Broken Ground (Karen Pirie Book 5)

by Val McDermid

  ‘I know you said that’s a bit of guesswork, but it’s the only thing that makes sense to me.’

  ‘Me too. The next bit’s more hazy. I think Arnie tried to find out what had happened to his diamonds. With his contacts, he could probably have found out who was responsible for dealing with the bikes. Remember the mysterious American who showed up in Warkworth right before Kenny Pascoe died? I’d put money on that being Arnie Burke. Maybe Kenny’s death wasn’t all it appeared to be. Maybe Arnie was a bit too persuasive? And maybe that’s how he got his hands on the map. But for whatever reason, he can’t get his hands on the loot.

  ‘Fast forward to Arnie telling his granddaughter the story of the diamonds and his failure to find the family fortune. He’s saved up enough to send her to study in Scotland and he tells her it’s up to her to find the diamonds. He gives her whatever information he has. And somehow, Shirley, who is a smart lassie, cracks it. But there’s a problem, right, Jason?’

  He nodded. ’It’s buried in a peat bog on the Mackenzie family croft. And no way is she going to be able to get it herself.’

  ‘So she fixes on the bright idea of persuading a heavy athlete to do the job for her. They’re strong and they live the kind of peripatetic life where it will take a wee while before anybody notices they’ve disappeared for sure. Shirley’s a good-looking woman and she’ll likely be dangling a share of the loot in front of him as well as fluttering her eyelashes. We can put her with Joey at Invercharron, thanks to Ruari Macaulay’s evidence.

  ‘Whatever the deal she strikes with Joey at Invercharron, they end up in Wester Ross. Joey digs a hole and opens the panniers and hallelujah, there’s the diamonds. But Shirley doesn’t want to share and she doesn’t want him talking about their wee adventure so she shoots him and fills in the hole.’

  ‘And drives off in his camper van,’ Jason chipped in.

  ‘Exactly. She’s got big plans, has Shirley. But she can’t get started till she liberates the liquidity in the diamonds—’

  ‘You mean, sells them?’ Jason was puzzled.

  ‘Uh huh. Who doesn’t like to show off sometimes, Jason? She needs cash, and she needs the right property to renovate and sell on at a profit. She can’t be seen with Joey’s van in case anybody comes looking for him, and she needs time to set up a paper trail that lets her have legitimate ownership of the van. So she sells the diamonds – and now we can prove that – and puts an advert in the Evening News to make it look like she’s bought the van fair and square. She pays cash for the property in Leith and she’s off on the road to a property empire, clean as a whistle. And I bet she’s never put a foot wrong since.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘What do you think, Jason? Is it enough?’

  ‘Where did she get the gun?’

  ‘Good point. According to his obituary, Arnie Burke was a champion target shooter. Shirley grew up around guns. She could easily have brought one over in her suitcase back then. I know it’s hard to believe now, Jason, but back before 9/11, it never occurred to airlines to X-ray hold baggage. And even if she didn’t bring it with her, this was before Dunblane. She could have joined a shooting club. Back then, if you had a lockbox in your car, you could take your gun out of the club for competitions.’

  He gave her a look that said he wasn’t sure if she was at the wind-up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. It wasn’t too hard to get your hands on illegal guns back then either. Between the end of the Soviet Union and the handgun ban, there was a lot of dodgy gun dealing going on. My dad said there was a pub in Lochgelly where you could buy Czech police pistols for fifty quid in the early eighties. But Shirley probably wouldn’t have had to go to Lochgelly.’

  Jason laughed. ‘She’d have stuck out like a sore thumb trying to buy a drink in Lochgelly, never mind a gun.’

