Bad Blood

by Aline Templeton

  ‘This is a disciplinary matter, of course. But I have broad discretion, and unless a defence lawyer raises a question about bias in the investigation, I’m prepared to overlook it. And it would certainly be a good mark if you could persuade Marnie to come in and talk to us – use emotional blackmail, if she’ll listen. She ought to feel some sense of obligation and for her own sake I want to arrange proper protection before she gets herself killed.’

  ‘I can try,’ Hepburn said. ‘I just wonder if she’s a target because of her memory – something the killer thinks she knows that she hasn’t told us yet.’

  ‘Yes,’ Fleming said. ‘It had occurred to me. One of the reasons I’m so anxious to speak to her is that I have some ideas for questions I think she might be able to answer.

  ‘All right, Louise. I think we can leave it there for now. Tam, don’t go.’

  Hepburn scuttled out. At least it was over and the wounds probably weren’t fatal. She knew, and Fleming knew that she knew, that it was very unlikely a defence lawyer would even find out what she had done let alone claim there had been bias, so it probably wasn’t the end of her career.

  What had cut her to the quick was Fleming’s analysis of her own shortcomings as an investigator. The criticisms that go deep are always the ones you recognise as being fair.

  Michael Morrison was in an irritable mood as he picked his wife up from the train. Apart from anything else, he had wanted her to stay away a bit longer. The police hadn’t come back over the weekend and he was hoping that given time the interview might just somehow never happen. He didn’t want to have to coach Vivienne in what she had to say; she was such an innocent that if he did she’d look so guilty they’d probably arrest her.

  She greeted him with her usual sunny warmth. ‘Oh darling, it’s lovely to be home! Diana was sweet, of course, but she has such a busy life I felt I was in the way. And if I stayed any longer, you’d go bankrupt!’

  He could never stay irritated with her for long. ‘I think I can take the hit. That’s what I’m here for – paying for my wife to look beautiful.’

  Vivienne laughed. ‘You’re so good. And how’s Mikey?’

  ‘Oh, shaping up for delinquency very promisingly. He’s been missing you.’

  ‘I’ve missed him too. But I got him this gorgeous baby penguin in Harrods …’

  She chattered on, with him half-listening as they drove back down the A77. They were just south of Ayr when his mobile, lying in the tray between the seats, rang. He glanced at the caller ID, then, despite his wife’s disapproving look, answered it.

  He didn’t react to what he heard, he just gripped the steering wheel tighter until the whites of his knuckles showed. ‘I’ll call you later,’ he said, putting his foot down on the accelerator.

  ‘Michael!’ Vivienne protested. ‘You shouldn’t use the mobile when you’re driving and you’re going to get flashed if you drive like that. You’ve got six points on the licence already—’

  ‘Do you think you could just shut up?’ he said, through clenched teeth.

  Vivienne gasped. He never spoke to her like that and tears came to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘No,’ he said, but he didn’t apologise and he didn’t slow down.

  Vivienne sat in miserable silence all the way home. He didn’t even come in with her; he dumped her and her cases on the doorstep and drove off – back to the office, he said. He never snapped at her, even though she knew she sometimes fussed. When she’d been fretting away that day after Anita had opened her heart to her, he’d been so patient and reassuring, seeing she took her sleeping pills and making her hot milk so she got proper rest. For him to speak to her like that must mean there was something wrong – very, very wrong.

  ‘What I’ve been asking myself,’ Fleming said to MacNee, ‘is how come this consortium got together in the first place. Construction, haulage, a nightclub – what’s the missing link?’

  ‘Maybe it’s just the area,’ MacNee suggested. ‘Crichton and Morrison had businesses here, Lee had a business here according to Anita—’

  ‘So what was it? It suddenly went pear-shaped, and Lee and Kirstie disappeared, leaving Marnie behind. There must be something in her records to say where Kirstie Burnside was working – it was some office in Newton Street, but I can’t remember the name. I want that checked out. Your job, I guess, Tam. You’ll have access to the restricted files.’

