‘This Nevin fella and Rupert Lea, they’re peas in a pod. Pigs, the pair of them.’
‘Get to the point!’
‘Sorry. The place is a flea pit, trust me it’s toxic; it should be condemned but there’s something a wee bit weird going on here.’
West, sensing the ripple of butterflies in her stomach, paused on the landing.
‘Go on,’ she said. ‘This had better be good.’
‘Okay, the whole house is falling apart except for the wee bedroom at the back of the house. It’s immaculate, I mean spotless, you could eat off the floor. There’s a spanking new wardrobe, a single bed with clean sheets and even a pair of flowery curtains.’
‘Well, maybe he’s just started decorating.’
‘No, no,’ said Duncan impatiently, ‘he’s definitely not decorating. Nevin’s nearly fifty years old, he’s single and he lives alone, right?’
‘Right?’
‘But the room’s been painted this soft, baby blue.’
‘Okay, not very masculine I grant you but…’
‘But here’s the creepy thing,’ said Duncan, ‘there’s a jug of fresh flowers on the bedside table, a teddy bear in the bed, a big poster of Winnie-the-Pooh on the wall, and a mobile hanging from the light with these sort of Disney characters on it.’
‘So, what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying we need to do another check on Nevin, and quick,’ said Duncan. ‘We need to know if he’s got any kids, or nieces, or nephews.’
‘And if he hasn’t?’
‘Well, if he hasn’t, miss, then I reckon there’s every chance we’ve got a nonce on our hands.’
* * *
Having spent the best part of thirty-five years working alone, Jake Nevin – ex-road sweeper, labourer, roofer, farmhand, caretaker, and courier – did not crave the companionship of his fellow man, nor did he hanker after the idle small talk that accompanied a pie and a pint in his local. Instead he preferred to dine alone, drink alone, and sleep alone, despite the fact that there was, and had been for some years, something intangible missing from his life.
Unable to afford a lawyer, and neither eloquent nor articulate enough to defend himself against a possible charge of breaking and entering, Nevin nonetheless declined his right to a duty solicitor on the basis that he could not claim to be entirely innocent of any iniquitous activities and hoped instead that a guileless response to any probing questions would be enough to acquit him of any wrong doing.
Perched on the edge of his seat with his hands clasped between his knees, he locked eyes with West and mustered a half-hearted smile as Dougal, wary of provoking the pint-sized Popeye too much, gently pressed the record button.
‘For the benefit of the tape,’ he said, ‘I am DS McCrae, also present is Detective Inspector West. Would you state your name, please?’
‘Jake Nevin.’
‘And where do you stay, Mr Nevin?’
‘Auchinleck. Church Street.’
‘Do you understand why you’re here?’
‘Not really,’ said Nevin. ‘You seem to think I robbed somebody’s house. Is that it?’
‘Pretty much,’ said West, ‘but the thing is, it’s not just anybody’s house we’re talking about, is it? It’s Nancy Wilson’s.’
‘Nancy! Are you joking me? Why would I want to rob her?’
‘You tell me.’
‘She never mentioned it. If she had then maybe I could’ve helped.’
‘Yes, I’m sure you could.’
‘Is she okay?’ said Nevin. ‘I mean, was she there when they broke in? Was she hurt?’
‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Mr Nevin,’ said West, smirking as she folded her arms, ‘you’re turning in a great performance.’
‘I’m not with you. What do you mean, a great performance?’
‘Nancy Wilson,’ said Dougal abruptly. ‘She’s dead.’
Nevin, his brow as furrowed as a freshly ploughed field, sat up with a jolt.
‘Dead?’ he said, his voice as soft as a whisper. ‘But how can that be?’
West smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
‘You’re confusing me,’ he said, ‘I mean she was as fit as fiddle. Was it her heart, is that it? Did her heart give out?’
‘Aye,’ said Dougal, ‘that and a few other things. Tell me, Mr Nevin, have you been in a brawl recently?’
‘A brawl? No, no. I’m not one for trouble, why?’
‘The scratches on your neck, they look nasty.’
