by Val McDermid
"Oh shit."
"Oh shit, is right. The detective in charge, he was here this morning. He spoke to me first, asking about Jackie and me. He told me there was no point in lying, his officer had heard all about it last night. So I told him the truth. He was very polite, but I could see he is suspicious."
"Did you ask what had happened to Mondo?"
"Of course." Her face tightened in pain. "He said there was very little they could tell me. The glass in the kitchen door was broken, maybe from a burglar. But they haven't found any fingerprints. The knife that was used to stab David was one of a set. From the knife block in the kitchen. He said that, on the surface, it looks as if David heard a noise and came down to investigate. But he stressed those words, Alex. On the surface."
Jackie returned, carrying a mug whose transfer of Marilyn Monroe had suffered some attrition from a dishwasher. The tea it contained was an intense dark tan. "Thanks," Alex said.
Jackie settled on the arm of the sofa, one hand on Hélène's shoulder. "Neanderthals. The wife has a lover, therefore the wife or the lover must want to be rid of the husband. They can't imagine a world where adults can make more complex choices than that. I tried to explain to this cop that you could have sex with someone without wanting to murder their other lovers. Asshole looked at me as if I was from another planet."
Alex was with the cop on this one. Being married to Lynn didn't make him immune to the charms of other women. But it made him repudiate the notion of doing anything about it. In his book, lovers were for people who were with the wrong partner. He could only imagine how distraught he'd feel if Lynn came home and told him she was sleeping with someone else. He felt a stab of pity for Mondo. "I suppose they've got nothing else to go on so they're focusing on you," he said.
"But I am the victim here, not the criminal," Hélène said bitterly. "I didn't do anything to harm David. But it's impossible to prove a negative. You know yourself how difficult it is to dispel suspicion once the finger points. It drove David so crazy he tried to kill himself."
Alex shivered involuntarily at the memory. "It's not going to come to that."
"Damn right, it's not," Jackie said. "I'm going to talk to a lawyer in the morning. I'm not standing for this."
Hélène looked worried. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"Why not?" Jackie demanded.
"Aren't you supposed to tell your lawyer everything?" Hélène gave Alex a strange sideways look.
"It's protected by lawyer–client privilege," Jackie said.
"What's the problem?" Alex demanded. "Is there something you're not telling me, Hélène?"
Jackie sighed and rolled her eyes upward. "Christ, Hélène."
"It's OK, Jackie. Alex is on our side."
Jackie gave him a look that said she read him better than her lover.
"What have you not told me?" he asked.
"It's none of your business, OK?" Jackie said.
"Jackie," Hélène protested.
"Forget it, Hélène," Alex got to his feet. "I don't have to be here, you know," he said to Jackie. "But I'd have thought you needed all the friends you can get right now. Especially among Mondo's family."
"Jackie, tell him," Hélène said. "Otherwise he'll go away thinking we've really got something to hide."
Jackie glared at Alex. "I had to go out for about an hour last night. I was out of dope and we wanted a joint. My dealer's not the sort of guy to give alibis. And even if he did, the police wouldn't believe him. So, technically, either one of us could have killed David."
Alex felt the hair on the back of his neck rising. He remembered the moment the night before when he'd wondered if Hélène was manipulating him. "You should tell the police," he said abruptly. "If they find out you've lied, then they're never going to believe you're innocent."
"Unlike you, you mean?" Jackie challenged him contemptuously.
Alex didn't like the undercurrent of hostility swirling around him. "I came to help, not to be a whipping boy," he said sharply. "Have they said anything about releasing the body?"
"They're doing the post mortem this afternoon. After that, they said we can make the funeral arrangements." Hélène spread her hands. "I don't know who to call. What should I do, Alex?"
"I suppose you'll find an undertaker in the Yellow Pages. Put a notice in the papers, then contact his close friends and relatives. If you like, I can deal with the family end of things?"
She nodded. "That would be a big help."
