1979

by Val McDermid

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘What if I was to tell you he’s got an alibi?’

  Allie stared, incredulous. ‘What do you mean?’

  Rona wasn’t meeting her eyes. ‘I’ve got a good friend. He’s an advocate, a QC. And he’s gay. He’s totally closeted. I only know because I had an affair with one of the other advocates in his stable, and they’re each other’s beards.’ Seeing Allie’s bewildered look, Rona clarified. ‘They pretend to be an item. They go to dinners and public functions together. They even had me fooled to begin with – it was only when Margery came on to me that I realised what was what. So, this friend of mine, he came to see me late on last night. And he reckons he’s this rent boy’s alibi.’

  ‘I don’t understand. How can he be his alibi?’

  ‘You said he was with Danny at seven? Well, he was with my friend on the other side of town at half past eight. In Hyndland. My friend says he was just the same as he always is. Nothing unusual in his behaviour. No blood on him or his clothes.’

  Allie turned it over in her head. The timing was tight. Even if he’d killed Danny as soon as he’d walked in, she didn’t see how Barry could have made it back to his bedsit in the East End, washed and changed and made it to Hyndland by half past eight. ‘Will he come forward?’

  ‘Talk to the police?’ Rona scoffed. ‘No way. That’d be the end of his career. The police are lousy at keeping secrets, you know that.’

  ‘So why did he come to you, if he’s so determined to keep his secrets safe?’

  Rona lit a cigarette to buy a few moments. ‘He trusts me. He knows I’d never give him up. He thought we might be able to run a story without naming him.’

  Allie groaned. ‘That would be a nightmare. An anonymous tip-off? That’s worthless.’

  Rona tapped her cigarette nervously above the ashtray. ‘I told him he could trust you, Allie. What if you were to interview him and write the story, leaving his name out of it? Just say “a top lawyer” or something?’

  ‘The polis would jump all over us.’

  ‘Can you not refuse to reveal your sources?’

  ‘There’s no legal protection for that. They could arrest me for obstructing a police investigation.’

  ‘Even if you’re doing the opposite of obstructing it?’

  Allie gave a mirthless laugh. ‘That’s not how it goes, Rona.’

  ‘The paper would make you look heroic.’

  ‘I’d still be in a police cell.’

  ‘Will you at least talk to him? Maybe there’s a way of using his evidence that gets this lad off the hook without exposing my friend?’ Rona’s pleading was hard to resist. Somehow, she looked both vulnerable and determined.

  Allie sighed. ‘All right, all right. Obviously we can’t meet anywhere public.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve got something to do, but it can wait a wee while. Can you get him to come to my flat in the next hour or so?’

  Rona was already reaching for the phone. ‘If he’s not in court . . . ‘

  Allie scooped up the post from her doormat and carried it through to the kitchen. A glance at the clock told her that Rona and William Morrison would be with her in ten minutes. She took off her coat, put on the kettle and flicked through the letters. A phone bill, an envelope with the familiar hand of a Cambridge friend, and a third with a Glasgow postmark and a second-class stamp. She recognised the handwriting at once and it made the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

  She ripped the envelope open and pulled out a folded sheet of paper and a second envelope. She paused for a moment, spooked by what felt like a communication from beyond the grave. But curiosity overcame her qualms and she opened out the paper.

  Danny’s letter was short and to the point:

  Allie, I’m about to go off and buy armaments from the IRA and I’m scared I’ll maybe not make it out alive. So I thought I’d better write a will, just in case. I know I can trust you to do the right thing if anything happens to me, so here it is. Hopefully we can laugh about this once the dust has settled. Your friend, Danny.

  Grief struck again, closing her throat, but she forced herself to stay calm. Rona and Morrison would be here any minute and she needed to make the right impression on the lawyer. But she couldn’t resist ripping open the envelope that contained Danny’s handwritten will. It didn’t take long to read. He’d left everything to his brother Joseph. He’d had his neighbours across the landing witness it, making it all perfectly legal.

