‘So where do we go from here?’
‘Wait for footprint evidence and DNA results. Nothing till Monday at the earliest, and there won’t be much doing over the weekend.’
‘Oh yes. You’re remembering I fly to Ireland first thing tomorrow for a long golfing weekend – I told you where
I was going, didn’t I? There’s this amazing hole on one of
the courses—’
Fleming smiled. ‘Yes, Donald, you told me. I hope you have a lovely time.’
‘I’m looking forward to it, I must say. And you’ll report to the Deputy Chief Constable if necessary, of course.’
‘Of course.’
As she got up, Bailey cleared his throat. ‘Er – before you go, Marjory, on the other case – any progress?’
She had hoped he wouldn’t press her. She said awkwardly, ‘Oh, this and that. Nothing very dramatic.’
He said, ‘Of course,’ but with obvious displeasure, and Fleming left feeling irritable. He’d put her in charge of the review and now resented the inevitable consequences. She wished he’d called in another Force to deal with it instead.
But did she? Ailsa’s case had really gripped her imagination, and she’d hate to give it up now. When she reached her office, she went back to the box which held the photos of Ailsa Grant and took out the portrait shot and one of the post-mortem shots of her face and laid them side by side on the desk. The eyes of the living girl looked out with all the shining confidence of youth; the glassy stare of the dead one cruelly mocked all those hopes and dreams.
But at least one thing had fallen into place. It all added up: Hodge’s violent reaction to questions about Ailsa; Diane’s artless disclosures which had revealed his lies . . . Fleming knew, as surely as if she actually had the DNA evidence in front of her, that Gavin Hodge was the father of Ailsa’s child. If she could find anything approaching proof that the bastard had done this as well, she was going to hound him until a prison sentence would look like a preferable alternative.
On impulse, she phoned Tam to see if he fancied a drink after work – like she had to ask! She needed a sounding-board, and nowadays Cat tended to drift in when she and Bill were talking over a dram – and she stayed up later than they did. It was like having a chaperone monitor all your conversations, since any meaningful bedroom discussion suffered from Bill’s habit of falling asleep slightly before his head hit the pillow.
They went to the Cutty Sark, Tam’s local, rather than the Salutation opposite the Kirkluce headquarters which was the Force’s favoured watering-hole. It was bigger, with more space between the tables, and in the early evening comparatively quiet. MacNee hailed a few of his cronies, then found a table away from the bar while Fleming got in the drinks.
‘TGIF!’ MacNee said, raising his glass. ‘And a weekend off. Dumfries were looking for extra manpower – they’re at full stretch with a nasty rape they’re investigating but they’re reluctant to put their hand in their pocket.’
‘I heard about that. Their DI is tearing his hair out – he’s desperate for a breakthrough, but as always the budget’s tight.
‘Have you anything planned?’
‘I’ve a ticket for the match tomorrow – can’t think why, really. Ayr United’s not exactly the Rangers. What about you?’
‘Might do paperwork at home, but I’m not coming in. Plenty to do in the house.’
‘How’s “the hardy son of rustic toil” these days? Need to get him in for a pint some night.’
‘Do that – he’d like it. But never mind that. Look, we both know I’m going to have to open up about the cold case. After what Diane Hodge said this afternoon . . .’
‘Never saw Ailsa in Glasgow, Hodge claims. Diane didn’t get out much because she’d a baby, she writes to Ailsa when she hears she’s up the spout and gets no reply – Might as well be a signed confession.’
Fleming took it on. ‘Absolutely. And did he kill her as well, in case his wealthy wife divorced him? And did he think Marcus knew something, and had a go at him too?’
‘What are the chances of getting a swab from Hodge? None, or less than that?’
‘Less than that. Even innocent people get stroppy about giving their DNA,’ Fleming pointed out. ‘Lindsay refused, and I simply don’t believe he elaborately sneaked home, once to impregnate the wretched girl and once to murder her.’
‘Yeah. But I’ve a feeling he’s not being completely frank with us.’
‘You know someone who’s completely frank with us? We must move in different circles.’
