18 - Aftershock

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘When did you last sleep with Lisanne?’ asked Stallings, sharply.

  ‘About three weeks ago.’

  ‘Jeez. Where?’

  ‘Gorgie.’

  ‘How often do you go there?’

  ‘Quite a lot.’

  ‘You say Sugar never knew about Lisanne. Did Lisanne ever know about her?’

  Weekes shook his head.

  ‘It’s easy for a cop to cover his tracks, isn’t it, when he’s got a bit on the side?’

  ‘I suppose,’ the constable grunted.

  ‘Trust me, I’m a woman, it is. When did you first go out with Mae Grey?’

  ‘About two and a half years ago.’

  ‘Around the time you became engaged to Sugar?’

  ‘Yes. She was my neighbour at work. We went out sometimes after a shift.’

  ‘Do you have a sexual relationship with Mae?’

  ‘Of course. She’s my fiancée.’

  ‘When did that begin?’

  ‘Two and a half years ago. The first time I took her back to ma place.’

  Stallings leaned back in her seat, appraising the man on the other side of the table. ‘How many other women do you have on the go, Theo?’

  ‘Just Mae,’ he replied.

  ‘And Lisanne.’

  ‘She’s a pal.’

  ‘So you help her out? She can’t be going short, though: single woman, good job. She works in a bank, doesn’t she? She must be getting as much as she likes.’

  The constable’s mouth seemed to tighten. ‘She’s not like that,’ he snapped. ‘She doesn’t go wi’ other blokes.’

  ‘How would you know?’

  ‘Because Ah do.’

  ‘Would it upset you if she did? You divorced her, remember.’

  ‘Aye, but . . .’

  ‘Aye, but you don’t see it that way,’ McGurk intervened. ‘Isn’t that the truth of it? You talked her into a phoney divorce to give you a free hand with Sugar, and Mae. You signed a declaration that you’d been living apart for two years, when in fact you hadn’t. I know all about Scots divorce law, Theo, for personal reasons. If we chose, I reckon we could do you for that. So let’s get to it. You like women, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sure, you’ve got Mae, and Lisanne, and how many others?’

  ‘There’s a girl in Queensferry I see now and again.’

  ‘And you’re possessive about them, aren’t you? The idea of Lisanne with another guy wound you up a minute ago. She’s still the one, isn’t she, out of the three or four or however many it really is?’

  ‘We’re divorced.’

  ‘Sure but you keep an eye on her, don’t you? I’ll bet you sit outside her place without her knowing it, looking for the bedroom light going on when it shouldn’t, looking for shadows on the blinds. I’ll bet you do.’

  ‘You speaking from experience, McGurk?’ Weekes snarled.

  ‘You’re fucking right I am! Yes, I did that, at first, till I got used to the fact that Mary and I really had split up. So you can’t lie to me, pal; I can see right into you. I can even tell that part of you wants to see the light go on, to see the curtains pulled a second before it goes out, not after. I bet you get a hard-on, sitting there in your car, waiting for that to happen, so that you can go in there and batter the shite out the guy.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ he yelled.

  ‘Yeah. That’s how you feel, isn’t it? Lisanne’s yours, and whether you’re porking Mae or not, keeping up the pretence that you might marry her, Lisanne will always be yours. Come on, you bastard, admit it. That’s how you think!’

  ‘Okay! Clever cunt! Okay!’

  ‘And it was the same with Sugar, wasn’t it? When you and she split up, that really was it, Theo. You were never getting in there again, but the idea of someone else shafting her, that did your head in. That’s why you kept calling her. That’s why you followed her. I’ll bet you went fucking crazy when you saw her with the boy. Didn’t you, Theo? You went fucking apeshit, didn’t you?’ McGurk was on his feet as he roared the question at him.

  ‘Too fucking right!’ Weekes screamed. ‘He’s only a fucking schoolie! Only a kid! And they were holding fucking hands; in the fucking street!’

  The sergeant smiled as he settled his long frame back on to his hard steel chair. ‘Thanks, pal. You want to sharpen up your act; you are way too easy.’ He looked sideways at Stallings. ‘Sorry about the language, Becky,’ he said.

