No Place Like Home Jane Renshaw (best books to read for beginners TXT) 📖

Finn’s body in the forest that Scott appeared at the door, his face telling Bram all he needed to know. But he went through the pantomime of ‘Hi, Scott – any news?’ and showing him through to the Room with a View where Scott said yes, there was news, and it wasn’t good, and could he speak to him and Kirsty together? Bram fetched her from the TV room where she was trying to relax with the kids, and the two of them sat side by side on the sofa facing Scott, Bram wearing what he hoped was a concerned but blameless expression of apprehension.

‘Finn’s body has been found,’ said Scott.

‘Oh, no,’ said Kirsty.

Bram left a shocked silence before asking: ‘What happened?’

‘They’re doing a post mortem, obviously. But it looks like he suffered a nasty head wound.’

‘Where was he found?’ Bram asked next. They would ask that, wouldn’t they?

‘In the forestry plantation at King’s Seat Quarry.’

‘Oh!’ breathed Kirsty. ‘You think he was swimming there, and – what? He had some kind of accident?’

‘He wasn’t near the actual quarry. It isn’t looking like an accident. The death is being treated as unexplained, obviously. I just thought I should let you know. It’ll be reported on the late news. Might already be on the internet, for all I know.’ He got up from the sofa. ‘I’d better get off. It’s crazy busy, as you can imagine.’

‘Thanks – for coming over and telling us,’ said Kirsty, jumping to her feet a little too eagerly. A little too eager for him to leave. ‘The poor Taylors.’

Scott nodded. ‘It’s hit them hard, of course.’

When he’d gone, Kirsty grabbed Bram, pressing her face against his shirt. He held her, and murmured what he hoped were reassuring words. ‘There’s nothing to tie us to the body. Thank God we burned the tarp and the other stuff.’ They had bought matches and firelighters and kindling at a garage and chosen a remote spot in another forest, and piled the kindling and then the waterproofs and the tarp and the mask on top of the bloodstained cardboard. It had gone up in a good blaze, and within ten minutes everything had been consumed in a throat-choking conflagration.

‘We need to check the internet.’

And so began two days of obsessive checking of the internet and the local TV news. The police were, of course, giving out very little information, only saying that ‘enquiries to establish the full circumstances of the death are ongoing,’ but there was plenty of speculation on Finn’s Facebook page: ‘So sorry, man. No way was this an accident. Hope whoever did this rots in jail’ and ‘There’s a crazy new star up there shining down. Miss ya forever. Police know who did it, they’re gonna arrest the bastard in next few days.’

Did Finn’s friends suspect him and Kirsty? Had Finn told them what he was up to, or had it come out, had Andrew and Sylvia and Cara been telling people? If so, Bram and Kirsty were the obvious suspects.

The ring at the door came before seven the next morning. Both Bram and Kirsty were already up and dressed and surfing the internet at the kitchen table. They looked at each other, neither making a move to get up and go to the door.

But they had to answer it. Bram got up and crossed the Walton Room and opened the door.

‘Mr Hendriksen, I’m PC Macintosh and my colleague here is PC White. We understand that your son Maxwell Hendriksen is staying at this address?’

‘Max? Yes. But what–’

‘We need to speak to him, please, Mr McKechnie. Can we come in?’

‘Why do you want to speak to Max? If it’s about Finn Taylor, he doesn’t know anything about what happened to him.’

‘Sir, if we could come in, and you could let Max know that we need to speak to him?’

‘Right now? He’s asleep.’ Bram moved back instinctively until he was standing at the foot of the stairs, as if guarding them.

‘Nevertheless.’

‘I’ll go and get him,’ said Kirsty, gently pushing past Bram.

Bram didn’t invite the policemen to sit down. They stood in an awkward triangle. From the floor above he could hear Kirsty’s voice, and then Max, answering her groggily.

‘I don’t know anything,’ Max said at once as he came padding down the stairs in his boxers and T-shirt.

‘We understand that you and Finn Taylor had an altercation in the Inverluie Hotel bar,’ said the larger of the two big men. ‘A physical altercation?’

‘Uh, yeah.’

‘But that was days before Finn went missing!’ Bram interjected. ‘A couple of days, at least.’

‘Did you know that it was Finn Taylor who’d been terrorising your family?’

‘What?’ Max shook his head as if to clear it. ‘No.’

‘Is that your VW Polo on the track beyond the bridge?’

Max turned to Bram, as if expecting him to sort this out for him. Bram said, ‘What on earth has that got to do with anything?’

‘A red VW Polo was seen on the forest track at King’s Seat Forest four days before Finn Taylor’s body was found there. The witnesses stated that the vehicle reversed away from them, which at the time they felt was strange.’

‘Well it wasn’t my car!’ Max was looking from the policemen to Bram and Kirsty. ‘How could it have been?’

‘Of course it wasn’t!’ said Kirsty.

‘We need to impound the car for forensic investigation,’ said the other cop. ‘Max, now’s your chance to tell us anything you need to tell us. Things will go so much better for you if you tell us the truth at the outset.’

Max was shaking his head, stunned. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

‘Okay.’ The bigger cop grimaced. ‘Maxwell Hendriksen. I’m PC Darren Macintosh and this is PC Ian White. We’re arresting you for the murder of Finn Taylor. You don’t need to say anything at this time other than giving your name, address, place of birth and nationality. We’re taking you for questioning to Aviemore Police Station–’

‘Oh my God!’ said Bram. ‘No! No, it wasn’t Max! No!’

But Kirsty was suddenly at