‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said West. ‘Tell me, if you’ve not ridden for a while then why is there a motorcycle in your garden?’
‘I’m getting on the road again. I had an urge.’
‘Did you indeed? And is this urge the result of some mid-life crisis?’
‘Not at my age,’ said Lea. ‘I don’t drive and I need transport, it’s as simple as that.’
‘Fair enough. Where’d you get it?’
‘I bought it. Legit. Three hundred quid.’
‘Sounds like a bargain,’ said West. ‘And did you get it from a dealer or was it a private sale?’
‘I got it off a pal.’
‘And does your pal have a name?’
‘He does,’ said Lea, ‘but I’m not giving it to you.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘Because I’m not letting you put him through the same kind of hell I’ve had to endure.’
‘Oh come on,’ said West, grinning, ‘it’s not been that bad, has it?’
‘Is there a point to this?’
West stood up, tucked her chair beneath the desk, and leaned against the wall.
‘Did you collect the bike yourself?’ she said, slipping her hands into her pockets. ‘Or did your mate drop it off?’
‘He dropped it off,’ said Lea. ‘I’m not legal on it yet.’
‘And when was that?’
‘A few days ago, who knows, I’m not one for keeping track of time.’
‘No, I imagine the days just seem to blend into one continuous blur for you. Did he drop anything else off when he delivered the bike?’
‘He did, aye,’ said Lea. ‘A manual, a plug spanner, some oil, and a foot pump.’
‘And did he leave them in the garden too?’
‘No, in the house.’
West glanced at Munro, raised the corner of her mouth, and returned to her seat.
‘Inside the house?’
‘Aye, on the floor. In the living room.’
‘And what about the helmet?’
‘I don’t have a helmet,’ said Lea. ‘I’ve not bought one yet.’
‘Then how do you explain the one we found in your bedroom?’
‘I can’t help you there. I told you, I don’t have one.’
‘Like you don’t have a camera?’
‘Aye, like I don’t have camera.’
‘Have you any idea what you do have in your bedroom?’
‘Not really, no. I should have a clear out but you know how it is.’
‘Quite. So, your mate,’ said West, ‘you say he left you a manual and some other stuff; how did he get into your house?’
‘Keys of course. I gave him a set of keys and he let himself in.’
‘Is that because you knew you’d be away?’
‘No,’ said Lea, ‘to be honest I could’ve been in my pit when he came. Or down the shops. Or in the bathroom.’
‘And what happened to the keys?’
‘He pushed them back through the letterbox, I found them on the… oh, hold a minute, you say you found a helmet in my bedroom? Well, that explains it, he must’ve dropped that off too.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Nice one,’ said Lea. ‘That’s saved me a few quid.’
‘Will you excuse us for a moment?’ said West. ‘We won’t be long. Interview suspended. DI West and Mr Munro are leaving the room.’
* * *
West strode purposefully to the end of the hallway and, despite the fact that they were well out of earshot, spoke as if plotting a coup in the corridors of power.
‘Well?’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘What do you think?’
‘You have to remember I’ve not been involved in this case, Charlie, but if you’re asking for a character assessment then, for what it’s worth, I’m inclined to believe the fellow.’
‘So am I,’ said West.
‘Especially having seen his place, it really is…’
‘Hold on!’ said West. ‘What do you mean, you’ve seen his place?’
Munro, staggered that he of all people should be caught out by a simple slip of the tongue, smiled gently and cleared his throat.
‘I’ve a confession to make,’ he said. ‘I was with Duncan when he found the computer in Lea’s bedroom.’
‘You’ve got some explaining to do!’
‘Aye, but now is not the time nor the place. So, what do you think?’
‘I think our mate Lea’s been set up and I think I know who by.’
‘And is that based on fact, Charlie, or is that your gut instinct?’
‘One hundred percent instinct, Jimbo. The problem now is, I’ve got to prove it.’