  The move shocked Allie. If she’d had to guess, she’d have gone for his parents as his beneficiaries. It wouldn’t be an insignificant inheritance – Danny’s mortgage company would have made him take out insurance to cover his loan on the flat, they all did that. And the Clarion had a generous death-in-service benefit too. What had made Danny choose to leave it to his brother?

  The last time they’d spoken, as far as she knew, Joseph had been viciously angry. All she could think was that Danny had been riven with guilt at causing so much pain. Being forced to confront the outcome of their Paragon story had obviously left him with a need to atone. In the heat of the moment, he’d tried to make himself feel better by making Joseph his beneficiary. Allie suspected he’d never really believed the will would come into play, and that the passage of time would have blunted the sharpness of his remorse. But here it was, and here it would stand.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of her visitors. William Morrison looked like an advert for high-class male tailoring – camel coat with brown velveteen collar, charcoal three-piece suit with the faintest hint of a pinstripe, paisley silk scarf with matching tie and a shirt so dazzling it made Allie blink. It took her a moment to register his face, so perfect was his outfit. ‘Well-kempt’ was the adjective that sprang to mind. Neatly barbered hair with an artful single lock falling over his forehead, well-groomed eyebrows and a clean shave. But curiously, nothing memorable about his face other than a mouth whose line made it look as if he were on the verge of a smile.

  He fixed Allie with a calculating look as Rona introduced them. He took off his soft tan leather gloves and offered his hand. Allie shook it and led them into the living room. ‘I appreciate this is difficult for you,’ she said, gesturing that they should sit.

  ‘You have no idea,’ he said. ‘And I want you to be in no doubt that I will deny this conversation took place if you dare to reveal my name.’ His accent spoke of Edinburgh privilege. Private school and all that went with it.

  ‘Always good to establish a relationship of trust,’ Allie snapped back.

  ‘The only reason I have to trust you is that Rona vouches for you. And second-hand trust is always a risk.’

  ‘But you’re here.’

  He gave a delicate, one-shouldered shrug. ‘I’ve dedicated my adult life to the law. I can’t sit on my hands and let a miscarriage of justice happen.’ He twisted his mouth in a strange, wry expression. ‘I’ve known Barry for a couple of years now. So in effect, I’ve trusted him. Not simply because we have a transactional relationship but because he’s an honest, decent lad. I know that may sound strange, considering how he earns his money. But he’s never threatened me, never stolen from me. He spent most of his childhood in care and he doesn’t think he has any other means of earning a living. I have tried to point him towards other possibilities, but I suspect they have small appeal while he still possesses his looks. So I’m basing my actions here today not only on the facts of the circumstances but also on my knowledge of his character.’

  It was, Allie thought, a masterpiece of self-delusion. He wasn’t the first lawyer she’d met with a saviour complex. ‘If you want to save him, it would be a lot more straightforward if we could put a name to your story.’

  ‘That’s not possible.’ His face was blank; there was no chink in the armour.

  ‘I’ll protect your identity,’ Allie said. ‘But I have to warn you that my news editor
may decide he can’t risk running the story on that basis. It’s too easy to throw the accusation of fabrication at us. So I need to make a contemporaneous note of this conversation.’

  Morrison nodded. ‘I understand. And you promise you won’t be tempted to renege on our agreement for the sake of saving your story?’

  Allie hid her dislike of his self-interest behind a smile. ‘Not even for the sake of saving Barry Curran.’

  He turned to Rona. ‘I really hope I can trust her, Rona. Because if I go down, there will be others who fall alongside me.’ The delivery was smooth but Allie heard the threat.

  ‘You can trust her, William.’ Rona’s reply was brusque.

  ‘You had a booking with Barry Curran on Saturday evening?’ Allie was fed up with pussyfooting around.

  ‘Yes. I see him a couple of times a month. Sometimes more often. I like to unwind after a hard week in court. And of course, I can’t just hang around in gay bars.’ There was a drip of contempt in his tone.

  ‘So how does it work?’

  ‘I call the answering service and Barry calls me back. We make an appointment and he arrives at the agreed time. He showers, we have sex, we have a couple of drinks, he leaves.’ Chin up, delivery crisp.

