Cause of Death

by Peter Ritchie

  ‘I gave up trying to make sense of what people do a long time ago, Mrs Barclay, especially when it comes to men.’

  They both smiled weakly.

  ‘We argued and eventually he convinced me that he’d stopped seeing these women, and quite naively I believed him – or it was more that I wanted to believe him. It was fine for a while . . . and then that’s when it happened.’

  Macallan tried to keep eye contact without revealing her own tension. It was as if Diana Barclay was opening a grubby bag that contained something awful, but it was still out of sight, so she couldn’t guess what it was – only smell it.

  ‘Can you imagine someone like me sitting in front of a doctor I’ve known for years and being told I had a sexually transmitted disease?’ The question didn’t need an answer. ‘He brought disease into my home – and passed it to me.’

  She sobbed again and Macallan let out a long breath – then said the wrong thing.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Barclay.’

  Barclay’s eyes flared for the first time. ‘No you’re not! You’re here for the truth, and I’m giving it to you. You will be sorry, but trust me when I say it won’t be for me. Just continue enjoying my humiliation and you’ll get what you need.’

  Macallan nodded and wanted to boot her own arse.

  ‘The shock was like a physical illness, and it’s pointless trying to explain how I felt at the time. I was angry in a way that frightened me. When he came home that evening, I confronted him and he was distraught. He cried like a child – and that’s the only time in my life I’ve ever seen him like that. We talked and argued for hours, trying to find out where we were both heading. I’ll never forget the moment when I realised that Thomas was listening at the door. He was always doing that. Can you imagine that? All in one day. All that truth shared out among us. A young boy trying to take all that in. All his shattered illusions.’

  Macallan saw it coming now. The pieces were falling into place – the awful truth that this family had carried like an unidentified virus.

  ‘My son was like a broken doll. It was too much for him. He never told his sister, and he never talked about it, but from that day he was damaged in a way that only Jonathon and I could see. He hated his father yet hardly ever put it into words or anger. People thought he was weak, and although he qualified in law himself, he’s a poor excuse for a man. But is that his fault? My daughter managed to hate us just for being who we are, and she left home as soon as she could manage.’

  Macallan needed to hear her say it. ‘What are you telling me, Mrs Barclay?’

  ‘Surely you can see it, Chief Inspector. Despite his denials, I was convinced that Jonathon was responsible for the attacks on those women until this latest incident. Then my son came to see me yesterday, and I saw something terrible in his eyes. He said he wanted to speak to his father and then he cried in my lap, sobbing as if he’d break, and I realised what he’d done.’ She leaned forward to make sure Macallan understood what she was saying. ‘You need to speak to my son.’

  Macallan tried not to show her panic. ‘Do you know where he is now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but he intended visiting my husband last night.’

  Macallan felt her anger rise again. ‘I hope that’s all of it this time, or I’ll come for you and finish the job.’

  She ran from the house and headed straight for the prison, calling O’Connor from the car.

  ‘Where the fuck are you, Grace?’ he asked.

  ‘Listen to me and don’t speak. We need to get a hold of Thomas Barclay and detain him. I’m heading for the prison to see Jonathon Barclay; why don’t you join me there? I’ll explain it when I see you.’

  ‘Grace?’

  She put the phone down and pressed the accelerator to the floor.

  71

  O’Connor managed to arrive at the prison just behind Macallan, who’d waited for him, wondering if they were about to have a very public confrontation. She knew if her gamble went wrong she was risking a career she’d almost given up on once and could destroy again, but even if it went her way, O’Connor was going to look weak and humiliated and that was almost as bad.

  She’d let him in on the game now because he had to be, and she supposed she would just have to live with the aftermath, but when he stepped out of his car and she saw his expression, she felt her shoulders slump. Pissed off was an understatement, and she realised this was going to be harder than she’d thought.

  He walked over to her, his face tight and controlled, and she saw that he was hurting badly – his ego had been damaged, and that was something he wouldn’t forgive quickly.

  ‘Whatever you’re doing, you’ve done it without me, and that’s a betrayal in my book,’ he said coldly. ‘You of all people. I can see why the boys over the water turned their backs on you – it all makes sense now.’

  O’Connor had realised that he could never be Harkins, but his real mistake was that he hadn’t applied the same reasoning to Macallan. He was a better politician than she was, but that was all. He felt sick as he realised he could have ten careers and still not compete with her. It came naturally to Grace – she was born for it, and he just acted the part. He was a good manager, but he could have done the same job in an oil company or bank. Macallan and Harkins were the real detectives, and he lacked the balls to be what he really wanted.

  Macallan unfolded her arms and felt the words land like blows, but she raised her chin and refused to let him see the wounds he’d just inflicted.

  ‘How the fuck would you know what happened over the water? We were fighting a war while you were playing with yourself in a nice safe office in Germany. What I’m doing here is getting the truth, and if you don’t like it then fuck off back to HQ while I sort the mess.’ Her chest heaved with emotion. ‘Maybe then I can call them and get a real detective to attend.’

