HUBRIS

by Brassett, Pete

  ‘And the young fellow? Alex Dunbar?’

  ‘Well, three out of four’s not bad. Anyway, we’re not charging him with anything. Not yet anyway. I just need to hear his version of events.’

  Elliot glanced at the smiling faces around the table and, conceding defeat, winked at Munro as he left the office.

  ‘Call me when the pizza arrives,’ he said. ‘As you were, Charlie. As you were.’

  Chapter 21

  Unlike certain members of the legal profession, in particular, those who sought to intimidate the authorities with a shamelessly ostentatious display of the wealth they’d garnered from defending high-profile criminals, the unassuming Gordon Christie, who owned neither a handmade leather briefcase nor a bespoke suit, had, with his thick-rimmed spectacles, balding head, and tatty gabardine overcoat, more in common with Mr. Magoo than a top-flight lawyer.

  Ignoring the two detectives as they entered the room, he produced a scuffed A4 notepad from a torn carrier bag, placed it next to a biro on the table in front of him and sat, head bowed with his hands clasped firmly between his legs as McClusky, with a face like thunder, turned his chair to glare at the side of the solicitor’s head.

  Likening the mismatched duo to a couple of care home cronies about to compile their bucket list, Duncan, stifling a smile, stood by the door with his hands behind his back while West, carrying a brown paper sack, took a seat and stabbed the voice recorder.

  ‘For the benefit of the tape,’ she said, ‘I am DI West, also present is Detective Sergeant Reid. Would you kindly state your names, please.’

  Christie raised a hand to his mouth and coughed politely.

  ‘Gordon Christie,’ he said, softly.

  ‘Louder please, Mr Christie, we can’t actually hear you.’

  ‘GORDON CHRISTIE!’

  ‘Blimey, that’ll do. And you, sir?’

  ‘Thomas McClusky.’

  ‘Perfect. For the record, I should mention that Mr Christie is a solicitor and is here to advise Mr McClusky. Right, let’s get cracking, shall we? Mr McClusky, you’ve been arrested on suspicion of aiding and abetting the illegal import of a banned substance, notably cocaine, into this country. Do you understand?’

  Christie, staring at the desk, nodded once.

  ‘I do,’ said McClusky.

  ‘And have you anything to say in response to your arrest and the accusation levelled against you?’

  Christie shook his head.

  ‘I have not.’

  ‘Good. Now then, we have reason to believe that your boat, the Thistledonia, was being used to transport a shipment of drugs from somewhere off the Faroe Isles to an unidentified location along the coast somewhere between Troon and Kirkcudbright. Are you now, or were you, at any time in the past, aware that it was being used for such a purpose?’

  Christie nodded.

  ‘No,’ said McClusky. ‘I was not.’

  ‘Okay. The last people to charter your boat,’ said West, ‘were two brothers by the name of Jack and Henry Boyd. How long exactly have you known the Boyds?’

  Christie glanced at his client, frowned, and slowly shook his head.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Oh, here we go,’ said West. ‘Right, let’s go back a bit, let’s see if we can jog your memory. Not so long ago we had a conversation, you and I, during which you mentioned that Jack and Henry Boyd were long-standing customers of yours, is that right?’

  ‘I have no recollection of any such conversation,’ said McClusky. ‘No recollection at all.’

  With McClusky adopting a predictably obstinate stance, West, aware that there was more than one way to skin a cat, opted to feign a complete lack of interest by picking up her phone and tapping lethargically at the screen.

  ‘How long have you known them?’ she said with a yawn. ‘Six months. Twelve? A bit longer, maybe?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘They chartered your boat to go on fishing expeditions, didn’t they? What did they do with their catch when they returned to harbour? Did they take it home or did they flog it on the quayside?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘What about your son?’ said West. ‘Callum. He’s in the fish trade, did he help them out? After all, they’re good mates. They were at school together.’

  ‘No comment.’

  West turned to Duncan and sighed with a theatrical roll of the eyes.

