‘Precisely, Grace. So where was she? If she knew there was someone in the house, why did she head straight for him? She was in her dressing gown, but the shower and bath were dry, unless she dried the whole place before she went through and just hadn’t heard anything because she was in the shower. It’s possible the place could have dried off in the time before she was found, but we have a statement that she was swimming at her club earlier on and had a sauna so would she shower again?’
He left the question hanging and nodded to Young, who was scribbling more notes. She removed her glasses and carried on. She was definitely warming to her subject.
‘So the other question is: why did he head straight for that cupboard? There might be an explanation – it could signify prior knowledge, but then there was nothing of value in the box. One explanation could be that he went straight to the cupboard because he didn’t know the deceased’s body was lying the other side of the bed. We’ve checked and he wouldn’t see her from that angle.’
‘I’m looking at the photographs from the locus and there’s bloodstaining on the wall. Would he have seen that?’ Macallan asked. She had the buzz – this was what she missed. Examining the puzzles, looking at the fragments and trying to make a picture of the truth.
‘He would, but it was dark, and we’ve looked at this as well, Grace. He might not have noticed initially, but we just don’t know. In the dark, you can see the marks, but it would be easy to miss them when you first entered the room, especially if you were concentrating on the cupboard, which is more less right in front of you.’ She looked at Slade, who nodded again to carry on.
‘So there are some problems that don’t seem to fit what we have. To be fair that’s not unusual, and there are always issues that don’t seem to make sense at a locus. So we have the question if he went for the cupboard first, why was that? Then if that was the case, why did the deceased head for the bedroom – unless she just hadn’t heard anything?’
‘That’s possible, I suppose.’ Macallan paused and concentrated, trying to paint the picture in her mind, to be there at the killing. ‘If she came into the room and Davy McGill was there anywhere between the door and the cupboard, she would be running past him to the other side of the bed. Possible but seems unlikely.’
‘Exactly, Grace, though the trouble is that sometimes victims act against logic. But there’s more,’ Thompson said.
‘The next problem is that there’s a repeated bloodstain on the carpet leading away from the area of the body and almost certainly from his boot. That’s fair enough, and we also have a faint pattern on the carpet from the heavy soil contact on the sole. From the position of the blood transfer, we’re pretty sure this was from his right boot. So far so good.’
She looked directly at Macallan. ‘This is where we have another problem. All that’s on the carpet is this blood from the right boot, and we can see the tread of the left boot, but no bloodstaining from that one. However, the left boot found at Davy McGill’s place had blood on the sole. Do you follow that, Grace?’
Macallan looked puzzled, trying to see in her imagination why that could be.
‘Not really, Lesley.’ She tapped the end of her pencil against her notepad and then saw what the others in the room saw. ‘Unless it was planted.’
‘On the money, Grace.’ Slade smiled; he had always loved working with Macallan. Her intense focus was something he’d always admired. It was always more than just a job with her, and he was driven in the same way.
Thompson broke the moment again.
‘The lab have looked at it and they’re unhappy, as the bloodstain on the left boot has no subsequent wear or contamination on the surface of it. In other words, why isn’t it walked off, to some degree? If the circumstances had been different, they would have suspected a plant by the detectives.’ She waited for a response.
‘So will it hold up, Ronnie?’ Macallan wondered where this was leading, and they hadn’t even come to Janet Hadden.
‘As evidence of a crime, let’s say involving a third party? The answer is: not on its own. If, for example, Dominic Grainger is involved in some way then all he has to do is deny it. We have nothing else apart from doubts, but they’re significant doubts, Grace.’
‘Motive?’ Macallan threw it into the room.
‘Has to be something to do with money,’ Slade said, and they could see it couldn’t settle happily with Davy McGill acting alone. ‘We have information, including his own statement, that their marriage was in trouble, and now it turns out he’s a serious and pretty hopeless gambler. If this was some kind of set-up then it wouldn’t explain why Davy McGill broke in and stole a box full of crap. The box was locked, so he wouldn’t know what was inside, and maybe he thought there was something else or he was taking to order. Just don’t know, Grace. However, we now have your story that he was in contact with Davy McGill, so we have to act.’
Thompson broke in and reminded them there were other issues. ‘We still don’t know who kicked the door in, and the junkies next door deny that. Then I suppose the question is: did Davy McGill kill himself intentionally or was he forced in some way? If the blood was planted on the boot then it must have happened in the flat.’
She let it hang there while they absorbed the information and made their own notes.
‘Okay.’ Slade took control. ‘Let’s get this thing organised.’
‘There’s confirmation from my source as well that the marriage was a sham, and with the gambling problem on top, there’s definitely a motive. What do you propose, Ronnie?’ Macallan felt like her skin was prickling with energy. She felt alive, high and she wanted to know what had happened in that bedroom.
‘We’ll have him in, but not as a suspect, just a witness clearing up loose ends. We bring him in as a suspect on this, he just needs to sit with his lawyer, who’ll accuse us of harassing the victim’s distraught other half. What about Janet Hadden?’
