‘I heard you. How would I know?’
‘Maybe you could go across, just say hello, Duncan.’
He looked up and out of the window at the pouring rain. ‘Are you daft, woman? Go out on a night like this and tramp half an hour across there to bother complete strangers just because my wife’s a nosey besom?’
‘It’s just being neighbourly,’ Edna protested. ‘There’s no one else around here and they might like to know that we’re happy to help them while they’re doing it up. They might want a cuppa sometimes.’
‘How do you know they’re doing it up?’
‘I saw him carrying in some hardboard, that’s how. But if you’re determined to be unfriendly—’
‘I’m not unfriendly! I just like keeping ourselves to ourselves, that’s all. If I’d wanted neighbours popping in to borrow a cup of sugar, I’d have bought a house on an estate.’
‘Wish you had. At least I’d have had someone to talk to who didn’t think that conversation was a dirty word.’
Duncan grunted again and went back to his Sudoku. Edna heaved a sigh, then with a last look over at the cottage drew the curtains across.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DS Wilson was badly shaken. He’d allowed DI Hammond’s assurance to liberate him from the inconvenience of personal scruples: if you didn’t take what was offered, with no questions asked, you were a mug. If you were daft enough to ask questions yourself, you were inviting trouble. Wilson liked money and he didn’t like trouble.
He’d always done as he was told because Hammond obviously knew what he was doing and could handle any problems, but of course so far there hadn’t really been any. Sure, there were some guys around who were a bit old-fashioned, but most of them reckoned there wasn’t any harm in doing a favour or two for your mates. No one else was going to do you any, that was for sure – everyone had a down on the polis.
He had felt a bit uncomfortable with the brown envelopes. That was distinctly further than he’d gone before Hammond came. And it still wasn’t anything to do with him, really. He was savvy enough to know how dangerous the guys who provided them were and the less he knew about them the better. All Wilson had to do was keep his mouth shut and not turn over any stones to see what was squirming underneath while Hammond, cool and confident, did the dirty work with Jason.
But Hammond wasn’t cool and confident this morning. The little bitch they’d sent down from Edinburgh to spy on them had rattled him, and Strang had rattled him a lot more. Hammond had looked almost hesitant beside him when they came into the CID room looking for Murray; Strang had just come right out and said he’d worked with her before and wanted her assigned to him now. When Wilson had told him she was investigating a break-in some distance away and wouldn’t be back for some time, he’d smiled and said, ‘Ah, I thought she might be. Don’t worry – I’ll contact her myself.’ Which didn’t make him feel any better.
Strang had wanted to interview Jason first and when Hammond offered to accompany him, he’d said, ‘No thanks. I won’t take up your time. I’m sure there’s a lot of chasing up to do here.’
In the silence after Strang had gone, Wilson had said, ‘What do we do now?’
Hammond was looking grim. ‘Chase things up, like the man said. Anything you can think of, never mind what, so long as it’s down as having been covered. Change the password so that Murray can’t go playing herself with the records.’
He said, ‘OK, boss,’ but he knew he wasn’t sounding confident and Hammond looked at him sharply.
‘It’ll be all right. Jason isn’t a weak link. He knows the score and he’s not stupid. He’s in deeper than any of us. I’m just going to tip him off.’
Wilson nodded and Hammond left. As he watched the inspector’s retreating back the thought came to him: He’s not the weak link. I am.
As DCI Strang walked along the corridor to the main entrance, PC Graham came towards him with another uniform. He saw her eyes go uncertainly to his face, but he met her look with a blank stare. Even so, she looked guilty. Oh dear, he thought, Murray had been right – she was pants at acting. Luckily the other officer had been looking at him not his companion, otherwise he’d have been asking her what the problem was.
He phoned Murray once he got back to his car. ‘Good call to let me know they were on to you, Livvy – you’re learning! It let me say directly that I knew you and wanted to co-opt you to this investigation – rather took the feet from Hammond.’
She was obviously pleased. ‘Thanks, sir. That’s great.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Half an hour out of Halliburgh – theft of garden stuff three weeks ago. The householder was surprised – said she’d been told they’d just log it for the insurance.’
