The Baxter House
Lowther Hills
The decision to fight back wasn’t born out of courage. It came from the need to keep believing Derek would rescue her. Otherwise –
Mackenzie didn’t pursue the thought; she’d been there, it wouldn’t take her anywhere good. But so long as there was breath in her body she wouldn’t let the stalker win. He imagined he was the master of the situation, expecting her to cower before him, begging for her life.
She wouldn’t oblige.
The bottled water and the few toiletries he’d brought were against the wall. Mackenzie washed her hands and face and brushed her teeth, hearing the chain rattle with every movement. Her hair was a mess – not that it mattered. She ran a hand through it then lifted the coffee cups and sandwich wrappers, stripped the bed and re-made it, shaking her head at the insanity of the prisoner tidying the dungeon. Lastly, she used her hands to scoop up the trampled food and put it down the toilet. Ridiculous though it was, the effort made her feel better and her will to survive returned.
The car door slamming had become the only sound from the world outside. He came down the stairs carrying two plastic bags with Tesco printed on the side. Letting her starve wasn’t the plan. She got to her feet and stood in the centre of the room, ready, determined to have the first of it, speaking with a confidence that wasn’t real. ‘I know this is about money. I demand you tell me what’s going on. When is my husband coming for me? He’ll pay you.’
His eyes swept the cellar, taking in the changes, finally settling on her. Did she detect a trace of confusion in them?
‘Tell me!’
He ignored her and started to unpack the food. Mackenzie spoke again. ‘You can’t keep me here forever. When this is over they’ll hunt you down. Your fingerprints are all over everything, they’ll put you away for life.’
The stalker stopped what he was doing. His head turned slowly towards her and she knew she was getting to him. That knowledge made her bold. She sneered. ‘What a pathetic excuse for a human being. Hiding behind your stupid mask. Don’t you remember? I know who you are.’
‘Shut your mouth.’
Mackenzie taunted him. ‘Take it off. Be a man for once in your life!’
She lunged at him, teeth bared. He drew back but wasn’t fast enough, she caught him and ripped the balaclava away. His reaction was beyond anything she’d expected. His fingers closed round her throat, his face inches from hers, distorted in hate.
‘Bitch! You silly fucking bitch! You’ve no idea what’s going on. Forget about your husband, he won’t be coming for you. And after I’m finished, he won’t want you. Nobody will want you.’
Mackenzie smelled stale cigarette smoke. Light flashed behind her eyes, the room started to fade and his voice seemed far away, cursing her.
‘Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!’
Unless she could break his hold her life would end in this dungeon. Instinctively she brought her knee up hard; he howled and staggered away.
The victory was short-lived. He recovered and they circled each other in the middle of the cellar, moving one way and then the other with the chain dragging on the flagstones. Mackenzie searched for something to defend herself with, but there was nothing. The stalker read her mind, took off his belt and tightened it between his hands, grinning like a maniac, certain he was going to win.
She jumped on the bed and gathered the length of chain, turning it into a weapon. It cut through the air with a swooshing sound. Her first attempt to hit him fell short; he stepped out of range and she missed. Her second attempt failed, too.
He laughed. ‘You little fool. I could strangle you right here and now. Be years before anybody finds you. What’s left of you, that is, after the rats are done.’
The belt snapped taut and struck her face. She screamed in pain. For a second her courage failed her as she realised how, inevitably, it would end.
The punch caught her hard across the mouth, knocking her to the floor. He towered over her and kicked her in the ribs. Something cracked. The pain was unbearable as he kicked her again. She struck out wildly with her legs, not knowing where the next blow would fall. He grabbed the chain, dragging her like a dog across the room and back to the bed, panting like an animal. The tracksuit and her underwear were torn from her and thrown away like rags and his mouth found her breasts, biting so hard they bled, making her cry out. He ran his hands over her smooth skin, and grinned as the belt struck her flesh. Then he pinned her under him and forced her thighs apart. Through tears she saw the cold look in his eyes. He hit her once more and Mackenzie’s mind closed down as she retreated to another place.
Ring a ring o’ roses…
a pocketful…
atish…
The cellar was in darkness. Every bone, every muscle in her body ached. Her face was sore and swollen, her lip was cut and her breasts so bruised and tender that just breathing brought pain bad enough to make her call out. Dark memories crowded on the margins of her mind, terrors old and new, ready to overwhelm her. Mackenzie didn’t want to think but couldn’t help herself.
