She heard the back door opening and a minute later footsteps on the stairs. She pulled up the bedcover and shut her eyes as her bedroom door opened. Her mother’s voice said, ‘Kirstie – oh,’ then paused and Kirstie could feel that she was being looked at. She lay still, breathing smoothly and deeply, and heard her mother withdraw quietly without shutting the door.
Then her father’s voice was calling from downstairs, ‘Rhona? Are you in?’ and her mother was saying, ‘Sssh! Don’t wake her. She’s come back, not feeling well. I thought she wasn’t right, these last couple of days. You know, I think she’s been upset with all that’s been going on here.’
‘She’s upset! We’re all upset,’ her father grumbled, though in a lower voice. ‘Haven’t been able to get around the farm this morning for folk getting in my way.’ Then a door shut, and Kirstie couldn’t hear any more.
The trouble was, they certainly wouldn’t let her go anywhere this afternoon. But after the way Morven had set about the policeman this morning she didn’t think he’d try again today – and anyway, if he did he’d be told she was ill. She could get up later today, say she was fine now and be out first thing to see someone and confess. It was the best she could do, but if Calum thought she would let him off being a treacherous little snake, he’d another think coming.
She yawned. She really was very tired. She’d hardly slept the last couple of nights.
When Rhona looked in later, Kirstie was snoring gently.
Ailie Johnston was nervous. Apart from anything else she felt uncomfortable about overrunning her lunch hour – something she never did – but she didn’t want the police turning up at the office. Bruce Michie might be annoyed if he went looking for her now and couldn’t find her but if he realised what she’d done he’d go crazy, especially if it turned out to be just some daft notion of hers. She’d told herself it probably was, and the policeman might give her a hard time too and make her feel stupid – you heard bad things about them these days. Even though in any dealings she’d had with them herself they’d seemed nice enough, this maybe wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done.
As she sat at a corner table in Starbucks where she had a good view of the door, she looked round the cafe. It was quiet at this time of the day apart from a couple of women finishing a late lunch and two men on their own, one working on a laptop and the other speaking on his phone. It wouldn’t be difficult for the inspector to work out who she was – and that was him coming in now probably, given the way his eyes swept round, taking in everything. He was a good-looking lad, tall and well set-up with reddish-brown hair and hazel eyes – Pity about the scar running down the right side of his face though, she thought, as he turned his head towards her. You’d think they could do something about that, but maybe it didn’t bother him.
He had a nice smile too as he came towards her. ‘Mrs Johnston? DCI Strang,’ he said, showing her a plastic ID card. ‘May I sit down?’
Feeling a little flustered – should she shake his hand or just wave him to a seat? – she half-stood up, then sat down again. ‘Yes – yes, of course.’
He didn’t, as she had thought he would, get himself a coffee. The barista had given him a sharp glance as he came in and had seen him produce his card, then turned away so ostentatiously that Ailie realised she’d better keep her voice as low as possible.
‘Thank you for getting in touch with us.’ Strang sat down and produced a small gadget from his pocket, setting it on the table between them. ‘Do you mind if I record what you’re saying? Easier than me licking my pencil and writing it down.’
She gave a little laugh, mainly of relief. ‘That’s fine. I’ll just turn round so I’m facing it – that loon over there behind the counter has his ears flapping.’
Strang smiled again. ‘I had noticed.’ He switched on the machine. ‘Right, Mrs Johnston—’
‘Ailie.’
He nodded, identified himself for the tape then said, ‘Ailie, there’s something you want to tell us about the murder case in Forsich, is that right?’
He was very easy to talk to, making quiet encouraging noises, prompting her with a question when she hesitated. He showed no sign of impatience as Ailie told him the whole story – Pat Curran, the failed drainage company and local resentment, the success of Curran Services, even poor Gabrielle’s problems – and she could feel his interest sharpening as she went on. The cold feeling that she’d tried to put down to an overactive imagination came back in force. Could it really have been Niall, lying there for the ravens to find?
At last she ran down. ‘That was it, really.’
