by Val McDermid
“I don’t think I need to rehash all the details of Alison’s murder. But I’d just like to remind you all of the timetable on that fatal afternoon. Jackie had been with Alison most of the afternoon. They’d had a row, then they’d kissed and made up in bed. Jackie left about quarter to six because Alison was expecting a visitor. On her way out of the building, she stopped and had a cigarette. She had a lot on her mind and she wanted to be clear about what she was going to say to Claire when she got home.
“At about five to six, Alison’s mother saw Jackie leave the building. Mrs. Maxwell was having problems getting into the building because she couldn’t get any response from her daughter’s entryphone. Eventually, after about ten minutes, someone let her into the block. Some time between five and ten past six, she discovered Alison’s dead body.” Her audience shifted uncomfortably in their seats as she reminded them why they were there.
“Unless you subscribe to the official line that Jackie Mitchell killed her, someone else got into that flat in the crucial twenty minutes and strangled Alison Maxwell. The only clue to that person’s identity was a glass with half of a thumbprint on it. It wasn’t Jackie’s thumbprint. And it was the only thing in the whole case that didn’t point decisively at Jackie. But without a set of suspects, the print was in itself worthless. It could have belonged to anyone in Glasgow. The police had their killer, or so they thought. So they didn’t have any incentive to pursue the point.
“Now, right from the start, Claire was convinced that Jackie had not murdered Alison, and I have to say I agreed with her the first time she explained her reasons to me. Everything I have learned since has only confirmed that opinion. Claire came to me because Alison and I were once lovers, and because with my contacts at the Clarion I could be expected to pick up gossip and information that was denied both to the police and to private detectives.
“What she didn’t know when she hired me was that I knew where the bodies were buried. You see, I knew where Alison hid her secret diary.” She registered the momentary flash of fear that crossed Antonis’ face and the trembling of Ruth’s wine glass. That told her one of the things she wanted to know. The chances were that Ruth knew about her husband’s affair, but that Antonis was unaware that she knew. Taking a deep breath, Lindsay continued.
“Her diary was an unsavory and rather childish record of her sexual conquests. Alison made notes from the first time she decided she fancied someone. She cataloged the seduction and the subsequent affair, right through to its ending. I’ve got a copy of it right here.” Lindsay produced the diary pages from a folder sitting on the coffee table in front of her. “The original is in a safe place,” she lied.
“I realized that the key to Alison’s death probably lay in those diary pages. Initially, I eliminated anyone whose affair with Alison was over, as long as she hadn’t taken any kind of revenge on them. I was left with a handful of suspects. A couple of them were quickly removed from the list when it turned out they had sound alibis for the time of the crime.
“I was left with a few possibilities. Firstly, there was a journalist whose career Alison had damaged. They’d had an affair, and when he cooled off, she spread a rumor that he had raped her. As a result, he lost his job. As long as Alison was alive, he lived with the constant fear that she might tell her lies to his wife. I checked out his alibi for the time of the crime and found it was very weak.” Lindsay looked around the room. Ruth was staring into her lap where her hands were shredding a tissue. Antonis was leaning back in his chair with a look of superiority on his handsome face. Claire and Cordelia were studying Lindsay with matching looks of concentration and interest. Jim Carstairs was busily making notes.
She took a deep breath and continued. “Secondly, there was a surgeon whose career and marriage she could have wrecked. She started an affair with him shortly after he performed a minor operation on her, something which I’m sure the General Medical Council would have been interested to hear about, not to mention his wife. Again, when I made inquiries, it became clear that he could equally well have committed the crime.
“And thirdly, there was Antonis, who stood to lose everything if she turned on him . . .”
Before Lindsay could say more, Antonis had leapt to his feet. “That is a filthy lie,” he shouted.
“How dare you suggest me! Alison was our friend. I would never betray my wife with her!” He took a step toward Lindsay. “Take that back!” he roared.
To everyone’s astonishment, Ruth piped up quietly but firmly. “Sit down, Antonis. There’s no need to make a fool of yourself. I know all about it. It’s all right. I know you didn’t kill Alison.”
