by V Clifford
He pointed at the screen. ‘Look this is how it works. You upload your profile to this site and when people are scrolling, it’s a bit like Facebook. There’s an area that you can say what films, books and groups you like. We put a photograph of the pink cross there. Although some guys just wear a badge on their tees or have something in the background of their photograph. There’s nothing to it. You think David was killed because of it?’
‘I’ve no idea. As I say, just poking around.’
‘Did you find anything more in the archive?’
‘Yes. A document from the 1660s which legitimises your land and fishing rights. Somewhere in this house there’s a copy. Well hidden. I’m not sure why you would need it now that we’ve got photographs of the original from the Vatican, but maybe one day when you’ve got less on your mind it would be worth searching for it.’
‘But we already have those and there are copies in the Vatican.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. But why have the Hamiltons been trying to claim them?’
He looked confused, ‘Pammy asked me about the fishing years ago, but she knows that we’re legit.’
Viv stood. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about the rest of the family. Be careful.’
‘What do you mean? Do you think I am also in danger?’
‘I think that people will do damage with the smallest excuse and still feel justified. Oh, I don’t know, maybe David’s death is enough of a shock for them to back off.’
‘Back off from what?’
‘You mentioned the Vatican. I found email correspondence between Pamela and the librarian at the Vatican.’
He pulled himself up in his chair and ran his hands over his face. ‘I may be “sensitive” but she knows I’m not stupid. Why would she pursue something that she knows is a waste of time? Our family already won that case. I mean, in 1909 the Hamiltons took the Percys to the House of Lords to claim their fishing rights back, but they never had them in the first place. The case took years, cost the Hamiltons lots of money but was settled in our favour. Why would she want to poke that old dud?’
‘I’ve no idea. You’d have to ask her or her family. But in the meantime thanks for showing me that website and making that clearer. I think DCI Coulson will be grateful for any help she can get.’
As she made her way to the top of the stairs she met Mrs Smith coming up with a tray.
‘You not staying for coffee?’
‘No. But thank you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate one.’
As soon as she got back to the cottage she began a new online mission. Mrs Smith must know almost everything about the Percys. She was at the house twenty-four-seven and yet it was as if she didn’t exist, was kind of invisible. That very invisibility was niggling her. The woman who discovered the priest in the Cathedral was also kind of invisible. Like Mrs Smith, she had access to a repository of secrets. How did they use that power, the power of invisibility, to their advantage? Being overlooked definitely had its advantages. Viv’s bias had had her imagining an old woman in black, kowtowing to the clergy but she could be completely wrong. On the Cathedral website she ran through the photographs of staff again. There was a link to support staff but she’d never heard of cleaners being called that before so it was a long shot.
As she was reading she received a text from Ruddy. He’d been quiet for a while. ‘There’s been a development.’
Was he talking about the job he’d mentioned, the one she wasn’t yet fit enough for? Or was he on about the dead priest? She texted him back asking what it was. A few minutes passed and her phone pinged again. His message said, ‘Looks as if the priest committed suicide.’
‘Wow!’ She shook her head and began to imagine herself in the shoes of the cleaner. Going about her work then coming across a dead priest in the cathedral. What would be the first thing she’d do? She’d look for help? But she didn’t find help so called the police. What exactly had she found?
Her phone rang, and it was Ruddy. ‘The blow to the head was post-mortem. That’s why there was so little blood. Looks like he overdosed in one of the pews. We found an area which had been washed down, only there was cocaine trapped in the piping of the cushion. We’re putting pressure on the lab for a quick turn around on the tox report.’
‘Wow. So you think the cleaner found him dead, cleaned up his mess, then tried to make it look like a murder?’
‘That’s what we are checking now.’
‘My God. That’s loyalty for you.’ If a priest committed suicide that would be a mortal sin, not to mention humiliating for the bishop and the rest of the team. She must have wanted to save them from that.
What will happen to her?’
‘Not much. Obstruction, wasting police time, lying. Trying to ensure someone gets into heaven would be a difficult one to prosecute.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Marie O’Hanlon.’
‘You know I was just trying to find her on their website. I had a vision of a wee old woman dressed in black.’
‘You couldn’t be more wrong. She’s in her late thirties, lithe and obviously sent to test the clergy.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means she’s a looker who isn’t worried about flaunting it inside a sacred place.’
She snorted, ‘You don’t think a whole bunch of grown men wearing frocks is flaunting it then?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I do. One set of rules for women and another for guys in frocks’ She sighed. ‘Oh, another time. I was with Sholto earlier and I’m now thinking about how his housekeeper knows everything about them and yet no one suspects her of anything, unless they want a cup of tea. It wouldn’t have been impossible for her to kill David. Seems her main purpose is looking after Sholto. If he had gone off with either Pamela or David she’d have been left with the mother. I’m appalled by my own unconscious bias. Anyway it puts her in the frame too.’
‘O’Hanlon is being questioned. And I wouldn’t worry, Coulson will have had a good go at Mrs Smith.’
‘By the way, what did the post-mortem report say those fine scratches on the priests hands were? Maybe he killed David then killed himself?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I think I’ll take a more thorough look at his social media.’
