Daley thought for a moment. ‘Alice Wenger? She lives in the States, but surely that’s all that connects them?’
‘Worth asking the question, big man, eh?’
‘It is.’
‘And another thing. The boys up the road have traced the phone used tae call O’Hara tae arrange oor wee “joke” at the Machrie. It’s an address in Edinburgh – posh, too. Owned by a Blair Williams; ring any bells?’
‘Oh, yes, Brian. Oh yes.’
*
Blair Williams hated being hauled out of work. But his wife sounded very nearly hysterical, and when the police were mentioned he flung on his jacket and in moments was behind the wheel of his Maserati, weaving through the Edinburgh traffic. Silently he cursed Mike Strong. This had to be something to do with his machinations; there could be little doubt about that.
After a fraught drive blighted by road works, suicidal pedestrians and arrogant cyclists, he pulled up outside his state-of-the-art home, sweat forming on his brow despite the chill of the day. He was dismayed to note two strange vehicles in his drive. One was a nondescript saloon, the other a small van bearing Police Scotland markings.
‘Shit!’ He swore loudly to himself, banging the wheel with frustration.
Inside he found his wife with three police officers. One was a middle-aged man in an ill-fitting cheap suit; the archetypal detective. The other two were in police boiler suits. One of them was holding a device in his hand akin to a remote control for a toy plane – his son had one.
‘Mr Williams, I’m DS Boyle.’ The detective held out his hand, which Williams shook limply. ‘These officers are from our technical forensic department.’ Boyle’s accent was heavily Edinburgh, making Williams’s lip curl in distaste. Still, he was shocked.
‘What?’ His face was now deathly pale. He couldn’t work out what on earth these forensic officers were looking for.
‘An attack was perpetrated in Kinloch. The instruction to the attackers was made via a call from a mobile phone. We have reason to believe that phone is here in your domicile, Mr Williams.’
‘That’s rubbish! How on earth did you come to that conclusion? I’m afraid you have me mixed up with my colleague, Mike Strong. He is currently on business in Kinloch.’
‘Really?’ Boyle nodded his head with interest. ‘Well, we have a choice to make here, Mr Williams. I don’t need to tell you that if you refuse to cooperate we shall have to raise a warrant to search your home. On the other hand, if we have your permission we can get on with it now. Sooner the better, eh?’
‘Why my house?’
‘The signal from the phone was traced to this address, sir.’
Williams thought frantically for a moment. ‘He was here the night before last – Mike Strong, I mean. He must have had the phone in his possession.’
Boyle looked thoughtful. ‘What makes you think your colleague – partner, I believe – would be involved in arranging an assault in Kinloch?’
‘He’s handling a case down there – a will, of sorts. He’s acting on the instruction of a client of ours – a deceased client.’
Boyle looked confused. ‘Okay, we can talk about that later. In the meantime, do we have your permission to search your house?’
Blair Williams felt slightly relieved. It was just the kind of mistake Strong would make. He wasn’t tech-savvy, of that his young partner was sure. ‘Go ahead; don’t let me impede your investigation. If Mike Strong has been up to something, clearly it’s in my interest to know as much as possible – as far as the firm is concerned, I mean.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Boyle nodded to one of his colleagues. ‘Go ahead, Brendan.’
At this, the officer with the hand-held device pressed a button, and almost instantly a bleeping noise emitted from it. As he moved round the room, the bleeps became either more or less frequent. The technician was meticulous, following the sounds, his face etched with concentration. Eventually he arrived at the large sofa. Suddenly the rapid bleeps turned into one long tone. He looked at Boyle. ‘Here, gaffer.’
‘You don’t mind if we have a look at this, sir?’ said Boyle.
‘Yes, of course. I mean, I don’t know what you think you’ll find . . .’
The third officer, wearing thin rubber gloves, went about his work. He removed the sofa cushions and slid his hand into every nook and cranny of the piece of furniture. His task over, he looked at Boyle and shrugged.
Blair Williams’s face took on a haughty expression. ‘You see, I told you there was nothing to be found.’
