DS Leyton looks somewhat crestfallen.
‘But why would he make that up, Guv – about the lock? It just looks worse for him?’
Skelgill’s expression darkens.
‘You tell me, Leyton – we’re supposed to be having ideas.’
DS Leyton’s countenance is pained – but he takes a gulp of lager and, suitably refreshed, tilts again at the windmill that is a mirage on the horizon of Skelgill’s imagination.
‘What if it were all the other way round, then, Guv? What if Will Liddell went into Scarlett Liddell’s suite and found her canoodling with someone?’ He holds up a finger to silence any protests, and perhaps also to demonstrate his fighting spirit. ‘The geezer – ha! – he scarpers – does one. Will Liddell locks the door after him – turns round to demand of his wife what’s going on. She backs away – he follows her into the bathroom. Takes it too far. Panics – tries to make it look like suicide.’
But Skelgill is quick to retort.
‘Then the mystery ‘geezer’ has conveniently not mentioned it, Leyton. Nor has the wife – or ex-wife, in the case of Kevin Makepeace – whose suite he’d likely go through to get back to his room.’
DS Leyton receives this rebuttal phlegmatically – as though it is in fact a plausible explanation – but Skelgill sees that DS Jones appears troubled by the idea. However, as he watches her, something gains her attention behind him; her eyes narrow appraisingly. DS Leyton, in a vaguely similar manner, is equally captivated.
‘Reckon you might have company, Guv.’
Skelgill swivels around in his seat to see a young woman standing about eight feet away. She is wearing close-fitting gym gear that is visibly damp with perspiration – likewise a headband that restrains a shock of red hair, though strands of it have escaped and are plastered across her forehead. Her bare shoulders glisten with sweat, and heave gently, as if she is still recovering her breath. Her pose is defiant – yet she bites her lower lip to suppress what might be apprehension. It is Catriona – aka Miss Brodie of St Salvator’s School For Girls. Her voice, when it comes, is husky, almost a whisper.
‘May I have a word, Inspector?’
Skelgill feels two pairs of eyes burning into his back as he rises and stalks across to face her. He stands directly between the woman and his colleagues and blocks their view. He raises an eyebrow in lieu of a direct question.
‘Sorry to disrupt your meeting, Inspector – I seem to have made myself unpopular.’
Skelgill gives an indifferent shrug.
‘How did you find me?’
‘You told me you were lodging here.’
‘Aye – but I didn’t plan on staying tonight.’
‘I’m a member of the health club – I saw you through the glass.’
‘You came to the gym?’
What Skelgill questions is the suggestion that her first intention was not to meet him. By way of response she glances down at her Lycra-clad figure – it is self-evident. Now there is a tremor in her voice.
‘I thought I should act – while my endorphins are in the ascendancy.’
Skelgill is unsure of her motive.
‘Sounds like the sort of thing my old biology mistress would say. I never did know what she was talking about.’
She flashes a patient smile – but her features quickly regain their serious cast.
‘Is there somewhere private?’
Skelgill glances back at his sergeants – as if for a moment he is thinking of dismissing them to free up the seating area. But he grimaces.
‘I’ve got a bedroom. If you can stand the mess.’
Again she forces a grin – and seems to waver in her determination. Skelgill waits.
‘Ok.’
*
‘Bears and cracks.’
‘Guv?’
‘It’s beginning to make sense.’
Skelgill, grim-faced, has returned to their table. He stands over DS Jones, holding out the little branded wallet that contains his room keycard.
‘This is one for you, Jones. Take your notebook.’
‘What do I do, Guv?’
‘You feel a pull – you strike – remember?’
It is evident that no more explanation will be forthcoming – but DS Jones understands enough that she is to take over whatever interview has begun – and that for reasons of his own her superior wants her to treat it as a blank canvas. Skelgill reaches down for his bottle of IPA, and then steps aside to allow her to pass. He swigs the bottle’s contents – glances at the state of DS Leyton’s pint – and stalks away to the bar.