‘Why? You got a hunch?’
She hesitated. ‘Not really. I just don’t get a sense of him and I would like to. Give me an hour and I’ll get back to you.’
‘There’s a backlog at the mortuary and I’m tied up with meetings for a while. I’ll let you know what we get on the scratches.’
‘By the way, I wish Mac and I had had a look at the actual scene in the cathedral. Too difficult to really get a feel for a place, without being on the ground. Someone ought to have smelled that cleaning fluid straightaway.’
‘Oh, the whole place was gleaming. She’d made sure that it didn’t stand out.’
‘I’ve got a nose like a bloodhound. If only I’d been there. There’s no way I’d have missed it.’
‘No doubt, but we’re on it now. Meantime, keep up that fitness regime. You never know when you’ll get the call.’
She shook her head as he hung up. If she did get the ‘call’ they’d have to take her as she was. In her opinion she was plenty fit enough. She clicked on the mouse and began scrolling. Father James wasn’t quite ringing true. It didn’t take long for her to find out why. He’d been pressuring David to get his firm to change their minds about their charity funding for the next three years. Fitzroy and Maclean had chosen to place their sponsorship with Lourdes, which meant the Knights of Malta would have to wait in line for the next application. O’Brien wasn’t too chuffed about that. The language in his emails to David started off as reasonable and friendly but in the end he resorted to ugly, personal and threatening stuff. Was it the behaviour of a scared man? Could be. But what was he scared of? And did he kill for it?
She rang Mac. ‘You heard about the loyal cleaner?’
‘Yep. Hope the
re’s one around for me when I need them.’
‘D’you think our priest could have killed David then killed himself? I found some emails that link them. Not recent, but a links a link. So I followed a few leads and discovered another email conversation between them that got pretty nasty.’
‘Were they actually lovers or just friends from uni?’
‘Looks like they had history beyond friendship. Young and naïve, before uni. Both attended a camp for potential seminarians. Neither signed up for it but they were both sent home for misconduct. Poor sods. Totally unnatural for them to keep it in their pants but that’s what was expected of them. No wonder so many go off the rails.’
‘Rather open-minded of you. I’d have thought you’d like a lot more of them to keep it in their pants.’
She screwed up her eyes. ‘Oh, for sure, any kiddie fiddler. But consenting adults. It seems to me a safer option to keep them satisfied. Anyway never mind that. Looks as if the contact more recently was threatening. O’Brien was hoping to get David to influence the partners at Fitzroy and Maclean to change their minds and support the Knights of Malta charity rather than Lourdes, which they went with in the end. David wouldn’t comply. Eventually told him where to go. They say “follow the money” and it looks as if they, whoever they are, got it right. Although it wouldn’t be the first time a scorned lover made it impossible for their ex to have anyone else. You know that thing of, if I’m not having you, no one else is? Women are killed daily at the hands of husbands or partners who control everything about them, including their future. He was a big guy who could easily have fought with David and dragged him into that tunnel to place the blame firmly at the Percys’ door. A crime of passion makes almost as much sense as following the money. In fact it needn’t be either or, but both. The scratches on O’Brien could have come from clearing all the gorse and brambles at the entrance to the tunnel. My big query is what were they doing out here in the country? It would have been easier for them to meet in Edinburgh.’
Mac said, ‘Good question. By the way, have you heard back from Ruddy?’
‘Yes, he phoned earlier. Keeps telling me to get fit.’
‘Me too. I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s had a memo telling him to make sure all operatives are on top form. Don’t take it personally. Even I’ve been called to . . .’
‘Ah, the secret camp on the west coast would be my best guess.’ She laughed. ‘Look I’m going to send all this stuff about O’Brien I’ve found on social media over to Coulson. I’m sure she’ll put it to good use. I wonder if Sholto knew about O’Brien.’
‘You don’t have any reason to go back to see him. He’ll know soon enough when Coulson gathers and confirms all her evidence. Remember he’s one of your neighbours now.’
‘He’s a client first. But you’re wrong, I do have a reason to go back. Besides I can think of worse things than spending the rest of my days in his library.’
‘We done?’
‘Ouch! That sounded final.’
‘It did rather. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I meant we’re done with the job, the mock cardinal and David. You think you’ve wrapped him up?’
She sighed. ‘No. I’m not positive. It’s my best hunch so far but I’ve been down a few blind alleys already so I wouldn’t put money on it yet. Coulson would need DNA from the tunnel scene. I wish we’d been allowed to go and see the cathedral, I’m sure one of us would have noticed an over-powering smell of cleaning fluid and we’d have been done a lot sooner. Speak later.’
Viv decided another visit to see the scene by the river would help get some perspective. When she arrived she parked the Rav at the edge of a wooded area by the river and took off at a pace along the track towards the fishing hut. As she approached, the smell of cigarette smoke wafted out of the hut. She stuck her head round the end of the wall. Mrs Smith was sitting on the bench all wrapped up in a down coat, scarf, gloves and the long leather boots that wealthy hunting fishing shooting people wear.
‘Hi there.’
‘Hello. I thought one of these days you’d come back. I come every day. Lovely peaceful place to have a fag and contemplate.’
