by T F Muir
‘I’ve never denied it.’
‘You also never offered it as an explanation of your involvement.’
‘Why should I? You’re the police. You work it out.’
‘You could have save hundreds of wasted man hours—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You have a licence for that gun?’ Gilchrist tried.
She smiled at that, then realigned her aim, the gun as steady as ever.
Gilchrist resisted turning his head away from the dark hole of the barrel. ‘Put it away,’ he said, ‘so we don’t have to arrest you.’
Novo returned a vacant look, and for one disconcerting moment Gilchrist thought she was just going to pull the trigger and to hell with the consequences. ‘If I do, will you tell me what led you to here, of all places?’
Gilchrist had been held at gunpoint before. Even though he had the impression he was being toyed with, he knew better than to argue with any trigger-happy gunman. ‘I’d like to know – why?’ he said. ‘Why did you have your daughter abducted?’
‘I didn’t.’
That had always been a worry of Gilchrist’s, that Annette Kirkwood had coughed out Novo’s name simply to deflect police attention away from her and her husband. But Novo’s answer was too fast, too assured. It lacked surprise, as if she’d been prepared, and couldn’t wait to spit out her primed response to prove her innocence.
‘We know Sandy removed Katie,’ he said. ‘And took her to Dumfries.’
‘Good for you.’
Again no surprise, as if Novo had already known Katie was in Dumfries. He thought back to their meeting in London, to his bold accusation that she knew of Katie’s whereabouts, and to her consequent clamming up against his onslaught of questions.
‘You keep in contact with Sandy,’ he said. ‘We know that.’
‘He’s my stepfather. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Because you don’t communicate with your family. Your words.’
‘Maybe I don’t consider Sandy to be part of my family.’
It seemed surreal to be having a conversation with a gun pointed at him. But he knew it was often easier to obtain answers when the person being questioned believed they were in control – or, in Novo’s case, above the law.
‘So why did Sandy abduct Katie?’ he asked.
‘I wouldn’t know.’ A smile tickled her lips. ‘You’d have to ask him.’
‘It’s convenient for you that he’s dead,’ Jessie said.
Novo’s gaze slid away from Gilchrist to settle on Jessie, and something in the cold blackness of her eyes told Gilchrist that here was a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted; maybe even kill to keep whatever secret she was hiding. Which seemed to bring him full circle, and beg the question – why?
He felt his heart flutter as Novo adjusted her aim once more, this time pointing the gun at Jessie’s stomach. And it struck him then that, with the leylandii hedges, Novo could pull the trigger and no one outside would see a thing. Which provided an answer that seemed so simple he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.
You could sunbathe in the nude – a rarity in Scotland, he would be the first to confess – or make love on the lawn, even hold a party out there in the middle of summer, and no one would see you. Which was the whole point of a secret rendezvous, was it not?
‘This is where you and Sandy meet,’ he said, aware of Jessie turning her head to question him.
Novo looked puzzled, too, and not as confident as seconds earlier.
He was questioning himself, if the truth be known, but once you stripped the problem down to its basics, there really was only the one answer.
Novo shifted her stance, jiggled her gun at him, a silent demand for his answer.
‘I thought you were going to put the gun down,’ he said.
She pointed it at him with outstretched arm, then opened her hand, an invitation for him to take it from her. Which he did, finding that it was a plastic lookalike that had certainly done the trick – scared him and Jessie almost into submission.
‘It’s a fake,’ he said to Jessie, and placed the gun on the kitchen table.
‘Jesus fuck,’ Jessie cursed. ‘I should arrest you for—’
‘For what? Trying to protect myself from what I thought were two burglars?’
‘Right, that’s it.’ Jessie stepped forward, reaching for her plasticuffs.
‘Arrest me.’ Novo held her hands out together. ‘Go on.’
But Gilchrist raised his hand and caught Jessie’s eye, and she returned to her spot by the window. Then he looked hard at Novo.
‘You never phone your mother,’ he said. ‘But you phone your stepfather.’ He looked at the kitchen units, the spotlights in the ceiling, the grouting in the tiled flooring. ‘This is his house, a place he kept secret from some people.’ He returned his gaze to her. ‘Like your mother, for example.’