Strang laughed. ‘Oh yes, they’re running scared. Always useful – that’s when mistakes are made.’ Then he said more seriously, ‘Be careful, Livvy. See if you can have a quiet chat with Kate. She gave me some useful feedback from an interview with Kayleigh Burns’ son. I’m on my way to see Jackson now and when I tweak his tail about the kid saying he’d a lot of cash, they’ll know the Harper stuff isn’t actually our main concern and it could get nasty.’
He drove on to park off the high street outside Kayleigh’s flat. Hammond had warned him that Jackson was being kicked out by the girlfriend and might have left already. He’d certainly have let Jackson know by now what was heading his way and it would be interesting to see if he was still there. If he was smart, he would be.
The door opened promptly and the man who stood in the dark hall was managing to act surprised as he said, ‘Yes?’ He was better at it than Kate Graham.
‘Jason Jackson?’ He produced his warrant card. ‘DCI Strang. Did DI Hammond tell you to expect me?’
‘No. Should he have?’
That didn’t sound quite so convincing. ‘No, not at all. Could I have a word?’
Jackson groaned. ‘I suppose it’s about this bloody housebreaking. You’d better come in. Don’t trip over the cases. I was such a fool – you shouldn’t get drunk, you know that?’
‘Yes, Mr Jackson, I had worked that out.’
There were, indeed, a number of suitcases stacked around the sitting room and Strang weaved his way through them to a chair with its back to the window – always a position of advantage. As Jackson sat down opposite him, Strang noticed a bruise on his left cheek, just below the eye.
‘Been in the wars?’ he said.
‘Wars? Oh, this.’ Jackson rubbed at it. ‘That’s why I warned you – I tripped over one of the cases and fell against a doorpost. All I needed, on top of the hangover.’
‘You’d been drinking? Before or after you broke into Highfield?’
‘Oh before, obviously. I’d never have done it sober.’
‘Why did you do it drunk?’
Jackson shrugged. ‘Released my inhibitions, I suppose. I’d been upset Anna Harper had got someone to rubbish my book so no one bought it. I suppose I sort of got the idea I could go in and speak to her, ask her to promise not to do that to the next one. Not that she would’ve.’
The heartfelt bitterness of the last phrase showed up the insincerity of what went before. Jackson had a yarn about the break-in all ready to spin and Strang had no interest in hearing it. Instead, he said, ‘What were your movements last Saturday morning?’
That took him aback. ‘Saturday morning? I can’t remember, offhand. What time?’
‘First thing – 8.30, 9.00.’
‘Saturday – oh, of course. That was the day the writers’ thing started at the Hub. I’d have been here, getting ready to go up. I got there probably around 9.30.’
‘Any witnesses?’
‘Kayleigh was here. It’s her day off and she was going shopping in Gala.’
‘Do you have two cars?’
‘One. Hers. Don’t even get to use it while she’s at work,’ he said morosely.
Jackson knowing Cassandra Trentham’s movements in advance had been unlikely, any
way. Strang moved on.
‘You seem to have a lot of spare cash, Mr Jackson. I hear Danny Burns has some very nice trainers.’
Jackson looked at him sharply. ‘Who told you that?’
Strang raised his brows and said nothing.
‘Oh, that’ll be Kayleigh trying to cause trouble, I suppose. Last time I do her a favour. The little bugger kept whinging on about not having any of the gear the other kids have – I’d had a bit of luck on the gee-gees so I gave her a sub. All right?’
‘What was the bet?’
‘Got a hot tip on Home and Dry at Lingfield a couple of weeks ago. 40/1. Nice little earner, that one.’
Jackson had been all prepared for that question, anyway. ‘Still got the betting slip?’
‘The betting slip? I probably threw it away. It might be in my wallet. Let me check.’ He went over to go through the pockets of a leather jacket that had been slung over a chair.
No, acting wasn’t his strong suit either. Strang would be astonished if he came back without it.
