Dead men and broken hearts l-4

by Craig Russell

  I shrugged. ‘Okay, I guess.’

  ‘I thought things might be a bit tight for you. You know, making you feel like you need to drum up a bit of business.’ Ferguson was trying to be sarcastic and he did so with the grace of a rhinoceros on ice-skates.

  ‘Your point?’

  ‘The Dewars’ door was open, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just like you found the door to your office open?’

  ‘Just like I find a door open when a door is open anywhere.’

  ‘You found Mrs Dewar dead on the floor of the kitchen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And found Thomas Dewar hanging dead upstairs?’

  ‘That’s right. What are — ’

  ‘You touched nothing in the Dewar home?’

  ‘Other than the ’phone to call the police, no.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ferguson paused, looking down at the desk and pursing his lips for a moment. ‘Do you know Mrs Maisie McCardle?’

  ‘Who?

  ‘Maisie McCardle. Do you know her?’

  ‘No. I’ve never heard the name before.’

  ‘No reason that you should have. She lives along the street from the Dewar home. A widow. Her husband died eight years ago and she has no family, so she devotes herself to her dog. She walks it regularly, three times a day, rain or shine.’

  I hadn’t heard the name before, but an ugly, scowling woman and her ugly dog came immediately to mind. I was in trouble.

  ‘Listen, Jock — ’

  ‘Mrs McCardle doesn’t have a lot in her life, so she tends to remember people. She remembers you, for example. She remembers seeing you drive away the night the Dewars’ bodies were discovered, but — and here’s the odd thing — she also remembers having seen you outside the Dewar home a week before, during the day. She’s very clear on that. The funny thing is you had a different car the first time. Now that would make me believe you’ve not been entirely straight with me. Of course, there’s always the possibility that old Maisie is mistaken, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Back to my question about your techniques for canvassing for business. You have just confirmed that you didn’t touch anything at the Dewar house…’

  He paused to reach into the folder. He laid a small white rectangle of card on the desk for me to see. I recognized it, of course: my business card. He repeated the process and placed a second next to it.

  ‘I have this very strange image of you entering the Dewar house, finding both spouses dead, then taking the time to take the wallet out of a dead man’s hip pocket while he’s dangling from the lightshade, slipping your business card in and putting the wallet back. Then, on your way out, you tuck a second business card into Sylvia Dewar’s address book next to the hall telephone. You see, that must be what happened…’ Ferguson leaned forward, dropping his tone a bar or two. ‘Because if it isn’t, then you have been telling me lies. You lied to me in your office when I asked you if you had previous contact with Dewar and you just repeated that lie to me just now.’

  ‘Okay, Jock, I can explain…’

  ‘I’m not finished.’

  I waited for him to say his piece. Maybe that would give me enough time to put together how I was going to tell him the truth without it sounding like a cobbled together collection of hastily improvised lies.

  ‘We’ve been talking to a lot of people and tracing a lot of your steps,’ continued Ferguson. ‘I must say, I wish I had whatever it is that you’ve got going for you as far as the ladies are concerned. They all seem to remember you, even the more unlikely candidates. For example, a waitress in a tearoom in Blythswood Street. She recognized your picture too. She would swear in court that it was you who came into her tearoom and ordered coffees for you and your friend — your friend who looked more than a little shaken up. More than a little roughed up too. She remembers his face wasn’t so much swollen, but in the process of swelling up, as if he was fresh from a fight or a beating.’

  I stayed silent.

  ‘Do you know the really odd thing?’ he continued. ‘We showed her a photograph of Thomas Dewar and guess what? She positively identified him as your chum with the face like a slapped arse.’

  ‘Like I said, I can explain all of that.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to your explanation… but first, I’d like to explain something myself. A couple of the finer points about evidence. We talked about a circumstantial case; well, for a circumstantial case to have any value, it has to comprise a number of mutually supportive, court-admissible proofs. One of the main proofs is flight or intended flight. If a prosecutor can demonstrate that the accused was in the process of running away, or preparing to run away, then it is an admissible possible indicator of guilt. For example, if — immediately prior to the commission of a crime or crimes — the accused empties his bank account, quits his lodgings and cancels all of his charge accounts.’

