Driftnet Page 13

  ‘Okay. Come here.’

  She went over. He took her hand and guided it to the spoon.

  ‘The secret’s in the stirring,’ he said. ‘You must keep a steady rhythm, then quicken as it comes to the boil.’

  His lean body glistened here and there with tiny drops of water. His hand cupped hers, guiding the wooden spoon in a steady circle.

  ‘It needs two more minutes like this.’

  She felt his breath on her neck and nodded without speaking.

  ‘Right.’ He released her hand. ‘I’ll go and get some clothes on?’

  By the time he came back the sauce was ready, and she had lifted it clear of the gas.

  He peered into the pot and gave her the thumbs up.

  ‘Perfect. I hope you’re hungry.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Good. Because I’ve dragged myself away from my computer to do all this for you. I even engaged the experts at the local off licence in my choice of wine.’

  She returned his grin.

  He pulled out a chair at the carefully set table and tucked it in beneath her.

  ‘Now the wine.’

  ‘You said you had something to show me,’ she reminded him.

  ‘That can keep until after dinner. Contrary to popular opinion I do not want to spend all my time in front of a screen. And I don’t always want to talk to people electronically.’

  She laughed. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘That’s okay.’ His hand brushed hers as he filled her glass. ‘Did you walk here?’ She nodded. ‘Good. Because I bought two bottles of this on special offer.’

  She took a sip. ‘They’re very persuasive at the off-licence,’ she said.

  ‘God. You don’t like it.’ His face took on a mock stricken expression.

  ‘No. No.’ She laughed. ‘It’s fine. In fact it’s very good.’

  He passed her the salad.

  ‘Let’s get started then.’

  By the time they reached the coffee stage Gavin had made her laugh at least a half a dozen times and she’d told him in detail why she enjoyed her job so much. He had said much the same about his own.

  ‘It’s the finding out,’ he said. ‘The way, if you poke about long enough, a pattern emerges. A pattern that tells a story.’

  Gavin was just like her, she thought. The way he went at things. He enjoyed solving problems. Not like Sean who never saw any to solve. She felt guilty at her harsh thoughts about Sean. In all fairness she couldn’t criticise him for the very thing she’d liked about him when they first met. His dreamy acceptance of everything.

  ‘Hey!’ Gavin said. ‘You’re miles away.’

  She apologised.

  ‘More coffee, or are you ready to see what I’ve found?’

  ‘More than ready,’ she said, eagerly.

  She followed him into his study.

  ‘Wow!’

  Rhona looked round impressed.

  ‘It’s like the deck of the Starship Enterprise.’

  Gavin looked embarrassed. ‘In my job, you have to be one step ahead of the techno-criminals.’

  A flat wall screen lit up the room, trickling a vertical line of mixed green letters and numbers.

  Gavin smiled apologetically. ‘I’m a Matrix fan.’

  He placed a chair beside his and gestured her to sit down.

  ‘I located a list of adoptions around the date you gave me,’ he said in a business-like voice. ‘All the children come from the Glasgow area and have passed their sixteenth birthday, so they would be able to look for their natural parents, provided they knew they were adopted.’ He was watching her closely.

  He clicked on the screen and a list of names rolled up. Her heart in her throat Rhona began to scan. One name after another. Boys, girls, all unwanted. Given away by the women who had given birth to them.

  Women like her.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Gavin was asking her.

  She nodded, wondering if all the others had forced themselves to forget, like she had. Made new lives, lives that had no place for a child.

  His name and address was near the bottom of the first page. It jumped out at her, as if it too had been searching. Rhona traced each letter intensely, committing the address to memory.

  ‘You’ve found it?’ Gavin took her hand in his.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve found him.’

  The phone beside the computer rang out shrilly. The noise made Rhona jump and Gavin muttered an apology and went through to take the call in the kitchen.

