by Jo McCready
For once, she was through the airport in a flash. Unfortunately, there was no line for taxis at the stand and traffic seemed inexplicably quiet. She was deposited on the footpath in front of the building in record time, on the one day when she was in no hurry to get there. She rubbed the back of her neck. The muscles there had tightened up on the plane ride and now felt like knot upon knot. She trudged up the stairs and swiped her security pass. Those inside would know she had arrived. Thankfully, there was no one in the elevator. She knew that no one except her handlers and a small team were aware which case she’d been on or her connection to the huge news story of the day, but she still shrunk slightly at the thought of bumping into anyone as she made her way towards a reprimanding, like a guilty child heading to the headmaster’s office.
She steeled herself before she walked in to the outer office. Martha’s polite greeting gave nothing away. She waved her straight through. RJ lifted her chin, threw back her shoulders, and attempted to stride confidently in to her awaiting uncle.
He glowered at her from behind his desk and his steepled fingers, which were never a good sign.
She sat in the chair across from him. It seemed lower than she remembered, but perhaps it was just her imagination. She wouldn’t have put it past him to lower the setting for occasions such as this, though, just to emphasize the real balance of power. Waiting to hear him speak was painful.
“The showboating, was it really necessary?” he asked her at last.
“I thought so.”
“The governor has already been on the phone. He was not at all pleased with how things have turned out, especially as he made it clear we were to be discreet.” He gave her a pointed look.
“The whole hunting thing would have come out anyway whenever or however Buchanan went to trial. Which will take at least six months. It’s better it came out now instead of during any sensitive election processes. The governor’s office has the chance to get ahead of it and deal with the issue before all that happens. Buchanan deserved what he got. The worse thing he would want to deal with is that public loss of face. He feeds off power, so we cut him off at the source. It’ll be a stark warning to whoever else decides to branch off in the same line of business. Plus, we had to make it all about him. Those around him should be protected. He needed to be seen as the one that organized it all, which he was.” She stopped, breathless, lest she start rambling. Somehow it had all sounded better in her head when she had rehearsed it on the plane. She looked up at her uncle through her long lashes and waited for his response.
He sighed. “That’s very similar to what I said to Governor Kowalski.”
“So, he’s okay with it all?”
“No, he’s not okay with it all, and I doubt he’ll be using our services in the near future, but he is grateful that you found his brother-in-law’s killer. Janice Sullivan is threatening to go over and tear through Buchanan in much the same manner as the panther that killed her husband. No, the governor isn’t okay with it, but he has more than enough on his plate to contend with at the moment.”
A rabid Janice Sullivan was more than enough for anyone to deal with—RJ knew that better than most.
“And are we okay?” she asked him tentatively.
“Yes, of course we’re okay.” He stood up and moved around his desk to give her a hug. “We’ll always be okay. Always.”
They squeezed each other tight, and a tear escaped from the corner of RJ’s eye.
“Just promise me that next time, before you go making any grand-standing public displays, you’ll at least call in to speak to me.
“I will. I promise.”
He released her, but they remained standing, both wanting to be close to the other.
“Don’t get too comfy,” he told her. “You’ve got forty-eight hours leave before you’re off on another assignment.”
“That soon?” Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. She had been hoping for some downtime to let her shoulder heal. She still hadn’t told Benjamin about it, but it seemed to be healing nicely. Some R&R would also have been good in terms of spending time with her dear old uncle. It would have been good to remind him that she was much more than just a whole lot of trouble and bother.
“Probably best to keep the troublesome boss’s niece out of sight and out of mind for a while. Governor Kowalski was more understanding than some other employees in the know, or so Martha informs me.”
“Yes, right. Well. I guess another assignment isn’t a bad idea, then.”
He nodded dramatically. “You’re going to be the death of me, girl, you really are.”
“So, where am I off to now? Tell me more.”
“Well . . .”
Chapter 29
The court case was held in Glasgow at the High Court of Justiciary six months later. Because of the volume of public interest in the case around the world, the press descended on the building and the surrounding streets but were not permitted to enter the courtroom. The public benches were packed on the first few weeks of trial, which RJ had anticipated. She hadn’t wanted to hear all the details again—she knew full well what had happened and experienced firsthand far more than most in the court room. She did attend on the last day, flying in the night before and arriving early to ensure a seat, hidden surreptitiously at the back. Stuart wasn’t there. She hadn’t expected him to be. If it wasn’t for a serendipitous break between assignments—serendipity she was sure her uncle had something to do with—she might not have attended herself.