  His stunned silence brought her relief and she was able to choose her next words carefully, her anger settling almost as quickly as it had risen. She’d faced the worst of men and her gift when she needed it was cold resolve.

  ‘I never expected that kind of comment from you, John,’ she told him, folding her arms again. ‘You’re vain and self-centred but a good man for all that. Now I’m going in so make your mind up.’

  O’Connor blinked first. He was intelligent enough to realise that she could well be right and that he needed to avoid throwing away whatever was left in his hand. The reputation he’d built carefully and without too much exposure to stress-testing could go up in a bonfire that his competitors in the force would gladly help fuel, and that realisation cut out any fight he had left. An awful truth had been exposed – that he had been tested but hadn’t passed muster, and his instincts told him that if Macallan was right then he had to hang on to the slipstream.

  And if she was wrong he could shovel the earth over her decomposing professional corpse.

  He followed her into reception without a word, but he watched her back as he did so and imagined plunging something sharp between her shoulder blades. The first chance he got, he promised himself he’d do a number on her.

  72

  Jonathon Barclay was brought into the interview room, and Macallan saw that he’d become old in the short time he’d served. The hair that had always been so carefully styled was now cut short without care, his face was puffy and his skin had no colour apart from the grey tones reflected from the walls of the room. He tried to smile and failed but seemed relieved to see anyone who wasn’t part of the inside of the prison.

  Macallan noted the tremor in the hands and wondered what it must be like for a man like Barclay in this place. She’d put Jackie Crawford somewhere similar, and she shivered at the thought of what he must have suffered for killing a terrorist ‘past his sell by date’.

  O’Connor stayed silent and let Macallan play her hand, settling into the experience of being relegated to appear like the junior officer in the room.

  ‘I know the truth, Mr Barclay. Not all of it but enough to
know that you didn’t commit the crimes you were convicted of. You’re certainly not an innocent man but that’s another matter.’

  O’Connor stiffened but remained quiet, remembering he was there by invitation only.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Diana, and I know about your son. I believe he’s the killer and that all this was some form of revenge. You could have taken this sentence for him and the world would have forgotten you. And not many on my side would have cared to be quite frank.’

  O’Connor shifted uncomfortably at that comment. By rights he should had taken a strip off her for suggesting the police would have countenanced this, but she was right. She seemed to be right about everything, and he cursed her, but he knew she might be holding the only lifeline available to him so he had to play his cards right.

  ‘But as I’m sure you know, another girl has been killed,’ Macallan continued, ‘and it has to stop here and now. When did you know it was him?’

  She leaned backwards and placed the palms of her hands on the table and waited. It was all or nothing.

  Barclay studied the back of his hands and Macallan allowed him time to form the words.

  ‘I wasn’t sure till he came to see me last night. I knew someone was out to destroy me when the car was stolen and the DNA came back. Obviously I knew it was planted but would you have believed me, Chief Inspector? Despite all the claims I’ve made against the police in the past, I knew it wasn’t you, but some of your colleagues might have been less sensitive about such a course of action. As you know I’ve mixed with some serious people, and a few of them aren’t short of imagination and resources, so there were also candidates among the people I’ve defended or perhaps let down in the past, and that means quite a number of people, so I’ve had to come to terms with just what my life amounts to.’ He looked down and shook his head at some unexpressed thought.

  ‘It could have been one of them, but there was a problem with the why. The worst that’s happened is the odd failure to secure a not-guilty result, but given that they were all as guilty as sin, that was a difficult one to accept. The truth is that I’ve led a life that’s gathered enemies and I just couldn’t be sure which one it was, but there’s no point in hiding anything now; I’ll put all my cards on the table.’

  He seemed to gain energy from his revelations. He was in control of the answers Macallan needed, so he played the script at his own pace.

  O’Connor watched the exchange silently; he could have been watching from another room, and Macallan and Barclay played their roles as if he was invisible. He knew not to take part or break the spell that had formed like a spider’s web before his eyes.

  ‘The car could have been a coincidence, but when the DNA came back I knew that someone had serious intentions. It wasn’t coincidence any more.’

  ‘So you’d nothing to do with your car going AWOL?’ Macallan interrupted, but Barclay was already anticipating the question and he smiled.

  ‘Of course not, but it was a smart move – just what a guilty man would have done and why would you have thought otherwise? The problem was that you were so busy convicting me before the trial that you were looking but not seeing.’

  O’Connor watched the investigation’s failures being unwrapped on the table in front of him. He was the SIO and whatever had gone wrong would be picked over like the bones of a predator’s kill. The papers and the executive floor would want a human sacrifice to make sure they avoided damage to their own careers.

  ‘My son doesn’t own a Merc, though I know he hires them from time to time. Still I couldn’t be sure when so many people have cause to dislike me.’

  Macallan sighed. She wanted to groan but held it back. O’Connor’s hand clenched.

  ‘I put it to Thomas, but he just laughed in my face, said he didn’t know what I was talking about. I’d always known that he despised me, but you never really understand the depths of such hatred or what form it might take.’

