run his hands over her hair, gently, caressing her—
‘What sort of person do you think you are?’ the woman said, rephrasing her question.
‘Don’t know,’ Colin shrugged.
Not a killer, not someone who would ever have hurt that girl, any girl
, he wanted to scream. But all he needed right now was to get out of this room and away from the persistent voice that was accusing him.
‘Okay, let’s try again,’ DI Grant said, folding her hands upon the table between them and staring at him intently. ‘Let’s begin at the beginning when you first met Eva Magnusson.’
Colin opened his eyes, hoping that he was wakening from the nightmare that had engulfed him. But what he saw as he looked around the place reminded him that it was all too real. Although the sky was dark, the white-painted walls glowed from the street lights outside and the metal toilet gleamed in the corner of his cell. Something smelled stale and sour and Colin realised with a sense of shame that it was coming from his own unwashed body.
He had slept fitfully on top of the blue mattress, trying hard not to let his emotions get the better of him, hearing voices calling in the nearby cells, often accompanied by banging against the blue metal doors. Once he could have sworn he had woken himself by crying out, for an officer had opened the door and asked if he was okay. Someone seemed to stop by that door at regular intervals, always disturbing his sleep. Tomorrow he would be taken from this place to the court where his defence – Mrs Fellowes? – would try to get him released on bail.
‘Don’t bank on it,’ the solicitor had told him quietly. ‘This is a grave charge and you might be refused bail, even though you have no previous record.’
He had stared at her, wide-eyed from all the hours that he had spent being quizzed by that detective inspector. His head had been aching afterwards and the cold calmness of being alone in this cell had come almost as a relief. What would happen next? Would he be taken from the courts and allowed to go home to his father? Colin Young squeezed his eyes tightly shut, forcing himself to discount any other possibility.
CHAPTER 15
‘ I can’t believe it!’ Kirsty Wilson slumped into the armchair, looking at her father’s face as though he were making some sort of sick joke. ‘It can’t be true! Colin wouldn’t hurt a fly!’ she protested, the tears suddenly springing back into eyes that she thought had wept themselves dry.
‘Sorry, love,’ Alistair Wilson murmured, coming to sit on the arm of the chair and pat his daughter’s shoulder.
‘Well, what does he say? He hasn’t confessed, has he?’
‘No.’ Alistair shook his head and frowned. For the umpteenth time he wished that his professional life had not impinged on his family, especially Kirsty. It was bad enough that work had made him miss so many special occasions in the past, but now to have his wee girl involved in a murder case that was being investigated on his own patch, well that was just too much.
‘I don’t believe he did it. Something must be wrong,’ Kirsty protested. ‘Anyway, where is he now? At home again with his dad?’ she asked hopefully.
‘No,’ Alistair replied with a sigh. ‘He was refused bail.’
‘Oh, no!’ Kirsty’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Where is he?’
‘Barlinnie,’ her father answered. ‘On remand.’
Kirsty shook her head. ‘That’s awful, Dad,’ she said, looking up at him as his hand grasped hers in a consoling squeeze.
‘I know, pet. I’m sorry,’ Alistair said.
‘But isn’t there anything we can do?’
Kirsty saw her father turn his face away then and at that moment the girl experienced a sense of loss greater than she had ever known in her life. They were divided, father and daughter. Detective Sergeant Wilson would always take the part of his professional colleagues over the feelings and sensitivities of his daughter, wouldn’t he? She slipped her hands out of his grasp
‘What sort of person do you think you are?’ the woman said, rephrasing her question.
‘Don’t know,’ Colin shrugged.
Not a killer, not someone who would ever have hurt that girl, any girl
, he wanted to scream. But all he needed right now was to get out of this room and away from the persistent voice that was accusing him.
‘Okay, let’s try again,’ DI Grant said, folding her hands upon the table between them and staring at him intently. ‘Let’s begin at the beginning when you first met Eva Magnusson.’
Colin opened his eyes, hoping that he was wakening from the nightmare that had engulfed him. But what he saw as he looked around the place reminded him that it was all too real. Although the sky was dark, the white-painted walls glowed from the street lights outside and the metal toilet gleamed in the corner of his cell. Something smelled stale and sour and Colin realised with a sense of shame that it was coming from his own unwashed body.
He had slept fitfully on top of the blue mattress, trying hard not to let his emotions get the better of him, hearing voices calling in the nearby cells, often accompanied by banging against the blue metal doors. Once he could have sworn he had woken himself by crying out, for an officer had opened the door and asked if he was okay. Someone seemed to stop by that door at regular intervals, always disturbing his sleep. Tomorrow he would be taken from this place to the court where his defence – Mrs Fellowes? – would try to get him released on bail.
‘Don’t bank on it,’ the solicitor had told him quietly. ‘This is a grave charge and you might be refused bail, even though you have no previous record.’
He had stared at her, wide-eyed from all the hours that he had spent being quizzed by that detective inspector. His head had been aching afterwards and the cold calmness of being alone in this cell had come almost as a relief. What would happen next? Would he be taken from the courts and allowed to go home to his father? Colin Young squeezed his eyes tightly shut, forcing himself to discount any other possibility.
CHAPTER 15
‘ I can’t believe it!’ Kirsty Wilson slumped into the armchair, looking at her father’s face as though he were making some sort of sick joke. ‘It can’t be true! Colin wouldn’t hurt a fly!’ she protested, the tears suddenly springing back into eyes that she thought had wept themselves dry.
‘Sorry, love,’ Alistair Wilson murmured, coming to sit on the arm of the chair and pat his daughter’s shoulder.
‘Well, what does he say? He hasn’t confessed, has he?’
‘No.’ Alistair shook his head and frowned. For the umpteenth time he wished that his professional life had not impinged on his family, especially Kirsty. It was bad enough that work had made him miss so many special occasions in the past, but now to have his wee girl involved in a murder case that was being investigated on his own patch, well that was just too much.
‘I don’t believe he did it. Something must be wrong,’ Kirsty protested. ‘Anyway, where is he now? At home again with his dad?’ she asked hopefully.
‘No,’ Alistair replied with a sigh. ‘He was refused bail.’
‘Oh, no!’ Kirsty’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Where is he?’
‘Barlinnie,’ her father answered. ‘On remand.’
Kirsty shook her head. ‘That’s awful, Dad,’ she said, looking up at him as his hand grasped hers in a consoling squeeze.
‘I know, pet. I’m sorry,’ Alistair said.
‘But isn’t there anything we can do?’
Kirsty saw her father turn his face away then and at that moment the girl experienced a sense of loss greater than she had ever known in her life. They were divided, father and daughter. Detective Sergeant Wilson would always take the part of his professional colleagues over the feelings and sensitivities of his daughter, wouldn’t he? She slipped her hands out of his grasp
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