  ‘God, this is getting boring,’ she said as she reached into the paper sack. ‘Let’s try something else. For the benefit of the tape I am now showing Mr McClusky two padded envelopes. Do you recognise these?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Let me help you out,’ said West as she flipped them over. ‘You see, this one’s marked “Jack”, and this one’s marked “Henry”. Now, before you say anything, we compared the writing on these envelopes to the entries in your ledger and we’re pretty sure it’s the same. It’s your handwriting, isn’t it, Mr McClusky?’

  Christie winced, dropped his head, and groaned as McClusky, his cheeks flushing with rage, spun to face the front.

  ‘Where did you get those?’ he said, gritting his teeth.

  ‘Oh, so you do recognise them? Finally, we’re getting somewhere.’

  ‘Don’t play with me, Inspector! I said, where did you get them?’

  ‘Where you left them,’ said West. ‘In your office. In a drawer. In the bureau.’

  ‘Right! I’ve heard enough!’ said McClusky. ‘You’ve over-stepped the mark, Inspector! Mr Christie will be filing a formal complaint!’

  ‘Really? What for?’

  ‘Entering my property without permission! Removing items without permission! And so help me God, if you forced your way in–’

  ‘Calm down,’ said West as Duncan, reaching for his pocket, produced a folded sheet of paper and smiled. ‘My fault, I should’ve said. We’ve got a warrant. Oh, and by the way, there’s no damage to the door, we let ourselves in – we had a set of keys. Callum’s keys. So, back to the envelopes, would you care to tell us what’s in them?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I thought not. I’ll tell you, shall I? Each envelope contains exactly one thousand pounds. Now, I know it’s coming up to Christmas but I’m guessing that as far as gifts go, that’s probably just a bit too extravagant so, why were you giving Jack and Henry Boyd a grand each?’

  Christie took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his forehead as McClusky leaned back in his seat with a supercilious grin smeared across his face.

  ‘It’s a refund,’ he said. ‘For their fishing trip.’

  ‘You’re refunding them because some scally nicked your boat while they were having their supper?’

  ‘In the scheme of things,’ said McClusky, ‘it’s not different to having a hire car stolen. The fact of the matter is, they followed procedure, they docked in a safe place and the boat was secured. It’s not their fault it was pinched.’

  ‘Even so,’ said West, ‘I have to say it’s awfully generous of you, giving them back all their dosh, I mean, considering they were on the last leg of their journey, if they’d booked with anyone else they’d have been lucky to get ten per cent.’

  ‘That’s the kind of person I am,’ said McClusky, ‘generous to a fault. It’s all about customer satisfaction.’

  ‘Is it indeed? It’s a shame Aron Jónsson didn’t know about your policy, he could’ve saved himself a trip. You know Mr Jónsson, don’t you, Mr McClusky? He’s a trawlerman, a big bloke with a beard. He’s from Iceland. Oh, I forgot to say, he’s a drug dealer, too.’

  McClusky glowered across the table as Christie closed his pad and slipped it back into the carrier bag.

  ‘This two grand,’ said Duncan, ‘is that about the going rate for hiring your boat?’

  Christie turned to his right, shrugged his shoulders, and slumped back in his seat.

  ‘Aye,’ said McClusky. ‘It is.’

  ‘So, this business you’re in, renting a boat to a few fishermen,
it’s a lucrative one, is it?’

  ‘It can be.’

  ‘It can be?’ said Duncan with a huff. ‘Oh, come on! It must be! I mean, by your own admission, that boat’s hardly out of the water! Okay, I’m guessing here, but if two grand’s the going rate for a ten-day trip, then you must be making what? Sixty? Seventy grand a year? Is that not right?’

  ‘It’s not guaranteed,’ said McClusky. ‘It depends on the weather.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, last year must have been a belter for you, I mean, we had a cracking summer and let’s face it, winter all but passed us by.’

  ‘Aye, it was better than average, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘Must be quite a life, eh?’ said Duncan. ‘Just sitting back, doing nothing while the money rolls in. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the jealous type. No, no. If someone hits the jackpot, I’m the first to say, good on you pal, but some folk aren’t like that, are they, Mr McClusky? Some folk want a slice of the action, too. Folk like the Department for Work and Pensions and Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs. They’d be raging if they knew what you really earned, especially as you told them that you made less than six grand, which gets me thinking, your mattress must be bulging at the seams.’

