1979

by McDermid, Val

  Muttering a prayer to the god she didn’t believe in, Allie slid her fingers through the letterbox and groped for the string. At first, she couldn’t feel it but when she slid her hand to one end, her fingertip brushed the coarse nub of the knot. She struggled to grasp the string, realising it was snagged round something on the inside. She feared it had been tied but at last she worked it loose and pulled the key through.

  Sweating now, she let herself in. Hopefully the neighbours hadn’t heard her. She wasn’t planning to be there long, but she’d still prefer the police to be unaware of her visit. Allie headed for the kitchen. She knew that was where she’d find what she was looking for.

  There on the wall above the table in the bed recess was a family photograph. Danny, his parents and his brother Joseph. The man most likely to have a flash car with Paragon folders on the passenger seat. Allie reached up and lifted it from the hook. She was about to put it in her bag when she heard a sound that turned her guts to water.

  The front door she’d carefully locked behind her was opening.

  54

  Allie froze momentarily, then fear galvanised her into action. She had never moved faster. She stuffed the framed photo into her bag and pulled off her scarf. She’d barely completed the move when a man appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded. ‘And what are you doing here?’

  ‘My name’s Allie Burns. I worked with Danny. I’m the one who found him.’ She didn’t have to ask who he was. She recognised Joseph Sullivan from the photo she’d hidden in her bag moments before. Her breath was fast and shallow; all her instincts told her she had no reason to trust him.

  ‘Right.’ He dragged the word out. ‘You’re the one who helped him shaft me. I’m his brother, in case you didn’t know. And you’re trespassing. This is my flat now. So I’ll ask you again. What the hell are you doing here, Allie Burns? I could call the police on you, you know that?’ His tone was light but he was standing too close to her. She felt an undeniable air of menace.

  She forced a smile and waved her scarf at him. ‘I realised this morning when I went looking for my scarf. I knew I had it on Sunday, and it dawned on me that with the shock, and everything … I figured I must have left it here. So I thought I’d come and get it.’

  ‘You broke into a crime scene for a scarf?’

  She couldn’t blame him for his incredulity. Nothing for it but to play the ditsy wee woman. ‘I know, it’s mental, right? But it’s my absolute favourite. I know it doesn’t look much, but my granny knitted it for me, and she died last year. It’s almost like it’s my lucky charm.’

  His lip curled. ‘It wasn’t very lucky for Danny, was it?’

  She looked down. ‘I’m so sorry about Danny. He was a great guy.’

  ‘Not from where I’m standing. The pair of you, you cost me everything I’ve worked for. Thanks to you, I’ve lost my job, my reputation. I could still go to jail – did you think about that when you were writing your smartarse story?’

  ‘Danny did everything he could to keep you out of it. But he couldn’t ignore the fact that the people you worked with were a bunch of crooks.’

  ‘Unlike the people you work with,’ he sneered. ‘You tell lies, you sneak about with fucking terrorists, you don’t give a fuck what damage you leave behind you. You and Danny, you broke our mother’s heart, did you know that?’

  Fuck ditsy. Allie’s dander was up now. ‘In all fairness, I think it was you that did that, Joseph. When you became the errand boy for a bunch of crooks.’

  He moved even closer. ‘Get the fuck out of my flat.’

  ‘Your flat? You keep saying that, but Danny’s not even in his grave.’ She knew it was his flat. But how did he know? She was the one with the will, not him.

  ‘Not that it’s any business of yours, but he phoned me on Friday to beg me to speak to our mum, to get her to forgive him. He dangled the bait that he was leaving this place to me. Compensation for what the pair of you did to me. That, and his death-in-service benefit from the paper. Enough to move abroad and start again, that’s what he said.’

  ‘But why would you expect to inherit that any time soon? It’s not like Danny had terminal cancer.’

  He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t looking for it. I thought it was a pretty empty gesture. But that was what he said. He was desperate to get back into Mum’s good books. Besides, the kind of people you and him have been turning over, it could only be a matter of time.’

  ‘What? You expected him to die soon?’

