Carrion Comfort

by Aline Templeton

‘Right. Is Miss Curran in?’

  The woman hesitated. ‘She’s in, but she’s likely none too keen on visitors.’

  ‘We’re police officers,’ Murray said. ‘We’re needing to talk to her.’

  ‘I’d a suspicion you mebbe were. You’d better come in, then, and I’ll tell her.’

  She showed them into the room they’d been in before and went off. Murray looked round about her, at the pastel colours and the heavy drapes and the multiple cushions on the elaborately upholstered sofas.

  ‘Rooms like this make me want to run around messing them up,’ she said. ‘I tell you what I’d start with – ripping up that cushion.’ She pointed.

  ‘“All you need is Love, Laughter and Prosecco”. A bit twee, I agree. I think I’d go for the two lovebirds one first, myself, but—’

  He broke off as Francesca Curran appeared in the doorway. She was wearing black as if to demonstrate her bereavement but the roll-neck wool sweater looked too hot for a day like this and there was a thin film of perspiration on her forehead. She went past without speaking and collapsed onto a sofa as if her legs wouldn’t hold her up for another minute. She was holding a lace-edged handkerchief in her hand, the kind people give at Christmas when they can’t think of anything else.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to trouble you at a time like this but I know you’ll be anxious to give us whatever help you can to find the person who did this,’ Strang said.

  ‘Oh – oh yes, of course,’ Fran said with a deep sigh. ‘But whatever you do, it won’t bring him back, will it?’

  Strang agreed that it wouldn’t. ‘Did you and Mr Aitchison have – well, an understanding?’

  She sat up, bristling as if it had been some sort of veiled attack. ‘I don’t know what you’re driving at, but we certainly understood each other. Of course we did. We were spending more time together, but neither of us is young and impetuous and Niall had his job in Aberdeen, so we couldn’t see each other as often as we’d have liked. And to tell you the truth, his mother was very possessive. Once she died, I thought …’ She gave a little gulp and dabbed at her eyes again.

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’ Strang asked.

  ‘It was a Friday, about three weeks ago. I saw him in Thurso and he took me for a drink. He was up at the cottage.’

  Strang saw Murray look at her with raised eyebrows and he nodded encouragement.

  ‘Did you see him again over the weekend?’

  Fran went pink. ‘Not that time, no. I said to him I’d be in if he wanted to phone and arrange something, but he was very busy, you see, trying to sort things out so he could have a real home up here, where he could settle down properly.’

  ‘Did he not like his job in Aberdeen, then?’

  ‘Oh – I … I don’t know.’ She seemed flustered. ‘It was just, well, he wasn’t valued. He was nothing but a dogsbody for my father and then of course for Gabrielle.’ She put a scornful emphasis on the word.

  Strang said, ‘And did you feel he resented that?’

  ‘Of course he did! He must have, but he wasn’t the sort to talk about it behind their backs and he was too nice to confront them the way he should have. He needed someone to encourage him to stand up for himself, get proper recognition instead of Gabrielle grabbing everything for herself, like she always does.’

  ‘You and your sister don’t get on, then?’

  Francesca paused, looking down at her hands that were picking at the lace edge on her hanky. ‘We could’ve – she is my sister, after all.’ She sounded wistful. ‘Sometimes I think we might, if … but she was my father’s favourite and she got accustomed to thinking she could just have anything she wanted. David, her husband – well, he was my friend first. He used to come round here a lot when he’d those friends working at Dounreay – and then, of course, she swanned in and that was it. And she treats him like a dogsbody too.’ She sniffed, then leant forward confidentially.

  ‘I shouldn’t tell you this, maybe. But she’s got real problems. She’s doing seriously weird stuff and David and Mum both think she’s having a breakdown. Either that, or she’s going doolally, like my gran did.’

  Strang and Murray exchanged startled glances. ‘Dementia, you mean?’ Strang asked.

  Francesca nodded. ‘I hope it’s not or that could be me too.’

  It was a fine example of sisterly concern. Strang went on, ‘So you met up with Niall three weeks ago. Did you see him at all after that, even just driving past?’

