Gallery Whispers

24

'You're not serious,' gasped Mackie, with sudden, shocked incredulity.

He pulled his car to a stop on the Greenway.

'How I wish I wasn't,' said Maggie Rose. 'Neil asked Mario to have a drink with him last night; he told him then.'

'Ahhh,' murmured the superintendent. 'I really was trying not to think about it. Andy and I saw them at the Western yesterday, when we went to see the Prof. Later on, we agreed that we hadn't if you know what I mean.

'I supposed there must be something, but still… Olive; lung cancer; poor lass, that's terrible. How's Neil handling it?'

'Mario knows him better than anyone. He says that inside he's scared stiff, but on the outside he's putting on the strongest face he can. He and Olive have decided that they're not going to treat it as some dark secret; they're going to tell all their friends what's happening, and how things are going, all the way along.'

'Are they going to operate?'

'They can't; it's too advanced. She goes into the Western next Wednesday to start chemotherapy.'

'How long will she have to stay there?'

'Just a couple of days once a month, with top-ups on a day-patient basis.'

'And what are her chances?'

Rose smiled. 'Neil says she's going to make it. He won't contemplate any other outcome, and neither should we.'

'Oh God,' muttered Mackie, still shaken. 'Let's just pray that he's right.'

'Brian,' said his deputy, grim-faced once more, 'if you believe in prayer, give it all you've got.'

They sat in silence for a few seconds, until it was broken by the insistent hooting of a bus, its driver furious to find a car blocking the lane which he regarded as his exclusive property. 'Ah, bugger off!' snarled the superintendent, with uncharacteristic ferocity, but he slipped into gear nonetheless, and moved off.

They drove on for a few more minutes, heading westward along the Glasgow road, until they arrived at the junction with Murrayfield Avenue. Mackie took a right turn, drove for two hundred yards up the sloping street, then turned left. Nolan Weston's house was only a few yards from the corner.

It was Saturday, and so the detectives were not surprised when the surgeon opened the door; he on the other hand looked decidedly puzzled. 'Mr Mackie,' he said, 'I wasn't expecting you this morning; especially since you interrogated my son yesterday without my permission.'

'I'm sorry if that upset you, sir, but the opportunity arose so I took it. I don't think any harm was done, do you?'

Weston shook his head. 'No, I don't suppose it was.' He smiled. 'In any event, I keep forgetting that Ray is eighteen. You don't need my permission to talk to him, do you.' Maggie Rose had been on the verge of telling him that very thing.

'Come in, please,' the professor continued. 'I haven't met your colleague.' Mackie introduced his deputy as he led them through to a small sitting room which opened into a semi-circular conservatory.

The garden beyond was lush and well-tended, and rich with the colours of autumn.

A heavily pregnant woman sat in a bamboo armchair on the left of the glass room. She smiled at Mackie, who nodded in acknowledgement.

'Ah yes, you met my wife yesterday,' said Weston. 'Avril, this is Chief Inspector Rose. Now, what can I do for you?'

'We need to speak with your son again, I'm afraid,' said the superintendent. 'Something else has come up, and it involves him.'

'Very well.' He took a pace towards a door in the right-hand corner of the room. Rose could see that it led to the kitchen. 'Ray,' Weston called. 'Come on in here.'

A few seconds later a young man ambled into the room. He was tall, at least six feet three inches, but fine-featured and rake-thin, his dark hair flying in all directions from his high forehead. There was a thick slice of buttered toast in his right hand, 'Wh' is it?' he mumbled, then saw the two detectives. 'Oh, hello.'

'Morning, Ray,' said Mackie. 'Sorry to bother you again. This is DCI Rose. She and I need to ask you a couple of things. First, have you had any mail in the last couple of days?'

The youth shrugged his shoulders. 'Not yesterday, that's for sure.

Today, I don't know. Dad?'

