Trapped and tackled, p.15
The Party House, page 15
Just then, Josh looked up and met his eye.
Greg gave him a friendly nod, hoping Josh would read it as a message of support. After the fracas last night in the pub, Josh’s attitude towards him had changed, although Greg wasn’t sure if it had been for better or worse. Worse would be if Josh somehow thought that Greg had shopped them about the vandalism to the hot tub. But that was stupid, Josh had no idea that he’d seen them that night. Unless one of them had caught sight of him?
Greg stopped himself from going down that particular path. After last night, surely Josh would realize he’d saved him from an assault charge? Although, Josh could be mad at him for doing exactly that. He’d had a chance to deck Stratton and Greg had protected the owner of the Party House to save his own job.
There was always more than one way to read a situation, and by the look on Josh’s face at the moment, Greg’s way didn’t match his version.
A last thought surfaced as he stood, hesitant, outside the interview room door.
What if Josh should discover that both Stratton and Chalmers had been part of the group that had broken lockdown at Ard Choille? What if he found out that he, Greg, had partied there with them?
Greg
The body was hers. DI Snyder had confirmed this.
He’d known that all along, of course, but still his head buzzed with the words as though a wasp had found its way inside his brain.
That fact established, they were now back on the subject of the Party House.
It was strange, Greg thought, that the more often you tell a story, the more it changes, despite all your efforts. He’d tried to keep it simple, but Snyder had a way of pinning down details, exact details. Some of which he didn’t know or had chosen to forget.
He’d already had a cup of tea, courtesy of Maggie Carmichael, who’d come in to man the hall kitchen. It appeared the officers weren’t used to life without access to a drinks machine and had asked Malcolm if tea and coffee facilities might be made available.
The tea had been good and strong, exactly what Greg had needed, although at more than one point in the proceedings he would have preferred a dram. The first, when Snyder had told him that the body was Ailsa. The second was now, as he was questioned on his whereabouts when both the house and subsequent hot tub were being constructed.
‘Lord Main began building the tree house about seven years or so ago, before Ailsa . . .’ he began, before realizing that he couldn’t bring himself to say either the word ‘disappeared’ or ‘died’.
‘I wasn’t here during some of the time.’ He hesitated. ‘I went away to work on an estate in northern England. Came back when my father died. The house was almost finished by then. I took over my father’s position as head keeper on Blackrig. Not long after that, Lord Main died and his family sold the estate. Locals stopped calling it Ard Choille after Global Investment Holdings rented it out as a party house.’
‘What about the slabs down at the lochside? Were they there when Ailsa disappeared?’
And there was the question he’d been dreading.
He pretended to think for a bit. ‘Lord Main planned a patio area down by the loch where village folk liked to swim, but I’m not sure exactly when the slabs were laid.’
This time he was lying, hoping it didn’t show. He’d gone over this again and again in his head. The area had been prepared, a mix of soil and sand, which was why it had made such an easy grave. Much easier than digging one in the woods.
Snyder exchanged a quick glance with DS Reid.
‘Were contractors still working on the house when Ailsa disappeared?’
‘There were some changes made inside after Global Investment Holdings bought it.’ Which was true enough. ‘So it’s possible workmen were about. Although there were holidaymakers here by then. In the hotel and B&Bs round about . . . and a few folk at the campsite.’
‘Campsite?’ DS Reid said, as though that was the first she’d heard of it.
‘A spot set aside by Lord Main for wild camping along the shore from the swim area. I remember some of the campers were at the ceilidh. I was manning the bar that night with Caroline Campbell. The campsite was shut down when the new management took over. No money in it, they said.’
The interrogation was bringing those terrible times back again. Things he didn’t want to remember.
He was aware that Snyder was observing him closely. Greg imagined the blackness of his soul was being examined. Would the detective uncover the real truth of what had happened that night? So many secrets, probably better left hidden.
The sound of an argument coming from the main hall stopped whatever Snyder had been about to ask next. Rising, he said, ‘Thanks for coming in, Mr Taylor. We’ll be in touch.’
Summarily dismissed, a relieved Greg followed them out, keen himself to find out what the noise coming from the big room was all about.
Glancing in at the open door, he saw a couple of uniforms holding Josh Huntly and Finn Campbell apart. Something had made Caroline’s normally mild-mannered younger brother really angry with Josh. He wondered what that might be.
Finn wasn’t one of Josh’s gang, although Greg thought they were friendly enough, in a distant sort of a way. Hence, he was pretty certain Finn hadn’t featured among the crew that had wrecked the hot tub that fateful night.
Of the two, Finn’s face was definitely the most furious. If Greg had been asked who among the village lads might take a potshot at Josh Huntly, he would never have chosen Finn.
Yet here he was, being prevented by the police from landing one on Josh.
What on earth had provoked him to behave like that?
Catching Finn’s eye, Greg shook his head, trying to get over the message that this wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Finn.
Finn said something to the restraining officer and, moments later, was released.
It struck him that Finn, like most of the villagers, including himself, probably wished the body had never been found. What Josh had unearthed with his anger-filled assault on the hot tub had brought this horror down upon them all.
