by T F Muir
‘Why the plumbers?’
‘Because plumbers are sexy.’
‘Right.’ He gripped the steering wheel. Well, there he had it. Plumbers over posties any time. He put his car phone on speaker, got through to Mhairi. ‘I’d like you to go over the statements once more of everyone who’s delivered, fixed, or sold anything at the mansion,’ he said, and glanced at Jessie. ‘Starting with the plumbers.’
‘Anything I should be looking for in particular, sir?’
‘The possibility that Andrea Davis was having sex with some or all of them.’
‘Would you like me to question Ms Davis about—’
‘Let’s review the statements first,’ he said, ‘and if anything glares at you, bring them in again and ask them directly. And while you’re at it, I want you to review all the printouts I’ve asked from Jackie.’
‘Will do, sir.’
Gilchrist ended the call.
‘Maybe we should just ask them directly first,’ Jessie said.
Gilchrist said nothing. Jessie’s belief that Andrea Davis was having sex was important only in that, if confirmed, then she’d been lying to them. Not unusual, he knew, but it struck him that Jessie’s throwaway comment that an early morning shag was the reason for the missing twenty minutes might not be far off the mark.
‘The more we look into this family,’ Jessie said, ‘the more we’re seeing how fucked up they are. Rachel Novo threatened to kill her father at the age of twelve if he didn’t stop molesting her? Yet we don’t know if Andrea was molested by her father, too.’
‘You’re saying she’s messed up because of what happened to her as a child?’
‘I’m saying that this meeting with Dougal Davis could be timely. Maybe we should just ask him straight out.’
‘As in . . .?’
‘As in, have you shagged both of your daughters?’
‘Not quite the words I’d use,’ he said. ‘But close.’
Gilchrist worked his way through the Edinburgh traffic and arrived at the offices of DBD Global Investments in Queen Street just before 1 p.m. It took another ten minutes of driving around before he managed to find a spot at a parking meter.
‘Cost of parking would scare you shitless.’ Jessie fingered deep into her purse, and slid three fifty-pence pieces into the meter. ‘How come you never have any change?’
‘Because I’m the guy who buys the beer.’
‘What if I’m off beer?’
‘I can’t help that.’
They found DBD Global Investment offices on the top floor. Four skylight windows spotted with bird-shit brightened an area that could only be described as drab – not quite what Gilchrist had been expecting of a global head office. A matronly receptionist with a bun that went out of fashion in the fifties eyed him and Jessie as they approached.
They flashed their warrant cards in exchange for being shown grey teeth.
‘We’re here to talk to Dougal Davis,’ Gilchrist said.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll see if Mr Davis is in—’
‘He’s in,’ Jessie said. ‘And we’re going to talk to him, so save yourself the effort.’
‘I’ll see if Mr Davis is available, then.’
Gilchrist held up his hand to cut Jessie short. ‘Tell Mr Davis we don’t intend to take up much of his time.’
She took their names, writing them down with care. ‘If you have a seat,’ she said, ‘I’m sure Mr Davis will be with you shortly.’
Gilchrist took Jessie by the arm, and led her to a sofa that lined the wall next to the entrance. A pile of magazines – Smart Investor, Money Market, World Finance – lay on a coffee table that could do with a lick of polish, or just binning. He picked up World Finance, flicked through it without reading anything, then replaced it. With nothing to invest, what was the point? A floorboard creaked. A beam ticked. A phone rang somewhere, then was silenced. The whole area had a sense of being run down.
Maybe this was what became of disgraced MSPs.
Jessie shifted by his side, texting Robert, as best he could tell, which reminded him of his own unread messages from Cooper. He retrieved his mobile, feeling somewhat guilty that he had not given any more thought to her sad news. Three messages appeared on the screen as separate yellow speech bubbles that displayed the date and time to the nearest second, and each a short one-liner.
call me b xx
please?
need to talk
Gilchrist checked the times against each one.