  ‘And this is what happened on Saturday?’

  Morrison nodded. ‘Everything as usual.’

  ‘Why does he shower first?’

  Morrison’s eyebrows rose. ‘I’m not foolish enough to think I’m his only client. But before you leap to conclusions, he had no blood on any part of his body. Nor on his clothes. There was no sign that he’d been doing anything other than his . . . his job. Nor did he exhibit any signs of stress or upset. His football team had won their cup tie that afternoon and he was in a good mood as a result.’

  ‘Did you know he’d been with Danny Sullivan before you?’

  ‘No. We never discussed his other clients. That was one of the reasons I felt able trust him. He didn’t gossip, or attempt to impress.’

  ‘You live in Hyndland. Yes?’

  Morrison nodded.

  ‘Do you know where Barry lives?’

  ‘Not precisely, no. He once mentioned Easterhouse, because some junior royal had paid a visit. He was quite scathing about them.’

  ‘What time did he arrive on Saturday?’

  ‘He was booked in for half past eight. He actually arrived a few minutes early. Before you ask, not in a taxi. His feet were wet because he’d walked from the bus stop on Dumbarton Road. He stuffed his shoes with newspaper and put them on the radiator to dry. And I saw no trace of blood on them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have expected you to. There were no footprints in the pool of blood around Danny’s head.’

  The bald statement brought Morrison up short. Chin tucked, his head moved back. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

  Allie pursed her lips. She didn’t care if he was Rona’s friend, she knew she was never going to warm to William Morrison, QC. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me that might help in exonerating Barry?’

  Two frown lines appeared between his brows. He appeared to consider the question. ‘I can’t think of anything other than the timings,’ he said at last. ‘I do hope this helps. He doesn’t deserve this.’

  Allie stood. ‘Thanks for talking to me. If I need any more details, Rona knows where to reach you, I take it?’

  On the way out, Rona hung back. She put a hand on Allie’s arm and leaned in to kiss her cheek. ‘I know he can be a bit of an arse,’ she said softly. ‘But he did want to help.’

  Allie gave her a one-armed hug. ‘Thanks. I’ll call you later, OK?’

  Rona smiled. ‘Whatever it is you’re up to, take care.’

  53

  Allie pulled on to the vacant lot next to Danny’s flat. As usual, Jimmy materialised by her window as if by some sixth sense. ‘How do you do that?’ she asked, opening her car door.

  He shrugged. ‘I just keep an eye out. It’s not like I’m busy. Hey, I was sorry to hear about your man Danny.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She got out and handed Jimmy a five-pound note.

  ‘I’ll get change,’ he said.

  ‘No, don’t.’

  ‘How not?’ He seemed put out.

  ‘Call it a consultation fee.’ Allie smiled. ‘You were here on Saturday night, right?’

  ‘Where else would I be? Even if the pub would let me in for a heat, it’s cheaper to get a carry-out and stay in the car.’

  ‘So you were keeping an eye on things?’

  ‘Aye. Slim pickings though, especially after it got dark.’

  ‘Did you see anybody going into Danny’s close?’

  Jimmy considered for a moment. ‘Is this what I’m consulting about?’ Then a suspicious frown. ‘Are you a polis?’ He sounded surprised.

  ‘No, I’m a journalist. Like Danny. Remember? We worked together. So, did you see anybody?’

  He nodded. ‘I tried to tell one of the polis that was going door to door but he wasn’t interested. Said I was just a piss-head waste of space.’

  ‘Sounds like he was the waste of space. Tell me what you saw.’

  Jimmy considered. Allie forced herself not to fill the gap with more words. At last, he spoke. ‘During the day, there was the usual comings and goings. Weans out playing, wifies out getting their messages. Men nipping to the bookies or the pub. Once it gets dark, though, it’s like a ghost town. I saw her from the top floor tottering out the door the back of six, looked like she was off to the bingo. Then nothing till Danny’s wee poofie pal around about seven.’

  ‘“Danny’s wee poofie pal”?’