  I sighed. ‘I know you’re not going to believe this, Jock, but I decided to go back to Canada. I was going to tell you, but I’ve only just made up my mind to go.’

  ‘And you intend to go back when?’

  ‘Three, four weeks…’

  ‘That’s odd, because I called round to your digs and Fiona White — and correct me if I’m wrong, but you and Mrs White have more than a contractual relationship — Fiona White told me you’ve quit your digs and she has no idea where you’ve moved to. Then there’s the under manager at the bank, who actually used the phrase “indecent haste” when describing you badgering him to speed up the transfer of money out of your savings account, as well as emptying your cash account there and then.’

  ‘Christ Jock, he’s a Scottish bank clerk. The Earth’s crust moves at “indecent haste” in comparison. I was just getting everything sorted out in advance, that’s all. I had to chase the bank or it would take forever.’

  ‘On its own, that might sound almost reasonable. But let’s go back to circumstantial proofs. Another is proof of concealment — if the accused had taken steps to hide himself. Where are you staying for the three or four weeks until you leave Bonnie Scotland?’

  ‘I already told Dunlop. The Paragon Hotel. In Garnethill.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ferguson contemplatively. ‘We sent a couple of CID boys round to check it out. The rather attractive redhead there is another female under your spell it would seem. But there seems to be some confusion about your name — she swears blind that you are Mr Kelvin. Can you explain that?’

  I felt my shoulders slump. ‘As a matter of fact, Jock, I can’t. Least not in a way that would make any sense.’

  ‘And then there’s the question as to why you have changed cars, less than a month before you return to Canada.’

  ‘I haven’t changed cars,’ I protested. ‘The Atlantic has been acting up and I’ve rented a car for a while. The garage that has the Atlantic is coming up with a price to buy it from me.’ It should have sounded more convincing, but it didn’t. ‘Are you seriously telling me that you think the Dewar deaths had anything to do with me? Everything I told you about him ’phoning me that day and the reason for his call

  … all that was absolutely true. I didn’t tell you about my previous visit because it had nothing to do with whatever was going on between the Dewars. All I was doing was trying to keep things uncomplicated.’

  ‘Thing is,’ said Ferguson, ‘there’s a possible anomaly in the times of death of Sylvia and Thomas Dewar. Added to which there are no fingerprints on the ashtray. Now why would Thomas Dewar, knowing he was going to kill himself immediately after, wear gloves to murder his wife? And the pathologist’s guesses at timing suggest that she died sometime in the early afternoon, when Dewar was at work. So instead of a murder-suicide, what we could be looking at is Dewar, whose state of mind was pretty fragile because of his suspicions about his wife, coming home to find her murdered, decides he wants to join her and goes up to his room and strings himself up.’

  ‘But that puts me in the clear… I was there after Dewar hanged himself. An
yway, why would I then ’phone the police?’

  ‘Because you were there in the evening doesn’t mean you weren’t there earlier in the day. Maybe you forgot something, or maybe you were puzzled as to why there hadn’t been word of a murder in Drumchapel, and you went back to check it out. You get there and find a grief-stricken Dewar dangling from the ceiling and instantly you’ve got a patsy for his wife’s murder. It’s a godsend for you so you call it into the police.’

  ‘Or maybe it’s just the way I told it. Dewar is driven mad by his wife’s repeated infidelity, finally cracks and kills her, then himself.’

  ‘What about the delay between her death and his?’

  ‘I don’t know… maybe he’s in shock. Maybe he sits with her for a while or can’t make his mind up to do himself in too.’

  ‘And let me guess,’ chipped in Dunlop. ‘The day in the tearoom in Blythswood Street… he had the smacked-looking face because you had been slapping the idea of murder-suicide out of him, is that it?’