  He scoffed unconvincingly. ‘What are you suggesting?’ Now, a little laugh. ‘What the fuck has any of this got to do with you anyway, Allie Burns? Did you have the hots for my baby brother?’

  Was there nobody who could imagine a man and a woman just being pals? ‘He was my colleague and my friend. Seeing him lying dead next door was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  For a moment, his expression seemed to grow softer. But not his words. ‘Get on your way, before I lose patience and call the cops.’

  Allie held up her hands, palms facing him. ‘OK, OK, I’m going, soon as you get out of my road?’

  He stepped to one side. ‘You better not have been lying to me.’ Then, as if it had just dawned on him, ‘You better not have stolen anything.’ He snatched at her bag, but Allie saw the move coming.

  ‘You lay one finger on me, and I’ll be the one calling the polis. How dare you accuse me of robbing the dead? Your brother was my friend.’ As she spoke she backed away. ‘You think I want to be here? The last time I was here, I came face to face with the murdered body of my friend. I’m not the grave robber here. You’re the one who can’t wait to get your hands on Danny’s things.’

  She made it to the front door and pulled it open. At the last minute, she turned back and said, ‘Good luck finding the will, by the way.’

  Allie stood in the lee of the stairs, trembling. She was determined to be in command of herself when she returned to Jimmy. In spite of Joseph’s behaviour, she was struggling to believe he could have killed Danny. They’d grown up cheek by jowl in a close-knit, loving family. Joseph was an insurance clerk, not a gangster. On the other hand, she’d met men like him before, men who felt entitled to grab whatever they wanted from the world. Nevertheless, it didn’t seem likely that he’d attack his brother so brutally.

  Thomas Torrance, on the other hand … A man familiar with a world where violence was so often the proffered answer. Why had Torrance visited Danny, if not to silence him? He had no legitimate reason for being there, and he’d been so determined to stay under the radar that he’d put the fear of God into a homeless derelict that no police officer would ever take seriously.

  Once she’d calmed down, she returned to Jimmy’s fiefdom. Sitting a few yards away from her car was the sports car he’d described – a bright red Triumph TR7, its wedge-shaped bonnet unmistakable, the square metal cut-outs covering the lowered headlamps. There was no sign of Jimmy.

  She picked her way across to where his car hunkered down on its wheel rims. He was sitting in the passenger seat, a can of Tartan Special on the dashboard in front of him. At her approach, he wound down his window. ‘Did you see your man?’

  ‘I did. I just about jumped out my skin.’ She pulled the photograph out of her bag. ‘Just to confirm. You saw this man on Saturday night?’

  A finger ingrained with dirt tapped Joseph’s face. ‘That’s him. Same guy you just saw, right?’

  ‘Right. And he went in after Danny’s wee pal and before the guy that threatened you?’ Jimmy nodded. ‘And they’re the only people you saw going into the close, apart from the folk that live there?’

  ‘Uh huh. Well, not counting her on the ground floor’s fancy man. Have I earned my consultancy fee?’

  Allie managed a sad smile. ‘You have, Jimmy. And if the polis come and ask you about it, mind you tell them what you’ve told me, OK? Even if they are arseholes.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘If you say so.’

&
nbsp; Allie walked away in a state of conflict. She had not one but two candidates for the killing of Danny. She also knew the testimony of a homeless jakie wouldn’t cut much ice with the police. She needed more.

  First, she tried the close opposite Danny’s. Eight flats, five with somebody home. Two housewives, one night-shift worker, a retired couple and a teenage daughter. None of them had noticed anyone hanging around their close around nine o’clock on Saturday night. But then, as the pensioner wife said, ‘If we’d noticed anything like that, we’d have told the polis when they chapped our door on Sunday. It’s not every day we get a murder in the street.’

  She’d come back later and hope for better luck.

  Jimmy had told her Joseph’s car had been parked down the street, outside number five. Maybe the occupants of the ground-floor flats had spotted it. It looked striking; it probably sounded throaty enough to draw someone to the window. It was worth a try.

