Chapter 29
‘What was Charles promising to do?’ I asked after Morag had summarized this Hogmanay from the past. She had sounded so sad as she gave me the details it made my heart ache.
It was the night she got pregnant and her brother died.
Leaving him in that cave, it was the last time she ever saw him.
I guessed she would have discovered she was pregnant a few weeks later.
Then, presumably, she had contacted Lewis, who had gone to his dad, who had come back to Applecross to do a deal with Morag and her mum.
Child support disguised as a payment for housekeeping duties.
Now, nineteen years later, the baby was eighteen and that agreement was still in place.
Morag had stayed quiet about Avril’s paternity all this time, though she must have told Avril at some point, presumably pressing on her how important it was not to tell anyone.
They were reliant on Charles’s money. It was the tiniest drop in the ocean for him, but for Morag, it paid for her to live.
The snow continued to pummel the car and Morag drove at a crawling pace. The caves couldn’t be far now.
‘What was Charles promising? Oh, it was all to do with the arts centre. Have you heard about that?’
‘Not really. Charles mentioned it earlier. So did your mum. But I have no idea what they were talking about.’
‘I’m not surprised the Grants don’t talk about it. It was going to change this place. Transform it.’
‘Applecross?’
‘Yeah.’ We were driving at about ten miles per hour, snow filling the beam of the headlights like the world was dissolving into static. ‘The summer of 2006, Charles gathered everyone here together in the village hall and made this big speech. You’ve seen the manor house, right?’
‘That ruined place on the hill?’
‘Aye. That was where the landed gentry lived until they ran out of money and left it deserted. Charles was going to redevelop it and create a big, grand place where you could study anything from creative writing to sculpture and music. It was going to be a hotel, too, with part of it set aside as a retreat where famous writers and musicians could come and work.’
I could see immediately how this would have appealed to Morag and Jimmy. Famous authors and musicians, here in Applecross?
‘That doesn’t seem very Charles,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen any sign that he’s into the arts.’
‘He isn’t. It was all Elizabeth. She was a patron of the arts in Birmingham, but you know she was Scottish?
She wanted to give something back to her homeland.
The Elizabeth Grant Arts Centre. They said it was going to attract visitors from all over the UK and Europe.
Provide a massive boost to the local economy.
They were going to put on concerts and exhibitions.
On top of that, they were also going to offer bursaries to local talent. ’
‘Like you. And Jimmy.’
‘Yeah. It was going to provide employment, too. Jobs for local builders and carpenters and plumbers during the development, then lots more jobs when it was up and running. I remember Charles at his presentation. He said it would create a reason for future generations to be proud of Applecross and give them a great reason to stay here. He was impressive. Everyone was taken in by it, including the local council, who had taken ownership of the manor house and the land it stood on. They sold it to Charles for a minimal amount. This huge chunk of land, as good as given away for nothing.’
A moment ago, she had sounded impressed by Charles. Now, that was replaced by bitterness.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘Elizabeth died.’
I could see the deep creases of stress on Morag’s brow. Hear the exhaustion in her voice.
‘At the time he announced the centre, she’d been in remission for a while.
Lewis told me that everything seemed really good back then.
His dad seemed more engaged, more enthusiastic, than ever before.
The company was doing really well. Lewis told me he’d been excited about the arts centre, too.
Charles had told him he could be involved.
Be the poet in residence or something.’ Unexpectedly, she laughed. ‘He really was a terrible poet.’
‘And he didn’t know it?’
‘Ha. No. He saw himself as the next Byron or Shelley. He even had this ridiculous frilly shirt that he used to swan around in.’
Her eyes shone as she remembered, and I remained quiet, letting her enjoy the memory.
‘When Elizabeth’s cancer came back, Holly and Lewis told me their dad seemed dazed, unable to believe it was happening.
Then they found out it was terminal … This was just before I actually met Holly and Lewis.
Earlier in the summer, when Charles made the announcement about the arts centre, we hadn’t met yet.