The assault had been vicious and degrading. Goading him brought it sooner rather than later. Her naive assumption he’d keep his side of the deal and set her free must have amused him. Her fingers searched for the flimsy sheet, pulled it over her naked body and she lay still, despising herself for being foolish enough to imagine he’d ever meant to return her to her family.
That had never been his intention even if the money was paid, because she’d seen his face – the first time in the supermarket, the day she’d run from him, Buchanan Street, and now here – she could identify him. Her fate had been sealed when they hadn’t believed the stalker was real.
Mackenzie closed her eyes and sought the oblivion of sleep. She didn’t cry; there were no more tears.
The alarm went off at six forty-five and, for the first time in a week, Derek was hungry. He showered, shaved and went downstairs to make scrambled eggs. Mackenzie had rarely cooked, and anytime she’d made an attempt at it, managed to burn the arse out of the pan.
Before he left, he cleared away the last of the bottles and dropped them into a black bin bag in the kitchen. The drinking wouldn’t go on. The previous afternoon he’d put a stop to it. It was time to get his life back.
Derek had made two calls the night before, the first to the woman who cleaned for them informing her she could resume her duties the next morning, the second to the gardener.
Rose Hawthorne was delighted to hear from him: the house was beautiful, she liked working there and was happy to go back; she’d missed the money, too. So she didn’t ask questions. Mr Crawford wasn’t a man who explained himself. He’d given no reason when he put her twice-weekly visits on hold – though she had her suspicions his wife was giving him trouble. More than once she hadn’t been able to vacuum or change the bed because Mrs Crawford was still in it. On those days, she tiptoed into the room and opened a window to let some air in: the figure in the bed didn’t move. Sad to watch a young woman ruin her health with alcohol.
Rose didn’t drink. She’d seen the damage it could do, with her father and after that her husband before he went to AA and got help. They’d been married thirty-two years now, had three children and seven grandchildren, but in the early years they were headed for divorce. She wanted to give Mrs Crawford a hug, sit her down, and convince her that, whatever was at the root of it, it would be all right.
But it wasn’t her place and she kept her opinions to herself.
Archie Campbell’s reaction was more measured. The gardener had learned that, despite what they said, people didn’t appreciate you if you were too available. He promised to fit Derek in later in the week if it didn’t rain – the best he could do.
At ten-to-nine, Derek pulled the Audi on to the showroom forecourt in Hamilton Road, Mount Vernon, and went to his office. It amused him to see the panic on the salesmens’ faces, stubbing out their cigarettes and hurriedly finishing their coffee because the boss was back. Around eleven o’clock he got a call telling him someone was here to see him.
‘Who is it?’
‘A policeman.’
‘What does he want?’
‘Wouldn’t say. Needs to speak to you.’
‘Keep him waiting then send him in.’
Ten minutes later, Geddes came through the door, flashed his ID and introduced himself.
‘Detective Sergeant Geddes.’
Crawford stood, offered his hand then gestured to the chair across from him.
The detective looked round. ‘This takes me back.’
‘Really?’
‘Bought a car from you, must be fifteen years ago, maybe longer.’
Crawford smiled. ‘Hope you haven’t come to ask for your money back.’
‘Not at all. Got 200,000 miles out of it before it gave up the ghost. Traded it in to Arnold Clark.’
‘Glad to hear we didn’t get landed with it.’
Crawford scrutinised the officer: stocky, short dark hair, bulldog jowls, and an undisguised intelligence behind tired eyes. ‘Are you after another motor?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Then what can we do for you, Detective?’
‘We’ve had a missing person report.Your wife.’
Crawford’s bonhomie fell away. ‘That’s ridiculous. This is between me and Mackenzie. Not a police matter, surely? Understood it was your policy to avoid getting involved in domestic upsets.’
‘In the normal scheme of things, you’d be right. Except we’re duty-bound to follow up on some of them.’
Crawford was barely able to contain his anger. ‘Who? Who reported her? She isn’t missing, as you put it. How the hell did anybody get that idea?’
The detective’s tone didn’t change. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘I’m not supposed to know. That’s the bloody point.’
Geddes knew from experience Crawford had to be hurting. Few husbands would be keen to talk about their wife dumping them. He’d been caught unawares and it showed in his blustery response: the man was embarrassed.
