by T F Muir
Gilchrist slipped off his leather jacket and let it fall over Rutherford.
He inspected his arm, ran a hand over it, flinched at a tender part where the axe had shaved off a layer of skin. The blade had sliced through his jacket and shirtsleeve, lengthwise. A half-inch to one side would have stripped his arm of muscle. An inch or so more would have cleaved bone.
He placed a finger on Rutherford’s neck, but felt no pulse. A glance at the axe-head buried deep into his back confirmed the blow had killed him instantly. He slipped his hand inside his jacket, removed his mobile, pushed himself to his feet – on shaky legs, he had to admit – and dialled the Force Contact Centre, all the while keeping his eyes on Vera, just in case she had a sudden change of heart.
But she sat there on the damp morning grass, her frail body slumped and broken, her gaze shifting around her, staring at everything but taking in nothing, as if her very heart had dissolved and slipped off into the cool air.
CHAPTER 34
At 2.30 p.m., the discovery of wee Katie Davis was announced to the media by Chief Constable McVicar at a press conference held in Glenrothes HQ. He praised the efforts of Fife Constabulary, and in particular those of Senior Investigating Officer, Detective Chief Inspector Andy Gilchrist, and his team – no specific members were named, which irked Gilchrist as he eyed the TV screen.
Despite the clamour from the media scrum for more details, McVicar kept the press conference short, asking everyone present to show constraint and give Mrs Andrea Davis the privacy she needed and had respectfully requested. As the investigation was still active, no further comments could be made, but McVicar closed by giving assurance that all guilty or associated parties would be found and brought to justice.
Then he turned his back on the cameras and strode from the room.
Gilchrist switched off the TV.
‘Surprised Greaves never put himself up there,’ Jessie quipped. ‘A golden opportunity like that to show himself off? Thought that was a no-brainer.’
Gilchrist said, ‘You ready?’
‘Yeah, let’s get some nailing done.’
Rather than have all suspects held in custody in various jails around Scotland, Vera Davis, and Kevin and Annette Kirkwood, had been brought to Glenrothes Police Station for further questioning. The Met had Rachel Novo under surveillance, but she had not surfaced from her house after leaving her office at short notice yesterday.
Vera Davis would be charged with murder and attempted murder, but her involvement in her granddaughter’s kidnapping was as yet unclear. Surprisingly, or so Gilchrist thought, she was represented by Simon Copestake, who stood when Gilchrist and Jessie walked into the interview room.
Copestake gave Gilchrist a firm handshake, and Jessie a slack one.
Vera, on the other hand, followed Gilchrist’s every move with silent disdain.
Gilchrist returned her sullen gaze – her sense of loathing almost tangible – while Jessie busied herself with the formalities, noting date, time, names of those present, and advising Vera that she was being formally charged with the murder of her husband and attempted murder of a police officer. She didn’t even blink, leaving Gilchrist with the feeling that he had never before sat face-to-face with such a cold-hearted individual.
He placed his hands palm-down on the table, and stared at her, trying to give off a healthy dose of loathing of his own. ‘You knew,’ he said to her. ‘Didn’t you?’
Copestake leaned forward. ‘Could you be more specific? Perhaps tell us what my client is alleged to have known?’
‘Before I arrived at your home this morning, you knew Katarina had been found.’
Vera returned Gilchrist’s gaze with an unblinking stare. ‘Her name’s not Katarina. It’s Katie.’
Gilchrist corrected her. ‘Her birth certificate states Katarina Davis, no middle name. The father is unknown, and the mother is Andrea Phyllis McPherson Davis.’
Vera blinked at the mention of Phyllis McPherson, her older sister who drowned in a swimming accident at the age of ten, then lowered her gaze to the table.
‘Her twin sister Rachel’s birth certificate gives her name as Rachel Gwen McPherson Davis.’ The mention of Vera’s mother’s name generated no reaction. Gilchrist pressed on. ‘So how did you know?’
