by James Oswald
‘Everything north of Hadrian’s Wall if I’m being honest. North of the English Channel, even. Our operations … We’re not the biggest company in the packaging sector.’
‘So what was he doing the day he parked up in the multi-storey?’
‘It’s most odd. Don’t really know why he parked there at all. We don’t use it much since most of our operations moved out to Loanhead. That’s where we manufacture most of our products. We’ll be moving offices out there just as soon as we can get out of the lease on this place.’
‘But he’d been out on the road before … beforehand?’ McLean steered the interview back to the topic.
‘What? Oh. Yes. He’d been up in Inverness. We’ve a lot of small manufacturing clients up there.’
‘Did you speak to him about the trip? Did he call you on the way back?’ As if to underline the question, Hutcheson’s phone rang again, yet another different ringtone. It couldn’t have been important, as he didn’t even bother to look at the screen.
‘He did, yes. Mobile signal’s not much cop on the A9, but he checked in at Perth. He’d made a couple of sales, had a few potentials to follow up.’ Hutcheson’s face dropped. ‘Damn. I’ll have to get on to that.’
‘Did he call you on that phone?’ MacBride pointed at the jacket pocket as it erupted into another electronic ditty. This time Hutcheson pulled out the handset, thumbed the screen until the noise died.
‘This? Yes. Everybody calls me on this. Couldn’t live without it.’
‘So there’ll be a log of the time. When he was in Perth?’
‘I guess so. Why?’
‘We’re just trying to trace Mr Parker’s movements. Things like phone call histories help to narrow it down.’
‘Oh. Right. You know how to get that sort of information off it, then?’ Hutcheson passed the phone across the table. MacBride tapped at the screen a few times, then tapped something into the screen of his tablet before handing the phone back. Almost as soon as Hutcheson took it, the ringing started up again. He peered at the screen, frowning slightly. ‘Ah, now this one I have to take. Sorry.’
Before they could say anything he had stood up and darted from the room, talking hurriedly.
‘Popular man,’ MacBride said.
‘Looks like he’s heading for a heart attack if he’s not careful.’ McLean realised as he said it just how insensitive the comment was. Fortunately Hutcheson wasn’t within earshot. ‘What time did Parker call from Perth?’
MacBride tilted the tablet so McLean could see his notes. ‘Half-five in the afternoon. Fits in with the rest of his schedule.’
‘Half-five? But he didn’t arrive at the car park until nearly half-eight. It’s hardly an hour from Perth to Edinburgh. What was he doing that kept him busy for two hours?’
McLean leaned back in his seat, hearing the muffled tones of Hutcheson’s important conversation just beyond the half-closed door to the office. ‘We’ve still got Parker’s phone, right?’
‘Mike Simpson in IT forensics was having a look at it.’
‘He’ll presumably be able to bring up the call log. Like you did just now?’
‘Once he’s got past the password. I’ll need to ask if anyone here knows what it is. You want me to see if I can trace where it’s been? Where Parker went between half-five and half-eight?’
‘You can do that?’ McLean had hoped, but he knew he was not technology’s master so much as its dim-witted servant.
‘Possibly. It’ll take time, though.’
Meaning money. Overtime and a dwindling budget. How much could they justify spending on a man who appeared to have died of natural causes? McLean suspected the answer was going to be not a lot.
‘Leave it for now, OK? But keep the options open. I’ve a nasty feeling we’re not done with Eric Parker quite yet.’
19
‘Wee birdie tells me you went to see Heather Marchmont this morning. What the hell was that about?’
McLean hunched over a keyboard at one of the dozen or more empty desks in the SCU main office, and looked up in surprise at the question. DCI Dexter stood in the open doorway, silhouetted by the sun low in the evening sky as it shone through the windows behind her. He didn’t need to see her to know who it was, but the tone of her voice wasn’t as friendly as he might have hoped.