  ‘True enough. I wonder whether Napier had a student gun club back then? Make a note to check it out, Jason. There’s a few ranges near Edinburgh as well. One out Livingston way, I think, and another one over at Balerno. It’s worth checking them out, see whether they’ve got any record of Shirley O’Shaughnessy being a member. She’s got no idea we’re looking at her, so we’ve a bit of time to play with to line up all our ducks in a row. While we’re waiting for the Met to do us a favour, we can try to beef up the circumstantial. I don’t want this one to slip away from us, Jason. Shirley O’Shaughnessy’s done well out of Joey Sutherland’s murder. That needs to stop.’

  66

  2018 – Edinburgh

  Karen hadn’t deliberately kept Hamish waiting. But the audio file of the Met detectives’ interview with David Cohn had landed in her inbox as she was preparing to leave the office. She’d planned to go home and change for their dinner date but that wasn’t going to happen now. She could have left the interview till morning; nothing was going to happen overnight that would have any impact on the case, she knew that. But she couldn’t resist it.

  There was nothing on the recording that contradicted what Cohn had said earlier, but nothing that amplified it either. That was fine, however. The very consistency of Cohn’s account was reassuring. It spoke of a witness who wouldn’t readily be shaken from his version of events.

  By the time she’d done with the recording, she was already late. She forced herself to take the time to apply fresh lipstick and attempt to arrange her hair in the ladies’ loo before she dashed out and fretted on the pavement, waiting for the chance to cross to the taxi rank without dying under a bus. She collapsed into the cab, cursing under her breath. Why was she letting herself get so wound up about keeping a man waiting for ten minutes at a restaurant table? Yes, it was bad manners, but not even her mother could give her a hard time for being late because she was trying to solve a murder.

  The roadworks on Leith Street seemed even slower than usual, and beyond them, the traffic was clotted on the Bridges and congealed on Chambers Street. She’d have been quicker walking, Karen thought. But then she’d have turned up out of breath and sweating because she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from hurrying.

  Finally the cab pulled up on George IV Bridge, almost directly opposite Perk. Karen walked into The Outsider and quickly scanned the room before any of the waiting staff reached her. She saw Hamish at once. He was sitting with his back to the door at one of the window tables that commanded an uninterrupted view of the castle rock and the brooding silhouette of its fortifications. In spite of her best intentions, her spirits lifted at the sight.

  She quickly crossed the room and lightly touched him on the shoulder, continuing on without pause to sit opposite him. He half-rose, clearly moving to greet her with an embrace. But something in her face stopped him and he sat again. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, and I’m sorry I’m still in my work clothes,’ she said. ‘Something came in at the last minute that I had to deal with.’

  He shook his head. ‘No need to apologise. I know your job isn’t predictable. And I figured if it was something major you’d let me know, not leave me sitting here so long everybody in the room would know I’d been stood up.’

  She couldn’t help smiling. She caught his eye and knew there was something flickering between them. Then she reminded herself that he’d played her and the smile died on her lips. ‘Had a good day?’ she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

  ‘Busy. And far too boring to share with anybody else. How about you? How is the Joey Sutherland case going? Are you making progress?’

  ‘Slowly.’ She was cautious. ‘Did your grandparents ever mention an American called Arnie Burke?’

  ‘No. Is he a suspect?’

  She chuckled. ‘Hardly. He died in 1994. But he might have had something to do with the bikes back when they were first buried.’

  ‘Intriguing. What else have you found out?’

  ‘I can’t tell you anything,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t even have said what I did. Never let anything out in the wild that you wouldn’t want ending up in the papers.’

  ‘Do you think I’m here because I’m trying to winkl
e information out of you to sell to the papers?’ His face crinkled in an incredulous half-smile.

  ‘It’s nothing personal. I don’t talk about ongoing cases with anybody outside the tent.’ And because it was preying on her mind and because she couldn’t stay silent about so important a thing, she said, ‘But even if that wasn’t the case, I couldn’t talk to you about it because I can’t trust you.’

  He recoiled as far as the chair would allow. But before he could respond, the waiter was upon them, delivering menus and drinks lists and reciting the specials. Karen ordered a glass of Prosecco. Not because she felt she had anything to celebrate but because it required less thought than a choice of gin. Hamish pointed to his half-empty glass of beer and said, ‘Same again.’ The waiter picked up on his brusque tone and backed off.