Antonis turned to face her, dumbfounded. Ruth patted the seat next to her. “Sit down, my love,” she said softly. Blindly, he obeyed and slumped into the sofa, head in his hands. Ruth put a hand on his shoulder and gazed hatred at Lindsay.
Lindsay discovered she’d been holding her breath and slowly let it out. She’d been right about one thing. Please God, she’d be right about the rest. “There were, of course, other possibilities,” she continued. “Even though Claire hired me, it was well within the bounds of possibility that she was engaged in a risky double bluff to mask the fact that she had in fact killed Alison.”
Claire shook her head wearily. “You really can be most absurd, Lindsay,” she remarked. “Trying to pin a murder on me simply because I’m living with your ex-girlfriend is very tacky. Not worthy of you at all.”
“Bear with me, please,” Lindsay said.
“I really don’t see why we should,” Cordelia said belligerently.
“I think we should hear Lindsay out,” Jim commented, looking up from his notes. “We’ve already got the makings of an appeal here, and as Jackie’s lawyer, I want to hear what she has to say.”
“Thanks, Jim,” Lindsay replied. “If I can pursue the idea of Claire for a moment. It’s not unreasonable to suggest that Claire knew exactly how obsessed Jackie was with Alison and realized that while Alison was alive, their relationship had little chance of survival. She could easily have resolved to kill Alison. And she had no alibi for the crucial time. She could have gone to Alison’s flat, waited in the rubbish chute cupboard till she saw Jackie leave, then slipped in and killed Alison. I’m not suggesting she was trying to frame Jackie, by the way. As far as she knew, Jackie was well clear of the building, and Claire had no way of knowing that Alison was expecting another visitor almost immediately. So, Claire could have had means and opportunity. And she certainly had motive.”
Claire shot a venomous look at Lindsay as Cordelia blurted, “This is ridiculous. I’ve never heard anything so stupid in all my life. My God, Lindsay you really have excelled yourself this time.”
“Look, Cordelia. I was hired to do a job and quite frankly, I don’t give a damn what you think of how I’ve done it,” Lindsay snapped angrily. “But I intend to finish it in my own way whether you shut up and let me get on with it or not. Now, I’d like to return to Ruth and Antonis. Ruth too had a perfect motive for murder. Her best friend was sleeping with her husband, whom she loves with a blind passion. I think all her anger would have been directed at Alison, a woman who had betrayed her in such a cavalier fashion. I suspect she exonerated Antonis, because she knew only too well how good Alison was at getting what she wanted. Ruth was in the building on the afternoon of the murder. We have only her word for when she actually left. Haven’t we, Ruth?”
Lindsay stared at Ruth, who was gazing at Lindsay with the horrified stare of the rabbit transfixed by the stoat. Relentlessly, Lindsay continued. “You haven’t really got an alibi, have you?”
Ruth swallowed hard then croaked, “Yes, yes I have. I phoned one of my clients at six o’clock, and he rang me back ten minutes later. I was at my gallery, I was . . . You’ve got to believe me!” Her voice broke on a note of rising hysteria.
“It’s not much of an alibi, is it? It only takes five minutes to get from Caird House to your gallery, after all,” Lindsay said coldly. “
You could easily have killed Alison, phoned your client from her flat, then raced off to the gallery to receive the phone call you hoped would give you an alibi.” Ruth stared at her in mute horror, her hands gripped so tight on her glass that her knuckles showed white.
Lindsay paused to light a cigarette then continued, aware that her audience was hanging tensely on her every word. “Up until yesterday, this was all I had. A collection of suspects with no hard evidence against any of them. The only evidence that might tie any one of them to the murder was half a thumbprint on a glass. But short of secretly obtaining fingerprints from them all, I was stuck. Then, as a result of inquiries into a completely separate matter, I found someone who can crack this case wide open. I found a witness. I found the one person who saw Alison Maxwell’s murderer leave the flat, a good ten minutes after Jackie Mitchell.” Lindsay looked round at her audience. Claire looked stunned, Cordelia sat up straight, and Ruth was frozen with fear.
