by Marion Todd
Clare regarded him. ‘I’m guessing our Mr Sharp didn’t roll out the welcome mat for you.’
He exhaled. ‘Not really. He denies visiting Alison at her house on the twenty-third, or on any other date for that matter and he’s threatening to complain about us harassing him.’
‘I’ll give him harassment,’ Clare muttered. ‘Believe him?’
Chris shrugged. ‘I think so. He claims he was in Glasgow all day. Showed me his diary.’
‘Did you get a copy?’
He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper. ‘Names, times, phone numbers – it’s all there. He’s either telling the truth or he’s bloody good at covering his back.’
‘We’ll have to check it out,’ Clare said.
‘Yeah, I know. I’ll just grab a coffee then I’ll start phoning round. Mind you, he could have them primed to say he was there.’
‘Check ANPR. If he had lunch anywhere, used his credit card – you know the drill, Chris.’
* * *
As Clare left the office it started to rain. The car park was ankle deep in slush and she could only hope the rain would shift it before the temperature plummeted again. It was dark now and she flicked on the headlights, turning the car towards the town. The Christmas lights which had been so bright and cheerful for the past month were still strung across the streets; but, as Twelfth Night had now passed they hung unlit, looking forlorn and tacky. Given the problems the weather was causing, Clare reckoned it could be weeks before they were taken down. Sending out a lorry with a hydraulic platform wasn’t likely to be a priority for the council.
The rain grew heavier and her windscreen wipers switched to fast speed. She had to concentrate as pedestrians dashed across the road trying to escape the rain and she wondered if it was time to have her eyes tested. She blinked a couple of times and turned down the fan which was keeping the windscreen clear, focusing on the road ahead. She drove on past the West Port, its octagonal sandstone turrets darkened by the rain. She carried on along City Road until she saw the modest spire of Hope Park and Martyrs Church ahead and turned right into St Mary’s Place, scanning the street for a vacant parking space. She found one opposite the university union building and pulled in before someone else could nab it. She checked her watch. It was just before five. Damn this rain and damn her umbrella, safely propped up by the front door in Daisy Cottage. She pulled her jacket hood up and stepped out in the rain. She should just make Crossford Financial as they were closing.
Kathy, the receptionist, had sounded curious when she’d called. ‘After work, like?’
‘If you don’t mind,’ Clare had said. ‘There’s a nice pub just round the corner; if you’ll let me buy you a drink…’
Clare huddled in a shop doorway opposite Crossford’s office and a few minutes later she saw the door open and Kathy emerge with a young man in a dark suit. They said their goodbyes and the man dashed across the road towards Tesco while Kathy glanced round, uncertainly. Clare stepped out from her shelter and waved to Kathy who crossed the road to join her.
Whether it was the weather or the lack of money after Christmas Clare wasn’t sure but she was glad to see the pub was quiet and she led Kathy to a table in the corner. ‘Drink?’
‘Bacardi and Coke, please.’
Clare ordered an alcohol-free lager for herself and carried the drinks back to the table. Kathy had taken off her coat and hung it over a spare seat and Clare did likewise. She thought Kathy seemed nervous and she wondered if she had cause.
‘Kathy,’ she began, ‘thanks so much for meeting me here. I wanted us to have a proper chat when you weren’t distracted by work.’
This seemed to relax Kathy and Clare pressed on. ‘I thought you probably knew Alison better than anyone else. They do say the receptionist is the lynchpin of an organisation, don’t they?’ She thought Kathy looked pleased at this and she continued. ‘I mean, you field all the calls, the mail and so on. If anyone would know what’s going on, you would.’
‘Oh,’ Kathy said, ‘I’m not a gossip, if that’s what you think, Inspector.’
Clare hastened to reassure her. ‘Of course not. And do call me Clare.’
Kathy’s expression cleared. ‘Well that’s okay then. I mean you have to be discreet in my line of work, don’t you?’
Clare smiled. ‘I’m sure you do. The thing is, we’re struggling to find out anything about Alison. She doesn’t have much in the way of family – I suppose Crossford was her family, really. I’m sure she relied on you all more than you realised.’
