‘Have you told the boss?’
‘Not yet. It’s taken me half an hour just to get dressed.’
Murray went to the phone. ‘I’ll buzz his room, see if he’s there.’ Given that it was her fault in a way, even though she hadn’t actually asked the cleg to bite him, it wasn’t very nice to feel pleased that it wouldn’t be Taylor who would be going to interview Morven Gunn this morning or, possibly, flying down to Aberdeen on Thursday.
Strang answered. ‘Morning, sir,’ she said, ‘I’m afraid Kevin’s not very well.’
Strang heard the news with mixed feelings. In the first place, it meant he was short on manpower just as the case was opening up, and it also meant he had the problem of Taylor’s welfare to deal with. From what Murray said it was clear he’d need antibiotics, which with any luck would clear up the problem. But it was not unknown for bites like that to turn very nasty indeed. He followed Murray along the corridor to Taylor’s room.
Seeing him lying back in a chair blowing out his breath as if this was almost too much of an effort to make somehow reminded Strang of a stranded whale. He was definitely running a fever; his eyes were too bright, and his face was flushed. The arm, too, didn’t look good; it was very swollen, fiery red and with pus oozing out. Sepsis was obviously a danger if it wasn’t tackled right now.
As Taylor told him how bad he was feeling, Strang made a lightning calculation. If he ended up hospitalised here it would create all sorts of problems. The man was a liability anyway: this gave him the perfect excuse to fly him back to Edinburgh to get any further treatment and ask Angie for a replacement who might actually be of some use. Meantime he could make do with Murray and since her gas was on a peep after the foul-up yesterday, she might actually be quite useful.
‘I’ll see if we can pull strings to get you an urgent appointment with Dr Sinclair,’ he said. ‘If he can start you on antibiotics now we can get you on a flight back to Edinburgh. You don’t want to be stuck in hospital up here if it turns nasty.’
Making a sudden recovery Taylor sat up, his face brightening. ‘Oh, thank God for that. The sooner I get out of this bloody place the better. Can Livvy take me along to the surgery now?’
Strang shook his head. ‘I want her at the briefing along with Jack Lothian. I’ll get him to put the arrangements in hand for you and you can get on with your packing. Livvy, I’ll see you in quarter of an hour.’
Taylor’s holdall was already open on the floor by the time they left.
Back in his office, Strang looked at the time – quarter past eight, worth trying DCS Jane Borthwick. She’d made it clear he was on his own with this one, but it was good politics to keep her in the picture even if there wasn’t much progress to report as yet.
JB was there and listened with what Strang felt was interest rather than commitment – supportive in a general sense but making no suggestions. He told her what the situation was with Taylor.
She sounded mildly amused. ‘I had no idea you were risking life and limb up there. You’ll be asking for hardship allowance next. But you’re right, he should be sent back.’ Then, to Strang’s dismay she baulked at the idea of a replacement.
‘You’ve … what? Half a dozen or so principal interviews that you’d want to conduct personally, but beyond that it’s the sort of foot-slogging the locals can do with a bit of support from the station at Wick. You’ve got DC Murray, haven’t you? She’s a bright young woman. That should be enough direct backup for the next few days.’
It was money, of course. It was always money. And if the investigation foundered, it wouldn’t be the lack of manpower or the lack of cooperation from the locals that would be blamed, it would be him. He was brutally exposed on this one.
JB was right about Murray – she wasn’t lacking in intelligence. He was being forced to have her partner him on this investigation, in which case he had to do a swift strengths and weaknesses analysis before she arrived for the briefing – facing up to his own too – if he was to make it work.
The landline rang while Kirstie Mowat was still at the breakfast table drinking her coffee. She ignored it; all her friends called her on her mobile, and it rang a couple of times before her mother got up from the desk where she was working at the other end of the room.
‘Even if it’s for me, it wouldn’t hurt you to answer it, you know,’ she said as she picked it up. ‘Hello? Oh yes.’