  ‘That’s okay, Jack. I know, it’s a boy thing: it’s the same in London.’ She drew herself forward an inch or two, until she could lean her forearms comfortably on the table, and looked at Weekes. He was breathing hard; his expression suggested that he knew something bad had just happened, something he could not quite pin down. ‘Yes, Constable,’ she began, ‘thank you for being so frank. Let’s move on . . . or, rather, let’s go back. Back to the Friday before last, in fact. I’d like you to tell me where you were at around eight thirty that morning.’

  The man’s anger had dispersed like steam, condensed and settled on his face in rivulets of sweat. ‘In my house,’ he replied.

  ‘With which member of your harem?’

  ‘I was on ma own.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the inspector. ‘That is unfortunate.’

  Thirty

  ‘And you are?’ asked Michael Colledge. ‘A detective constable, my researcher said.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Bob Skinner replied. ‘He misheard me. Deputy chief constable, in fact, but rank’s irrelevant here.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ the MP exclaimed. ‘Has something happened to Dave?’

  ‘No. To the best of my knowledge your son’s fine.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Colledge, ‘deputy chief constables don’t call to tell one one’s won the lottery.’

  ‘Maybe not, but we delegate the bad-news calls whenever we can. This isn’t one of those. I’m calling from Collioure.’

  ‘I thought I heard seagulls in the background. Now I really am confused. A deputy chief constable’s gone looking for my son; I didn’t realise I was that important.’

  You’re not, chum. My girlfriend outranks you by quite a bit. Skinner held back the retort, but only at the last second. ‘Circumstances, that’s all. I happened to be in the region, and so my colleagues asked me to visit Davis and break the news to him about his friend’s death.’

  ‘And did you? Is he with you?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. I found his apartment, no problem, with the help of the local police, but he’s not there. His landlady says that he’s gone off for a few days, touring.’

  ‘God.’ Colledge sighed. ‘He’s a sod, but at least he’s all right. Thanks for taking the trouble, Mr Skinner: I’m sorry your courtesy’s been wasted on him. I’m sure he’ll phone me, sooner or later. When he does I’ll tell him to get in touch with your officers, as they asked.’

  ‘I don’t think we can be as informal as that,’ the Scot replied. ‘This isn’t a minor offence we’re looking into: it’s a murder investigation. Your son’s a close friend of the victim. He may have information that we need, so we can’t just wait for him to turn up. Bottom line is, I’ve asked the French police to find him.’

  ‘Are you saying that you’ve put an APB out for my son?’ There was a change in the MP’s tone.

  ‘Nothing as heavy as that, but they’re keeping an eye out for him. When they find him he won’t be apprehended, but they’ll make sure that he gets in touch with us. And with you, of course,’ Skinner added. ‘If he gets back to Collioure before they do, I’ve left a note for him.’ He chose not to add that Madame Marnie, the landlady, had promised to call the gendarmerie as soon as he returned.

  ‘You’ve been in his digs? Did you have a warrant?’

  The DCC bridled. ‘We had the permission of the owner. Is that enough for you?’

  ‘Of course, I’m sorry. Stupid question. What’s the place like?’

  ‘It’s fine. Not a hovel by any means. He’s comfortable,
and the set-up’s ideal for the work he went out there to do.’ He paused. ‘Tell me about your son, Mr Colledge. What sort of a guy is he?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s a dedicated artist, I know that, but does he have any other interests?’

  ‘Of course. He’s a normal chap in that respect. He got his school colours in rugby: played in the centre in the first fifteen. He plays a pretty decent squash game: left me behind when he was fourteen, and I’m not bad. He was a sergeant in the school’s army cadet force. That’s how he met Sugar in fact: the force is a joint effort with Mary Erskine. He was along there one day and they got talking. Someone had told her he was a very talented painter.’ Colledge chuckled. ‘Oh, yes, one other thing: he’s a Chelsea supporter.’

  ‘What did the cadet force involve?’