The first was sent just over four minutes before the last, but with his mobile broken – or SIM card loose – he had not replied. Was that why she had ignored him that morning on the beach, believing his failure to reply was his way of saying he wanted nothing more—
‘Mr Davis will see you now.’
Jessie almost jumped to her feet. ‘About time,’ she said, as a door to the side of the receptionist’s desk opened and a white-haired man, with a face that looked more ruddy and bloated in the flesh than on the TV, stood in the doorway.
‘I don’t have much time,’ Davis said to them.
‘Neither do we,’ Jessie said, and brushed past him.
In Davis’s office, Gilchrist was surprised to find the well-dressed figure of Simon Copestake standing by the corner of the desk – which explained Davis’s delay in meeting them; a quick call to Hughes Copestake Solicitors in the neighbouring building had brought his favourite solicitor running over.
Jessie stood next to one of two chairs that fronted Davis’s desk, ignoring Copestake.
The door closed behind Gilchrist with a hard click.
‘I understand you two have already met,’ Davis said, his voice booming.
‘Not in person,’ Copestake said, and held his hand out.
Gilchrist shook it, then introduced Jessie as, ‘Detective Sergeant Jessica Janes.’
Jessie ignored Copestake’s outstretched hand while Davis slumped into a well-worn leather chair behind his desk. A slatted blind hung on the window behind Davis and offered a glimpse of a dark-stoned building on the opposite side of a narrow lane.
‘I would hope you’re going to tell me that you’ve found my granddaughter,’ Davis began, ‘and that you’re here in person to apologise for taking so long to do so. But from the looks on your faces, I fear that might be somewhat presumptuous of me. Correct?’
‘Correct,’ Jessie said.
Copestake had repositioned himself by the corner of the desk, and now stood looking down at Gilchrist. He was not a tall man – maybe five ten – so standing gave him a sense of advantage. ‘So what’s the purpose of this visit?’ he asked Gilchrist.
‘To enquire if Mr Davis has any information that might help us locate his missing granddaughter.’
‘So you’re no further forward.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Well I don’t have any information that could possibly help you,’ Davis grumbled.
‘We’ll decide whether you have or not.’
Davis leaned forward, and lowered his head, eyes glaring as if his face was about to explode. ‘I have to say, Mr Gilchrist, that in my view, if my personal television appeal had not been so eagerly overturned by your Constabulary yesterday, you might have had some more encouraging news to tell me today.’
‘In our view,’ Jessie snapped, ‘you may already have compromised our investigation and put your granddaughter’s life at unnecessary risk. Have you thought of that?’
Davis glared at Jessie, as if willing her to explode.
Gilchrist looked up at Copestake. ‘I take it you’ve advised your client of yesterday’s conversation and the contents of my email to you.’
‘Yes, he did,’ Davis growled, snapping his glare from Jessie to Gilchrist. ‘And I didn’t much care for your attitude.’
Gilchrist held Davis’s rheumy stare, as loathing stirred within him. Here was a man who had abused his trust as a father, husband, MSP, and who h
ad learned nothing from that experience. He resisted the urge to warn Davis that his unauthorised video appeal could be perceived as obstructing the police, or even attempting to pervert the course of justice, and instead said, ‘Do you love Katie?’
‘Of course I love her. What kind of a question is that, for God’s sake?’
‘And it’s clear from yesterday’s TV appeal that you would do anything within your power to get her back.’
‘Which beggars the bloody question of why your incompetent lot withdrew it.’
Gilchrist held up his hand while Davis’s outraged look evaporated. ‘If you love your granddaughter, and would do anything for her . . . ’ He watched Davis’s eyes flicker with uncertainty, then he lowered his hand. ‘Then help us find her.’
Davis harrumphed, glanced at Copestake as if searching for approval, then directed his stare back to Gilchrist. ‘That’s your job. Not mine. And I suggest you bloody well get on with it, instead of wasting my time—’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Jessie said. ‘You couldn’t give a toss about Katie. Could you? All you want to do is get your face seen on TV.’
‘What did you just say?’
‘We’ve spoken to Rachel.’
‘Who?’