‘I thought we agreed at the briefing I’d speak to her. Thought given the circumstances it would be better to go to her rather than dragging her into the station.’
‘Better you hadn’t gone at all. Least not without me.’
‘But—’
‘Ah, forget it, Tony.’ Dexter came into the room and McLean could see her face was creased with weariness. She stooped more than usual, her shoulders slumped as if the whole world was weighing her down. ‘You’re right. We agreed. But that was before I had the DCC breathing down my neck, as good as ordering me to sweep the whole sorry affair under the carpet.’
‘He said that?’ McLean swivelled his chair around as Dexter pulled out one from the next desk and dropped into it. A quick glance around the room showed they were alone.
‘He’s no’ that stupid, but I can take a hint. Especially one that comes with a threat of calling in Professional Standards. Your giving Miss Marchmont the third degree isn’t going to be all that helpful. No’ if she makes a formal complaint.’
‘Credit me with some intelligence, Jo. I hardly gave her the third degree. More like an abject apology. I was just typing up my report now.’ McLean pointed at the screen and keyboard in front of him.
‘Oh aye? You not like that office we gave you then?’
‘It’s fine. Just easier to do it here. Ritchie wrote it up, I’ve been checking it over before signing it off. Beats doing the overtime rosters.’
‘Talking of Ritchie, where is she?’ Dexter looked around the room, apparently only just noticing that it was empty.
‘Shift end. And she had to leave anyway; her boyfriend’s in town for the week.’
‘The priest? That still on?’ Dexter shook her head in disbelief.
‘Seems to be. Poor sod’s still recovering from his run-in with that psycho back in the spring. Reckon it’ll be a while before he can walk properly. He seems to be a hit with the bishop, though. Spends most of his time in St Andrews these days.’
‘Just as well they don’t need any sergeants in Fife then, or we’d be a detective down.’
‘Don’t even suggest it. She’s all the team I’ve got left. MacBride’s busy keeping on the right side of Brooks, Grumpy Bob’s cruising towards his retirement.’
‘It’s not all bad. You’ve still got Sandy Gregg.’ Dexter gave him a wicked smile. ‘Now why don’t you finish that report in the morning. No’ as if it’s going to be read by anyone tonight. Go home. Get some rest.’
McLean swivelled his chair back so he was facing the screen again. ‘Think I’d be happier knowing this was done and dusted. It shouldn’t take long. Just squaring what Marchmont said with the statements we took from everyone on the night. You know she wasn’t taking part?’
‘When a senior officer tells you to go home and get some rest, Tony, you should … what?’ Dexter had launched into her scolding before McLean had finished speaking, his words taking a while to sink in.
‘She wasn’t taking part. In the sex. We found her in her room alone, working on some legal case with all that grunting and groaning going on all around her.’
‘But she gave a statement?’
‘Aye, so did everyone in the place. I’d say she was making it up, but I saw her there and she really wasn’t dressed for the party. She said she wasn’t in the mood, felt a bit sick or
something. It could have been a lie, but to be honest I don’t see why she’d bother. She admitted to organising the whole thing, just didn’t feel like getting it on when it started.’
‘And she didn’t cancel the whole thing?’ Dexter shook her head. ‘Sounds to me like someone else was pulling the strings then.’
‘The thought had occurred to me. And there’s the small matter of Mr Smith too.’
‘Oh aye? What about him?’
‘Well, she says she doesn’t know him, doesn’t know who invited him. She gave a very good impression of being angry that he was there.’
‘But you don’t buy it.’
‘I don’t buy any of it. It just doesn’t stack up. It’s too complicated. Too off the wall, even. I mean, I’m sure there’s a swingers’ scene in Edinburgh, same as any other city where there’s men and women with too much time on their hands and an underdeveloped sense of prudishness. But I’d bet good money if we’d raided the place a week earlier we’d have found working girls in there, and paying clients. Somehow they found out we were coming, and the party was a last-minute cover-up. A way to explain away all the sex toys.’