By the time the four of us started hanging out, Elizabeth already had the terminal diagnosis.
And they came back here again so she could spend her final Christmas and Hogmanay in Scotland.
They told me that Charles promised her he would still open the arts centre and name it after her. ’
‘And he broke his promise?’
‘Yeah. He said it was because he encountered all these problems that made it impossible. There was asbestos in the roof, all sorts of planning regulations getting in the way, an environmental group who said the work was going to disturb the local wildlife. Apparently loads of adders had made their nests in the grounds, and they’re a protected species. ’
I thought about the adder that had got into the Grants’ kitchen – and Jasmine’s bag.
‘I’m sure if Elizabeth had still been alive, Charles would have overcome all those problems. Instead, he gave up. And yeah, I know, he’d lost his wife, he was a grieving widower, but …’
She didn’t complete the sentence.
‘Weren’t the people around here sympathetic?’ I asked.
‘A little, at first, anyway. But then the resentment set in. Obviously, everyone was massively disappointed that all the jobs and money weren’t going to materialize, but I think they would have got over it if he hadn’t refused to sell the land back to them.
He still owns it and has let it sit there, rotting, like a blemish, ruining the landscape. It’s made a lot of people very angry.’
‘And that’s why no one is helping search for Jasmine.’
She nodded. ‘We’re here.’
Through the swirling snow I was just able to make out my car, which was completely covered in the stuff. Morag pulled over, keeping the engine and headlights switched on, the car angled so the beams were directed at the wall of rock.
There was the entrance to the cave and, just about visible, the little building I thought I’d hallucinated, a smudge of grey through the white.
‘That’s the bothy,’ Morag said.
‘Can we take a look?’
‘You think Jasmine might be sheltering in there?’
It has to be worth checking.’ I paused, looking at the entrance to the cave. ‘God, this place. Jimmy, Lewis. And that’s where Samir’s body was found.’
Morag blinked at me, apparently surprised at the change of subject. ‘Yeah. Mum shouldn’t have told you about that. You’re not really thinking of making a film about it, are you?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe. I’m actually a little scared of what I might find.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Just … Well, I’m starting to worry there might be a connection between Samir and the Grants.’
She stared at me.
‘I’m probably completely wrong. It’s only because they’re both from the same part of England.’
‘That’s tenuous.’
Was it me, or had she grown tense during this conversation?
‘There was something else, too. I spoke to the podcaster who was looking into the case. She told me she had mysterious messages from someone who says they saw Samir.’
‘Right.’
‘When I mentioned this to Zack he said the message was probably a hoax. That’s what Zack said. A fantasist.’
She didn’t look tense any more. She looked terrified. ‘You told Zack about the messages?’
‘Yes, just before, in the pub. Morag, what’s the matter?’
She was breathing hard now. ‘Nothing. Just … let’s just check the bothy and then you can take your car. I’m freezing my tits off here and I want to get back to the pub …’
She attempted a smile, but it was clear she was scared.
‘Oh my God, it was you,’ I said. ‘You sent those anonymous messages.’
‘What? No, of course it wasn’t.’
But she was obviously lying. She moved to open the car door, but I caught her arm.
‘Morag, please, if you know something about what happened to Samir, you can tell me. Did you see him here? With Zack?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Morag …’
‘Shut up!’
Silence filled the car. All I could hear was her breathing. She had closed her eyes, trying to calm herself.
When she opened them again, she said, ‘You have to leave this alone. I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything. Do you promise me you’re going to stop asking questions?’
‘No. I can’t.’
‘Because you want to make a fucking film about this kid?’
I was shocked by the direction this conversation had taken. But Morag was calmer now; no longer breathing like she was about to spiral into a panic attack.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I can’t stop you.’ A pause. ‘Let’s check the bothy, then we can both get out of here.’
Morag got out of the car, and I did the same. Snow landed on my face and hair. Morag had left the headlights on but, in the darkness with the snow coming down, it was still difficult to see.
‘You’ll find the key on a hook outside the bothy door,’ Morag said.