Joanne
It was sheer luck she’d gone to the window in the hope that she might see Greg’s Land Rover heading up the drive.
She’d heard a vehicle on the gravel, but it definitely wasn’t Greg, or the post van, but a mystery car instead.
Joanne immediately withdrew from the window and retreated into the kitchen. Since Stratton had spotted her with Greg outside the pub, she was in fear that he might arrive unexpectedly at Beanach to check if she was staying here rather than in the village, as she’d told him.
Her second and more frightening worry was that Stratton, having encountered her, would set about getting in touch with Richard to tell him the story of how he’d run into her in Blackrig, writing a piece about the virus village.
Her heart slamming in her chest, she quietly moved into the back porch and waited, cursing herself for not locking the front door (which Greg never did) and planning her escape on to the hill at the back if need be.
‘Greg!’ a female voice called. ‘Joanne! It’s me, Caroline.’
Realizing she would have to emerge, Joanne quickly prepared her excuse and, marshalling herself, re-entered the kitchen.
‘Caroline. Sorry. I was out the back and didn’t hear the car arrive.’ Even as she said the words, she knew how dire her excuse was. Of course she would have heard the car approach if she’d been outside, even at the back. She should have said she’d been in the bathroom. At least that might have sounded probable.
Caroline made a face. ‘I thought you were hiding from someone. Maybe that arse Aidan Stratton,’ she joked.
‘I wasn’t sure, when I didn’t recognize the vehicle,’ Joanne was relieved to admit.
Caroline gave a nod, signifying her agreement. ‘I missed Greg when he was at the village hall earlier and wanted a word with him,’ she said.
‘I haven’t seen Greg all day. I thought he was out stalking.’
‘I was told he was at the village hall being interviewed again about Ailsa,’ Caroline said, throwing Joanne a worried look. ‘The word is that the body they found is definitely Ailsa.’
When Joanne couldn’t find the words to respond to this, Caroline said, ‘Is it all right if I wait here for Greg? I need to speak to him about Finn.’
‘Finn?’
‘My younger brother. I heard he got into a fight in the hall today when he was waiting to be interviewed. Greg was there at the same time and I wanted to talk to him about it. See if he saw what happened.’
‘Of course,’ Joanne said. ‘I could make us some tea while you’re waiting?’
‘Don’t worry. I can do that,’ Caroline immediately said. ‘I know where everything is.’
Joanne, not sure whether to be grateful or annoyed, decided to say nothing. Caroline was obviously trying to claim ownership of Greg’s kitchen, indicating how often she’d stayed here with him. Or perhaps even lived here.
Now the kitchen and every other room in the house, particularly the bedroom, took on a different hue.
Caroline, seemingly oblivious to Joanne’s discomfort, produced a pretty tray (where had she found that?) with a teapot and two china cups and saucers, none of which Joanne had known existed.
Pouring for her, Caroline said, ‘This is the Earl Grey I left in the cupboard. I hope you found it?’
Joanne decided it was time to fight back. ‘Greg makes fresh coffee for us in the morning,’ she said with a smile, ‘and he cooks for us at night.’
Touché.
Caroline accepted this without dispute. ‘Yeah, he’s used to fending for himself and he is a good cook.’
There was a few minutes silence while they sipped and Joanne swithered between wishing Greg would come home, thereby reinstating her as the woman of the house, and hoping he wouldn’t. Something told her he would not be impressed to discover the two of them sitting drinking tea in his kitchen.
Caroline eventually broke the silence.
‘Now the police have confirmed the body as Ailsa’s, you probably should be told more about her.’ She waited as though for permission to go on.
The truth was, Joanne was dying to know more, but wasn’t sure she should say so.
Caroline continued anyway. ‘People felt safe here in Blackrig. Ailsa’s disappearance changed all of that. I had just found out I was pregnant. Greg was so excited about being a dad, and then our world fell apart.’ She looked down at her clasped hands as though remembering. ‘I lost the baby, of course.’ Her voice broke a little. ‘All that worry and trouble. Greg was heartbroken. That’s why he went away.’
Joanne, shocked by such a revelation, tried to cover this by giving a brief nod, as though she already knew that part of the story.
Caroline carried on, mentioning how Ailsa had all the men in Blackrig running after her. ‘And those, like Greg, who weren’t chasing her, she made a point of chasing them,’ she said. Her face grew grim. ‘Truth was, she was a devil and caused a lot of distress to folk in the village. Her parents were nice people, but they could do nothing with her. They’d brought her here to get her away from a bad crowd in Glasgow, but she just brought the trouble with her. Some of her city boyfriends turned up here too, bringing drugs in to sell. She was taking a cut on that.’
The story rolled on, while Joanne sat mesmerized.
‘She set the village against itself. Then she disappeared and that made it even worse. We all thought at first that she’d skipped it back to Glasgow, but when they couldn’t find her there, her poor parents were devastated and everyone began to suspect one another. We found out through gossip or the police inquiry who’d she been seeing. Many of them married men.’
Joanne listened in silence, not sure why she was being told all of this. Was it designed to put doubt in her head about Greg or to make out he was the only one not caught up in the Ailsa story, because he was in love with Caroline and their coming baby?
