18 - Aftershock

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Mr Skinner.’

  ‘ACC?’

  ‘Eh . . .’

  ‘Exactly. You’re not interested in the force, Weekes. You’re interested in the uniform. You like the job security, and the promise of an early pension. Most of all, though, you like the power it gives you. It lets you throw your weight about, scare the wee neds in the town centres, slap the odd law student around.’ The constable’s eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t think that’s been forgotten, do you?’ the chief superintendent challenged.

  ‘No proceedings were taken, sir.’ The response was mumbled.

  ‘None were,’ said McIlhenney, ‘but only because the divisional commander whose name you don’t even know wrote a letter of apology to the kid’s parents . . . lucky for you they weren’t lawyers themselves . . . blaming your recklessness on the stress that beat officers suffer on the job.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, sir.’

  ‘No, you thought you’d got off with a telling-off from Inspector Varley, and that’s all you cared about. You probably thought that the transfer to South Queensferry was a bonus. It wasn’t. It was what they do with an officer whose attitude might lead to him picking on the wrong ned and getting a blade stuck in him. Have you ever done any firearms training, Weekes?’ The change of subject was so swift that the man blinked, and his mouth fell open.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, when he had recovered himself. ‘Three years ago I applied for armed-response duty. I was tried out, but I didn’t get in.’

  McIlhenney knew from the file that he had been a good shot, but had fallen short in the rigorous psychological assessment given to potential members of the armed unit.

  Curiosity seemed to embolden Weekes. ‘Why do you ask, sir?’

  ‘Just wondering, that’s all.’

  McGuire checked his watch. ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘You’ve just broken the record.’

  ‘What record, sir?’

  ‘You’ve been in this room for five minutes without asking what you’re here for. The previous best was four and a half. But you don’t need to ask, Theo, do you? You bloody know why you’re here.’

  The man stuck his chest out, his first show of defiance. ‘No, sir. Sir, I’d like a Police Federation rep present.’

  ‘You’d what?’ McIlhenney exploded. ‘It’s not a Fed rep you need, it’s a lawyer . . . but you’re not having one of them either, not yet at any rate. You’re here for questioning in a murder investigation, Weekes, not for backchatting a sergeant.’

  ‘A murder investigation?’ the constable exclaimed.

  ‘Sugar Dean. You were engaged to her, until you dumped her, two years ago. True?’

  Weekes’s gaze dropped to the floor; he nodded.

  ‘Have you been locked in the bog for the last twenty-four hours, maybe missed the TV news, not seen a paper?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Did you have your eyes closed when you walked into your station this morning, past the poster with your ex’s face plastered all over it?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then why have you failed in your duty as a police officer by not volunteering the fact of your relationship with a murder victim to the officers handling the inquiry into her death?’

  Weekes’s shoulders quivered in what might have been a shrug. ‘Don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Look at us when you’re insulting us,’ McGuire ordered, ‘not at your feet.’

  The command was obeyed. ‘I never insulted you, sir.’

  ‘Of course you did. You insulted our intelligence.’

  ‘Are you two picking on me because I’m black?’ the man exclaimed.

  McGuire stared at him, in genuine astonishment. ‘Are we what? Constable, you’ve just insulted us again. We’re questioning you about what appears to us to be a serious failure on your part in your duty as a police officer. Your skin tone has nothing to do with it. You could be purple and it would make no difference to us. Is that understood?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I apologise.’

  ‘Fine, as long as we’re clear about that. Now, please answer Superintendent McIlhenney’s question.’

  ‘I never thought it was important, sir. That’s the truth.’

  McGuire sighed. ‘He’s done it again, Neil, and you know how much I hate it when suspects take the piss.’

  ‘I hoped nobody would find out,’ Weekes blurted out. ‘Okay?’

  ‘Okay?’ McGuire gasped. ‘Of course it’s not fucking okay! Why did you want to keep your broken engagement to a murder victim a secret? How did you ever think you could? Did you not think that her parents would tell us about you?’

  ‘I hoped they’d forgotten about me by now.’