  Liam was the third name from the bottom. Her son had been adopted by James and Elizabeth Hope, of 19 Warrender Park Street, Glasgow, on 3 January 1985. Such a long time ago, yet no time at all.

  Rhona thought back over those years. The terrible despair, six months of punishing herself and Edward for the decision they had made. When he left she was relieved. She didn’t have see his face chronically twisted in irritataion at her behaviour. She had gradually pulled her life back together. And it worked, up to a point. The guilt began to fade and regret flowed in to take its place.

  And all the time, she realised, she had been waiting. Waiting for this moment, when she would find her baby again.

  Rhona reached out and clicked on the printer icon, but the printer remained silent. Then a box appeared on the computer screen, stating that printing had been interrupted, and to please replace the paper tray. Rhona pulled the tray out and pushed it back in firmly.

  Success.

  The green light came on, the printer shunted into life, and the precious printout emerged.

  Rhona picked it up and stared at the address. It was so near. Only twenty minutes from where she was right now. Her insides turned over with excitement. If she wanted to, she could go and see Liam. Stand outside his house and watch for him. She could fill the emptiness of those years with the sight of him. She began to plan, not daring to promise herself that she would actually do it. Deep down, she knew it was wrong, that she should wait for him to come to her.

  Another piece of paper had dropped into the tray. Rhona picked it up and glanced at it, thinking it must be a second page of names.

  But it wasn’t.

  Her eyes dropped from the inscrutable lines of code at the top to the the message at the bottom.

  The nightmare closed over her again.

  Rhona read the words over and over. They conjured up something she could barely grasp. Something horrible. Rhona felt sick. It couldn’t have anything to do with Gavin, she told herself. Not Gavin. It was impossible.

  But was it?

  She thought about the times they had spent together. The way he looked at her, his obvious disappointment when she’d wanted to go home. He had never pressured her. But she knew he wanted her. That was for sure. Tonight in the kitchen, when they were stirring the pot together, his hand on hers. They had both wanted more of the rhythm, the closeness. If she gave the smallest sign, it would happen.

  And all that stood for nothing!

  She felt stunned at what she had seen on the second printout. Could he really be one of those men? Men like that sometimes had girlfriends, wives, children. Rhona refused to pursue those thoughts any further. She would not believe it of Gavin. He had helped her find her son. He had been patient and understanding.

  But Gavin could find anything on the Internet he wanted. He had told her so himself. He had used that knowledge to find out information for her.

  Information she shouldn’t have access to.

  Rhona heard the phone being replaced and her body froze. Then the fridge door opened and there was the clung of a bottle being removed.

  ‘More wine?’ Gavin was calling from the kitchen.

  This is ridiculous, Rhona told herself firmly. It was his job to find out these things. Didn’t he work for the police?

  The voice was nearer now. ‘Or do you fancy a liqueur?’

  Rhona frantically shoved the two pieces of paper in her pocket.

  ‘That would be nice,’ she called back, her voice
shaking slightly.

  ‘Well, which would you like?’ Gavin’s smiling face appeared in the doorway. ‘Whisky, brandy…’

  ‘Whisky please.’

  He looked at her oddly, his head a little on one side.

  ‘But I’ll really have to go soon,’ she said.

  ‘I’d better get my skates on.’

  He reappeared almost immediately and handed her a large glass.

  ‘I’d better get you a printout then to take with you,’ he said.

  ‘No!’ Rhona swallowed her panic. ‘Thanks. I’ve copied the name down already.’

  ‘Where?’ He looked puzzled. She patted her pocket.

  ‘Right.’ He was staring at her now. ‘Let’s go and sit in the comfortable seats then.’

  Rhona avoided the couch and sat in an armchair. Gavin stood for a moment, then chose the side of the couch nearest her. She nursed her glass awkwardly.

  There was silence.

  ‘Rhona…’

  ‘I’m sorry Gavin.’ She stood up. ‘I really will have to go.’