  Fran gave a little sob. ‘I never saw him again.’

  ‘And were you here during that time?

  ‘Oh yes.’ She gave a bitter little laugh. ‘I don’t go anywhere. I don’t do very much, frankly. After work I’m mostly just stuck at home. Mum and Malcolm took me out with them for supper on Thursday but that was all I did.’ Then she shuddered. ‘That was the night before they found – him – in that awful cottage. Then the ravens—’ She gave a sobbing gasp.

  Strang said hastily, ‘You know the cottage?’

  ‘We all do. Used to play there as little kids. Don’t know why. It was just an old ruin – a bit smelly, but I suppose we went there because we were told not to. I’d forgotten about it, until—’ Fran shuddered again. ‘Why would anyone do that? Put him there for the ravens to find?’ She was getting visibly distressed.

  Strang said, ‘I don’t want to upset you, Miss Curran. You’ve been very brave. But just one last question. Did Mr Aitchison have any enemies that you know of?’

  She stared at him. ‘You mean, you don’t know? Niall didn’t do anything to make enemies, but my father and Gabrielle did, and they made him do their dirty work. He’d no friends here, except us.’

  Francesca didn’t get up as they left, only sinking back further into the cushions of the sofa for another bout of crying. As they walked back to the car, Murray said, ‘Is there something wrong with the water in this place? They all seem to hate each other.’

  ‘If there’s poison in the atmosphere, it all seems to come back to one person – Pat Curran,’ Strang said soberly.

  It was half past eleven when the buzzer Bruce Michie used to summon Ailie Johnston sounded twice, then after a two-minute break, three times more.

  Ailie scowled at it. ‘Keep your hair on,’ she muttered as she went through, and her ‘Well?’ as she went in was definitely truculent.

  ‘That woman – Morven. Have you got her phone number?’ Bruce Michie was in a state of some agitation.

  ‘No, I don’t. Why would I?’

  ‘She phoned earlier. Can you not dial 1471?’

  ‘I’ve had about thirty calls since then. If I dialled the recall number all I’d get is the one I put through to you ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Oh yes. Well, no need for that. When did she say she’d be here?’

  ‘Wasn’t specific. Middle of the afternoon, I would guess. It must be a five- or six-hour drive.’

  ‘We’ve got to put her off.’

  Ailie stared at him. ‘Put her off? Why?’

  ‘Oh – just, I don’t think it would be suitable, after all. Might upset her to come here, maybe? You said it yourself, about the box of tissues. It would be kinder, you know?’

  She gave him a cynical look. ‘Really? Anyway, I don’t see how we could stop her. She’s just going to turn up here.’

  ‘Then it’s your job to tell her I can’t see her. Just say something’s cropped up and I couldn’t arrange it. Ask her to call me tomorrow.’

  Ailie didn’t stop to argue. ‘Fine,’ she said, and scurried back to her office. She just might be in time to dial 1471 on that last call before another one came in.

  She was in luck. The number came up and when she dialled it, the voice at the other end said, ‘Russell and Macfarlane. Can I help you?’

  ‘Sorry, wrong number,’ she said and put the phone down. She knew the name; it was a firm of solicitors just across the town, in Belmont Street – a street Niall would have walked along every day on his way to work.

 
And what had Russell and Macfarlane had to say to Bruce that had suddenly made him so much less keen to express his condolences to Morven Gunn?

  The police car wasn’t in the car park when they left Westerfield House so with any luck Taylor was on his way back to Edinburgh.

  ‘What next, boss?’ Murray said as they walked along. They’d probably send up a replacement but at least she had today to play herself in and it was all going pretty well this time, as far as she could see. She’d even been allowed to ask her own question in one of his sacred interviews. Whahey!

  ‘We’ve been a bit stymied this morning, haven’t we? I think we can presume the Lemon Tree won’t be opening today, but we might check whether Mrs Gunn has come back home – ask a couple of neighbours if they’ve seen her. David Ross doesn’t come back from the rig until tomorrow and we can’t question Gabrielle again until then, particularly if there’s some question of mental illness.