  It took ten minutes for Allie to find out that the residents of both flats had been too engrossed in the TV to have noticed anything short of a bomb going off in the street. She sheltered in the close mouth and lit a cigarette, debating whether to go back to the office to try to convince Carlyle that she had something.

  A pair of kids came storming out of the close opposite, skidding along the slippery packed snow at the edge of the gutter. It was hard to tell their gender, wrapped up as they were against the weather, but when they reached the gap where the cars were parked, they stopped and nudged each other. Judging by their apparent fascination with Joseph Sullivan’s car, she guessed they were boys. It was Glasgow, after all. Girls seldom showed much interest in cars before puberty.

  ‘I wonder,’ she muttered, tossing her half-smoked cigarette into the gutter. They barely glanced at her when she came alongside. ‘Nice motor, eh?’ she said.

  ‘It’s a belter,’ the taller of the two said. ‘Triumph TR7. My dad says it’s the car of the future.’

  ‘Have you seen it before, then?’

  They both nodded enthusiastically. ‘It was parked across the street from us on Saturday night,’ the little one said. ‘I wanted to go and look at it close up, but Dad said it was past my bedtime.’

  ‘Your dad saw it too?’

  ‘Aye, that’s how he said about it being the car of the future,’ the first boy said impatiently.

  ‘Is your dad in?’ She tried to make the question sound casual.

  ‘Aye. He’s on earlies this week, he’s at his dinner.’

  ‘You think you could take me to meet him? I’d like to talk to him about the car of the future.’

  55

  Angus Carlyle’s expression gave nothing away. Allie had caught him on his way out the door and persuaded him that what she had to say wouldn’t wait. He’d led the way, grumbling, to the quiet corner of the canteen that she was beginning to feel was her home from home. He sat down heavily, hands on his knees, overcoat spread out on either side of him marking his substantial territory.

  There was no denying her apprehension. She’d gone out on a limb on a story she suspected they wouldn’t be able to print, thanks to the laws that caged them. And along the way, she’d stumbled over something she hadn’t expected but which could be equally problematic. Each was a story that had to be told, first to her boss and then ultimately to the police. If she played her cards right, she might not even have to mention the existence of the alibi William Morrison had provided. That would secure her a valuable contact for the future. It would please Rona too. And for some reason she didn’t want to examine, Allie wanted to please Rona.

  Step by step, she outlined what she’d learned about the visits to Danny Sullivan’s flat on Saturday night. Carlyle’s eyebrows rose momentarily. ‘Christ, the place was going like a fair!’ His face returned to its impassivity. ‘Let me get this straight, Burns. After the lad Curran had left, brother Joseph showed up, stayed for half an hour then went away? And then Torrance put the frighteners on Jimmy the jakie before he disappeared into Danny’s close? You’re sure about all this?’

  ‘I know it all sounds unlikely, but honestly, boss, Jimmy seemed very clear about it. I know he’s living on the streets, and he obviously takes a drink, but he’s a damn sight more coherent than half the newsroom in the Printer’s Pie on a Friday night.’

  Carlyle almost cracked a smile. ‘You’re setting the bar kinda low, Burns.’

  ‘I’ve got a wee bit of corroboration, though. Stuart Paul, the man who lives on the ground floor at number four, is adamant that Joseph Sullivan’s TR7 was on the street after nine. He remembers specifically because when his wee boys pointed the car out to him, he realised it was past their bedtime. And on a Saturday, that’s nine o’clock. So it’s hard to make a case for Barry Curran murdering Danny. I can’t conceive of any reason why his brother would discover Danny’s murdered body, not call the polis, then hang around for half an hour before he left. Can you?’

  Carlyle reflected for a long moment. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘Which is not to say that Joseph Sullivan might not be able to come up with a plausible explanation. Like, he was afraid he’d get the blame, with him being his brother’s beneficiary. According to the will you’ve got tucked into that handbag of yours.’

  ‘He’s desperate to find that will,’ Allie said.

  ‘That’s not a crime. If he wants to start a new life in another country, he might have a sense of urgency in case the polis change their minds about charging him over the Paragon case. And maybe that’s what he was doing for half an hour – searching for the will?’ he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of sweet reason.