  ‘Rhona. It’s okay you know…’ Gavin’s voice tailed off and Rhona felt suddenly sorry for him. She was being an idiot, she told herself. Why not ask him straight out and get the truth, then they could go back to the way they’d been.

  But it was no use.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she said firmly.

  He sounded disappointed, but resigned. ‘I’ll walk you home then,’he suggested.

  ‘No!’ It was screaming inside her head. ‘No,’ she said again quietly. ‘I’ll manage. I need to think,’ she patted her pocket. ‘Alone.’

  At least this time she was telling the truth.

  He was watching her intently; this man, who in the space of a second, had turned from a potential lover to a potential monster.

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘Let me phone for a taxi then.’

  ‘I’d rather walk. It’s not far.’

  When they reached the door, he bent and kissed her forehead and his lips felt cold against her hot skin.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.

  ‘Right.’

  He held the door open for her and Rhona walked quickly towards the stairs. The sound of her heels echoing in the close and the association brought back a memory of a familiar smell, the smell of sweat and semen and violence and death. And something else. An expensive cologne.

  Chapter 25

  This Caligula was a twisted bastard.

  It was well seen why he’d chosen the name. Bill remembered the television series about Roman Emperors. They had all been cruel. The one called Caligula had outdone them all for visciousness. The way of the flesh was his major passion.

  ‘So we know one of them calls himself Caligula.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Janice.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Childline says there’s another one called Simon who does the recruiting. He befriend boys over the Internet. Meets them. Persuades them into having sex. Takes photos secretly, then threatens to show the pictures to their parents. The kids are terrified. Then he introduces them to other members of the group.’

  ‘And where does Caligula fit into this?’

  ‘They all end up with him eventually, Sir. The boy says he’s the worst. He likes his sex very rough.’

  ‘Okay.’ Bill fought back the rising bile. ‘Can we get the kid to give us a contact number? Email, phone number, address, anything?’

  ‘Childline say he only phones when he’s really terrified, Sir. He won’t answer any questions. Just tells them things and rings off.’

  ‘Does Gavin MacLean know the latest information?’

  ‘Yes. I passed it on to him.’

  ‘What did he say.’

  ‘Confirmed he’d intercepted emails between a Simon and a Caligula, though chances are, he says, that the names will have changed already.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes Sir. We have six names of people who bought curtain material through the Paris shop. We’re checking on them now. And Sir? I think you should know. One of them is Sir James Dalrymple.’

  The call from the Superintendent came five minutes after Bill authorised a phone call to Sir James. It was obvious Sir James had not wasted much time in getting in touch with his old golfing partner. The Super told Bill he understood it was important that he pursue all lines of enquiry but he had it on Sir James’s authority that the material in question had not in fact been used in his home after all. He’d decided against it. A bit too florid for a bachelor’s residence. It was given it to a church sale a year ago.

  ‘Which church, Sir?’

  ‘He doesn’t remember that.’ There was a tutting sound on the line. ‘So,’ a pause, then, ‘you won’t need to bother Sir James any more for now, Bill. He’ll be out of the country for a couple of weeks after the by-election tomorrow.’

  No, thought Bill. It certainly wouldn’t be convenient for Sir James to be interviewed on this matter.

  ‘Let me know if anything else comes up.’

  ‘Of course, Sir.’

  The Super had a shittier job than he had, Bill decided, as he put the phone down. He didn’t envy him having to play golf with the likes of Sir James Dalrymple.

  Bill Wilson had nothing, less than nothing really. Even so he had the feeling. His guts told him. And his guts always knew first.

  Fiona was gratifying delighted at the forecast that Edward might better the last Labour majority.

  ‘That would be a kick in the teeth for that Labour chap, what’s his name?’

  ‘George Rafferty.’

  ‘Horrible little man.’

  ‘Fiona.’

  ‘Well, it’s true.’ She pouted at him from above. ‘Pour me a whisky Edward. I’m almost ready.’

