’t have to take responsibility,” Lynn protested.
“I know. But it was us she called,” he reminded her. “Her own family’s a long way away. She might need some help making the arrangements. Besides, I owe it to Mondo. I wasn’t a very good friend to him in recent years, and I can’t make up for that. But he was part of my life.”
Lynn looked up at him with a sad smile, tears glistening in her eyes. “Poor Mondo. I keep thinking how frightened he must have been at the end. And to die without having any chance to make your peace with the people you love…As for Hélène, I can’t imagine what it must be like. When I think how I’d feel if anything happened to you or Davina—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me. Or to Davina,” Alex said. “I promise you.”
He thought of that promise now as he covered the miles between joy and sorrow. It was hard not to feel overwhelmed by the turn his life had taken recently. But he couldn’t afford to succumb. There was too much depending on him now.
As he approached Glasgow, he rang Hélène. The answering machine redirected him to her mobile. Cursing, he pulled over and listened to the message again, noting down the number. She answered on the second ring. “Alex? How is Lynn? What’s happened?”
He was surprised. He’d always considered Hélène to be too obsessed by her own concerns to care about anyone other than herself and Mondo. That concern for Lynn and the baby had penetrated her grief to the point where it was the first thing she referred to astonished him. “We’ve got a daughter.” They were the biggest words he’d ever uttered. He felt a lump in his throat. “With her being premature, they’ve got her in an incubator. But she’s doing great. And she’s beautiful.”
“How is Lynn?”
“Hurting. In every sense. But she’s OK. And you? How are you?”
“Not good. But I’m coping, I guess.”
“Listen, I’m on my way to see you. Where are you?”
“The house is still a crime scene, apparently. I can’t go back till tomorrow. I’m staying with my friend, Jackie. She lives in the Merchant City. Do you want to come here?”
Alex really didn’t want to face the woman Hélène had betrayed Mondo with. He thought about suggesting neutral ground, but it felt pretty heartless in the circumstances. “Give me directions,” he said.
The flat was easy to find. It occupied half of the second floor of one of the converted warehouses that had become the residential badge of success for the city’s singles. The woman who opened the door couldn’t have looked less like Hélène. Her jeans were old and faded with rips at the knees, her sleeveless T-shirt proclaimed she was 100% GRRRRL and revealed muscles that Alex reckoned could benchpress her own bodyweight without breaking sweat. Just below each bicep was an intricate tattoo of a Celtic bracelet. Her short dark hair was spiked with gel and the look she gave him was every bit as barbed. Dark eyebrows were drawn down over pale blue-gray eyes and there was no welcoming smile on her wide mouth. “You must be Alex,” she said, her Glasgow roots instantly obvious. “You’d better come in.”
Alex followed her into exactly the kind of loft apartment that never graced the pages of interiors magazines. Forget sterile modernism, this was the den of someone who knew exactly what she liked and how she liked it. The end wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crammed untidily with books, videos, CDs and magazines. In front of it was a multigym, dumbbells lying carelessly to one side. The kitchen area had the kind of untidiness that comes with regular use, and the sitting area was furnished with sofas that owed more to comfort than elegance. A coffee table was invisible under stacks of newspapers and magazines. The walls were decorated with big framed photographs of sportswomen, from Martina Navratilova to Ellen MacArthur.
Hélène was curled in the corner of a tapestry sofa whose arms testified to the presence of a cat. He crossed the polished wood floor to his sister-in-law, who raised her face for their customary exchange of air kisses. Her eyes were puffy and shadowed, but other than that, Hélène seemed back in command of herself. “I appreciate you coming,” she said. “Thanks for coming when you should be enjoying your new baby.”
“Like I said, she’s still in neonatal care. And Lynn’s exhausted. I thought I might be more use over here. But…” he gave Jackie a smile. “I see you’re being well looked after.”
Jackie shrugged, the hostile expression never wavering. “I’m a freelance journalist, so I can be a bit flexible about my hours. You want a drink? There’s beer, whiskey or wine.”
“Coffee would be great.”
“We’re out of coffee. Tea do you?”
Nothing like being made to feel welcome, he thought. “Tea’s fine. Milk, no sugar, please.” He perched on the far end of the sofa from Hélène. Her eyes looked as if they’d seen far too much. “How are you doing?”
Her eyelids fluttered. “I try not to feel anything. I don’t want to think about David, because when I do my heart feels like it’s breaking. I can’t believe the world can go on and him not be in it. But I need to get through this without cracking up. The police are being horrible, Alex. That dull-looking girl in the corner last night? You remember?”
“The policewoman?”
“Yes.” Hélène gave a snort of derision. “It turns out she did French at school. She understood our little conversation last night.”
“Oh shit.”
“Oh shit, is right. The detective in charge, he was here this morning. He spoke to me first, asking about Jackie and me. He told me there was no point in lying, his officer had heard all about it last night. So I told him the truth. He was very polite, but I could see he is suspicious.”