  ‘Kids playing soldiers, really. But no, that’s unfair: its purpose is to give them a basic military training, to give them a taste of army discipline and of the reality of service life. If a lad wants to get into Sandhurst, does no harm to be able to include that in his application.’

  ‘They don’t use real bullets, though?’ The enquiry sounded casual.

  ‘Sometimes, but only on a military range, under army supervision. As a matter of fact, Dave’s a pretty good shot. He showed me one of the targets they let him keep.’

  ‘How’s he going to react,’ asked Skinner, ‘when he finds out that Sugar’s dead?’

  ‘He’s going to be devastated.’

  ‘I’m sure, but how will that express itself? Is he a volatile lad? Will he be numb, will he be tearful, or will he be angry? If you feel it would help, I don’t mind coming back up here, when he does show up.’ Since seeing the painting, it had been his intention to return, if and when the French police found Davis Colledge.

  ‘That’s good of you, Mr Skinner. If you did that, it might help him deal with it. Dave’s a good lad, nice boy, but he could handle the news in any one of the ways you’ve described. You used the word “volatile”. I confess that description’s been applied to me a few times, and he is my son.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Colledge. I’ll take that on. For now we have to wait for the French to trace him, or for him to show up of his own accord. So long for now. I’ll be in touch.’

  He flipped his mobile closed. ‘Sorry again,’ he said. ‘I’d hoped that this would be a quick job, a day trip, interview the boy, send him home to his folks and that would be that.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Aileen. ‘But look on the bright side. The lad will probably turn up before you’ve finished your lunch.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s going to happen.’ He told her about the painting, and about Michael Colledge’s assessment of his son.

  ‘Are you telling me that Davis has suddenly become a suspect?’

  ‘Not suddenly; he was never entirely discounted. He always needed to be interviewed, to be eliminated. But now, having looked through that window into his state of mind, I’d say he’s moved up the pecking order. The look on his face in the painting, the gun in his hand: I want to get hold of this boy, soon as I can.’

  ‘They’re bound to find him.’

  ‘No,’ said Bob, firmly. ‘If the kid wants to disappear, he’s got a fair chance of staying hidden. You know what worries me most? He left his phone behind him; we found it in the apartment, with the charger.’

  ‘Maybe he just forgot it.’

  ‘He didn’t forget anything else. There were no other personal effects left there, but the damn mobile was right in the middle of the table. He’s got a return air ticket, but there was no sign of it. If he’s going away for a few days, why bother taking it? It’s no good to anybody else. No, I don’t think he wants to be found. I bet that he’s used his plastic again, to pull as much cash as he can. I told Neil to find out. If he has, that’ll be a sure sign he’s done a runner.’

  ‘When do you step up the hunt?’

  ‘I won’t take that decision. It’s for the guys on the ground, but my guess would be a couple of days.’ He took a sip of his mineral water and looked across at her. ‘Have you ever met his dad?’

  Aileen nodded. ‘I have, as a matter of fact. I was down in London last year, at a parliamentary reception, and I was introduced to him by the then Defence Secretary.’

  ‘Did you form any impression,’ he grinned, ‘or did your natural antipathy to Tories get in the way?’

  ‘Hey, I’m broad-minded: I like quite a few Tories. I even suspect I’m sleeping with one.’

  ‘Most people would agree with you about that, but you’d all be wrong.’

  ‘You’re just saying that to keep me in your bed. But, please, tell me you’re not a Liberal.’

  ‘No danger of that. But what about Colledge?’

  ‘He’d never be one of the Tories I like. He’s a smooth wee chap on the outside, but there was something about him that I didn’t take to, something bubbling under the surface. If that lot do get in next time and he’s in the cabinet, I reckon his civil servants will be in for a hard time. But, please, don’t let that cloud your view of his son.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m just indulging in a wild flight of fantasy. The night before she was killed, eighteen-year-old Davis introduced twenty-six-year-old Sugar to Mum and Dad across the dinner table, and told them that they were off to France for a month in a one-bed apartment. Now, I don’t believe for one moment that Mr Colledge was as relaxed about the relationship as he made out when DI Stallings spoke to him.’