* * *
West, savouring the lengthy but nonetheless enjoyable silence, gently tapped the voice recorder as Munro, head bowed as if lost in thought, walked the perimeter of the interview room at a painfully slow pace before coming to a halt directly behind Lea’s chair.
‘Tell me, Craig,’ he said, ‘do you not miss Palnackie?’
‘Palnackie? God no, it’s a bit too quiet for my…’
Saying nothing Munro returned to the desk at the same leisurely pace, eased himself into his chair and, after much deliberation over which one to choose, looked McPherson in the eye.
‘Let’s talk about Flora MacDonald,’ he said.
‘Who?’
‘Come, come, you’ve had a good run for your money, it’s time to come clean, son, the game’s a bogey.’
McPherson swallowed hard, shrugged his shoulders, and smiled contemptuously.
‘You’ve lost me,’ he said. ‘I’ve really no idea who…’
‘See here,’ said Munro, ‘I’m not a patient man, Mr McPherson, so here’s the deal: we have enough evidence stacked against you to put you away for the murder of Nancy Wilson.’
‘Oh how many times? I’ve told you, I didn’t do it!’
‘I believe you.’
‘What?’
‘I believe you. And DI West believes you too. But a jury willnae, not when they see the evidence. However, strange as it may seem, you still have a choice. You still have a chance to get yourself off the hook.’
‘How so?’
‘See here,’ said Munro. ‘If you go down for the murder of Nancy Wilson then it’ll be at least thirty years before you’re even eligible for parole. But let’s be honest with ourselves, with your track record you simply dinnae have it in you to batter a piece of haddock let alone a defenceless wee lassie.’
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to say.’
‘Which leads me to believe that if you were in some way responsible for the death of Flora MacDonald, then it would have been accidental, which would result in the lesser charge of manslaughter. So, what’s it to be?’
McPherson sat perfectly still, took a deep breath, then looked to the ceiling and sighed.
‘How long?’ he said. ‘How long would I get for manslaughter?’
‘That would depend on the motive and the circumstances.’
‘Well what if… what if hypothetically speaking, I didn’t actually kill her. Not even accidentally. What if she’d died of natural causes and I just happened to be there when it happened?’
‘Well, if you’ve a decent brief,’ said Munro, ‘then it seems to me the worst you could be tried for is failing to report a death, unless of course there’s more to it than that.’
‘But either way, the sentence, it’ll not be long?’
‘Not by comparison. No.’
Though hardened to some of the most stomach-churning sights any serving officer might expect to see, West couldn’t help but shudder as McPherson loosened his ponytail and unleashed a torrent of dandruff into the air.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘There’s a fella in Palnackie, the headmaster at the school, his name’s Galbraith. I used to do some work for him.’
‘What sort of work?’ said West.
‘Odd jobs mainly. Just fixing things up. He knew I was strapped for cash and th
at I’d do anything for a few quid.’
‘Go on.’
‘He gave me a job. He said Jack MacDonald…’
‘The postmaster?’ said Munro.
‘Aye, Jack MacDonald the postmaster. He said he had a serious amount of cash hidden about his house that was rightfully his. He said he’d give me five hundred quid if I could find it.’
‘So you took him up on his offer?’
‘Aye of course, I’d have been silly not to. I figured it must have had something to do with Jack’s fiddling.’
‘Fiddling?’
‘There were rumours,’ said McPherson, ‘no-one knew for sure but folk were saying Jack was in the habit of claiming pensions for folk who’d been dead for years.’
‘And had he?’
‘I doubt it,’ said McPherson. ‘He was as straight as they come.’
‘So, back to the money. What happened?’
‘Well, I figured it was a no-brainer. I mean, Jack himself had been planted the year before so it was only Mrs MacDonald in the house. I waited for her to go out and nipped in for a wee look around, only she hadn’t gone out at all.’
‘And she caught you?’ said West.
‘She did, aye. She looked… not so much scared, more surprised. I mean, we knew each other, right? So I says to her just relax, tell me where the money is and I’ll be off.’
‘And did she?’