‘Has she contacted you?’
‘Of course she hasn’t. With respect, I don’t think you’re getting this, Detective. My wife’s left me for another man.’
‘Yes, so I believe.’
Crawford sat up straight. ‘You’re well informed.’
The policeman leaned across the table. ‘I apologise, Mr Crawford, this can’t be easy for you.’
‘What do you want me to tell you?’
‘Everything.’
‘All right. Although you’ve obviously been told already. Mackenzie has a serious drink problem. She didn’t appreciate me trying to help her, so she’s found somebody who doesn’t mind that she’s pissed all the time.’
‘Just how bad is her drinking?’
Crawford turned his cheek to show the fading marks of the cut. ‘She hid bottles in the garden, all over the house. I’d get home, she’d be out of it, and I expect you’ve been told about her fiasco at the party.’
‘I assume you suggested she needed help.’
‘A hundred times. First you need to admit there’s a problem.’
‘And she didn’t?’
‘No, no. She admitted it easily enough. Swore she’d do something about it. But she never did.’
‘Did you consider divorce?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Even at its worst?’
‘I don’t believe in it. You don’t understand, do you? I love Mackenzie and, even if she doesn’t act like it, she loves me. We belong to each other.’ Crawford paused. ‘At least I thought we did. The woman who drank wasn’t her. So no, I never thought about divorce. All I wanted was my beautiful wife back.’
‘When did she tell you about being stalked?’
Derek lost it. ‘Ah, please, please. Can’t we drop this fantasy once and for all? For the last time. Yes, there was a man in Buchanan Street, and no, he wasn’t stalking anybody. Unless you mean waiting for Mackenzie to cause a scene and walk out on me.’
Geddes repeated the question. ‘When, Mr Crawford?’
‘The first time was after I caught her drinking again. She tried to convince me a guy was following her in the supermarket.’
‘How did you react?’
‘I wanted to go to the police. She backtracked, said she’d probably imagined it. The next time was in Buchanan Street. I’d suggested a day in town. Mackenzie agreed – reluctantly – then deliberately started a row so she could leave me and meet him.’
‘You think she was having an affair with him?’
‘Wouldn’t you if some bastard waved at your wife?’
‘He waved? What did Mackenzie say?’
‘Claimed he was following her but I’m not that stupid. He was waiting for her. She tried to cover it up, of course. But believe me it was her he was there for. She’d picked a fight so she could go to him.’
‘Describe him.’
‘He looked like…a man. Just a man.’
‘How old would you say he was?’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, the age thing again. Yes, he was younger than me. Is that what you’re asking? Look, this is a bloody waste of time.’
‘Her family don’t know where she is. They want to be certain she’s safe.’
Crawford sneered. ‘Whatever else my wife is, she’s safe.’
‘And after that?’
‘The last time was at the party. Mackenzie admitted in front of the whole family that he was her lover. We didn’t talk about it after that and she started going out on her own at night.’
‘Had she done that before?’
‘Yes, that was the pattern. Whenever she stopped drinking she went out by herself. Wouldn’t tell me where or who she was meeting.’
Talking about it had upset him. He rubbed his hands together, agitated. Geddes gave him a moment to pull himself together.
‘How did you deal with that?’
‘I didn’t. She’s a grown woman. Short of chaining her to the radiator I couldn’t stop her.’
‘You seem very sure she was meeting someone.’
‘Sure? Of course I’m sure, I followed her twice and saw her get into a car at the end of the street.’
‘Who was driving?’
‘A man.’
‘The man from Buchanan Street?’
Crawford shook his head. ‘Couldn’t get close enough.’
‘What about the car?’
‘Too far away to see the number plate but it was a blue Vectra, the same as my brother-in-law’s.’
Geddes raised an eyebrow. ‘Gavin?’
Crawford’s lips met in a thin line. ‘So it was him that reported it. Cheers, Gavin, I owe you one. No, not him. Blair, Adele’s husband.’
‘Isn’t it possible he was just running her to her sister’s?’
‘I spoke to them about it. Adele didn’t know what I was talking about.’
‘And Blair?’
‘He didn’t say anything. Looked uncomfortable. Probably because I said the car was the same as his.’
‘Both times?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yet you can’t identify the driver?’