‘You’re not coming with me?’
‘I need a moment.’
‘I’ve upset you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.’
She raised her voice. ‘Patrick, just leave it. I’ll be there in a second.’
‘Okay.’
I headed up the path towards the little stone building. Through the snow it was barely more than a shadow. I looked behind me, but it was as if Morag had vanished in the blizzard, like she’d slipped through a portal into another world.
Could I hear a voice? Was Morag talking to someone?
‘Morag?’ I called.
‘Hold on.’
Suddenly she was by my side. ‘Were you on the phone?’ I asked.
‘What? I think you’re hearing things.’ She strode on. ‘Come on, follow me.’
The air was so thick I couldn’t see more than six feet in front of me but, suddenly, there it was, right before us. It was a hut constructed of stone, with a chimney and a single window at the front. Behind it was another wall of rock, protecting it from the worst of the elements.
Morag seemed to take forever to get the key into the lock but, finally, there was a click and we pushed through the door into the dark interior.
Morag found the light switch and turned it on.
‘That’s better,’ she said. She took off her hat and wiped the snow from her face. I did the same, blinking the flakes from my eyes until I could see properly again.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
‘I’m fine. Absolutely fine.’
It was beyond basic in the bothy, with bare stone walls and a pair of old armchairs that looked like they’d been obtained in a charity shop, a small bookcase with several old paperbacks and maps stacked on it, and an open fireplace with a simple washing line strung above it.
‘For drying your wet socks,’ Morag said. She seemed distracted, looking out the window.
But I was fascinated by the bothy, inspecting a basket of firewood and kindling. I could see how appealing this place would be if you were a hiker: a cosy oasis and place to rest up.
There was no sign that Jasmine had been here, though. I touched the fireplace to confirm it was cold and hadn’t been lit recently, though I didn’t know if Jasmine would even know how to do it. Surely they don’t need open fireplaces in the Sunshine State.
There was also a mattress on a raised platform, which I guessed hikers would place their sleeping bags on. I couldn’t see any blankets. Not hygienic, I supposed. Tired suddenly, I sat down on the mattress and took a moment to catch my breath while Morag sat in one of the armchairs.
‘No Americans here,’ she said, still looking towards the window.
‘Did you hear that she and Charles are already married?’
‘Really? Huh.’
I got to my feet. ‘We should go. Can you think of anywhere else she might have gone?’
‘Let’s just wait a minute. I’m knackered. I need to rest before getting back in the car.’
I was exhausted, but too restless to sit down again. I paced the tiny interior of the bothy, thinking about what had just happened in the car. Morag definitely knew something. How could I get her to open up to me?
‘Is it the money?’ I asked.
‘What?’
‘Is that why you’re afraid to tell me what you know about Samir? I think you know something. I think you saw him. But you’re worried the money from Gravitas will stop.’
She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘You have no clue. You also don’t know when to shut up, do you?’
I’d realized that leading with the money question had been a mistake the moment the words had left my mouth. There was no point pressing her, not now.
‘Can we get going?’ I said, standing up again. ‘She’s not here, and it’s freezing.’
‘Just give it another minute.’
I stared at her. ‘What is going—’ I broke off. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’
‘It sounded like a car.You did phone someone. Morag? Who was it?’
She refused to even look at me.
‘I needed him to know I didn’t talk to you. I didn’t do anything.’
She didn’t reply.
I went over to the window and peered through but could barely see a thing. Was there another car out there? I went over to the door, opened it and called out, ‘Hello?’ No response. I strained to hear, but it was silent.
I went outside and headed down the path.
I could hear something, very faintly. Footsteps. The snow was so heavy, the wind whipping around me, cold biting at my bones.
‘Come back inside,’ Morag said. Suddenly she was there, beside me. ‘He just wants to talk. Straighten this out. Let’s … oh.’
A figure stepped out of the blizzard.
It was Zack. Of course it was Zack.
But what I hadn’t been expecting to see was the gun.