‘Look, come on. It’s fine. I’ve worked out a couple of tweaks – things we can do to beef up the enquiries that stupid woman’s making a fuss about, and once the SRCS have made a token visit and seen that there’s nothing in it, they’ll go away again. Granted, they’ll speak to Jason too, but he knows the score. I think one of the guys was going to have a little chat with him just to go over his lines. There’s no need for them to look anywhere else. And if they did, they wouldn’t find anything.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Course I’m sure. We’ve been careful. Arm’s length, we always said, and that’s how it’s been.’
Wilson took a deep breath. ‘I want to believe you, and you’re usually right.’
‘What’s with “usually”? Always, more like. Now, what we need to do …’
At the end of the meeting Wilson went away reassured, Hammond thought. He was on edge himself; he’d had to spend time persuading the District Commander that he had everything in hand and welcomed a visit from the SRCS that should convince Ms Harper that they were taking her concerns seriously, even if there was no substance to them, and he seemed to be satisfied with that. Hammond prided himself on his talent for dealing with superior officers that had served him well in the past.
He’d just have to employ it when it came to dealing with Strang, the DCI at the head of SRCS. It was a fairly new organisation but it had got quite a bit of publicity in a couple of big murder cases and it had given Strang something of a reputation, but as long as he was focused on what Jackson had done, it would be fine. They just needed to make sure he didn’t poke his nose into what didn’t concern him.
On an impulse, he googled DCI Kelso Strang – know your enemy was always a good principle. A number of entries came up and he clicked on a newspaper report of the case in Caithness. It had given him a good write-up; the top brass must be pleased with him. He was just about to close it to click on an entry that mentioned ‘profile’ instead, when something caught his eye. He froze.
DC Livvy Murray was the other officer named. Murray – that was what Wilson had said when he’d introduced the new officer from Edinburgh. He hadn’t mentioned ‘Livvy’ but Hammond had little doubt that this was the same person. And the implications were horrifying.
She had been sent down here before Marta Morelli had made any contact with Edinburgh. He’d be willing to bet that the reason the woman had heard of the SRCS was because Murray had told her. Murray had seized on this as a way to open the door for them to investigate something else – what?
He’d been set up. He’d taken her at face value – the hennaed hair, the cheap clothes, the accent – and he’d handed the chance to her on a plate with a wee frilly doily and a cake fork. He picked up the phone and pressed the number for the CID room – Wilson should be there.
The first thing to do was to neutralise her, get her out of the way. The next thing was how to neutralise Strang. That wouldn’t be quite so easy.
There seemed to be a lot going on in Halliburgh police station when DC Murray reported for duty. Had word got round already? She saw Kate Graham hurrying along the corridor and said hello, but since Graham just smiled and said hello back rather than giving her a painfully obvious conspiratorial look, Murray guessed Strang hadn’t told her anything.
When she reached the CID room, a constable was there with a mangled-looking bicycle and DS Wilson was filling out a form and looking harassed. As she came in, he said, ‘Now see that gets sent off for testing immediately. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The constable took the form and carted the bike away.
Wilson turned, looking at her with undisguised loathing. ‘I hope you’re satisfied that you’re involving us all in a lot of totally unnecessary work.’
‘Am I, sir?’ She was definitely getting good at innocent. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Your friend has managed to wangle it so that the SRCS is to be sent down to tell us we’ve done everything wrong. Can’t think how the woman knew anything about it.’
‘Read something somewhere, I suppose.’
‘Anyway, you’re not flavour of the month with the boss, so you’d better keep out of his way. There’s a report to be written up after that fight on Monday. You’ll get the reference number from the duty file. And if you finish that, there’s a backlog of filing that needs doing.’
She was tempted to point out that this wasn’t really a job for a detective, but knowing what was coming to him she decided to be merciful and said, ‘Yes, sir,’ as meekly as she could.
