Barry Maitland: Dark Mirror

There was a pause, then a plaintive objection. ‘I have no idea who you are, do I? I mean, you phone me out of the blue…’

‘You’re right. I can give you a number of the Metropolitan Police for you to ring back. It is important.’

‘Och, can you no’ just tell me what this is all about?’

‘I’m afraid I have some bad news, Bessie, about Marion. I’m trying to contact her nearest relatives.’

‘Oh no!’ Kathy heard the woman’s hoarse breathing on the other end of the line and hoped she wasn’t going to faint. She was regretting this call, catching the frailty of the woman at the other end, and thinking she should have handed this over to the Ayr police to deal with. ‘Do you have someone there with you, Bessie?’

‘Aye, the minister, Mr Fotheringham.’

‘Would you mind letting me speak to him?’

There was a clunk as Bessie dropped the phone. Finally a man came on. Kathy repeated who she was.

‘I’m very sorry to have to give Bessie some sad news, Mr Fotheringham. I’m afraid Marion Summers, her niece, died in hospital yesterday.’

‘That’s shocking news indeed. How did it happen?’

‘She collapsed in the library where she was working. She went into a coma and I’m afraid they weren’t able to revive her.’

‘Och, poor lassie. Was it the diabetes?’

‘We’re carrying out a post-mortem to establish the cause. You obviously know her well.’

‘Oh aye. She lived with Bessie for several years before she went down to London, to the university.’

‘Bessie said Marion’s mother lives in London, is that right?’

‘Aye, she moved down a couple of years ago, I believe.’

‘Was Marion living with her?’

‘Hang on, I’ll ask Bessie.’

After a moment he came back. ‘No, they had separate addresses. I have them here.’ Kathy heard the pages of a notebook turning, then he read out the entries. Marion’s mother was Sheena Rafferty, with a home address in Ealing in West London. However the address for Marion was her old one in the student apartments in Stamford Street.

‘You wouldn’t know if she had a partner, a regular boyfriend?’

There was a muffled discussion, then, ‘I’m afraid we can’t help you there. Bessie hasn’t had much contact with Marion of late.’ Then he added, voice cautious, ‘There’s nothing suspicious, is there, in Marion’s death?’

‘We’re not ruling anything out at this stage, Mr Fotheringham. Why? Is there something we should know?’

‘No, no. Bessie hasn’t spoken to her sister-Marion’s mother-for over a year. She doesn’t really know what’s been going on down there. What was your name again?’

Kathy repeated it, and her phone number, and took a note of the minister’s number, promising to get in touch when she had more information.

She rang Dr da Silva’s home number next. He too sounded shocked by the news of Marion’s death, to the point of becoming almost monosyllabic. To each of her questions he returned a series of abrupt negatives. No, he didn’t know where she lived, nor if she had a boyfriend, nor what other close friends she might have had.

Kathy snapped her phone shut and stared out of the car window, tapping her hand impatiently on the steering wheel. It was beginning to look very much as if Marion Summers had been covering her tracks. four

M arion’s mother lived on the second floor of a council block which had seen better days, its brickwork stained, concrete flaking. There was no reply to Kathy’s knock at the front door. A small dark woman rugged up with headscarf and quilted parka approached along the deck carrying bags of shopping.

‘Excuse me, do you know Mrs Rafferty?’ Kathy asked.

The woman looked at her warily and made to move on.

‘Sheena?’ Kathy persisted. ‘Mrs Sheena Rafferty?’

The woman nodded back over her shoulder. ‘Supermarket.’

Kathy followed her glance and saw the grey box in a gap between two blocks of flats. ‘She’s shopping?’

‘She work there.’ The woman shuffled on.

‘Thanks.’

The supermarket was of the cut-price variety, bare concrete floors, industrial shelving and battered trolleys. Kathy found the manager, and saw the look on his face when she showed her identity and said she wanted to speak to Mrs Rafferty.

He pointed to one of the checkouts. ‘What’s she been up to now then?’

‘It’s nothing like that. I have some bad news about her daughter. Is there somewhere quiet I can talk to her?’

The man nodded and turned to speak to a woman stocking shelves, then led Kathy to a small office. Behind them Kathy saw the woman taking Sheena’s place behind her till.

‘Has she been in trouble?’ Kathy asked.

‘Nothing too serious, as far as I know. Borrowing from the other women and not paying them back. We think she and another girl have a quiet line in writing off items at the end of the day and taking them home.’ He sounded bored. ‘Ah, Sheena, come in, close the door. This is a police officer.’

Kathy suspected he knew exactly the reaction that would provoke. A look of panic crossed Sheena’s face. If she had once had red hair like her daughter it was a desperate blonde now, and Kathy could make out no resemblance to Marion in the worn face.

‘I’m DI Kathy Kolla, Sheena. Please take a seat.’ She turned to the manager. ‘I’d like to speak to Mrs Rafferty in private, if you don’t mind.’

He shrugged and left.

Everyone responds to the first impact of shocking news in their own way, Kathy thought. Sheena Rafferty blinked wildly, shook her head and looked bewildered. Kathy suspected this was a learned response, her way of postponing a blow by pretending she couldn’t understand what was going on. Eventually there were tears. Kathy always carried a small packet of tissues in her pocket for just such moments. She had no idea how many she’d gone through over the years.

‘She was such a darlin’.’ It was a Scottish voice all right, but not the attractive soft accent the librarian had described in Marion; this one had a smoker’s rasp. ‘Such a treasure.’

‘Is there someone I can call to be with you, Sheena? A friend, perhaps?’

‘Well, there’s ma husband, Keith…’ She said it with a doubtful frown. ‘But he’s at work. I don’t know if he’ll get away.’

Keith was a driver for a company on the nearby industrial estate, she explained. Kathy called them and they said Keith was out on a delivery, and that they’d contact him and send him home.

The packet of tissues was exhausted before they reached Sheena’s flat, scattered in damp shreds along the route of their walk back together. By the time they sat down in the kitchen and the kettle was plugged in and a second cigarette on the go, an element of realism had crept into Sheena’s account.

‘Och, we didnae always see eye to eye, ye ken. In fact she could be a stubborn wee bitch, but I loved her aw the same.’

Kathy wondered if she was displacing her memories to an early time, because Marion was a good bit taller than her mother, and could hardly be described as ‘wee’.

‘We had our fights, but deep down we were so close.’

‘Can you give me Marion’s latest address, Sheena?’

‘Aye, sure. It’s a student flat in Southwark. I’ve got it somewhere.’

‘Would that be Stamford Street?’

‘Aye, that’s it.’

‘I believe she moved from there three months ago.’

‘Oh.’ Sheena Rafferty looked confused. ‘You may be right. Somebody said somethin’ about that.’

‘Was it Marion? Did she give you her new address?’

‘No, I was goin’ tae ask her.’

‘When did you last see her?’

‘Um, that would have been Christmas.’ Sheena shrugged. ‘We had a wee blue. Nothin’ serious. Her complainin’ about me drinkin’ too much, I think. She could be…’ A memory came back to her, and her face crinkled, tears welling.