“Did you ask what had happened to Mondo?”
“Of course.” Her face tightened in pain. “He said there was very little they could tell me. The glass in the kitchen door was broken, maybe from a burglar. But they haven’t found any fingerprints. The knife that was used to stab David was one of a set. From the knife block in the kitchen. He said that, on the surface, it looks as if David heard a noise and came down to investigate. But he stressed those words, Alex. On the surface.”
Jackie returned, carrying a mug whose transfer of Marilyn Monroe had suffered some attrition from a dishwasher. The tea it contained was an intense dark tan. “Thanks,” Alex said.
Jackie settled on the arm of the sofa, one hand on Hélène’s shoulder. “Neanderthals. The wife has a lover, therefore the wife or the lover must want to be rid of the husband. They can’t imagine a world where adults can make more complex choices than that. I tried to explain to this cop that you could have sex with someone without wanting to murder their other lovers. Asshole looked at me as if I was from another planet.”
Alex was with the cop on this one. Being married to Lynn didn’t make him immune to the charms of other women. But it made him repudiate the notion of doing anything about it. In his book, lovers were for people who were with the wrong partner. He could only imagine how distraught he’d feel if Lynn came home and told him she was sleeping with someone else. He felt a stab of pity for Mondo. “I suppose they’ve got nothing else to go on so they’re focusing on you,” he said.
“But I am the victim here, not the criminal,” Hélène said bitterly. “I didn’t do anything to harm David. But it’s impossible to prove a negative. You know yourself how difficult it is to dispel suspicion once the finger points. It drove David so crazy he tried to kill himself.”
Alex shivered involuntarily at the memory. “It’s not going to come to that.”
“Damn right, it’s not,” Jackie said. “I’m going to talk to a lawyer in the morning. I’m not standing for this.”
Hélène looked worried. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Why not?” Jackie demanded.
“Aren’t you supposed to tell your lawyer everything?” Hélène gave Alex a strange sideways look.
“It’s protected by lawyer–client privilege,” Jackie said.
“What’s the problem?” Alex demanded. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Hélène?”
Jackie sighed and rolled her eyes upward. “Christ, Hélène.”
“It’s OK, Jackie. Alex is on our side.”
Jackie gave him a look that said she read him better than her lover.
“What have you not told me?” he asked.
“It’s none of your business, OK?” Jackie said.
“Jackie,” Hélène protested.
“Forget it, Hélène,” Alex got to his feet. “I don’t have to be here, you know,” he said to Jackie. “But I’d have thought you needed all the friends you can get right now. Especially among Mondo’s family.”
“Jackie, tell him,” Hélène said. “Otherwise he’ll go away thinking we’ve really got something to hide.”
Jackie glared at Alex. “I had to go out for about an hour last night. I was out of dope and we wanted a joint. My dealer’s not the sort of guy to give alibis. And even if he did, the police wouldn’t believe him. So, technically, either one of us could have killed David.”
Alex felt the hair on the back of his neck rising. He remembered the moment the night before when he’d wondered if Hélène was manipulating him. “You should tell the police,” he said abruptly. “If they find out you’ve lied, then they’re never going to believe you’re innocent.”
“Unlike you, you mean?” Jackie challenged him contemptuously.
Alex didn’t like the undercurrent of hostility swirling around him. “I came to help, not to be a whipping boy,” he said sharply. “Have they said anything about releasing the body?”
“They’re doing the post mortem this afternoon. After that, they said we can make the funeral arrangements.” Hélène spread her hands. “I don’t know who to call. What should I do, Alex?”
“I suppose you’ll find an undertaker in the Yellow Pages. Put a notice in the papers, then contact his close friends and relatives. If you like, I can deal with the family end of things?”
She nodded. “That would be a big help.”
Jackie sneered. “I don’t suppose they’ll be very keen to hear from Hélène when they find out about me.”
“Better if we can avoid that. Mondo’s parents have got enough to cope with,” Alex said frostily. “Hélène, you’ll need to arrange somewhere for the purvey.”
“The purvey?” Hélène said.
“The funeral meal,” Jackie translated.
Hélène closed her eyes. “I can’t believe we’re sitting here talking about catering when my David is lying on some mortuary slab.”
“Aye, well,” Alex said. He didn’t have to say what he thought; the blame hung in the air between the three of them. “I’d better be getting back.”
“Does she have a name yet, your daughter?” Hélène asked, clearly casting around for something uncontroversial to say.
Alex gave her an apprehensive glance. “We were going to call her Ella. But we thought…well, Lynn thought she’d like to call her Davina. For Mondo. If you don’t mind, that is?”
Hélène’s lips trembled and tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Alex. I’m so sorry we never took the time to be better friends with you and Lynn.”
He shook his head. “What? So we could feel betrayed as well?”
Hélène recoiled as if from a blow. Jackie moved toward Alex, hands bunching into fists at her side. “I think it’s time you left.”
“Me, too,” Alex said. “See you at the funeral.”