Crawford heard the implied criticism; his reply was terse. ‘I can’t or I’d have said so, wouldn’t I?’
Geddes let it go. ‘And that’s as much as you can tell me?’
‘’Fraid so. I was concentrating on Mackenzie. Besides, this is where we live.’ He corrected himself. ‘I live. Didn’t want the neighbours to know the mess we were in.’
‘What did she take with her?’
Crawford moved in his seat. ‘It’s difficult to guess. My wife had a lot of clothes, could’ve filled two suitcases without making a dent in her wardrobe.’
‘Are there suitcases missing?’
‘We have more suitcases than you can count, so again, sorry but I don’t know.’
‘Did she drive?’
‘Not a chance. Last thing I need is Crawford Cars on the front page of the Daily Record when she ploughed into some poor buggers standing at a bus stop.’
‘How much money did she have?’
‘Whatever was in her purse.’
‘Have you checked the bank?’
‘No need. It wasn’t a joint account. Mackenzie was irresponsible. Her behaviour forced me to keep a tight grip on her spending.’
‘Credit cards?’
‘I’ve cancelled them.’
‘Then she hasn’t run off with a bundle of cash?’
Bitterness salted Crawford’s reply. ‘Maybe her boyfriend’s got a few bob?’
Geddes stood. ‘Okay. Thanks for your time. Seems straightforward enough. Though I still need to interview the family and I’ll need to get a look at the house.’
Crawford relaxed. ‘I’ve been out of the business because of this. As you can imagine, I’m up to my elbows in it. But the cleaner’s there this morning. I’ll tell her to expect you.’
‘That would be helpful.’ Geddes dropped his card on the table. ‘If your wife contacts you, let me know.’
Crawford’s final words revealed his resentment. ‘And if you do find her, please tell her I don’t want her back. Under any circumstances.’
Geddes glanced out of the car window at Derek Crawford’s house. Some people really did have it made. If he gave up eating and drinking and saved every penny he’d earn in a couple of lifetimes he still wouldn’t be able to live like this. Maybe just as well. It would’ve been sore to see his ex-wife’s Rottweiler lawyer persuade the judge her lazy bastard client was entitled to half of it.
A curtain rustled. Someone was watching. Before he reached the front door it opened. A woman wiped her hands on the blue overall she was wearing and brushed back her fair hair.
‘Rose Hawthorne. Mr Crawford told me you were coming.’
He showed his warrant card. ‘DS Geddes.’
‘Is something wrong?’
If the cleaner wasn’t aware her boss was missing, it could only be because Derek Crawford hadn’t told her, which spoke volumes about their relationship.
‘Just need a quick look round.’
The hall was bigger than Geddes’ lounge, expensively furnished with floral designs reminding him of the 1980s, for his taste, twee then and twee now. Nothing was out of place and the detective had the impression of a show house rather than a home.
Rose saw his expression, remembered the first time she’d seen inside, and misjudged his reaction. ‘Impressive, isn’t it.’ Said with pride.
Geddes played the game. ‘Very. Is it hard to keep clean?’
‘Not really, there’s only the two of them. Different if there were kids. Not what I tell them, of course.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Best part of two years.’
‘Do the wages match the house?’
The cleaner laughed. ‘Joking, aren’t you? Folk with money like to hold onto it. How most of them got it in the first place. Thought you’d know that.’
‘I do, but I live in hope there’s always the exception.’
‘Well, when you find them, put in a good word for an honest working woman, will you? I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.’
Geddes strolled into the lounge. Giant orchids towered above swirly pink leaves against a beige background, and a neat pile of books, meant to impress rather than be read, sat on a glass-topped coffee table: Renaissance Florence; Napoleon’s Commentaries on Julius Caesar; The History of Olive Oil. Geddes sensed he was witnessing somebody’s notion of perfect. People would spoil it. Whatever he was looking for wouldn’t be here.
He climbed a broad mahogany staircase to the top floor and went into the first bedroom he came to. Like the lounge below, it was decorated with the same excess, as if waiting for Alice to scramble back up the rabbit hole.