Novo chuckled. But it sounded false.
‘You didn’t force your way in,’ he went on. ‘You have a key, which tells me you were close to Sandy. But how close?’ He let his question dangle in the air, just to gauge a reaction. But Novo was not for biting, so he said, ‘Were you having an affair with him?’
She guffawed at that. ‘I’m not that bloody desperate,’ she said.
He watched her eyes dance, and in that fleeting moment had a sense of his rationale being turned upside down, as if all the rules in the world had been swapped for a new reality. Until that moment, he had thought Andrea was the disturbed child, the weaker twin who had suffered irreparable mental harm at the hands of a sexually perverted father. But now he came to suspect that Rachel was every bit as damaged.
Still, he had to push.
‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘But Sandy had his uses.’
‘Did you catch old Sandy with his trousers at his ankles?’ Jessie chipped in. ‘Giving his lover one?’
Gilchrist thought Novo’s cockiness wavered, an indication that Jessie might be close to the truth. But he was still missing something.
‘Were you blackmailing him?’ he tried. ‘Was that how you got him to do your dirty work? Abducting Katie, and delivering her to your friend, Annette? We know that, too. That you and Annette went to university together.’
‘I didn’t order Sandy to do any such thing.’ Novo tilted her head, as if she’d heard a noise from behind. ‘Let’s talk in the lounge.’
‘Oh, lovely. Tea and biscuits?’ Jessie quipped. ‘Milk, no sugar.’
‘In your dreams, you little trollop.’
For one unsettling moment, Gilchrist thought Jessie was going to launch herself at Novo, and he caught her eye again, watched the moment pass.
But Novo’s abrupt change in manner puzzled him.
In the lounge, he walked to the far wall and stood with his back to the window. He was intrigued at how Novo’s eyes never stilled; how they searched the air around her, as if looking for something. Or . . . Or maybe . . .
Maybe wondering about the time?
‘You’re expecting someone,’ he said.
Novo smiled, a narrow parting of her lips, more pain than pleasure.
‘Who?’ he asked.
‘Patience is a virtue,’ she said. ‘It won’t be long now.’
Gilchrist agreed. It wouldn’t be long . . . until he arrested her.
She was toying with them. He had too many questions, not enough answers, and his mind continued to spit up more. Why was Novo here? Why this house? Was Sandy the key? Was she having an affair with him? From an incestuous relationship as a child, to another as an adult? Or did stepfathers not count in the statistics governing incest . . .?
‘Was Sandy easy to blackmail?’ Jessie asked.
Novo sneered and said, ‘I’ve never blackmailed anybody.’
‘What did you have on him?’
‘You’re clutching at straws,’ Novo said.
‘I’m not the one drowning,’ Jessie snapped, and gave her a twitch of a smile.
‘
Did you take photographs of Sandy?’ Gilchrist tried.
‘Why would I do that?’ Novo said.
‘Photographs are always good for blackmail.’
She tutted at that, and shook her head, but Gilchrist thought he was homing in.
‘So where do you keep your computer files?’ he asked. ‘Not on a hard drive; probably a memory stick.’ He watched her eyes give a nervous twitch. ‘You must take your files with you whenever you fly off somewhere. Like China. So a memory stick would be useful. You must have one with you.’
‘I sometimes wonder about the police,’ she said. ‘Poking and prodding and searching for answers when there’s none to be found.’
Gilchrist nodded, unconvinced. They could search her personal belongings once they had her in custody. And he would bet the barn that they would find a memory stick and, on it, maybe photographs of Rutherford in some compromising position. But for the time being he was content to bide his time, just listen to Novo.
‘We have CCTV footage of Sandy driving Katie to the Kirkwoods,’ he said.
Novo shook her head, uninterested.
‘And I was surprised to hear that your late husband, Dimitri, died in Tangier.’
That comment brought a stillness to her being, as if she were holding her breath to see what else he could surprise her with.