‘You’ve been very helpful. Can you describe Niall Aitchison for me?’
‘He’s just – well, ordinary. Brown hair, quite neat. Brown eyes, I think, but not very dark or anything. To be honest, you wouldn’t really notice him much. Is that—’
‘I see.’ He wasn’t going to give any sort of confirmation; he was going on, ‘Just one last thing. If we do get positive identification that this is Mr Aitchison, is there anyone you can think of who might have had a reason for wishing to harm him – anyone he’s had a row with, maybe?’
Ailie stared at him, aghast. She should have thought of this, of course she should. If she mentioned the set-to with Michie, it wasn’t hard to guess what the inspector’s next step would be. She’d been brought up to tell the truth and shame the devil, but …
Her hesitation had taken the decision out of her hands. Strang was looking at her with a shrewdly penetrating gaze. ‘Yes?’
‘Oh dear. Well, it’s probably nothing, you know. But when he didn’t come in at all last week and I couldn’t get hold of him, I asked the boss on Friday if I should go round to his house and see if he was all right, but he said they’d had a row on the Friday before and Niall was likely sulking so just to leave him alone. He was – well, a wee bit annoyed about me making a fuss. But having a row doesn’t mean—’
‘Of course not. Your boss is?’
Ailie told him and with a sinking heart confirmed that yes, the inspector was likely to find him in the office now.
Strang made a note. ‘I won’t tell him the source of my information, but I think you have to realise he is likely to work it out. Will that be a problem?’
She titled her chin. ‘Och, I’m not feart for him!’ she said belligerently. ‘The worst he can do is give me the sack and there’s plenty folk who’ve tried to get me away from Curran’s before now. I only stayed for Gabrielle and if she’s not fit to come back I’d have been leaving anyway.’
‘That’s the best way to look at it.’ Strang switched off the recorder, pocketed it and stood up. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Ailie. Now, this will be typed up into a statement and someone will bring it to you to read and sign. All right?’
She nodded, then said hopefully, ‘Will it be you?’
‘No. I expect it will be someone from Aberdeen HQ. But if there’s anything you think of to add to what you’ve told me already, get in touch.’ He handed her a business card, smiled, and left.
Ailie tucked it carefully into her bag and sighed. She’d better get back to the office and get it over with. And if Michie thought she would stay to let him bully her, he’d another think coming. He’d find himself trying to fill a dozen orders tomorrow morning all on his own.
He hadn’t anticipated that. Despite Angie’s optimism, Strang had not for a moment expected the tug of excitement that acknowledged the familiar instinct that told him he was on the right track. He was certainly going to have to interview Michie now and then liaise with the Aberdeen force about a search warrant for Aitchison’s flat to get DNA evidence.
There wasn’t a chance he’d be at the crime scene in Forsich tonight. That wouldn’t look good; there was an unhealthy interest in the case because of the gruesome details, and given the reputational problems of Police Scotland they couldn’t afford bad publicity. The SRCS would have to be highly visible if the media wasn’t to start on again about the cuts to local CID. He’d
been hoping that by now he’d have had a chance to second a couple of likely officers in Thurso instead of expensive imports from Edinburgh, but because the investigation looked like moving on a lot faster since the interview with Ailie Johnston he couldn’t drag his feet. He’d have to phone the boss and brief her.
DCS Borthwick sounded harassed but was pleased that it looked as if there might be speedy identification of the body and agreed with the need for an immediate presence. ‘Go ahead – I’ll arrange authorisation for a DS and a DC, leaving ASAP.’
‘Thanks, ma’am. I’ve another interview that sounds promising – the boss who had a barney with—’
She cut him short. ‘Sorry, Kelso, I’ve got a meeting. Put it in your report – I want to be kept in the picture but you’re in charge. You’ve got plenty of experience under your belt now and I have every confidence.’ She rang off.
Feeling gratified if just a little nervous, Strang called Angie to ask her to make the arrangements.
‘Told you so,’ she said smugly. ‘You’ll have this whole thing wrapped up in a couple of days.’