‘I’ll get her at the same time. Don’t know her, but she has an impressive record, although apparently she can be a bit of a loner. Can’t make any sense of this alleged incident in the bar. If she attacks a man in the bar while she’s in Grainger’s company, before she’s registered the first meet with him, then I just don’t know. Weird one, but sometimes these things fizzle out, and we have to give her the benefit of the doubt.’
Macallan made a couple of notes and they finished the meeting, agreeing to coordinate interviews with Grainger and Hadden.
56
Arthur Hamilton had decided to watch and wait. The atmosphere at the funeral had been ice-cold, even if it was the height of summer, although in Scotland that meant mostly pissing rain. Jude Hamilton was buried in Portobello cemetery on the eastern edge of the city. There were bursts of sunshine mixed in with downpours that had soaked the mourners, such as they were. It was a surprisingly small gathering, and in a way, it hit home with both Dominic Grainger and Arthur Hamilton that not many people really cared that much for them. There were more old-time gangsters there as a token of respect for the deceased’s father than there were people who actually loved and cared about them.
The only acknowledgement between father-in-law and son-in-law was a nod each way. The tension was there and everyone saw it.
Ronnie Slade and Lesley Thompson stood well back from the graveside, but if they’d had suspicions before the funeral, the ceremony had done nothing to tell them they were wrong.
Hamilton knew what they knew and didn’t need to worry about the constraints of the law. He was waiting on Grainger making a mistake and exposing the lie – then he would make his move. All he needed was that final piece to prove what had happened, and once he had it, all of the Graingers were dead men walking.
Hamilton had nothing left but the memories and his name. The last witness to what he’d done in the past was dead, and he could pretend that he had honour.
He scanned the mourners and found it was the same as at the church service. Not a single tear; in fact, no one was even preten
ding. It made him angry because he knew his life and what had been his family was a failure in every sense of the word. His wife had died hating him, and his daughter had grown up carrying his secret like a loaded weapon. He knew other gangsters with children who’d gone on to university and become lawyers and doctors. The old men had wanted something different for their children and they’d achieved that.
The mourners started to peel away and he stared at the hole in the ground containing the battered remains of his daughter. He hadn’t noticed Slade and Thompson coming up beside him.
‘I’m sorry, Arthur. We’ve had our run-ins, but put that aside and I know what this means. Christ, I’ve seen enough of it in my time.’
Hamilton looked up and studied the detectives as if they were strangers. ‘Is that the case closed then, Ronnie? Job done, eh?’ His lips were tight and he wanted confrontation; it was written all over him.
‘The job’s never done, Arthur. We study the evidence till we’re sure, then we close the books, and there’s still work to be done.’
Slade hadn’t intended saying anything, but he saw in Hamilton’s face that things were moving out of control and the last thing he needed was for him to do anything rash before he had Grainger in. It was arranged for the following day and dressed up as a routine interview.
‘Look, Arthur, if you have any theories of your own be sure and share them with us. Hate us to have crossed lines.’
‘Crossed lines, Ronnie? You do what you have to do and I’ll take care of my business, son. I mean, the case is solved, isn’t it? Tell me it’s solved, Ronnie.’
Slade felt his mouth twitch as he tried to control his non-verbals, but Hamilton read the signs. They both knew what the answer was, but there couldn’t be any conformation on either part.
‘Arthur, I’m telling you here and now: stay the fuck away from this and let us do our job. You interfere and you’ll end up inside, that’s a promise.’
Slade regretted it as soon as the last word left his lips. The old gangster had waltzed him and he knew it.
‘Jesus, Ronnie, think I give a fuck what you might do? I’m just mournin’ for the daughter an’ mindin’ my business.’
He turned his back on the detectives and headed for his car. Slade watched him go and shook his head. ‘We better put this one to bed, Les, or Christ knows what’ll happen.’
When Hamilton reached his car, he pulled out his phone and called Frankie Mason.
‘I want you all over my son-in-law again, Frankie. Bring in extra help if you need it and fuck the cost. Ye hear, Frankie boy?’
Mason winced on the other end of the phone, but at least the big man wasn’t threatening to kill him, and it was a big earner if he wanted that level of cover.
‘I can bring in ex-army guys if you want. They’re expensive but—’
Hamilton interrupted before he could get the rest of the words out. ‘Just fuckin’ do it, Frankie, and stay on the bastard till I say otherwise, okay?’
Mason could hardly disagree; he didn’t want a rematch with the Weegies Hamilton had brought in. For a moment, he considered telling Jacquie Bell but thought he’d shelve that for the time being. If he fucked up again with the big man, he’d be taking a rest under the waters of the Forth the next time.
Instead, Mason picked up the phone and called in some of his old team.
57
Slade sat over the table from Dominic Grainger and tried to appear as if it really was a routine interview.
‘We’ve just some loose ends to tie up and thanks for coming in today.’ The words nearly stuck in his throat because he knew that Grainger was wise to the move – had his lawyer with him.
Grainger and Hadden had discussed this eventuality and what they would say if it happened, so he felt confident enough and purposely ignored Slade when he was talking, staring directly at Lesley Thompson. He was playing games, and his lawyer shifted uncomfortably with the tension being generated across the table.
