Deception aka Sanctum

“You prick,” I said, brave inside my car. “My reputation’s ruined because of you. What a cheap thing to do, even for you. It was cheap.”

Stevie looked at the ground. “I needed the money,” he said. “I’m sorry. I am a prick.” He came closer, put a hand on the roof of the car, and drummed his fingers once, leaning down into the cab to speak. “Are you, um… d’you, um, want a cuppa?”

I looked up at him. He actually felt sorry for me. “Come away in and have a cup of tea with us,” he said, sotto voce, eyes serene. “There’s someone inside who wants to meet you.”

“Lara Orr?”

Stevie nodded, glowing at the mention of her name. “She’s been following you in the papers. She feels bad for you.”

I was genuinely touched. How deeply kind, I thought. How good women can be sometimes.

All promise of a spiritual co

Stevie saw me looking around at the mess. “I’m doing, ahem, some renovations.”

The living-room floor was still intact. It was a steep step up from the hall and had a once-green carpet on the floor, now encrusted with dirt to the point where it was black and shiny at the doorway. Newspapers were spread over the floor to act as a protective cover. A midnight blue velvet settee with full ashtrays and plates and cups balanced on the arm stood just inside the doorway. A large television was precariously balanced on a red plastic child’s chair next to a big gas fire. Standing there in the cold muddy hall, looking up into the floating platform of the warm living room, I felt like a soldier on the Somme dreaming of his modest home.

Lara Orr hove into view wearing a nightie, a dressing gown to match Stevie’s, and a pair of low navy blue court shoes with fluffy yellow socks inside them. She’s petite, nervously thin, and unattractive. Her eyes are so small they make her seem almost inbred.

“Wit’s he doing here?” she snapped unpleasantly.

“I brought him in for a cup of tea.”

“Look at the mess you’ve made of the place,” she said, making it sound as if he’d done it all that evening. “I’m ashamed to have people in and you’re bringing folk in here…” She glanced at me, sphincter-mouthed. “It’s twelve at night. And we don’t even know him. Ye shouldnae invite folk in.”

“Lara, shut it. Away and make some tea,” said Stevie, affectionately.

“Naw,” said Lara, looking me up and down and relaxing slightly. “You make some tea.”

“It was me invited him in. You make the tea.”

Lara was looking at my coat, and I could tell she liked it. I was expecting her to leave the room to make tea, but she clopped across to the sideboard and turned on a kettle that was sitting there. Stevie saw me staring open-mouthed at the arrangement.

“I’m doing up the kitchen as well,” he explained, inviting me to sit on the sofa.

How extraordinary. I didn’t want to sit on anything in my nice new coat, so I used the excuse of there being only two places on the settee and, lifting my coat at the back, balanced myself on the arm.

“I don’t like living like this,” snapped Lara at me.

“Neither of us likes it,” retorted Stevie.

“Wasn’t me that done it,” said Lara.

Stevie shrugged. “It’s just temporary,” he said.

“It’s been temporary for nearly two years.”

He swiveled around. “Lara,” he implored. “You’re nipping my fucking head. Give us peace.”

She raised her voice. “You give me peace,” she shouted.

Stevie laughed softly and turned back to me, spreading his hands in an appeal for reason. “She could start a fight in an empty house,” he said. If anyone had done that to my house, I’d have slapped them from sunup to sundown.

Lara busied herself at the sideboard, making us each a mug of tea. She asked me if I wanted sugar, and when I said yes, she shook some into the cup from a paper packet, stirring it with a suspiciously dun teaspoon. I think it was filthy but couldn’t see it across the room. Lara saw me looking concerned and used her body to block my view. She gave us both disgusting, cloudy-looking tea in stained cups, and Stevie fell on his, sipping it with great relish as though it were a delicate soup. I wasn’t about to drink mine. For an amuse-gueule, Lara opened a green bag of crisps and took out a handful for herself before handing them to me. She was still eating when she lit up a Rothmans from a packet in her dressing-gown pocket. I took out my Marlboros and offered them around. Stevie took one and put it behind his ear (for later, he explained). I sat the tea on the floor and pretended to be concerned with picking bits out of my handful of crisps and smoking. I found Lara a bit frightening. I didn’t want her having a go at me.

“I hear they found Do

I nodded. “Yeah. Sad. Sorry, do you hate her?”

“No,” said Lara genuinely. “We weren’t friends. I never met her, but I was pleased that she took him off my hands.”

“I knew her,” smiled Stevie, sitting to attention. “I’ve got nice pictures of her.”

I looked at Lara. “But I thought you were divorced from Gow long before she came on the scene?”

“Oh, aye. I divorced him, so he was going to kill me. He used to phone me and write letters. He was always talking to Stevie about what he’d do if he caught me.” Stevie nodded helpfully. “I didn’t get any peace until she came along.”

“That’s why we’ve never told anyone we were together,” said Stevie. “He’d have killed her if he got out.”

“Do you really believe he was capable of killing anyone?”

“Listen,” said Lara with conviction. “Never you mind what the courts say. He killed those women.”

“So you’re not sad that he’s dead?”

“No. I’m pleased,” said Lara Orr. “When he was out, I had to go and stay in my sister’s trailer in Prestwick to get a sleep. I didn’t feel safe.”

Stevie patted her knee. “That’s why I saw him before he left for up north,” he said. “I wanted to make sure he went away.”

“I knew he’d kill Do

Stevie nodded, first at her and then at me.

“But he didn’t kill Do

“Naw.” Lara was certain. “ Not Dr. Susie.” She was talking about it as if it were a soap opera. “If you ask me, he killed Do

We sat on the settee and finished the bag of crisps, passing it among us. A freezing mist hung in the room, leeching the heat from the gas fire. I glanced at my watch. It was twelve-thirty-three. If I had been at home, I’d have been up here getting miserable.

“Do you want to see my pictures of her?”

Stevie got out a pile of photos from the sideboard and came and stood next to me, handing them to me one at a time, making sure I looked at them before he gave me the next one. They were big publicity shots he’d taken of Do