Next door was every woman’s dream: full-length angled mirrors, shoe racks, bag racks and a hairdressing station. The best was to come. Off to the side, a walk-in wardrobe caught the detective’s attention: hundreds of garments – some on hangers, some folded on custom-built shelves, others with the price tag still on them – dared him to guess what might be missing.
could’ve filled two suitcases without making a dent
Derek Crawford had told the truth. Only the lady who wore these clothes could know. Or perhaps her cleaner. In the master bedroom overlooking the front of the property, the Day of the Triffids theme was back on the walls. Geddes went downstairs. Mrs Hawthorne met him at the bottom. ‘Find what you were after?’
‘Could you look at something?’
She hesitated and stepped back, suddenly wary. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘If you could just come upstairs a minute. I’d like you to take a look at Mrs Crawford’s wardrobe. See if you notice anything she might’ve taken with her.’
‘Don’t know anything about Mackenzie’s clothes. She sent her laundry out. Mr Crawford insisted. Liked a professional finish. But what’s going on? Why’re you really here? Where’s she gone?’
‘Sorry to put you on the spot. Mrs Crawford’s been reported missing.’
Rose reacted to the shocking news. ‘Oh my God! I knew there was something up when it was him who phoned me.’
‘Her family’s worried about her. We need to be satisfied she’s safe. It may be she’s just left her husband and nothing to do with the police. But we can’t be sure until we have all the facts. Whatever you can add is valuable. You’re here every week. That puts you in an ideal position to help.’
Geddes could see she was upset and softened his approach. He held up his hand. ‘Scouts’ honour. Everything you say is between us.’
The cleaner’s obvious uncertainty made him add ‘Promise.’
She smiled. ‘Doubt you were ever in the Scouts.’
‘You’re right, I wasn’t. It was the Cubs.’
‘And how long did that last?’
‘Not long. Got drummed out.’
‘What for?’
‘Childishness.’
Despite herself, Rose Hawthorne laughed and Geddes was in.
The tea was strong and sweet like his mother had made it. Geddes sat on a barstool at the marble-topped island in the middle of the kitchen and ate the digestive Rose offered him.
‘The biscuits are mine, by the way. Bring them with me. Don’t want you to think I’m stealing.’
Geddes answered honestly. ‘Never occurred to me.’ He waved at their surroundings: the outsized fridge, double-oven and the copper-bottomed pans hanging from a rack on the ceiling.
‘Surely your employers can afford a couple of McVities?’
Rose saw it differently. ‘Doesn’t matter whether they can or can’t. Bring my own. Teabags, too. Avoids misunderstandings, if you know what I mean.’
‘Are the Crawfords difficult to work for?’
‘No. Mrs Crawford’s a lovely woman. When she’s at herself she’ll make coffee for both of us. We sit here and chat. Some days nothing would get done if I didn’t call a halt to it.’
‘Sounds like she’s lonely.’
Rose realised where the conversation was headed. ‘Aren’t we all?’
‘Why doesn’t she do what you did, get a job?’
The cleaner glanced down at the blue overall and laughed. ‘What? Like mine, you mean? Sticking her head down somebody else’s lavatory pan? Can’t see it. Besides, she had a job.’
‘Where?’
‘Garden centre near the Ayr Road.’
‘Had?’
‘She packed it in. Shame really, it was good for her.’
‘When was this?’
‘A month, maybe six weeks ago.’
‘Did her drinking have anything to do with it?’
The cleaner lifted her cup and the plate of biscuits and took them to the sink. She came back wiping her hands and avoided looking at the detective. She’d closed down. Geddes guessed he’d crossed an invisible line. Gossip was okay – up to a point – betraying a confidence was something else. Mackenzie Crawford had been lucky. Rose Hawthorne was a friend.
She brushed imaginary crumbs off the table. ‘You’re asking the wrong person. I only work here.’
‘The family say their sister has a problem with alcohol.’ Geddes paused. ‘What do you say?’
‘That it’s none of my business.’ Rose Hawthorne changed the subject. ‘Doesn’t surprise me though.’
‘What?’
‘That she left him.’
‘Why doesn’t it?’
She pulled on pink rubber gloves. ‘Chalk and cheese.’
‘You mean the age difference?’
‘No. My husband was older than me, it wasn’t a problem.’
‘Then what?’
‘Mrs Crawford’s a person who lights up a room when she comes into it. At least she was.’
‘What changed?’
‘That I can’t tell you. As I say, I only work here.’
‘Yes, but she talked to you.’ Geddes pressed for an answer. ‘What happened? Was it the drinking?’