  I ran through what had happened that day and how Dewar had tried to jump me in Sauchiehall Street Lane, and how it was all a huge misunderstanding because he thought I was one of his wife’s wrestling partners. Maybe it was the prison uniform I was wearing, but when I heard myself say it all out loud, even I didn’t believe it. Ferguson sat impassively, as did his fat friend, and made no comment when I was finished.

  ‘Let’s move on,’ he said. ‘Ellis’s murder. You say that you were originally hired by Andrew Ellis’s wife to investigate the possibility that he was having an affair?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So you followed Ellis about, and got Archie McClelland to do the same, because you were being paid to by Pamela Ellis?’

  ‘Yes’

  Ferguson frowned. ‘Well, that gives us a bit of a problem. You see, Mrs Ellis told us not only that she never hired you, or any other private detective, but that she never had any suspicions whatsoever about her husband’s fidelity. She’s never heard of you, Lennox.’

  ‘And you believe her?

  ‘I have no reason not to believe her.’

  ‘She was in my office, Jock. And we spoke on the ’phone. How does she explain that?’

  ‘Archie confirmed that you had him follow Ellis’s car.’

  ‘Well then? I told you…’

  ‘All that proves is you told Archie to keep tabs on Ellis. And that you, for some reason, were following Ellis yourself. Archie would do anything for you, Lennox, except lie. He couldn’t tell me that he had been there when you were supposed to have met with Pamela Ellis. In fact, he’s never met or even seen Pamela Ellis.’

  ‘ Supposed to have met?’ I looked at Ferguson beseechingly. ‘For Christ’s sake, Jock, just tell me straight if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘This isn’t about what I believe or don’t believe. This is about what can be proved or disproved in court.’ He sighed. ‘And, call me picky, but my belief in you tends to get shaky when you tell me outright lies.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t front up about having had prior knowledge of the Dewars. It was just that the Dewar thing looked like a straightforward murder-suicide. I thought if I kept it simple all you would need would be a deposition and the inquest and paperwork wouldn’t get in the way of me getting back to Canada. And, if you must know, I felt pretty shitty about the whole thing. Dewar was in a hell of a state that day he jumped me and after that he badgered me to take on his case. The fact remains that I turned my back on a desperate man. And that is the extent of my responsibility for the Dewar deaths. And the extent of my lying. Everything else I’ve told you is true. Can I have another cigarette?’ I stubbed out what was left of the one I’d been smoking. Ferguson pushed the pack and lighter to me and I lit another.

  ‘Listen,’ I went on, blowing a jet of smoke towards the ceiling strip lights. ‘I’m not saying that I haven’t bent the truth on occasion — but if I were lying to you to cover up that I’d killed either of the Dewars or Andrew Ellis, I’d make it a hell of a lot more convincing and a hell of a lot less elaborate than this crap. Shit, Jock, it even sounds made up to me.’

  ‘But the fact remains that there is no evidence of you ever having met Pamela Ellis.’

  ‘Like I said, she was in my office and I ’phoned her. You can check her ’phone records.’

  ‘That’ll take both a warrant and an age.’

  ‘But it will at least prove we had a conversation.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll look into it. Can you give me a date and a rough time?’

  My heart sank and the sinking must have shown on my face.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Ferguson.

  ‘I ’phoned her from the pub. The Horsehead. I don’t think I ’phoned from the office at all.’

  ‘A call from a pub doesn’t prove anything.’

  ‘Yes, Jock,’ I said forcefully, ‘I’m well aware of that.’ Another thought struck me. ‘Wait… she made a call to my digs. She ’phoned to tell me her husband had just gone out. Fiona White took the call before passing it on to me.’

  ‘Did she tell Mrs White who was calling?’

  ‘No. But at least it’s proof of contact.’

  ‘If we can track the call down with the GPO. Even then it doesn’t prove much other than a woman ’phoned you from Andrew Ellis’s home. The fact is his wife flatly denies hiring you and that leaves you following her husband around for reasons of your own. A husband who ends up dead in your office.’