Kirstie, seizing the opportunity to take the rest of the mandatory slice of toast to the bin and sit back down before her mother saw, wasn’t really listening until she heard, ‘Right, no problem. I’ll tell Kirstie.’
‘Who was that, Mum?’
‘That was Morven. She’s not opening the cafe today, so you won’t be needed.’
Kirstie’s eyes widened in indignation. ‘Well, thanks a whole bunch! Why couldn’t the woman have told me last night? I could still be in bed. What’s she closing it for, anyway?’
‘It’s probably because of her brother’s death,’ Rhona said. ‘Seems the right thing to do.’
‘Really? Why didn’t she shut it yesterday, then? And she didn’t exactly seem overcome with grief about it, either.’
‘You wouldn’t necessarily know. She’s a very private person.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ Kirstie pulled a face. ‘But she was sort of pleased about it too, you know. She was giggling about something when she was by herself in the kitchen.’
Rhona was startled. ‘Was she? Maybe it was about something else – and anyway, grief takes people different ways. They weren’t close. So – what are you going to do with your unexpected day off?’
‘Dunno. I’ll have to call round, see who’s about.’
Aware she was on dangerous ground, Rhona said casually, ‘Is Calum working today? We haven’t seen him for a day or two.’
‘Calum?’ Kirstie said the name as if she’d never heard it before. ‘Oh, I dumped him.’
‘Really? Did you have a row?’
‘No. I just discovered he was a total, utter snake.’ Kirstie got up. ‘It’s too early to call anyone. I’m going back to bed.’
Amused, Rhona looked after her. Fergus would be pleased; that relationship was a wee bit too intense for his liking. At least she hadn’t shown any sign of being heartbroken and with the police finishing up at the cottage now Kirstie had seemed much more relaxed.
It had been a blow to DC Murray when Strang had said Lothian would be at the briefing. He’d made it humiliatingly plain in the last couple of days that he rated the sergeant above his detectives, which was at least part of what had made Murray decide to strike out on her own, but when she arrived in Strang’s office it was clear there was no question of Lothian replacing Taylor for the Morven Gunn interview. He had to do his own briefing for the uniforms shortly and as well as the arrangements for Taylor, Strang had just added the tasks that Murray had been given the previous day. Yes, she was definitely in on it and this time she was going to make sure that she got it right. She sat silent with her hands demurely folded in her lap until Lothian left.
Strang raised his eyebrows. ‘All right, Livvy? You’re very quiet.’
‘Just thinking it feels a bit weird having a briefing one-to-one,’ she said. ‘It’s usually a bit of a rammy with everyone piling in.’
‘I was thinking that too. But it does give us a chance to work things out ahead of the next interview. Look, I know you’ve felt in the past that I don’t want your input—’
And in the present too, she thought.
‘—but it’s not because I think your ideas don’t have merit. It’s that I try to have a clear idea of what my objectives are and if you put in an unrelated question it can break the thread and make it hard to get back on track.’
She hadn’t considered it that way. ‘Right,’ she said slowly. ‘Sorry, boss.’
‘I genuinely wasn’t asking for an apology. I want to develop a system where we communicate better so that you understand the direction it’s going in and can come in when you have a
relevant idea.
‘This morning, say. What line are we going on when we speak to Mrs Gunn?’
Murray thought for a moment. ‘Can’t think she’ll cooperate. She’s hell-bent on scaring us off even coming near her – all that stramash about PC Davidson, just for a start. She was just kind of spelling out that she’s the kind who’ll kick up.
‘She’s scared of pressure because, the thing is, she has to be a major suspect. She’s told us herself she hated her brother. She claims Gabrielle Ross murdered her son and Niall went on being pally with her even so. We can really pressure her on that – it means she’s got a big grudge at him already. And we know their mother died recently and maybe she’s angry because he’s got the house. She’s his next of kin, so if he was out of the way she’d get his money …’ She realised Strang was looking at her with a slight smile and faltered.
