by T F Muir
‘If she loses Katie, she’ll probably commit suicide.’
Gilchrist stilled as cold fingers brushed his neck. If he had any doubts about Novo’s cold-heartedness, they were dispelled there and then. Committing suicide was as ordinary as ordering a pizza. Over the years, he’d come up against many a chilling individual, but Novo was striving to set herself apart.
He decided to change tack. ‘The day you left home to go to university, you were what . . .? Seventeen?’
She nodded.
‘But you were leaving Andrea. How did that make you feel?’
She shrugged. ‘I had to leave. She knew that.’
‘And when you last saw your father, can you remember what he said?’
‘He said nothing. I slapped his face as hard as I could.’
‘Because he’d molested you?’
‘Yes.’
‘But not Andrea.’ His statement seemed to confuse her. ‘He never molested Andrea?’
‘No.’
The answer seemed too quick, too assertive. ‘It doesn’t fit,’ he said. ‘I think he did.’
‘Think what you like. I can assure you he never did.’
‘Why?’ he asked.
Novo frowned. ‘Why what?’
‘Why did you not report your father to the police? Despite this hatred that you carry around for him still, you never reported him. You should have.’ He leaned closer. ‘Are you protecting him?’
She pressed her glass to her lips, as if hiding behind it. ‘I told him never to contact me again. And he never has. He’s boxed. So there’s no need to report him.’
‘And what about your mother in all of this? The slut, as you put it. You seem to hate her as much as you hate your father. What did she do? Or perhaps I should be asking, What didn’t she do?’ He studied her eyes, thought he caught a flicker of uncertainty, then came to see that his words had frightened her in some way.
‘You’re not protecting your father,’ he said. ‘Or your mother.’
She sipped her drink, unwilling to meet his eyes.
‘You’re protecting Andrea.’
He watched her cup her glass in both hands again, as if to steady a tremor that shook her fingers. Then she closed her eyes, and tears squeezed from between mascaraed eyelashes to run in black streaks that converged on her chin.
‘He molested Andrea, too,’ he said.
She tightened her lips, trying not to admit it.
‘Did he have sexual intercourse with her?’
She lowered her head.
‘And he raped you, too.’
She gave out a tiny gasp of breath that caused tears to slide from her chin and drop to the table.
‘Which your mother knew about. But did nothing.’
She gave a shiver for a nod.
‘Does Sandy know?’
His words had the effect of restarting a frozen scene. Novo raised her head, opened her eyes. Anger verging on panic flamed within them. ‘No one must know,’ she said. ‘That’s what this is about. I’ve never accused the mighty Dougal Davis of incest because it would destroy Andrea. She’s not strong. She would never be able to stand up in court to testify against him. Her mental state is too fragile. You must leave her alone.’
‘But your mother knew?’ he said, just to make sure he was not missing anything.
Anger carved her face with lines of hatred. ‘Of course she knew. When he was having it off with us, he would leave her alone.’ She glared over his shoulder, set her eyes on some distant memory. ‘It was always the same the next morning, after he’d . . . ’ Her eyes closed, then opened in a long, slow blink. ‘She was nice to us. Making us breakfast, fussing over us. When we were young we were just thankful for some kindness in our lives. It wasn’t until I was older, in my mid-teens, that I put two and two together and realised she’d known all along.’
‘Did you confront her?’
‘Once, but she denied it.’
‘And what about Sandy?’ he tried again. ‘Does he know?’
‘No.’ Her answer was too quick.
He was undecided how much of her confession to believe, because that’s what it was, a confession. All these years, and she’d kept her incestuous affair secret to protect her weaker twin sister and, perhaps arguably, her mother. But just how weak was Andrea? She’d ordered both Gilchrist and Jessie from her house, not once, but on two separate occasions – hardly the action of a woman too weak to stand up for herself. He needed to push harder, take Novo to the edge, and only then decide whether to believe her or not.
‘You realise I can’t let this lie,’ he said.
