O’Connor told them about Jonathon Barclay but only to try and put something positive on the table. The Glasgow detectives had gone very quiet but at least realised that O’Connor was not the chinless halfwit they’d expected.
The meeting ended with handshakes and, if anything, O’Connor felt having these guys on side wouldn’t be such a bad thing. There was no doubt in his mind that if the culprit was on Glasgow’s patch, they’d go the distance to get him and that was all he could ask.
42
Macallan and Harkins pulled up outside the grand pile of stone that was the home of Jonathon Barclay QC. It was one of the biggest and best houses in the Grange area of Edinburgh, not that far from the house where Billy Drew’s career had been disrupted and turned towards a few years inside – quiet, beautifully designed and built in an age when as much thought and craft was put into the outside as the inside of the homes for Edinburgh’s finest – or sometimes most corrupt. Old-world charm just didn’t do it justice.
Macallan sucked her teeth and tried not to get bitter that a man who’d defended some of the worst characters society could produce should be rewarded with this display of wealth. The house dominated even in the Grange, but then it reflected its owner, who dominated his own part of the Edinburgh landscape.
‘There’s just no justice in this world, Chief Inspector.’
Macallan agreed but didn’t say it. ‘Come on, let’s get in there and try not to pocket any of the silverware.’
Diana Barclay had been married to Jonathon Barclay too long, but she was where she was. She sipped her Earl Grey tea and stared at the front page of the Scotsman. She wasn’t really reading it, just vaguely staring at the headlines, because her mind was elsewhere, rerunning the same thought she had almost every day. She lived in a home that the vast majority of souls in the city could only dream of, and yet it gave her no joy. For years she’d spent money on the house, thinking that each new acquisition would suddenly turn the key and open up the door to her happiness.
She had married Jonathon Barclay when he was a young, very ambitious advocate and she was a young, rather unambitious lawyer. When she’d seen him working the court in his gown and wig, she’d been impressed, even though his family was a few rungs down the social ladder from her own well-connected tribe. He was going to be successful – that was a fact, and she’d wanted all the trappings, but she definitely hadn’t wanted to work for them herself. She came from the best stock and he’d seen her as the perfect other half for his drive for the top. Neither of them had ever really considered love as crucial to the relationship, although they spoke the word occasionally, just for effect.
She sipped her tea and her heart sank once again at the awful truth that their whole relationship had only been a vehicle for their ambitions. The home that impressed almost everyone who passed through its door was devoid of the fond memories that can inhabit even the humblest place. They’d produced a son then a daughter who’d been given everything that money could buy but were starved for warmth and affection.
He’d become involved with other women at an early stage of the marriage, and she’d been well aware of it, but at that time it hadn’t made any difference to her. She’d never taken another man, and she regretted that choice now. The discovery that he used prostitutes had been the one that hurt. Affairs were one thing, but associating with women who Diana Barclay regarded as vermin was quite another matter.
The doorbell startled her; she didn’t get many visitors in the morning. She checked herself in the mirror and saw an immaculate, middle-aged woman who would soon be old. She made sure that nothing was out of place and pulled the heavy oak door open.
Harkins held up his warrant card to her. She’d often wondered how she would react if the local constabulary came calling, but she felt calm and smiled in a way that she reserved for staff. First impressions were everything to Diana Barclay and if Harkins hadn’t flashed a warrant card, she would have taken him for a door-to-door salesman. The woman was something different though, and she recognised strength of character when she saw it, which meant she disliked Grace Macallan before they’d exchanged a word. She made a habit of disliking talent in women.
She was polite, ignored Macallan and spoke to Harkins, who explained that they were involved in a routine investigation and wanted to speak to her husband.
‘I take it by routine you mean the attacks on those street girls. Please come in.’
Macallan was trying to work Diana Barclay out and why she’d immediately associated their call with the attacks. She didn’t seem the least bit surprised to see them – as if she knew exactly why they were there. In most cases, there would have been questions – and anger that detectives could arrive at the home of people who didn’t see themselves as living under the same constraints as the rest of the taxpaying public. She decided to force her way into the conversation, and Harkins, reading the situation, let her.
‘I’m sorry to trouble you, Mrs Barclay, it is about those girls, and it’s your husband we need to talk to. But you seem to have expected us – can I ask why?’
Barclay regarded Macallan for a moment and tried to give her a look that transmitted her contempt. She may have had a loveless marriage, but living in the same house as a man who delighted in attacking the police had rubbed off on her. She’d heard Harkins introduce Macallan as a chief inspector but couldn’t resist a childish swipe.
‘Well, Constable, I did watch the press conference, my husband drives a Mercedes and he visits prostitutes. I expect that’s why you’ve come to my door. But he’s involved in a case in Glasgow and won’t be back here until tomorrow. He’s been there for a few days so I suppose that’s another reason you might want to see him, given the latest incident. I’m a trained lawyer myself so I know how these things work.’
Macallan smiled at the cheap dig at her rank but decided to let it go. The woman was trying for a reaction and she was definitely not handing it to her on a plate. She would let her play the lady of the manor for the time being.