Vera glanced at Copestake, but remained silent.
‘For the record,’ Jessie said, ‘Mrs Davis has refused to answer that question.’
‘Your husband, Sandy, was prepared,’ Gilchrist said. ‘He knew I’d be visiting him.’
Again, not a glimmer, so he decided to nip closer to the bone. ‘I’ve not been able to work out your motive yet,’ he said. ‘But believe me, I will. You could of course help immensely by telling me why you and Sandy took Katarina away from Andrea.’
Vera lifted her gaze and snarled, ‘It’s Katie, for God’s sake. Nobody ever calls her Katarina. Why do you keep calling her that? And we didn’t take her from Andrea. Why on earth would we do such a thing?’
‘I know Sandy was involved.’
She shook her head, glanced at Copestake. ‘This is preposterous.’
‘Do you take sleeping pills?’ Gilchrist asked her.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Just answer the question, please.’
‘I do. Yes. Sandy snores.’
‘So you wouldn’t have known if Sandy had left your home while you were asleep.’
She tutted. ‘That’s preposterous.’
The only thing that seemed preposterous to Gilchrist in all of this was the fact that the woman facing him had tried to cleave him in two with an axe, but killed her husband instead, and showed no signs of regret or remorse at what she’d done. And now, here she was, to any onlooker acting as if it were some misunderstanding. It made you wonder that maybe Dougal Davis was not the evil bastard he’d been portrayed, but a man of sound reason whose sanity had been driven to the edge by a cold and heartless wife.
Gilchrist tried a different tack. ‘You love Katie, don’t you?’ he said, hoping that the change of name might warm her iced heart.
‘What grandmother wouldn’t love her grandchild?’
‘Can you remember when you first saw her?’
Even that thought could not shift the scowl from her face. ‘She was several months old, as best I can recall.’
Gilchrist cast a glance at Jessie, but she appeared just as confused as he was at how long it had taken Vera to see her beloved granddaughter. Or maybe Andrea had kept her birth a secret. Which pushed another thought into Gilchrist’s mind.
‘When did you find out Andrea was pregnant?’ he asked.
‘Hah,’ she said, as if livened by the challenge. ‘The first I knew about it was when Rachel called to tell me I was a grandmother.’
‘Rachel? Not Andrea?’
Her eyes shimmied left and right, as if puzzling at the trick in the question. Then she frowned. ‘Andrea’s not well,’ she explained. ‘She suffers from depression. If she’d been living at home I would never have allowed her to have a child of her own.’
Gilchrist sensed Jessie’s unrest. He half turned his head and gave the tiniest of shakes – he was not finished yet. ‘Andrea never called because she thought you might not approve of your grandchild?’
Vera tutted.
‘Or of her being a mother?’
‘Andrea a mother? God help us all. She’s not fit to be a mother.’
Jessie pressed forward, eyes dancing, as if she were contemplating leaping across the table. ‘What gives you the right to decide whether any woman should be a mother or not?’
‘I know my own children—’
‘Oh for God’s sake, don’t make me laugh.’
‘Why you insolent bitch—’
‘Let’s stay focused,’ Gilchrist cut in, and slid a photograph across the table. His team had been busy since Katie’s discovery, reviewing CCTV footage and tracking movement via the ANPR system. ‘We have CCTV footage of the Kirkwoods’ Porsche in the
small hours of the morning of Katarina’s disappearance.’
Copestake pulled the photograph to him, then frowned. ‘What does this prove?’
‘And CCTV footage of Sandy Rutherford’s Range Rover, also in the small hours of that same morning.’ He slid another photograph to Copestake, who looked at it, then shoved it back. ‘That wouldn’t be you driving, would it?’ Gilchrist asked Vera.
‘Of course not.’
‘Because you’d be sound asleep,’ he said. ‘You take sleeping pills. We have a copy of your prescription. Would you like to see that, too?’
She tutted, but Copestake said, ‘I would.’