‘Which would make Miss Marchmont what? The Madam? She’s a corporate lawyer with a top city law firm. One whose senior partner regularly plays squash with the Deputy Chief Constable.’ Dexter shook her head slowly. ‘You’re seeing conspiracies everywhere, Tony. I’d love for them to be true, believe me. I’m the one getting it in the neck for this fuck-up, after all. No one would be happier than me to go back to the DCC and the Procurator Fiscal, tell them we were right all along. But we weren’t. We got it wrong. End of story.’ She stood up, pushed the chair back under the desk where it had come from, placed a hand on McLean’s shoulder. ‘Give it up. Go home and have some of that very fine whisky you keep hidden away in your library. We’ll wrap this all up at the briefing tomorrow.’
McLean said nothing, just held Dexter’s gaze long enough for her to be sure he’d got the message, nodded to show he was going to do as he was told. She shrugged, turned away and left the room. For long moments after she’d gone, he just stared out through the open door, the window beyond and into the falling evening sky, wondering why it was that nothing was ever easy.
And how the hell Jo Dexter knew about the whisky in his library.
An unfamiliar car greeted him, parked on the gravel outside the house as McLean drove in through the front gates. For the briefest of moments he wondered whether it was Emma returned, but it was a while since he’d even had a postcard from her. This car was quite new too. Emma’s old rust and blue Peugeot must surely have died by now, but he didn’t imagine she’d have much money for a brand-new one.
The mystery was solved as soon as he stepped into the small utility room that led off the kitchen to the back door. Peals of laughter filled the air, and he could see Rachel sitting at the big wooden table, clutching a mug of tea. Another woman stood with her back to him, her shoulder-length blonde hair glowing in the light from the ceiling lamp, but it was her clothing that gave her away. Rachel’s older sister, Jenny, ran a vintage and second-hand clothes shop on Nicholson Street, and liked to wear the merchandise. She’d helped him identify the dress found on the body of a young woman, walled up in the basement of an old mansion house out Sighthill way. That had been a couple of years ago, and he’d not seen her since Phil and Rachel’s wedding.
‘Tony. You’re home.’ Rachel spotted him and struggled to get out of her chair.
‘Don’t get up on my account,’ he said as he stepped into the room. Jenny turned to face him, much closer than was perhaps comfortable.
‘Tony. Hi. It’s been a while.’ For an awkward moment he thought she was going to hug him, but she settled for a light peck on the cheek. She looked well, he couldn’t help noticing. Younger than he remembered her from their first meeting, but then she’d been under a great deal of stress then.
‘How’s Chloe?’ The flicker of surprise in Jenny’s eyes confirmed that he’d got her daughter’s name right. Hard not to, given what she’d been through because of him. What he’d saved her from.
‘She’s fine. Off at university in Aberdeen of all places. Studying materials science. I’m not even sure I know what that is.’
McLean looked around the kitchen for signs that anyone had eaten. He’d picked up enough takeaway for two this time, and now they were three. The bag hung heavy in his hand, so he hefted it on to the table.
‘Oh, I almost forgot. I spoke to Phil. He’s on his way back to Edinburgh. Should arrive tomorrow if he managed to get on the plane.’
‘Drunk, was he?’ Rachel asked. Her smile at his return and the joy of seeing her sister had evaporated at his words. McLean felt a certain guilt at that, but it was something that had to be addressed.
‘He’d been drinking, yes. I told him to get some black coffee and sort himself out. I’ve not heard anything since, so I have to assume they let him on the flight.’
‘Either that or he’s under a table at the airport. Christ, if I’d known he was such a drunkard I’d never have married him. Bad enough seeing Dad go that way.’ Rachel slumped back into her chair, peered into her mug.
‘Phil’s not a drunkard, Rae. Sure he likes a drink now and then, but who doesn’t?’ McLean had been going to get himself a beer from the fridge, but in the light of how the conversation was turning, he opted for putting the kettle on instead.