‘Your other daughter. She told us what happened when she was twelve.’
Davis pushed his seat back, brushed Copestake’s hand from his shoulder. ‘How dare you—’
‘How dare I what? Listen to a woman tell us of how you molested her at the age of twelve—?’
‘Get out—’
‘How she had to threaten you with a knife to get you to stop.’
Davis struggled to his feet. ‘Get out.’
Jessie stood. ‘Did you do the same to Andrea? Is that why she’s so fucked up—’
‘Get out of my fucking office right now before I call the police and have you thrown out and charged with . . . with . . . ’
Jessie leaned across the desk. ‘We are the police. And we’ll be taking a closer look into your daughter’s allegations of sexual abuse. So why not take a few seconds to think about that?’
Davis put a hand to his forehead and turned to Copestake. ‘Simon? Please?’
‘I’ll see you both out,’ Copestake said, and strode from Davis’s side.
Behind her desk, the receptionist was busy stacking one pile of papers on to another, tight-lipped, eyes fixed like beads. Copestake led them to the main door, and stepped from the office, Gilchrist and Jessie behind him.
When Copestake closed the door, Gilchrist said, ‘Would you like to talk outside?’
Copestake glanced over his shoulder, then shook his head. ‘Here’s fine,’ he said. ‘But don’t be surprised when you receive a letter of complaint.’
‘We will be looking into Rachel Novo’s allegations against your client, whether or not he writes a formal letter of complaint. You understand that, I’m sure.’
Copestake took a deep breath, then let it out. ‘These twins of his,’ he said, shaking his head as if at the absurdity of it all. ‘They’ve been the bane of Dougal’s life. He’s always said his life would have been different if he’d had boys instead of girls.’
‘What, no one to touch up?’ Jessie said.
Copestake snapped her a look. ‘That tongue of yours is going to land you in trouble.’
‘I’m sure it will.’
Gilchrist said, ‘Twins?’
‘Rachel and Andrea.’ Copestake’s eyebrows raised, and his lips pulled into a grin of feigned disbelief. ‘You didn’t know, did you? Oh my. Shouldn’t even the most basic of investigations have found that out?’
Gilchrist could almost read the letter of complaint forming in Copestake’s mind. ‘Not if everyone’s withholding information from us,’ he said.
Copestake turned to the door. ‘You’ll be hearing from my client, no doubt.’
‘Can’t wait,’ Jessie said, leaving Gilchrist to follow her to the lift.
CHAPTER 15
‘I hate bastards like that,’ Jessie said. ‘You think he’ll take it further?’
Gilchrist beeped his remote fob as he crossed the street. ‘I’m sure he will.’
‘Even though we’ll be looking into his daughter’s allegations of sexual abuse?’
‘Maybe we won’t be doing that.’
Jessie almost stopped. ‘Jesus, Andy,’ she gasped. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’
Gilchrist reached for the door handle. ‘Confucius, he say, before insert spoon-load of shit into mouth, make sure Rachel telling truth.’
‘That’s going to be difficult. She might not want to talk about it.’
‘Exactly,’ Gilchrist said, slotting the key into the ignition. ‘But I’m more pissed off that no one knew Andrea and Rachel are twins.’ He shook his head. ‘Made us look like a right pair of plonkers back there.’
Jessie grimaced and slipped on her seat belt.
Gilchrist received CS Greaves’s call as they were crossing the Forth Road Bridge.
‘Just had the Chief Constable biting my ear off,’ Greaves said to him.
‘How is he these days?’ Gilchrist asked.
Greaves gave a dry chuckle. ‘Always the smart comment, Andy. It never fails.’
Gilchrist tightened his grip on the steering wheel. One hundred and fifty feet beneath them, the dark waters of the River Forth slid towards the North Sea like some liquid titan.
‘The Chief’s received a lengthy phone call from an irate Dougal Davis who alleges that you accused him of molesting his daughter—’
‘Both daughters,’ Jessie chipped in.
A pause, then, ‘Who’s this speaking?’