  His eyes glinted with renewed fire over his drooping, inflamed rims. ‘What was I to do? Accuse my own son with no evidence whatsoever, when the evidence was stacked against me? He hadn’t admitted it so there was always a possibility it was someone else from my past wanting to settle an account. Whatever happened I knew that whoever was behind it had done a good job, and all my past indiscretions would be made public.’ He smiled but his eyes remained dead and Macallan briefly wondered about his sanity.

  ‘When you showed me the photographs of the girls I’d been with, that was confirmation that the culprit had gone to the lengths of following me so he could tie me to the victims. Pretty fucking thorough in my opinion.’ He sighed and shook his head.

  ‘There was nowhere to go with a defence. What was I to do – suggest it might be my son because he hated me, or an unknown villain from the past? I don’t think my adoring public would have gone for that one, and certainly not Lothian and Borders finest or the jury. I knew enough about how they act in these kinds of cases.’

  Barclay leaned forward and delivered the truth. ‘My son came to see me last night and admitted what he’d done, and why he’d done it. I asked him why he’d killed again when he could have left me to rot, and that’s when I realised how sick he is. He said he enjoyed it – apparently that had surprised him and he couldn’t stop. His intention was to ruin me and he’d achieved all that. He’s just waiting for you now.’

  Barclay watched the faces of the detectives and grinned, realising they still didn’t quite get it.

  ‘There was another problem, Chief Inspector, and that was that my relationship with my good friend Mick Harkins would come out and seal my fate one way or another – so I decided to keep quiet about that. I had no choice. The likelihood was that a deep investigation into my past would expose what I’d been responsible for, and considering some of the men I’d betrayed to your colleague, I could be pretty sure that I’d suffer in ways I’d rather not think about.’

  Macallan opened the last door. ‘I knew there was something between you and Harkins. I also know that he removed a page from your notebook, but I don’t know why – I thought it might be a fit up – but given what you’ve said, I don’t think that’s what you’re going to tell me.’

  Macallan was angry. She wasn’t sure why but she knew they were being still being played; still behind in the game, and it was clear that Barclay was enjoying the power in what he knew. It was as if he was back in the High Court, lacerating the police witnesses stranded in the isolation of the witness box.

  ‘I thought you might have worked it out by now but obviously I gave you too much credit. Some years ago I foolishly experimented with cocaine, as so many of my class were doing at the time. I was with a girl from an agency one night and I’m afraid things got out of hand; unfortunately she became upset and called the police. There’d been a struggle, and if I’m being honest she’d suffered some serious injuries. She brought it on herself, but I concede that a court might not have understood my side of the incident.’

  O’Connor wanted to shut his eyes, but he was trapped like Macallan, and all they had left was the endgame. Barclay was pulling all the strings and this was his last big grandstanding moment.

  ‘Mick Harkins was the CID officer called in and . . . let’s just say that we worked out a compromise. You people tend to call it a deal. He knew a good opportunity when he saw one. He fixed it with the girl’s pimp and made the unfortunate events go away. I became a source of information. Let’s face it – could it get any better than an A-list lawyer, the man who defends the men who matter, the ones you struggle to put away? No, let’s call it what it was: I became his informant. I was mixing with the biggest and best criminals in the game so think what I was able to give him! Money wasn’t in the deal, and the only thing I insisted on was that I would never be officially registered as a CHIS, as you describe them nowadays. So like the police to use four words where one would do the trick. Who do you think gave you the Drews? How did Mick Harkins get so many headline arrests? The best part for Lothian and Bo
rders Police was that he never had to pay me a penny. He controlled me, and I controlled him.’

  He sat back and enjoyed the impact of his words. Macallan blinked; O’Connor was already seeing a ton of shit pouring over the force – and that he’d be buried beneath it. The ACC would relish using Harkins to get to O’Connor. Guilt by association; that was enough. Harkins had handled an unofficial source, which was a serious matter on its own, and he’d allowed it to run. Fine if the results worked out, but a hanging matter when it went wrong, and O’Connor saw exactly where the buck would come to a grinding halt.

  ‘I told Harkins about the entry in the notebook, and he decided to get rid of it without question. I had a powerful weapon because Mr Harkins was clearly terrified that our relationship would become public; in fact, he knew that our deal could have put him in here with me. There was a touch of the Cold War in the situation: mutually assured destruction. The question of guilt or innocence didn’t come into it – as far as he was concerned, I was guilty as convicted, and I told him nothing to change his mind.’

  O’Connor tried to put it all together but decided it was too much. They needed to get back to HQ and try to work out an escape plan. What had seemed like a triumph and the beginning of a new chapter in his career and personal life had turned into a bridge collapsing under his feet. He couldn’t turn back, and the way ahead meant a long fall. He spoke for the first time.

  ‘So you betrayed some of your clients. Christ, you represented the Drews for years. They’ll feed you to the fucking dogs.’ O’Connor saw the worms pouring out of the can as he said it, and a vein in his neck throbbed out in panic. The Drews would be screaming about their human rights, and dozens of trials might be compromised. There were more people than O’Connor involved, including Macallan, but he was the man on the bridge and Harkins’ boss, and Harkins had been allowed to run free for years, so the force would be marked in the same shit storm.