  Christie buttoned his coat and groaned as if troubled by wind while Duncan perched on the edge of the desk, folded his arms, and stared at McClusky.

  ‘Your son. Callum,’ he said. ‘He lives with you at home so you must see him all the time but tell me this, Mr McClusky, when did you last see your daughter?’

  McClusky, stony-faced, stared directly at Duncan and paused before answering.

  ‘No comment,’ he said, emphatically.

  ‘Too late for that,’ muttered Christie.

  ‘So, not recently, then? How about Maureen? Have you seen Maureen, or Willy?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘How about Callum? Does he get on with his stepsister?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I think he does,’ said Duncan. ‘In fact, I’d go so far as to say, they get on really well, I mean, why else would she let him use her bank account to launder his drug money?’

  ‘No comment.’

  Duncan stood, drove his hands deep into his jacket pockets, and wandered to the side of the room.

  ‘See here, Mr McClusky,’ he said, ‘I understand the love of a father. I’m a surrogate one myself, so I get that. I get what they’d do for the weans, protect them, come hell or high water. So, tell me, what were you protecting Callum from? Why were you covering for him?’

  ‘I’ve never covered for him in my life,’ said McClusky. ‘He’s an adult. If he’s done something wrong, he can pay the price, just like anyone else.’

  ‘Well, that’s admirable,’ said West, ‘but there must have been something, I mean, why else would you lie about the flu?’

  ‘I’ve not lied about anything!’ said McClusky. ‘I told you, the lad had it bad! I took him to the infirmary myself! If you’d done your homework, Inspector, you’d know that!’

  ‘Oh but we have,’ said West. ‘And guess what? We got a gold star and a tick. Callum went to the infirmary alright, there’s no doubt about that, but he wasn’t treated for flu, was he? He was treated for stab wounds.’

  ‘That can’t have been easy,’ said Duncan. ‘I mean, a wee hard man like Callum having to get his father to take him to the hospital because he’d been stabbed. Not just stabbed, mind, but stabbed by a girl! His own sister!’

  ‘She didn’t stab him!’ said McClusky, yelling as he thumped the table. ‘It was…’

  Duncan glanced at West and smiled as McClusky, catching himself, fell silent.

  ‘That’s what I like to see,’ he said, ‘a wee bit of co-operation. Now, will you finish that sentence or will I?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Duncan. ‘See here, Mr McClusky, we know it wasn’t Rhona who stabbed Callum. It was her boyfriend but that son of yours must have quite a temper because we know what he did to her later that evening.’

  ‘What are you driving at?’

  ‘You mean to say he didn’t tell you? Dear, dear, and I thought you two had some sort of inseparable bond. Murder, Mr McClusky, it can’t get more serious than that, and as far as you’re concerned, the game’s a bogey, pal. You’ll be charged with tax evasion, false accounting, and benefit fraud.’

  ‘Very good,’ said McClusky with a smirk. ‘I’ll pay what I owe and get a slap on the wrist. Now, if we’re all done here–’

  ‘No, no,’ said Duncan, ‘you’re not out the door just yet, you seem to have forgotten why you were arrested in the first place. We’ve the small matter of art and part to deal with but before that, we’re away for a wee chat with Rhona’s boyfriend so you sit tight. We’ll see you in a few hours.’

  Chapter 22

  Had she witnessed a performance like Duncan’s whilst serving as a DS in London, then the younger West – whose demeaning male colleagues perpetually inflamed her sense of insecurity – would, with absolute certitude, have taken it as a non-verbal criticism of her interview technique enacted for the sole purpose of undermining both her confidence and her authority. However, coming from an underling who’d once harboured a blatant disregard for following orders and made a habit of flirting with any suspect of a female persuasion, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride knowing that in some small way she’d been responsible for his transformation into a first class, if unconventional, interrogator.