Lindsay walked across the room to the door. “His name is Alex and he’s a rent boy. That’s why he didn’t go to the police at the time. He thought that no one would believe his story, because the police were convinced they already had the killer. He didn’t want to get himself into trouble, so he kept his head down. But there’s no doubt about it. Alex was in Caird House visiting a client on the afternoon of the murder. He left his lover’s flat just after the six o’clock news started on the radio, and he saw Alison Maxwell’s killer. If you’ll all wait here, I’ll just go and get him.”
She opened the door and called, “Sophie? Can you bring Alex through?” Lindsay turned back to the room as Sophie walked in with Alex behind her. He looked slightly apprehensive, but excited.
Lindsay ushered him forward. “Alex, I want you to look very carefully at the people in this room. If you can see the person whom you saw leaving Alison Maxwell’s flat on the evening of the murder, I want you to point to him or her. Take your time, now. I want you to be sure. Okay?” Convinced that he was going to point to Ruth, Lindsay watched him carefully.
He nodded. Slowly, his eyes traveled from face to anxious face. Then, almost in slow motion, his arm came up and pointed to Cordelia. “That’s her,” he said. “I’d swear it. I’d know her anywhere.”
19
A shocked silence greeted Alex’s pronouncement. Lindsay stared at him in utter bewilderment, unable to believe her eyes. Then she turned wildly to look at everyone else. Ruth looked as if she would faint, and Claire’s mouth fell open. Jim Carstairs had leapt to his feet, while Antonis finally lifted his head out of his hands. Cordelia went white, then scarlet. She broke the silence with a peal of laughter, which echoed round the room.
“Oh Lindsay,” she eventually gasped. “You’ve really done it this time.”
Claire found her voice. “This is the last straw,” she hissed. “You’re fired. You’ve turned this whole business into a circus.” She got to her feet. “Come on, Cordelia. I’ve heard enough to know that this inquiry is a complete farce from start to finish.”
“No, wait a minute,” Cordelia protested, a laugh bubbling in her voice. “I want to hear how Lindsay explains all this. Lindsay, come on. Tell me how your surprise witness identifies me as the murderer of a woman I’d never even met. I’m dying to hear this, Claire.”
Humiliated, Lindsay somehow found her voice. “I can’t explain it. There must be some mistake.”
Alex, unaware of the undercurrents in the scene before him, chose that moment to butt in. “It was her, I’m telling you, she’s the one I saw coming out of the flat that night. I swear it.”
Claire strode across the room and towered over his slight frame. “I don’t know who the hell you are, you lying little shit. But if you say that once more, I’ll sue you for defamation so fast your feet won’t hit the ground.” She rounded on Lindsay. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but it had better stop right now. You’ve lost her, Lindsay, and no amount of ridiculous grandstanding will make an ounce of difference to that.” Lindsay listened in silence, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. She couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. All she knew was that she had made an utter fool of herself. She struggled for words, but before she could find anything suitable to say, Cordelia interjected.
“Calm down, Claire,” Cordelia said. “Come on, let’s go home.”
“I want her to apologize to you,” Claire replied obstinately. “She’s accused you of murder, for God’s sake. Surely you’re not going to calmly walk away as if nothing had happened?”
Cordelia shrugged. “We all know how completely stupid Lindsay’s accusations are. And we all know why she’s making a fool of herself this way. I think we should feel pity rather than anger. Come on, Claire.” She crossed the room and took Claire’s arm, steering her toward the door. Alex dodged out of her reach in a swift movement. On her way out, Cordelia turned to Sophie and said, “You’re a doctor, Sophie. Maybe you should get her some treatment.” Then they were gone. In the stunned silence following their departure, Jim Carstairs moved uncertainly toward the door.
“I’m sorry this has turned out so badly,” he said. “I honestly don’t know what can be salvaged, but I’d be obliged if you’d call at my office tomorrow morning. Perhaps you could bring the original of Alison’s diary.”