  ‘Oh, no, Weekes. From what the investigating officers tell me, John Dean is not going to forget you in a hurry. Come on; for the last time, why were you so shy about being engaged to Sugar? I promise you, you’re not leaving this room without telling us the truth.’

  Weekes looked the chief superintendent in the eye, and became a believer. ‘I’m engaged again,’ he said tamely.

  ‘We know that. Her name’s Mae Grey and she’s a constable, stationed at Livingston. I don’t see your problem. Did you tell her you’re a virgin? Or were you worried that she might think you’re a bad bet, having chucked one fiancée already?’

  ‘I never chucked Sugar. She chucked me.’

  ‘Why did she let her parents think it was the other way around?’ asked McIlhenney.

  ‘I suppose she didnae want to tell them the truth.’

  ‘And what was that?’ McGuire asked impatiently.

  ‘We had problems.’

  ‘Christ, I feel like a fucking dentist here, drawing wisdom teeth. What sort of problems?’

  ‘Sexual problems.’

  ‘Elaborate,’ said McIlhenney, ‘or we really will start pulling your teeth out.’

  ‘I gave her a dose. The clap. Gonorrhoea. Ken?’

  ‘Yes, Weekes, we may be senior officers but we know what the clap is. But I’ve got a problem with that. There’s no record of it in her medical history.’

  ‘She didn’t go to her own doctor, so there wouldn’t be. She went to a clinic: we both did.’

  ‘Okay. This infection, where did you pick it up?’

  ‘Off a bird I was with.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Christ, sir, I dinnae ken.’

  ‘Casual sex, indeed. As in “Good morning and what’s your name again?” Were you on duty when this encounter took place?’

  ‘Do I have to answer that?’ The constable looked at McIlhenney hopefully.

  ‘Oh, do you ever!’ the superintendent told him.

  He nodded.

  ‘Say it!’

  ‘Yes, sir, I was on duty.’

  ‘So who was the woman?’

  ‘Inspector Varley’s wife.’

  ‘Aw, Jesus.’ McGuire groaned. ‘If you think you’ll get us to back off by telling us a story like that . . .’

  ‘It’s true, sir, honest. I had to pick the inspector up from home once. I thought she gave me the eye then, but I wasn’t sure. Then a week later I was on patrol in the shopping centre in Livingston and I saw her with a load of parcels. She said that he had the car so I ran her home, tae save her the taxi fare, ken. Ah’d no sooner dumped her bags in the kitchen than she grabbed me by the ba’s.’

  ‘Did you threaten to charge her with assault, as you should have?’ the head of CID asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You gave her one on the kitchen table instead?’

  ‘Well, it was upstairs, but aye.’

  ‘And you’re sure that Mrs Varley was the source of your later infection?’

  ‘It couldn’t have been anybody else.’

  ‘Did it ever occur to you that Sugar might have given it to you rather than the other way around?’

  ‘No, Sugar wasn’t like that. Besides,’ he added, ‘I had the symptoms before Sugar and I actually did the business ourselves.’

  ‘You inc
redible bastard.’ McGuire sighed.

  ‘I never kent what it was, though. At that stage it was a bit sore when I had a pish, that’s all. It was after that the discharge started.’

  McIlhenney leaned forward. ‘How much of the truth did you tell Sugar?’

  ‘All of it.’

  ‘So she knew that Inspector Varley’s wife puts it about?’

  ‘I told her that. I said I couldnae help it. I said I was feart she’d tell him it was me that made the move. It did no good, though. She broke it off.’

  ‘I’ll tell you something now, Weekes,’ said the superintendent, sincerely. ‘If I ever find a bloke like you around my daughter, I’ll fucking rip it off.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw Sugar Dean?’ asked McGuire.

  ‘Two months ago.’

  ‘You did? Where?’

  ‘At the Gyle. I asked her to meet me there, so I could tell her about me and Mae getting married.’

  ‘How did she react?’

  ‘She said she was pleased for me and wished me all the best. She seemed really happy for me.’