‘I’d like to move the sofa, please, sir,’ said Boyle.
‘To where?’
‘Just to have a look underneath. I hope you don’t mind. We have to be meticulous.’
‘If you must. But I think it’s pretty clear your gadgets aren’t as clever as you think.’
‘Well, we’ll give this a go, eh?’
The two officers lifted the sofa to one side. Williams’s wife gasped at the sight of a small cheap-looking red mobile phone lying on the carpet directly below where the sofa had sat.
Blair Williams had to take a seat. Not only was he shocked at the sight of the phone; he recognised it.
Boyle produced his own mobile from the inside pocket of his jacket and pressed the screen a couple of times. Sure enough, the phone on the carpet burst into life, vibrating on the carpet.
Ending the call, and pulling a rubber glove on one hand, Boyle bent down and lifted the red mobile from the carpet. ‘So, any idea how this got here, Mr Williams?’
‘No – none at all.’ Beads of sweat were now plain on his brow. ‘I can only think that Mike put it there.’ The reply sounded less than convincing.
‘Still some battery – let me see.’ Boyle pressed some buttons on the red mobile. He read something from the screen as everybody in the room fell silent, Williams’s wife looking at him with a mixture of panic and incredulity.
‘Do you know someone called Karen, sir?’
‘Yes, Karen is our secretary.’ Williams gulped.
Boyle showed him the phone screen. Williams read the words I’ll be round in half an hour. Been thinking of fucking you all day. B.
‘You recognise this message, sir?’
Williams nodded his head, then stared at the floor.
As DS Boyle cautioned him, Amy Williams stared at her husband in disbelief. ‘What have you done?’
As handcuffs were placed on his wrists, Blair Williams shot his wife a sad glance, but said nothing. He was led away by the police officers.
‘I’m going to phone your father!’ she shouted after them as her husband was taken from the house.
43
Daley gazed at the whiteboard. On it were pinned photographs of the Doig family, both living and dead; the estranged daughter, Alice Wenger; Sheena McKay, lying dead on the back path of her own home; and a single image of Blair Williams standing companionably at some function or other, sporting a glass of wine. The dead-eyed stare of Vitorio Chiase looked out from a monochrome prison mugshot, a number displayed underneath.
‘That’s aboot the oddest collection o’ folk I’ve ever seen, Jimmy,’ said Scott.
‘What do you mean? We have a reclusive local family, two of whom are dead; an upmarket Edinburgh lawyer; a dead housewife from Kinloch; and a notorious member of the Mafia from New Jersey. What’s unusual about that, Brian?’ Daley smiled.
Symington appeared through the door of the glass box. She looked weary, her face pale and dark shadows under her eyes. ‘He’s a tough bastard,’ she exclaimed, sitting down beside Scott opposite Daley.
‘Grant Dunwoody? He’s well known for it. That’s why I afforded you the pleasure, ma’am.’
‘Gee, thanks, Jim.’ She ran her hand through her dark hair. ‘Well, the upshot is, we have a problem.’
‘We’ve always got a problem, me and him. Have you no’ noticed that yet?’ Scott took a slurp of tea.
‘I have, come to think of it.’ Symington smiled wanly. ‘We can’t keep A
lice Wenger in the country. I’ve tried everything. She’s a victim, not a suspect. Dunwoody has undertaken to give us full access to her – even said that she’ll come back if reason dictates. But as for compelling her to stay here in Scotland, that’s out of the question. And the bosses have given that the nod, too.’
‘There’s a whole lot of things that still aren’t clear, ma’am,’ said Daley.
‘I know, Jim. I pointed that out to HQ, but they’re not having it – plain and simple.
‘What aboot Spence? He’s old-school: could we no’ ask him tae find a reason tae keep her in the hospital for a whiles? Just to gie us some breathing space, an’ that.’
Symington looked at Scott askance. ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Brian.’
‘Sometimes you have tae piss . . . use what you have, ma’am. And who knows, the lassie might no’ be well enough tae travel. She’d a right dunt tae the heid.’