‘Aye, just like that. But then I thought; what if she goes to the police? I’d have no chance, so I told to keep her quiet.’
‘So you threatened her?’ said Munro. ‘You threatened an old lady?’
‘No, no,’ said McPherson. ‘Not really threatened, just asked her, told her to keep her mouth shut. That’s when she collapsed. She just lay there with her mouth open, not moving.’
‘And you panicked?’
‘What do you think?’ said McPherson. ‘Of course I panicked! I went home, fetched my tools, went back to the house and I wrapped her in a sheet. Then I realised I couldn’t bury her, the garden’s all paved over and I didn’t have time to dig it up, not at that time of night.’
‘So you pushed her up the chimney?’
‘I know it sounds bad but here was nowhere else for her to go! I took some bricks from the back of the chimney, sealed it up and gave it a lick of paint. I’m not proud of it. I did say a prayer before I left.’
‘I’m sure that made all the difference,’ said West. ‘So, what did you do with the money? Did you keep it for yourself?’
‘I’m not that stupid. If Galbraith found out I’d legged it with his money he’d have stuck me up the chimney with her. No, no, I took the cash straight round to his place.’
‘And that was it?’
‘No,’ said McPherson, ‘not by a long chalk. He took the money, gave me my five hundred quid and told me to wait. About a half an hour later, he comes back struggling with this wee safe and an envelope, then he gave me an address and told me to take it there. He said I was to make sure the safe was well hidden.’
‘And you took it Miss Wilson’s house,’ said Munro. ‘In Auchinleck?’
‘I did, aye.’
‘And was she expecting it?’
‘No. She got the fright of her life when I showed up…’
‘Hardly surprising.’
‘…but after I’d given her the envelope she calmed down and left me to it.’
‘Do you know what was in the envelope?’ said West.
‘Well, I assume it was a letter,’ said McPherson, ‘and there was something else, something small and hard, like a coin maybe.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘Pretty much, aye.’
‘It’s not though, is it?’ said West. ‘What about the eleven grand you’ve got hidden in your mattress?’
McPherson, looking more than a little startled, stared at West, shook his head, and laughed.
‘Eleven grand?’ he said.
‘Don’t tell me,’ said West, ‘let me guess. You haven’t got eleven grand, have you?’
‘Oh but I have,’ said McPherson. ‘Sorry, I’m just surprised, that’s all. I’ve got to hand it to you, you lot are good at your job. Very good indeed.’
‘Thanks very much. Maybe you can mention that next time you’re on TripAdvisor.’
‘Look, I figured I couldn’t stay in Palnackie, okay? I thought as soon as word got out that Mrs MacDonald was missing then folk would start asking questions, the police would come, and I’d be for it, so I went back to Galbraith.’
‘What for?’
‘I thought I’d chance my arm,’ said McPherson, ‘I mean, five hundred quid’s not going pay the rent for long, is it? I figured I had nothing to lose so I says to him if he wants me to keep quiet then it’s going to cost him.’
‘So Galbraith gave you eleven thousand pounds,’ said Munro, ‘is that right?’
‘No, no,’ said McPherson. ‘He gave me twenty. And he bought the house in Auchinleck, on condition, mind, that I never returned to Palnackie. Not unless I wanted a dip in the harbour.’
‘And ever since then you’ve been living as Rupert Lea?’
‘Aye, right enough.’
‘And does Galbraith know of your pseudonym?’
‘Christ, no! And he’d better not find out, not now.’
‘Rest assured,’ said Munro, ‘your secret’s safe with us but I’m afraid I cannae guarantee it will remain a secret once the courts and the press get to hear of it. All I can say is that when it comes to sentencing, your co-operation will not go unnoticed. Trust me, Mr McPherson, you’ve done the right thing.’
Uncertain if her feeling towards McPherson was sympathy for an inept pugilist desperately trying to eke out a living, or pity for a grown man clearly struggling with issues of self-confidence, West, yearning for a large, stiff drink, leaned across the desk and fixed him with a compassionate gaze.