‘What are you doing, Livvy?’
‘Oh.’ She looked down. ‘Trying to establish a motive.’
‘And do you remember what I said about that the last time we worked together?’
In a small voice, she said, ‘It was putting the cart before the horse.’
‘Right. Let’s reset this. You built your hypothesis on her trying to warn us off. She could have other reasons – like that she’s allergic to the police because we didn’t prove her son’s death was murder. The point is, we don’t know and we don’t need to know.
‘I agree it would be helpful to know more about the case—’
‘I checked out the records, sir. Gary Gunn was trying to steal a tractor because his mum had lost money when Curran’s went bust. Gabrielle Ross tried to stop him, and the tractor went into a wee loch and he got drowned. Straightforward accident verdict brought in.’
Strang was impressed. ‘That’s good work, Livvy. Use your initiative that way and I’ll be a happy man. Now, let’s work through the angle.
‘We know that Niall Aitchison was last seen driving away from his house around eleven on that Saturday morning. We know that the car was in the car park at the Forsinard Flows centre on the Saturday evening, though we don’t know if he drove it there.
‘So, what is the line of questioning when we speak to the people most closely involved?’
‘We try to establish their whereabouts.’ She was feeling a little crestfallen.
Strang smiled. ‘Not very exciting, is it? We’re relying on the house-to-house as well, of course, to check if he was seen anywhere else, but it’s not looking hopeful. My gut feeling is that he went straight to a date with his murderer and never went back to his car.’
‘So, where he was killed would have had to be within walking distance of the centre?’ Murray had brightened up. ‘That would point to Gabrielle Ross – or her husband, for that matter.’
‘It could also be that it was somewhere else entirely and the murderer drove it there afterwards to divert suspicion onto someone who was held by the locals to be a murderer already. Maybe we’ll get a nice neat forensic answer once they’ve taken the car apart and maybe we won’t. What else do we need to establish?’
Murray’s mind went blank. ‘Don’t know, boss.’
‘Who was where last Thursday when the body that had been drowned in a bog mysteriously appeared in the cottage.’
How could she have forgotten that? She’d got too caught up in the whole Gabrielle stuff, that was the problem. ‘Right enough. But it might never be discovered if you left it there, so why would you want to move it to—’
‘Livvy!’
‘Oh. Sorry. Motive, again. So, we need to know where they all were then too.’
‘Good. You’re learning. Now let’s get on and see Mrs Gunn.’
‘Maybe we’d better put in for our Kevlar jackets, boss.’ She was walking behind him, so she couldn’t see his face, but she reckoned he was smiling.
The phone call came in at one minute past nine, just as Ailie Johnston was sitting down at her desk.
‘Oh, Mrs Gunn! I have instructions to put you straight through to Mr Michie, but he’s not at his desk just yet. Can I ask you to phone back a little later?’
Mrs Gunn wasn’t inclined to be helpful. Ailie took down the message that she was driving to Aberdeen and would call at the office when she arrived in the afternoon.
When he came in half an hour later Bruce Michie was annoyed that he had missed her call but mollified by the information that she had responded so keenly.
‘Excellent, excellent!’ he said, rubbing his pudgy little hands together. ‘Clear my diary, Ailie. I want to see her whatever time she arrives.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll stand ready to make tea.’ Then she added, with malice aforethought, ‘Would you like me to bring through a box of tissues? She may be very emotional when you’re talking about her loss.’
Michie looked alarmed. ‘Do you think so? Well of course, I could buzz for you to come – more of a woman’s thing, you know?’
‘And should you maybe be wearing a black tie?’
‘Black tie?’
‘It’s been a sad loss to the firm.’ Ailie’s tone was as pointed as a sharp stick jabbed in his ribs. ‘You wouldn’t want her to think you were lacking in respect.’
‘Oh, I suppose so. Maybe you could—’
‘You can pop round to John Lewis in your lunch hour,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll just away and sort out your appointments.’