The phone on the desk buzzed and he picked it up. As Murray watched, his face changed. ‘Right, boss,’ he said and hurried out.
So what was that about? she wondered as she sat down to access the interviews. Had they just heard that Strang was actually on his way, or was this some new development? She’d been interested that Wilson was stressing the urgency of sending off the damaged bike – Cassandra’s, she reckoned – which had presumably been sitting through the back somewhere since it happened. The best you could expect from forensic tests was paint flakes from the car that had hit it – if there were any – but it could take months to get the results and even then all it would do was give you some idea of the make of car. Since Cassandra had come to no harm, they were unlikely to commit manpower to following it through. So it was most likely window-dressing for Strang’s benefit.
And Felix’s death? Was there something they were doing about that too, to beef up that investigation, so-called? She’d certainly be watching out for that. Meantime, she could get on with reading the file.
The interviews with the boys were unexpectedly fascinating:
Wilson: So where did you get the knife from then, Johnny? The Internet?
Johnny: Yes, sir.
Wilson: Why were you carrying it? Had you heard that people say you need it for protection?
Johnny: Yes, sir.
Wilson: And when did you buy it? Recently?
Johnny: Yes, sir. Someone said Olly was out to get me, so I needed it.
Wilson: But Olly’s one of your mates, isn’t he? Do you realise how stupid that was?
Johnny: Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.
And so it went on, leading question after leading question. No attempt to ask about gang mentality, nor what the quarrel had been about, nor whether there were others involved. The interview with Olly followed exactly the same pattern, and the bland summary stated that the knives had been confiscated and they had been given a warning.
Scotland takes knife crime very seriously. According to the guidelines, carrying a knife means arrest and prosecution. These kids were minors, but even so you don’t just take away the knife and tell them they’ve been bad and not to do it again. At the very least, you’d be expecting referrals to youth workers. If this was meant to keep her busy and stop her causing more trouble, it had spectacularly misfired. This would give Strang the perfect place to start digging.
At that moment the door burst open again and DS Wilson appeared.
‘Leave that, Murray,’ he snarled. ‘I need you to go now to take a statement from this woman – someone’s stolen garden equipment from her garage. You’ll get details of the complaint from the desk.’
‘Yes, sir. I’ll just—’
‘No, don’t “just” anything. Close down that file and get on your way now.’
He stood over her as she logged out and picked up her bag. ‘And take your time,’ he said. ‘The less I see of you the happier I’ll be. It might be smart to stop trying to be clever. For your own good.’
There was no mistaking the threat in his voice and Murray’s stomach lurched. She’d thought she was doing well, but somehow they had discovered what she was and the joke about Mata Hari felt a little flat now. ‘Yes, sir,’ she mumbled and hurried out.
As she took down directions for finding the house – some miles out in the country – she kept hearing Strang’s voice saying, ‘A murdered DC might be convincing evidence that there was a serious problem.’
Strang had told her that he wouldn’t admit he knew her. If they really had somehow found out, that could land him in it. Should she phone to warn him about what had happened? She cringed at the thought; after boasting about her talents for deception this would be dead humiliating. Maybe she should wait for evidence that they had found out and that it wasn’t just Wilson being in a bad temper because the boss had bawled him out about something.
Or maybe she should phone him. She still hadn’t made up her mind as she drove off to check out the theft which, she noted, had been reported three weeks ago.
PC Kate Graham had been tasked, along with PS Colin Johnston, with questioning some of the local boys she had seen hanging around the bus shelter. She’d been taken aback when he asked her for a list, since when she’d talked about this in the wake of Felix’s death there had been a marked lack of interest. Today, though, there was a definite atmosphere of tension and DS Wilson was doing a lot of uncharacteristic chivvying.
He was obviously in a bad mood and Graham had a terrible feeling she knew why. Murray hadn’t said anything to her, but something was clearly going on and the butterflies in her stomach had returned wearing tackety boots.