  MacNee looked less than happy at the suggestion. ‘Well, quicker if we could just check out this famous memory, eh? Anyway, is there any word what the score is with Grant Crichton?’

  ‘Nick Alexander phoned me. It’s all technical stuff but they think they’ve got him on money-laundering. That should draw in Morrison and Lee as well and then they’ll be able to swear out search warrants.

  ‘Once they’ve finished with him they’ll let us have a go. I told Nick it was urgent but you know what that lot are like – think their business takes precedence over everything else.’

  ‘Trafficking, is it?’

  ‘That’s what he believes. Going on over a period of time. And now I think about it, you can see the link: Crichton’s lorries bring them in, Morrison gets what is virtually slave labour for his construction business and Lee sees to laundering the money – lots of cash payments to casual workers – bouncers and musicians and so on. And if you have some illegal immigrants who’ve paid their way in up front, you can bus them up to the out-of-town nightclub, mix them in with the genuine patrons and at the end of the night off they go. Nothing that would attract attention.

  ‘So what does Marnie know that makes it worth killing her, then?’

  ‘Louise reckons the second shot they had at her proves it’s not to do with something she could tell us about Anita. They were aware that she was at the station here so they’d know she’d have given us the answers to anything we asked her.’

  Fleming sighed. ‘She’s a bright girl, Louise, but she’s got a lot to learn. Anyway, Grant Crichton – his alibi’s gone, he’s admitted it and we have him placed at the scene. I’ve never met the man. Once we get a chance at him, can we crack him?’

  MacNee considered. ‘Andy would have a better idea about that. I only met him the once, and he got right up my nose. He’s got the “you’re a public servant, I’m the public so grovel” attitude that makes you want to nut him. My guess is he’ll bluster.’

  ‘Usually a sign of weakness. His lawyer will tell him to keep his mouth shut and if he killed Anita he’ll probably do as he’s told. If he didn’t, maybe we can make him an offer he can’t refuse?’

  ‘You’re gunning for Daniel Lee, right?’

  ‘On gut instinct, yes. But then, Morrison – they’re both vermin if they’re in the trafficking business, just different types.’

  ‘Lee’s a weasel, Morrison’s a rat?’

  Fleming laughed. ‘You could say. Anyway, I reckon it’s open season on Lee and Morrison now. What—?’

  There was a knock on the door and Hepburn came in. ‘Sorry to break in, boss, but I’ve spoken to Marnie. She won’t tell me where she is but she says she’ll be in the Pier Café in Stranraer in three-quarters of an hour if someone wants to meet her there.’

  At the prospect of getting the information direct, MacNee’s face brightened. ‘She could tell us where her mother worked, couldn’t she?’

  Fleming wasn’t convinced. ‘Maybe, but I still want it checked out.’ MacNee’s face fell.

  ‘Well done, though, Louise. Did you have to twist her arm?’

  ‘I didn’t have to. She phoned me. She sounded reluctant but I think she feels last night was her fault, somehow.’

  ‘All to the good. Right, Louise, car park in five minutes. Tam, if you manage to turn anything up before we get there, call me, OK?’

  MacNee grunted. Fleming noticed that Louise, tactfully, wasn’t grinning but hadn’t quite managed not to look pleased.

  Michael Morrison’s secretar
y had opened her mouth to ask whether Vivienne had enjoyed her trip to London but after a glance at Morrison’s face as he stormed in she bit her tongue. He went straight into his office and she winced as he slammed the door.

  He threw himself into his chair and picked up the phone on his desk.

  ‘Drax? Tell me again.’

  He was glad he was sitting down as he listened because he could feel the blood draining from his face.

  ‘But surely he’ll have the sense to say nothing? The lawyer’s with him, right?’

  As Drax outlined his theory that Crichton would be cooperating with the police, he interrupted, ‘But he’s in it as deep as we are,’ though even as he protested he recognised it had the ring of truth. ‘We’ll just have to stick together against him, then. We need to meet—’

  ‘Deep? Us? Oh come on, we’re not responsible for Grant’s problems. Am I my co-director’s keeper?’ Drax said, laughing.

