by T F Muir
‘Do you have proof that your client is unfit to plead?’ he asked Stevenson.
She shuffled through her paperwork and removed two sheets, which she slid across the table. ‘An excerpt of my client’s medical records that confirm she’s taking medication for depression. By the time we go to court, if you decide to go down that road, I’ll have reports from two independent psychiatrists confirming she is unfit to plead.’
‘So you’re happy to tell your client that she’s mentally incompetent?’ Jessie said.
Stevenson smiled. ‘If I have to.’
Gilchrist looked at Novo, at grinning eyes that mocked him, at a smug smile that struggled not to stretch into a full-blown victory grin. Here was a woman, a mother who had abandoned her only child and in all probability was complicit in the murder of her husband, her child’s father – for what?
So she could advance her career? So she could dominate her male associates and run a company division in China? Had the world changed that much since his parents’ generation, when all anyone wanted was to have a stable family and raise their children to be honest and moral members of society?
But he had one more criminal point he needed to prove.
He nodded to Jessie, who opened her file, and slid a document across to Stevenson.
‘What’s this?’ she said.
‘Andrea Davis’s Last Will and Testament,’ he said, then nodded to Novo. ‘It leaves everything to her daughter, Katie.’
‘Which means what, exactly?’
‘That if Katie died, or was presumed dead, meaning if she was abducted and never found and was then declared dead, everything would be left to her twin sister, Rachel.’
‘So what are you saying?’ Stevenson asked.
Jessie said, ‘That’s motive for abduction right there, plain and simple.’
‘So she could inherit her sister’s estate?’ Stevenson chuckled. ‘You’re forgetting that Andrea is very much alive—’
‘With a history of self-harm,’ Jessie said. ‘She tried to take her life yesterday.’
Gilchrist leaned forward, a signal to Jessie that he would take over. He needed to control the interview, bring it back on track. He stared hard at Novo, then said, ‘Your father sexually abused you.’
‘Is that a question?’ Stevenson said.
Gilchrist held up a hand to keep Stevenson quiet. ‘Rachel,’ he said, ‘I know it must’ve been hard for you. You’ve kept it to yourself all these years, how your father abused you. But you confronted him when you were only twelve, so I know you’re strong and can talk about this now.’
Novo lowered her eyes, tightened her lips.
‘You held a knife to his neck,’ he said. ‘Told him if he ever touched you again, you would slit his throat. Your own words.’
Stevenson reached for Novo’s arm. ‘You don’t have to answer that.’
Novo raised her eyes, shrugged her arm free. ‘I’ve nothing to hide,’ she said, then eyeballed Gilchrist. ‘Yes, I said that to my father. And yes, I would’ve slit his throat when he was asleep. Believe me, I still would.’
From the fire in her eyes, Gilchrist had no doubt that she meant every word. ‘But you didn’t anticipate your father’s reaction, did you?’
‘What reaction?’ she said. ‘He did nothing. He’s never laid a finger on me since.’
‘He may not have reacted physically,’ Gilchrist said. ‘But he changed the wording of his Family Trust Fund.’
Something seemed to flit across Novo’s face at that comment, a shadow of sorts that touched her eyes and downturned her grin into a scowl.
He held Novo’s bitter gaze as Jessie slid another document across the table.
Stevenson snatched it from her.
‘The details of the Davis Family Trust Fund,’ he said. ‘A considerable sum of money accumulated over a couple of Davis generations, with this most recent version having been drawn up by Hughes Copestake Solicitors. For estate planning, it appears that Dougal Davis was not quite as savvy as his predecessors, having transferred it all into Vera’s name, his first wife, presumably for sound business reasons, but had then to snatch back his half of it in his subsequent divorce settlement.’
He nodded to the document. ‘Note the dates.’
Stevenson did, then frowned at him. ‘So what are you saying?’
‘That the remaining fifty per cent of the fund – two million pounds back then, plus or minus a hundred thousand or so – then owned by Dougal Davis, was subsequently put into the name of Andrea Davis.’
Novo’s eyes narrowed, and a tremor quivered her lips, as if her nervous system was only now reacting to the injustice of having been written out of the Family Trust Fund all these years ago.
‘The dates,’ Gilchrist reminded Stevenson.
She stared at the document, then said, ‘I don’t see the significance.’
