Just over four months after Willie’s last leave, he and Pat were both allowed another ten days, but Willie was still unwilling to go home. ‘You know why,’ he told Pat, shy of elaborating again. ‘I want to sort things out in my own mind. You know, I want to be sure.’
‘I don’t know,’ Pat admitted. ‘I’ve never had a real girlfriend – for long enough.’
‘We’d better get you over that hurdle as soon as we can,’ Willie laughed.
‘I don’t know if I want to.’ After a few moments of silence, Pat burst out, ‘Anyway, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you come home with me? My Mum won’t mind. She’ll be glad to see I’ve made a close friend at last.’
‘But she won’t want an unexpected visitor turning up.’
‘She’ll be glad, I tell you. Get your warrant made out to Elgin.’
Although it made him feel like some sort of deserter, a traitor to his family and to Millie, Willie did as he was asked and Mrs Michie did make him very welcome. ‘Pat’s always been such a loner,’ she confided. ‘I’ve been really worried about him. I thought for a while he might be … you know … but I can see you’re definitely not one of those.’ She put a hand on her hip and minced a few steps, giggling.
Chuckling, too, Willie said, ‘No, I’m not one of them.’
During the days, Pat took him to visit some of his numerous relatives and showed him around the area, spending almost a whole day in Cooper Park, an hour of another afternoon taking advantage of the solemn peace and quiet of the cathedral. They spent most evenings in one pub or another, enjoying the attention that the women and even the older men were paying them. It was heady stuff, and Willie was glad that Pat was entering into the carefree spirit that seemed to abound. Knowing that his pal was enjoying himself too, he took a glance round the bar; not many young men – they’d all be in the forces – but still some thirty- or forty-somethings, married men, likely. Hearing what was more or less a familiar voice, he turned to see if he could recognise the owner – and froze.
He wasn’t aware of making any sound, but Pat had sensed something. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, anxiously. ‘You’re as white as a sheet.’
Instead of answering, Willie grabbed his arm and hurried him outside. ‘I’ve had one helluva shock. I just saw somebody I know.’
‘You don’t want him to see you?’
‘No, by God, I don’t! Pat, is there a police station anywhere near here?’
‘Not far. I’ll show you.’
Nothing was said as they made their way there. Pat was desperate to learn what had upset his pal, but he could see by Willie’s set face that he would be told nothing even if he asked, and had to wait until they were talking to a police sergeant before his curiosity was in any way satisfied.
The first question to Willie was, ‘Do you want to report a missing person?’
‘Not exactly. I’ve just found a missing person.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘He’s been missing for a good few years now, but I’ve just seen him in a pub round the corner.’
‘Did you make sure he really was the person you think he is?’
‘If I had, he’d have bolted.’ Willie drew a deep breath and spoke the words he knew would put a different perspective on the matter. ‘He’s wanted for murder.’
In other circumstances, the officer’s expression would have made him laugh, but Willie was in no mood for laughing. He had waited for at least five years for this and he wasn’t going to let even a sergeant of the law let Gordon Brodie slip through the net.
‘A murder? And whose murder might that be?’
It became obvious to Willie that the man thought he was drunk. He had certainly had a couple of drinks, but he would have known that falsely prim voice anywhere, in any condition, drunk or sober. ‘My sister’s. He battered her to death, and her unborn baby. Phone Aberdeen if you don’t believe me. It was detectives from there that were working on the case. They were positive he was guilty, but he’d managed to escape before I found her body.’
‘So you found the body, eh?’ The sergeant massaged his chin as he debated on this information. ‘Well now, you must’ve been just a young laddie at the time.’
Willie was stung into defensive anger by the man’s sarcastic tone. ‘I was only fifteen, but I’m telling you the Gospel truth.’
‘Wait there.’
He left them standing at the counter, with a young bobby eyeing Willie as if he were Jack the Ripper. ‘You’re safe enough,’ he said, his voice a touch bitter. ‘I’m not mad, I’m not drunk, I’m doing my best to get a vile criminal brought to justice.’
The PC relaxed a fraction and remembered his duty. ‘I’d maybe better take your name and other particulars.’
