Campbell greeted him with his usual silent nod and Macdonald rang the bell. It had a Westminster chime, which stopped disappointingly short of striking the hour.
A woman, middle-aged and discontented-looking, wearing tracksuit bottoms and an orange V-neck T-shirt, answered it. ‘He’s got someone with him. But I’m to tell you to come in anyway.’
She led them across the hall to a door at the back, opened it without knocking and stood aside to let them enter unannounced before shutting it behind them with a definite slam.
There was a desk in one corner of the room, but there were two men sitting in chairs around a coffee table in front of a living-gas fire. Macdonald recognised Councillor Gloag, who had made it his business to be recognisable to anyone in his local constituency. The other he didn’t know, a stocky man wearing a green tweed suit, with grey hair and what Macdonald had heard described as an expensive complexion. They were drinking coffee, though the proximity of a bottle of whisky suggested that more had been added to it than the traditional milk and sugar.
The two officers displayed their warrant cards and introduced themselves. Gloag made no move to get up, merely waving them towards two vacant seats.
‘I’m Norman Gloag, as I’m sure you know,’ he said. ‘This is my friend Mr Vernor-Miles. He’s just called in to discuss this most distressing event. I trust you are proceeding towards a speedy resolution? It would be most unfortunate, most, if uncertainty prevailed for any length of time.’
Macdonald could feel his hackles rising, but said only, ‘We are doing all we can to avoid that, sir. Now, perhaps—’
Wilfrid Vernor-Miles leaned forward. ‘I hope your superiors understand the urgency of this.’ He had a smooth, plummy, upper-class voice. A surprising chum for Gloag, Macdonald thought, as he went on, ‘ALCO is, it goes without saying, extremely keen to establish a business here, extremely keen. And Kirkluce, of course, will benefit hugely from increased amenity and trade.’
That wasn’t what Macdonald’s auntie thought, which wasn’t to say the man was necessarily wrong. ‘But—?’ he prompted.
Vernor-Miles jabbed his finger in Macdonald’s direction. ‘But! Exactly!’ he cried. ‘If this should become a long-drawn-out scandal, which in some way reflected badly on the company, I would certainly think that the fear of adverse publicity would lead the board to reconsider.’
It was clear that this had not formed part of his discussion with Gloag. The other man looked at him, aghast. ‘I’d no idea that was a possibility! Surely they couldn’t – not after all that’s been done, Wilf—’
‘I’m very much afraid they might,’ Vernor-Miles said gravely. ‘I have influence, of course, and I shall use it in Kirkluce’s interest, but clearly I can’t speak for the others.’
Macdonald stepped in. ‘Perhaps you could explain your position, Mr Vernor-Miles?’
‘Of course. I’m a non-executive director for ALCO. I have a background in business but now my work is mainly consultancy. I have an estate in the area, over towards Kirkcowan, and it was I who suggested Kirkluce, with its central position on the main Dumfries–Stranraer road, as an ideal site for our next superstore. And naturally, my first step was to sound out Norman here, who has his finger on the pulse.’
He smiled at Gloag as he paid him the compliment, but the man was clearly too upset at what had just emerged to acknowledge it.
‘It is a wonderful opportunity for Kirkluce, and one which we simply cannot afford to lose. Wilf—’
‘Interesting as this conversation is,’ Macdonald cut in, ‘you will understand that we are under considerable time pressure and I am here to get the answers to some routine questions.’
‘Of course, of course. I do apologise,’ Vernor-Miles said urbanely.
Gloag snapped, ‘Get on with it then!’
Macdonald saw that Campbell had quietly produced his notebook. He never missed a trick – maybe it would be better if the rest of them said less and listened more. It might make interviews a bit tricky, though, with your suspect having to guess what you were thinking.
He went on, ‘You first, Mr Vernor-Miles, and then perhaps you could leave us to talk to Councillor Gloag. I’m sure you will have other calls on your time.’
‘Indeed. How can I help you?’
‘First of all, have you any information that might be useful to us concerning the murder of Colonel Carmichael?’