‘You’ll find that within one month of your client threatening to kill her father, Dougal Davis had the Family Trust Fund redrawn to exclude her.’ He turned his eyes on Novo. ‘And when you and Andrea reached thirty, the age at which you should have had joint access to that fund, only then did you find out you’d been excluded.’ He hardened his voice. ‘How did that make you feel?’
Novo shook her head.
‘You must have been hurt beyond all reason,’ he pressed on. ‘Were you hurt enough to seek revenge?’
‘No comment.’
‘And to make matters worse, by that time the fund had grown to just over 5.7 million, effectively cutting you out of almost three million pounds.’ He paused for a couple of beats. ‘How did you feel when you found out it was all to go to Andrea?’
‘No comment.’
‘We’ve spoken to Simon,’ he said, and caught her glimmer of uncertainty, the rising suspicion that she had been found out. Even though Copestake had not confessed, Gilchrist pressed on, taking full advantage of his upper hand. ‘I believe you did know,’ he said. ‘You knew exactly how much money Andrea had access to. Lover-boy Simon would have given you all the details.’
Novo shook her head.
‘How did that make you feel?’ he asked. ‘Did you feel bitter at having been cheated out of your share?’
‘No comment.’
‘You must have been enraged,’ he said. ‘You must have been mad with anger; so mad that you decided to devise some way to claw it back, didn’t you?’
‘No comment.’
‘Didn’t you?’
‘No comment.’
Gilchrist lowered his voice, changing his tone to one of reason. ‘Did you never think of discussing it with Andrea?’ he asked. ‘To find out if she would be willing to share her pot of gold with you, her loving twin sister?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Novo snarled. ‘Andrea’s never worked a day in her life. She needed every penny of that fund to see her through.’
‘What I don’t understand,’ he said, ‘is why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why would you need the money?’ He opened his palms at the absurdity. ‘You earn in excess of a hundred thousand a year, with a five-figure annual bonus. You inherited fifty thousand pounds from Dimitri’s life-insurance policy, as well as clearing off the mortgage on your London apartment.’ He leaned closer. ‘I mean, I could understand your bitterness, your rage, but it’s not like you needed the—’
‘It was never about need,’ she snapped. ‘It was about correcting an injustice—’
‘Rachel,’ Stevenson interrupted. ‘I have to warn you—’
‘I was the one he sexually abused. I was the one who suffered. Not Andrea. She was her mother’s pet—’
‘Not according to Andrea,’ Jessie said. ‘She was abused, too.’
‘But I was his favourite,’ Novo pleaded. ‘I was special.’
‘So special you put a knife to his throat to make him stop?’ Gilchrist said.
‘To make him stop abusing Andrea,’ she gasped. ‘It was me he wanted. It was me he started with. Not Andrea. It
was only when he began to pay more attention to Andrea that I threatened him. Don’t you understand that? Can’t you see? It was me he loved.’ She shook her head. ‘He never loved Andrea,’ she whispered. ‘He said he loved only me.’
Then she lowered her head and let tears spill on to her lap. Gilchrist pushed his chair back, then eyed Stevenson. ‘All deals are off. Your client will remain in custody and held under the terms of the original charges for complicity in the abduction of her own daughter, and in the murder of her husband, Dimitri, as well as the attempted murder of a police officer.’
Stevenson’s lips compressed to a scar.
Novo tried to look at him, but failed.
CHAPTER 41
Back in his office, Gilchrist checked his voice messages, hoping to hear from Cooper, even just a short call to tell him that she would be in Bell Street at the beginning of the week. But he listened to his messages one by one, not surprised when her voice never surfaced. His email account was just as void. He checked his mobile, but nothing there either, then decided to put it off no longer and made the call.
‘McVicar speaking.’
‘CS Greaves said you wanted me to call, sir.’
‘Yes, I did, Andy. Thanks. Yes. I wanted to ask you about the charges you’re pressing against Dougal Davis’s ex-wife,’ he said, his voice booming. Gilchrist could not fail to catch the inferred importance of the matter, the distancing of McVicar from the case by his mention of Dougal Davis – as if that was going to change his mind any time soon. ‘I believe you’ve still got her in custody, Andy.’
‘I have, sir, yes.’
‘Seems a bit harsh, does it not?’
‘She knew, sir.’
McVicar paused for a couple of beats. ‘She knew what, Andy?’