Jackie sneered. "I don't suppose they'll be very keen to hear from Hélène when they find out about me."
"Better if we can avoid that. Mondo's parents have got enough to cope with," Alex said frostily. "Hélène, you'll need to arrange somewhere for the purvey."
"The purvey?" Hélène said.
"The funeral meal," Jackie translated.
Hélène closed her eyes. "I can't believe we're sitting here talking about catering when my David is lying on some mortuary slab."
"Aye, well," Alex said. He didn't have to say what he thought; the blame hung in the air between the three of them. "I'd better be getting back."
"Does she have a name yet, your daughter?" Hélène asked, clearly casting around for something uncontroversial to say.
Alex gave her an apprehensive glance. "We were going to call her Ella. But we thought… well, Lynn thought she'd like to call her Davina. For Mondo. If you don't mind, that is?"
Hélène's lips trembled and tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. "Oh, Alex. I'm so sorry we never took the time to be better friends with you and Lynn."
He shook his head. "What? So we could feel betrayed as well?"
Hélène recoiled as if from a blow. Jackie moved toward Alex, hands bunching into fists at her side. "I think it's time you left."
"Me too," Alex said. "See you at the funeral."
31
ACC Lawson pulled the folder across the desk toward him. "I had high hopes of this," he sighed.
"Me too, sir," Karen Pirie admitted. "I know they didn't pick up any biological samples from the cardigan at the time, but I thought with the sophisticated equipment they've got now there might be a trace of something we could use. Semen or blood. But there's nothing, except those funny drops of paint."
"Which we knew about at the time. And it didn't take us any further forward then." Lawson flipped open the folder dismissively and skimmed the short report. "The problem was that the cardigan wasn't found with the body. If my memory serves me, it was thrown over the hedge into somebody's garden?"
Karen nodded. "Number fifteen. They didn't find it till nearly two weeks had gone past. By which time it had snowed, thawed and rained, which didn't exactly help. Identified by Rosie Duff's mother as the one she was wearing when she went out that night. We never did find her handbag or her coat." She consulted the bulging folder on her lap, flipping through the pages. "A brown below-the-knee swagger coat from C&A with a cream and brown houndstooth-check lining."
"We never found them because we didn't know where to look. Because we didn't know where she was killed. After she left the Lammas Bar, she could have been taken anywhere within, say, an hour's drive. Over the bridge to Dundee, down through Fife. Anywhere from Kirriemuir to Kirkcaldy. She could have been killed on a boat, in a byre, anywhere. About the only thing we could be reasonably sure of was that she wasn't killed in the house in Fife Park where Gilbey, Malkiewicz, Kerr and Mackie lived." Lawson tossed the forensic report back to Karen.
"Just as a matter of interest, sir… were any of the other houses in Fife Park searched?"
Lawson frowned. "I don't think so. Why?"
"It occurred to me that it happened during the university holidays. A lot of people would have already left for Christmas. There might well have been adjacent houses that were standing empty."
"They'd have been locked up. We'd have heard about it if anyone on Fife Park had reported a break-in."
"You know what students are like, sir. In and out of each ot
her's places. It wouldn't be hard to come by a key. Besides, the four of them were in their final year. They could easily have kept a key from another house if they'd lived there previously."
Lawson gave Karen a shrewdly appreciative look. "It's a pity you weren't around for the original investigation. I don't think that line of inquiry was ever pursued. Too late now, of course. So, where are we up to on the exhibits search? Have you not finished it yet?"
"I had some time off over Christmas and New Year," she said defensively. "But I stayed late and finished it last night."
"So that's that, then? The physical evidence relating to Rosie Duff's murder has disappeared without trace?"
"So it would seem. The last person to access the box was DI Maclennan, a week before he died."
Lawson bridled. "You're not suggesting Barney Maclennan removed evidence from a live murder case?"
Karen backtracked hastily. She knew better than to cast aspersions on a fellow officer who had died a hero. "No, that's not what I meant at all, sir. I just meant that, whatever had happened to Rosie Duff's clothes, there's no official paper trail to follow."