‘The drinking came later. Mackenzie drank because she was unhappy.’
‘In her marriage?’ He wanted to add ‘who isn’t?’ and stopped himself.
Rose sat down. ‘This is a beautiful house and the money’s pretty good. I like it here, don’t ruin it for me.’
‘Finding out where she’s gone is all I’m interested in. ‘Why’ seems like a good place to start. Maybe you can tell me.’
The cleaner sighed and stripped the gloves off. ‘You have to understand, Mr Geddes, all I got was one side of the story: Mackenzie’s side. He’ll have a different tale to tell.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Of course. Mackenzie’s nice, but she’s complicated. Must’ve been hell coming home and discovering your wife in the states she got into. Sympathise with him.’
Geddes said, ‘Don’t like him, do you?’
The reply was frank. For Rose Hawthorne the jury was back and the verdict was in.
‘Not much, no.’
‘Because of what Mackenzie said or is there another reason?’
She thought about it and frowned. ‘Because of what I saw. He treated her like a child. Kept her locked up in this ivory tower. Gilded cage, more like. You’d imagine a successful businessman would entertain, have dinner parties…yet, in all the time I’ve been cleaning here, there’s been no socialising at all. And to my knowledge nobody ever comes to the house. Mr Crawford won’t have it. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?’
Geddes nodded.
‘One afternoon she came downstairs crying.’
‘Was she drunk?’
‘Not at this stage, just very unhappy. Told me that before they got married he’d stopped her from meeting her friends. She’d wanted to start seeing them again but he refused.’ She snorted. ‘Apparently, he didn’t approve of them. Imagine marrying a woman young enough to be your daughter and insisting she can’t have company her own age. Bloody old fogey.’
‘When was this?’
‘I’d only been here a few weeks so, yes, about two years ago. After that she changed completely, started drinking. Bottles hidden all over the place. The gardener would find them in the hedges; empties mostly. I’d take them away and put them in my bin. It was sad. On the surface she had everything. In reality she was shrivelling away’
‘Did Mackenzie ever mention she was seeing somebody else?’
The question surprised her. ‘No. No, she didn’t, though I did hear her on the phone to somebody a couple of times.’
‘What about a man following her, did she say anything about that?’
Rose sat straight in the chair, obviously shocked. ‘Has something bad happened to her?’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘My God! Poor girl.’
The woman behind the counter at the garden centre had the whitest teeth Geddes had ever seen. He asked if he could speak to the manager and saw her brow furrow.
‘Certainly. I’ll get Mr Morrison for you.’
While he waited he looked around. He wasn’t a gardener and would rather poke himself in the eye with a fork than come there. It said retirement, surplus to requirements – the thing Andrew Geddes dreaded most. Colleagues counting the days, sticking it out until they could take the pension, had persuaded him there wasn’t anything good down that road. The job could be a bastard, no argument there, but it was better than spending the morning in the bookies and the afternoon in the boozer. Or worse. Cutting the grass, pruning the roses, worrying whether an overnight frost would damage the marrows and mooching around places like this. Too often, death arrived early. Geddes complained about the brass as much as the next man but they’d have to drag him out, screaming and kicking, or carry him in a box.
A tall man wearing a short-sleeved shirt and the company tie introduced himself. The DS flashed his warrant card. ‘I’d like to speak to you about an employee: Mackenzie Crawford.’
‘You mean, former employee.’
It was going to be one of those conversations.
‘How long did she work here?’
‘Off the top of my head I’d say nine or ten months.’
‘Why did you let her go?’
The manager rubbed his hands together. ‘No choice I’m afraid. Mackenzie was a good worker and I liked her. The customers liked her. Knew her stuff, too.’
‘So what was the problem?’
He glanced round, afraid of being overheard. ‘Maybe we’d be better off in my office.’
Geddes followed him to a door and watched him tap a code into a keypad. Inside the room was tiny, the desk awash with paper. They sat down. The policeman took up where he’d left off.
‘You were going to tell me about the problem. Was she drinking?’
Morrison toyed with a pen. ‘I spoke to her more than once about turning up smelling of alcohol. She’d apologise and promise it wouldn’t happen again.’
‘But it did.’
He nodded. ‘After the third complaint I took her aside and said I was letting her go.’
‘How did she react?’