‘I’m afraid not. If I had, you can be sure I would have contacted you immediately.’ Vernor-Miles’s expression was suitably grave.
‘What were your movements on Saturday afternoon and evening?’
‘Ah, that’s very straightforward. ALCO was sending down one of their PR johnnies from London – excellent fellow – to address the public meeting. I had occasion to stay in Glasgow the night before so I offered to pick him up from the airport and drive him down here. I did that, then took him home to have a quick shower and change before the meeting, which I attended. Afterwards, I gave him and Norman dinner at the hotel where he was staying. Then drove home.’
‘Thank you, sir. That’s very clear. Did you know the Colonel?’
‘We met occasionally at drinks parties, but he wasn’t a personal friend. And the poor chap was very tied latterly with his wife – invalid, you know. Hadn’t set eyes on him for a long time, but he always seemed a pleasant fellow, even though he was causing us a few problems. But Norman here was confident he’d come good, weren’t you, Norman?’
Gloag said heartily, ‘Absolutely. A few more visits, and I reckon we’d have had it in the bag.’
Macdonald noted with interest that despite the assertive tone, there was a line of sweat on the man’s upper lip. Had he been rather less sure of his ability to deliver than he would like ALCO to think? He had a strong suspicion that, at the very least, Gloag had not shed many tears over the Colonel’s passing, especially since, according to his auntie, Giles Farquharson would be signing the deal before his uncle’s body was cold. Which left the interesting question – what exactly did Gloag stand to gain?
‘Were you on a retainer from ALCO, councillor?’ he asked bluntly.
Gloag looked shocked. ‘Of course not! I am The People’s Representative – that would constitute corruption! I trust that accusation arose from ignorance rather than malice, sergeant.’
‘I can assure you there was nothing of that nature.’ Vernor-Miles, too, looked horrified. ‘ALCO does not do business that way. Norman works solely in the interests of the people of Kirkluce.’
And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything, Macdonald added silently. ‘Thank you, Mr Vernor-Miles. I think that’s probably all for the moment.’
‘I’ll leave you, then.’ Vernor-Miles got up. ‘I’ve a lot of phone calls to make. Try to calm down the nervous nellies on the board!’
He winked at Gloag as he left. Gloag returned a sickly smile, but he didn’t look a happy man.
‘Now, councillor,’ Macdonald said.
‘Bit disappointing, that,’ Will Wilson said to Tansy Kerr as they left the little coffee shop in the Fauldburn Craft Centre where, after they had spoken to Romy Kyle and Alanna Paterson, Andy Macdonald’s auntie had more or less force-fed them with home-made scones.
‘The scones were definitely the high point,’ Kerr agreed. ‘After hearing theories about what might have happened three times over, I’d had enough.’
‘You’ve left out the sermon from Kyle with the text, “Thou shalt not prefer a superstore to the work of my hands.”’
‘She is good, though – you have to give her that. If I could have afforded it, I’d have bought out the shop.’
‘Mmm.’ Wilson was only half-listening. ‘There was one thing she said, though. You know when I asked her if she thought the Colonel could have changed his mind about selling to ALCO? She said she’d be surprised if he would do anything to upset Ellie. And Alanna sort of hinted that too. What was that about?’
‘I’ve never seen the woman, but men obviously fan
cy her rotten. There are two of them panting after her – the guy from the bike shop and of course our present representative of the inbred aristocracy.’
Her tone was bitter, very personal. Wilson turned to look at her and pulled a rueful face. ‘Hey, hey! What’s this? I thought you told me you were over him. Finally. Absolutely.’
Kerr crimsoned, stretching out her hand to take his. ‘I am, Will,’ she protested. ‘Just, like, totally over him. I never want to see him again. I told you. You showed me how false the whole thing had been – remember?’ She smiled up at him.
Wilson smiled too, squeezed her hand, then with a quick look round to see that they were unobserved, kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I’m seriously glad about that. Listen, it’s ten past one. How about we drive out of town, find a wee quiet pub for lunch?’