Either way, it made her feel bad.
The sound of the approaching Land Rover stopped Caroline mid-story. Nothing was said as they both waited for the door to open and Greg to enter.
Joanne found herself fearful of what his reaction might be at finding them sitting there together, having no doubt been discussing him.
Glancing over at Caroline, she found her demeanour to be much more relaxed than her own.
Forewarned by the presence of the car, which he would obviously recognize as Caroline’s, Greg’s expression when he entered was not one of surprise.
His eyes moved from Joanne to Caroline and back again, clearly wondering what the hell was going on.
‘Good, you’re back.’ Caroline broke the awkward silence. ‘I heard Finn got in a fight with Josh at the hall and that you were there. I came to ask you if you know what they were fighting about.’
‘You should ask Finn,’ Greg said.
‘I can’t. He’s gone off somewhere, which is why I came here,’ she said in a worried tone. ‘Oh my God, he wasn’t part of the gang that smashed up the hot tub was he?’
‘He wasn’t,’ Greg said firmly.
‘How do you know that?’ Caroline demanded.
Greg was silent for a moment and Joanne wondered if he would backtrack on what he’d just sounded so sure about.
‘I think he was angry at Josh for doing that. That’s probably what started it.’
Caroline contemplated this. ‘He was freaked by the Party House folk trying to barge into the ceilidh last night. I don’t want him to do anything stupid,’ she said, looking to Greg as though he might help her with that.
He eventually succumbed to the pleading look.
‘I could try and talk to him if you like, although Finn thinks I do the estate’s bidding, which in a way I do.’ He looked frustrated by that.
Caroline shook her head. ‘It’s okay. I’ll speak to him myself when he cools down. I’d better get home in case he comes back.’ She looked to Joanne. ‘Thanks for the tea. It was nice talking to you.’
Joanne watched from the window as Greg walked Caroline to her car.
They spoke briefly, their faces close. At the final moment, Caroline reached up to kiss his cheek before getting into the car. Not able to see Greg’s face, Joanne didn’t know whether he was pleased by that or not.
She learned soon enough. His expression was thunderous when he came back in.
‘She shouldn’t have come here. She did it to make you feel uncomfortable. It was nothing to do with Finn.’
Joanne waited, knowing by his expression, that there was more to come.
‘So,’ he said, looking directly at her, ‘why the hell didn’t you tell me that your real name was Maya Villan?’
Joanne, as angry now as he obviously was, responded with her own question.
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me that Caroline was pregnant with your baby when Ailsa Cummings went missing?’
Greg
So Caroline had told her about the baby. Something she’d promised not to do. He felt the pain again, the suffocating knowledge that the miscarriage had been his fault. If Caroline hadn’t found out about Ailsa, it might never have happened. None of it would have happened.
He stared at Joanne, asking himself why he’d invited her to Blackrig. It was never going to work between them, even before Ailsa’s body was discovered. And yet, looking at her standing there, eyes flashing at him, he wanted her more than ever. That’s why Caroline had told her about the baby, because even now she could read him well enough to know the strength of his feelings for this woman, whatever her name was. And she wanted that to end. She wanted Joanne to leave. She wanted him all to herself. He would, he realized, never be free of Caroline. Just as he would never be free of Ailsa.
In an effort to collect himself, he turned away from her and went to pour himself a whisky.
Joanne’s angry voice interrupted his tortured thoughts. ‘Why not offer me a drink? Is it because I’m no longer welcome here?’
He poured her a whisky and handed it over, their fingers brushing one another. That simple touch softened his anger and, by the look on her face, it’d had a similar effect on her.
She stared at the amber liquid for a moment before setting down the glass, untasted.
‘Maya Villan is my pen name. I use it on my blog. Joanne is my real name. It’s not a crime to have a pen name,’ she said quietly.
‘It’s not a crime to have a past either,’ Greg said. ‘Even if it contains regrettable actions.’ He met her gaze. ‘Isn’t there something in your past you’re not happy about?’
Her face clouded over, indicating that there probably was. She looked as though she might reveal it, then stopped.
‘The dreary dramas of dead yesterdays,’ she said instead, with a wry smile.
‘Did you write that in your blog?’ he said, his mood lightening at her expression.
She shook her head. ‘No, I stole it from a book by someone else.’
When she laughed, he found himself joining in.
‘To the dreary dramas of dead yesterdays.’ He offered up his glass for a toast.
She clinked her glass against his and they sipped their whiskies in unison.
In the quiet aftermath, he tentatively asked if she’d like to eat out tonight. ‘The hotel does excellent seafood. Garlic crab claws are a favourite of mine. I could call Malcolm and book us a table,’ he said, brightening at the idea.
‘You don’t mind showing me off in public, then?’ she said with an enticing smile.
‘Only when I’ve had a good look at you first.’
She set down her glass and pulled him to her.
What followed rattled the table, sending what he recognized as Caroline’s tea cups to crash and spill their remains across the flagstone floor.
Afterwards, he gathered her to him, pressing her face to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her.