Daley nodded. ‘I know you don’t like the idea, Carrie, but it might be worth a try.’
‘Do we suspect her of anything?’
‘To be honest, I don’t have a clue what’s going on. Do you?’
Symington bit her lip. ‘You buggers are going to get me in right trouble one of these days.’
‘John Donald used tae say something similar, ma’am,’ said Scott.
‘And look how things panned out for him!’
‘Aye, but they was extentional circumstances.’
‘Exceptional,’ said Daley.
‘Aye, that tae, big man.’ Scott nodded sagely.
Symington stood up. ‘Do what you must, while I go and work out what other job I could do.’
‘My advice, for what it’s worth, ma’am?’ said Scott.
‘Go on.’
‘Best no’ tae worry aboot things until they happen. That’s my . . . what do you call it, Jimmy?’
‘Burying your head in the sand.’
‘Naw. Thon other word. That Beatle was never done using it.’
‘Mantra, do you mean?’
‘Aye, that’s it. Get some o’ that mantra aboot you, ma’am.’
Symington raised her eyes, a resigned look on her face. ‘I’m off before I tacitly sanction anything else that could lose us all our jobs.’
As she was leaving, Scott turned round in his chair. ‘So you don’t want me tae put this in the report I’m writing aboot the big man?’
Symington looked from one to the other. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘That can be your mantra,’ said Daley with a smile.
Scott looked at his old friend when she left. ‘I’ll get up the hospital, see what I can dae.’
‘Best of luck, Brian.’ Daley looked back at the whiteboard. He knew he was missing something, but for the life of him he didn’t know what it was.
*
Ginny Doig felt much better now. She’d been fed and watered by her neighbours, and the feeling of relentless exhaustion had been all but banished. She sat and thought about her family. Her dead son, the other two, still in custody for all she knew, and finally her daughter. Her eyes narrowed and a flinty expression crossed her face.
‘Malcolm, I know I owe you a great debt of gratitude.’
‘Don’t be stupid. I couldna leave you oot on the hill tae freeze tae death.’
‘Aye, but the polis as well. You lied tae them. I know you’re an honest man. It must have been hard.’
‘Think nothing mair aboot it. Have you decided whoot you want tae do?’
‘In a way. I wonder, could you dae me another wee favour?’
‘Aye.’
‘Could you take a look doon at the cottage for me – see if there’s any sign o’ life?’
‘That’s nae bother. Dae you think the boys might be hame?’
‘I don’t know. I just want tae know if the polis is still poking aboot, or the like.’
‘As you know, I’m no friend tae the polis. I’ll be happy to take a look.’ He got up stiffly from his chair. ‘But this weather fair stiffens me up these days, Ginny.’
‘Same here. It’s oor age. Folk is no’ meant tae live long lives like we’ve done, Malcolm.’
‘I’m seventy-eight in February.’
‘Just a wean, then.’ She smiled.
‘I’ll off an’ take a look. I’ll take the Land Rover. They say it’s going tae snow. I wouldna be surprised. My boy won’t be back until later; he’s got a young farmers’ meeting in the toon. You know where stuff is. Feel free tae get yersel’ tea, or anything else.’
‘You’re a good man. I thank you for it.’
She watched him drive down the farm lane under the heavy skies. There was always something about the clouds when snow was on the way, a kind of luminous quality, as though what sun there was was shining through the heavy burden about to fall in flakes. She waited until the old Land Rover was out of sight and then made her way into the lobby. A stout metal cabinet stood there, a small padlock holding it firmly closed.
Beside the cabinet was a scallop table on which sat a china figurine, a Jersey cow on a heavy base. Ginny lifted the ornament up. Sure enough there was a small key. She’d observed Malcolm quietly as she’d recovered. She’d seen him remove a gun from the cabinet and place the key back under the Jersey cow.
Ginny Doig unlocked the padlock. Inside the cabinet were a double-barrelled shotgun and a hunting rifle. She removed the rifle and the box of ammunition that sat beneath it.
