‘No. He said nothing. Are Willie’s parents still about?’
‘No, both dead for some time.’
‘How about Duncan’s?’
‘No, both died a few years ago,’ she said, her red-rimmed eyes taking on a confused look.
‘Any siblings?’
‘Willie or Duncan?’
‘Either,’ said Max.
‘Willie has a sister, somewhere, I’ve no idea where, though. They weren’t close and she left Scotland years ago. Duncan has an older brother in Spain, Bruce, but we haven’t seen him for a while. I think that’s it for family. What’s this about?’
‘Oh, probably nothing. Did you and Duncan have children?’
‘No. We were too busy travelling around. It was never important to us, to be honest.’
‘Did Willie have kids?’
‘He has an ex-wife, but they didn’t have kids. They split shortly after Willie left the Navy and came back to Scotland. I don’t know where she lives.’
Max realised that now was probably not the time to push further with Mary. He didn’t want to layer worry or fear on top of her grief.
‘Thanks. That’s cleared some things up, but I had better go. Do you have support around?’ asked Max.
‘Hettie is helping me, and my folks in America are wanting me to go home, but I don’t know yet. It’s all too soon.’ Her chin began to wobble and fresh tears brimmed and sparkled in her eyes. ‘I just can’t believe he’s gone.’ Her shoulders began to heave. She screwed her eyes tight and sat back in her chair, raising both hands to her face.
Hettie, who had been watching them talk rushed over. ‘Come on now, darling, I’ll take you out the back. I did say that we shouldn’t be opening, didn’t I? I’m sure the officer can come another time,’ she said, shooting Max a disapproving look.
‘Of course. I’m sorry, I’ll go now.’ Plucking a business card out of his wallet he set it down on the table. ‘Call me, if I can help.’ Max kept his face blank, yet couldn’t help but notice a rising sense of foreboding. This wasn’t finished. Not by a long way.
He laid a five-pound note on the table and left.
*
‘Duncan Ferguson and Willie Leitch are cousins,’ Max said, without preamble when Sally answered the phone. He paced back and forth in the car park outside the inn.
‘What?’ said Sally Smith, incredulity in her voice.
‘I just spoke to Mary Ferguson. She thought that we knew.’
‘Jesus, how didn’t we find this out? One of my team spoke to Ferguson just after we nicked Willie, but he said nothing about that. I had marked him up for a further visit, but with everything else we haven’t had the staff, and now I’ve lost most of the team to the Turkish Joe murder. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything sinister, though. The report I’ve read says it was down to excess speed at a notorious accident black spot.’
‘I’m just not buying that. Leitch killed Hardie, and now his cousin, who I’m sure helped Leitch with the body, is dead. It’s too much of a coincidence.’
‘But how? How could someone engineer Duncan Ferguson smashing through a road barrier? Who could organise that at short notice?’
‘The Hardie family are multi-millionaires. They could easily have organised it. Did Ross tell you about the funeral and what we think Hardie said?’
Sally was ominously quiet for a brief moment. ‘I did hear about it. Ross wasn’t too happy that you showed it to your aunt, and I have to say, I can see his point. It’s hardly how we should treat sensitive evidence, is it? It’s unfortunate that others also know about it, and they haven’t taken it well.’
Max couldn’t really see how he could answer this question without getting angry, so he chose to say nothing, as he leaned against his KTM, suddenly feeling weary. Sally clearly took his silence as encouragement to continue.
‘Detective Chief Superintendent White isn’t overly happy, either. I think some waves may be washing your way soon. You’re probably best staying away from this case. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your help, but I’m not sure my appreciation is shared across the murder squad management. They want this all wrapped up, and think you’re meddling where you’re not required.’ Sally’s tone was soft and, he had to admit, kind. He really had no idea what to say, so in line with the best advice to someone where problems are stacking up against him, he said nothing.
‘Well, I’ve said my piece. Take care. You’re a good cop, and I’d hate to see you getting in the proverbial over this,’ said Sally, as if lecturing an errant schoolboy.