‘One of the perils of the job,’ said Nevin. ‘Hawthorn. Wee jaggy branches. It’s like cutting back razor blades.’
‘You should be more careful. So, when was the last time you saw Miss Wilson exactly?’
‘Christ, now you’re asking. I don’t know. I can’t say for sure, a few days ago, I think; no, a week maybe.’
‘And where was that?’
‘At the leisure centre of course.’
‘Why of course,’ said West. ‘I mean, it could’ve been anywhere. The pub, a restaurant. Your house. Hers. After all, the two of you were seeing each other, were you not?’
‘Well, aye,’ said Nevin nervously, ‘but not seriously, it’s not like we were in a relationship. We’d been out together a couple of times but that was it.’
‘Don’t tell me, it didn’t work out.’
‘No. It did not.’
‘How so?’ said Dougal. ‘You two seem pretty compatible to me; both in similar lines of work, both with a love of the outdoors, you’re even of a similar age.’
‘Hardly,’ said Nevin. ‘I’ve a few years on her.’
‘So, who called it off?’ said West. ‘You or Nancy?’
‘Nancy.’
‘Why?’
‘She never said, but I got the feeling she probably didn’t think I was smart enough for her, and she’d have been right.’
‘How very humble of you,’ said West. ‘So even though she blew you out, you still continued to see each other.’
‘We did, aye. What with work and such, it was unavoidable.’
‘And the two of you were okay together? No sour grapes? No animosity?’
‘No, none. We carried on as normal.’
‘Describe normal.’
‘We were pals,’ said Nevin. ‘Friends. Good friends. We were polite and civil to each other. We’d share a joke or have a wee chat over a cup of coffee, that sort of thing.’
Dougal fired up his laptop, put it to one side and, hand on chin, regarded Nevin inquisitively.
‘If you had a job to do at the centre,’ he said, ‘did you ever have reason to arrive early?’
‘Early?’
‘Aye. Like half six in the morning, seven o’clock maybe?’
‘Seven? No way. Never.’
‘So you’re not an early riser then?’ said West.
‘It’s not that,’ said Nevin. ‘It’s the dew. It’s never good to cut the grass when it’s heavy with dew, it’s best to let it dry off. Often by midday I’m good to go.’
‘Then why were you there at 7:53 am?’
‘Not me, sorry. Why would I arrive that early?’
‘So you could nip in unnoticed and take care of Nancy.’
‘Take care of her?’
‘That’s where she was murdered.’
‘Murdered? Dear God! You said she was dead!’
‘Six of one,’ said West, ‘whichever way you look at it, the result’s the same.’
‘Jesus! She didn’t deserve that! Why? Why would anyone want to murder Nancy?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’
‘So this is not about a burglary then, this is… hold on now, just a minute! You think that I…? Listen, I would never hurt Nancy. Never. She’s lovely. She’s the loveliest girl I’ve met in a long time!’
Dougal spun his laptop round to face Nevin.
‘For the benefit of the tape, I am now showing Mr Nevin CCTV footage taken from outside the leisure centre where a figure matching Mr Nevin�
��s description can be seen talking to the cleaners as they arrive, before entering the building unchallenged on the day of Miss Wilson’s death.’
‘It’s the same anorak,’ said Nevin, ‘I’ll give you that.’
‘And the same jeans,’ said Dougal. ‘And the same boots.’
‘Aye okay, but I’m telling you, that’s not me!’
West stared at Nevin, held his gaze, then stood and ambled towards the rear of the room.
‘Have you been in trouble before?’ she said. ‘Have you ever been arrested? Or charged?’
Nevin craned his neck in an effort to see her and cleared his throat.
‘I have,’ he said ashamedly. ‘Once or twice. As a wean.’
‘As a wean?’
‘Aye, you know, pinching sweeties from the supermarket, lifting the odd pushbike here and there. Kids’ stuff, really.’
‘Kids’ stuff? I wouldn’t call aggravated assault kids’ stuff, would you?’
Nevin hung his head and ran his hands over his bristly hair.
‘I’m not proud of it,’ he said quietly. ‘Not proud at all.’