‘DS Jessica Janes, sir. And it was me who raised these allegations, sir, not DCI Gilchrist.’
Gilchrist said, ‘I have you on speaker phone, sir.’
‘Well, get me off speaker phone, damn it.’
Jessie said, ‘Under the circumstances, sir, perhaps you should be talking to me, and not DCI Gilchrist. After all, Mr Davis’s verbal complaint to the Chief Constable should be directed at me.’
‘Are you trying to get yourself suspended, DS Janes?’
‘No, sir. But in the course of our investigation into Katie Davis’s abduction, we’ve uncovered evidence that Dougal Davis sexually abused one of his daughters, and we believe he may have abused both. He denied it, of course. Hence his obvious first line of attack by verbal complaint to the Chief Constable.’
Gilchrist glanced at Jessie, surprised to see her eyes welling. She was in so deep, she had no way of getting out. On instinct, he reached across the seat and squeezed her shoulder.
She glanced at him, and a tear spilled down her cheek.
Gilchrist sliced his hand across his throat in a say-no-more gesture, and said, ‘What exactly did the Chief Constable say, sir?’
‘What didn’t he say, would be an easier question to answer.’
Silent, Gilchrist drove on.
‘He wants a written report on your investigation into the Davis abduction on his desk by close of play today. Also a written report on your meeting with Dougal Davis. And don’t even think about trying to soften it. He wants the truth.’
‘And that’s what he’ll get,’ Jessie said.
‘I’m not finished, damn it.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘And he wants you to give him a call, Andy. Without delay.’
‘I’ll do that, sir.’
‘Do you have his number?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Good. And I want a copy of everything you send him.’
‘Anything else, sir?’
‘Is that not enough?’
The line died.
‘Jesus,’ Jessie said, and let her breath out in a heavy rush. ‘I’m going to have to learn to keep that trap of mine shut right enough.’
‘It wouldn’t suit you.’ Gilchrist smiled at her. ‘Besides, we might never have found out about his daughters being twins if you hadn’t worked them into a lather.’
Jessie looked away, and stared out the window.
Gilchrist waited for a clear stretch of road before calling Chief Constable McVicar. Despite Greaves’s theatrics, Gilchrist knew McVicar to be fair; someone who would listen to all sides of the story, then come down like a sledgehammer on whichever party he deemed to be at fault, regardless of rank or personal history. Gilchrist had felt the heavy end of that hammer once before, and made a promise never to experience it again.
But sometimes stuff happens, and you just have to get on with it.
He made the call.
Introductions over, Gilchrist said, ‘I’m driving, sir, and have you on speaker phone. DS Jessica Janes is in the car with me.’
‘Very well, then, Andy. What can you tell me about Dougal Davis?’
‘He’s obstructive, argumentative, disrespectful, misogynistic, abusive, and walking on thin ice, sir?’
‘Thin ice, Andy?’
Gilchrist explained the phone call with Rachel Novo.
‘Good Lord,’ McVicar said. ‘The man’s his own worst enemy. What do you intend to do with this information?’
Gilchrist could not fail to catch a softening in McVicar’s tone, and decided to take the initiative. ‘Now would not be the time to be seen bringing formal charges against a missing child’s grandfather, sir. Not until we know more about the abduction.’ He brought McVicar up to speed, and felt a nip of worry at the Chief’s lack of comment – a telling sign that he was far from pleased. ‘I understand you know the missing child’s grandmother,’ Gilchrist tried. ‘Vera Davis, sir.’
The comment seemed to stun McVicar into silence for a couple of beats. ‘I do. Yes.’
‘Did you ever meet her daughters, Rachel and Andrea?’
‘Only once,’ McVicar said. ‘When they were in their early teens.’
‘What were they like as twins?’
‘Can’t remember much about them, to tell you the truth. But what I do recall, now you mention it, is that I don’t think I’d ever before seen twins look so unalike.’
Gilchrist glanced at Jessie, who looked as confused as he felt.
‘So, what’s this about, Andy?’ McVicar went on.