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‘Oz,’ she called out. ‘There are two constables downstairs. They say they’ve come for you.’
‘Fine, thanks. Tell them I’ll be ready to talk to them in a minute. D’you want to give them a coffee while they’re waiting?’
There was a pause. ‘No, Oz,’ she said, sounding a shade alarmed, even through the thick door, ‘you don’t understand. They’ve come to take you away.’
‘They what?’ I finished dressing in seconds. As I trotted downstairs I saw two large policemen, with flat hats and low foreheads, waiting in the hall. I recognised their type at once, having been a probationer constable myself when I was younger and sillier. Looking at them, I had the fleeting impression that their dark uniforms and awkward-looking equipment belts were somehow sucking the light out of the place.
‘Mr Blackstone?’ said the older of the two, who looked about five years younger than me.
I nodded.
‘Yuvtae come wi’ us.’ I looked at his big lumpen face, into his dull eyes, and saw nothing at all. The guy was expressionless.
I hadn’t come downstairs with the intention of being unco-operative, but he had pushed the wrong button. ‘Would you repeat that for me, please,’ I asked him. ‘Slowly and in English.’
‘Yuvtae come wi’ us,’ he said again, deliberately, ignoring my request for a translation. ‘We’ve been telt tae pick yis up and take yis tae Perth.’
‘And who told you?’
‘The CID wants yis.’ Having pushed my unco-operative button, he had now tripped my downright bolshie switch.
‘In that case they can come and get me,’ I replied. A faint look of uncertainty came into his eyes - the first sign that anything was actually working behind there. His younger colleague seemed to grow a couple of inches and made as if to move towards me.
‘Listen,’ I snapped, to forestall him. ‘I wasn’t a copper for very long, but even I know that you cannot walk into someone’s house and take him away without any sort of warrant or even explanation. Now, did the CID tell you why they want me?’
‘Naw,’ the older bloke replied.
‘And you didn’t think to ask them?’
‘Listen, Mr Blackstone. When the CID tells us tae dae something we just does it. We disnae ask them whit fur.’ As I stared at his stolid impassivity I realised that the best I would get out of this situation was a few quid in compensation from the Police Authority for wrongful arrest, assault, and maybe irreversible brain damage caused by a restraining blow from a side-handled baton. I decided that I didn’t need any of that. I gave in.
‘Okay,’ I said, then turned to Elanore. ‘When Prim comes out of the bathroom, tell her what’s happened. I’ve got no idea what this is about, but I’ll get it sorted as fast as I can.’
They hadn’t even sent a decent car for me. All the way to the police headquarters in Perth, I sat crammed into the back seat of a Metro, looking at the massive backs of the two trolls. When we reached our destination the younger PC levered me out and seized the sleeve of my jacket as he marched me into the building. I really didn’t like that, but I knew that if I had protested they would have ignored me.
They led me up to a duty sergeant at the front desk. ‘Prisoner Blackstone for CID,’ said the older one.
That was too much. I looked hard at the three-striper, in the hope that he had a brain. ‘I want you to remember this,’ I told him. ‘I haven’t been cautioned, or formally arrested, or given any reason why I should be here. I’ve come voluntarily, and if this gorilla doesn’t let my sleeve go right now, my solicitor will send a formal complaint to the Chief Constable before the day is out. If that happens, since you seem to be in charge of these people, much of the shit, when it flies, will land on you.’
The sergeant didn’t say a word. However he shot a quick glance at the younger constable, who gave me my arm back. And then the two of them just disappeared. Without a word, they turned and walked back outside to their car, to spend another fulfilling day in the public service.
When I looked round, the sergeant was gone too. He came back soon, though, with two men in suits. One of them was the older of the detective constables who had taken my statement at the Infirmary; this time he was clearly a bit player.
‘Mr Blackstone,’ said the senior suit, a bulky man in his late forties. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Bell. I’m so glad you agreed to join us.’ I checked his tone for sarcasm and found plenty.