‘Anyone who drinks himself into a stupor every night is a drunkard in my book. You making tea?’ She held up her mug, indicating that it was in need of a refill. McLean took it from her, turned to Jenny.
‘You want one?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ She pulled out a chair and sat herself down, leaving McLean the only one standing. The two sisters sitting so comfortably either side of his kitchen table made him feel like a stranger in his own home, and it was only then that he noticed Mrs McCutcheon’s cat was nowhere to be seen. Not the only one feeling put upon then.
‘Have you heard from Emma recently? Rae was saying she went off a while back.’
McLean studied Jenny’s face, looking for any sign of ulterior motive in the question. It appeared to be genuine.
‘Had a postcard a couple months ago. From New Zealand. Some place called Te Anau on the South Island.’
‘What on earth’s she doing there?’
‘I gave up asking a long time ago. Besides, she’s not got a phone with her. At least not one I’ve got the number for. And she’s never anywhere long enough for me to write. I get the feeling her quest might be coming to an end, but that’s probably just wishful thinking.’ He tried to suppress the bitterness in his voice, wondering where it had come from.
‘Her quest?’ Jenny asked.
‘It’s something to do with her being in a coma for six months, losing her memory and all that. She needed to get away, to travel around the world. I can understand why. I mean, if I’d been helpless like that, lost even, I’d want to take control. Do something wild and different.’
Jenny said nothing in reply, so McLean busied himself with making tea and passing out mugs. It was uncomfortable talking about Emma, but not for the reason he expected. She seldom came up in conversation at work these days, just the occasional question when he met one of her old colleagues from forensics at a crime scene. He’d managed to convince himself she would be coming back soon. That was enough, and he’d fallen into the trap of believing it, accepting her absence as normal in the process. Talking about her forced him to confront the truth: she’d been gone eighteen months now and the postcards were coming more and more infrequently. He genuinely had no idea where she was or whether she would ever return.
/> ‘But I’m sure she’ll be back when she’s ready.’ He shifted the curry from the table to the counter, pulled out a seat and sank into it.
‘I’m sure she will.’ Jenny reached out and patted his hand in an oddly motherly gesture. McLean covered his growing unease by taking a sip of his tea, burning his lip on the scalding liquid. Not a problem he ever had with beer.
‘How about you then, Jenny? Successful trip?’
‘Can’t complain. I picked up a lot of stock from an online retailer who’s gone bust. Which brings up a rather difficult topic.’
McLean couldn’t help noticing that Jenny looked away from him, across the table to her sister as she spoke. He’d interviewed enough people in his time to know who she was talking about, and he wasn’t so stupid as to not know why.
‘That flat of yours above the shop isn’t very big, is it? And I’m guessing if you’ve just bought a load of stock you need somewhere to store it all?’
‘I knew you’d understand. I’d be happy to have Rae staying any other time, but …’ She trailed off.
‘I’ve more than enough room, and I doubt you’d have been able to put up Phil as well.’
‘Phil …? Ah, yes.’ Jenny looked at her sister again. Rachel was studying her mug of tea intently, but looked up sharply at her husband’s name.
‘He’s coming here … Of course he’s coming here. Where else would he go?’
‘He’s my oldest friend, Rae. And he’s going through a bit of a rough patch right now.’ McLean picked up his own mug of tea, put it back down again. He’d kill for a beer. ‘There’s room enough for everyone.’
20
‘There you go. All sorted. If you’d just sign this form here, sir?’
McLean wasn’t sure what he thought about tagging and releasing offenders considered low risk to the community. It was meant to save money and relieve some of the pressure on the prisons, but he couldn’t help thinking it was just another way of hiving off public services to the private sector. Someone making a profit out of justice felt wrong to him, even if he wasn’t exactly sure why. On the other hand, with a GPS-enabled tracker around his ankle, John Smith would be easy enough to find, and if he tried to do a runner before his trial they’d know about it.