She had gone up to see Cassie Trentham the previous evening after she heard about Jason Jackson’s arrest, worried that this might have upset her again, but she was mainly puzzled.
‘I don’t know what it was all about. I phoned to ask my mother, but Marta said she was lying down with a headache – no idea whether that was true or not. And all she said was that she didn’t think the police were taking things as seriously as they should and she was “taking steps”.’
‘What did she mean?’ Kate asked.
Cassandra gave a short laugh. ‘If I were the police, I’d be distinctly worried. Marta is entirely ruthless about anything that affects Anna and she’s supremely efficient. She’s also got Davy to have security stuff installed here – look at that great ugly panic button.’ She pointed. ‘Ruins the look of the sitting room. And they’ve made a mess of the paintwork putting in the alarms.’
Kate looked and there was indeed some damage. ‘Oh dear, I suppose you’ll need to get someone to touch it up.’
‘Oh, Marta has that in hand already. They’re coming tomorrow. Supremely efficient, like I said.’
‘Well, an alarm system isn’t a bad idea. Just as long as you use it.’
Cassandra had looked at her very seriously. ‘Do you think I need it, Kate? My mother’s scaring me with all this. She won’t tell me what’s behind this sudden desire to wrap me in cotton wool. And I suppose knocking someone off their bike could be a good way to kill them.’ Then she gave a little laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t really think that. I think this is some sort of weird fantasy my mother and Marta have concocted between them. The penalty for having a mother with an overdeveloped imagination.’
She spoke lightly but Kate could see the anxiety and she considered her words carefully. ‘Looking at it as objectively as I can, I can’t see any reason for it not being just a careless motorist who clipped your bike. On the other hand, it won’t do you any harm to be careful if it keeps your mother happy.’
‘Oh, I suppose so. It’s bloody irritating, that’s all. Still, as you say …’
Cassie had shrugged her shoulders and changed the subject. What she had said was still very much on Kate’s mind as they drove to the school.
There were five boys on Graham’s list. PS Johnston took the lead in questioning them: stock questions, and he got stock replies. No, they didn’t know anything about drugs. Or knives either, since he’d mentioned that. Any gear they had, they’d got from their parents – or, in one case, an indulgent uncle.
The fifth boy, Danny Burns, was the youngest and much the least adept at deflecting questions. When Johnston asked if he had a smartphone, Danny’s response was bitter. ‘No, I don’t. Everyone else does, but not me.’
‘And why’s that?’ Johnston asked.
‘Mum doesn’t have any money, I s’pose.’
Graham noticed his shoes. ‘Nice pair of Converse trainers, though, Danny. Where’d you get the money for those?’
He hesitated. ‘Mum got it from her boyfriend.’
‘Generous man, is he?’ Johnston asked.
Danny glowered at him. ‘Nuh. He’s a mean bastard.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t have much to give you,’ Graham suggested.
‘Rolling in it,’ he said with a disgusted sniff.
She waited a moment for Johnston to ask the follow-up question, but he didn’t. He said, ‘Now,’ as if he was going back to the routine questions. She cut in, ‘Where does he get all this money from, Danny?’
He opened his mouth as if he was going to tell her, then shut it again. ‘Dunno,’ he mumbled.
Johnston moved very quickly on and she didn’t get a chance to follow it up. Graham was more convinced than ever that Halliburgh had a problem with officers who were far too keen not to find out anything about the drugs problem on their patch. She’d find a quiet moment and let Livvy Murray know what she’d found out.
When the desk buzzed to say that DCI Strang had arrived, DI Hammond went down to greet him. The man was tall, with something of an army bearing, but it was the scar that ran down the right-hand side of his face that caught the attention first; perhaps it was that that made him look somehow daunting – that and the level brows above cool hazel eyes. He advanced on him with his hand outstretched.