I checked my watch. It was five past nine. ‘You’ve got till nine-thirty,’ I replied, looking at him deadpan.
That ended the niceties. ‘I’ve got as long as I fucking like, son. Come with us.’ Bell and the DC whose name, I recalled, was Slattery led me up a flight of stairs and into a small interview room. The DI switched on a black tape recorder and told it who we all were. And then he gave me an official police caution; read me my rights, as they say on NYPD Blue.
Up to that point, I had only been annoyed. Now I could feel a big black cloud above my head, making ready to rain, hard.
‘I’ve been looking at the statement you gave yesterday evening, Mr Blackstone,’ he said, getting down to business, ‘about the poisoning of Mr David Phillips, of Semple House, Auchterarder. Would you run through the gist of it again for me, and for the tape.’
‘Sure, David and I went for a walk late yesterday afternoon; on the way back we stopped for a couple of pints. By the time we got home, he was behaving erratically. This turned to delirium, and the doctor was called.’
‘Fine. Now let’s concentrate on what happened in the bar. Who bought the first round?’
‘I did. A pint of Guinness for David, and lager for me.’
‘Who else was there?’
‘The bar was quite crowded at that point; I think a bus-load of tourists had come in. I remember there was a bloke behind me; the barman was going to serve him first, but he said no, that it was my turn.’
‘So what happened then?’
‘The guy poured the drinks . . . Guinness first, because it takes longer to settle.’
‘Okay,’ said Bell, as if he was building up to something. ‘So he pours the Guinness and puts it down in front of you, then goes back to the lager tap. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘Was that when you put the atropine into the Guinness?’ he asked. ‘When the barman wasn’t looking?’
I gasped in real amazement. ‘I didn’t put anything into that glass!’ I protested.
‘So you say. I take it that Mr Phillips got the second round.’
‘Yes.’
‘And was the bar crowded then?’
‘Not the serving area, no.’
‘So no one else could have spiked the second one?’
‘The barman could have,’ I pointed out.
‘Forget the barman. He’s worked there for twenty-three years, and his brother owns the place. No, Blackstone, as I see it the only person who could have poisoned that drink was you. I’m looking at attempted murder here.’
I was incredulous, but in spite of that, I felt myself go cold with fear. ‘Don’t be daft,’ I protested. ‘David Phillips will be my father-in-law in a few weeks. What possible motive would I have for trying to kill him?’
Detective Inspector Bell leaned back in his chair and laughed. ‘Listen, son, you shouldn’t believe everything you read in crime novels. I don’t give a stuff about motives; I don’t care what goes on in criminals’ minds. I just look for opportunity, that’s all. Mr Phillips was poisoned by atropine added to his drink, and only you had the opportunity to do it.’
‘No!’
‘Who else then? You watched that drink being poured, you picked it up and you carried it over to him.’
I looked back at him, replaying that scene at the same time. ‘No,’ I said again. ‘I did take my eye off it at one point. I turned round and asked David whether he wanted crisps or nuts. The stuff must have been added then.’
‘By whom?’
‘What about the guy behind me at the bar?’
‘Unless,’ he said, slowly, dragging the word out, ‘unless it was the same mystery man who shoved your wee nephew into the Bottle Dungeon on Saturday.’
I felt my jaw drop. ‘Surprised you, eh,’ the detective continued. ‘You never thought we’d link the two incidents, did you. But I’ve been talking to a lot of people since last night, son. We’ve never heard of you before on this force, so I decided to try your name on the other Scottish police.
‘And guess what? I discover that at the weekend you reported an assault on your nephew in St Andrews Castle. You claimed that he was attacked by an unknown man. Then I find out that a few weeks ago you were involved in an incident in Union Street during a film shoot. You knocked a lady to the ground, then told the investigating officers that someone was about to shoot her from a motorcycle. Yet when they looked at the film that was shot, they couldn’t see any gun, or hear anything above the traffic noise. They haven’t recovered a bullet either, and they’ve swept every inch of the area.