He sighed again. "It likely happened years ago. They'll have ended up in the bucket. Honest to God, you have to wonder sometimes. Some of the people we get working for us…"
"I suppose the other option is that the DI sent them off for further testing and either they never came back because he wasn't there to chase it up, or the package disappeared into a black hole because DI Maclennan wasn't there to take delivery," Karen suggested cautiously.
"I suppose it's an outside possibility. But, either way, you're not going to find them now." Lawson drummed his fingers on the desk. "Well, that's that, then. One cold case that's going to stay in the deep freeze. I'm not looking forward to telling the son, either. He's been on the phone every other day, asking how we're doing."
"I still can't believe the pathologist missed that she'd given birth," Karen said.
"At your age, I'd have said the same," Lawson admitted. "But he was an old man, and old men make stupid mistakes. I know that now, because I feel like I'm heading in that direction myself. You know, I sometimes wonder if this case has been jinxed from the start."
Karen could sense his disappointment. And she knew how that stung, because it matched her own feelings. "You don't think it's worth me having another crack at the witnesses? The four students?"
Lawson grimaced. "You'll have a job."
"How do you mean, sir?"
Lawson opened his desk drawer and produced a three-day-old copy of the Scotsman It was folded open at the death notices. He pushed it toward her, his finger stabbing the newsprint.
KERR, DAVID MCKNIGHT. The death is announced of Dr. David Kerr, of Carden Grove, Bearsden, Glasgow, dearly beloved husband of Hélène, brother of Lynn and son of Adam and Sheila Kerr of Duddingston Drive, Kirkcaldy. The funeral will take place on Thursday at 2 p.m. at Glasgow Crematorium, Western Necropolis, Tresta Road. Family flowers only.
Karen looked up, surprised. "He couldn't have been more than forty-six, forty-seven? That's pretty young to be dying."
"You should pay more attention to the news, Karen. The Glasgow University lecturer stabbed to death in his kitchen by a burglar last Thursday night?"
"That was our David Kerr? The one they called Mondo?"
Lawson nodded. "The crazy diamond himself. I spoke to the DI on the case on Monday. Just to make sure I was right. Apparently, they're far from convinced by the burglary theory. The wife was playing away."
Karen pulled a face. "Nasty."
"Very. So, do you fancy a wee run out to Glasgow this afternoon? I thought we could pay our last respects to one of our suspects."
"You think the other three will turn up?"
Lawson shrugged. "They were best pals, but that was twenty-five years ago. We'll just have to see, won't we? But I don't think we'll be conducting any interviews today. Let it lie for a wee while. We don't want to be accused of insensitivity, do we?"
* * *
It was standingroom only at the crematorium. Mondo might have cut himself off from family and old friends, but it looked as if he hadn't had any problem finding replacements. Alex sat in the front pew, Lynn huddled beside him. Two days out of the hospital, she was still moving like an old woman. He had tried to persuade her to stay at home and rest, but she'd been adamant that she couldn't miss her only brother's funeral. Besides, she'd argued, with no baby at home to care for, she would only sit around and brood. Better to be among her family. He didn't have a line of reasoning to counter that. So she sat, holding her shell-shocked father's hand to give comfort, the familiar roles of parent and child reversed. Her mother sat beyond them, her face almost invisible behind the folds of a white handkerchief.
Hélène sat further along the pew, head bowed, shoulders hunched. She looked as if she'd closed in on herself, placing an impenetrable barrier between herself and the rest of the world. At least she'd had the good sense not to arrive at the funeral on Jackie's arm. She shuffled to her feet as the minister announced the final hymn.