‘An apparent heart attack. But there are drugs on the market that do that now.’ He watched his words push deep into her mind, and thought it strange how she seemed to liven – rather than sink into sadness – at the memory of her dear departed.
Something caught his eye then, a shadow at the window, almost at the same moment as his mobile vibrated. He retrieved it from his pocket as the doorbell rang, and Novo turned and walked from the room.
He eyed the screen – a text from Jackie; a list of names, one he recognised, which had him frowning. He read on, searching for the gist of the message, and felt his heart give a flutter as he realised that this was a list of guests at the same hotel in Tangier when Dimitri was found dead on the beach.
Mumbled voices reverberated in the hallway, giving him time to send a text to Jackie, asking her to check the guest list at another hotel. Then he had time only to make eye contact with Jessie as a man’s voice – its polished tones vaguely familiar – echoed from the hallway.
The door opened and Novo entered the lounge, followed by Simon Copestake.
Jessie’s frown turned into a grimace. ‘We’ve been waiting for your solicitor?’
Novo ignored her, smiled at Copestake. ‘I believe you’ve met everyone here.’
‘Yes.’ Copestake nodded to Jessie, then Gilchrist, and said, ‘You look perplexed.’
‘Just wondering what you’re doing here,’ Gilchrist replied.
‘To provide legal advice. What else?’
What else indeed? thought Gilchrist.
Which he might be able to answer if he knew why Copestake’s name was on the list of guests at that Tangier hotel.
CHAPTER 37
‘My client tells me you’ve been harassing her,’ Copestake said. ‘That you entered her place of residence unannounced. She’s instructed me to file a formal complaint.’
‘Quite the family of formal complainers,’ Jessie quipped.
Gilchrist returned Copestake’s courtroom stare, seeing for the first time in his blue eyes how handsome he was – white smile, square jaw, trim build; how he could bowl over a widow bereaved of her husband; and how a holiday romance in Tangier might blossom into something more serious – behind everyone’s back.
‘You should remind your client that I’m the SIO in a missing child case—’
‘Who has now been found, thank God—’
‘And who turns out to be your client’s biological daughter,’ he snapped. ‘A critical piece of information that she never once considered passing on to us.’
Give Copestake his due, he didn’t flinch, even though it was likely that Novo had not told him that either. ‘She was not compelled to do so for personal reasons,’ he said.
‘She had a moral obligation,’ Gilchrist said, ‘and she could now be charged with obstructing the course of justice. She impeded my investigation—’
‘You’ve since recovered the child, so I fail to see how my client could be accused of impeding anything.’
With Copestake, Gilchrist knew he was up against a solicitor with a sharp mind and a tongue to match, so he pressed on, testing for feedback. ‘Nor did she disclose the fact that she knew her stepfather had abducted Katie and taken her to a friend of hers.’
Novo tutted, which almost caused sparks to fly from Jessie’s eyes.
‘My client denies all knowledge of that.’
‘She can deny it all she likes, but the facts speak for themselves—’
‘What facts?’
‘We’re standing in her late stepfather’s home, to which she has ready access—’
‘Doesn’t prove a thing. She had a good relationship with Sandy, God rest his soul.’
God rest his soul? Gilchrist felt a flush of anger surge through him at the memory of the axe, the shuddering thud as it hit flesh, the warm splatter of blood, and found his fingers touching the bandaged spot on his arm where its blade had shaved skin.
He forced their discussion back on track. ‘Rutherford didn’t know the Kirkwoods,’ he said. ‘So how did he know they were looking to adopt a child? Or who to contact? Or where to deliver Katie?’
‘You would need to ask Sandy that.’ Copestake smiled. ‘Which is now impossible to confirm one way or the other—’
‘We’re looking into his phone records.’
Copestake’s gaze shimmered to Novo for a brief moment, then he said, ‘I’m sure doing so will help your investigation.’
‘And we’ve already applied for a search warrant for this property,’ Gilchrist lied.
‘Here?’ Copestake looked amused. ‘What are you hoping to find?’
‘Photographic evidence.’
‘Of?’
Still searching, Gilchrist pushed deeper. ‘Evidence that will explain your client’s hold over her stepfather.’