Gilchrist waited while Jessie opened a folder and pushed the copy across the table – to be read and slid back. Then he said, ‘We also have CCTV footage of both the Porsche and the Range Rover, at roughly the same spot, but heading in opposite directions.’
Copestake held his hands palms-up. ‘Is there a question any time soon?’
Gilchrist offered a dry smile. ‘We believe they were driving to meet each other at a prearranged spot somewhere off the M74, on one of the country roads out of range of CCTV cameras.’ He leaned forward. ‘To make the exchange.’
A smile almost tickled Copestake’s lips.
Vera stared at Gilchrist, dead-eyed.
‘We haven’t yet worked out exactly where the exchange was made. From the times on what footage we have, best bet would be on the B7078 somewhere between Lesmahagow and Abingdon. But we should have a better handle on that later today.’
‘At which point,’ Copestake said, ‘my client will then be cleared of any involvement in the kidnapping of her granddaughter.’
Jessie stirred. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as—’
‘By your own admission, my client was at home, in bed, dead to the world, sound asleep from her prescriptive medication.’ He nodded to Jessie’s folder. ‘So she could not have participated.’
‘Not physically,’ Gilchrist said.
Copestake spluttered a laugh. ‘Oh, forgive me, my client was there only in the form of some manifestation in her husband’s mind—’
‘She was the brains behind it,’ Jessie said. ‘Although from the looks of her, it’s a wonder she’s got any brains at—’
‘How dare you,’ Vera snapped.
‘You set it up,’ Jessie shouted. ‘You didn’t think your darling daughter had it in her to look after a child of her own—’
‘Have you seen her? Have you seen the way she behaves? Men in and out at all times of the day and night—’
‘Because she’d had no love in her life under your roof—’
‘She was incapable of raising a child, for God’s sake. Don’t you see that?’
‘And you were?’
Jessie’s question hung between them like foul air. Vera’s face paled, and her lips whitened. Then she said, ‘Do you have any children?’
‘Andrea was sexually abused,’ Jessie snapped, ignoring the question. ‘By her father. But you knew that, didn’t you?’
Vera turned to Copestake and said, ‘Do something, Simon. I don’t have to sit here and listen to this diatribe, do I?’
Copestake gave her a tight-lipped smile, then turned to Gilchrist. Something seemed to flicker behind his eyes, and Gilchrist knew that the next words out of his mouth would be a fabrication, albeit wrapped in legal mumbo-jumbo.
‘My client clearly has no involvement, physical or otherwise,’ Copestake said, ‘in the regrettable abduction of her granddaughter, Katie. Without any evidence, your inappropriate questions in an attempt to fluster my client into making some damning statement against her are, in my opinion, nothing short of verbal harassment—’
‘Get real,’ Jessie said, only to be silenced by Gilchrist raising his hand.
‘In the unfortunate matter of her husband’s death,’ Copestake pressed on, ‘my client has assured me that she lifted the axe only to protect Detective Chief Inspector Gilchrist from further assault, and that her husband had a reputation for being violent, and had in fact spent several years at Her Majesty’s Pleasure for serious assault—’
‘That’s not how I saw it,’ Gilchrist interrupted.
‘That may be as it seems,’ Copestake said. ‘But whichever way you look at it, my client saved your life.’
Jessie slapped the table and pushed her chair back. ‘Jesus fuck,’ she said. ‘You’ll be telling us next that daughters being raped by their father is just teaching them the facts of life—’
‘You impudent bitch—’
‘Interview over at 2.57,’ Jessie said, and switched off the recorder.
Copestake smirked as Jessie stomped from the room, while Vera reached for his hand and gave it a motherly squeeze.
‘Your client will remain in custody until her court hearing,’ Gilchrist said, ‘at which time she’ll either be further remanded in custody by the court, or released on bail.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Vera snapped. ‘Simon. Do something, for God’s sake.’
But Copestake’s grim look told her he could produce no results this time.