  It wasn’t like Drax not to understand implications. ‘I think you’ll find we are,’ Morrison insisted. ‘Now the police will be involved and—’

  ‘We’ll help them in any way we can. At least I will.’

  ‘Well of course, in a sense—’ Morrison was frowning.

  ‘Sorry, hang on – yes, Kylie? OK, I’ll be with you in a minute. Sorry, Michael – that’s my brainless management assistant in another mess. I’ve got to go.’

  It was only after he had rung off that Morrison understood, with cold certainty, what that had been about. The phone was being tapped, almost certainly. And what he had just heard was Drax’s attempt to put himself in the clear.

  So, every man for himself. But Drax would be a ruthless opponent, how ruthless probably only he and maybe Grant knew – and Anita Loudon. It was that quality, and the man’s quick, clever mind, that had made the consortium so successful and he’d been content to let Drax control it. He’d trusted him. Too much. Far, far too much.

  Now, he would have to be ruthless too. The stakes were high, but he’d learnt a bit about handling himself in the ugly, dirty, sordid world he’d somehow got involved in, much as he hated it, much as it wasn’t the way he saw himself.

  Morrison’s eyes went to the photographs on his desk: this was his world. His pretty wife, smiling at him as if she were there in the room with him. Gemma, his baby, her head thrown back, laughing, bubbly and confident. And Mikey, his chin stuck out in some toddler defiance – a chip off the grandfatherly block. The family who had everything.

  He had to win this one, for them. He wasn’t going to let Drax stitch him up.

  A small café wasn’t exactly the place Fleming would have chosen for the meeting with Marnie Bruce. There were only two tables occupied apart from the one Marnie had chosen right at the back and the women there were chatting to the waitress in a way that suggested they were regulars. As Fleming and Hepburn walked in, they were aware of interested scrutiny.

  Marnie had a mug and an empty plate in front of her and as they approached she said loudly, ‘Thanks for coming to pick me up. If you can just wait till I’ve finished this we can get going.’

  ‘Fine,’ Fleming said and she and Hepburn sat down. Marnie made a show of sipping at her mug but Fleming noticed that her eyes went constantly to the street outside. She was no fool, Marnie; she was checking to see that they hadn’t been followed.

  After a detailed discussion about the weather which it hardly warranted – a bit dull, mildly damp – Marnie seemed to be satisfied and went to pay, then they left together.

  ‘Where to now?’ Fleming asked, scanning the street herself as they paused outside. There was nothing suspicious that she could see.

  ‘My car.’ Marnie strode off along the front to the car park and took them right to the far end where a small Fiat two-door hire car was parked in the front row looking out over Loch Ryan, grey and unpromising in the November afternoon.

  Hepburn pulled the driver’s seat forward and climbed into the back, leaving Fleming the passenger seat. ‘Are we going somewhere?’ she asked.

  Marnie shook her head. ‘I’m fine here. There’s a good view all round so I can see if anyone was coming.’

  Fleming seized the opportunity. ‘Marnie, I’m going to give you police protection, whether you want it or not. It’s too dangerous for you to go on like this.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Marnie’s voice was flat. ‘I’ve made my arrangements and I’m not relying on the police keeping their mouths shut about where I am. I was obviously tailed from the police station – how did Drax know I was even there?’

  Various explanations sprang to mind but it was clear that for the moment, at least, arguing was pointless. Fleming wasn’t sure either how long Marnie would be prepared to sit talking to them so when she demanded, ‘Well, what did you want to speak to me about?’ Fleming went straight to the topic that had been at the top of her mind.

  ‘What did your mother do when you lived here, Marnie? Do you remember?’

  She got a glance of contempt. ‘Of course I do. Drax had a business in Newton Stewart and she worked for him. Accounts mostly but sometimes she had to arrange stuff for clients.’

  Fleming pounced on that. ‘Clients?’ but Marnie only looked blank.

  ‘What sort of stuff?’

  ‘I don’t know, really. She’d be away for a night or maybe two sometimes. She never told me what she did.’

  ‘Where did you go when she went away?’ Fleming’s mind was on Anita: had she perhaps had a closer relationship with Marnie as a child?