‘Okay, we’ll leave our numbers, and perhaps you can get him to call us as soon as he’s back in town. Given that you know what we’re investigating, I should say there’s nothing other than what you’ve mentioned that brought us to your door. It’s routine from that point of view, and we have to go through the motions. Normally we wouldn’t have said anything to you before seeing your husband but, given that you do know what it’s about, would you be able to confirm where he was on the dates that the attacks took place?’
Harkins looked at Barclay and wondered what got her up in the morning. She was dressed to the eyeballs, sat just on the edge of the seat with her ankles crossed and her hands clasped as if she was the fucking Queen, giving the servants their instructions for the day. Still, it cheered him up that Jonathon Barclay had her to put up with; it was no wonder he paid pros for a bit of company as far as Harkins was concerned.
‘Again, given that I know how this works, I might as well be frank. I share this house with my husband, and if I invited you to look around, which I am certainly not going to do, then you would realise that we live in separate rooms. We speak in the morning and we occasionally even attend the odd function together for appearances’ sake, but that is as intimate as our lives are. I have my life, he has his, and as to where he might be on any particular night or day, unless we were at one of those rare functions together then I have absolutely no idea.’
Macallan decided to give it a slight push. ‘Is there anyone else in the family who could help? I believe you have a son and daughter?’
Barclay flinched but recovered quickly and her mouth tightened. Harkins and Macallan saw a woman wound up very, very tight and wondered what the story was. They realised that her response meant this was going to be a tough one, and no doubt Jonathon Barclay QC was going to be banging the door down at HQ when he found out about their visit.
‘My son lives in town; my daughter lives and works in New York. I speak to my daughter on the phone every we
ek but she has little or no contact with her father. My son comes to the house, but he’s not close to his father either so I don’t see how they could help you.’
Macallan decided to leave it there and think this one through. They thanked her without warmth and left, then sat in the car and thought before starting the engine.
Harkins broke the silence. ‘Jesus, the long winter nights must have flown by in that fuckin’ place.’
Macallan nodded ‘Well, he’ll be one pissed-off QC when he finds out what was discussed in there today. Clear the desks of our other stuff, I want to get clued up on this one before we meet Mr Barclay.’
43
Macallan walked out of HQ just after nine and realised this was an early finish. Her legs were heavy, and the only word she could think of to describe how she felt was ‘knackered’. She decided to defy her body and walk back to the flat. She had hardly seen the inside of the gym for weeks and realised that Northern Ireland wasn’t the only place in the world where life could be hard. All this shit, and yet she felt she was in the right place.
She walked through the darkening Georgian streets and realised she was falling in love with a man and a town. This city reeked of its past. The skyline silhouettes looked like something from imagination rather than reality, and the Old Town was filled with legends and ghosts. What more could a woman want? She thought how strange it was that more people had died violently in Edinburgh than in Belfast yet their reputations were quite different.
Her phone rattled in her pocket and she guessed it was Harkins, gasping for a drink and a gloat about Diana Barclay. She saw ‘JJ’ on the screen and paused – she was too tired for another problem or development; sure he was phoning to say some other tragedy had taken place and why didn’t they all just cut their wrists.
‘John, please not bad news.’
‘Christ, is that what a call from me means? I’m so tired I can’t think and wondered if you fancied a meal from the man who’s neglected you?’
‘I’m intrigued, so speak, but it’s under caution.’
‘Okay, I fancy you, and you have slept with me, so I think there’s something there. How’s that so far?’
‘That’s not that interesting, but let’s hear the rest – and it better be good.’ She was smiling despite her exhaustion.
‘Okay, I’d like to sleep with you again, but the problem is that we’re detectives – both neurotic, both working on a case that’ll probably see us back in uniform, and both knackered and up at six to start all over again. What I was going to suggest is quite unconventional, but what if I come to your place because it’s close, I bring a bottle of wine and then we go to sleep like an old married couple, because to be honest, Chief Inspector, I want to cuddle in and crash out. That’s probably the worst offer you’ve ever had, but it’s my best at the moment. By the way, I’ll probably have a bad dream imagining myself in a uniform when it all goes wrong. You know I’m a poseur.’
‘Okay. You’ll take your socks off though or the deal’s off.’
Any other time they would both have avoided this. Both retreated into their shells when things were hard, and that’s how they liked it, but tonight – tonight they both needed something different.
When she opened the door and he dangled the wine before her, she could smell the tiredness on him. It wasn’t bad; this was the guy who was a walking advert for male grooming after all, but there was a musk instead of fifty-quid cologne and it felt like intimacy. Of course she needed a bit of a wash herself but that made the moment all the better.
‘Come in. I’m just glad you’re here.’
They drank the wine, talked all over the place and hid from the day job. She found another bottle, and they were slightly relaxed by the time midnight rolled around. They kissed, went to bed and dropped like stones into sleep without making love.
They didn’t have to.