CHAPTER 35
Annette Kirkwood’s eyes were swollen, as if she’d been on the binge for a month. To her left sat her solicitor, Jane Whetlow, wearing the same black jacket as she had at their first meeting – still too tight.
Whetlow glared at Gilchrist tight-lipped, as he and Jessie took their seats.
‘My client denies any involvement in Katie Davis’s abduction,’ Whetlow said, eyeing him over the rim of her glasses, her wire hair brushed back so tightly it looked as if it hurt.
An image of a badger about to bolt from its sett flashed into his mind.
‘Something amusing you?’ she asked him.
‘You remind me of someone,’ he said, and watched her eyes narrow, as if not sure whether to take his comment as a compliment or an insult. Then he turned to Annette, and said, ‘For the record, do you deny abducting Katie?’
‘I do.’
Jessie said, ‘So what did you think happened? That a baby appeared all of a sudden on the beak of a stork with your name on it?’
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘I thought it was all above board—’
‘Hubbie goes out at midnight? Returns home a couple of hours later with a baby in his arms? And you think that’s normal?’
‘I . . . we’ve . . . we’ve never had a child before,’ she said. ‘We’ve been unsuccessful with a number of adoption agencies. So I wouldn’t know what’s normal or not.’
‘Interesting,’ Jessie said. ‘Want to tell us why you were unsuccessful?’
‘I don’t know why. We couldn’t find the right match, I think.’
‘Nothing to do with the fact that your husband’s got a criminal record, is it?’
‘Of course it isn’t. Why would you say that?’
Gilchrist could tell from the indignant look that Annette was unaware of living a lie; that she knew nothing of her husband’s conviction for fraud in his last job in Edinburgh, his last position as an employee, the reason he returned to Dumfries and set up an accountancy firm, despite losing his professional licence and being struck off the Institute of Chartered Accountants. His current business practices were in effect illegal.
Gilchrist leaned forward, his elbows on the table, a signal to Jessie that he would take over from here. ‘So tell me . . . why did you leave Michelle with your mother-in-law?’
At the mention of the child’s adoptive name, Annette pressed her hand to her lips and closed her eyes. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She shook her head and sobbed as if every intake of breath was her last. But to Gilchrist it was all an act.
And to Jessie, too, who let out a hefty sigh. ‘Wake me up when she stops, will you?’
Her insult had the effect of pulling Annette together. She sniffed, removed a crumpled tissue from her sleeve, dabbed at her cheeks and nose. ‘We were going on holiday.’
‘Corfu?’
‘Yes.’
‘Whose idea was
that?’ Gilchrist asked.
She sniffed again, dabbed her nostrils dry. ‘Kevin found some last-second deal that was too good to pass up.’
Novo’s phone call to Kevin had done the trick. But they’d made one glaring mistake – going overseas. They could have taken a holiday with their new baby daughter anywhere in the British Isles. Instead, they had chosen to go overseas, but in doing so could not run the risk of trying to go through Border Control.
He knew the answer, but asked anyway. ‘Why not take Michelle with you?’
‘She doesn’t have a passport.’
‘So you were prepared to leave her, this child that you and your husband had tried so desperately to have for so many years, even though you’d had her for only a couple of days?’
‘Kevin said it was too good a deal to miss—’
‘You must’ve been heartbroken,’ Jessie cut in. ‘You’re the regional representative for Maycom, an international clothes distributor. Do much business, do you?’
‘It’s slow at the moment.’
‘And before this moment? Was it slow then? Or better?’
‘Not really. It’s always been slow, I suppose.’
‘I’ll bet it has,’ Jessie said. ‘So before Maycom, what did you do?’
‘I worked from home, selling items on eBay. Mostly knick-knacks, toys and things – and second-hand clothes. But Kevin would give me the occasional book-keeping work to do, that sort of thing.’
‘Which of the two cars do you drive?’
‘The Porsche,’ she said.
‘Is it a business car?’
‘I think so.’
‘I see,’ Jessie said, and sat back to let Gilchrist continue.