Kathy smiled at this. ‘Oh I’m not sure…’
‘Take my word for it,’ Clare said. ‘I’ve just been given a new admin assistant and I’m starting to wonder how I managed without her.’
Kathy smiled and took a drink of her Bacardi.
‘Did you ever meet her ex-husband?’ Clare said, keeping her tone light.
Kathy made a face. ‘I did and I’ll tell you this much, Clare, I didn’t think much of him at all. Alison was far too good for him if you ask me.’ She took another drink of Bacardi then went on. ‘He came in to the office to see Alison one day, you know. But Mr Crossford, well he told him to leave. Said he didn’t want him in poaching any of our clients.’
‘When was that?’
Kathy put down her glass and looked over Clare’s head, as if trying to remember. ‘November, I think it was,’ she said eventually. ‘I know it was after bonfire night because I was trying to book the Christmas lunch and we always do that right after the fireworks.’
‘Do you know why he wanted to see Alison?’
Kathy moved closer to Clare and lowered her voice. ‘Well, I’m not sure. But I think it was something to do with some scheme he was involved in. We had this client, you see…’ she broke off. ‘Oh, but I can’t talk about clients, Clare. It wouldn’t be ethical.’ She nodded as if to emphasise this and sat back, taking another drink.
‘Of course not,’ Clare agreed. ‘Do you think he was trying to pinch one of your clients, though?’
Kathy glanced left and right then leaned into Clare again. ‘Well we did have this client. Restaurant owner, you know. Not that I’m naming names. But we’ve handled his business for years. And then one day he had a meeting with Alison. It was supposed to last an hour but he came out after fifteen minutes. Not a word to me, and he marched straight out the door. Last we ever saw of him.’
Clare waited, not entirely sure where this was leading. She glanced at the Bacardi which was more than half gone by now.
‘Well then my friend Linda – she works at Miles Sharp’s office you know – well, Linda sends me a WhatsApp message. Says did we used to have a client called – well, I won’t say his name – so I said yes we did, and she said, Not any more, you don’t. I asked her what she meant and she said Miles had pinched him.’
‘That sounds a bit unfair,’ Clare said.
‘I’ll say. I mean, the boss, well he went ballistic. Said you just don’t do these things. He wanted to go round there and have it out with Miles but Alison talked him out of it. Said what he – the restaurant man – what he wanted to do was unethical and we were better off without his custom.’
‘Unethical?’ Clare said.
‘That’s what she said, Clare. Her very words.’
‘Do you know what she meant?’
Kathy shook her head. ‘No. But nothing would surprise me about Miles Sharp.’ She sat back, evidently pleased with that observation. ‘And that’s all I know.’
Clare considered this. ‘Would Linda know, do you think?’
Kathy thought for a moment. ‘She might. But then she might not want to say. I think she’s afraid she’ll get on the wrong side of that Cheryl. Right madam she is.’
Clare ordered another drink for Kathy then said, ‘Have you met Cheryl Sharp?’
Kathy nodded. ‘Just the once. She came into the office as well, you know. Swanned in like she owned the place. Demanding to see Alison.’
C
lare sat forward. ‘When was this?’
‘Two days before Christmas.’
‘The twenty-third?’
‘That’s right. I remember because it was our last day before the holiday and I was trying to get tidied up.’
‘Did she say what she wanted?’
‘Nope. She just said if Alison was busy she’d wait. And I told her she’d have a long wait ’cause Alison wouldn’t be back that day.’ Kathy took another sip of her Bacardi. ‘She was working from home, you see?’
Clare recalled the WFH in Alison’s diary and she nodded. ‘And did you tell Cheryl that?’
Kathy shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t tell that one the time of day. No, I just said Alison was out of the office and that she wouldn’t be back before the new year.’
‘And what did Mrs Sharp say to that?’
‘Nothing. She just stormed off, slamming the door, stroppy cow.’