  ‘But I want to call in at the incident room to check that we can get into Niall Aitchison’s house – I’ve been wanting to look around that. There may be some new lab reports in and I’ve got a loose end I’d like to tie up before doing the Aberdeen interviews.’

  Yes, she was definitely getting her feet under the table. Murray was in a good mood as they walked along the high street and into the hall.

  PS Lothian was there, talking to a woman constable but he broke off when he saw Strang. ‘The team that was dealing with Aitchison’s car has got it shipped off for forensics to examine, sir. They’ve done a preliminary check for prints but from the handle on the driver’s side and the steering wheel it looks as if it was driven most recently by someone wearing gloves. There was a fibre in the catch that looks like wool, though the lab will have to test it.’

  ‘You don’t wear woolly gloves in weather like this – not to keep your hands warm, anyway,’ Murray said.

  ‘No,’ Strang said slowly. ‘No, you don’t.’

  They picked up coffees from the tea trolley and while Strang talked to Lothian about the door-to-doors – disappointing, from what Murray could hear – she checked for forensic reports that might have come in from Edinburgh. There was one that looked interesting and she called, ‘Sir!’

  Strang came across to read it over her shoulder. It was an analysis of the head wound: it had been caused by a blow from something rounded and smooth, as Dr Kashani’s initial report had stated, but more detailed analysis had established that it had also been extremely heavy and applied with a force that suggested the weapon must also have had a handle.

  ‘A cosh, maybe,’ Murray suggested and Strang said, ‘Mmm,’ but she didn’t think he was really listening. She could tell that his mind was elsewhere. What had he picked up that she hadn’t?

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s move. We’ll check on Mrs Gunn first.’

  When Gabrielle’s phone rang again she barely responded. She’d no idea how long it had been since the previous call; she’d sat shrivelled in a chair, suspended in a vortex of misery where time had no place.

  It went on to the answering service and after a few minutes she got up and found it. It was showing her mother’s number, and when she accessed the message Lilian’s voice was sharp with anxiety. ‘Gabrielle? Why aren’t you answering? I worry so much, you know. With everything, I’m afraid of what you might do. Are you there? Phone me back, or I’ll have to get Malcolm to come round and see if you’re all right. Don’t do anything stupid, will you?’

  Malcolm – oh, for God’s sake, anything but Malcolm, being paternal. She knew what his advice would be when she told him what had happened, and he would probably be right, but she wasn’t ready yet to admit she’d have to give up. Her mother’s fussing phone call had rubbed her up the wrong way and she wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of hearing her crumpling under the strain. Do what Paddy would do, she thought, tell them to fecking take a running jump.

  ‘Mother?’ she said. ‘Thanks for phoning. Sorry it took me a minute to answer – I was out in the garden. Yes, I’m fine, honestly.’

  She was proud that she’d managed to keep her voice steady, that she had sounded, as she thought, normal. Though perhaps she couldn’t remember what normal was, because her mother still sounded worried.

  ‘It’s been such a shock for you – well, for us all,’ Lilian said. ‘And he propped up the business for you as well. But you mustn’t let that prey on your mind – remember you promised David!’

  With a hollow feeling inside Gabrielle said, ‘Yes, of course. Was there anything else?’

  ‘Not really, darling. No more funny voices in your head, then?’

  This time, she knew she hadn’t managed. Her voice was shrill as she said, ‘No, of course not. Bye.’ She switched the phone off and sank her head in her hands.

  Mrs Gunn wasn’t back home, and Murray found a neighbour who said he’d seen her leaving in her car at about half past seven, and no, she hadn’t had a suitcase or anything with her.

  When she reported back to Strang he seemed to find that interesting too. ‘That would figure,’ he said, but he didn’t explain further. She was to drive, and he settled back in the passenger seat as he checked the messages on his phone.

  He gave her directions to head towards Halkirk. She’d read the report on the interviews at the fishing hotel but when she asked if that was where they were going he said no.

  ‘I’m just going to key in the address Jack’s found me into the satnav. I want to speak to a young woman called Hayley and if possible at home, when she isn’t at the hotel where she works. With our luck today, she’ll probably have gone there already but it’s worth a try.