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t trust me?’ He seemed genuinely upset.

  ‘You’re a liar.’

  The words hung in the air between them. His eyes narrowed and a band of dark pink spread along his cheekbones like a swatch of blusher. ‘That’s a pretty harsh thing to say.’

  ‘It’s a pretty harsh thing to discover about somebody you’ve taken a liking to.’ Karen’s chin came up, challenging him.

  ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He leaned forward, forearms on the table, his expression earnest.

  ‘Come on, Hamish.’ She was giving him one last chance. But he wasn’t taking it. He said nothing, nor did he flinch under her stare. She fiddled with an earring, as if it were a nervous gesture. His lips twitched. ‘I know about the earrings,’ she said, her voice soft with regret.

  Now he reacted. He sat up straight, one hand gripping the side of his beard. ‘Oh fuck,’ he groaned. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I’m a detective, Hamish. Finding things out is how I make a living. Your barista recognised me from my fucking earrings. Because you’d had them delivered across the road.’

  He had the pained look that in a child would precede tears. But he was too old and too self-conscious for anything so revelatory. ‘I couldn’t find your earring in the U-bend. And I wanted to see you again.’

  ‘You could have called me and told me the truth.’

  ‘I was afraid that would be the end of that. I didn’t think you’d want to go out with me because I was connected to your case. So I thought I needed an excuse. And the earring would be a great excuse. You wouldn’t be able to say no to a drink, at least. You can’t blame me for trying.’

  Again the waiter’s arrival forced them into silence. He placed their glasses on the table wordlessly, clearly picking up on the atmosphere. Then he stepped back, saying, ‘I’ll give you a wee minute to decide, eh?’

  ‘It was devious,’ Karen said.

  ‘OK, it was maybe the wrong thing, but it was for the right reason.’ He creased his brows, pleading. ‘Karen, I spend three hundred and forty-five pounds doing the wrong thing for the right reason. That’s how much I was prepared to gamble on seeing you again.’

  ‘Well, lucky you, having three hundred and forty-five pounds to spend on a whim. Hamish, my working life consists of unravelling the lies people tell to cover the things they’ve done wrong. Sometimes they’re trivial things, sometimes they’re truly terrible. But all the lies are the same. They’re reasons not to trust anything they say.’ She sighed. ‘I like you, Hamish. I really do. But you couldn’t have got off on a worse foot with me if you’d really worked at it.’

  He shifted in his seat and hung his head, fixing his gaze on the table, apparently seeking answers there. Karen made herself stay silent, waiting.

  At length, he mumbled, ‘Do you want me to leave?’

  Despite everything, she really didn’t. ‘What? And let you off the hook?’

  He flicked a quick glance upwards and registered the wry smile. ‘I’m really sorry. I only wanted to make you happy. I didn’t think you’d find out.’

  She shook her head and scoffed at him. ‘Like I said, Hamish. I’m a detective. Even if Anders hadn’t spilled the beans, I’d have noticed as soon as I looked at them closely side by side. The one you gave me looks split new. Mine has got the odd scuff and scratch and the back isn’t nearly as shiny. It was a good try but really, you’d have done better to save your money and tell the truth.’

  ‘I realise that now.’ He let out a deep breath. ‘I’m a fixer, Karen. I’m good at solving problems. Most people are content to let me fix things. They don’t pay much attention to how, they just accept I’ve sorted whatever it is that needed sorting.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘I should have thought it through. Realised that the very thing that’s attractive about you is that you’re different. So the same old, same old isn’t the way to be with you.’ He took a long gulp of his beer. ‘Would you like me to go out and come in again so we can start over?’

  ‘You could try it.’ She watched as he stood up and wove through the tables to the door. He walked along the street towards Greyfriars Bobby till he was out of sight. For a moment, she thought he wasn’t coming back and she felt a lurch of disappointment. But then he reappeared and hustled across the room to their table.