‘The way they see it now, it was just as likely that you dived at her and tried to shove her in front of that motorbike. They also said that they suspected there was a link between you and the woman, and that you were reluctant to confirm it, although eventually you did. They hadn’t any evidence against you, but now that I’ve told them about this thing . . .’
He paused, leaning forward across the desk. He was an ugly man close up, with more of a snout than a nose. ‘On top of that,’ he grunted. ‘I discover from the Strathclyde that their computer coughed up your name as having called them about a fire at your house a few weeks ago, in which a car was completely destroyed. It was written up as an accident, but when I spoke to the senior fire officer who attended the incident, his attitude struck me as more than a wee bit odd. He told me to fuck off, in fact, when I pressed him.’
‘Why don’t you then?’
‘Aye, you’d like me to do that, wouldn’t you,’ Bell muttered. ‘I won’t though; I’ve got you, son, by the short and curlies. So why don’t you just admit it all, eh?’
I glanced at the tape, to make sure it was still running. ‘There is nothing to admit,’ I told him, as steadily and clearly as I could. ‘All of those incidents happened, sure; and I now believe that they were the work of one person, but not me, not me. Someone has a grudge against me and he’s taking it out on my friends and family. Investigate that, why don’t you, if you can see beyond the end of your piggy nose.’
He scowled at me, but didn’t rise to my bait. ‘Why should I look further when the obvious truth is right under my not unattractive nose? Like I said I don’t need to find a motive, Blackstone, and you don’t need to have one either, to have done all these things. You just have to be a bad bastard, that’s all.’
Bell rose to his feet. ‘This interview is terminated . . .’ he glanced at his watch ‘. . . at nine-forty a.m..’ Slattery switched off the tape.
‘You can phone a lawyer, Blackstone. I’m arresting you, and you’ll be detained while I make further enquiries. After that I intend to consult the procurator fiscal, and I expect that he’ll authorise me to charge you with the attempted murder of Mr Phillips. Once you’re on remand, we can look at all the other charges.’
He leaned over towards me and tapped the side of his head. ‘By the way, when the shrinks have a talk to you, you’d be well advised not to tell them that somebody’s got it in for you. You’ll be better off going to jail for ten years than to the state mental hospital for ever.’
Chapter 37
They used to hang people in Perth Prison. I’ve heard that for many of them, it was the preferred option to being locked up there for life. For most of that day I was afraid that I was headed there myself, without even the opportunity to be topped.
I called Greg McPhillips, my solicitor in Glasgow, but by that time he was already on his way to Perth under instructions from Primavera.
They put me in a cell, down in the bowels of the building, and left me there for hours. They took all my possessions: my wallet, my watch, my pen, my cellphone, even my belt and shoe laces.
Greg was there within the hour. When he arrived we were allowed a brief meeting in my hotel suite, and I told him exactly what had happened. ‘What does Prim’s Dad say?’ he asked, sat alongside me on the hard bench, with its rudimentary rubber mattress.
‘Last time I heard him he was worried about his vegetable patch. I don’t know if they’ll get any sense out of him, but even if they do, I don’t think he’ll be able to help. I doubt if he could see what was happening at the bar from where he was sitting.’
‘Mmm,’ he muttered. ‘That doesn’t leave me much to work with, then.’ Greg’s bedside manner did nothing to encourage me.
‘What will help, then?’ I asked him.
‘John MacPhee, the fiscal here, did his training period with our firm. He’s still a good friend of my father, and I knew him when he was depute in Glasgow. I’ll try to get to see him before this man Bell does.’
He left, and I was back on my own in that hot stuffy cell. They didn’t even let Prim in to see me. The longer the day wore on, the more convinced I was that I would be spending the night in the slammer. I couldn’t remember whether they’d have to charge me first, but the lack of communication made me feel more and more that that was inevitable anyway.