  Marnie gave a mirthless smile. ‘Go? I didn’t go anywhere. Just stayed at home – got the school bus and waited till she got back.’

  Hepburn burst out, ‘But you must have been quite small. That was awful!’ Then she stopped abruptly, with an anxious glance at Fleming.

  ‘I quite liked it, actually. There wasn’t someone always nagging me about turning off the TV or going to bed early. Oh, I suppose it got a bit spooky at night sometimes but it meant I could have my friend over – my mum didn’t approve.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Didn’t like them being well off and we weren’t, she said. But I guess she didn’t want anyone hanging around. Drax didn’t like it, she said once.’

  Fleming’s ears pricked up. ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Don’t know. Probably something illegal, knowing what he’s like.’ Her voice was bitter.

  ‘Was there ever anything, anything at all, that you remember your mother saying or doing that could give us a clue to what it was?’ Fleming was getting desperate now; Marnie’s memory, restricted to what she had experienced herself, of course, was proving disappointing.

  Hepburn, leaning forward, said in what Fleming recognised as a carefully unemotional voice, ‘I think there must be something, Marnie, because I believe that’s what is behind the attempts to kill you. Did you ever hear a discussion between your mother and Drax about what they were doing? Did she ever bring work home?’

  And suddenly, something seemed to click. Marnie was staring straight ahead, as if she was seeing something in the grey clouds hanging over the hills across the loch. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I was – I am …’ She was struggling for coherence.

  ‘Don’t report. Just describe what you’re seeing for us, Marnie.’ Fleming’s voice was low, insistent.

  Marnie hesitated, but then it poured out, a steady stream of consciousness.

  She’s watching TV. It’s Cheggers Plays Pop and it’s really good but she’s got to be ready to put it off when she hears Mum’s car because Mum doesn’t like it and she’s in a mega-bad mood and there’s some problems and Drax has been yelling at her down the phone.

  And that’s the car now and she’s annoyed because the show’s not even half over. She’s getting up to switch off the TV and she looks out of the window and it isn’t her mum’s car, it’s a minibus and there are foreign people peering out of the window. They must be lost or something.

  She won’t have to switch it off after all but then that’s her mum�
��s car coming in behind so she does. That’s funny. She doesn’t mind so much about losing her programme because something’s going to happen and it’s not going to be just another boring evening.

  They’re all climbing out. She’s never really seen black people close up before, though they’re not black, really, more sort of coffee-coloured. Mum’s hustling them to get inside quickly and then she’s yelling at Marnie to go to her room.

  She doesn’t want to but the way Mum’s looking at her she knows she has to. They’re all men, about twelve of them, and they’re wearing very poor, thin clothes and some of them are shivering. Maybe they’re cold but she thinks maybe they’re frightened too. They’re jabbering and Mum’s shouting at them. She’s going to her room as slowly as she dares, watching them shuffling into the lounge, then she puts her ear to the door.

  The phone’s in the hall and Mum’s talking to Drax. She’s trying to talk him down so he must be mad at her. She says the contact wasn’t there when she arrived and she doesn’t know what to do and he seems to think she should because she’s crying and saying it’s not fair.

  She can’t hear anything after that except the lounge door shutting so she goes to the connecting wall with her bedroom instead because it’s so thin you can hear through it. Mum’s sounding a bit cross with them too and she tells them to stop panicking because everything’s going to be fine and it’s all being arranged now.

  She doesn’t know why they should be panicking but her mum certainly is and she’s beginning to feel a bit worried herself. It’s a nasty atmosphere and she knows that nasty atmospheres are usually bad news for her. She’s trying to stop biting her nails but she can’t help it. Then the phone rings so she goes back to listening at the door.

  It must be Drax. Mum’s saying, “Thank God for that!” Then, “Yes, yes, of course I will. Right away.”

  So it sounds as if they can all stop panicking. It’s a relief, even if she still doesn’t know what’s going on. Then she hears Mum say, “Well, of course she has. I had to bring them back here, didn’t I? But I’ll tell her to keep her mouth shut, or else.”