One for sorrow, p.31
One for Sorrow, page 31
‘You make it sound so easy but I don’t have time. I can’t make a commitment to anyone or anything because I’ll end up breaking it a week later. Who the hell wants to set up home with a woman who can’t guarantee she’ll be there to celebrate birthdays or anniversaries, who’ll inevitably have to cancel holidays, and who will definitely bring her work home with her?’
‘I want to,’ Callanach said.
Ava laughed. Natasha didn’t.
‘Only because you do exactly the same,’ Ava said.
‘Which makes us a perfect match. We have no expectations of each other except to be kind and pick up the pieces as necessary. Marry me, Ava. You know me better than I ever wanted anyone to know me. I believe I know you as well as I know myself. No compromise required.’
‘You’re not serious,’ Ava said.
‘I’m pretty sure he is, actually,’ Natasha added, unable to keep the smile from her face.
‘Luc?’ Ava asked.
‘God, you’re already the most demanding woman I’ve ever met. Being married to you can’t be any worse than living and working with you. Are you really going to make me ask you twice?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m either so drunk I’m imagining things, or you just proposed to me while I’m sitting on my office floor, having consumed half a bottle of single malt, with Natasha watching the whole thing, while we’re not even vaguely involved with each other romantically.’
‘I did,’ he said.
‘Oh my god.’ Natasha wiped tears from her face.
‘Don’t you bloody dare start crying,’ Ava told her. ‘Luc, you’re being ridiculous. We’re still closing this case—’
‘We’re always starting, in the middle of, or closing up a case. It’s what we do, but it’s not who we are. I don’t want this to be all I am. If you want the romantic part, then you can have it. I love you. You saved me when I came here. You gathered up all the broken parts of me and jammed them, fairly roughly, back together. We’ve fought side by side, won and lost. We’ve hurt each other and recovered. There hasn’t been a day since I met you when you weren’t in my thoughts, almost constantly. We already live together. I’m not under any illusions about how messy you are, and you know I don’t like to be spoken to for the first hour after I wake up.’
‘Will you still live with me if you get married?’ Natasha asked. Callanach glared at her. ‘Sorry, not the moment.’
‘You want to know if I’ve actually thought this through, or if it’s just because I’m worried about you? The truth is both. I don’t think there was any doubt in my mind that I’d end up asking you this question. I just finally got fed up waiting for you to be ready to hear it.’
‘So it’s my fault now?’ Ava asked.
‘You always make everything your fault. What’s new?’ Natasha asked. Ava rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll shut up.’
‘I have no idea what to say, Luc. None at all. I didn’t see this coming.’
‘Ugh, I have to be allowed to speak. Ava, I love you as if you were my own sister but you can be the most infuriating human on the planet. God only knows why Luc just proposed to you, but the simple fact that one of you came to your senses at last is worth celebrating. You’re perfect for each other, if only because you’re both equally dense when it comes to your private lives. Luc, Ava has been in love with you since the first day she told me about this moody, awkward French guy. She didn’t mention your face at all. When I met you, I couldn’t believe she hadn’t told me how good-looking you were, and I knew then that she was so captivated by you – by what she saw inside you – that she hadn’t really noticed your face, not the way other people do. And Ava, this man worships the ground you walk on. If I didn’t love you both so much, I would have found the whole situation utterly sickening. As for getting married, you have been married in my mind for quite a while now. Nothing much is going to change.’
Ava dashed the back of her hand against her own tears. ‘Do you mean it?’ she asked Luc.
‘Do you need me to put it in writing?’ he replied.
She laughed. ‘Can I have some time? Just to figure out if I’m ready.’
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ve got all the time in the world.’
‘Could we cap it at a week?’ Natasha grinned. ‘I can’t wait more than a week, and I’m the one who has to share a house with you both in the meantime. Also, the tension might give me a second heart attack.’
‘My moment, Natasha. Please zip it,’ Ava warned her. ‘Take me home. I think I need some sleep.’
