was enjoying her moment in the limelight. It wasn’t unusual. Unfortunately, though, she wasn’t giving him very much to go on.
‘Anything else you can tell me, Jenny? No matter how small, anything. Did you see what he had on his feet? Was he carrying anything?’
‘No. Sorry.’ She bit her lip again, dragging at a piece of skin. ‘He just looked normal …’
‘There is something else actually, officer.’ There was a rustle of shifting polystyrene beans as the man stuffed into the beanbag finally stood up.
Gray was about to tell him to wait, then thought better of it. The man was desperate to talk. ‘Go on.’
Dave Morriss cleared his throat. ‘There was something wrong with his face. I saw it as he turned, just before he ran off. Jenny wouldn’t have noticed …’ He glanced across at the girl and gave her a tight smile. ‘She was, er, vomiting at the time.’
Gray’s ears pricked up. ‘Something wrong with his face? I thought he was wearing a balaclava?’
Morriss nodded his head enthusiastically, reminding Gray of one of those little dogs that people put on the back shelves of their cars. ‘Yes. Yes, he was. But I could see there was something wrong with him underneath … his face looked too big. Bumpy. On his cheeks? I think maybe he had some sort of deformity … which is maybe why he was wearing the balaclava?’
Something wrong with his face . Something pinged in Gray’s memory. Something he hoped might push itself further towards the surface sooner rather than later. ‘Doesn’t explain why he was lurking in the bushes, scaring young girls, though, does it?’ Gray said. ‘Deformity or not.’
‘No. I suppose not. Just, well … Maybe you could look up some doctors’ records or something for the area. Maybe you’ll be able to find him like that. He might be registered disabled or something? I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, or anything, but—’
Gray cut him off. He was rambling now. ‘Thank you, Mr Morriss. I’ll certainly be exploring that as a possibility. I’m wondering, though – what makes you think he’s local?’
Morriss and Jenny exchanged a glance. Jenny spoke. ‘Because he ran up through the back of the houses. The cut-through is tiny. No way anyone other than a local could know about that …’
Gray flipped his notebook shut. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘you’ve both been very helpful.’
Kevin Brownlee, who’d been listening to the exchange from the doorway, said, ‘I’ll see you out, Sergeant Gray.’
‘I’ll be in touch. Oh, and if you think of anything else – either of you – feel free to give me a call.’ He handed them both a business card before nodding a goodbye.
He waited until he was back in the panda car before swearing.
He knew exactly which cut-through they were referring to. It came out right next to Martin Brotherstone’s back gate.
11
The flat seemed to shrink in on me, stopping me from breathing. I ran downstairs to the car park, leant against the wall.
Breathe in … out … in … out …
One of those things that should be obvious. One of those things I sometimes forgot to do.
Eventually, I relaxed.
It was barely four o’clock and the day was still warm, and with nothing to do until I met Claire in the Rowan Tree at seven, I decided to go for another walk. Something was dragging me towards that cottage.
Walking had always been a favourite activity of mine. When I was a kid and everyone else was out on their new bikes – the BMXs, the Grifters, the Raleigh racers, and eventually the chunky-tyred mountain bikes – I’d bucked the trend and stuck with walking as my primary mode of transport. I don’t mean rambling or hiking or – God forbid – climbing hills. Just a leisurely pace, through the streets, along the burn. Sometimes through the woods.
Back in the late nineties, everyone used to head down to the beach, which was a good ten miles away from Banktoun. A fairly easy route to get
‘Anything else you can tell me, Jenny? No matter how small, anything. Did you see what he had on his feet? Was he carrying anything?’
‘No. Sorry.’ She bit her lip again, dragging at a piece of skin. ‘He just looked normal …’
‘There is something else actually, officer.’ There was a rustle of shifting polystyrene beans as the man stuffed into the beanbag finally stood up.
Gray was about to tell him to wait, then thought better of it. The man was desperate to talk. ‘Go on.’
Dave Morriss cleared his throat. ‘There was something wrong with his face. I saw it as he turned, just before he ran off. Jenny wouldn’t have noticed …’ He glanced across at the girl and gave her a tight smile. ‘She was, er, vomiting at the time.’
Gray’s ears pricked up. ‘Something wrong with his face? I thought he was wearing a balaclava?’
Morriss nodded his head enthusiastically, reminding Gray of one of those little dogs that people put on the back shelves of their cars. ‘Yes. Yes, he was. But I could see there was something wrong with him underneath … his face looked too big. Bumpy. On his cheeks? I think maybe he had some sort of deformity … which is maybe why he was wearing the balaclava?’
Something wrong with his face . Something pinged in Gray’s memory. Something he hoped might push itself further towards the surface sooner rather than later. ‘Doesn’t explain why he was lurking in the bushes, scaring young girls, though, does it?’ Gray said. ‘Deformity or not.’
‘No. I suppose not. Just, well … Maybe you could look up some doctors’ records or something for the area. Maybe you’ll be able to find him like that. He might be registered disabled or something? I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, or anything, but—’
Gray cut him off. He was rambling now. ‘Thank you, Mr Morriss. I’ll certainly be exploring that as a possibility. I’m wondering, though – what makes you think he’s local?’
Morriss and Jenny exchanged a glance. Jenny spoke. ‘Because he ran up through the back of the houses. The cut-through is tiny. No way anyone other than a local could know about that …’
Gray flipped his notebook shut. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘you’ve both been very helpful.’
Kevin Brownlee, who’d been listening to the exchange from the doorway, said, ‘I’ll see you out, Sergeant Gray.’
‘I’ll be in touch. Oh, and if you think of anything else – either of you – feel free to give me a call.’ He handed them both a business card before nodding a goodbye.
He waited until he was back in the panda car before swearing.
He knew exactly which cut-through they were referring to. It came out right next to Martin Brotherstone’s back gate.
11
The flat seemed to shrink in on me, stopping me from breathing. I ran downstairs to the car park, leant against the wall.
Breathe in … out … in … out …
One of those things that should be obvious. One of those things I sometimes forgot to do.
Eventually, I relaxed.
It was barely four o’clock and the day was still warm, and with nothing to do until I met Claire in the Rowan Tree at seven, I decided to go for another walk. Something was dragging me towards that cottage.
Walking had always been a favourite activity of mine. When I was a kid and everyone else was out on their new bikes – the BMXs, the Grifters, the Raleigh racers, and eventually the chunky-tyred mountain bikes – I’d bucked the trend and stuck with walking as my primary mode of transport. I don’t mean rambling or hiking or – God forbid – climbing hills. Just a leisurely pace, through the streets, along the burn. Sometimes through the woods.
Back in the late nineties, everyone used to head down to the beach, which was a good ten miles away from Banktoun. A fairly easy route to get
Similar Books