There was a brief pause, before Max spoke. ‘I appreciate your advice.’ He hung up.
25
Willie Leitch sat in the day room on a plastic, high-backed chair at Carstairs Hospital, an open novel on his lap. His keyworker had just finished a long chat with him about his medication requirements and the ins and outs of his treatment. Willie didn’t really give a shite, though. It was all over, as far as he was concerned. Job done. The bastard Hardie was now burning with his ancestors.
He was proud of his actions, proud that he had satisfied what the voices had told him. He had no choice, did he? The man had to die and the only regret Willie had was that he didn’t have the opportunity to kill more of them. He chuckled at the thought, and the voice in his head, although a little muffled because of the medication, assured him that he had done well. His ancestors were proud of him.
Willie picked up his novel and tried to read, but he just couldn’t concentrate on the words. It was like there was a fog clouding his eyes and mind that stopped anything from making sense. He hated the drugs, but if he didn’t take them voluntarily, they’d just hold him down and force him.
There were only two others in the room, neither paying him any attention. The little guy with the shaved head was doing a puzzle and the huge man called Graham from the room next door was sitting in his chair, staring at the wall in front of him, rocking gently. A slight trail of drool had escaped the corner of his mouth and was carving a trail down his chin.
Willie didn’t belong here, but he knew that he was probably here for good. He knew that he had been unwell and that he had got worse after he’d stopped taking his medication. The bloody stuff was just ruining him and turning him into a vegetable. He was glad he’d stopped taking it, and found the strength to do what the voice had told him. His old ancestor telling him, when he’d seen Hardie in the pub. Willie giggled thinking about it.
A slight feeling of unease began to seep through the cloud, at first just a mix of anxiety and the drug-induced fog. A feeling of impending doom, maybe, that made him shake his head to try to clear it. These bloody drugs were awful. A creeping sensation began to nip at his feet and rise further into his body. Something was wrong. The voices in his head had been pushed back and were nothing more than a distant and inaudible muttering that he found unsettling. They were barely even there, and for once, Willie missed them. They’d tell him what to do.
A shadow fell across Willie as he continued to stare at his book, the words still not going in. He looked up and saw Graham looming over him, just a foot away, an unfathomable look on his face. His unfocused eyes were empty of any emotion.
‘Graham?’ Willie began to speak, but the words died in his mouth. He listened in his head for the reassuring presence of the voice, but there was only silence. Looking in the day room, he saw that only the small man with the puzzle was there, and he was paying no attention. The keyworker was nowhere to be seen.
A slow smile spread across Graham’s face, showing discoloured, broken teeth. There was not a trace of mirth in that smile, nor was there any malice.
Graham’s huge fist thumped with no great force and little malice into Willie’s chest. There was no immediate pain. What was Graham doing?
Looking down, Willie saw blood blooming from a small hole in his white shirt, then the pain arrived. A sharp, all-encompassing agony and the feeling that his entire chest was caving in. He opened his mouth to scream, but Graham leaped
forward and clamped a giant fist over his mouth, his free hand pounding at Willie’s chest, each blow thrusting the sharpened toothbrush deep into his heart.
26
Max was in his garage, dressed in a singlet and shorts with sparring gloves on his fists, working at the big, heavy bag that was suspended from a joist above. He jabbed and punched, varying his attack and utilising his footwork and head movement, imagining that the heavy leather was an opponent.
Max had boxed ever since childhood, starting at the gym in Inverness as a ten-year-old. He had done well, winning lots of bouts as he grew up, and he could possibly have made something of himself in the sport. He loved the challenge, the combative element and the primeval nature of it. He had continued in the Army, winning the combined services middleweight belt at one time, before Afghanistan got in the way.
His shaved head was beaded with large droplets of sweat as he moved, pounding relentlessly at the bag. As always, the more he jabbed, uppercutted and moved, the more that exhaustion nipped at him, and the better he felt. Nutmeg stood at the doorway to the garage, as always, a look of concerned interest on her face.