‘Not well. Broke down. In the end I ran her home.’ He looked at me. ‘Have you seen the house? Most people who work here, and I include myself, need the money. Obviously that wasn’t the case with Mackenzie. Yet she wasn’t happy. Never understand that, do you?’
Geddes didn’t reply. ‘Who were her friends?’
The manager shook his head. ‘Didn’t seem to want them.’ He corrected himself. ‘Well, that’s not strictly true. She got on well with everybody but it stayed on the shop floor. Any time the girls invited her on a night out she always turned them down. Maybe they didn’t fit in with her social scene, or maybe she was shy and that’s where the drinking came in. Mackenzie just did her job and left.’
‘To your knowledge did anyone ever meet her from work?’
‘Something at the back of my mind says yes. You’d need to ask the staff.’
‘I will.’
‘Were there any incidents?’
Morrison’s brow furrowed. ‘Not sure what you mean.’
‘Did Mackenzie complain about somebody making her feel uncomfortable, maybe watching her?
‘Not to me, but again that’s probably something she’d say to the girls.’
Geddes called it quits. Morrison couldn’t tell him anything. He got up to go. ‘I’ll speak to a couple of her colleagues if that’s all right.’
‘Of course. Try Sylvia and Angela. They were closer to her than the others.’
His curiosity got the better of him. ‘Mind if I ask what this is about?’
The DS fielded the question. ‘Just a routine enquiry at this point. Mrs Crawford left home rather suddenly and naturally her family are worried.’
‘Right. I hope she sorts herself out. She’s a nice person.’
At the door the detective sprung perhaps the most telling question of all. ‘Would you take her back?’
The manager found something interesting to watch over the policeman’s shoulder.
‘Honestly? Because I liked her, I let the drinking go on longer than I should.’
‘Is that a yes or a no?’
He grimaced. ‘Sorry. I’d have to think about it.’
Gavin Darroch stood in the middle of his lounge. What he was about to say wouldn’t be popular and he was nervous. Adele, Blair and Monica waited for him to begin. He cleared his throat. ‘You’re wondering why I asked you to come. Okay, long story short, I’ve contacted the police about Mackenzie.’
The bombshell exploded in silence.
Adele’s face was taut with anger. When she found her voice, she said, ‘How dare you. How dare you, Gavin! We know what’s happened. Mackenzie bloody well told us, or have you forgotten? She admitted she had a lover and screamed she was leaving Derek. Who, by the way, is her husband.’
He tried to justify himself. ‘Fine, except she didn’t take anything with…’
His sister cut him off. ‘I don’t care what she took and what she didn’t take. It doesn’t matter She’s gone off with another man. Derek’s the one who should decide if the police need to be called. Derek. Otherwise known as the injured party. Can’t believe you did that without talking to the rest of us. She’s my sister too.’
Monica said, ‘Wouldn’t have imagined domestic upheavals were much of a priority unless violence is involved. Not a crime otherwise. Did they take it seriously?’
‘Serious enough to put her name on the Missing Persons Register.’
Adele wasn’t impressed. ‘Don’t they have better things to do?’ She made a dismissive noise. ‘For years you ignored her existence. Now you suddenly morph into Superbrother.’
‘Not true. And unlike you I’ve never been jealous of her. It’s staring out of you.’
‘That’s a bloody lie. She’s spoiled and selfish, and because you don’t like Derek you don’t want to admit it.’ Adele let it all out. ‘A sorry excuse for a brother you turned out to be. Mackenzie isn’t here to tell you, so I’ll say it for both of us. But what’s new? When Mum and Dad needed you, you were missing. Now you’re riding to the rescue like a bloody knight in bloody shining armour.’ She dropped to one knee and held out her arms. ‘My hero! Don’t make me laugh.’
Monica defended him. ‘That’s not fair. Gavin’s always been there for you and Mackenzie. He was doing what he thought was right. You’re convinced there’s nothing to worry about, what if there is?’ She spoke to her husband. ‘What did they say?’
‘I met a detective sergeant I know from playing five-a-sides. His attitude was the same as Monica’s, not much interested until I told him she’d left everything behind. Changed pretty sharp when he heard that.’
Blair said, ‘And where is it now?’
‘Already questioned me. He’ll want to interview all of you.’
Adele mocked Blair. ‘No use asking what you think, is there darling? I’ll bet the idea of Mackenzie with a lover makes you sick. Well, get used to it, because that’s the reality.’