Janice Sullivan sat sobbing quietly, dressed in black as she had been on each day of the trial, evidenced by a multitude of news channels as their cameras caught her leaving from the court each day. On this day, she was not alone. Her brother, the imposing figure of Governor Mike Kowalski, clutched her hand. He had braved the media storm surprisingly well after James Sullivan’s real cause of death had been exposed. Feigning complete ignorance of his brother-in-law’s big game hunting had helped a little, as had his public condemnation of the practice, but what had been the bigger contributing factor was his large donation to a series of ventures that set to protect wildlife in Africa and South America. Polls put him as a dead cert to be re-elected the following year.
The siblings stared at the back of Buchanan’s head throughout the morning’s proceedings. His stiff neck did not move an inch, but it colored a deeper red as the hours went on. Whether this was embarrassment or anger, it was impossible to say.
It was noon when the jury was led off to make their deliberations. As RJ made to leave, a hand caught her cuff from behind. She turned to find Wullie Carstairs, looking ten years younger and a hell of a lot happier.
“You should stick around, Miss. They’re not expecting it to take long.”
RJ smiled with affection at the man who had saved her life. “Thank you, Wullie, I think I will.” She turned to move off again, but caught herself and turned back. “Do you have time for a cup of tea?”
He smiled and his face was instantly transformed. “I’d like that very much, Miss Black.”
“That’s not really—”
“I figured that,” he interrupted her, “but let’s just stick to what we know, eh?”
RJ nodded and led him to a café a few minutes’ walk away. It was a café she had seen many times before on her way to the university, but she’d never been inside. They found a seat easily enough, although the line for takeaway coffee was long and filled with media crews keen to get their fix.
They were silent until they were seated, unsure of how to broach their complicated shared history.
“How are things up at the estate?” she asked him.
“Good, good. It’s a different place up there now. No more sheep attacks, for one. The only bodies we find now are rabbits. Bloody foxes. Not that we want the rabbits, either. It’s all ticking over.”
“And you and the others? You aren’t being charged.”
“No.” He shook his head and sighed in relief. “The fiscal was able to argue our
position to the Crown and they decided not to prosecute. They saw who the real one to blame was and probably decided it was better to spend the money on bringing him to justice than to involve his lackeys who had no real choice but to follow orders.” He wound his hands together. Whatever relief Buchanan’s apprehension had given him, RJ could only imagine how stressful the last few weeks and today had to be.
“I’m glad you got through this in one piece,” RJ told him. “It could have been very different. For a whole lot of us,” she added.
“I still have nightmares about that now. Those wee boys . . .”
RJ watched him struggle with the internal torture.
“Speaking of which, how have the rest of the community been with you? Not exactly a good look to almost get the publican’s children killed.”
“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “Tracy was fine with it, though. She’s a good woman. I explained it to her the night I went down after the boys. She was pretty shocked but agreed to keep it quiet. It helped that she knew it was all about to come out, plus she didn’t want the boys to go through the horror of reliving it.”
“You told her?” said RJ and she almost choked on her tea.
“It wasn’t right not to. Those boys could have been traumatized and they needed to be able to talk about what happened. They’re seeing a counselor now and seem to be on the mend.” He looked wistful and suddenly reddened.
“There’s something you’re not telling me,” RJ pushed gently.
He swallowed and looked ready to start speaking but hesitated and stopped himself.
RJ waited.
“We’re to be married come spring.” He cast his eyes down, abashed.
“Who?” RJ asked, not sure she was quite understanding.
“Myself and Tracy.”
RJ tried and only just succeeded in stopping her jaw hitting the floor. If there was ever a more unlikely couple, she’d never come across them. The age difference alone must have been twenty years. Not that she was judging, but it was a bit of a surprise.
“Wow, congratulations.” She got out of her seat to give him a hug. “How on earth did that happen?”
“I suppose I was spending a bit more time there, checking on the boys, and well . . . Her man’s been out of the picture for a while,” he explained, keen not to darken his good character—or more likely Tracy’s.
“Well, I’m very happy for you both. For all of you. Here’s to new beginnings.” She held up her tea cup and clinked it against his.
Wullie, satisfied that he wasn’t about to be labeled a cradle snatcher, got stuck into the cream pancake that had just been deposited in front of him on the table.
RJ had chosen the same. She wondered about the last time she’d had one—probably not since she was little, and this one was just as good as she remembered. Proper comfort food. It was just what they both needed, in their own very different ways. They enjoyed the experience in companionable silence, until RJ swallowed her last bite. “What’ll happen up at the estate if Buchanan is sent to jail?”
“When he’s sent to jail. Funny thing that. It was all easier than we could have ever expected. Soon after his very public arrest . . .” He stared at her, looking for confirmation that she had something to do with it, but she remained silent and still, a tiny smile curling up the corners of her mouth. “. . . the family solicitor turned up at our door, asking questions.”
