‘Oh, incidentally, we’re another man short in CID today – Ewan Campbell’s a proud father for the first time and he’s taking paternity leave.’
‘Pshaw!’ Bailey snorted. ‘Paternity leave! I don’t know, Marjory. We left it to the women in my day – happy to, in fact – and I don’t see my boys were any the worse for it.’
‘I’m sure,’ Fleming said pacifically, stifling a smile. She always felt she should try to record Bailey’s ‘Pshaw!’ for posterity: ‘pshaws’ were high on the endangered list for words. ‘Anyway, we’ll manage.
‘There’s just one thing, with reference to Marcus’s contacts. It’s a bit delicate.’
At once Bailey looked guarded. ‘And that is—?’
‘I’ve notified the Fiscal’s office, obviously, but I would normally report directly to Sheila Milne. The thing is, she was a friend of Marcus Lindsay’s when she was in Glasgow. And what interests me is that she all but denied it to me at first.’
Bailey’s ears almost visibly pricked up. ‘Really?’
‘Probably it’s totally unrelated, but we need it tidied up – exactly what was the relationship, and why she is so defensive? Would you consider taking that on? She’s so touchy about status, she’d probably take it very badly if a bog-standard DI tried to grill her.’
He beamed. ‘Delighted, Marjory. Give me quite a lot of satisfaction, actually, putting her on the spot for a change. It’s a while since I last did it, but I daresay it’s like riding a bicycle – the skill doesn’t desert you.’
The shadow of the cold case fell on the conversation and he went on hastily, ‘Yes – well, delighted, as I say.’ Then he said, ‘Just a minute! Lindsay was involved in the Ailsa Grant murder, and you’ve been stirring things up, haven’t you?’
He was, and she had been. It had occurred to Fleming, but she had hoped, at least, that the picture might have become clearer before Bailey made the connection. If this was in fact linked to his botched investigation, the press would hang him out to dry.
Cravenly, she looked at her watch and said, ‘Goodness, is that the time? I’ll have to get down for the briefing.’ She got up. ‘Of course we’ll consider the Grant angle. But that was a long time ago and now other factors are involved.’
After she left, Bailey sat staring at the statistical report on his desk, without reading a single word of it.
The postwoman was late in reaching Balnakenny. Aggie MacCabe took her community duties seriously, and this morning her obligation to keep her far-flung customers abreast of events had played merry hell with her official schedule.
She bumped up the track and parked her van in the yard, then with due regard for the lumps of dried mud and worse went to the back door, a plump little woman with sharp black eyes and a mouth that seemed to have grown loose from talking. She’d only a couple of letters to deliver, bills from the looks of them – the Grants’ post was always disappointing – and the usual junk mail she was paid to dump on folk. Not that she’d get away with that here: Jean would sniff, then refuse to take it, and Aggie would need to find a bin on the way back.
Jean was, as usual, waiting in the doorway. She looked pointedly at her watch but said nothing.
‘Morning, Jean!’ Aggie said cheerfully, holding out the letters, then, at a look from Jean, taking back the fliers. ‘Sorry I’m late. There’s a lot of folk upset this morning.’
She was gratified to see the stand-offish Jean looking so interested. She even said, ‘Upset?’
‘About the
murder
!’ Aggie delivered the news with relish. ‘That Marcus Lindsay – him that’s the TV star. Stabbed to death in his own house! They’ve arrested that Kevin Docherty. Just out of the jail, ken – a scandal, that’s what it is!’
She scanned Jean’s face greedily. Was that a flicker of surprise? But Jean only pursed her thin lips, said, ‘Sort of man he is, he most likely asked for it,’ then turned and shut the door on the disappointed Aggie.
But not before Aggie had seen her give a grim smile – which would make quite a good story for tomorrow’s round.
The briefing had been straightforward, with no awkward issues raised and duties being routinely assigned: a couple of detectives to tie up the details of the break-in, the rest knocking doors in and around Ardhill, Tansy Kerr assigned to a preliminary interview with Jaki Johnston. The SOCOs were working at Tulach House and a footprints expert from Glasgow had been promised.