She hesitated. ‘Do you think we should? Oh well, why not? Let’s live dangerously.’
‘That’s my girl,’ Wilson said approvingly as they headed back to the car.
8
Councillor Gloag was not having a happy morning. He had said, several times, ‘Surely it isn’t necessary,’ and, ‘I take exception to that suggestion,’ as well as, ‘I would remind you, sergeant, that I am an elected representative of the people of Kirkluce.’
DC Campbell had remained silent. DS Macdonald had remained imperturbably polite, but inexorable. ‘So, if I may summarise what you have said, just so DC Campbell can prepare a statement for you to sign. You have done whatever you can to promote the ALCO development because you see this as being what the majority in Kirkluce wants. Though there is a sizeable minority opposed, you feel their concerns are needless. You were working on Colonel Carmichael to agree, having already had assurances from the planning authorities that they are disposed to look favourably on the application.’
Gloag inclined his head. ‘That is correct.’
‘You said to Mr Vernor-Miles that you were sure that Colonel Carmichael would agree when it came to it. Why?’
Macdonald watched with clinical interest as the man shifted in his seat. ‘Well, the Colonel could see, naturally, that it was in his interests, and also the will of the community. I was able to assure him that any worries were absolutely groundless.’
‘You see,’ Macdonald said pleasantly, ‘we have several statements to the effect that the Colonel remained totally opposed to the development.’
Gloag didn’t meet his eyes. ‘His decision wasn’t exactly going to be popular in all quarters, so it’s hardly surprising that he wouldn’t want to tell them before it was a done deal.’
‘Ah yes. Now, speaking of deals, was there some arrangement—?’
Gloag erupted into artificial indignation. ‘I thought we had already put to rest that scurrilous suggestion! Mr Vernor-Miles himself pointed out how ridiculous—’
‘We’ve been told you’re to be handling all the property transactions.’
It was DC Campbell who spoke. He had a soft, West Coast voice, but it was almost as if he had shouted. Both men stared at him.
‘Well – er – that’s – er – there is no definite—’ Gloag spluttered. ‘Any – any formal negotiation would – would have to be conducted after decisions had been taken.’ But he was unlucky that he sweated so readily.
Recovering from his surprise, since this had indeed been only a scurrilous rumour circulating in the town, Macdonald said, ‘But are we to assume that there is a clear understanding?’
‘Not at all,’ Gloag said with dignity, making a recovery himself. ‘It would hardly be out of order for ALCO to give their business to local services as far as possible – one of their policies, incidentally, which made me believe that they would be good news for Kirkluce. But I can assure you there has been nothing improper about their approach.’
‘As I’m sure we’d find Mr Vernor-Miles can confirm.’ It was so transparent it was almost funny. Almost. ‘Right,’ Macdonald went on, ‘I think that’s all quite clear. Again, to summarise: your movements. You were here, at home, from four o’clock onwards on Saturday afternoon, until you left for the meeting. But your wife and family were out – is that correct?’
‘Correct.’
‘And I see, from our records, that you have a shotgun?’
Gloag sprang up. ‘Sergeant, this is outrageous! Of course I am entirely supportive of the police in their investigation, but the juxtaposition of these two questions—’
Macdonald looked at him blandly. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I assure you there was no significance. I was working through the standard questions we are obliged to ask. Of course, if this is a sensitive area for you...’
A faint smile flickered on DC Campbell’s face as he bent over his notebook.
‘No, no, of course not,’ Gloag said, calming himself with an effort and sitting down again. ‘I have a properly licensed shotgun for sporting purposes – pheasant shoots and so on. I take it there can be no problem with that?’
‘No indeed. Perhaps we could see where it is kept?’
‘If you must,’ Gloag said stiffly. ‘It’s secured in a gun-locker. I keep the ammunition separate, of course, as I am required to do.’
The two men followed him through to the back of the house, where they inspected the cupboard and the gun and Macdonald pronounced himself satisfied, ‘for the time being’.
They were on their way out when Gloag said aggressively, ‘There is another, unrelated matter I wish to raise with you, sergeant.’