Her gaze snapped back, eyes locked on his. ‘I won’t testify. And neither will Andrea. I’ll make sure of that.’
‘And your mother?’
‘Drag her good name through the mud?’ she scoffed. ‘That’ll be the day.’
‘She won’t necessarily have any say in the matter.’
Novo smiled at him then, as if she were about to spoil the ending of some dirty joke. ‘For someone as intelligent as you are, Mr Gilchrist, you’re being remarkably obtuse.’
Silent, he returned her stare.
‘My mother won’t testify against my father. You should understand that. No matter what evidence you come up with, it isn’t going to happen.’
‘Even though he’s clearly hated so deeply.’
‘My father has a reach far greater than you can imagine,’ she said. ‘But with my mother, he’ll never need to use it.’
‘Why?’ It was all he could think to ask.
‘Because he scares her.’
Dougal Davis was an ex-MSP. That position would have helped him build a network of powerful associates the length and breadth of the nation. Despite being expelled from the party for alleged wife abuse, with a silver tongue he could allay concerns with any number of mistruths – nothing more than fabricated lies by enemies with political grudges, for example. But if he were accused of incest and rape by his daughters, his network of associates would vanish like haar in a heatwave.
The possibility of building a case against Dougal Davis was all good and well, but it was not helping Gilchrist find Katie. He drained his beer, pushed the glass to the side to clear a space between them. ‘You abandoned your family to protect your sanity,’ he said.
‘Is that a question?’
‘And you don’t miss them at all?’
‘No.’
Gilchrist held her cold eyes, beginning to see in them what he’d suspected before his trip to London. Novo might come across as the ice-maiden, but for just that moment, when pressed about her twin sister, she’d almost broken down.
So how did compassion fit into the profile of frozen steel?
He thought he knew the answer. All he had to do was gauge her reaction.
‘The burning question still remains,’ he said, and leaned forward, his eyes settling on hers. ‘Why haven’t you asked how my investigation into Katie’s abduction is coming along?’
She snorted, gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘You’ve not been listening.’
‘Oh I have,’ he said. ‘I’ve been taking it all in. Every single word you said. And what you said fits. Up to a point.’
‘Which is?’
‘The point where you show no concern over your niece’s welfare, as if you couldn’t care less whether she’s alive or dead.’ He caught the bobbing of her Adam’s apple, the flicker of a glance to the side. ‘And I know why.’
She pressed her glass to her lips, but it was empty. She put it down.
He sat back, and smiled. It was the only logical explanation he could think of.
‘You know where Katie is,’ he said.
CHAPTER 26
Novo glared at him with a cold look that could weld rebar, and from that point on she reverted to the ice-maiden Gilchrist had first met. Despite his prying and prodding, twisting and turning the questions, she denied everything, replying with a glacial coldness that defied emotion. Gone were the tears. Gone was th
e concern for her twin sister. Instead, Novo spoke with a quick-thinking sharpness that reminded Gilchrist of some German actor whose name eluded him, playing the role of a psychopathic solicitor.
By 6.30 p.m. he had done all he could, exhausted all attempts to coerce any confession, or uncover some secondary titbit that would help his investigation. Instead of loosening Novo’s tongue, it seemed he had managed to staple it down.
He slid from the booth with a suddenness that startled her.
‘Aren’t you going to arrest me?’ she smirked.
He pushed to his feet, and grimaced. ‘To achieve what? Establish the truth?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I would only be wasting my time sitting in an interview room in London listening to you lying with your solicitor present—’
‘I’m not lying. You’ve accused me of somehow being involved in the abduction of my sister’s daughter. The whole thing’s so preposterous,’ she said, ‘that I’m speechless.’
‘But you’re not.’
‘What do you expect me to say?’
‘I expect nothing,’ he said, and held out a business card. ‘I was hoping you might be more truthful—’
‘You’re still not listening. I’m telling the truth. I can’t be held accountable for your wanting to cling on to some ridiculous theory that has no substance whatsoever.’
