Val Mcdermid - Killing the Shadows

“Sounds like you’ve not been to the gym either,” Fiona commented.

Caroline pulled a face. “Julia’s started going to a step class in her lunch hour, so she’s knocked the gym on the head. And we both have so many work commitments, she gets pissed off with me if I spend our two free evenings a week down the gym. I keep telling myself I’ll get up early and go before work. But somehow, I never manage it.”

“You’d feel better if you fitted it in.” Fiona opened her rucksack and took out her water bottle.

“Fiona…” There was a warning in Caroline’s voice.

Fiona laughed. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m not your mother. Shut up, Fiona.” She extended a hand and Caroline gave her a gentle smack on the wrist. It was an old routine, born of the early days of their common grief, when Fiona had fussed around Caroline as a substitute for the caring she could no longer offer her sister.

Fiona took a swig of her water, offering it to Caroline, who shook her head. “If I start drinking in these temperatures, I’ll want to pee within five minutes. And I can’t see a single bit of shelter for the next half-mile.”

“As long as you don’t get dehydrated.”

“Fiona!” This time it was a shout. “You are not my mother. Behave.”

“Sorry. It’s living with a man that does it. Especially one who spends half his time inhabiting a parallel universe.”

“Presumably one where somebody else always remembers to pick up the dry cleaning and puts food in front of him at regular hours?”

Fiona grinned. “It’s not that sort of thing Kit forgets. It’s stuff like being so engrossed in his work that he suddenly looks at the clock and realizes he was supposed to pick me up ten minutes ago. Or missing his stop on the tube because he’s busy having a conversation with himself and coming round to find he’s in Kennington when he should be in Leicester Square.”

“How is he, anyway?”

Fiona got to her feet, stuffing her water bottle into her backpack and shouldering it. “Bloody-minded as ever.”

Caroline, now breathing normally, stood up, giving Fiona a speculative look. Fiona wasn’t given to bad-mouthing Kit. And besides, if she had to divide the bloody-mindedness in that relationship between them, she’d have to award Fiona the lion’s share. As far as Caroline had observed, Kit was pretty laid back. In debate, he was quick and decisive, but never attacked the way Fiona could if she sensed weakness in the opposition that could be bulldozed aside. “Sounds like he’s rattled your cage,” she said cautiously as she fell into step behind Fiona on the narrow track that cut across the shoulder of the hill above the spectacular curve of Water-cum-Jolly Dale.

“You could say that.” Fiona clamped her mouth shut, her eyes on the ground in front of her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m so cross with him,” Fiona said fiercely. “We had a blazing row the other night. He got this death threat in the post, and he refuses point blank to take it to the police. He says it’s just a routine crank letter, but I’m not so sure. It felt very unpleasant to me. And after what happened to Drew Shand…”

“But surely that was a one-off?” Caroline said. “According to all the reports I’ve seen in the Scottish media, they reckon it was a pick — up for S&M sex that went wrong. There’s been no suggestion that anybody outside the gay community could be at risk.”

Fiona scowled at the horizon. “That’s only one possibility. And we don’t know if Drew Shand had any death threats, because all we know is what the police are telling us. I know it’s a long shot to suggest that the killing might have more to do with Drew’s writing than his life, but it’s a possibility, and while it’s a possibility, I think Kit should be taking this more seriously.”

“And that’s what you had a fight about?”

“We’ve hardly spoken since.”

“Presumably Kit understands why you’re so wound up about this?” Caroline said, taking advantage of the path splitting into two parallel tracks to catch up with Fiona.

“I think he’s got the message that I’m concerned about him,” Fiona said frostily.

“But that’s not really what it’s about, is it?”

Fiona said nothing, simply ploughing on resolutely and making great play of looking down at the river as it widened into the still expanse of water created by the dam for the Georgian mill at Cressbrook.

“This isn’t just about Kit, Fiona. It’s about Lesley.”

Fiona stopped in her tracks. “It’s nothing to do with Lesley.” Her jaw was set in a stubborn line.

Caroline came to a halt a few feet ahead of her and turned to put a gloved hand on her arm. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Fiona. You can’t bear the thought of losing him because you’ve already lost Lesley and you know what it feels like when someone you love is murdered. And that fear magnifies the slightest danger into something life-threatening, turning you into a one-woman nanny state.” Caroline paused. Fiona said nothing, so she pressed on. “I understand the phenomenon, because I do it myself. It drives Julia crazy. If she’s in town without the car, I always pick her up. She says it makes her feel like a teenager whose mother doesn’t trust her not to be snogging the local ruffian behind the bike shed.”

Caroline gave a weak laugh. “One time, early on in our relationship, she insisted that I not pick her up after a parents’ evening. So I hung around outside the school and waited till she came out. I followed her home. And I nearly gave her a heart attack because when she was cutting through one of the alleys in the town centre, she heard footsteps behind her and thought she was going to be mugged. That was when she realized that my insistence on picking her up was more about my fears than about her capabilities. So now she goes along with me, in spite of how it irritates her deep down. Fiona, you need to tell Kit why you’ve let this threatening letter take on such huge proportions. If he says it’s nothing, he’s probably right. He knows what his post is like. But he needs to know that you’re not just fussing. That there’s a valid reason for the way you’re behaving.”

Fiona glared at the limestone cliffs on the other side of the dale. “I thought I was the psychologist around here.” Her voice shook slightly.

“Yeah, well, psychologist, analyse yourself.”

Fiona studied the scuffed toes of her walking boots. “You’re probably right. I should explain myself better.” She met Caroline’s steady gaze. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to him.” Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.

Caroline pulled Fiona into a tight hug. “I know.”

Fiona drew back and managed a frail smile. “I’ll talk to him when I get home. Promise. Now, are we going to stand here till we get hypothermia, or are we going to the Monsal Head pub?”

Caroline pretended to consider. “I think, on balance, I’m going to go for the pub.”

“Race you to the dam,” Fiona said, setting off across the hillside at a killer pace.

“You win,” Caroline muttered, following at a more reasonable speed. Twelve years on, and still Lesley’s death was the denning event in both their lives. No matter how much they tried to put it behind them, it was there, ready to ambush them, she thought. Sometimes she wondered if they would ever be free of its embracing shadow. Or even if they actually wanted to be.

Fiona marched up Dartmouth Park Hill from the tube station, determined to set things straight with Kit. Caroline was right; she just hadn’t allowed herself to accept what was driving her determination that he take the letter seriously. Head down, she scuffed through fallen leaves, easily out pacing the late commuters coming home from the office. She reached the left turn into their street in record time, gathering speed as she headed downhill. She was eager now, more than ready to apologize and explain.