‘You couldn’t have anticipated what happened to him,’ she said.
‘I should have. I was blinkered, I didn’t realise the potential consequences. For example, I never knew, until your father told me, that someone died as a result of the piece on Detective Inspector Coats. It identified a man, a confidential informant to whom Coats was closer than he should have been. Not long after it appeared, the fellow was found murdered. If I had known that, I would have put a stop to the blog there and then, but I didn’t until it was too late for my son.’
‘This is about your conscience, isn’t it?’ Alex suggested. ‘As much as it’s about justice.’
‘I suppose it is,’ Brass admitted, ‘but it’s about my anger too, over Marcia and the way she was . . . what’s the phrase? Framed, fitted up, for that shoplifting.’
‘You think she was?’
‘I’m persuaded that she was, Ms Skinner. I don’t know who did it, or why, but I don’t think they did it without help. I suspect that Strathclyde Police, Mr Coats in particular, colluded with it.’
‘That’s a big accusation, and it brings me back to my question. What do you want me to do about it?’
The man drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. For a moment, Alex thought that he was meditating, but in fact he was simply composing himself, finding the right words, for his eyes opened and he replied. ‘I want you to take Marcia’s case. Even though she’s dead, even though it’s years in the past, even though the supermarket in question no longer exists. I want you to reopen the investigation and clear her name.’
‘You want me to treat her as a living client?’
‘Precisely.’
‘The problem with that is that she isn’t,’ she exclaimed, ‘and unfortunately dead people don’t qualify for legal aid.’
‘That isn’t a problem, Ms Skinner. I’m not Warren Buffett, but I’m wealthy enough; I can afford your fee.’
‘And my associated costs? I might need to employ an investigator, and I tell you now, it will not be my father, not on a case that might involve police corruption as you suggest.’
‘That too. This means a great deal to me, Ms Skinner.’
‘Call me Alex, for God’s sake,’ she retorted. ‘I’m still struggling to see where I would start on this. It’s ancient history, the case never came to court and the chances are that the investigation files have been destroyed.’
Brass picked up his briefcase and snapped it open. ‘That may be, but I have a copy. Austin came by the papers through a contact who had a down on Mr Coats and who had his own doubts about the quality of the case against Marcia.’ He took out a thick folder and laid it on the table. ‘It’s all here. The complaint by the supermarket, witness lists, statements, all that stuff. All of it bogus, I believe.’
‘Again, do you know who that contact was?’
‘Not by name, but my understanding was that he worked in the procurator fiscal’s office.’
‘Let me see the papers, please.’ He slid the file across. She opened it and began to study.
‘This appears to have come from the procurator fiscal’s office,’ she murmured. ‘This is the charge sheet. It alleges that she stole a matching jacket and dress, value one hundred and sixty pounds, from the premises of LuxuMarket Limited in Kilmarnock.’ She moved on and read in silence for over a minute. ‘This appears to be a statement by the store manager, Mrs Hazel Delaney. It alleges that the items were hidden in a plastic bag that Ms Brown . . . Ms Brown?’
‘Marcia reverted to her maiden name after our divorce,’ he explained. ‘Not because she was at odds with me, but because she was very combative in her council role and didn’t want me or my dental practice to suffer because of her.’
‘I see. The statement says that she failed to present the bag at the checkout, that she was observed by store security and stopped in the car park.’ She flicked through the file. ‘There’s a statement by one Zaqib Butt, describing that. It says her groceries were in five bags and the clothes were in a sixth, hanging on a hook on her trolley.’
‘That’s right; I know it all by heart. It describes the contents of the bag.’
Alex looked at the guard’s deposition. ‘Matching dress and jacket in peacock blue,’ she read, ‘from the LuxuMarket Regency range.’
‘Size?’ Brass interjected.
‘Size twelve.’
‘Exactly. Marcia was a biggish woman. She was a size sixteen, although she would only ever admit to being a fourteen. If she was going to steal something it wouldn’t have been that many sizes too small for her; maybe one out of vanity or optimism, but no more.’