‘Smug isn’t pretty. Any chance of Dave McAllister? I worked with him on the Ayrshire case – he’s good.’
‘On leave. If you want action today, you’ll have to take pot luck. Beggars can’t be choosers, sweetie.’
Strang grimaced. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘I always am.’
‘You can go off some people. Anyway, do your best. The idea is to get them up there and installed tonight and I’ll get back to you with their orders for tomorrow morning, OK?’
He glanced anxiously at his watch as he ended the call. He’d have to hurry if he was to catch Bruce Michie at Curran Services before he went home, and he’d have to make his excuses and ask DI Hay to meet him at Forsich in the morning.
DC Livvy Murray was swearing under her breath at the screen in front of her, which had chosen this moment to freeze. Resisting the temptation to inflict GBH on the bloody thing, she grovelled on the floor to switch it off and switch it back on again, then had to wait while it put up stupid little welcome messages and demanded that she log in.
She was alone in the CID room with two more hours of her shift to go and no excuse for not clearing some of the backlog of reports her sarge had been trying to offload for days. When Angie Andrews came in, she looked up hopefully.
‘Tell me I urgently have to go out to a call,’ she begged. ‘I was a sitting duck when that bastard Williamson was on the prowl and now I’m slave labour.’
‘Better than that, Livvy,’ Angie said. ‘How long would it take you to throw a few things in a suitcase?’
Her face brightened. ‘Tell me how many pairs of knickers I need, and I’ll be ready in ten. Where’s the job? Tell me it’s a fugitive from justice who’s on the run in Spain.’
‘Not exactly. It’s SRCS. Caithness – you know, the case where the ravens dropped in for a quick snack before they found the poor sod.’
‘Oh.’ Livvy’s spirits, which had risen, suddenly sank. ‘That … that’s the one Strang’s heading, isn’t it?’
Angie raised her eyebrows. ‘You said that like you think it’s a bad thing. What’s wrong with Kelso? Could quite fancy him, myself.’
She went pink. ‘No, it’s not that. Just … well—’
‘Oh, I remember. Did the heroic bit for you, didn’t he? He’s probably forgotten about it.’ Then she added, ‘Well, more or less.’
‘I haven’t,’ Livvy said darkly. ‘Though I suppose this was bound to happen sometime. Am I on my own?’
‘Not exactly,’ Angie said. ‘There’s DS Kevin Taylor as well.’
Something about the way she said it made Livvy look at her sharply. ‘Don’t know him. What’s he like?’
‘Just came last week. He was in Bathgate before.’
‘Even so, he might be all right. I’m broad-minded.’
‘That’s good. You’ll have to be. Arrange the following words into a well-known phrase or saying: pig, chauvinist, male.’
Livvy put her head down on the desk with a despairing groan. ‘Suddenly writing up reports looks strangely appealing, you know that? Oh well, give me the details and I’ll go home and pack. Jerseys, mostly, I suppose. It’s pretty much the Arctic Circle up there, isn’t it?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Oh, don’t tell me! I’ve got Ailie Johnston to thank for this, haven’t I?’ Bruce Michie’s eyes were positively popping with rage at being subjected to the indignity of police interrogation on the flimsy grounds that one of his workforce seemed to have disappeared.
Without replying, DCI Strang looked stonily at the short, plump man with the damp, mean little mouth who was sitting behind a desk that looked much too big for him on an imposing leather chair that prevented his feet from touching the floor. It made him look like a schoolboy who’d been kitted out in his older brother’s cast-offs in the forlorn hope that he’d grow into them.
After a moment, with a visible effort at control and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Michie said, ‘Oh well, you have to make allowances for her, I suppose. Her age, you know?’ Then, sensing a lack of support, he hurried on, ‘I blame myself, to be honest. When she was fussing that Niall hadn’t been in contact with her I said something facetious about his dead body lying in his flat being nibbled by a cat and I could tell by the look on her face that the idea took hold, even though I told her not to be daft. He didn’t even have a cat, for God’s sake.