The sonorous opening of the Crimond setting of the Twenty-third Psalm brought a lump to Alex's throat. The singing faltered a little as people found the key, then swelled around him. What a cliché, he thought, hating himself for being moved by the traditional funeral hymn. Ziggy's service had been so much more honest, so much more a celebration of the man than this cobbling together of superficialities. As far as he knew, Mondo had never been in a church apart from attending the traditional rites of passage. The heavy curtains slid open and the coffin began its final journey. The strains of the last verse died away as the curtains closed behind the departing coffin. The minister intoned the blessing, then led the way down the central aisle. The family followed, Alex bringing up the rear with Lynn heavy on his arm. Most of the faces were a blur, but, halfway down, Weird's lanky frame leaped out at him. They acknowledged each other with a brief nod, then Alex was past, heading for the doors. He had his second surprise just as he was leaving. Although he hadn't see James Lawson in the flesh since everybody called him Jimmy, his face was familiar from the media. Bad taste, Alex thought, taking up his station at the end of the meeting-and-greeting line. Weddings and funerals; both required the same etiquette of thanking people for coming.
It seemed to go on forever. Sheila and Adam Kerr appeared utterly bewildered. It was bad enough having to bury a child so savagely despatched without having to try to take in all these condolences from people they'd never seen before and would never see again. Alex wondered if it comforted them to see how many people had turned up to say their last good-byes. All it did for him was to bring home how much distance had separated him and Mondo in recent years. He knew almost nobody.
Weird had hung back almost to the end. He embraced Lynn gently. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he said. He shook Alex's hand, placing his other hand on Alex's elbow. "I'll wait outside." Alex nodded.
At last, the final mourners trickled out. Funny, thought Alex. No Lawson. He must have left by another door. Just as well. He doubted whether he'd have managed to be polite. Alex ushered his in-laws through the subdued crowd to the funeral car. He handed Lynn into her seat, checked everyone else was settled, then said, "I'll see you back at the hotel. I just need to make sure everything's sorted here."
He was ashamed to feel a moment of relief as the car swept off down the drive. He'd left his car here earlier, wanting to make sure he had his own wheels in case anything needed his attention in the immediate aftermath of the service. Deep down, he knew it was because he would want some respite from the suffocating grief of his family.
A hand on his shoulder made him spin round. "Oh, it's you," he said, almost laughing with relief as he saw it was Weird.
"Who else were you expecting?"
"Well, Jimmy Lawson was lurking at the back of the crem," Alex said.
"Jimmy Lawson the cop?"
"Assistant Chief Constable James Lawson, to you," Alex said, moving away
from the main entrance toward the area where flowers were displayed.
"So what was he doing here?"
"Gloating? I don't know. He's in charge of the cold case review. Maybe he wanted to check out his prime suspects, see if we were going to get overcome with emotion and fall to our knees and confess."
Weird pulled a face. "I never liked all that Catholic stuff. We should be adult enough to come to terms with our own guilt. It's not God's job to wipe the slate clean so we can go and sin again." He stopped and turned to face Alex. "I wanted to tell you how pleased I am that Lynn was safely delivered of your baby daughter."
"Thanks, Tom." Alex grinned. "See? I remembered."
"Is the baby still in hospital?"
Alex sighed. "She's a wee bit jaundiced, so they're keeping her in for a few days. It's hard. Especially for Lynn. You go through all that, and you come home emptyhanded. And then having to deal with what happened to Mondo…"
"You'll forget this heartache once you have her home, I promise you. I'll remember you all in my prayers."
"Oh well, that'll make all the difference," Alex said.
"You'd be surprised." Weird said, refusing to take offense where none was intended. They walked on, glancing at the floral tributes. One of the mourners came over, asking Alex for directions to the hotel where the buffet was taking place. When he veered back toward Weird, Alex saw his friend crouching over one of the wreaths. Once he was close enough to see what had attracted Weird's attention, his heart jumped in his chest. It was indistinguishable from the wreath they'd seen in Seattle; a neat, tight circlet of white roses and narrow-leaved rosemary. Weird detached the card and stood up. "The same message," he said, handing it to Alex. "Rosemary for remembrance."