‘Really?’ Another glance at Novo. ‘Such as?’
Despite his worry that Annette Kirkwood had given him Novo’s name in an attempt to divert police attention, Gilchrist didn’t want to spell it out to Copestake: how Novo was the common link between the Kirkwoods and Rutherford; or how she’d arranged her daughter’s abduction – she just had to have – if Annette had indeed told the truth.
So he said, ‘Evidence that would explain how Rutherford knew the Kirkwoods.’
Without missing a beat, Copestake said, ‘My client’s mother knew Annette Kirkwood as a child. Her husband was Sandy Rutherford. No one can legislate for pillow talk, so I still fail to see how you can connect my client to this . . . this regrettable incident.’
Gilchrist held Copestake’s smirk for a couple of beats, then glanced at Novo who had remained standing beside the hallway door. Something in her look, the smug one-upmanship, the silent condescension, had him thinking there was something wrong with this event; that the arrival of her legal representative was . . . was . . . what?
Unusual? Timely? A set-up?
Only then did some neural tumbler slot into place.
‘So tell me,’ he asked Copestake, ‘why are you really here?’
Copestake responded with a gruff sigh. ‘To offer legal advice.’
‘For a fee?’
‘That’s between me and my client.’
‘From Edinburgh?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Edinburgh to Blackford is a good hour’s drive. But here you are, in Blackford, and only fifteen minutes after we arrive. You were just passing through when your client called?’ Gilchrist said, his voice laced with sarcasm.
Copestake’s eyes blinked with confusion. But for only a moment, as his fast legal mind sorted through the danger in Gilchrist’s question. ‘I was on my way to Perth to collect some personal ef
fects for my client’s mother,’ he said, ‘when I received a call from my client telling me she was being harassed by Fife Constabulary rattling on her door. And believe me when I say this, Detective Chief Inspector, I will be filing a formal complaint.’
‘Convenient, don’t you think?’
‘What is?’
‘That you just happened to be driving to Perth.’
‘More good fortune than convenience, I would say.’
A quick glance at Novo – eyes dancing, body tensing – warned Gilchrist that he was moving ever closer to the nerve centre. ‘Let’s say for argument’s sake that you weren’t going to Perth, but were driving to Blackford to meet your client. Here. In Sandy Rutherford’s secret home. To which your client has the key.’
Copestake gave a puzzled grin. ‘I don’t accept that. It’s purely hypothetical—’
‘As hypothetical as you being in Tangier when Dimitri Novokoff had an apparent heart attack on a private beach?’
Copestake almost jolted.
‘Or in Spain the following month?’ Gilchrist said, taking a chance on that question without hearing back from Jackie about the other guest list he’d requested.
For once, Copestake was speechless. He turned to Novo, as if seeking help.
‘This is bloody ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I’m getting out of here.’
Copestake reached out for her in the passing. ‘Rachel. No. We can—’
But she brushed him off, strode across the room and into the kitchen.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Jessie shouted after her, and followed.
The speed with which events unfolded took Gilchrist by surprise.
As he pushed past Copestake, he caught the metallic clatter of a kitchen drawer being opened, and Jessie’s voice screaming, ‘Don’t—’ He entered the kitchen just as Novo thrust an outstretched arm into Jessie’s stomach, the pointed blade of a boning knife glinting under the kitchen spotlights, its handle gripped tight in her hand.
Jessie barely managed to sidestep the attack, grabbing Novo’s arm. A snap of the wrist released the knife, and a twist of the body had Novo on the tiled flooring in zero seconds flat, gasping with pained surprise.
Then Jessie cuffed Novo, telling her in a voice loud enough to be heard across the street that she was being detained under section 14 of the Criminal Procedure Scotland Act 1995 for police assault. She then cautioned Novo, and Gilchrist thought of telling Jessie just to up it to attempted murder. But he stepped in, helped Novo to her feet, led her back into the living room while Jessie called for a support vehicle. Hands cuffed behind her back, lips little more than a white line, face bruised where she’d hit the floor, Novo looked as if she’d chewed nails and was preparing to spit them out in molten fireballs.