She went out and shut the door, but she didn’t go back immediately. She heard Michie make a telephone call, just as she had thought he would:
‘Keen, yes, definitely. She only got the message yesterday and she’s on her way here already. Couldn’t be better.’
At that point one of the secretaries came along the corridor. ‘Is he there?’ she asked Ailie, who had smoothly moved off towards her office. ‘What sort of mood’s he in?’
‘You’re in luck,’ Ailie said. ‘Quite cheery, actually.’
A long day loomed ahead for Gabrielle, a long day when she had to resist the little knife as she practised mindfulness and embarked on displacement housework despite the house being still gleaming from her efforts yesterday. She was keeping the TV on, showing endless vacuous programmes that she couldn’t bring herself to watch, just for the sake of having other voices that might prevent the intrusion of those inner voices that could frighten her into another panic attack.
But the dark thoughts still kept intruding. Curran Services – that was what lay behind it all. Paddy had been so proud of his success and the business had been all she had left of him, his memorial. It had been all-important. She’d sacrificed everything to it, even her sanity, but she’d accepted that she had to shut it out, along with everything else, to try to get her health back.
It wasn’t working. She was getting worse, she knew she was. What she had gone through, what she was still suffering was dragging her down and down. She was finding it hard to see a future for herself, let alone the business. There were other uses for the little knife besides making tiny, discreet slits in hidden places for the sake of momentary relief. Could she find the courage of despair?
The phone rang while she was trying to frame an answer. She didn’t recognise the number and she said, ‘Hello?’ cautiously.
The voice at the other end spoke for some time. Then she said, ‘Oh no! No!’ and began to cry.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was annoying to find the Lemon Tree cafe closed. There was no explanatory note on the door and Morven Gunn wasn’t at her home address either.
‘Done a runner,’ Murray said darkly.
‘Or she could just be out shopping, having closed the shop as a mark of respect,’ Strang pointed out. ‘I know. I’m no fun. At kiddies’ parties I go round bursting the balloons too.’
She grinned. ‘What next, boss?’
‘Westerfield House.’ As they set off in the direction of the surgery, he went on, ‘We’ve given them time to get over the shock and now we can afford to start asking the question, the one that always gets the resp
onse from the middle classes: “You’re not suggesting that I could have had anything to do with it?”’
‘Sort of the same as “It wisnae me”, only posher.’
‘That’s about it. I’d like to start with the mother, Lilian. What’s your take on her?’
Murray considered it. ‘Bats her eyelashes.’
‘Did she? I didn’t notice.’
‘Not literally. Just she kind of plays up to Sinclair – “Oh, poor wee me, but you’re so big and strong”. He just slurps it up. Men do.’ Then she added hastily, ‘Present company excepted.’
As always, it was the unexpected things that got you. Strang had a sudden vision of his Alexa, who’d had a fine line in mockery for any hint of machismo, and his ‘Mmm,’ covered up a shaft of pain. He went on hastily, ‘You’ve read Ailie Johnston’s statement? She suggested that Gabrielle hadn’t been close to her mother after she walked out on Curran.’
Murray nodded wisely. ‘Lilian would fairly be put out at Gabrielle choosing him not her. She’d want to be the queen bee and if you think about her daughters’ names she’s got pretty fancy ideas too. I’m sorry for Francesca, though. Living with your mum at her age, stuck in a wee place like this – you’d go pure mental.’
When they arrived at Westerfield House, Strang was pleased to see a police car in the surgery car park. ‘Looks as if they’ve managed to slot Kevin in – that’s good. We’ll go to the house this time and hope to get Lilian there.’
It wasn’t their lucky day. The woman who opened the front door was wearing a navy overall and told them Mrs Sinclair was out.
‘Will she be long?’ Strang asked.
‘Oh aye, she’s away to Aberdeen. She’ll not be back till late. She’ll mebbe stay over – it’s an awful long drive.’
Carrion Comfort Page 19