*
‘She’s agreed to press charges, Guv.’
If Skelgill were a man that suffered ‘high-fives’ he would probably raise his palm now, as DS Jones nears their table – but in any event he detects something in her manner that holds back celebration – the look in her eyes, while triumphant, is also disturbed. That upon resuming her seat and first reaching for her drink and taking a large gulp (maybe not plain tonic, after all) is an action that chimes with his intuition. There is a moment’s silence – and now both of the males lean forward to rest their forearms upon their thighs, and gaze expectantly at their female colleague.
‘She said it was about a year ago, Guv – she wasn’t sure of the exact date but she has it in her school calendar. Will Liddell had been to watch a hockey match. It was his daughter’s year group. Catriona Brodie wasn’t coaching – she was supporting, and scouting. She was wearing the staff sports kit – so it was obvious she was a teacher. The first thing she really knew about him being there was during the second period. She realised he was standing beside her – she said although she recognised him, they weren’t formally acquainted – but of course she knew his daughter – at some point he introduced himself and they exchanged small talk. Then towards the end of the game he told her that he ran a company and he was wondering if he could sponsor the school kit. She explained that St Salvator’s like most private schools had a policy not to display company logos and advertising – but that his daughter’s local club would probably take his hand off. He didn’t seem very interested in that idea. Meanwhile she was feeling conflicted – the school was in the middle of a fund-raising campaign to pay for the new sports pavilion – so she decided to mention it. He didn’t say anything at first – but then a few minutes later he asked her if the school held charitable status. Her answer was yes. He said he had a transaction on the horizon – that he was looking for a capital investment – a good cause – to take advantage of a tax break. She said the sum he mentioned had her head spinning. It seemed like a gift horse – and she doesn’t mind admitting that she saw a chance – if not to cover herself in glory, at least to gain some kudos with the Head and the Board of Trustees. He invited her for a drink to discuss it.’
‘Oh-oh.’
It is DS Leyton that supplies this belated warning. Skelgill silences him with an impatient glare. DS Jones continues – still working from memory.
‘After the game he waited for her in his Range Rover. He drove them across to Morningside – to a cosy pub where he was obviously a regular. He used the excuse that he didn’t like to drink in the vicinity of the school – his first wife lived in the area and he might bump into her or people whom he knew from when they were together. Catriona Brodie said she was feeling nervous – but in an excited way – and she drank more than she normally would. He didn’t say much about the technicalities of the donation – other than he seemed to be trying to work out just how big he could legitimately make it. She said he was polite, if enigmatic – but she never felt like he was trying to chat her up. It got to about 7.30pm and she was feeling a little bit drunk and that she ought to get home. But he didn’t give her an easy opportunity to break away – and the barman seemed to bring fresh drinks every time her glass was nearly empty. Then suddenly he announced that he wanted to write a proposal and send it to his accountant – that night – there was a Board meeting the next morning and it was essential to get it o
n the agenda before the tax year-end deadline. He asked her if she’d come round to his house – just to help him with the wording – information on the background of the school and the pavilion project – and that when they’d done he’d call her a taxi on his company account. He also said he’d made bolognaise earlier – that he’d like it if she joined him and his wife for supper. She said a little warning bell rang in her head – but he asked her in a way that was hard to refuse – not least there was the big deal on the table. So she said yes.’
DS Jones pauses for breath – but she need have no fear of any waning in her audience’s attention. Skelgill nods for her to proceed.
‘When they got to the house – apparently he lives in what is virtually a mansion in one of the wealthiest districts – she realised there was nobody else home. He said something like Scarlett Liddell would be back shortly. But anyway he fixed them some food and opened wine. When they’d finished she told him she didn’t have much time – he said that’s no problem – and he led her to his study on the first floor – overlooking mature gardens at the back of the property. He gave her the seat at his desk and a pad and a pen and asked her to write a list of reasons why the school would benefit from the funding – when you think about it, something they could have done in the kitchen – or the pub come to that. He slipped away, saying he’d be back in a minute – and he went through an interconnecting door into what she glimpsed was a master bedroom.’