‘The thing is,’ said West, ‘the person you belted wasn’t some bloke in the pub, was it? It wasn’t some thug on the terraces at a football match. It was a woman, and from where I’m standing I’d say that was grossly unfair, considering your size.’
‘I’m five-foot six,’ said Nevin. ‘Not exactly the Jolly Green Giant.’
‘I’m not talking about your height, Mr Nevin. Look at you. You look as though you’ve overdosed on steroids.’
‘I like to keep in shape.’
‘So, what happened?’ said Dougal. ‘Why did you wallop that girl?’
‘Because she wound me up. I lost my temper.’
‘So you’ve got a short fuse?’
‘No.’
‘Then you harbour grudges, is that it? Or is it because you felt belittled because, just like Nancy Wilson, she dumped you too?’
* * *
Beginning to wish he’d accepted the offer of legal aid after all, Nevin squirmed in his seat as Dougal, alerted to a call from Duncan, glanced at West, raised two fingers, and stood.
‘For the benefit of the tape,’ she said, ‘DS McCrae has left the room to take a telephone call. Have you got any family, Mr Nevin? Any brothers or sisters? Any kids?’
‘No. No family.’
‘So you don’t have many visitors then? No friends dropping by? No nieces or nephews having a sleep-over?’
‘No. Like I said. None. My father passed away last year so that’s it now. It’s just me, on my own.’
‘Shame,’ said West. ‘It must be lonely for you.’
‘Sometimes,’ said Nevin, ‘but I’m not without hope. You never know what’s around the corner.’
‘No, you certainly don’t. Do you like reading, Mr Nevin?’
‘Not really.’
‘So you’re not a fan of, say, A.A. Milne?’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘What about TV? What do you like watching? Drama? Documentaries? Or cartoons?’
‘I’m not with you.’
West paused as Dougal, trying his utmost not to smile, returned to his seat, leaned across the table, and glared at Nevin.
‘Let’s go back a bit,’ he said. ‘Let’s talk about the assault. You got two years for that so it must’ve been quite a beating you gave the young lady, am I right?’
‘It was a one-off,’ said Nevin. ‘I didn’t mean it.’
‘Of course you didn’t. And the lady in question, she was…?’
‘Kate. Kate Murray.’
‘Aye. Kate Murray. And she was your girlfriend, was she not?’
‘Not so much a girlfriend, more a…’
‘More a what?’ said West, hackles raised. ‘A one-night stand? Another notch on your bedpost?’
‘It was mutual,’ said Nevin, ‘casual. It’s not as if I forced her into something she didn’t want to do.’
‘Then why did you hit her?’
‘I told you, I lost my temper.’
‘Aye, we know that!’ said Dougal, raising his voice, ‘but there has to be a reason. Was it because she burned your supper? No, probably not. Was it because she spilled your beer? Aye, could be. Or was it because she was pregnant? Surely not, because that would never do, would it? Hitting a pregnant lady?’
Nevin locked his hands together and cracked his knuckles.
‘It was a shock,’ he said, ‘we’d only been seeing each other a couple of weeks and…’
‘And naturally it was her fault!’ said West. ‘It was her fault she got pregnant!’
‘See here, Mr Nevin, we’ve spoken to Miss Murray and she tells us you went after her on bended knee,’ said Dougal, ‘pleading forgiveness, pleading to see your wee boy, and that’s why you’ve got your spare room done up like a nursery, isn’t it? In the hope that he’d come visit; only she told you where to go, didn’t she?’
‘Pity really,’ said West, ‘because if he had visited then you could’ve been claiming child support as well as the dole, and housing. You’d have been raking it in.’
‘Are you going to do me for that?’ said Nevin. ‘For claiming benefits?’
‘It’s fraud, Mr Nevin. And I’m going to do you for everything I can.’
‘But there’s no way I can afford to pay that back.’
‘You should’ve thought about that before you decided to keep quiet about your job.’
‘Look, I didn’t tell anyone about the job or the bairn because if I did, I’d have to pay child maintenance and I don’t have two pennies to rub together.’
‘How so?’ said Dougal. ‘I mean, you must earn a fair bit riding around on that mower of yours.’