Viv gestured that she’d take a seat. ‘D’you mind?’
‘By all means. You’ve been kind to Auchenban unlike some. I hoped I’d bump into you somewhere quiet.’
‘You care to tell me more?’
‘Ricky, the gamekeeper, isn’t the man you’re looking for.’
‘Then who is?’
‘The clue is right in front of you.’
Viv stared at the ground. A few stubs lay on the damp earth at the doorway. She went to pick them up.
‘No, not those. Right ahead.’
‘You mean the river?’
Mrs Smith nodded and took a huge draw of her cigarette. ‘The Hamiltons couldn’t care less about fishing. Hugo’s got his sights on something far larger.’
‘But what could be far larger than fishing? I believe the income is huge.’
Mrs Smith smiled. ‘Hydro power. I think you’ll find there’s some folks will go to great lengths to . . .’ She brushed at something on her lip.
‘But the rights to the river are owned by Sholto. D’you think he’d give those up in favour of hydro power?’
She shook her head. ‘No. No, Auchenban has no desire to exploit the estate any more than the family already have. The Hamiltons on the other hand . . .’
Viv recalled Hugo’s concern about his sister frittering away his inheritance on horses. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to him? ‘So Hugo would like to start a hydro-scheme and he needs Sholto’s permission to do it?’
‘Well. He needs access from this river.’ She pointed to the torrent rushing by. ‘To a burn, a tributary that has its head at the top of the glen. I heard him trying to persuade David to speak to Sholto on his behalf. David was loyal. There was no way he’d try to persuade Sholto about something that was going to cause so much damage. Archimedes screws in a salmon tributary.’ She snorted. ‘No, Hugo doesn’t care a jot about fishing.’
‘When was this and were they talking on the phone? D’you think he’d kill for his hydro power?’
Mrs Smith looked straight at her, unflinching and nodded. ‘Hugo’s desperate. I heard him set up a meeting. He was going to show David the site and the plans. The call was over a fortnight ago.’
‘What do you have against him. Hugo, I mean?’
‘David was the best thing that had happened to Sholto. He put a spring in his step and a permanent grin on his face. It was a relief to see him happy.’
‘Could Hugo have had someone else kill David?’ She was thinking of the crazy gamekeeper.
Mrs Smith stubbed out her butt and as if she’d read Viv’s thoughts said, ‘I wouldn’t trust Ricky as far as I could spit. As for Hugo he’s unhappy. Was relying on a project that would turn round the finances of their estate.’
‘But they’ve got smart new fencing and so many horses. There has to be money coming from somewhere.’
‘Nope. That work has all been done on good will.’
‘So the Hamiltons were also desperate that the wedding would take place so that they’d have a share of the Percy estate.’
She nodded.
‘Have you mentioned any of this to anyone else?’
She shook her head. ‘I liked that you didn’t judge him. Not for being a toff or for being gay. I think he trusts you. He’ll need all the friends he can get. The family are horrible to him.’
‘Well, thank God he has you.’
Mrs Smith wrapped her arms around her body and rubbed her upper arms. ‘I won’t be around forever.’
‘But you’re almost the same age as him.’
‘I’m not well.’
Viv stared at her. ‘Let’s walk back to the house. You look chilled.’
They walked in silence until the house came into view. ‘He’s been like my wee brother. Can’t shake the feeling that he isn’t tough enough for the job that he’s
been granted.’
‘He’s lucky to have you. And I appreciate you talking to me.’
Mrs Smith nodded and went round to the back of the house. Viv jogged down the drive and along the main road to find the Rav.
Chapter Twenty-Two
At the cottage she raced upstairs and dug back into Pamela Hamilton’s social media accounts. It didn’t take long to find a link to Hugo and she was off. What a lesson in social blindness. She’d been so side-tracked by David’s death being about fishing rights or a crime of passion that she hadn’t given Hugo a thought.
An email pinged into her inbox. It looked official, from Police Scotland. ‘Shit!’ Must be about her part in the injury of the gamekeeper. No way Coulson could avoid a report since he’d been taken to hospital. But when she opened it it was only an ‘official’ invitation to the NTF Christmas party. She released a breath. That could wait although it did have an RSVP.
An email address in Pamela’s correspondence led her to Hugo and to a company he’d approached to carry out a survey of the Dochie Burn, wherever that was. He wanted to know how many drops they could blast into the riverbed and there was also mention of Archimedes screws. Even she gasped at the idea of those in a river that was a salmon tributary. In the past poachers used charges to blast fish out of rivers but it was rare now since there were so few fish. She searched and searched and couldn’t find anything to connect Hugo to David.
She rang Coulson. ‘Hi. I’m looking into some correspondence belonging to Hugo Hamilton junior.’
Coulson interrupted her. ‘Strange you should say that. We’ve had results back from the lab on those tyre tracks. They belong to an estate vehicle but not the gamekeeper’s.’
‘Let me guess. Hugo has his very own Land Rover?’
‘You got it. But we also got some DNA of that vial that you pocketed.’
She drew in a breath. Mrs Smith couldn’t be involved in David’s death. ‘So, are you going to tell me or what?’
