Page 54 of Watching You
‘That’s got to be worth you smuggling me in a bottle of a decent single malt, surely?’
‘It certainly is. And when they let you out, I’m taking you for a steak too. I’ll be sending an artist to work with you and we’ll need to take a formal statement. Is that something you’re okay with?’
‘More than okay,’ Charlie said. ‘It’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in eight months, much as I wish no one had died.’
‘Don’t you worry about that.’ Baarda stood and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘We all have to make the best of every day. I’ll be back to see you, Charlie. In the meantime, you stay safe.’
‘What do I do if I see him again?’
‘I’ll have an undercover officer here with you within the hour. If you see this man, tell the officer. We’ll take it from there. No running after him and starting a fight,’ Baarda told him, mock serious, but not altogether sure Charlie wouldn’t have a go if he got the opportunity.
‘Chance’d be a fine thing. He’s lucky my hips aren’t healed. Wee bastard would be wearing his guts for garters.’
Chapter 36
Twelve Months Earlier
‘We remember Molly as a daughter, as a friend and as a gifted member of the art community. She left those who love her far too soon and will never fulfil her extraordinary potential. And yet we are grateful for her life and for the time she spent with us, every day a precious gift.’ The reverend put his hand out to hover vaguely over the urn that was situated next to a large photo of Mol at eighteen, running up a beach towards Beth who had immortalised her unconstrained grin and shining eyes with a camera.
Turnout to the service was poor. Beth hadn’t been expecting many people following the damage to Molly’s reputation, and she believed it was better that way. Next there would be a reading, something suitably sombre with an edge of positivity.Molly is in a better place. Molly’s pain is at an end. Molly wouldn’t want anyone to mourn for long.All the true but useless things people say at times like this. Beth had organised the memorial service for public closure. All the other arrangements had taken place with her alone to witness them.
The service was no help to her. Her daughter was gone. She lived alone. There was no one to go home to and no one to start the next day with. Molly’s bedroom was almost exactly as it had been the night the paramedics charged in, but different in all the ways that mattered. Beth had cleared up the bottles of pills and stripped the bedding. The photos of her and Molly had been moved from her daughter’s bedside table to somewhere they could still be appreciated. Once a day she went in and sprayed Mol’s favourite perfume so she could pretend for a few blissful seconds at a time that the room wasn’t unoccupied, and that her daughter might come barrelling out at any moment, holding an armful of paint-spattered clothes, a paintbrush tucked behind her ear because she was so used to feeling it there that she could hardly bear to be without it.
As for Mol’s studio, Beth had given the landlord notice on the lease and begun the long, painful task of packing up the contents and sending everything to a new home. Molly had left detailed instructions for the completed canvases.
For two weeks, Beth had stayed at home, made arrangements and written articles for local papers about her daughter’s life and work. Then, because she could no longer bear the silence and emptiness, she’d gone straight back to work to fill herself up with the all-consuming concentration demanded by scalpels, sutures and surgery.
People sent cards and flowers that only served to make Beth more furious. Former friends, conspicuous in their absence from Mol’s life when it mattered, wanted to make themselves feel better after reading the announcement of her death. Members of the art world who’d skittered away and taken shelter when Molly’s reputation had taken a battering were waxing lyrical about her talent and potential to anyone who stood still long enough to listen. It was sickening.
But the extremes of Beth’s hatred – the Mount Everest peak and Mariana Trench floor of her loathing – were reserved for a single man. Karl Smith was no longer just some probably impotent, sexually frustrated, pathetic piece of shit who had decided that toying with her daughter’s life was what it took to get him off. He lived inside her head in every free moment, breathed heavily in her ear as she jogged to pound her loss out on the streets, watched as she adjusted to cooking meals for one, and peered at her from the corner of her bedroom as she tried to fall asleep each night in a too-empty, too-lonely house. The idea of him was literally consuming her, her body weight dropping every few days, as she exercised more than ever and ate less than ever.
Her daughter was not there for her to hug in the morning because of him. She was not there to share a bowl of popcorn with in the evening because of him. Mol could not be heard singing in the kitchen or the garden or the bathroom because of him. Beth’s new life was brittle and unsteady, and while not all of it was hopelessly dark, she had lost enough that she hardly recognised herself in the mirror.
While she’d never in her life been violent or vengeful, never wished anyone harm or thought how best to ruin another’s life, bringing Karl Smith to justice was all she could think about. Justice, or a timely accident. Beth could only hope.
Chapter 37
17 June
Lively sat on a bench outside the entrance to the geriatric rehabilitation centre with a walking frame in front of him, dressed in pyjamas, a dressing gown and slippers he’d sworn he’d rather die than wear. Salter had purchased the outfit for him especially, and loved every minute of it.
Other similarly camouflaged officers had been strategically positioned around every possible entrance, including the ambulance and morgue doors where undercover officers had been given staff clothing. Lively, as the oldest member of the Major Investigation Team, had been the only choice for the geriatric spot. To be fair, he also still had a bandage on his neck, so at least they hadn’t had to fake that part of his disguise.
Lively had met Charlie and had a chat about their suspect’s comings and goings, and they’d figured out that they must have crossed paths during the early part of Lively’s career, a fact that didn’t help him feel any younger, although he’d liked Charlie instantly. He had, however, insisted that Charlie be moved to another part of the hospital for the duration of theoperation. As unlikely as it was, if Charlie spotted the suspect first from the lounge window and caught the man’s eye with the wrong expression on his face, there was a chance he’d realise the game was up and run. Worse than that, there was a possibility it would make Charlie a target, and that would be unforgivable.
None of the hospital staff had been shown the images of the suspect for the same reason. The alternating scrubs the suspect had been seen wearing made it clear that he wasn’t a real member of staff and equally that he was unlikely to be attending appointments, so Superintendent Overbeck’s one decision had been to minimise disruption within the environment. Only the police team and hospital security had seen the collection of images to facilitate surveillance.
Sooner or later, Police Scotland would have no choice but to release the image to the press as a ‘person they were keen to talk to’ or ‘potentially an important witness’ to encourage an identification, but an undercover operation was everyone’s preference.
Connie was staying out of the way after her newspaper interview, and Baarda was off-site too in case anyone had investigated Dr Woolwine and found images of the two of them together. Every other spare body was at the hospital, though, on wards, in the cafeteria, the gift shop, roaming the corridors or hunkered down in cars.
Lively sighed and opened his newspaper, hoping some kind person would deliver him a coffee and a pastry before long. It had been hours since breakfast, and the need to stay in character meant he wasn’t able to just pop over to the café and get something himself. Like an angel, Beth appeared through the external doors carrying a Thermos flask and a plastic container.
‘I was looking for somewhere to sit and enjoy the sunshine on my break,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
He loved the fact that even without anyone around at all, she was keeping up the charade of not knowing one another. Beth Waterfall was a singular woman.
‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘Bench is a bit hard though.’