  He put one hand on the back of the chair and raised his eyebrows. ‘Is this seat taken?’

  She inclined her head, a playful smile escaping against her will. ‘It is now.’

  67

  2018 – Stirling

  McCartney had called in a favour from a guy who’d been on the Strathclyde MIT with him back in the day. Now he was one of the HQ gophers. One of the ones who’d given up the ghost on being real coppers. Happy to settle for staring at screens and totting up performance indicators. But handy to have in your back pocket every now and again. Like when you wanted to know if the Dog Biscuit was back on UK soil after her jolly in Holland.

  He wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice, though. Tonight he’d wait till he saw Markie set off with the dog before he got out of the car. Then he’d circle the loch in the opposite direction and meet her halfway round. He parked in the gloom in the furthest corner of the car park and settled down with a podcast of his favourite football preview show, a slice of anarchy, gossip and surrealism. He’d shouted at the opinionated presenters for the third time when Markie’s car cruised into a space near the start of the lakeside path. He watched her emerge and let the dog out of the tailgate. He gave her five minutes then he set off.

  It was a clear dry night, a nip in the air but no sign of rain. McCartney walked briskly along the path, rehearsing what he was about to say. He passed half a dozen students, cheerful and noisy with drink. They paid no attention to him. Nor did the elderly man walking his golden retriever or the two middle-aged women deep in discussion about a research application.

  He rounded a curving bank of rhododendrons and caught sight of Markie in the distance. He slowed to a halt and waited in the shadows till she was a few metres away. He stepped forward and announced his presence with, ‘How was Holland?’

  Ann Markie misstepped and staggered slightly. ‘You should not be here,’ she said, her voice low and angry.

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Didn’t you get the message? It’s not appropriate for us to meet until the disciplinary procedure is over.’

  The dog bounded up to them, tongue hanging out in what looked like a smile. McCartney wasn’t fooled. She’d set the wee beast on him in a heartbeat if it came to it. ‘You don’t get it, do you? I want my job back. Fuck the disciplinary process. I want all that shit to go away. And you’re the one who can make that happen. You put me in the firing line for this, you owe me.’

  ‘I don’t owe you a thing, Gerry. Yes, I moved you to the HCU to report back to me on how it was being run, but that’s all. You make it sound like there was some special deal between us. Believe me, Gerry, you could not be more wrong. You blew it in a major way. A man’s dead, and you’re dead to me.’ She tried to sidestep him and continue on her way but he blocked her with a sidestep of his own.

  ‘Not so fast, Ann
. If I’ve learned one thing from you, it’s that information is currency under your regime. Now I’ve got a juicy piece of information that I think you’d repay with interest.’

  ‘If you have information about a crime, you are obliged to hand it over. You know that. Don’t make things worse for yourself than they are already. Don’t make me add that to the complaints against you.’

  He shook his head. ‘This isn’t information about a crime. It’s the sort of thing you want to know about because not knowing about it means you’ll get covered from your shiny hair to your shiny shoes when the shit hits the fan. Ma’am.’ He leaned forward, almost spitting the final word in her face.

  ‘And you think you can bargain with this information?’ She looked as scornful as she sounded.

  ‘I know I can.’

  Markie sized him up. He suspected that under her surface she was as twitchy as any of them. ‘You want me to make the disciplinary charges disappear, is that your price?’

  ‘Aye.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. It’s too high profile. The best I can do is reinstate you pending an inquiry. And then make the inquiry so long-drawn-out that everybody forgets about it and eventually it all goes away.’

  He shook his head. It wasn’t enough. The very idea of telling his wife and girls that he was suspended made his heart hurt in his chest. How could he lay claim to their respect if he was disgraced in the eyes of the world? ‘I need more than that.’

  She pushed his chest, taking him by surprise, making him stumble enough for her to get past him. ‘Say goodbye to the best offer you’re going to get, then.’