  ‘When you saw her did you refer to the break-up of your relationship?’

  ‘I might have mentioned it, sir.’

  ‘Did you ask her to promise to keep the truth to herself?’

  ‘No, sir, I didn’t, honest.’

  ‘Were you worried that she might not?’

  Weekes shifted his stance; his cap slipped from under his arm and fell to the floor. ‘Ah’ve been worried about that for the last two years, sir,’ he replied.

  ‘Do you remember Stacey Gavin?’ McIlhenney fired the question at him.

  He frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘Do better.’

  The constable wrinkled his brow as if to give the impression of thought. ‘Was she the lass that was murdered in South Queensferry?’

  ‘That’s the girl. Were you on duty that day?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Were you at the scene?’

  Weekes shook his head. ‘No, sir, I was baby-sitting a probationer that week, so the desk sergeant sent Taffy Jones and Meg Ritchie.’

  ‘Did you talk to them afterwards?’

  ‘I might have. They got the piss taken out of them when it turned out to be a murder. They came back saying it was an overdose.’

  ‘But that’s all?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  McIlhenney leaned back, handing the floor to McGuire. ‘Back to attention, Weekes,’ said the head of CID. ‘I’m advising you that I’m recommending that the chief constable issues a formal reprimand to you because of your failure to offer information immediately on your relationship with Sugar Dean. That was a clear dereliction of duty, whatever the reason. I’m ordering you now to rectify that omission by going to the investigation team, and making a formal statement to Detective Inspector Stallings, who’s in charge. If she should ask you for details of your break-up, you may tell her for the record that you decided you didn’t want to marry her after all. That’s what her family believe, and it’s fine with me.’ He stood, for the first time since Weekes had entered the room. ‘Now get the fuck out of my sight, and don’t even dream of ever applying for CID.’

  The two colleagues watched the door as it closed behind him. ‘Do you believe him?’ the superintendent asked.

  ‘Dunno,’ McGuire admitted. ‘You?’

  ‘I’m not ruling him out. I’m going to check Jock Varley’s record, to see if he had any sick leave a couple of years back.’

  ‘Do that, and go further. Tell Shannon to do a Special Branch vetting job on Varley; I want access to his medical records, and his wife’s. Plus, get her to check all the places in our area that offer advice on sexual matters. She’s to look for records of Sugar and the shit that just left here, and also to see if the Varleys were treated anywhere too.’ He looked at McIlhenney once more. ‘Could he have done it?’

  ‘You heard him, Mario. He’s been worried for two years that she might spill the beans. Maybe he decided to make sure she didn’t, and set her up to look like Stacey Gavin as cover.’

  ‘Is he that clever?’

  ‘Desperate people do desperate things. Let’s see if we can find out where he was when Sugar died. We didn’t put that to him, but I’ll make sure Stallings does, just to keep him on edge. If he satisfies her, fair enough; if not, we look further. Meanwhile, I’m going to have a talk with PC Mae Grey. Maybe the lass needs to know what she’s marrying.’

  Twenty-eight

  ‘Thank God for satellite navigation,’ said Aileen, as they passed the sign that advised them they were entering the town of Collioure. ‘That was quite complicated after we left the motorway.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ Bob protested. ‘I’m a police officer: I know how to follow traffic signs.’

  ‘Then why did you have the system installed in the car?’

  ‘I didn’t; Alex did, so she can go exploring when she’s out here. She uses the Spanish place more than I do now. She grabs cheap weekend flights whenever she can.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘I never ask. We had this deal, before Sarah, in her final school years, and when she was starting university. Information like that was never sought by either of us, only volunteered, if we chose.’

  Aileen smiled. ‘And did you always stick to that?’

  ‘Sure, but she always told me what she was up to.’

  ‘Did you always approve of her boyfriends?’ she asked, teasing.

  ‘Sure, once I’d had them checked out.’

  ‘What? You had your daughter’s teenage boyfriends vetted?’

  ‘Too bloody right. So would you, in my situation.’

  ‘Did you ever veto anyone?’