That was the straightforward bit. The big picture was rather different. Now, when she was supposed to be shifting paperwork at speed, Fleming sat tapping her front teeth with a fingernail.
So far, the only people she’d involved in the cold case were MacNee and a Force Civilian Assistant, detailed to track down witnesses and trace any forensic samples retained when the Kirkluce mortuary was closed down. There had been, as far as Fleming knew, no gossip in the corridors.
There was a clear, possible link with the attack on Marcus. It needed thorough investigation, but once that had been openly canvassed within the Force, how long would it be before the press found out? It was a great story.
Press interest – avid, most likely, in this case – could drive the investigation, and they would assume this was the only direction to look in. But when nasty games with knives started, there was an urgent need to put a stop to them before worse things happened. Her first duty was to protect the public, and if she had to waste time justifying an angle she was taking, it might mean a knife being used again to even more devastating effect.
But if the press somehow made the connection anyway, and ran a story that she was involved in some sort of cover-up, it would be serious trouble. It was a question of policy, which at any other time she would have talked through with Bailey – now obviously impossible.
She’d always discussed cases with MacNee; their brainstorming sessions were central to her method of working. Tam on policy, though? He was a tactics man, bored by strategy: he’d never wanted to rise above sergeant, because the broader issues didn’t interest him.
His was, in a way, a more idealistic attitude. Or perhaps it was just an adult extension of childhood games of Cowboys and Indians – or more probably Protestants versus Catholics, given Tam’s background. You went after the bad guys until you got them, and if it caused trouble on the way, tough, which wasn’t really a message she could give her superiors. It should be, maybe, but it was also a reliable shortcut to your P45.
Even so, it might be useful to talk it through with Tam this afternoon before committing herself. Even if he brushed aside as irrelevant the worrying questions, arguing with him would clarify her own thinking.
But, she wondered suddenly, where was MacNee? He hadn’t said much at the briefing and, now she came to think of it, hadn’t volunteered information about his own plans.
He wasn’t in the CID room and she called his mobile. From the background sounds, he was in the car.
‘Tam! Where are you? You didn’t say what you were doing today.’
‘No. Everyone else was talking and anyway, I just thought I’d have a wee discreet nose around. Do you mind Marcus Lindsay mentioned he knew some Hodges who live in Sandhead? I thought I’d have a word, ask if they knew anyone with a grudge against him.’
‘The Hodges? Mmm. And then you’ll segue into questions about Ailsa Grant, maybe?’ She could read him like a book: his money was obviously on a link between the cases. ‘I wanted to discuss that with you, since I can’t talk to the Super about it. I’m not sure we’re ready to follow up that connection until the dust’s settled a bit.’
‘Trust me. It’ll only come up in the way of conversation, kinda subtly, ken?’
‘Your idea of subtlety, MacNee, is to kick someone in the backside instead of giving them a Glasgow kiss. You’re on your own, aren’t you? You’d be better heading over to Ardhill and teaming up with Andy Mac.’
‘I’ll see if I’ve time. Oh, I think I’m losing the signal.’ The phone went dead.
‘
The best-laid schemes . . .
’ Trying to force MacNee into compliance with general policy left you feeling as helpless as the wee, sleekit, cowering, timorous beastie. And it was a bad day when Fleming started coming up with Burns quotations even when MacNee wasn’t there.
12
Jaki Johnston looked as if she had the hangover from hell, DC Tansy Kerr thought sympathetically. Her creamy complexion had a greenish tinge and the shadows round her heavy eyes looked as if they were smeared on with kohl. She was at the table in the B & B’s front room with a plate of cold scrambled egg in front of her, so it didn’t look as if she’d taken full advantage of the second half of the deal. And the way she kept yawning, she didn’t seem to have got much out of the first half either.
There was a three-bar electric fire burning and the small room was stiflingly hot. Kerr had removed her coat, then her sweater, and was now in a T-shirt, but even so was uncomfortable. The sun was shining in too, and she ventured to say, ‘Isn’t it a bit hot in here?’ but Jaki, huddled in a thick jacket, looked at her with lacklustre eyes.