Suddenly Nutmeg looked away from Max’s exertions, hearing a car coming up the long drive. She tore off barking furiously, ready to defend the homestead, in her typical fashion. Max looked out of the garage door to see Janie’s blue BMW pulling up at the front of the house. The muffled notes of a complex jazz piece were audible from within the car.
She opened the door, which halted the music, and stepped out to be met by the wildly excited Nutmeg, tail thrashing as she greeted the newcomer. Everyone got this treatment from Nutmeg. She didn’t discriminate; she loved everyone. Max took a towel and slung it around his neck and went out to meet her, swigging from a large water bottle.
‘Morning, Sarge,’ she said, a half-smile on her face.
‘Sorry, just been working out,’ he said, removing his gloves.
‘Glad to hear it, bearing in mind how sweaty you are.’
‘What was that terrible music that was playing?’
‘Ornette Coleman, the daddy of free jazz,’ said Janie.
‘A right racket, as my old dad used to say about me listening to The Cure,’ said Max, as they walked back into his garage.
‘Nice,’ she said, looking with genuine interest at the heavy bag, speed ball, squat rack with Olympic bar and long row of dumbbells. ‘This must’ve cost you a fortune,’ she said.
‘Cheaper than a gym membership, and I don’t have to talk to people,’ said Max, his breath now returning to normal.
‘Do you compete?’ she asked.
‘Not for a while. I did a fair bit, particularly in the Army.’
‘What weight?’
‘Middleweight. I’m a bit heavier, now, though.’
Janie stepped into the garage, and suddenly, explosively swivelled her hips and executed an expert spinning reverse kick, sending the bag flying back on its chain.
‘Impressive. Taekwondo?’ asked Max.
‘Muay Thai,’ she said, completely composed.
‘I’m glad you’re wearing your gutties, rather than heels, or you’d have wrecked my bag,’ he said, pointing at her Converses. ‘Remind me not to piss you off. Coffee?’
‘Cool. Love your dog by the way. What’s her name?’
‘Nutmeg,’ said Max, with a slight trace of embarrassment. ‘And, before you ask, yes, it is a girly name, and a cockapoo is a girly breed, but she came with the house.’
‘Whoa, defensive, and what’s with the gender stereotypes? Is this another example of the rampant patriarchy repressing women with constant micro aggressions? Is this what it has come to in Police Scotland?’ Her face was suddenly serious.
Max paused for a second, a little concern creeping in.
Janie sniggered and her face broke into a broad grin, of a type that Max hadn’t yet seen on her face. ‘Sorry, I’m messing with you. I like how you took her on, and she’s a cool wee dog.’
‘Jeepers, you had me going for a moment. I’m in the shit enough, right now. I don’t need sexism allegations.’
‘Yeah, about that. I overheard your name being mentioned a few times. I’m not sure it was all complimentary.’ Janie’s face was serious again.
Max sighed. ‘What have you heard?’
‘Just rumblings, and rumours. You want to tell me?’
Max told Janie everything, the whole lot, the car accident and Duncan’s previously undeclared relationship with Leitch.
‘What? They don’t see the link? Two of the people in that graveyard are now dead in questionable circumstances and they just want to shelve this case?’
‘Seems so.’ Max shrugged.
‘Do you think the Hardies are somehow influencing the case?’ Janie sounded shocked.
‘I’m saying nothing. Come on, I’ll make you a coffee. I’ll get a quick shower and we’ll get to the office. I may as well face whatever music I have to face.’
*
When Max and Janie walked into the office, it was clear that something was going on. There were knots of officers chatting conspiratorially around desks and it was obvious that the rumour mill was in full flow.
Ross was ensconced in his glass office, a phone clamped to his ear, his face brick-red as he talked. Something was most definitely happening, and the atmosphere strongly suggested that it was not good news.
‘What’s going on?’ Janie asked Nick – a young officer sat at a desk, his face concentrating on his screen.
‘You not heard?’ he said, cocking his head to look at them both.
‘It seems not,’ said Janie.