Though DS Jones’s colleagues do not know precisely what is coming, Catriona Brodie has told Skelgill what the gist of her ‘confession’ will be – and he has imparted this skeleton outline to DS Leyton. But the gradual unfolding, the sinister methodology, has brought revulsion in equal measure to their faces.
‘She was writing, as requested. She heard him re-enter the study, quietly. He came up close behind – as if not to disturb her, but to look over her shoulder to see how she was getting on. She was seated on one of these ergonomic stools that has no back. She felt him press against her. For a second she just thought he’d misjudged his position. But he didn’t step away. She realised his breathing was heavy. Then he started stroking her hair. She said whatever she thought she’d do in such a situation – fight or flight – she didn’t. She froze. She said she was entirely paralysed by fear. He was wearing a dressing gown. He was naked underneath. He crooked an arm around her throat. He tried to swivel her around – but she kept her feet planted and held onto the desk with her fingertips. Nevertheless – what took place constitutes a serious sexual assault. He never spoke a word.’
DS Jones’s mouth is dry and she reaches for her drink and drains the glass. Her expression is one of dismay – while looks of vengeance crease the faces of her colleagues. DS Jones puts down her glass. Skelgill sees that her hand is trembling.
‘Then they were disturbed. There was a noise downstairs – Scarlett Liddell had returned – it was late-night shopping and she’d been buying clothes. Catriona Brodie said she’d noticed a bathroom off the landing – as Will Liddell was distracted she ran through and took refuge. She doesn’t really remember how long she was locked in there – but after a while she heard voices – it was Will and Scarlett Liddell laughing. She went downstairs and they were in the kitchen. Will Liddell was dressed – sitting on a barstool – they were both drinking champagne. There was a stack of designer-label carrier bags – and he was admiring an outfit that Scarlett Liddell was holding up in front of her. She looked daggers at Catriona Brodie, and put her arm around Will Liddell and made some boast about how they were going to a VIP ball at Gleneagles at the weekend. Will Liddell was acting completely normally – she didn’t know if he’d explained why she was ostensibly there – but she realised in that instant she couldn’t say anything about what had just taken place.’
‘What did she do, girl?’ This is DS Leyton, his voice hoarse with concern.
‘She mumbled some excuse and left. She ran home across town – a couple of miles. She lives not far from the school – in one of the new flats beside Roseburn.’
‘And – what – she’s never told no one?’
DS Jones regards her colleague intently.
‘She says she confided in her flatmate – on the same night – but she made her promise never to speak of it. Apart from the humiliation and the trauma – she had a boyfriend at the time – she was sure he would have done something that would have got her sacked – and the huge sum of money was on the line – she’s still terrified of losing her job, and that the donation will be withdrawn.’
Skelgill’s features are like cold granite – but rage burns deep in his grey-green eyes. As if it would be worth the price! He grinds his left fist into the palm of his right hand.
‘Aye – Will Liddell’s ex said he came up with the money. A million. And now we know it was probably a tax dodge, to boot.’
That he refrains from bringing the words ‘hush money’ into his rejoinder does not stop DS Jones from raising the sentiment.
‘She’s simply kept quiet about it, Guv. Of course she’s done everything she can to avoid Will Liddell when he has appeared at the school. But she says if their paths do unexpectedly cross he acts as though absolutely nothing has happened.’
DS Leyton shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
‘So – what’s made her speak now?
DS Jones turns interrogatively to Skelgill.
‘Maybe something you said, Guv. Some effect you had on her, anyway – gave her the confidence that we’d believe her and act upon it.’