‘First time I’ve been properly warm in days,’ she said, and Kerr realized she’d just have to sweat it out, to coin a phrase. She only wished she’d asked the kindly owner to bring her iced water instead of coffee.
‘Feeling pretty rough?’ Kerr asked.
‘You really don’t want to know.’ Jaki pushed her chair back from the table and held her hands out to the fire, as if she were still cold. They were shaking.
With her in this state, questioning could class as police brutality. ‘Look, you don’t have to talk to us now if you don’t feel up to it. We can wait – you gave us enough to be going on with last night, and now we know Mr Lindsay’s all right we can expect some of the answers from him.’
Jaki shook her head. ‘I’d rather talk. I keep running it over and over inside my head anyway, and it’s making me feel like I’m losing it completely.’
She took Kerr through last night’s events, from the moment the doorbell rang to the arrival of the ambulance, in graphic detail. She mentioned she had slipped and almost fallen on the terrace in her haste to reach Marcus, which neatly answered one of Kerr’s scheduled questions.
In fact, there was little of significance which Kerr hadn’t already heard at the briefing that morning. She stopped Jaki only once, when she talked about Sylvia Lascelles screaming. ‘Did Miss Lascelles see what happened?’
‘She must have seen something, but it was chaos at the time, and then she went in the ambulance with Marcus.’
Big Marge had said she’d be talking to Sylvia and Lindsay later today, so that would be taken care of, and Jaki wasn’t suddenly going to remember she’d seen whoever it was sticking the knife in Lindsay’s back. The best Kerr could hope for now was background, something to suggest a new angle.
‘You mentioned Kevin Docherty last night,’ she said.
Jaki shuddered. ‘Gives me the creeps, just thinking about him.’
‘He’s been charged with another offence he committed last night, nothing to do with this. Don’t worry – he’ll be off the streets for the next bit anyway.
‘So someone else wanted Marcus Lindsay dead. Anyone got it in for him? In the cast, say – professional jealousy, maybe?’
Jaki shook her head. ‘Everyone likes Marcus – he doesn’t come over all grand like some stars do. He was brilliant to me when I was new to the cast and feeling awkward.’
‘You’re his girlfriend?’
‘Well – was, to be honest. We’ve been putting on a front meantime – you can imagine the gossip, with everyone together like this – but we’d agreed it was over.’
The favour of the lead man could do quite a lot for an unknown actress’s career. If he had changed his mind about her . . . Jaki seemed convincingly honest, but then she was an actress, and she had, after all, been found with Lindsay’s blood all over her hands. The question had to be asked. ‘Agreed?’ Kerr said, as neutrally as she could.
‘Oh yes.’
If the ready reply was acting, she was certainly good. And she was going on, ‘It was only ever a bit of fun, really. I was crazy for him at the time, but I kind of knew he was too old for me – or else I was too young for him. We had good times, though – really clicked. And I made him laugh.
‘It was being down here finished it.’ Jaki pulled a rueful face. ‘Though, if I’m honest, it was starting to cool off a bit before that. But here, when he was around Sylvia – I felt like I was twelve years old.’ She hesitated. ‘It was all kind of weird, him and Sylvia.’
‘Weird?’ Kerr asked gently.
It was all the prompting Jaki needed. Laddie Lazansky’s wife, his mistress and the games of ignorance they had played, involving the young Marcus, all spilled out. ‘Probably they’d call it sophisticated, but frankly it seems a bit sick to me.’ Jaki wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘And what got to me was how Sylvia would go on like theirs was the romance of the century, but Marcus said his father would never leave his mother because he liked her house too much. And it’s a spooky place – have you been there?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Oh, it’s probably beautiful and stuff. But everything creaked, even when no one was moving about, and the atmosphere – it’s so freezing cold, I kept feeling as if something was standing behind me, breathing icy cold down my neck. And then they rabbited on and on about Marcus’s father, and there were all these photos, till I began to feel it was probably him. He was like one of those old pin-ups, with sort of greasy, slicked-back hair. Creepy. But Sylvia thought he was George Clooney and Jude Law rolled into one. And she got a kick out of just being in his house, with his son if she couldn’t have him. Weird, like I said.’