Outside, a Subaru pickup was parked by a byre, the keys in the ignition; normal practice for farmers who couldn’t keep track of the mountain of keys needed for their various farm vehicles.
She placed the rifle on the back seat, started the pickup and drove off down the lane as the first flakes of snow began to fall from the heavy sky.
Dr Spence looked at Scott over his half-moon spectacles. ‘That would be most irregular, inspector. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Aye, but you wouldnae want yon lassie jumping on a jumbo jet unless you were sure she was a hundred per cent. I mean, heid injuries can be nasty.’
‘Nearly as bad as peanuts, I dare say.’
Scott shook his head, a flat-lipped expression on his face. ‘Enough wae the peanuts already!’
‘I dine out on that story.’ Spence laughed.
‘Well, what aboot it then?’
‘Okay. In fact, I’m genuinely not happy that Ms Wenger should endure a long-haul flight in her condition. But I can’t justify keeping her in hospital. Beds are precious, and she’s well enough to go back to the hotel. I’ll have a district nurse check on her every day for a week or so, then we can think about letting her travel, all being well.’
‘You’re a star, doc.’
‘No, I’m a professional. Don’t confuse the two. And don’t forget, she’s not a prisoner. She’s free to do as she pleases, regardless of what I say.’
‘Understood. Right, well, I’ll off and see how the patient is.’
‘She’s very upset, as it happens. Just found out about her old friend being killed, I understand.’
Scott thanked Spence again and made his way down the corridor. He nodded hello to the police constable guarding Alice Wenger’s room and knocked gently at the door. Hearing a quiet ‘Come in’, he entered the small room.
Alice was lying in bed. Her face was pale, and a large bruise ringed one eye. She turned her head to look at Scott, and then wearily stared back at the wall. ‘Oh, it’s you, inspector.’
‘Yes, nobody o’ any importance,’ he replied.
She sat up in bed, the expression on her face changing. ‘Where were you when Sheena was killed?’
‘It was a terrible thing. We couldn’t possibly predict that she was in any danger.’
‘Huh! Same as my big brother, then.’
‘You have oor sincere condolences. Honestly, this isnae what we expected at all.’
‘I told you what my mother was like! You chose not to listen.’
‘So you think everything is doon tae her? I
mean, this has all happened since you appeared . . .’ Scott’s voice tailed off.
‘You’re trying to blame me? Mr Dunwoody will love that.’
‘I cannae go into details, but we think your brother and your best friend were victims of a professional killer.’
‘Shit! I’ve lived in some of the worst places in America. You’re telling me they have professional killers in Kinloch? Please.’
Scott ignored the barb and carried on. ‘Dr Spence is coming to see you in a while.’
‘Gee, my day just got so much better.’
‘He doesnae think you’re fit tae fly – what wae the head injury an’ that.’
‘I don’t care what he thinks. I’m outta here, honey – first available to LA. My people are on it right now.’
‘You’re a rich woman, right?’
‘You’re smart. How much detection did it take to work that out?’
‘Am I no’ right in thinking that with someone like yourself they airlines wouldnae be very happy if anything happened tae you on the flight? You being ill, an’ all that. I mean, it would cost them a fortune – if there was a claim, or the like.’
‘And you’ll make sure they know. You and your doctor friend down the corridor, right?’
‘It’s our duty tae look after your wellbeing.’
‘Tell that to Sheena.’
‘Anyway, I just thought I’d pop my heid in.’
‘Oh, you’re so kind. Now do me a favour and pop your “heid” back out again.’
Scott left Alice Wenger and the hospital behind. Outside it had begun to snow heavily. The roads and pavements were already slathered with a veneer of white flakes. He pulled up the collar of his overcoat and plodded off to Kinloch police office.
44
Mike Strong was sitting in the front seat of his car, seat reclined, the music of Jimi Hendrix washing over him, bringing back fond memories of his youth and those long summer days that never seemed to end.
Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams and fairy tales.
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