She ignored his business card, but he placed it on the table.
‘I’ll sort the bill,’ he said, then turned away and walked to the bar.
In the mirror, he watched her pick up the menu and flip it over, then back to the front; a telling action he thought, not what he expected. She should have used her mobile – to call her solicitor, arrange a meeting; phone her associates to resurrect their shortened evening: come back to the restaurant, the lunatic from Scotland has been chased away with his tail between his legs; phone for a taxi; phone someone, anyone.
But she did none of that.
Instead, she kept her gaze drilled on the menu, her mobile secure in her handbag.
Gilchrist paid the bill, slipped the receipt into his wallet.
In Creechurch Lane the temperature felt as if it could be in the 90s, so different from the dreich Fife coast weather with its perpetual chill from the sea, and a cold haar that could suck the warmth from any sun. The city seemed to hum with a basal noise that touched the senses. For a moment he thought of stepping into the shadows like some third-rate spy, waiting to see when – not if – Novo used her mobile. But doing so could draw attention to himself, and if Novo had any inkling that her stonewalling had not hounded him from the city to follow leads anew in the north, she would not make any call.
Of course, he could be wrong. He could be so far off track that he could be outside looking in. But he strode into the evening warmth without a backward glance, heading for Leadenhall Street and the first pub that sold a pint of real ale – Caledonian, if they had it.
He powered his mobile up, and saw he had one missed call and three texts – two from DS Baxter confirming that Stevie Graham’s DNA and fingerprint results were back, and that the body in Cellardyke harbour was definitely his, and that Jack had now been released from custody without bail. And one from Cooper asking him to call, signed off with sorry b xx.
Well, an apology was a start, he supposed.
Or was it an ending?
He resisted the urge to delete Cooper’s message, remembering that he’d asked her to call him any time. But the echo of her voice whispered in his mind – I have a friend staying over. It’s no one you know – and he knew she wouldn’t tell him who, and wondered how they would talk their way around this blip in their relationship – none of your bloody business, sprang to mind – if they still indeed had a relationship.
The missed call was from Jessie.
‘Any luck?’ she asked him.
‘Dimitri Novokoff is Katie Davis’s father.’
‘Holy shit,’ Jessie said. ‘Didn’t expect that one.’ She whistled a surprised gasp, and said, ‘Where is he? We need to question him. He could be behind the kidnapping.’
‘According to Novo, he doesn’t know anything about the child.’
‘That’s what they all say. Do you believe her?’
‘To a point,’ he said. ‘I think she still knows more than she’s letting on, but it’s too soon to say,’ he added, not wanting to hint that Novo might be party to the abduction and know where Katie was – a sixth-sense hunch as far-fetched as he’d ever had. He moved off the subject with, ‘Get Jackie to find out Dimitri’s contact details, and let’s see if we can talk to him at least.’
‘Already on it.’
‘So what did you find out?’ he asked her.
‘According to Lady Cooper,’ she said, ‘Stevie Graham didn’t drown. He OD’d on crack cocaine. His fingerprints match those on the hammer, so we’re thinking he’s been set up by his two mates.’
‘Who’ve gone into hiding, no doubt.’
‘Looks that way. And we’ve had no luck with that other mobile we found in Grange Mansion. Outgoing calls only. And all to Novo. I don’t get it. Why take a phone contract out in her daughter’s name? Why all the undercover stuff?’
‘She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s still in contact with her sister.’
‘But why? Who’s going to bother?’
Jessie’s question worked through his system, and he realised he should have asked Novo one more question. But he couldn’t go back now. ‘Just because the contract was taken out in Katarina’s name,’ he said, ‘doesn’t necessarily mean it was Andrea who took it out, does it?’
‘So you’re thinking . . . who? Novo?’
‘Not sure,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you check with Andrea?’
She cackled a laugh. ‘She ordered Mhairi and me from her home this afternoon.’