Alex nodded, fully engaged in the story for the first time. ‘What did she say about the bag on the hook?’
‘She told me that after she cleared the checkout, she was distracted by another shopper, a constituent who wanted to nobble her about some complaint or other that he had against the council. She left her trolley at the exit and went across to speak to him for a few seconds. She believed that was when the bag was put on the hook.’
‘Why didn’t she see it? Usually these hooks are below the handle and pretty visible.’
‘This one wasn’t. There was a hook there, but others on the sides of the trolley. The bag was on one that was out of her sight. If you look in the file, you’ll find a photograph that Detective Coats took when he arrived.’
‘Coats was actually at the scene?’ she exclaimed. ‘Shoplifting is a uniform job as a rule.’
‘Delaney, the store manager, called the station commander, and Coats turned up. He said it was because Marcia was a councillor and the police thought it might be a delicate situation.’
‘How did she know to phone the commander?’
‘I can’t say for certain, but I have my suspicions.’
‘Those being?’
‘This is where it gets tasty.’ Brass leaned back stiffly on his chair. ‘When Austin began to investigate, after his mother’s death, he went through her papers, her notes, everything. He found a diary entry that referred to a fellow councillor, an opponent, a Labour person. It was underlined and had three exclamation marks after it, a typical Marcia sign that she was not best pleased with that person. Austin approached one of her allies on the staff of the council, and established that a week before the LuxuMarket incident, Marcia and this person had a blazing row in the councillors’ sitting room.’
‘Did he find out what it was about?’
‘No, only that there had been voices raised and fingers pointed, threats made on either side. There was nothing in Marcia’s notebook that offered a clue to the business.’
‘The name of her enemy?’
‘She’s called Gloria Stephens. She’s still on the council; in fact she’s its leader, as she was then. With Marcia out of the way, she went from strength to strength; she pretty much runs the district now.’
Alex nodded. ‘Okay, David. If I’m reading this right, your suggestion is that there is a connection between their argument and Marcia’s arrest. How could that possibly happen?’
‘Very simply. Councillor Stephens has a daughter, Vera. She was on the staff of the supermarket, an assistant manager. Her responsibilities included the clothing range. At that time, she was engaged to a police constable, who was a regular golf partner of Terry Coats. Austin believed that Vera Stephens set the whole thing up at her mother’s behest, and that it was her fiancé who advised her to make the complaint directly to the station commander.’
‘What’s the cop’s name?’
‘If I ever knew, I’m afraid I can’t remember. We didn’t know about him until Austin started to investigate.’
‘If it was that carefully set up,’ Alex pointed out, ‘surely the constituent who distracted Marcia must have been involved too. Do you know who he was?’
Brass sighed. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘That’s the damnable thing. Marcia couldn’t remember his surname; his forename was Adrian, that she did recall.’
‘Did Austin try to find him?’
‘He did, but without success. That of itself was significant. He went through the entire electoral roll for the West Coast Council, but couldn’t find a single registered voter called Adrian, first name or second.’
‘What about the security man, Mr Butt? Was he interviewed?’
‘Only by the police and the fiscal. When Austin tried to speak to him, he was told that he had resigned from his job.’
‘I assume that Marcia had a solicitor. What was his name? Is he still in practice?’
‘She did, but no, he isn’t. His firm, Black and Grey, still exists but he retired four years ago. His name is Cedric Black, but I have no idea where he is these days.’
‘Do you know if the firm holds a file on the case?’
‘They did, but they refused to release it to Austin; they may have been scared by LuxuMarket’s aggressive posture. Austin believed it had been destroyed because it showed that Black had made no real effort to put together a defence for Marcia.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
Brass offered a small smile. ‘Does that mean you’ll take the case?’ he asked.
‘I’ll explore it,’ Alex replied. ‘But you need to know this. The only way it will be reopened will be if I find evidence of criminality. Nine years on, even if you’re right, the chances are that tracks will have been covered well and truly; what I’m saying is don’t build your hopes up.’