“So he could help Buchanan?”
“No, this one represents the interests of the estate. The Buchanans have been using the firm for years, which itself has been handed down through the family. Oldest firm in Oban. Anyway, turns out there’s a stipulation in the old man’s will. There has been in every will since there’ve been Buchanans on that land.” He took a sip of his tea to draw out the tension. “Turns out, if one of them is convicted of any crimes, he loses his hereditary rights and the estate is passed on to the next in line.”
RJ was puzzled. “But what does that mean? I thought he was an only child.” Kingfisher had looked closely into Buchanan’s background so she knew he had no family that could inherit in his place.
“Oh, he was.”
RJ’s eyebrows knitted together as she frowned in his direction. She could see Wullie was enjoying this.
He put her out of her misery. “Turns out Buchanan had an illegitimate child seven years ago. His name wasn’t on the birth certificate, but he’d had a DNA test to prove she was his. No one knew about her except the solicitor. Buchanan never had anything to do with her except to send a measly support payment to her mother once a month. They were down in Govan, living in a wee council house, while Buchanan was living it up on the estate and flying all over the world.”
“But a seven-year-old can’t be put in charge of the estate, surely?”
“Aye, you’re right there. That’s the best bit. It’ll be held in trust for her and run on her behalf until she reaches twenty-one.”
RJ grinned. “And you’re going to run the place?”
“Aye. The paperwork’s all waiting to be signed as soon as Buchanan’s sentenced. Then the girl and her mother will move up to the big house and into her rightful life. It’ll piss Buchanan off to no end. Be the final nail in the coffin, so to speak.” His eyes glittered in glee. For an instant, she saw the little rascal she’d seen in the school photo standing beside the boy who would become Fiscal Alexander Dunn.
His phone started to ring and interrupted his revelry.
The call was short and sweet. “Hello. Aye. Right. Bye.” He put the phone back in his pocket and looked back up at RJ, who was waiting with bated breath. “They’re calling us back in. We’d better go.”
“That was quick.”
“Aye, it was. Let’s hope the jury makes the right decision.”
Epilogue
They did. All fifteen jurors gave the verdict as guilty. The judge listened to the plea in mitigation given by Buchanan’s solicitor as he desperately tried to aid his client in the sentencing. He fought a losing battle. The judge sentenced Buchanan to thirty years, with six months served already. He based his decisions on the two culpable homicides, perverting the course of justice in covering up the deaths, a number of crimes under the Dangerous Wild Animal Act, and public endangerment. Although he was supposed to be completely objective, the fact that Buchanan was so obviously a vile human being likely bore some weight in the judge’s heavy sentencing—heavy for Scotland, at least.
Thirty years. Buchanan would get out, but not for a long time, and when he did, he would have nothing. No family, no inheritance, no life.
Buchanan was led out of the court and into the back of a waiting transport van, his face as white as a sheet, the only person surprised at the verdict.
Janice Sullivan kept it together for the verdict and the subsequent sentencing. She held her head up high and walked out of the court to the waiting reporters, keen to be the one who broke the news. She didn’t appear to see the irony that her husband had been complicit in the crime that led to his death. For her, Buchanan was an evil villain who had stolen away the love of her life.
Seven-year-old Daisy Buchanan, moved into her new home three months later. The staff loved her, and she them. The bright little girl and her mother breathed new life into the big house and the rest of the estate. She’d turn out to be the best thing that ever happened there.
The rabbit population on the estate was finally under control, through no efforts of the employees there. Something seemed to be killing them off, but no foxes were seen or heard, and so a virus of sorts was given credit for the population control. The saying ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’ came quickly to the lips of anyone on the estate whenever someone mentioned it. They’d all had enough to deal with for the last few years without looking for problems.
Meanwhile, the two little cubs were growing strong and powerful. They remained wary of humans and human sounds. Their mother had taught them well before she’d disappeared from their lives. At night, they sat in the moonl
ight on the rock outside their cave and surveyed the land that stretched out before them, their stomachs full. They’d soon have to start venturing further to hunt—their rabbit supply was dwindling and they needed more. The bigger beast twitched his ear as a moth landed on his head and began to explore his soft fur. These they could handle, but midges . . . midges were the only downside to an otherwise perfect life.
The End
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Also by Jo McCready
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About the Author
Jo grew up on the rain soaked streets of small town Scotland before moving to the sunnier climes of Auckland, New Zealand in 2010. She has a background in psychology and a lifetime love of mystery and murder. After deciding a life in academia wasn’t for her, Jo turned her hand to Crime fiction. She is a founding member of the Auckland Crime Writers and attends any writing events and festivals she can get her hands on.
Read more at Jo McCready’s site.