‘I do, aye. A wee bit. And I put it aside for the bairn.’
‘Well, unless you can prove it,’ said Dougal, ‘you’re humped, Mr Nevin. Well and truly.’
‘Let me tell you where I am,’ said West. ‘We’ve got you on CCTV outside the leisure centre the morning of Miss Wilson’s death…’
‘That’s not me.’
‘…plus you’ve got a history of violence against women…’
‘It was a one off! A stupid mistake!’
‘…and not only that, we’ve got a witness who’ll testify to seeing you loitering around Miss Wilson’s house just hours after she was killed, so guess what? We’re going to hold you a little bit longer.’
‘But why?’ said Nevin. ‘For benefit fraud? For breaking and entering?’
‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘We’re holding you on suspicion of the murder of Nancy Wilson but look on the bright side, we’re not charging you, not just yet. In the meantime, for the purposes of DNA profiling, we’ll need a swab from inside your cheek and as you’ve obviously not changed your clothes for a couple of days, we’ll have those too.’
‘Come on,’ said West. ‘Back in your box and get your kit off. Someone will bring you a lovely little boiler suit to wear until we get your clothes back.’
Chapter 8
Sensing none of the euphoria she’d experienced on previous cases when, hard evidence aside, she’d naively assumed the facts alone would have been enough to secure a conviction, West, looking unusually dour, sat staring silently into space with a slice of pepperoni pizza dangling from one hand and a spicy chicken wing in the other.
‘Are you okay?’ said Dougal, concerned by her sullen expression.
‘Sorry? What was that?’
‘Are you sickening for something, miss? Your lunch, you’ve not touched it.’
‘Nah, not that hungry really.’
‘Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You and food,’ said Dougal, ‘it’s not right. It’s not right at all. No offence, miss, but when my doggie stopped eating, I knew something was up. Six weeks later he was dead.’
‘Thanks for that.’
‘So, what is it?’
‘I’m having
doubts,’ said West.
‘About Nevin?’
‘Yup.’
‘But why? He ticks all the boxes.’
‘I know,’ said West, ‘but there’s something about him, he’s just not… he’s just not demented enough.’
‘Well, they say it’s the quiet ones you have to look out for.’
‘I know, but he’s not your stereotypical nine-to-fiver nice guy with a barrel-load of mates and twelve choirboys chained to the wall in his cellar, is he?’
‘No,’ said Dougal as he answered the phone, ‘maybe not. So, what do you think?’
‘My head says we bide our time and wait for the results from forensics, but my instinct says he’s in the clear.’
Dougal held the handset to his chest and spoke in a loud whisper.
‘No need to fret,’ he said. ‘I think you just got yourself a second bite of the cherry.’
‘You what?’
‘Rupert Lea. The lads in Cumnock have picked him up.’
‘Hallelujah!’ said West. ‘About time too! Tell them to stick him in a car and send him here now.’
‘That’s if he agrees to come.’
‘Well, why wouldn’t he? Hold on, when you say they picked him up, did they arrest him or…’
‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘They asked if he’d care to help with the inquiry and he went of his own accord.’
‘Bugger.’
‘Is that not good?’
‘I don’t know,’ said West. ‘Guilty suspects don’t usually hand themselves in for questioning.’
‘The smart ones do. It diverts attention away from themselves.’
‘In that case,’ said West as she tore a bite out of her pizza, ‘he’ll have no qualms about talking to us. Once you’re off the blower give Duncan a bell, he’s still in Auchinleck. Tell him to take another look around Lea’s gaff, a proper look this time.’
‘Will do. I’d best organise a warrant too. How will he get in?’
‘This is Duncan we’re talking about,’ said West. ‘He’ll find a way.’
* * *
Deferring the task of sifting through anything belonging to Rupert Lea, and with it the associated risk of contracting an airborne viral disease, Duncan – hoping to catch a crafty forty winks – parked in a secluded spot beneath the shade of a tree by the railway station and curled up on the back seat, only for his impending catnap to be interrupted by the buzz of his phone.
Penitent Page 7