  ‘She’s lying. This Hungarian group killed her husband and have probably threatened to do the same to her if she talks. You convict me and they’re free and clear. I’ve been set up very professionally and they’re not about to let Pamela Ellis unhitch it all.’

  ‘Listen, Lennox, this all smacks of you holding back on me. Like you held back on me about your involvement with the Dewars. I have to tell you that we also have witnesses — the doormen — who say you and Sylvia Dewar left the Locarno at almost the same time. Separately, but within a couple of minutes of each other. The same night you get into a tussle in the street with Sheriff Pete outside the Barrowlands over an unnamed woman.’

  ‘Jesus, Jock… now you’re really clutching at straws.’

  ‘The truth is I’ve got a lot to clutch at.’

  ‘Well,’ I said with as much confidence as I could muster, ‘the one thing you don’t seem to have been able to come up with is the most important thing of all: a motive. Say one or both of the Dewars was murdered by a hand other than Tom Dewar’s own; say the Ellis killing, which is completely unconnected in any way to the Dewar deaths, went down the way you’re suggesting it did, the question remains, why? What possible motive would I have for either killing?’

  ‘On the night before he was murdered, Andrew Ellis’s business premises were broken into. As you know, he was in the demolition business but the target of the raid wasn’t the secure explosives locker. The night watchman was held at gunpoint, tied up and had his public spiritedness pistol-whipped out of him. The one thing he could tell us about the raiders was that they carried the whole job out with military precision. And they communicated by hand signals, not speaking once.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with me?’

  ‘The raiders stole fifteen thousand pounds in wages cash from the office safe. Everything this team did was highly professional and showed they had really done their homework. They knew the money would be there that night and the night watchman said they seemed to know their way around perfectly. Almost as if they had had someone on the inside.’

  ‘Well, don’t you see?’ I said, suddenly energized. ‘All of that with the hand signals… that’s exactly what you would do if your team had voices that would be remembered, either because they would have to talk in Hungarian or Bela Lugosi English. Maybe Ellis himself was their man on the inside, either because he sympathized with them or because he was coerced. I’m telling you, Jock, you find who carried out that robbery and you’ll find who murdered Ellis.’

  ‘So
, let me get this straight,’ Ferguson spoke slowly and deliberately, as if laying down one thought after the other like paving slabs, ‘Whoever took the cash that night murdered Ellis? That’s what you’re saying?’

  ‘Exactly!’ I held my hands out then let them fall onto my thighs with a slap.

  Ferguson reached into the folder again. This time he laid a package on the table next to where he’d left both my business cards lying. The package had been wrapped in brown parcel paper and tied with string, but the police had obviously opened then loosely re-wrapped it. Ferguson eased back the paper to reveal an inch-and-a-half thick brick of banknotes. Fivers.

  I hadn’t known what had been inside it, but I recognized the wrapping paper, the string and the size of the package. With everything that had happened with Ellis and subsequently, I had forgotten the package Magda had passed on to me from Ferenc Lang.

  ‘We found this in your coat pocket. The serial numbers match the stolen cash.’ Ferguson leaned back and folded his arms. ‘Like I said, Lennox, you’ve been holding back on me and now, most definitely, is not the time to be holding back. So let’s have it. Everything.’

  And that was exactly what I gave him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I talked solidly for an hour or more. I didn’t think about what I was saying or pause to consider how believable or ludicrous it sounded. I just talked. And, just as I had with Hopkins and as I had promised Ferguson, I gave them everything. Including Hopkins.

  I could see from their faces, especially Dunlop’s fat one, that the Hopkins story was a big fish for them to swallow, but I gave them the names of the two Special Branch men who had kept Hopkins company. If there’s only one thing a copper will take at face value, it’s another copper’s word. As I spoke, Ferguson wrote the odd note into his notebook and the WPC scribbled everything in shorthand onto her pad.

  Like I say, I gave them everything. Almost.