Macdonald braced himself. The man was down, but he wasn’t out; they bred them tough in the local council, what with punch-ups between the opposing parties every other Wednesday. ‘Oh yes?’ he said, crossing his arms, unconsciously creating a barrier between them.
‘As The People’s Representative, I am most concerned – most concerned, about the activities of the local youth. My own son, Gordon, has, I freely admit, not always been wise in his choice of companions, but of course he is young and the glamour of rebellion is hard to resist, as I daresay you remember yourselves?’
The blank faces of the two officers suggested memories only of a blameless youth, but Gloag went on, ‘There are two young men who are – I use this word with great reluctance – a pernicious influence: Barney Kyle and Dylan Burnett. Of course, neither of them has had the benefit of a strong paternal influence, as Gordon has, and I feel the police would do well to take an interest in their activities. Only the other day, I myself had damage done to my car and I have reason to believe that Burnett and Kyle were involved. Of course, this is not an official complaint – their mothers have problems enough as it is – but I would like to see action taken before they draw more innocent young people into anti-social behaviour. This, you understand, is only a word to the wise.’
They were luckily at the front door, since Macdonald was uncertain how much more of this oleaginous performance he would be able to take without throwing up. ‘I’ve noted your concern, sir, and will pass it on. Thank you for your time.’
As he and Campbell walked back down the path, Macdonald said, ‘That was a good call, suddenly asking him about handling the properties. It was the question that really got him rattled.’
Campbell didn’t look at him, or smile. ‘Can’t stand canting bastards,’ was all he said.
Tam MacNee was feeling tired as he drove back into Kirkluce. He was feeling angry about feeling tired: what the hell had he done today to make him feel tired, except talk to a couple of people? And he had the beginnings of a headache as well.
He pulled off the road to take two – no, three of his painkillers. If his headache developed fully, he’d have no alternative but to go home and go to bed, and then Bunty would phone and tell the doctor and he’d be off for another six weeks.
The black depression he’d had to fight ever since his injury was descending again. Perhaps he’d never get back. The waters would close and they’d all forget about him, except to say, ‘Poor old Tam – real bummer, wasn’t it?’ occasionally. No doubt even now Marjory was assembling a team
to operate without him. And even if he did return, could he be sure he’d be able to contribute as once he had?
Leaning his head back and shutting his eyes as he waited for the painkillers to take effect, he tried to sort what he’d heard this morning into some sort of order. He hadn’t been able to take notes, but then in the past he’d only done that because it was the procedure. He wasn’t in the habit of referring to them.
Now, the thoughts swirling in his mind were incoherent, indefinite. They weren’t organised, suggesting a way forward, and for a moment he felt panic. He had to fight it. That was something he simply couldn’t afford.
‘It’s always like this, remember?’ He spoke out loud in defiance of the self he refused to recognise, the self that all his life had told him he was somehow less than the people around him, that he always had something to prove, the self that had got it all its own way, these last painful months. ‘At this stage, you’d just be taking in what people told you, not trying to come to conclusions. You hear what they say and see what comes to the surface later.’ Rutherford would probably shove him in the funny farm if he heard him talking to himself like this, but it was more convincing when you said it out loud.
What the rest of the CID would be doing was no different from what he’d done so far. They’d be listening, thinking, then discussing the next stage – which was, of course, where they had the advantage. They shared a pool of knowledge and they could get access to whatever they wanted. Tam was denied that.
It was a challenge, though, and he liked challenges. He hadn’t quite seen it as a competition before, but if he’d been put out of the team ... He began to feel better.
Kyle had a shop, and so did Ossian Forbes-Graham and Johnny Black, even. Ellie Burnett too, once she opened it again. And he wondered if Marjory had thought of talking to the butcher, who stood to make a huge amount from selling his property, and Senga Blair, come to that. There was nothing to stop him having a chat over the counter, even if as far as Senga was concerned, he doubted whether she could lift a shotgun, let alone knew how to fire one.
Lamb to the Slaughter Page 12