‘Look, I’m not fashed if Niall’s taken a bit of unofficial leave. He’s had a difficult time lately with his mother’s death and he’s probably got a lot of stuff to straighten out.’
‘Do you normally have such a relaxed attitude to your staff not coming in to work?’
Michie glared. ‘No, of course not. But he’s one of the shareholders – minor, admittedly – and considering the major shareholder has taken indefinite leave of absence, I can hardly call him out on that.’
‘It’s a private company, I take it? And the other shareholder – that would be Gabrielle Ross?’
He gave a little titter. ‘My goodness, Ailie has been having a real heart-to-heart with you, hasn’t she? Yes, Pat left Gabrielle forty-eight per cent of the company, I as the original financial backer have forty-five and Niall got the other seven per cent – probably to stop Gabrielle getting the bit between her teeth, or it could have been the pay-off for dealing with the fallout from Pat Curran’s previous failure. Pat was always canny, to be honest.’
‘I see. So, in Mrs Ross’s absence you are running the company?’
‘Yes. It’s very sad – tragic, really.’ Michie shook his head, his face composed into suitably sorrowful lines. ‘She’s completely lost the place. Of course, it’s been hard for her. Very close to her father – too close, probably – and then the house fire and losing the baby she was expecting just pushed her over the edge, I suppose. To be honest, we’re all wondering if she’ll ever be fit to come back, poor lass.’
Expressing sympathy tended to be more convincing if you managed to keep the note of glee out of your voice and Strang also had a particular prejudice against people who said ‘to be honest’ too often. ‘So that leaves you in charge of the business, yes?’
‘Absolutely. It would have made more sense, really, if I’d taken over when Pat died, as I pointed out at the time, but Gabrielle would have none of it. She saw the whole thing as a sort of sacred trust, you know? There’s no room for that sort of sentimentality in a modern business.’
‘What precisely does that mean?’
It was a very direct challenge and now Michie was looking flustered. ‘Oh … oh well, nothing specific, really. Just, you have to be hard-headed, not clinging to the way things were in the past.’
‘Pat Curran wasn’t hard-headed?’
‘Oh God, yes! No one ever put anything over on him. It was just, Gabrielle …’ He frowned.
He was clearly hunting for an example, Strang thought. Interesting, since he
must have had something in mind in saying that, something that he didn’t want to mention. But now his face had cleared.
‘Ah, yes! For instance, I’m well known in Aberdeen; it would have made good business sense to add my name to the letter heading but Gabrielle wouldn’t hear of that either. It was still to be Pat’s baby, even now he’s gone. Sentimental, you see.’
‘And now you’re in charge, are you going to put that in hand?’
Michie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Not just at the moment, probably. We’ll see.’
‘Was Mr Aitchison in favour?’
‘I’ve no idea. We never discussed it.’
‘So that wasn’t what you were arguing about on the last day he was in the office?’
The man’s face darkened. ‘Is that what she told you?’
Strang said nothing, letting the pause lengthen.
‘This is ridiculous!’ Michie burst out. ‘You have professional disagreements in any firm and this was just one of them. If you must know, it was his job to look for new business and I wasn’t satisfied with his results. He didn’t agree, and we had a bit of a set-to. That was all, OK?’
‘But you thought it was likely he was so upset that he didn’t come in to work the next week?’
‘That was what Niall was like! Sulky, difficult, not ready to accept that he wasn’t Pat’s little protégé any more. His problem, not mine.’ Michie shrugged.
‘I see. Thank you, Mr Michie. Now, just for the record, can you tell me your whereabouts over the past week?’
This time it looked as if his eyes really might pop out of their sockets. ‘I don’t believe this! You’re asking me for an alibi because some menopausal woman has a fantasy that a body she read about in the papers is one of my employees? Who do I complain to about this?’
‘You’re entirely at liberty to refuse if you choose, sir, but this is merely standard procedure. It would mean we wouldn’t have to trouble you later if there did prove to be some connection.’
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