‘Somehow, I’m just not convinced this is routine, Mr Slade, but fire away – I’ve nothing to hide.’
Slade knew exactly what he was doing, and regardless of the game, he ran through a series of routine questions that seemed to annoy Grainger. He wanted to control what was happening, but Slade stuck to his script and asked almost ridiculously trivial questions till the lawyer objected. The detective ignored him and carried on till Grainger was absolutely wound up. Then he fired the first bullet.
‘Why did you visit Davy McGill at his home?’
It was a direct hit and they all watched the impact. It was a question Grainger hadn’t expected because he’d been sure no one could have seen him that night, and in the brief moment that he was unbalanced and searching for a response, they noted the slight change in his colour, the way his eyes narrowed and the pause he needed to invent a lie.
He’d gone over this time and time again and he knew he would make a mistake, but it all depended on what they knew. If it was just that he’d been there, then there was an out. The detectives knew so there was no point in a denial, and he was smart enough to know the best course was to go with it.
His recovery was remarkable and Slade knew their victory wasn’t going to come easy.
Grainger put his palms on the table and leaned forward.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t want to mention this and I apologise. You might not know it but I have, let’s just say, some problems with my brothers, and Paul in particular.’
Slade had interviewed or tried to interview the Grainger brothers because Davy McGill was on their team. Sean had said almost nothing and Paul had said ‘fuck off’ to every question he was asked.
Grainger had regained his cool. ‘I might as well tell you that it was becoming serious and I wanted someone on their team to keep me informed. They always gave Davy a hard time, so I thought he was the man to help me out. In fact, he said he would. That’s why I was there.’
Slade had to admit that he was good, and the man could think on his feet. He’d flinched at the question then rebounded like a professional. Thompson stepped in and fired the next bullet.
‘We’ve been told that you met DI Janet Hadden unofficially in a West End bar. In fact, we were told that you were with her when she assaulted a man in the bar.’
Hadden and Grainger had discussed this one a number of times. There was always the possibility this would crop up somehow because of the barny and he took it easily.
‘I remember a woman I was with kicking off. I’d just met her and after that incident I gave it a complete miss. Can’t even remember her name and she looked nothing like Janet. Long hair and glasses, as far as I remember.’ He sat back, looking pleased with himself.
Slade felt his own emotions rising. That was normal and he controlled it. Like every other detective, he sometimes wished it was like the stories from the old-time detectives around when he joined CID – no lawyer present and a smack in the coupon for every smart remark – but it was a new age of investigation and the fucking lawyers were always in the way.
Slade pressed him on the incident in the pub and started to feel the dead weight in his gut that the interview was going absolutely nowhere near a result. He’d guessed that was what would happen beforehand, but there was always that glimmer of hope that it would be like the telly and repeating the question a few times would get the suspect to break down and tell all. Real life just wasn’t like that though – it needed more than raising your voice a few times to get the real pros to open up, and it was only a small percentage that ever did. Even then, on the rare occasions it did happen, it was usually because there was a mountain of corroboration to put to the suspect.
He threw the last roll of the dice and watched the reaction.
‘Davy McGill seemed to go straight to that cupboard where the box was. There was nothing of value in it as far as we can see. That seems strange to us. Any idea why that might be?’
Grainger didn’t answer and let the lawyer earn his crust.
‘I’m
sorry, Mr Slade, but that question sounds to me as if my client is a suspect. Is that the case? Because if so, we’re on thin ice here. He volunteered to come in as a witness. Either detain him or back off!’
Slade didn’t let the intervention move him. The lawyer was on the money, but he wanted to send a message that they had their suspicions, so he didn’t answer – he just gave Grainger full-on eye contact and waited.
‘You heard my lawyer.’ Grainger’s lips were tight and he saw the message in the detective’s eyes – if I get a fucking sniff, I’m coming for you.
Grainger nodded; it was no more than he expected. He was flying, the nerves and fears gone in the bear pit. The detectives had given it their best shot but missed the target. They’d exhausted their questions and Grainger’s lawyer began to act up because they were just going round the same circuit now.
Slade threw in the towel and asked Grainger if there was anything he wanted to know, though he knew what was coming.
‘How did you know I went to Davy McGill’s flat?’
Grainger had to get an answer to that one, and although he knew the detectives wouldn’t tell him, he would have to work it out. He’d been exposed somewhere along the line, and he would worry that they were keeping something else up their sleeves.
That was exactly what Slade wanted and was as much as he could achieve. Davy McGill was still the guilty corpse and there was nowhere else to go. The real problem was that, no matter how he tried, this case was solved as far as most people were concerned, and some other cases were parked just round the corner. At any minute, he knew he might get the call to take over another major incident, and Davy McGill would just be another story for the detectives to chew over a drink in years to come.
Across the city, Grace Macallan had started her interview with Janet Hadden a bit later. There had been a bomb scare in Fettes and they were all taken seriously, especially since the explosion near the old HQ which had almost killed Lesley Thompson. The station had been cleared after the warning and it had created an awkward situation between Hadden and Macallan, as they’d had to evacuate the building to the same assembly point.
Our Little Secrets Page 30