‘Well, that’s lucky. Here it is.’
Strang looked at the slip, which did indeed show a handsome payout on Home and Dry. ‘A Glasgow bookmaker? Not a local one?’
The reply was glib. ‘Happened to be in Glasgow at the time. It’s a mate there that gives me tips from time to time.’
‘Right.’ He handed back the slip and stood up. ‘Let DI Hammond know where you’re moving to. I’ll leave you to get on with your packing. Thanks for your time.’
‘That all you wanted?’ Jackson looked confused by the abruptness. ‘Well – that’s good, then. Watch the boxes on your way out.’
Back in his car, Strang took out a notebook and wrote down the details of the betting slip. He could pass that on to the Glasgow force and get them to go through the extensive records all bookmakers have to keep – and the CCTV – with a fine toothcomb. He reminded himself that he needed to keep an open mind; it could be true. But if it wasn’t, what it told him was that the money must have come from a highly professional outfit, to have produced a cover story so slickly. And perhaps it was also true that Jackson had hurt his face falling over a case, but it was also possible that the visitor who had brought the betting slip hadn’t been amused by what Jackson had done.
Then he took out his phone to call Murray. There was no answer; she was probably driving back, so he left a message.
‘Livvy, I want you to take Kate and go to the school again and lean on Danny Burns – see if you can get anything out of him about where Jason gets his money from. Ask the head to get him out of class for you on another excuse – you don’t want the other kids to know.’
Richard Sansom came into Cassandra Trentham’s office carrying a bunch of daffodils. She took them, looking surprised.
‘Thank you, Richard – a nice little touch of spring. But what do I owe this to?’
He sat down opposite her. ‘It’s an apology. I ranted at you yesterday when Marta had brought the police in without warning me and I should really have gone and ranted at her instead.’
Cassie laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think you should have, you know. I’m a much less dangerous person to rant at. Have there been any problems?’
Sansom mimed wiping his brow. ‘Mercifully, not so far. I had a word with Inspector Hammond and he seemed to think it would all just fade away. Jackson didn’t actually cause any damage and they’ve no interest in prosecuting. Just a police caution, probably, and the press don’t seem to have got hold of it.’
‘What did he do it for?’
‘He’s obsessed with digging up dirt on Anna. I went round to see him and he said he hadn’t found any so I came the heavy, put the frighteners on him and told him if anyone asked he was to say he was just a fan who got drunk and confused.’
‘Oooh, I didn’t realise issuing threats formed part of the PR duties,’ Cassie said in shocked tones. ‘You look much too civilised.’
‘I’ll have you know I played a useful game of rugby in my day, so threats and violence come naturally to me. He caved immediately – a bit of a pathetic specimen, actually.’
‘I have to say I didn’t take to him myself. So – any further plans?’
‘If everything’s quiet here, I’ll probably go off to Dundee. Haven’t touched base with Waterstones there yet.’ He got up. ‘I’ll let you get on with your day. I hope I’m forgiven.’
She smiled up at him. She couldn’t help liking Richard; he was certainly very charming, and he’d amused her. There wasn’t much that did, right at the moment.
The door through to her secretary’s office opened and Jess put her head in. ‘There’s a DCI Strang waiting downstairs to speak to you. Do you want me to send him up?’
Cassie and Richard exchanged glances. ‘Yes, show him up,’ she said slowly. ‘That’s escalation, isn’t it – a DCI?’
‘It’s a disaster,’ he said, looking agitated. ‘It means there’s something they’re taking seriously. What the hell have they homed in on?’
She tried to soothe him. ‘It’s probably just because of Anna. They always pull out the stops whenever anything happens to her – Marta makes sure of that.’
Jess appeared again, with a tall man following her. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Strang,’ she said, and retreated.
Cassie got up and went forward. ‘I’m Cassandra Trentham. This is Richard Sansom, who’s head of publicity for my mother.’
They shook hands and Strang said to Sansom, ‘You’ll be busy, then, with the new book coming out shortly.’
Surprised, Sansom said, ‘You know about that?’