‘Alright, Craig,’ she said. ‘Final question. Why? Why is your mate Nevin framing you for the murder of Nancy Wilson?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said McPherson with a limp shrug of the shoulders. ‘I’ve not done anything to offend him, at least not that I’m aware of.’
‘Well, what’s the one thing that the three of you have in common? You, Miss Wilson, and Nevin?’
McPherson pondered before answering.
‘No, sorry,’ he said. ‘Is it that she was a boxer as well?’
West, trying her best not to laugh, closed he eyes and smiled.
‘Come on,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘you can do better than that. What on earth have we just been talking about?’
‘The money?’
‘Good grief!’ said Munro. ‘I know you took a hammering in the ring, laddie, but it didnae turn you in to a simpleton! Of course it’s the blasted money! The question is, how did Nevin know about it?’
McPherson, looking as confused as a chameleon in a bowlful of Skittles, squinted at Munro and frowned as if plagued by a troublesome bout of constipation.
‘I told him!’ he said. ‘That’s it! I must have told him.’
‘Just like that?’
‘No, no,’ said McPherson. ‘I’m not stupid! I mean, it’s not the kind of thing you just drop into a conversation now, is it? No, I must have had a few bevvies, that’s for sure.’
‘So you were blootered when you blabbed about the money?’
‘Aye. Let me think, where were we now? I know, The Bruce Hotel, Newton Stewart. There was the three of us. I remember because when they left I got a wee bit lairy and the landlord called the police. Fair play, I was out of order.’
‘Hold on,’ said West. ‘Three of you? Who else was there?’
‘One of Nevin’s pals.’
‘Did you know him?’
‘No,’ said McPherson, ‘I’d never seen him before and I hope I never do again.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because I can’t stand freeloaders. He didn’t buy a drink all night, not once. He had a habit of disappearing to the gents or
taking a phone call whenever it was his round.’
‘Do you remember his name?’ said West.
‘Iain, I think.’
‘And what was he doing there?’
‘They’d been to watch the football,’ said McPherson, ‘Annan Athletic, that’s their team. They were playing Stranraer.’
‘Okay, let’s get back to Nevin,’ said West. ‘What did you tell him? Can you remember what you told Nevin about the money?’
‘Aye, I can,’ said McPherson. ‘He was in dour mood, see, because he never got to see his wean, that’s because his ex wouldn’t allow it, and he reckoned it was down to the fact that he was permanently skint. I think he was a wee bit jealous too because I had a few quid in my pocket. Anyway, I told him to relax. I said I knew where I could get my hands on a hundred grand.’
‘You must have made his night.’
‘Right enough, after that it was like cash for questions. He went on and on, so I thought: what the hell, why not? I told him where it was and I said if he was up for giving me a hand retrieving it then I’d cut him in, but only on condition that we do it properly.’
‘Properly?’
‘Aye. Leave no trail.’
‘So he knew about the safe?’
‘He did,’ said McPherson, ‘but I didn’t tell him where it was. I said we can pinch the cash but we open the safe, take it, and lock it up again. All we had to do first was find the code.’
‘And had you any idea where Miss Wilson had hidden this code?’
‘No. I just assumed it was in that envelope Galbraith gave me to give to her.’
‘But Nevin couldnae wait, could he?’ said Munro. ‘He got impatient and went looking for the code himself, and when Miss Wilson refused to tell him where it was, he lost his rag and pummelled her to death.’
‘Which is why,’ said West, ‘he went round to her gaff afterwards and ripped the place apart looking for it.’
McPherson, amused that he could be party to such a scenario, leaned back in his seat and, much to West’s disgust, ran his fingers through his lanky red hair.
‘It’s unbelievable really,’ he said, ‘I mean, I always thought he was a half decent fella, a good pal.’
‘Well, you obviously don’t know him as well as you think,’ said West. ‘Because if you did, you’d know he had a history of violence, especially against women.’
‘Oh well, that would explain his aggression in the ring then. So, what happens now? Am I still going to court?’
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