‘And what about our Sheila? When can I let the rest of the lads in on the joke?’
Fleming pulled a face. ‘Not yet. Have to check absolutely everything first. If we go off half-cocked and she wriggles out, we’re dead in the water. Right enough, she had quite a solid motive to kill him, but be honest, Tam – can you actually picture her skulking around in the dark with a knife?’
MacNee looked at her for a moment, then smiled. ‘Do you know, I think I can.’
The European Commission’s agricultural policies were seldom popular with farmers, but the set-aside land at the foot of a grazing hill was one of Marjory Fleming’s favourite places. There was a curved rock which provided a sheltered seat with a view out over the valley to the farmhouse and the cottage which, built as they were of the local stone, looked almost like rock formations themselves.
It was, for once, a glorious Saturday morning and she couldn’t bear to waste it on admin. That could wait. She’d scrubbed out the henhouse, then gone for a five-mile hike, and glowing now from virtuous exercise, was sitting among the spring flowers which spangled the rough meadow – buttercups, a few clumps of primroses, bluebells over by the dyke. The gorse was in bloom now too, great banks of golden colour, and she could smell the faint coconut scent.
Karolina was in the cottage garden, watching Janek pedalling frantically round on a small trike, and Marjory watched them, smiling. A small, mean part of her still hoped Karolina’s cooking venture wouldn’t be so successful that she lost the help that had transformed her life. If it wasn’t for Karolina, she’d be inside now, muttering under her breath while she did the ironing.
She’d left Bill struggling with accounts. She’d asked him if he wanted to come out with her, but he’d only growled like a bear and she’d left him to his misery.
Marjory leaned back in her stone chair, tipping her face to the sun. She’d done a lot of thinking on the walk and her plan of action was clearer.
Sheila Milne – essential to get that one right. The Fiscal would be fighting for her professional life, and their case when they confronted her would have to be as meticulously prepared as if it were to be presented in court – as indeed, it might well have to be. And was it possible that Milne could have been responsible, too, for the attack on Lindsay? Certainly Tam thought she could, and his instincts were remarkably sound. If so, the struggle would get even dirtier. Milne was a dangerous enemy.
Then there was Gavin Hodge. She’d need to set Tam on him again, since he’d got under the man’s skin to a very useful extent. When the DNA result came through, if they chose their sheriff with care sweet-talking might get them a warrant for a swab, though of course that would only determine parentage. The murder was a lot more problematical.
Marcus Lindsay kept intruding on her thoughts. Marjory still couldn’t make him out. Tam claimed he was keeping things back, and perhaps he was. Everyone has secrets, and from the start of this investigation she had sensed them all about her, thick and dark. As an actor, Lindsay would presumably be adept at concealing areas of sensitivity, though he’d certainly failed when it came to talking about Sheila Milne.
There was something about that house . . . It almost seemed as if this elegant white elephant was a sort of shrine to Laddie Lazansky, as if Marcus was more his father’s son than his own man, and Marjory reckoned Tam’s friend Sylvia had a lot to do with that. She was powerfully charming; perhaps Marcus would only win his freedom from th
e Laddie cult once she too was dead. Not a very strong character, perhaps?
And then, Ailsa Grant . . . Would they ever be able to prove who had killed her? Or find the answer to the question that still niggled at Marjory – why had her father not followed procedure, as he famously always did? He had to have had a reason.
You would think you would know your own father well enough to understand how his mind worked. She’d even been living at home at the time all this happened – but had she ever really known her father? Known him as a man capable of impulsive, irrational decisions, rather than as a harsh, rigid paternal figure who was always so right that even when you were quite old enough to know that he wasn’t, you felt guilty for not falling into line? Did anyone ever truly know a parent?
Janet, of course—
‘Marjory! Marjory!’
She had been gazing into space; Bill’s urgent shouting brought her to with a jerk. He was standing in the yard, signalling frantically, and she jumped to her feet, waved in acknowledgement and hurried on down, her heart racing. There must be some new development – though why hadn’t they phoned the mobile she always carried with her? Some problem with reception, perhaps.