Luc held out his hand and pulled her up off the floor.
Chapter Forty-Seven
A show of public unity was what the powers that be had asked Detective Superintendent Overbeck to deliver from the press conference. It resembled the head table at a high-powered charity gala. Various dignitaries sat in a long line, ready to have their images captured and reassure the Scottish people that they could now go about their lives without fear. The threat had been successfully neutralised. Overbeck had called Ava to her office earlier and given her a long, cool look before beginning to speak.
‘I’ve considered the comments you drafted for the press conference this afternoon,’ she began. Ava kept her eyes on Overbeck’s nails which were painted beige with white tips. Understated. Not at all the superintendent’s usual style. ‘I’m not sure the tone you’ve adopted is what anyone really wants to hear. We have some politicians with us today. They’ll be looking for a more positive message.’
‘You don’t want me to mention Simeon McTavish’s motivation,’ Ava said. ‘You think the press would be better off not hearing about Quinn and Liam Cook.’
‘I think this city and its people have suffered enough. Sometimes, closing the book firmly and forever is the kinder thing to do,’ Overbeck lectured.
‘But the truth—’
‘Will remain the truth. No one can say any different. But do we need to make excuses for the most violent succession of domestic bombings in Scottish history? We do not. Our responsibility is to the families of those innocent victims taken before their time. Those are the crimes we were tasked with investigating. You did a good job, Ava. You led your team effectively and resolved an almost impossible case, but I cannot let you turn that into some pulpit-style lecture on societal responsibility and police failings.’
‘Can’t let me or won’t let me?’ Ava asked.
‘Same thing. If you can’t do this, then someone else will have to, and please don’t turn it into another battle ground. In the grand scheme of things, I’m doing you a favour,’ Overbeck said. Her usual dry smile was missing. In its place was an unfamiliar weariness. Ava didn’t have the stomach for a fight she knew she couldn’t win.
‘Fine, you do it. Say whatever you’ve been ordered to say. I’ll stand behind you and look deferential. Let the politicians have their day, pat one another’s backs. Maybe you’re right.’ She stood. ‘We can’t honour the dead at the same time that we talk hard truths. But I can’t be party to blaming Simeon McTavish for all the things he did.’ She walked to the door.
‘I don’t want you to leave MIT, DCI Turner,’ Overbeck said. ‘There will always be politics and spin. Someone will always be tasked with packaging the unpalatable and making it smell like roses. You and I still know the truth. Occasionally, that has to be enough.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. I just need to stop believing I can change the whole world and concentrate on the corners of it that matter to me. See you in the conference room.’
Overbeck was at the far end of the table, next to a variety of even more senior Police Scotland officers, three politicians, representatives of both the fire brigade and the ambulance services, the commissioner who had escaped McTavish’s attempt to kidnap her, with the Procurator Fiscal, John Raskin, at the other end. Ava, uniformed, entered as late as she could. The room was stifling. Every possible space was taken. There were so many cameras and tripods that they’d been set up in a horseshoe formation around the edge of the conference room, their operators fitting lenses and checking their shots. Microphones were set up on the top desk. Photographers took the front rows of seating, and behind them were journalists furiously scribbling notes and calling out to one another.
Ava waited for the political spin to begin. There was a moment at the end of each major case when someone took the facts and bent them to their will. Every time, stock phrases were cut and pasted. The police had ‘worked to the best of their ability in difficult circumstances’. They had ‘overcome the odds to vanquish an antagonist, often at great personal and professional expense’. It was always a ‘team effort – every squad, every department, proud of their own’. All as it should be. The facts that were omitted told a different story. Those omissions did not always make a lie of the press release, but they certainly painted the so-called truth in a different colour.
It was a more subdued crowd than when they’d been in the full throes of the investigation. The urgency had gone from the room, as had the excitement. It was no good dressing it up as anything else, Ava thought. Nothing like a high-stakes, life-or-death game of cat and mouse with a bomber to sell papers and fill airtime.