Skelgill is wondering – ironically Catriona Brodie had invited him for coffee – at least coffee is what she said. Can they trust her account implicitly? And yet, when he had declined – there was something about her manner – as if he had passed a little test. Perhaps it was never an invitation in the first place – one that would have been immediately rescinded had he accepted. Was she testing herself, too – to see if she could take the first step towards baring her soul?
‘You know me and my silver tongue.’
Skelgill says this sardonically – and his subordinates dutifully smile, if mirthlessly under the circumstances. Now DS Jones elaborates as far as she can.
‘She heard about Will Liddell being ‘arrested’ – as she put it. She said it was all over social media this afternoon – there are various school-related chat groups – hockey mums – that sort of thing. Someone from his company must have let the cat out of the bag. There was the suggestion that it was connected with Scarlett Liddell’s death – naturally she drew her own conclusions about events at Greenmire Castle. In the gym she got mad with herself – that she’d have it on her conscience – if there were another offence. As she was leaving she saw you, Guv – and she plucked up courage. Maybe tomorrow she’d have changed her mind.’
DS Leyton lets out an extended sigh.
‘Let’s hope the girl don’t lose her bottle.’
Skelgill makes a sharp scoffing exclamation.
‘We’re in Scotland, Leyton – I haven’t noticed it’s in short supply.’
‘Right enough, Guv.’
But Skelgill is pensive. His brow is furrowed as he addresses DS Jones.
‘Where is she, now?’
DS Jones looks just a trifle uneasy beneath her superior’s scrutiny.
‘I let her go home – her flatmate’s there – she phoned her. She says she’ll be fine – that it’s a massive weight off her mind. And she said she’s got your number, Guv.’
Skelgill’s gaze flickers. A little distractedly he checks his watch.
‘The local CID will have to deal with this. I’ll get hold of Cammy – make sure their top team’s on it first thing in the morning.’
DS Jones remains apprehensive.
‘The only possible fly in the ointment is that she thinks Will Liddell is still in custody.’
‘He will be, soon enough.’
Skelgill’s retort is terse – and DS Leyton is looking sympathetically at DS Jones – for it is plain the epi
sode has been an ordeal for her, too. He reaches across and lifts her empty glass and then hooks Skelgill’s bottle by its neck with his little finger.
‘I reckon another drink is in order.’
DS Jones nods gratefully – her colleague levers his bulk from the seat and propels himself in the direction of the bar. A small silence follows, during which Skelgill makes a mental effort to step back from the immediate disclosure.
‘We’re going to need corroboration.’
DS Jones regards him keenly.
‘Guv – she’s preserved the top she was wearing – it was a school polo shirt. She also claims there’s an identifying birthmark – of Will Liddell’s.’
Skelgill nods broodingly.
‘And you say she told her girlfriend on the same night? That might count for something.’
Rather than affirm his remark, DS Jones glances anxiously to see if DS Leyton is about to return – but it is apparent he is yet to be served.
‘Guv – there’s something I need to tell you.’
‘Aye.’ Skelgill’s flat intonation suggests he half knows what to expect.
‘When I went for a drink with Will Liddell.’
Now he simply stares at his colleague.
‘On reflection – he was very presumptuous – in a subtle way. For instance, he didn’t ask me what I wanted – he just ordered a bottle of wine and two glasses. I tried not to drink – I asked the waitress for tap water when she brought the wine. But it was after we’d been there a while...’
Skelgill seems to be nodding, almost imperceptibly.
‘He said I should come for supper – to his house. That he’d made a bolognaise – yes!’ She raises her hands in a gesture of self-reproach. ‘He said he’d come across something about Scarlett that he wanted to bounce off me – something that he was struggling to understand, but that he thought I might be able to figure out. And again he didn’t really ask – whether I would go – it was more an assumption – it put the onus on me to raise an objection.’
DS Jones is looking disconcerted. But so is Skelgill. He swallows – and speaks first.
Detective Inspector Skelgill Boxset 4 Page 15