  She disappeared upstairs leaving a heady whiff of perfume. Edward took a deep breath and went through to the sitting room. He liked the smell of women.

  Amy had refilled the decanter with the whisky Sir James had given him. He poured two glasses of the golden liquid and walked through the French windows to the garden. It was a glorious evening to sit outside. The herbaceous border was bright with blossoms. He noticed that the gate from the garden into the woods was standing open. He thought about a quiet walk down by the river to recharge his batteries before tomorrow. He hadn’t been down there for a while. It had been his favourite spot at one time.

  Edward’s thoughts drifted back to a particularly luscious dalliance with a legal secretary. She used to bring his papers to the house for signing and always had time for a stroll through the woods.

  ‘Penny for them!’

  Fiona took her whisky.

  ‘Oh, just thinking how glad I am you found this place for us.’

  ‘Yes. It is rather nice.’ She followed his gaze across the garden. ‘But that’s what I’m good at,’ she turned and smiled, ‘discovering things.’

  Edward looked at his wife sharply. It was always difficult to tell exactly how much Fiona knew. Ever since they had it out over Jennifer (the first one after their marriage), she had given him the impression that she didn’t want to know. They made a good partnership and that was why she was with him. She expected him to go far and she intended to go with him. Fiona accepted that power enhanced men’s appetites.

  They had never spoken of it again.

  ‘Fancy a stroll?’ he asked, thinking longingly of his favourite tree.

  ‘No.’ Fiona settled herself in a wrought iron chair. ‘Let’s just sit and relax.’ She lifted her legs onto the matching stool. The flimsy material of her dress parted revealing her curved calves.

  ‘I want to tell you,’ she began, ‘about my conversation with your little friend, Rhona MacLeod.’

  Whenever Edward had to deal with Rhona, his mind seemed to seize up. Alarmingly, something resembling a conscience would begin to surface. Normally he could suppress any symptoms of conscience, especially when Fiona was voicing the well-rehearsed arguments with which he fed himself.
But this particular subject was different. His emotions were intrigingly unpredictable when it came to this.

  Edward had never doubted that adoption was the right decision. Rhona would not consider abortion. But the ‘what if?‘ scenario still insinuated itself. What if he had married Rhona? What if they had kept the child? He didn’t like the idea there was unfinished business here.

  Fiona interrupted his reverie.

  ‘She told me to forget it. She’d found out what she wanted to know and she was surprised you had discussed ‘the incident’ with me at all.’ Fiona’s voice rose in righteous indignation.

  Edward could imagine. It made him wince. So much for woman to woman.

  The adoption had always been between the two of them. It’s our baby, Rhona would say, emphasising the word ‘our’. We have to decide. So they had decided (Edward liked to pretend it was fifty-fifty) and told no one. How it had hurt Rhona not to tell her precious father. For him to have told Fiona would be a betrayal in her eyes. Well, what did she expect? Fiona was his wife.

  ‘I told her there were no secrets between us,’ Fiona was saying, raising her elegantly plucked eyebrows at him, ‘and I suggested that it was in everyone’s interests that the matter go no further.’

  ‘What did she say to that?’

  ‘She said, “really?” and hung up.’

  Edward took a sip of his whisky. He had no idea how Rhona could have found out where the baby had gone, or even if she had. Either way, he was sure she would tell no one else.

  Chapter 26

  The row was the usual one.

  Money.

  Chrissy got up from the table and took her plate to the sink.

  ‘Go on Chrissy. Just a fiver.’ Joseph’s wheedling tone made Chrissy want to slap him. Of all her brothers, Joseph was the most persistent cadger of money.

  ‘You heard what she said, Joseph.’

  Her mother, the eternal peacemaker.

  ‘Chrissy has no more until pay day.’

  Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall inherit the Kingdom of God.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Joseph’s expression changed to a sneer. ‘I heard she’s got other sources.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Chrissy glared at her brother.

  Joseph was like a circling dingo, not quite brave enough to strike.