Chapter 23
The heavy rain on top of melting snow had overwhelmed the drains and Clare drove carefully back to the station, negotiating several large floods. She pulled into the car park just as a familiar figure was going in the front door. She locked her car and hurried in after the man. Inside the front entrance the floor was becoming wetter and muddier as callers brought the melting slush in on their feet, and she felt for the cleaner who would be in soon to try and make the station presentable.
Charlie McAinsh had been a reporter with North News for the past twenty years and had a good nose for a story. He was trying his best to engage Jim in conversation without much luck. Clare tried slipping past as she made for her office but she wasn’t quick enough.
‘Inspector Mackay,’ he called. ‘Happy new year to you.’
Clare stopped in her tracks and turned. ‘And the same to you too, Charlie. Good Christmas?’
‘Ach yes. Same as usual. Ate too much, drank too much. But I hear you’ve a bit of a story developing.’
Clare prepared to fend him off, planning to say something about their enquiries being at an early stage; then she realised he wasn’t talking about the murders.
‘How many shops have been hit since the start of December?’ he was saying. ‘Has to be at least a dozen. Is St Andrews being targeted by a gang of shoplifters?’
Clare hoped the relief didn’t show on her face. ‘Rest assured, Charlie, I’m on top of it. We’ll catch the culprits.’
Charlie tried engaging Clare in further conversation but she managed to deflect his questions and escaped into her office. She sent Jim a quick email asking him to let her know when the coast was clear and she sat back to consider what she’d learned from Kathy. It looked as if Miles had poached a client from Crossford. Hardly crime of the century but it might explain his covert meeting with Alison in the car park. Had Miles actually gone to Glasgow on the twenty-third? Maybe Tanya Sullivan was mistaken about the car. Hopefully Chris would be able to shed some light on that tomorrow.
Most important of all, if Miles was engaged in something illegal, and Alison had found out about it, was that enough of a motive for him to kill her? Clare shook her head. It didn’t sound likely. Miles Sharp struck her as a weaselly bastard, but a killer? She didn’t think so.
She yawned and suddenly realised she’d been on the go for ten hours without a break. No wonder she felt done in. She shook the mouse to bring her computer to life and, scanning her Inbox quickly, saw that Jim had finally rid them of Charlie McAinsh. She logged off and shut down the computer.
Zoe had gone home and Jim was preparing to switch the phones through to the control room for the night.
‘I’m heading home, Jim, if anyone’s looking for me. Time you were away too.’
‘Right behind you, Clare,’ he said.
Outside, the rain was still heavy, the snow almost gone. She ran across the car park and jumped into her Mercedes, starting the engine. The automatic wipers came to life and the temperature display said it was five degrees. It looked as if it wasn’t going to freeze tonight, after all. She hoped they’d seen an end to the snow – for now at least, and she pulled out of the car park, heading for home.
Ten minutes later she turned into her drive and saw that the Christmas card image of Daisy Cottage had gone. Even in the winter darkness she could see the trees were dripping with snow-melt, and a large puddle was forming at the front porch. Her Christmas tree, which she’d carried out and left by the side of the porch, had fallen over and was a forlorn sight. Moira, her dog walker, had said something about Christmas trees being used to shore up the dunes on the West Sands and she resolved to investigate this at the weekend. She stepped carefully over the puddle and into the house, shutting out the driving rain. As she kicked off her shoes and hung her coat on a hook by the door Benjy came rushing towards her, his tail wagging furiously. He had one of her slippers in his mouth which he was disinclined to yield. She tried imitating Isobel’s stentorian tones and, to her surprise, he dropped it at her feet. Maybe the training was paying off after all.
The box of Christmas decorations was still in a corner of the sitting room and she knew she should take it up to the attic and tidy up the spot where the tree had stood. The furniture she had moved to accommodate it was still out of place and there was a scattering of pine needles on the carpet. It would take five minutes to put the decorations away and run the Hoover over the carpet. But somehow she hadn’t the energy.
