The final late arrivals ran through the school gates before they were locked and Donald drove his car back home. He planned to spend the next few hours looking at his picture collection. Maybe today he could finally decide which girl to abduct.
Colin had checked out of his room and was walking around the town. He knew where his target lived but he didn’t plan on going anywhere near there. The dossier that he had studied meticulously at Larcombe had suggested where Donald would be later that afternoon. Colin pulled his coat closer around him and leaned into the cold wind. The rucksack on his shoulder contained the few necessities that he had selected for this mission. The cold weather kept most of the town’s folk indoors, so very few people saw a stranger wandering past the shops and heading out towards one of the town’s bigger schools.
Colin was in position; he was able to watch for Donald’s arrival without attracting attention to himself. He had a picture of the policeman’s car and its registration number. School was out in less than half an hour; Donald wouldn’t miss that. Colin eased the rucksack from his shoulder and removed a few items, putting them into his coat pockets for a speedy retrieval.
It was almost three o’clock when Colin spotted him. Donald MacDonald’s car turned into the tree lined road and headed for the next junction. He executed a sharp right turn across a line of cars arriving on the school run and almost collided with one lady in a people carrier. She sounded her horn and if Colin’s lip reading was accurate at that distance with a small pair of field glasses, she questioned his parentage.
Donald’s progress was a little unsteady as he stuttered and weaved his way into a space on the far side of the green in front of the school gates and parked up. Colin studied the man. Donald was already drinking from a hip flask.
Colin moved quickly and quietly, approaching the car from the rear. Donald was preoccupied with the activity around the school gates as children came spilling out. He was drunk as usual and this had made him careless. His doors were unlocked!
“Makes my job even easier!” thought Colin, who was inside the car in a second. He wrapped his hand over the nose and mouth of the former policeman and let the chloroform soaked cloth do its work. Donald was in no condition to struggle; the whisky had virtually incapacitated him before Colin arrived anyway and being slumped down in the seat to avoid people seeing him was just asking for trouble.
Donald’s vision and hearing began to fail; he was unconscious within seconds. Colin knew that he needed to keep the cloth in place so that Donald wouldn’t wake up for a while. It was a fine balance; if Donald was under for some time he could die from heart or respiratory failure. Colin wanted the coroner to be in no doubt that this death was self inflicted.
The clock was ticking ever onward. All of the children had been picked up by their loving parents; many had scampered home alone; others lingered in the nearby roads chatting with their friends.
Meanwhile, in the car Colin patiently waited for the more comforting safety of the night. He checked that Donald was still under and got out of the car. He quickly set about completing the final stages of his plan and took two envelopes from his rucksack. These he placed on the dashboard. His final task was to switch on the car’s engine. Donald was still away with the fairies when Colin removed the cloth from his face.
Colin closed the car door, slipped his rucksack back over his shoulder and went back to the spot he had chosen to observe from initially. He watched and waited. Deep in the Honda Jazz nothing stirred.
At six o’clock he decided enough was enough; it was time to leave Dunfermline, as pleasant as his stay had been he was now officially on holiday. The sooner he got a couple of hundred miles south, where it might be a little warmer the better. He began the walk back to the station.
The parked car was unattended, but to the police who arrived at eight o’clock, it was immediately clear something was amiss. They had been summoned by a dog walker who heard a car engine as they were passing and had strolled over to take a peek. A dryer vent hose connected to the car’s exhaust pipe was wedged in the rear passenger door. Inside the vehicle was a middle aged man; he was dishevelled, smelled of booze and almost laid down in the driver’s seat. There were two letters; one was addressed to John MacDonald of Brae side Home for the Elderly and one to ‘Whoever finds me’.
The police read this letter and the driver’s intentions were pretty explicit:-
‘To whoever finds this note I have hopefully committed suicide. I take complete and sole responsibility for my present situation. I have done things of which I am ashamed; if I continue to live then I will offend again and ultimately commit more serious crimes’ the letter read. Colin had already congratulated the team at Larcombe on the excellence of the handwriting and the overall tenor of the note.
The team had to thank the quick thinking agent who had scanned a couple of examples of Donald MacDonald’s handwriting when he had been waiting for the downloaded files to transfer to his memory stick.
In time the police would deliver Donald’s father’s letter unopened and a verdict of suicide would subsequently be duly recorded. As Erebus and the others back at Larcombe Manor suspected; after the police visit to the MacDonald household, they uncovered the same incriminating files on Donald’s computer, and the carpet was swiftly raised so that the evidence could be neatly brushed away.
As the mortal remains of Donald MacDonald were being removed from his Honda, Colin Bailey was already heading south towards England and a well earned rest. Everything changed when they pulled into Manchester Piccadilly. He was wide awake now! Someone on the platform directly in front of his carriage window was staring at him. The look on her face was one of incredulity; it was Therese Slater!
She had obviously returned from Europe! How long did she wait before she gave up on him and got back to her northern roots Colin wondered? He could tell that she was still confused and a little uncertain.
The minor facial modifications he had undergone at Larcombe Manor plus the blue contact lenses and frames would fool the vast majority, but Therese had been up close and personal with Colin Bailey and he could see that she had now convinced herself it was him. She was finding hard to believe that he was alive, when the world thought he was dead.
Therese didn’t appear to be catching this particular train, but Colin still had to determine what she would do with the knowledge she now had. Would she go to the police? He wasn’t convinced she would do that to him; perhaps she’d sell her story to the newspapers to set herself up for a comfortable life. That was more likely. Colin needed to know; even if it meant he had to get off the train here in Manchester and catch a later one south; he had to talk to Therese.
He gathered up his things and rushed to the door. In the nick of time he managed to get the door open and jump down onto the platform. Therese walked tentatively towards him.
“Is it really you?” she said “I thought you were dead.”
“That’s what everyone is supposed to believe” said Colin.
“You look different; that’s what threw me. When your carriage stopped right by me, I saw you and couldn’t believe my eyes. I waited for almost two months for news. I kept waiting to hear that your body had been found at last, so I could move on. I never expected to see you alive again. When the bar work dried up and my money ran out I decided to come back to my sister’s. I’m still looking for work but I did find a place of my own to rent a few weeks back. It’s in Runcorn near my sister. It’s not in a great neighbourhood but when you’re on benefits you have to do the best you can.”
Colin was only half listening to Therese wittering on. He was trying to work out what to do next.