‘DCI Strang? I’m Steve Hammond. Glad to meet you, sir. Very grateful you’ve been able to come down to help us with this problem. Come to my office and I’ll arrange for coffee. Reasonable journey down from Edinburgh?’
Strang’s response seemed wary, but he shook hands and followed along the corridor with some anodyne remark about the traffic. Hammond was pretty sure he had the upper hand; there was no way Strang could know they’d sussed out his plant.
‘Ms Morelli has no doubt given you her take on what has happened?’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for the ladies – it’s been a very stressful time for them recently.’
‘Yes indeed,’ Strang said. ‘And your take is …?’
Hammond sighed. ‘It’s a case of post hoc ergo propter hoc, I’m afraid. That means—’
‘Yes,’ Strang said, ‘I do know. After something, therefore because of it. You’re suggesting that Ms Morelli is assuming that because Jackson burgled Anna Harper’s house after her son died and her daughter had an accident, he was responsible for those?’
He wasn’t sure how to take this. Did that mean Strang accepted the idea, or he didn’t? ‘I’m afraid so, yes. And it’s awkward because Anna Harper has a lot of clout around here. We can’t just say we’ve investigated thoroughly and leave it at that.’
‘I see. Then we have to check it all out and reassure her, don’t we?’
‘Absolutely,’ Hammond said heartily. ‘I can talk you right through it now, if you like.’
‘No need to take up your time. I can get the details later. Can you brief me on this Jason Jackson, though?’
Hammond was beginning to feel that perhaps he didn’t have the upper hand after all. He still had the Murray hand-grenade though; it would be a serious embarrassment for Strang to admit she’d been planted in his team without his knowledge. But he’d need to deploy it when it was most damaging. He certainly mustn’t waste it.
He sighed. ‘Oh yes, Jason! He’s one of the regulars at the pub I go to myself. Talks as if he’s the big man but he’s a pussycat. His problem is he’s got a thing about Anna Harper wrecking his future as a writer. He told me he thought she must have secrets that he could use to stop her trashing the next one and I gave him a stern warning at the time about blackmail. He was dumb enough to break into the house and got the reward he deserved – found nothing. So now he’s got himself in big trouble.’
He was watching Strang to see how he was reacting, but he couldn’t read him. Oh well, if all else fails, try flattery. ‘I’ve heard about your reputation and I hav
e to say I’m grateful for your help in sorting out this mess.’
There was no visible reaction to that either. But Strang said, ‘Does he have some connection with the drugs problem here? Any known link with Felix Trentham?’
Was this the moment to take him on, say, ‘I suppose your little spy suggested that?’ No, not yet – play along until you could make a proper assessment of the damage.
‘I don’t know of any connection at all, sir. If I had, of course I’d have followed it up.’
‘Of course,’ Strang said with a deadly politeness that suggested he didn’t believe a word of it. He went on, ‘I believe you have an officer here, recently seconded from Edinburgh? I’ve actually worked with her before, so if you can manage without her, I could use her in the enquiry down here. It’ll save bringing someone else down.’
Hammond had got it wrong. The grenade hadn’t been in his hands at all, but the chief inspector’s and he’d just taken the pin out and thrown it, to deadly effect. He had a hollow feeling in his stomach and while he said, ‘Yes, of course,’ he was frantically trying to convince himself that all the firewalls he had put in place were still there.
‘There’s someone over there at that cottage again, Duncan.’ It was starting to get dark and Edna McNaughton had gone to draw the curtains. ‘They must have got it rented out at last.’
It was a shabby-looking single-storey building with grey pebble-dash cladding, across the valley and halfway up the hill opposite their own bungalow.
Her husband didn’t look up from his Sudoku. ‘It’ll be in a bit of a state. It’s years since the last lot moved out.’
‘I saw a man carrying in some stuff earlier. I wonder when they’ll be moving in?’
He only grunted and she raised her voice.
‘I said, I wonder when they’ll be moving in?’
Devil's Garden Page 15