Her mind wandered as she waited for everyone to be ready. It had been the strangest of times at Natasha’s house. Three days earlier Luc and Natasha had turned up to find her less than sober on her office floor. Just minutes later the man she’d been playing her own game of cat and mouse with had proposed marriage. They’d gone home and made her eat toast and drink water, before sending her off for a sleep. The next morning Natasha had crept into her room, climbed into bed with her, and waited for Ava to surface from the depths of her hangover to remember the question Luc had asked her. None of it had felt real.
On paper, it would have appeared the least romantic proposal in history, but somehow Luc had managed to apply his straightforward style and made it perfect. Natasha had been there to witness it and add the same brand of sarcastic exasperation that she’d contributed to the past twenty years of Ava’s life. The proposal had come when Ava was feeling hopeless and useless, precisely when she’d needed it. She pondered it as a sympathy-proposal, then reminded herself that she wasn’t doing Luc justice. He’d never patronised her, and she didn’t believe he was merely trying to save her now.
‘Say yes,’ Natasha had said as Ava had grabbed the bottle of water next to her bed, mouth woolly, throat parched.
‘I need coffee,’ Ava had groaned.
‘You need Luc,’ Natasha had persisted. ‘I know you do, you know you do. And he needs you. Say yes.’
‘Natasha, please.’
‘I won’t stop. He held my hair when I was throwing up after chemo. He changed my bedsheets when I’d sweated through them. He carried me to my bedroom when I was too weak to climb the stairs. He’s funny. He’s also blunt, I’ll give you that, but it’s one of the things I love about him. If I could turn him into a woman, I’d steal him from you in a heartbeat. Say yes.’
Ava pulled the pillow over her face. ‘Natasha, you can’t talk me into this one. I asked for time, and that’s what I need.’
‘Why?’ Natasha persisted.
Ava sighed. ‘Because I screwed things up before. Luc and I tried to have a relationship. I’ve seen so many marriages fail when both parties are police. I can’t imagine how it might feel to be that happy and then lose it.’
‘That’s just choosing not to live because you know one day you’re going to die. Take it from someone who found out the hard way. Choose life, Ava. Choose every fucking day, pain and all, and live it. Say yes.’ She slipped out of bed then and left Ava contemplating her choice.
Ava had got up, showered, dressed, pretended nothing had changed, and no one had mentioned it since. She’d watched Luc, though, when he was otherwise occupied, kissing Natasha on the temple almost every time he walked past her, wordlessly saying, ‘You’re still here, you’re safe, you’re loved.’ Endlessly reassuring with the deft touch of a man who knew what it was to feel scared and lost. Watching him was nothing new. She’d been doing it for months, since they’d moved into Natasha’s to look after her. She’d be an hour into a movie and realise she’d long since ceased concentrating on the screen and had been staring at Luc instead. He’d be cooking as she sat at the kitchen table playing cards, and realise she’d completely forgotten what she was doing in favour of studying the back of his neck or the curve of his shoulder blade. Still, they’d kept their distance from one another. If he’d had the proposal planned, he’d hidden it so well she’d had no idea it was coming. And yet, when he’d said it, it had seemed the most natural, normal, logical thing in the world.
Now Ava was one side of the room behind Overbeck, and Luc was at the far side behind the Procurator Fiscal. The clock was ticking. She had to give him an answer soon. The only question was how brave she could be. Run into a building with men holding guns and hostages? She’d done that. Walk into a room with a psychopathic killer who wanted to use her for leverage? No problem. Make a lifelong commitment to a man she thought she probably loved so much it terrified her? Now that was scary.