‘My name is William Fowlie and I live in Tillieburnie, Aberdeenshire. My father works for John McIntyre, farmer at Wester Burnton. My sister’s name was Constance Fowlie, married to Gordie – his right name is Gordon – Burns, and he …’
Before he got any further, the sergeant returned, looking grim. ‘I got his name—’ began the young constable.
‘Come through, sir.’ The sergeant raised the flap and held up his hand to Pat. ‘Just this gentleman, I’m afraid.’
‘I’ll wait.’ Pat tried to sound as if waiting for unspecified lengths of time was quite a normal thing for him to do, although he was quite disappointed at being left out. How much longer would it be before he knew exactly what was going on?
It was after midnight before the exhausted young men made their way back to Mid Street, where Mrs Michie was anxiously waiting. ‘It’s nearly three hours after closing time,’ she said accusingly. ‘What on earth happened to you two? Did you get in some sort of trouble?’
Pat looked expectantly at Willie, who nodded wearily. ‘It wasn’t Pat’s fault. It was mine. It’s a long story, and I’ve gone over it dozens of times at the police station, but if you …’
‘The police station! My God, Willie, what did you do that the police arrested you?’
‘He wasn’t arrested, Mum,’ Pat corrected her. ‘Let him tell you – you’ll be surprised.’
‘I’ll make a fresh pot of tea. Carry on, Willie, I’m listening.’
He made the story as short as he possibly could, giving the stark facts of the actual murder as the detectives had pieced it together, and neither of his listeners interrupted him. Throughout the telling, he had twisted his hands together, rubbed his chin, wiped his sweating brow with his khaki handkerchief, several times each. But not once had he taken a sip of his tea. It was as if he were actually living the time again, the awful trauma he had suffered as a fifteen-year-old.
Coming to the end, he looked at his hostess. ‘I told them I’d be here for the next three days, for the Aberdeen ’tecs will want to speak to me. I hope that’s all right, Mrs Michie?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She could see that he was at the end of his tether, and added, ‘Did they not offer to take you home? They’ll have to speak to your father and all the other people that were in the house where it …’
‘They did offer, but I said I’d rather stay here. I didn’t want to go home because … well, because of a girl. She’s my girlfriend, but … Oh,I can’t explain. It would sound so silly.’
She looked at her son. ‘Pat, I think you should go to bed. I’d like to speak to Willie on his own.’
Trusting her not to upset his friend, Pat did as he was told, and she turned again to Willie. ‘I won’t make fun of anything you tell me, so if you feel like getting it off your chest …’
His emotions in a state of deep turmoil, he was glad to tell her about Millie, how clever she was, how much he cared for her but was worried about being near her. He didn’t expand on this, but the woman, understanding his problem, nodded sympathetically until, with a heave, he burst into tears. She moved over to sit beside him on the old couch, and when he turned and laid his head on her shoulders, she let him sob his heart out.
‘It’s all right, my lamb,’ she assured him after a few moments. ‘Let it out. You’ll feel better for it. It’s not good to bottle things up.’
At last he drew away from her, but he did feel better, not fully realising that his tears had been for Poopie Grant as well as for Connie, with a fair modicum of the self-pity he felt at having to keep away from Millie Meldrum. ‘Thank you, Mrs Michie,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll never forget you.’
‘I hope not,’ she smiled. ‘I hope you’ll come back with Pat on your leaves till you make up your mind about your Millie. If you ask my opinion, though I know you’d rather not hear it, but I think she’d be pleased if you did make her pregnant. She sounds a nice lass, and …’
He gulped. ‘It’s her father I’m worried about.’
‘Ah well, I can see what you mean there, but he must think a lot of you when he was willing to pay for your education.’
‘Not after I flung it back in his face.’
‘I’m sure he still likes you, deep down. Time does make a difference.’
‘Maybe, but there hasn’t been enough time yet. Um … is it all right if I come here on my next few leaves, even if Pat doesn’t get off the same time as me?’
‘I’d be delighted to have you, Willie lad, but your mother must be missing you. You should go and see her.’
‘She wouldn’t be missing me. She’s never loved me, I wasn’t a well-behaved little boy, you see. I got into all sorts of trouble, and she didn’t love me like she loved my two sisters.’
‘No, no, I think you only imagined that. Well, whatever, off you go to bed, and we’ll see what the morning brings.’