Lindsay nodded dumbly. As Jim left the room, Antonis was suddenly galvanized into action. He jumped to his feet and followed him, calling, “Wait, Mr. Carstairs. I want your advice about these lies we have heard tonight.” He slammed the door behind him, and the muffled sound of their voices could be heard. Sophie put her arms round Lindsay and tried to hug her rigid form.
“What a fucking carry-on,” Alex complained. “I need a drink.” He walked over to the tray and poured himself a brandy and dry ginger.
In her dazed state, Lindsay vaguely registered that Ruth was shaking with silent sobs on the sofa. She pulled away from Sophie and sat down beside Ruth. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Ruth gulped and stammered, “It . . . it’s all right. I knew . . . I knew anyway. I’ve known for months. It’s just . . .”
“Just what?” Lindsay asked gently.
Then it all poured out. “I was so afraid when you brought that boy in. I was sure . . . I was so sure he’d point to me!” Ruth gasped brokenly.
“But why? Why would he point to you? You were in the gallery, weren’t you?” Sophie cut in.
Ruth shook her head. “No. I knew about Alison and Antonis, you see. I kept thinking it would stop, that she’d get rid of him when she’d had her fun. Like she usually did. But it kept on. I wanted to tell her to stop. So I waited till I knew she was on her own. After I heard her and Jackie quarreling, I waited till I heard the door of her flat slam. Then I ran straight down and let myself in. I had a key, you see. And . . . I found her. Lying there.” A fresh burst of sobbing overtook Ruth.
Lindsay put her arm round her and stroked her back. “She was dead already?”
Ruth nodded. She pulled herself together and carried on with her story. “It must have been the murderer who slammed the door, not Jackie. Anyway, I panicked. I just ran. I didn’t even close the door behind me. All I could think of was to get out of there as fast as I could. I knew that the police would think I’d done it. I . . . I had such a good motive, you see.”
“So you ran away? You went to the gallery?” Lindsay asked.
Ruth nodded. “I took the lift to the underground garage. I stopped at the first phone box I came to and I called one of my clients. I pretended I had been interrupted and asked him to call me back in ten minutes. Then I drove to the gallery and got there in time to take the call.” As she reached the end of her tale, Ruth collapsed in a heap against Lindsay, as if telling the story had drained her of all her strength and energy.
Lindsay desperately wanted to ask Ruth more, but before she could, the door burst open and Antonis stalked in. “Come on, Ruth,” he barked. “Let’s get out of here.” He pull
ed her to her feet and almost carried her out of the room. “You lying bitch,” he called back at Lindsay. “You will hear from my lawyers about this.”
Alex carried on leaning against the wall, shaking his head in silent amusement. “You sure know how to lay on a good cabaret,” he said.
“Shut up,” said Sophie. “You’ve made her look a complete fool. So just shut up.”
Alex looked hurt. “Wait a minute,” he protested. “I didn’t ask to come here. She brought me here. I was doing her a favor.”
“Some favor,” Lindsay sighed, getting to her feet. “I thought you said you’d know the woman again, anywhere?”
He nodded vigorously. “It was her. Why would I make it up? Christ, all I had to do was say I didn’t see the woman here,” he whined. “It was her, I’m telling you. I was nearly shitting myself when I saw her. It’s not my fault if you couldn’t nail her.”
Lindsay walked over to the drinks table, feeling as if she were wading through treacle. She’d never felt worse in her entire life. “Fuck off, Alex,” she stated blankly. “Just fuck off.”
He shrugged away from the wall. “Please yourself,” he muttered. “Where’s my money?”
“Give him his bloody money, would you, Sophie? It’s in my briefcase under the bed in the spare room.”
“I’ll be right back,” Sophie said, indicating to Alex that he should follow her. They left, and Lindsay slumped into an armchair.
She felt like she’d been hit on the back of the neck with a sandbag. How could she have been stupid enough to trust Alex? He’d assumed that anyone in the room apart from Sophie must be a suspect and saw the prospect of earning himself a few quid by falsely testifying. Unfortunately for him, he’d picked the one person who had no reason at all for killing Alison Maxwell. Lindsay wished she were anywhere in the world but here.