  Certain that Alex Dunbar, a timid bundle of nerves at the best of times, would respond more favourably to her questions in the dubious comfort of the Defender than under the menacing gaze of her number two in the cold confines of an interview room, she settled back and waited, beeping the horn as his scrawny silhouette appeared across the car park.

  ‘They’re clavering already,’ he said, as he hopped into the passenger seat. ‘It’s not often one of their porters gets his collar felt by the police.’

  ‘Ignore them,’ said West. ‘It doesn’t matter what they think, and you haven’t had your collar felt, so relax. At least we’ve got some privacy here.’

  ‘Right enough,’ said Dunbar, ‘if we were in the hotel, they’d probably all be listening at the door.’

  ‘Are you alright? It must have been a bit of a shock to learn about Rhona. I’m just sorry it had to come from me.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Dunbar. ‘I’m fine. I think. I just have to get on with things. With life. I mean, what else can I do?’

  ‘Well, you can help me for a start.’

  ‘How?’

  West turned to face Dunbar, stared earnestly into his eyes, and spoke softly.

  ‘I need to know what happened,’ she said. ‘Between you and Callum McClusky.’

  Dunbar drew a breath and twitched nervously in his seat.

  ‘Callum?’ he said. ‘Sorry, but I don’t know anyone called–’

  ‘Alex! Listen to me. We found the knife and it’s got your prints all over it, so we can either have a friendly chat here, the only condition being that I might need a sworn statement off you later, or I can run you in right now, charge you with ABH, and let it go before the court. So, what’s it to be?’

  Dunbar lowered his head and sighed.

  ‘Will there be any comeback?’ he said. ‘You know, repercussions? Will McClusky come after me?’

  ‘No,’ said West. ‘He’s banged up already, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘And my boss? If she finds out, will she sack me?’

  ‘She won’t,’ said West. ‘It’s hard to sack someone if they’ve done nothing wrong. So, what do you say?’

  ‘What do you need to know?’

  ‘Everything. Everything about the night it happened.’

  Despite his fears, and an almost debilitating attack of the butterflies, Dunbar, preferring a one-to-one with West in the safety of the car to an earful of abuse from his parents should they discover he’d been arrested for assault, hunched his shoulders and took a deep
breath.

  ‘We were watching telly,’ he said. ‘University Challenge.’

  ‘Blimey! A bit of a brainbox, then, was she?’

  ‘Aye. Well, she liked to think so. She never answered any questions, mind.’

  ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘McClusky showed up.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Aye, just like that, out of the blue.’

  ‘Did you recognise him?’

  ‘I’ve seen him hanging around the hotel a few times, I thought he was a delivery driver or something.’

  ‘And what did you think? About him showing up?’

  Dunbar chewed his lip and frowned as he pondered the question.

  ‘I thought it was odd,’ he said, ‘that some fella should be knocking her door at that time of night.’

  ‘Did it make you jealous?’

  ‘It did. I thought maybe he was an ex or something, but he seemed alright, friendly enough, but…’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Dunbar. ‘Rhona. I mean, she wasn’t exactly made up to see him. She seemed a wee bit odd.’

  ‘Not surprised?’ said West. ‘As in, surprised to see him?’

  ‘No. More nervous, I’d say.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘She said she needed a wee chat, in private, so they went upstairs to the bathroom.’

  ‘And how did that make you feel?’

  ‘Like a spare part. Like I shouldn’t be there. I was going to fetch my coat and leave but…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I couldn’t help myself,’ said Dunbar. ‘I went to the foot of the stairs and tried to listen in on whatever it was they were gabbing about.’

  ‘And did you hear anything?’

  ‘Just muffled voices, but then she sort of screamed.’

  ‘Sort of?’

  ‘Aye, not loud,’ said Dunbar, ‘it was almost as if they were… anyway, I felt angry and embarrassed, then it happened again, but louder, a proper scream. So, I took the knife from the kitchen and went upstairs.’

  ‘That’s not like you,’ said West. ‘Don’t take it the wrong way, Alex, but you’re not exactly the kind of lad who’d go steaming into a fight, are you?’