  ‘He’d have to be a cold-hearted bastard to be so unmoved by the sight of his brother lying dead on the floor. Even if they’d fell out.’

  ‘Agreed. Still, there are a fair few cold-hearted bastards out there. But the key problem you’ve got is a complete lack of evidence against Joseph. And then there’s the problem of Thomas Torrance inconveniently turning up on Danny’s doorstep. What was he doing there? And why would he kill Danny?’ He held his hands out, cupped, as if weighing two options. ‘On the other hand, if he found Danny dead, why would he not report it?’

  ‘We’ve got Danny’s shorthand note of a threat from Torrance.’

  Carlyle sighed. ‘We’ve got your interpretation of Danny’s note, which isn’t quite the same thing.’

  ‘Danny had the power to destroy Torrance’s career. Not just the revelation that he’s gay, but also that he was in a relationship with one of the Tartan Terrorists, the one who conveniently joined the missing list before the polis knocked on his door. That’s pretty compelling,’ Allie argued.

  ‘All we’ve actually got is hearsay. Danny’s not here to tell us what he saw, what he knew. Again, it comes down to your version of events.’ His mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘And we both know there’s at least one person in this office who will pour a torrent of cold water on any attempt to discredit Torrance.’

  Allie groaned. ‘Wee Gordon Beattie. He’ll do anything to defend his source.’

  ‘Especially after I floated the notion of an investigations department separate from his crime corr fiefdom.’ Again, the wry smile. ‘You make convincing arguments, but even you can’t choose between the pair of them. Brother Joseph or Thomas Torrance. Who’s it to be?’

  Allie had one card left to play. ‘We could let the evidence decide. Wee Gordon told me they found a partial print on the candlestick. He said it doesn’t match Barry Curran’s prints. I was wondering whether the Edinburgh police would have taken Joseph’s fingerprints when they were investigating him over Paragon? If it’s not Joseph’s, we could maybe persuade the polis to check Torrance? Could we ask them?’

  At that, Carlyle laughed, deep and long. ‘No, Burns. Well, theoretically, yes. But they’d tell us to take a flying fuck at a bag of nails. But they would tell Detective Chief Inspector Davie Buchan.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘This time of the evening, he’ll be drinking with his team.’ He sighed from the bo
ttom of his belly and got to his feet. ‘Come on, we need to go and buy drink for the polis.’

  The bar was little more than a hole in the wall in one of the back lanes near Blythswood Square. As far as Allie could tell, the clientele consisted solely of plain-clothes police officers and huddles of women who looked like they’d come in out of the cold between clients. ‘Nice,’ she muttered at Carlyle’s back as they made their way to the compact horseshoe bar. She was aware that every eye in the place had swivelled to take her in.

  ‘Makes a change,’ he said. He turned back to the barman. ‘I’ll take a large Grouse.’ He raised an eyebrow at Allie.

  ‘Vodka and Coke.’

  ‘Make that a large one too. And send one through to Davie Buchan. Tell him Mr Carlyle would like a word.’ He cocked his head towards the far corner. Allie hadn’t noticed, but a door was tucked in there. The barman poured a generous measure of Glenfiddich, lifted the hatch in his counter and disappeared through the door.

  When he returned he served their drinks, took Carlyle’s money and said, ‘You’ve to go through.’

  Allie heard a cackle of laughter at her back as they opened the door and entered a cosy parlour filled with cigar smoke and whisky fumes. Buchan occupied a leather club chair behind a small table topped with beaten copper. To one side, Detective Sergeant Hardie, glowering at her; to the other, a woman who bore no resemblance to any kind of police officer Allie had ever seen.

  Buchan nodded to Carlyle. ‘Long time no see, Angus.’

  ‘A word, if you please, Davie.’ A winning smile. ‘In private, if you don’t mind?’

  Buchan considered, then said, ‘Bugger off, you two. This is grown-ups’ business.’

  Hardie looked like he wanted to argue the toss, but the woman scuttled out as if she’d been prodded with a sharp stick, and the junior detective followed slowly.