In the kitchen she retrieved a portion of her mother’s turkey curry from the freezer and put it in the microwave to defrost. She glanced at the wine bottle then decided against it. The early evening glass of wine was turning into a bit of a habit, and on a wet dark January night it would be so easy to drink her way out of the doldrums. And, standing in her kitchen, watching the rain teem down against the window, Clare felt she was very much in the doldrums. Instead, she took a bottle of apple juice from the fridge and poured herself a glass.
While the curry defrosted she switched on her laptop. She decided against looking at Facebook. There were no notifications anyway and she wanted to avoid the temptation to look at Geoffrey’s page. Or Al Gibson’s, for that matter. Instead she went to her Favourites where she’d saved Attracto. She stopped for a moment, remembering her warning to Zoe to stay off the site. She should delete it from her laptop and forget about it. And then she told herself it would do no harm to look. Just to see…
Seconds later she’d logged in. A red number three was flashing in the top right-hand corner. She had three Likes. Clare felt a small frisson of excitement as she clicked to see who had Liked her profile.
It didn’t last. She was pretty sure she’d arrested one of them last summer and the other two were no more inspiring. ‘Is this what I’m reduced to?’ she asked Benjy. ‘Trawling the internet like a desperate teenager?’
Benjy jumped up beside her and put his paws on her shoulder, nuzzling her cheek. This simple act of love disarmed her and her throat grew tight. And as she felt his tongue, wet against her ear, she buried her face in his fur and began very quietly to weep.
Friday, 8th January
Chapter 24
The snow was largely gone by the time Clare drew into the police station car park. The rain had finally stopped too, allowing a watery sun to peep through an otherwise leaden sky. A Scottish Water van was parked further along Tom Morris Drive where flood water was threatening to cover the road.
Jim was at the front desk as she entered the station.
‘Morning, Jim. Anything new?’
‘A couple of things, Clare’ He glanced towards the incident room. ‘They’re starting to gather next door. Want me to fill you in now? Or at the briefing? What time were you thinking?’
Clare checked her watch. ‘Fifteen minutes suit you?’
‘Aye. Zoe should be in by then.’
‘Leave it till the briefing, then. How’s Zoe shaping up, anyway?’
‘Oh, she’s grand,’ Jim said. ‘Picks things up really quickly. She’s a huge help just now, with all this going on.’
&
nbsp; In her office Clare switched her on computer and it began to hum as it came to life. She scanned her emails quickly and dealt with a few.
Chris put his head round the door. ‘Anything doing?’
‘Not much, Chris. Briefing in a few minutes.’
‘Zoe’s brought in lemon drizzle cake…’
‘Oh God,’ Clare said. ‘I really shouldn’t…’
‘Want me to get you a slice?’
‘Go on. Before the locusts descend on it.’
Five minutes later, the cake safely stashed in her office, she entered the incident room and called the briefing to order. ‘Okay,’ she began. ‘Let’s get the easy stuff out of the way first. Chris – anything on Miles Sharp’s trip to Glasgow?’
Chris got to his feet. ‘They all confirm he was there. First appointment was eleven then he took clients out to lunch and his last was at three.’
‘Do we know where lunch was?’
Chris looked at his notepad. ‘Aye. The Canny Drap. Pub out the west end.’
‘Argyle Street?’ Janey asked. ‘I’ve been there. The food’s pretty good.’
‘Can anyone verify it?’ Clare asked.
Chris nodded. ‘Manager said there was a table booked in the name of Sharp.’
‘CCTV?’
‘I’ve not asked.’
‘Do that, would you please?’ Clare said. ‘We have a sighting of a car that looks like Miles Sharp’s outside Alison Reid’s house that day. I want to be absolutely sure he was in Glasgow. See if the cops there can email it through.’
Chris scribbled this down and Clare went on. ‘ANPR footage?’
He shook his head. ‘Negative, Clare.’
‘Did he take a train?’
‘It’s possible,’ Chris said, ‘but I doubt it. His appointments were scattered across the city. He’d have been in and out of taxis all day.’
‘Let’s check that,’ Clare said.
‘What about Cheryl’s car?’ Bill suggested. ‘He could have taken that.’