She was breathless when she reached Bill, then stopped dead when she saw his ashen face.
‘It’s Cammie. He’s been badly hurt in a game. They’re – they’re worried about him. Marjory, we need to go. Cat’s trying to find us a flight.’
‘Jestes szalony! You’re crazy! Kasper, for God’s sake—’ Jozef leaped up and launched himself across the room to grab him in a smother-tackle. The blade of the knife in Kasper’s upraised hand glinted in the light from the naked bulb overhead.
Stefan Pavany, trapped in a corner of the living room by Kasper’s sudden, bull-like charge, had for once lost his composure, but as Jozef intervened he snatched the knife and shouldered himself free.
Kasper was still struggling. The fourth man of the crew, Henryk, joined in, frogmarching Kasper to the dilapidated sofa and forcing him on to it. They sat down on either side, still pinioning his arms.
Stefan slipped the knife into his jacket pocket and loomed over Kasper, sneering. ‘What a fool! That’s it – finish! You’re lucky I don’t hand you over to the police.’
‘You daren’t!’ Kasper snarled. ‘They’d look at how you treat us, your papers, everything. There’s a law here, and you’re breaking it.’
Stefan laughed. ‘And you aren’t, maybe? Be grateful I’ll let you go. Get out – find another job. Or go back to Poland.’
Kasper’s shoulders sagged, the fight going out of him. ‘Give me my money, then, and I’ll leave.’
‘I told you – no money now. Money when we finish the job, when we have the bonus. Only maybe we’ll lose it, thanks to you. So you haven’t a claim.’
‘Henryk, Jozef!’ Kasper appealed to the silent men beside him. ‘You’ll let him do this? He’s screwing us all, you know that. There are three of us – we should stick together, my friends, my brothers!’
Jozef hung his head, but Henryk said, ‘We don’t want trouble. You’re a madman, Kasper – you’d have killed him, and then what? Do like he says – go away, forget about it, find another job. Maybe with the film people, like you did before?’
Kasper stood up in a sudden violent movement, shaking them off. Stefan retreated watchfully, but no further attack came.
‘I will get my stuff – you will be so gracious as to allow me?’ The ironic courtesy did not conceal his simmering rage.
He went through to his shared bedroom and the others sat down uneasily. Stefan switched on the television on mute and they sat in silence, watching faces contorted in unheard laughter in some incomprehensible quiz show. When Kasper reappeared, Stefan got up warily.
Kasper looked past Stefan to the men he had called his brothers. ‘I am ashamed of you. You are a disgrace to Poland. And you—’ He stared at Stefan with burning eyes. ‘Not worth words.’
He spat in his face, then left, slamming the door behind him so that the flimsy house shook.
Stefan took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. ‘So – we need a roofer now, eh? You ask in the pub tonight. I have to go and see one or two people. I never thought that scum would last. Good riddance!’
It was getting late when at last Barrie Craig pronounced himself satisfied and with a collective sigh of relief the crew began to pack up. He put his arm round Jaki Johnston’s shoulders. ‘Brilliant, sweetie – rose to the occasion like a trooper.’
Jaki’s laugh was shaky. ‘Phew! I’m half-dead now. But today was a lot better than yesterday.’
‘Come to the hotel in Sandhead with us tonight. Tony says it does an almost bearable dinner, and we all need a change of scene – I certainly do! My nerves are shot, absolutely shot.’
‘Sounds good to me. Pick me up at seven, say? Great.’
Tiredly, she went to the Winnebago and slumped down on one of the cream leather bench seats. Marcus was at the other end of the wagon, pouring boiling water into a mug.
‘Dunk a tea-bag for me, would you?’ Jaki said. ‘Not sure I could stagger far enough to get it for myself.’
‘Sure.’ Marcus brought over their tea and sat down opposite her, then picked up the sling lying on the table. ‘I suppose I’d better replace this. They told me I was to wear it for a couple of days, but I could hardly ask for it to be written into the script.’
‘Does it hurt still?’ Jaki asked, seeing him wincing as he put it on.