He didn’t respond and kept to the purpose of the meeting. ‘For what it’s worth, I support Gavin. It’s been five days. Mackenzie hasn’t contacted any of us. That feels wrong. Getting the police in on it makes sense.’ He glanced at his wife. ‘Adele could be spot-on, but why take a chance? We’ve waited long enough. As for Derek, from what he told us when we visited him, he doesn’t care if he never saw Mackenzie again. Good riddance, so far as he’s concerned.’ Blair ran a hand through his hair. ‘I agree Gavin should’ve discussed it though maybe that wouldn’t have been the best thing. I mean, listen to us. He took the action he thought was justified. We’ll live with the consequences. The question is: is Mackenzie okay? If the answer is yes, it won’t bother me where she is or who she’s with.’
His wife applauded sarcastically. ‘Nice speech. Pity I don’t believe it.’
Monica tried to change the subject. ‘What’s this policeman friend called?’
‘Andrew Geddes. And he’s not a policeman, he’s a CID detective. A good guy. Imagine he’s good at his job, too. Bloody awful at football.’
Nobody laughed.
Monica got up. ‘Anybody for coffee, I’m having some?’
Before they could reply, the kitchen door opened and Derek Crawford barged in. His eyes ran over the group and settled on Gavin. None of them had ever seen Derek out of control. His eyes were wild and he was breathing heavily.
‘Who the hell do you think you are, Darroch? Do you realise what you’ve done? Do you have the slightest notion?’
‘What’s wrong, Derek?’
‘Had a visitor this morning, thanks to your brother. A copper. Everybody in the fucking showroom saw him.’
Gavin tried to apologise. ‘I understand how you feel. Adele thinks I overstepped the mark. If so, I’m sorry. But Mackenzie’s my sister and you said you were out of it. Somebody has to look out for her. No offence was intended, honestly.’
Adele said. ‘No wonder you’re upset, it’s a bloody disgrace. Must be sorry you ever met this family!’
Blair butted in, ‘Gavin was concerned. Surely we can all understand that?’
Derek directed his anger at him. ‘What about you? You’re the one the police should be talking to. You bastard!’
‘Me?’
‘Yeah! The car Mackenzie got into was the same as yours. I saw it.’
Blair reacted. ‘The same as mine. But not mine. There’s a big difference.’
Derek’s fists balled at his sides. ‘Of course you deny it. Wouldn’t expect anything else, especially in front of your wife.’
Adele’s cheeks burned. Having their marital problems publicly discussed by someone else mortified her, but it was what she already believed.
Blair said, ‘Leave Adele out of this. It isn’t true and I object to you claiming it is. If you thought the car was mine why wait ’til now to challenge me about it? Wasn’t the guy in Buchanan Street supposed to be Mackenzie’s lover? They’re queuing round the block according to you.’
Derek grabbed his brother-in-law by the throat, threw him to the floor and started hitting him. ‘You bastard! You barefaced lying bastard. She got into your car. I saw her! Where is she?’
Gavin prised his hands free, one finger at a time, forcing him to release his grip. In the middle of the room Derek snarled and panted, eyes blazing. ‘We all know how you feel about her. She’s with you. Tell the truth, Adele deserves that much.’
Blair got to his feet; there was blood on his shirt. ‘What the hell’s got into you, Crawford? Mackenzie’s left you. And not before time. I don’t blame her. Try asking yourself why. You saw her getting into a car? Well it wasn’t my car.’ He shot an angry look at his wife. ‘I should be so lucky.’
Adele burst into tears, in the next room Alice started crying too, and Gavin realised his family had taken dysfunction to a new level. There was no way they could recover from this.
He said, ‘Fighting amongst ourselves won’t get us anywhere. Let’s all calm down and figure this thing out.’ He appealed to his brother-in-law. ‘Blair, please, we’re worried sick. If you know where Mackenzie is, for God’s sake tell us.’
Blair rubbed the bruise already forming on his throat, scanning the faces waiting for his answer. These people were his family yet their minds were made up: Monica, frank blue eyes fixed on him; Derek, tense, poised to attack again; and Adele – his wife – refusing to look at him, convinced he was involved in her sister’s disappearance.
He lifted his jacket. ‘Even you, Gavin. Even you.’