‘Becoming a habit of hers.’
‘Told her I was having none of it this time.’
‘So you don’t want to talk to her again?’
‘Waste of time, I’d say. I’m not likely to be told the truth.’
‘Are we ever?’ he said.
‘Touché. We can always challenge her later if we uncover anything more.’
‘Any news on Katie?’
‘No further forward,’ she said. ‘We’re coming up empty-handed. Greaves is not long off the phone, demanding answers and looking for you. I told him you’d get back to him at the first opportunity, and he hung up. Why would he do that?’
‘He thinks you’re full of crap.’
‘Well, you will get back to him, won’t you?’
‘Of course not.’
Jessie chuckled, a throaty roll that sounded – dare he say it? – sexy. ‘How to make friends and influence people, right enough,’ she said, then added, ‘Anything from Tosh?’
‘Not yet,’ he lied, not wanting to get into it with her. ‘But it’s only a matter of time until he tries something.’
‘Want me to talk to someone?’ Jessie said.
Gilchrist pressed his mobile to his ear, not sure what she was implying. ‘Like who?’
‘I’ve got friends in Glasgow,’ she went on, ‘who owe me one. Leave it with me—’
‘Jessie,’ he snapped. ‘Forget it. I’ll take care of it.’
A pause, then, ‘If you ever—’
‘I hear you,’ he said. ‘But don’t get yourself involved with Tosh. Not for me. Okay?’
She took a few beats to respond. ‘Okay.’
‘I’ll talk to you later about it,’ he said, then killed the call. Jessie’s mention of Tosh made him realise that he still needed to call Strathclyde HQ and talk to Dainty. But Dainty was on one of his rare days off, and Gilchrist managed to track him down on his home landline.
‘You’re not trying to sell me anything, are you?’ Dainty joked. ‘Fucking bombarded with punters selling solar panels, or insulation, or God knows what. Should switch the fucker off at night.’
‘What have you got on Tosh?’ Gilchrist said.
&
nbsp; ‘That bastard?’
‘The one and only.’
‘You need to be careful. Tosh has got some contacts. He’s tight with CS Maxwell.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘And you’re all the better for it,’ Dainty said. ‘Chief Super Victor Maxwell heads up the BAD Squad—’
‘Bad Squad?’
‘Used to be a branch of the Drugs Squad until Maxwell was called in to take over, then renamed it Battle Against Drugs – BAD. And I tell you: bad by name, bad by nature. He’s been pulled in a couple of times over some questionable interviewing techniques, but he’s more slippery than an eel in an oil slick.’
‘Sounds like Tosh is in good company.’
‘You don’t want to mess with these guys, Andy. You’d have to watch your fucking back if you foul them.’ The phone rustled, and Dainty said in an off-stage voice, ‘With you in a minute, sugar,’ then came back with, ‘Got the call from the wife. I’ll get back to you if I come up with anything.’
The connection died.
Gilchrist wiped sweat from his lips. He didn’t like the sound of Tosh teaming up with Maxwell – bad by name, bad by nature – but he forced his thoughts back to the present, and glanced at his watch. Ten minutes had passed since he’d left Novo, which was enough time for her to make a call. But he chose to give her another couple of minutes, and called Jack on his mobile.
‘I heard they released you without charge,’ Gilchrist said. ‘How’d you get home?’
‘Taxi.’
Gilchrist cringed. A taxi from Glenrothes to St Andrews could run the best part of thirty quid. But maybe this was a way for Jack to be taught a lesson—
‘I’m really pissed off, man—’
‘I know you are—’
‘No you don’t. You don’t know how fucking really pissed off I am. You hear about fuck-ups like this, about innocent guys being found guilty for some shit they didn’t do. Well, I did nothing wrong. Nothing, man. Straight up. And that Baxter kept hammering on about Sammie Bell this, Sammie Bell that, as if he’s my best mate or something. Fuck sake, man.’ A pause, then, ‘I mean, for fuck’s sake.’