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘He looks like a wee poof. The way he minces. That bum-freezer jacket with the fake sheepskin collar turned up. He usually shows up every week or two, stays for about three quarters of an hour then buggers off again. I mean, he doesn’t look like somebody Danny would be pals with in the regular way of things, see what I’m saying? Though mind you, cone to think of it, I thought I saw him on Friday night as well.’

  ‘What? The night before Danny died?’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘Maybe Danny had something to celebrate, eh? Two nights on the trot?’

  ‘He’d had quite a week. He probably needed to unwind a bit. So on Saturday, this guy turned up about seven. When did he leave?’

  ‘Must’ve been about quarter to eight.’

  ‘How did he seem?’

  Jimmy hooted. ‘Cold! He came out the close and hoicked his collar right up. He was skittering down the street like he was trying to get some heat in his skinny wee bones.’

  ‘Did he look upset?’

  ‘Naw, just cold. Hands in his pockets, which if you ask me is bloody stupid when there’s ice and snow on the ground.’

  ‘What about later on? Did you see anybody else?’

  Jimmy gave her a sideways. ‘Her on the ground floor, her fancy man turned up the back of eight. He had a big carry-out, they were clearly all set to make a night of it. Then there was one other gadgie.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘About nine, I reckon.’

  ‘Did he stay long?’

  Jimmy shrugged. ‘Must have been about half an hour.’

  ‘How do you know he was visiting Danny?’

  Jimmy tutted. ‘Because I’ve seen him before. He’s been here a few times since I’ve been living here.’

  ‘When did you . . . move in?’

  ‘A year past December. Just before Christmas.’ Jimmy’s sigh seemed to come from the depths of his boots. ‘I cannae blame the wife. I’d lost my job, I was drinking our savings away and behaving like an arse. Her father gave me what for one night, and I lost the plot and slapped him about. That was the last straw for her and she put me out.’

  ‘That’s a hard time to be on the street.’

  Jimmy spread his ha
nds. ‘I got what I deserved.’

  Allie let the conversation rest for a moment. ‘So you’d seen this guy over the last year?’

  ‘Aye. He parked his car here. Always mumped and moaned about paying, but he coughed up in the end. Though on Saturday night, he never parked here. He left the car on the street, down around number five’s close mouth. Tight wee bastard.’

  ‘How did you know it was Danny he was visiting, though?’

  Not a moment’s hesitation. ‘The second or third time I saw him, he didn’t have the car. He was walking down the street with Danny.’

  ‘Did they seem like pals?’

  Jimmy leered. ‘Not like you’re getting at.’

  ‘I’m not getting at anything,’ Allie protested, though in truth she had wondered.

  ‘They knew each other, that was obvious. But it never crossed my mind that he was Danny’s boyfriend. He looked like a ladies’ man, if you get my drift. His motor, that was for pulling the birds. A bright red sports car.’ He gave a derisive snort. ‘A poser’s passion wagon.’

  ‘What did he look like? Can you describe him?’

  ‘He looked like anybody. Average height, slim built. Dressed quite smart but nothing fancy. Brown hair, looked a bit like him off The Krypton Factor.’

  ‘Gordon Burns?’

  ‘Is that his name? Well, he looks a bit like him. Long face, kind of smiley.’

  Nothing like Thomas Torrance, she thought. ‘What about the car? Do you know what kind it was?’

  Jimmy shook his head. ‘Sporty. Has funny headlights that kind of pop up and down.’

  Allie, who knew almost nothing about cars, was none the wiser.

  ‘One thing, though . . .‘ Jimmy frowned. ‘It’s just coming back to me. He sometimes had folders sitting on his passenger seat.’ He scratched his beard. ‘Paradise? Parade?’

  Allie’s brain was shocked into action. ‘Paragon?’

  Jimmy cackled. ‘You read my mind, lassie. Paragon, that was it.’

  ‘You’re a star, Jimmy.’ That his brother appeared to have been in Danny’s flat on Saturday night was an uncomfortable discovery. Allie hated the idea, but she couldn’t ignore it. Still, she had to try one more roll of the dice. ‘And you’re sure you didn’t see anybody else? This is really important, Jimmy.’