At mid-day, a young constable brought me a sandwich, a mug of tea, and a copy of the Courier. At three o’clock, he brought me more tea and a copy of the Daily Record. When I asked if I could have the Financial Times with my evening meal, he looked at me blankly.
Then, at twenty-one minutes past five, the door opened again, and the custody sergeant appeared. He handed me my belt and laces. ‘CID want you again,’ he told me. I felt like a possession as I relaced my shoes, relooped my belt, and followed him upstairs, back to the same dull interview room in which I’d been grilled in the morning.
Bell and Slattery were there, but this time, Greg McPhillips was with them. When he slipped me a quick wink I knew it was going to be all right.
‘Hello, Mr Blackstone,’ the DI began. The courtesy of the title confirmed the meaning of Greg’s wink. ‘Have they looked after you all right downstairs?’
I nodded. ‘It was okay. Mind you, the sandwich was a bit curly round the edges. Next time, I’ll have a pizza.’
‘I’ll make a careful note of that, sir.’ He shot me a look which told me quite clearly that he was enjoying this meeting a lot less than our last.
‘It’s been decided that we should release you, Mr Blackstone,’ he said, slowly and, to my ear at least, with reluctance. ‘The fiscal doesn’t want me to charge you at this stage, so you’re free to go, pending further enquiries.’ I knew that the last part was a pure face-saver.
‘Aren’t you going to tell me not to leave town?’ I asked.
‘We know where to find you, sir.’ Bell stood up and glanced at Slattery. ‘See to Mr Blackstone’s release, Tony.’ He gave my solicitor a brief nod and strode from the room.
On the way back to Auchterarder, Greg filled me in on what had happened during the day. He had spoken to his dad’s friend the fiscal, as promised, and had given me a glowing character reference.
Mike Dylan had been a big help too. Prim had told him what had happened, and he had phoned Bell, making it clear that there was no way I could have sabotaged Susie’s car, since I hadn’t been out of the room for more than a minute during all the time they’d been with us. I found out later that evening, when I phoned the man himself to arrange to see him next morning, that he had also told Bell that by arresting me he was compromising a Special Branch operation, and that he’d better let me go before he compromised his own pension . . . a lie, he admitted, but it was one that I appreciated.
However the lion’s share of c
redit for my release went to my nephew Jonathan. He had been interviewed, in his mother’s presence, by Bell and Slattery; they had tried hard to trip him up, but he had been adamant that I had never left his side in the Castle, that Colin had run off on his own, and that there was no way I had pushed him into the dungeon.
‘The police case was always founded on the closeness of those two incidents, and your involvement in them both,’ said Greg. ‘When that collapsed there was no way John MacPhee would have gone to court on the Auchterarder business alone, not without really strong evidence against you.’
‘Far less without any evidence against me,’ I added. I must have sounded a bit sour, for he glanced at me.
‘Don’t hold it against John,’ he protested. ‘In the real world the police will always go for the easy option, you know that.’
‘Sure I do. That’s not what’s pissing me off: today’s history as far as I’m concerned. No, the trouble is that now I’m back where I started this morning. If I’m not the mad bastard behind all these things that have been happening around me, then someone else is. But given Bell’s reaction when I put that to him, the police will never take me seriously.
‘No, I’m on my own. I tell you, pal, you don’t know the chance you’re taking just being in this car with me.’
Chapter 38
Any visitor to Glasgow who wants to judge the priority given to police-community relations on the public policy agenda need only look at the headquarters of the Strathclyde force. The red-brick monstrosity in Pitt Street isn’t just the ugliest building in the city, it’s the most forbidding.
I’d have felt mildly uncomfortable stepping through its dark doorway under any circumstances, but after my experience in Perth the day before, it took an effort of will to step up to the desk and ask for Detective Inspector Dylan. Mike seemed to realise this right away, as soon as he met me there. It was as if he was trying to cheer me up; he was beaming and whistling . . . very badly, as usual . . . an old tune from South Pacific.