Max could feel the tension rising in his gut.
‘Willie Leitch is dead. Murdered. One of the other patients at Carstairs stabbed him last night,’ he said in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘Jesus, who stabbed him?’
‘Graham Connolly, nutjob who went down a load of years ago for a double murder in Dundee, a proper psycho. Utterly bonkers he is. Just attacked Leitch in the day room when the supervising staff member had popped out for a pee. Stabbed with a sharpened toothbrush multiple times straight to the heart.’
‘Any link to the Hardies?’
‘I’ve been researching since the early hours when we got called in, and I can’t find anything. He’s always attacking others, but normally just fists and feet. This was an execution.’
Max’s stomach dropped. Three people who had been in the graveyard on that fateful day were now dead. Three people.
‘You all got called in?’
‘Aye, about three in the morning, trying to get a drop on the intel, but seems like the narrative is that Connolly was heavily paranoid and this was just a random attack. Told the nurse that Leitch was a demon or some such shite.’ Nick yawned.
‘Is everyone buying this?’ Janie asked.
Nick sniggered without mirth. ‘Are they hell. Evidence is what it is, though.’ He shrugged.
‘Max, in here, now,’ boomed the voice of Ross Fraser who had suddenly appeared from his office. He looked fuming, and his face was beetroot purple. His tie was loose at his neck and he had a ketchup stain on his off-white shirt.
‘What’s the deal with Leitch? Are we looking at the Hardies for it?’ asked Max as Ross shut the door.
‘What the fucking fuck are you playing at?’ said Ross. His jaw set firm.
‘Specifically?’ Max asked, not wanting to give anything away.
‘Well, how about interfering with evidence from a fatal crash without authority for a start? Then there is showing highly sensitive surveillance product from a proactive policing operation to your Auntie fucking Elspeth. How about those two for starters? And whilst I’m on it, how about going straight to a grieving widow of a fatal car crash, when it should’ve been the FLO going?’
‘The accident is not an accident. No one is taking seriously the threat that the Hardies are presenting. Duncan was murdered, I’m certain of it, and now Leitch is dead. Can’t you see? This is the Hardies ex
acting their revenge, just like the video clip I showed to my expert lip-reading aunt proves.’ Max spoke quietly, but firmly.
‘I’ve just got off the phone from Detective Chief Superintendent White, and, to put it not too finely, he’s pissing incandescent with rage mainly because he’s getting a whole heap of shite rolling downhill from his boss, and it’s landing on his desk. He thinks you’re a loose cannon, and he’s considering suspending you for breach of confidentiality, computer misuse and perverting the course of justice. He’s giving me shit about my lack of supervision of you, and he’s on his way down here right bloody now. I suggest you sit quietly, nod politely and take whatever shit he’s intending on doling out, okay?’
‘Someone has to stop Tam Hardie. Hasn’t Turkish Joe’s murder shown what he’s capable of? He peeled the skin off the man, just to establish himself as the new leader of the Hardies.’
‘No proof of that. Intelligence is that it’s another gang.’
‘You don’t believe that for a second.’
‘When are you going to learn that this is none of our, or more specifically your bastarding business? We do as we’re fucking told, not go off on crusades. Jesus, I used to look forward to getting out of the bloody house to escape the missus and come to work. Now I’m considering taking leave because Mrs Fraser’s moaning is easier to deal with than the shite you keep bringing to my bloody door.’
Ross opened his mouth to continue his tirade of abuse but was halted by the door opening and Detective Chief Superintendent White striding into the room, a blank look on his face. Max and Ross rose to their feet.
‘Sit down, both of you. DS Craigie, I have to say I’m a little disturbed by the reports I’m receiving from a number of sources about your conduct over the last few days. Now the way you and DC Calder identified Hardie’s burial site was commendable, but I’m really a little perplexed about your actions since then. Max, this isn’t your inquiry, and whilst everyone is appreciative of your efforts, the reports I have are troubling. Can you explain why you think what you’ve been doing is a good idea?’
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