The morning brought two detectives from Aberdeen, anxious to give them the latest news. ‘We contacted the Inverness police to pick up Gordon Brodie, and he is now in custody, awaiting trial. This will not take place for some time, as we have a lot of facts to collate, a lot of evidence to reaffirm.’
They drove him to the Elgin police station and went over everything he had told the sergeant the night before. He was tired because he’d only had about an hour’s sleep, but he was relieved to gather that they were taking his story as true, and that Gordon Brodie’s alibi that he had been in the Tufted Duck from opening time in the morning until late afternoon had been proven false. The three women he had hoped would be the means of clearing him testified that he had come in around one, and left before the official closing time at half past two in the afternoon. The officers knew, and knew that Willie knew, that even after the pub was supposed to close, many customers remained sitting until it opened again at half past five. The wanted man had not come back then, nor at any time before the final closing hour of half past nine.
As Pat observed on their way to his home, ‘He’s for the rope, then.’
His emotions as raw as they had been that day five years earlier, Willie said nothing. Hanging wasn’t good enough for the man, but what was the alternative? A life sentence? Murderers very seldom had to serve their full term, and were frequently released after only a few years; unless, of course, they were sentenced to hang. He was positive of one thing. Should Gordon Brodie get out early, and he, Willie Fowlie, brother of the wife the man had so brutally slaughtered, ever ran into him, he would kill the devil with his own bare hands. He had been assured that someone would let his parents know that they would have to be interviewed, and probably Jeemsie Cooper, the doctor and Johnny McIntyre. They could vouch for the mayhem Brodie had created, the mess he had run out on, the heart-rending sight of Connie’s broken body – and that of the child who had been forced out of her – lifeless.
Until it was time for them to leave, he did his best to remain cheerful in front of Mrs Michie, even knowing that she would have given him the comfort he craved. He still felt thoroughly ashamed of his weakness the night he’d recognised Brodie. The whole traumatic incident had come flooding back to haunt him. He ought to have gone to see his parents, he knew that, but he couldn’t face their sorrow as well as his own. Once again, he needed to get away, to leave all the bad memories, to get back to some sort of normality. It wasn’t Millie who was keeping him away this time. He had not given her one thought since this business started, except maybe he’d just mentioned her name to Mrs Michie. He couldn’t remember everything he’d told her – he’d been in such a state.
There was no trial. Gordon Brodie broke down and confessed after many, many hours of interrogation, putting up only one excuse for what he had done. ‘I’m a man that needs a woman, and … the wife I picked didn’t like sex.’
‘And that’s why you killed her?’ The Chief Inspector was plainly shocked.
‘That was part of it. I’d given her a bit of a going over and then I went out to get a drink to cheer me up. I did ask a woman I used to know, a prostitute, to help me out, but the bitch refused. Then another one turned me down in the pub, and they were all laughing at me. By this time I was drunk and mad with rage, so …’ He stopped, shrugging as if his ensuing actions had been inevitable.
Emily wrote to tell Willie what she had been told, but he later received an official communication from the Procurator Fiscal informing him that he would not be required to give evidence and explaining why. ‘The prisoner was discovered dead in his cell one morning, having hanged himself by tearing his bedsheet into strips. There will thus be no need for you to appear as a witness.’
‘I bet you’re relieved at that,’ Pat Michie said when he was told.
‘I can’t help thinking what a coward the man was,’ Willie muttered. ‘He could beat another person to death without batting an eyelid, but he couldn’t face death by hanging, for that’s what it would have come to. No, he ended it himself, and I bet I’m not the only one to feel cheated.’
Having thought it over ever since he left Elgin, Willie had decided, much to Pat’s surprise although he made no comment, that he still couldn’t face going home on his next leave, although he did feel guilty about it. He had never really given a thought to his mother’s feelings, and she must have been quite hurt by him keeping away. He’d had no reason to neglect her, she’d never actually been nasty to him, it was just this stupid chip he’d had on his shoulder about her loving his sisters more. And his father certainly hadn’t done anything wrong, so he didn’t deserve being ignored, either. Worse still, of course, was his attitude towards Millie. It wasn’t her fault that he was afraid to be near her. It was entirely his fault, the way his love for her turned him into a sex-mad beast. He pulled his wandering thoughts to a halt. What was wrong with him? Surely he had the will-power to step back from crossing the line? But he had no faith in himself, that was the trouble.