  ‘Maybe it was entirely innocent. You told me that Sugar assured her head teacher that she’d done nothing wrong.’

  ‘The boy wasn’t really her pupil,’ Bob pointed out. ‘He was at another school, remember, even if they are both Merchant Company jobs: separate staffs, separate head teachers. Plus, see that neat wee appendix scar you’ve got?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Sugar had one too, and it’s in the painting.’

  ‘Mmm. A bit of a giveaway, I admit. Okay, they may have been having it off. So?’

  ‘So I don’t reckon Dad would fancy that. He was a big-bucks lawyer before he became an MP, and his father before him was an Old Bailey judge. You’ve met him, now use your instinct and tell me what he felt inside when his son told him he’d fallen for an artist eight years older than him and that he was going to make painting his career.’

  Aileen steepled her hands, brushing her lips with her fingertips. ‘I don’t think he’d be happy,’ she admitted. ‘So what’s your wild flight of fancy?’

  ‘I find myself wondering how unhappy he was. After all, he was still in Edinburgh when the girl was killed.’

  ‘But he’s the shadow Defence Secretary!’

  Bob grinned. ‘So?’

  Thirty-one

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me coming down here, Becky,’ said Neil McIlhenney, ‘but after big McGurk’s bravura performance this afternoon, it seemed best to me that we should work in tandem.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Stallings assured him. ‘I don’t mind at all. Why should I?’

  ‘It would be understandable if you did. Your first major inquiry in Edinburgh as senior investigating officer and the brass muscles in. I’d probably be pissed off myself. It’s just that having pulled PC Grey in for interview I don’t think I can chuck her across to somebody else. I want you to sit in, though.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Where are we with Weekes?’

  ‘He’s admitted to stalking Sugar Dean since she binned him, and to seeing her with Davis Colledge, but he’s sticking to his story that he was at home when she was killed.’

  ‘Are you buying that?’

  ‘I’m not taking his word for it. I’ve taken a DNA sample from him, for comparison with the various traces that were found at the site. The way things stand, at the moment, he’s our number-one suspect.’

  ‘Having listened to your tape, I can’t argue with that. I hope it never has to be played in court, though: Jack got a bit personal when he wa
s going for him.’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ Stallings agreed. ‘Is his marriage really bust?’

  ‘I hope not, but this is the second time that he and Mary have separated. It started to creak when he was posted down to the Borders. I thought the move back to Edinburgh had sorted it out, but apparently not. Back to Weekes, though. I’ve done some very confidential checking. He and Sugar were both prescribed antibiotics two years ago by a doctor in a private clinic in Edinburgh. Not long after that, Jock Varley had a couple of weeks on the sick. No medical certificate was ever submitted, but he and his wife were both treated at the genito-urinary unit . . . or the cock doctor’s, as my dear old dad used to call it.’

  ‘Will we have to talk to Varley about that?’

  ‘Not unless we’ve got no choice. Where is Casanova now?’

  ‘I’ve kept him here. He agreed to stay, but only because he knew he didn’t have any option. I want a warrant to search his home, and his locker, looking for a firearm and for anything else that might connect him to the crime scene. Do you agree?’

  ‘Of course,’ said McIlhenney. ‘We’ve got to do it, and it had better be formal. Get Jack on to it, right away. We’ve probably got grounds for searching the ex-wife’s place too, since he’s admitted to going there.’

  ‘And what about PC Grey’s?’

  ‘Let’s leave that until we’ve spoken to her. Before we do that, there’s something else you should know. Remember I told you I’d take care of contacting Davis Colledge?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I did. I sent a special representative up there to liaise with the French police and pay him a visit. The lad wasn’t at his digs: he left Collioure yesterday, telling his landlady he was going touring for a few days. But he left some stuff behind, stuff that bothers my man.’

  ‘Are you saying we should be giving the kid more priority?’ asked Stallings.

  ‘That’s what I’m being told, so we’d better. The French police are looking for him in all the coastal resorts: that’s where he said he was going. We need to help them by running a plastic chase.’

  ‘I’ll put Sauce on to it right away, and Jack on to those warrants, before I have Grey brought up from the front office.’