She was in the Crown Bar in Belfast. Some people say it’s the most beautiful pub in the world and it had to be a contender. Macallan loved it, but she’d had to put on a ton and a half of make-up and part disguise in case a Provo had her identified and there was an ASU on the way. She didn’t want to die in a pub in front of all those witnesses. When she died she wanted to be alone.
She ordered a pint of Guinness – but what else would you order in the Crown? Tommy Doyle walked in the door but it was the young Tommy, fit and strong.
‘Fancy a pint, Grace?’ he asked. ‘There’s no hard feelings you being SB an’ all. The war’s over for both of us so time to drink a Guinness and get on with what’s left. You didn’t kill me – I killed myself. Truth is that the boys will sing about me for years so I’m not complaining. I was terrified of the peace, tired, ill and hadn’t a fuckin’ clue what I was going to do. Keeping the war going was all I had. Anyway, cheers!’ He sipped the pint and walked out of the door.
She lifted her head off the pillow and O’Connor moaned, pulling her into him.
44
O’Connor straightened up in his chair and the slump in the shoulders lifted as Macallan recounted their visit to Jonathon Barclay’s home. As always he made notes, but this time it wasn’t for effect – he was interested.
‘Okay, I can’t believe he’s the killer but stranger things have happened so who knows? Whatever happens we’re going to get flak, and I’m just surprised he’s not got a complaint into the rubber-heel squad already. Just do it by the book and make sure you don’t take any new course of action against him without running it past me. What do you intend to do next?’
Macallan had thought it through and knew O’Connor was right – this would have to be by the book, but if he refused to cooperate then they’d have to rattle his cage.
‘You know what the problem is, and I think we can all guess what’ll happen. If his CV is correct then he’ll tell us as little as possible, and if all we have is that he uses pros and drives a Merc, then it’s going nowhere, but the wife’s reaction was something else. She just shouldn’t have acted in the way she did, so I’d like to try her again if he refuses to cooperate. In the meantime, I’ve got the analysts and researchers on it to see if there’s anything that we know about him that can be linked to any of the other cases. For example, he’s high profile and a bit of a star in the legal world, so if he appears anywhere else in the country, it tends to be mentioned somewhere in open sources. If we can show that he was in the area at the same time as one of the attacks then it might give us a start. At the moment we do nothing and wait to see if he’ll get in touch with us. We don’t have enough to bring him in so no doubt he’ll pick the venue if he agrees at all.’
O’Connor nodded towards Harkins to see if he had something to add.
‘He’ll be in touch all right and it’ll be hard. I told you I’ve had my run-ins with him. I did get under his skin so maybe that’s something we can exploit, but I think we should go back to the street girls and see if any of them know him. It’s a long shot given most of them are doped up to the eyeballs half the time, but occasionally they get it right. He’s one hundred per cent Mr Suave right down to the grey temples. The information we had before was that he uses high-class escorts but occasionally he likes to pick them up off the street. I was always amazed that the papers didn’t run something, but they know as well as we do that he would be one hell of an enemy. Other than that I think we should get on this now, then if it comes to nothing, it comes to nothing, but the quicker we know the better. We either do the business on him or clear him out of the system. The last thing is I want to remind you that I’m no longer a sexist now I’m one half of a couple, but this guy will be interested in Grace, and I’ve a feeling that whatever happens, he’ll at least keep the communication going.’
Macallan smiled at the admission. ‘Christ, when did you stop being a sexist? It’s amazing what a senior analyst can do for you.’
O’Connor was about to close it but Macallan hadn’t finished. ‘I just think that we shouldn’t forget that, whatever happens, this guy seems to
treat women badly even if he’s not the killer. He sounds like a pure bastard so we owe him nothing. He belongs to the cream of Edinburgh society and is a pillar of the legal establishment. I think if we get anything at all to hurt him then we should use it.’
O’Connor shifted in his seat and saw that this was a genuine plea, but he was enough of a strategist to know that the wrong move against Jonathon Barclay could cost both them and the force. Barclay would take great delight in giving the police service a kicking, especially if he could play the victim at the same time.
‘I get it, Grace, but there are all sorts of problems with this one, and we all need to talk to each other to get the best result. Look at it this way: if he’s the killer, it’s going to be a nightmare trying to prove it. He’s defended dozens of murder cases and knows exactly how we’ll run the investigation and what we’ll be looking for. On the plus side, he’s human and this number of crimes means he would have to have made mistakes somewhere along the line.’
Harkins stood up; he needed a tobacco hit. ‘Amen to that.’ Young had been putting pressure on him to give up the fags and he was doing his best. He knew well enough what the years of smoking and alcohol abuse must have done to him, but it was hard going. The big surprise to him was that he even wanted to try, and for the first time he could remember, he was looking forward to something worthwhile. The big worry was that he wanted this to last and he wasn’t used to looking forward to good things in his life.
O’Connor decided that it would be smart to brief the ACC before hassling Barclay. He didn’t particularly want to, but he knew it would be used against him if the shit hit the fan and he’d kept it to himself. The ACC was just waiting for his chance to club him, and this investigation was probably going to give him all the chances he needed.
Cause of Death Page 17