‘I understand that; I’ve always understood it. What more do you need from me?’
‘Initially, I need a letter of instruction from you. If I have to require access to the records of Black and Grey, I’ll need to have the authority to go to the Law Society to force it. I may need access to Austin’s papers on the subject as well.’
He frowned. ‘Austin’s files are quite extensive; I had them moved to my house in Kelso after he died. Do you want me to bring them all up here?’
‘I don’t need you to bring anything up. I’ll ask my investigator to go to you if it becomes necessary.’
‘Do you know who that will be, if not your father?’
Alex grinned. ‘Oh yes. I have the very woman in mind.’
Three
‘I don’t know whether to thank you or yell at you, Pops,’ Alex said, settling into a garden chair and uncapping a bottle of sparkling water. It was early evening, but the heat was still in the day as they looked out across Gullane Bents. The beach car park was full, and dozens of bathers could be seen on the edge of the incoming sea, with several paddle boards beyond them, their owners taking advantage of the rare opportunity to dispense with their wetsuits.
Skinner smiled. ‘I’ll know when you’ve made up your mind, then,’ he replied amiably. He raised an eyebrow slightly as he glanced at his daughter. ‘Your hair’s a mess, by the way.’
She ran the fingers of both hands through her mass of loose curls and shook them back into shape, casting a mock glare in her father’s direction as she did so. ‘Thanks for that,’ she chuckled. ‘I had the top down all the way out from town. What’s the point in having a convertible if you can’t convert it?’ She paused, frowning. ‘From the quiet around here, I’m guessing the kids are on the beach.’
‘Apart from the baby, yes. Sarah’s upstairs putting our wee Dawn to bed.’
‘Who’s in charge? Ignacio?’
‘No, he’s up in Perthshire with his mother. Didn’t I tell you? He started a holiday job at the weekend, in his stepfather’s hotel. Trish wanted to go for a swim, so she’s riding shotgun on them.’ He laughed. ‘The fact is, they’re all looking after Mark. Jazz is part fish, and Seonaid’s competent too, but Markie, he swims like a brick.’
‘Probably because he hasn’t found a computer program to teach him.’
‘You may have a point there. The boy is a genius in that respect.’
Alex sipped her water. ‘You okay with Ignacio being up there?’ she ventured.
‘With his mum?’ he retorted. ‘How could I not be? What right do I have to be anything but okay? I missed the first eighteen years of his life. Mia Watson and I had a one-night stand twenty-odd years ago; she ran off to Spain straight afterwards, before she even knew she was pregnant, never told me when she did know, had Ignacio, and lived a very illicit life there until she was forced to come back.’
‘None of that was your fault.’
He held her gaze. ‘You think? If she’d stayed, she might have faced criminal charges. That wouldn’t have been good for me, for you, for anyone.’
‘Are you telling me you tipped her off?’ she asked him quietly.
He nodded, almost imperceptibly. ‘I tipped her off. I told her to run and not stop. My Achilles heel, my one dark guilty secret . . . no, I have more than one, but only that one bothers me, because I never went after her. I wrote her off as bad news, along with the rest of her stupid, useless criminal family, and I shouldn’t have done that. There was always much more to Mia than any of that crew. “Mia Sparkles”, she called herself on the radio station, and she did, too; sparkle, that is.’ His smile came from nowhere and gave him away.
‘Bloody hell!’ Alex gasped. ‘Ignacio’s a genuine love child; you actually fell in love with her. I never realised.’
‘Rubbish,’ he protested, snapping back to the moment. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Yes you did; it was written all over your face.’
‘Maybe,’ he conceded. ‘Maybe I did. But I loved you more, and I knew that I couldn’t disrupt your life. If I’d done that, your mother would have reached up from down below and ripped my heart out.’
His daughter stared at him. ‘From below? Surely she’d have sent a dove from heaven to whisper in your ear and put you straight.’