‘Got it on order at my local bookshop.’
‘Excellent! It’s good to know we have a cultured police force,’ Sansom said. ‘Well, I’ll get out of your way.’
‘Just a small question to ask before you go – it’ll save bothering you later. Can you tell me your movements last Saturday morning?’
Cassie could see that Sansom was working out what that implied, just as she was, and she was pretty sure they were coming to the same conclusion. He looked as horrified as she felt, but he only said, ‘That’s straightforward enough. Got up late, had breakfast at the hotel, came up here and found poor Cassie had been knocked off her bike. She was being terribly brave.’ He gave her a fleeting smile. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’
‘No, that’s all for the moment, sir, thank you.’
As Sansom shut the door behind him, Cassie said, in a small voice, ‘Does that mean you think someone did it deliberately?’
Gil Paton was hanging round the hall when Richard Sansom, scowling, came down the stairs and headed for the front door. He hurried after him and grabbed his arm.
‘What’s going on? What is all this about?’
Sansom stopped, then without turning took hold of Paton’s sleeve between two fingers, lifted it off his arm and dropped it. ‘Shall we start again? You wanted to ask me something?’
Paton took a step back. ‘Sorry, sorry. It’s just you’ve been closeted with Cassie – and now a senior police officer! What has he come about? As Cassie’s deputy I need to know what’s going on. It’s important – there may be repercussions, you see.’
Sansom looked down at him from his superior height. ‘I feel sure that if Cassie wants your input, she’ll ask for it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do.’
He walked out, leaving Paton speechless. He ought to have a ready reply for rudeness like that but somehow he’d never been able to stand up to bullies, despite plenty of practice. The scars were burnt deep into his soul.
‘Gil!’
Sascha was coming along the corridor from the Hub and he turned to greet her with little enthusiasm. He hadn’t forgiven her for needling him.
‘Oh – Sascha. What can I do for you?’
‘It was just to ask you to tell the caterers I won’t be in for—’ She broke off, looking at him sharply. ‘Are you all right? You’re looking a bit agitated.’
‘Oh – no, not ag
itated. It’s just with everything that’s going on, the Jason Jackson business—’
‘Oh yes, I heard! The receptionist is through in the Hub having a cup of coffee and she said we have a chief inspector, no less. That looks like overkill, doesn’t it, just for a break-in when nothing was taken?’
He said stiffly, ‘You must know more about it than I do.’
‘Oh, I have my sources! How is Anna taking it? I expect you’ll have been round to see her?’
The woman was pure poison. Paton could feel one of his tension headaches coming on. ‘She’s all right. And of course I’ll tell the caterers. Out for supper, did you say? Again? Somewhere nice?’
For once, he seemed to have got to her. ‘Oh – well, yes, I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Thanks, Gil – I’d better get back to my desk. It’s flowing quite well this morning.’
‘That’s good. See you later.’
He wondered idly where she was going, but he had other things on his mind. And he should have a word with the receptionist – Polly, a nice enough girl but not a mental giant – about not gossiping.
‘I’m sorry if this is alarming for you,’ DCI Strang said.
Cassie Trentham was looking pale and tired and so vulnerable that he really felt for her. Watching her brother’s death had been one of the most horrible experiences you could imagine and to be living now under what could be a death threat must be pushing her close to the edge.
She was brave, though. ‘I can cope,’ she said.
‘Look, there’s actually no reason to suppose your accident was anything more than just that – careless motorist, happens all the time.’
She was no fool, either. She gave a him a cool look as she said, ‘Yes, Inspector Hammond said that. But, correct me if I’m wrong, they don’t usually send out chief inspectors for a minor traffic accident, do they?’
Strang smiled. ‘No, you’re right of course. You’d normally get a detective constable to take a statement, but there are a couple of factors here. This isn’t an interview, just a chat. As you probably know, your mother wields a lot of influence and a big part of my brief is to reassure her. In the second place, I head up the Serious Rural Crime Squad, which is a bit of a maverick outfit where the roles are much more blurred, so don’t read too much into it.
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