  ‘I want you to do this interview, Livvy.’

  ‘Me?’ Murray was so surprised that she took her eye off the road for a moment, then hoped he hadn’t noticed that she’d taken a slightly unusual line into the corner ahead.

  He didn’t comment, anyway. ‘I’ll tell you why. I don’t think she likes police officers very much and someone nearer her own age might get more out of her. Her boss treats her as if she’s stupid, but I don’t think she is – I think she’s smart enough to reckon she gets away with more that way.’

  ‘Playing the daft laddie?’

  ‘Exactly – too clever is dumb. The thing is, when she happened to mention that someone had joined Bruce Michie’s party of fisherman, her boss was anxious to suggest she was too vague to know what she was talking about. I don’t think she liked that, so it might give us a way in. Unfortunately, they haven’t managed to turn up a decent photo of Aitchison – we’ll just have to see what she says.’

  Murray was thinking furiously as she drove on. It was vital to get her tone right on this one. ‘Do we think it was him, then?’

  She heard mild impatience in his voice. ‘We don’t know, Livvy. That’s why we’re asking her.’

  Oh dear. She was doing it again – trying to develop a theory ahead of the facts. ‘Yes, boss,’ she muttered. But even so, it could be Niall Aitchison and whatever he said she was going to be thinking of his description when she was asking this girl her questions.

  ‘One of the things I’d most like to establish, if possible, is how she saw the relationship between the men – who talked the most, who did the others listen to. She may not have noticed, of course, but it’s worth a try.’

  They drove on for a while in silence, Murray’s mind busy with the task ahead. Then Strang said, ‘What do you make of what we’ve learnt today, Livvy?’

  What had they learnt? That Fran Curran had a miserable life, that the car had likely been driven by someone else after Aitchison was dead, that the murder weapon would have had a handle. She’d noticed at the time that this was saying something to him, something more than the bare facts.

  ‘Not sure, boss.’

  ‘We’ve got clear indications now of malice aforethought. It’s occurred to me before that moving the body might have been a clumsy attempt to cover up what had perhaps been an unintended fatality, but as you said yourself,
no one would happen to be carrying woollen gloves. It would have to be planned beforehand. And the description of the weapon – again, planned. The killer didn’t just lose their temper and pick up a stone.’

  ‘Could be a baseball bat, maybe? I’ve known that be used before.’

  ‘Yes, we all have,’ Strang agreed, but she had a feeling he was thinking of something else.

  Now the bossy voice from the satnav was directing her down a lane on the outskirts of the village of Halkirk to where there was a small circle of council houses, built in the seventies from the look of them and badly in need of renovation.

  Hayley’s house was one of the better kept, with a neat front garden. As they walked up the path Hayley appeared round the side of the house, wheeling a bicycle. She stopped when she saw them, then said, looking at Strang, ‘Oh, it’s you again. I’m just on my way out.’

  Murray stepped forward. ‘Going off to work? I know, we’re a nuisance, but I swear it’ll only take a minute. You’re Hayley, right? I’m DC Murray, but just call me Livvy. Can we have a wee chat? My boss says you’re someone who notices things. Here, let me park your bike and then you can let us in.’

  Hayley, looking bemused under the onslaught, allowed Murray to wheel the bike over to lean it against a fence and duly opened the door leading straight into a room dominated by a huge TV, with the furniture – a corner sofa and an armchair – arranged to give the best view of the screen.

  ‘Nice house! Do you live here on your own?’ Murray chattered on.

  Hayley’s expression was still hostile. ‘No, with my mum and dad but they’re out at work. You said this was only going to be a minute. What are you after?’

  Murray grinned at her. ‘Don’t like the polis, do you?’

  ‘You wouldn’t either, if they’d put your boyfriend in jail,’ she said sullenly.

  ‘They did, actually. Well, ex.’ As Hayley, and Strang too, gaped at her, she went on, ‘Did me a real favour, in fact. Best thing that ever happened to me. Anyway, this isn’t about your friend, this is about a guy that got killed. You do remember the weekend you were asked about when these men came up for the fishing, don’t you?’