  Bob frowned. ‘There was one guy, when she was nineteen, who gave her trouble, very bad trouble.’

  ‘What did you do with him?’

  He gave a quick, awkward smile. ‘I killed him. What else would a caring father do? Then there was Andy, of course,’ he said, moving on. ‘Now, I did not see that one coming. Christ, I even asked him once to chum her to a university dance, when she was stuck for a date. Alex has always been smarter than me; it took me a while to work out that she was only stuck because she wanted me to ask him to chum her!’

  ‘How did you handle it when you found out about them?’

  ‘Hasn’t Alex told you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘but I want to hear your version.’

  ‘Very badly, I confess. I blew up at them both, told Andy he’d betrayed my trust. He transferred out of CID for a while, into uniform. Everybody thought I’d pushed him, but I didn’t. I wanted to keep him in post regardless, but he went to the chief and asked for a move.’

  ‘How did you get over it?’

  ‘Common sense kicked in. One day, I realised that my daughter had grown up. I worked out something else too: that if I was from another culture, one in which arranged marriages were the norm, Andy was probably the guy I’d have picked for her. So I was happy, and when they got engaged, I was well on-side.’ He sighed. ‘Then it all went pear-shaped.’

  ‘She got pregnant?’

  ‘She told you that too? Yes, she did, and had an abortion, without ever telling Andy about the kid. He’s Catholic, quietly devout, for all that he can be a tough boy when he has to. He took it very badly.’

  ‘I can understand that, but . . .’

  ‘There was more, though, that maybe she didn’t tell you. Alex had a fling with a young guy, a cousin of her pal. The wee bastard got himself lifted on some drug-related thing, and he gave her as his alibi for the time in question. Very messy, and for Andy, very embarrassing. Not terminal, though, he’d have got over that: but the abortion, no.’

  ‘And you,’ Aileen asked, ‘how did you feel about it?’

  ‘I don’t know, to be honest. She was wrong on two counts . . . no, three. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to get pregnant in the first place if she had any doubt about it. Also, she should have told him about it, and
let him state his case at the very least. Plus, she was in a relationship that was supposed to be monogamous, so she shouldn’t have been shagging the boy. Mind you,’ he added, ‘that’s the one I’m least able to criticise her about. There were times when I wasn’t a great role model for her. Bottom line, though, she’s my kid and I will always support her, right or wrong. That outweighs any disappointment I might have felt.’

  ‘Disappointment that they didn’t marry?’

  ‘No, at the way she hurt Andy. That their engagement broke up? No. The truth was she was bored, or she wouldn’t have slept with the boy. The truth was she was more committed to her career than to getting married. The truth was, she was way too young to have been thinking about it.’

  ‘But now she isn’t too young any more. Her career is well on track, and before you know it she’s going to be a partner in that firm of hers. Do you suppose she ever thinks about Andy?’

  ‘You think she might be carrying a torch?’ he asked. ‘Is that your impression, from talking to her?’

  ‘She hasn’t said anything. But the way she spoke about him, when she did, there’s a fondness there, still. Not a torch, perhaps, but a small candle at least.’

  ‘If that’s so, I hope it burns out of its own accord. Andy’s happily married now, with a growing family.’

  ‘He never looks back?’

  ‘No. There was a time when he was a serial womaniser, before Alex, and then again, as a reaction, I suppose, to what happened. But then he and Karen . . . found each other, I suppose. They’re a nice couple, and he won’t let anyone come between them. Plus, I like to think that my daughter wouldn’t . . .’

  ‘In three hundred yards, turn right!’ The firm voice of the navigation system interrupted him.

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of even trying,’ he murmured, as he obeyed.

  ‘You have reached your destination.’

  He looked along the road into which they had turned and saw, twenty yards ahead, a sign that read ‘Gendarmerie’.

  ‘Okay,’ said Bob, ‘this is where we split. You take the car and explore the town, if you’re happy doing that. I’ll call your mobile when I’m done and you can tell me where to meet you.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Aileen replied. ‘I’ll probably have lunch first, unless you want me to wait for you.’