'I haven't sorted the post yet,' the Professor answered. 'Let me have a look. It's still on the hall table.' He left the room; the others waited for him in silence, Raymond munching on his toast. When he returned he was waving a brown A5 envelope. 'This is for you. Aberdeen postmark.' He handed the letter to his son.

The detectives looked on as he tore it open and peered inside.

'There's a note,' he said, withdrawing a slip of paper and handing it to Mackie. It was a short message, a simple scrawl in a strong hand. The detective read it aloud. 'It says, "This arrived today" and it's signed "Beano". Who's he?'

'My room-mate.' Raymond peered into the brown manila once more. 'It's a letter.' He shook it free and held it up for the detectives to see, a simple, cream-coloured envelope. As he looked at the handwritten address, his face paled. 'Dad,' he whispered, plaintively. 'It's from Mum.'

'Then I think you should read it alone, Ray,' his father said.

'Yes,' Rose agreed, 'but first, do you have a letter opener. Professor?

That envelope has to be handled carefully from now on. We don't want any more fingerprints on it.'

'Why?' asked Weston, puzzled.

Rose took the letter from his son, holding it by a corner, and looked at it. 'It's post-marked Thursday. The day after Mrs Weston died. We need to find the person who posted it, and chances are his prints are on this.'

'I see.' The surgeon went into the kitchen and returned with a thinbladed knife, which he handed to Rose. Carefully the chief inspector slit the envelope along the top, shook out the letter within, and handed it to Raymond.

As the young man went into the kitchen, Avril Weston pushed herself from her chair and came over to join her husband. The four stood silently, watching the door. Eventually, the sobbing began, growing louder, heart-rending. Avril started for the kitchen; at first Nolan held her back, but eventually he released her hand and allowed her to go to her stepson.

She returned a minute later, maybe two, with the letter, which she handed to her husband. He held it up and began to read: 'My lovely Ray, When you receive this, you'll know. Dad will have explained everything, and although he did not know that I was going to do what I've done, I know that he'll understand and that he'll support my decision.

I watched you grandmother die of cancer when I was your age. It all but destroyed me, and I will not put you through the same experience. I'm not afraid of what I would have faced, and I am not doing this thing for me, but for you and for your father, because I love you both so very much.'

Nolan Weston's voice faltered for a moment, but he gathered himself and read on.

'I want you to live the rest of your life for me, and to be all you can be for my sake. Of all the good things in my life, and there have been many, you and Dad have been absolutely the best.

Live well for me.

With all my love

Mum'

He looked up as he finished and saw that Ray had come back into the room. They embraced, father and son, as if they were welding their grief together. Mackie nodded towards the conservatory, and the two women followed him, leaving them together.

Eventually, the two tall Westons rejoined them. 'Do you need the letter as well?' asked Raymond.

'No,' said Mackie. 'Not just now anyway. I don't think for a moment that there'll be any prints on that other than your mum's. The envelope's all we need.'

'But,' the young man demanded, 'if Mum didn't post it herself, then who did? Did she give it to her secretary?'

The detectives looked at each other. Almost imperceptibly, Mackie nodded. 'No,' said Rose. 'We know that your mother wrote the letter only a few hours before she died. We believe that it was posted next day, by the person who helped her end her life.'

'That's what all this is about?' Raymond Weston exclaimed.

'Someone killed my mum?'

Rose replied simply. 'Yes.'

'But that's not right!' the young man shouted. 'It should have been me. Or Dad. Dad, why didn't you help her?'

'Believe me son,' said Nolan, quietly. 'If she had asked me to, I would have. But she loved both of us too much ever to have involved us.'

'Ray,' asked Mackie, briskly, 'does the name Deacey — that's D-E-A-C-E-Y — mean anything to you?'

'Deacey? Never heard of him? Why? Was it him?'

'We don't know that. We just need to find him, that's all. Professor, does the name mean anything to you?

Weston dropped his eyes and shook his head. 'The third arrow, I guess,' he murmured, sadly, Avril's presence forgotten completely.