‘That we’d found Katie, sir. Before anyone from the Office spoke to her.’
‘Well, was that—?’
‘Sandy Rutherford had been warned that I was on my way to Perth to question him. I suspect he thought I was going to arrest him. If he hadn’t known, I believe he wouldn’t have attacked me, and would still be alive but in custody, as opposed to his wife now being in custody for his murder, sir.’
Silence.
‘I don’t know who made that call, sir, but I will be looking into that. In light of recent events, I think custody is where Vera Davis should remain. At least until after the weekend.’
‘I see, Andy. Well, in that case, I’ll leave it with you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ But the line was already dead.
Novo’s records had confirmed she’d not called Rutherford after Gilchrist had asked how she knew Alex Rumford. So, he’d checked Vera Davis’s records to confirm that she’d taken a call shortly after Gilchrist had phoned McVicar and Greaves from Dumfries to tell them Katie had been found. That call to Vera had come from an unregistered mobile, an unlikely source, Gilchrist knew. But you did not become Chief Constable by—
Two hard raps at his door.
Startled, he looked up, and pushed himself to his feet as Jack entered.
‘Was just passing by,’ Jack said.
‘As one does.’ He shook hands with Jack – a firm father-to-son grip – and had the toughest time not pulling him into a hug. ‘How did you get on?’
‘He got on terrific.’
They both turned to face Baxter standing in the doorway.
‘Jack identified the other two members of Sammie Bell’s gang. And they’ve both got form.’ Baxter’s eyebrows pushed high. ‘Lots of it. How they managed to stay off our radar for so long beats me.’
‘Where are they now?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘We found some CCTV footage of the pair of them outside The Keys in Market Street, then driving off in an old Renault. We managed to get the number plate, and the latest on the ANPR is that it’s parked on Lindsay Road near Ocean Terminal in Edinburgh. Been on to Lothian and Borders Police, and I think we’ll have them in custody by the end of the day.’
‘So you’re going to have reason to celebrate?’
‘Talking of which.’ Baxter glanced at his watch. ‘Got a date with a gorgeous blonde.’
‘Your wife?’
‘Right first time.’ Baxter winked at Jack, then turned and walked along the corridor.
Alone again with Jack, Gilchrist said, ‘You must feel relieved.’
Jack puffed out his cheeks. ‘Relieved doesn’t come close, man. I tell you, I was really shitting it. I thought that was it. And Tess, too.’
Gilchrist felt his heart slump at the mention of her name. ‘You’re not still seeing her, are you?’
Jack mouthed a surprised ‘What?’ and tapped the air with clenched knuckles. ‘Hello, Andy? Anybody in? Hello?’ Then he grimaced. ‘No way, man. But I’ve managed to convince her to talk to her parents.’
‘You have?’
‘It wasn’t easy, let me tell you.’
‘But it’s what she needs to get back on track. Some help from her parents. Right?’
‘Yeah, well, parents are important.’
‘And parents pay for lunches and buy you beer,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Come on,’ he added, ‘how does The Central sound?’
Jack laughed. ‘Thought you were never going to offer.’
Gilchrist powered down his mobile, and put an arm around his son’s shoulder.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing is a lonely affair, but this book could not have been published without help from the following: Jon Miller, ex-Superintendent, Tayside Police; Gayle Cameron, Police Scotland; Kenny Cameron (retired), Police Scotland; and Inspector Graeme Cuthbertson, Police Scotland, for police procedure; Sheena Fraser, Advocate, Faculty of Advocates, for assistance with all things legal; Tony Kingsbury, for golf knowledge in Crail; Heather Holden-Brown and Jack Munelly of hhb agency for encouragement and advice when it was needed the most; Penny Isaac, for copy-editing and occasional arm-wrestling over that pesky comma; Grace Vincent, Amanda Keats, Clive Hebard and many others at Little, Brown Book Group, who worked tirelessly behind the scenes to give this novel the best possible start, but especially Krystyna Green, Publishing Director, for tough-love editorial advice and for once again placing her trust in me; and finally, Anna, for putting up with me, believing in me and loving me all the way.
This book is a work of fiction. Those readers familiar with St Andrews and the East Neuk may notice that I have taken creative licence with respect to some local geography. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Any and all mistakes are mine.
www.frankmuir.com