He beamed at her. ‘I remember very little about my great-granny Skinner. She was early nineties when I was born, and she didn’t quite make it to the hundredth birthday card from the Queen. But one thing sticks in my mind. My dad took me to see her one day, out of duty more than anything else. She still lived on her own, and she gave him tea and me ginger beer; I was only four, but from time to time I still have its taste in my mouth. I was bored, and I started to play with an ornament she had on a side table. It was an Indian thing, a prayer wheel, I think, and I picked it up and started to spin it. Then this skeletal hand clamped on my wrist – for a woman of ninety-five, her grip was remarkably strong – and she drew me to her and hissed in my ear, “If you break that, boy, you will go to the bad fire!” By that time, I was going to Sunday school, and our church was authoritarian, to say the least. I knew all about the concepts of heaven and hell and I understood exactly what she meant.’
‘What an old witch,’ Alex murmured. ‘That explains why you never told me much about her, and why her photograph always stayed in a drawer. So,’ she continued, ‘that’s where you think my mum is? She went down there?’
‘It was a joke, love, but if such a place as the bad fire exists, I reckon Myra Graham Skinner might prefer to hang out there than with the angels.’
‘In that case, I’m glad I don’t believe in it,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want to run into too many of my former clients.’
‘I doubt that you’d meet David Brass there. I’m guessing that he’s the reason for this unscheduled visit.’
‘Your guess is spot on. You knew I wouldn’t be able to turn him down, didn’t you?’
‘I’d have been surprised if you had,’ Skinner admitted. ‘What’s your gut feeling?’
‘All my instincts say that he’s right. Marcia Brown was set up. I’ve read the official file; he said that a sympathetic person in the fiscal’s office slipped his son a copy. Did he show it to you?’
‘No. I didn’t want to get involved, not then. I was too wrapped up in finding Austin’s murderer. Also, at that time, I couldn’t be objective about Terry Coats.’
‘What was it with him?’ Alex asked. ‘You never really explained what that fuss was about.’
‘He was playing away games. When he became a person of interest in the Aust
in Brass murder, it all came out, and as Noele, his wife, was a DS on the investigation team, it was inevitable that she would hear about it. For some reason he thought I was responsible for that. The one person he should have blamed was himself, and I had to explain that to him, firmly.’
‘What’s your take on him now? Could he have framed Marcia Brown?’
‘What does the prosecution file tell you?’
‘Nothing that implicates him in a stitch-up. If there was one, okay, he might have been complicit, but equally he might just have done a sloppy job. He did make it to detective inspector, though, so he must have been an effective officer generally.’
Skinner nodded. ‘He was, but he was also a risk-taker. He walked in shady places, cultivated contacts on the other side, and built his reputation by putting them at risk. Did David tell you who turned Austin loose on Coats; who gave him the information that was used on Brass Rubbings and finished his career?’
‘A senior officer was all he said.’
‘It was Toni Field, his chief constable, my predecessor in Strathclyde. She couldn’t have nailed Coats through the normal procedures because she had no basis for a complaint, so she used Austin to do her dirty work. There’s no harm in you knowing that when your investigator interviews him, as I assume they will.’
‘Yes,’ she nodded, ‘Coats is bound to be on the list, along with half a dozen other people.’ As a cloud passed overhead, casting a sudden shadow across the garden, she seemed to mimic it by frowning. ‘The more I think about this, Pops, the more I’m beginning to feel like a prosecutor. If we prove Marcia’s innocence, we have to prove someone else guilty.’
‘Guilty of what?’
‘Perverting the course of justice, or something similar. What should I do, Pops? Should I begin there and work backwards?’
‘You should do nothing; let your investigator set the priorities.’ He looked away, across the bents, and saw a group of four, three children and an adult, making their way in his direction. ‘The peace is about to be breached,’ he announced, rising from his chair. ‘You staying for supper?’
The Bad Fire (Bob Skinner series, Book 31): A shocking murder case brings danger too close to home for ex-cop Bob Skinner in this gripping Scottish crime thriller Page 4