‘It does a bit. All right if I keep still, but if I did anything violent I’d know all about it – burst my stitches, probably.’
It was unlike him to admit it, so he must be suffering. ‘You’re looking better today, though,’ she said reassuringly.
‘So are you. You must have slept all right last night.’
‘Took a pill. I was a bit woozy first thing, but the fog’s lifting now. I keep hoping it’ll clear enough for me to remember something to help the police, but—’ She grimaced.
‘I wish my mind would clear! But there’s no point in beating ourselves up – it never works. Anyway, what are your plans for tonight? Do I gather an invitation to Tulach would be unwelcome?’
Her polite denial lacked conviction and he laughed. ‘It’s OK, I wasn’t planning to put you on the spot. You had a really bad experience and you don’t need reminding of it.’
‘Barrie and Tony are taking me to Sandhead for a meal. What about you? And Sylvia, of course,’ she added hastily.
Marcus shook his head. ‘After doing her scene this morning she was wiped out, and she needs an early night. I couldn’t leave her alone in the house.’
With a tiny shudder, Jaki agreed. ‘I’d flip, being there alone.’
Marcus smiled at her. ‘Look, the police are working flat out and we have to trust them or else we’ll all go mad. Sylvia and I will have all the doors and windows locked and the shutters fastened, anyway. We just need to be calm and sensible until we get away from here or they manage to pick someone up for it.’
‘Can’t wait,’ Jaki said with feeling.
‘Cheer up!’ Marcus leaned over to flick her nose, then kissed her. ‘Have a good evening, and sleep well. I’m off.’
Jaki sat on, sipping her tea. She didn’t mean to go on and on, picking over that night, but somehow it kept coming into her head. There was something – something that had puzzled her at the time, but however hard she tried she couldn’t remember what it was.
Sheila Milne had gone to a concert in Dumfries. It had seemed a good idea not to sit at home, with everything going round and round in her head, but even the demands made by the Beethoven late quartet couldn’t banish her anxieties from her mind.
She had seen Bailey off all right – fool of a man! – but his inspector was a different matter. She had no doubt that Fleming would take a vicious satisfaction in engineering her downfall: the animosity between them was personal.
Everything she could do had been done, but still her restless mind searched a
nd searched, like an animal trying to find its way out of a cage-trap, going back and back to the same places again and again, hoping to find a weakness.
She still hadn’t found it when the applause at the end of the piece broke into her wretched thoughts.
‘Wonderful! Wonderful!’ the woman next to her exclaimed.
‘Wonderful,’ Sheila echoed hollowly.
‘Are you sure you’re all right, sleeping down here?’ Marcus Lindsay said anxiously to Sylvia Lascelles. ‘I could help you upstairs—’
‘Darling, you’ve bolted the shutters for me. I’ll be fine.’ She smiled up at him, and he bent to kiss her.
‘If you’re sure—’
‘Of course. And everything will be all right. Promise to put it out of your mind.’
‘I’ll try.’ He looked very tired and stressed, though, with dark shadows under his eyes. ‘It’s just – difficult, that’s all.’
‘It’s easier to be brave, Laddie always used to say. Allow yourself to feel afraid, and it’s much harder.’ She patted his cheek. ‘Go to bed, and take some of those pills they gave you. You’ll feel much better in the morning.’
‘I suppose so. What about you?’
‘I’ll sleep when I need to,’ she said. ‘Goodnight, my darling.’
Marcus left her. Sylvia looked at the shutters, longing to open them and do her thinking, as she always had, looking out at the night sky. But it would be folly; instead, she picked up her stick, got herself out of her chair and limped the few agonizing steps across to the bed.
She lowered herself on to it, biting her lip against the pain, then looked at the photograph of Laddie Lazansky which always stood on the table beside her bed.
‘Oh, Laddie, Laddie! Where are you, when I need you?’ she murmured and her violet-grey eyes filled with tears.
Karolina couldn’t sleep. It was partly because Janek had a cold and now he kept having bouts of coughing in his sleep. It didn’t seem to be bothering him, but every time she dropped off, it started up again and she woke up.
Dead in the Water Page 25