‘Let’s begin,’ Overbeck said. ‘Operation Blunt Sword has now been concluded. Simeon McTavish, popularly known as the Edinburgh bomber, died in the Royal Botanic Gardens when an explosive device he had attached to a man named Liam Cook exploded. McTavish was a technical writer for the armed forces. He was a civilian who had low level security clearance to write up military instruction booklets, technical specifications for vehicles, weapons, and so on. It’s believed that is how he came by the knowledge to construct the explosive devices and weaponise the landmine. Mr Cook also died in the blast. No members of the emergency services or the public were seriously injured although a three-year-old girl was left shaken and with superficial cuts and bruises.’
No mention of the fact that Simeon McTavish saved the girl’s life. No explanation that the last thing he wanted was for another girl – another daughter – to die.
‘McTavish used a deserted barn on unused farmland as his base. He kept his kidnap victims there and built his bombs on that site. Thorns found in Gavin Cronk’s feet matched a field in the vicinity and Maura Douglas’ car was discovered there. After police discovered that location, he’d had no choice but to use his own home. Thereafter the bombs were constructed in the garage attached to his house. We’re still searching for a blue Nissan Qashqai that was used in an attempted kidnapping and seen near the farm.’
The Major Investigation Team had arrived at the McTavish house within four hours of Liam and Simeon’s deaths. They’d split up and taken a room each, but what had struck them all as they’d entered the house had been the hallway. There wasn’t an inch of wall space left. Beautifully framed and carefully hung photos of the family adorned the walls. Light dust frosted the glass but Ava had no doubt that through the years the photos would have been lovingly polished every week, and looked at with pride and joy every day. The images showed varying combinations of Simeon and Cora and Quinn and Dolly at each stage of their lives, always beaming with love. The place was alive with it, even after the tragedy. The hallway was a shrine to the power of family, to the extraordinary joy of belonging and knowing you belonged. Other people featured there too, some in just a few photos, others more regular. The McTavish family hadn’t been selfish with their happiness. Ava had lost thirty minutes just staring into their faces, wishing she could turn back time and return those glorious people to a world before the hurt had started.
They’d left the garage to the bomb squad to make safe, then scenes of crime officers had moved in to preserve the evidence. A quick sweep of the house had shown that there were no more undiscovered hostages, no hidden bodies.
A young man had been standing outside as Ava exited. He looked washed out, beaten down by life. Ava saw herself in the disappointment on his face.
‘Was it him?’ he asked as she approached. ‘Did Simeon do the bombings, kill those people?’
‘He did,’ Ava confirmed. ‘Did you know him?’
The young man nodded. ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ he said.
‘Are you all right?’ Ava asked.
‘It was always going to end this way,’ he replied rather than answering. ‘Whatever we tried to do to keep her safe, he just kept coming for her.’
‘You mean Liam, and Quinn?’ He nodded. ‘Could I ask your name? I’d like to put together a better picture of what they all went through. Maybe you could help?’
‘Bit late for that,’ Mark Devlin said, before walking away to start his shift at the shop. Ava didn’t pursue him. He was right. Anything they did now was too little too late.
Overbeck was reading out names that Ava was all too familiar with. The list of the dead was too long and the damage to the city too grievous to pretend that Simeon McTavish’s actions had been anything less than evil, but still Ava’s heart ached.
She looked across at Luc, leaning against the wall, and found him already staring at her. Ava knew then what her answer had to be. ‘Say yes,’ Natasha said inside Ava’s head.
It was the worst possible time. They were grieving personal losses. They were remembering those in their community who’d been brutally murdered. They were contemplating an ineffective system that without radical change would continue to fail stalking victims. Natasha was still not fully recovered and wouldn’t be for some time. Ava finally realised that none of it mattered. Life went on. She could live for the job with her life on pause or choose to embrace it.
Luc tipped his head to one side, raised his eyebrows at her.
Ava gave him the smallest nod. She couldn’t smile, not now with all the cameras pointed at her. Not when so many were still mired in grief. She watched his mouth, saw Luc suppressing a smile of his own and had to look away before their communication was noticed. She looked across the room instead, casting her eyes around the crowd.
