by T F Muir
‘That’s what he’s saying. The house was empty.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Glenrothes Police Station.’
Gilchrist reached The Central, rapped his knuckles on the window, loud enough for several heads to turn his way, and the barman to frown at him.
Jessie heard, too, and jerked in surprise.
Let’s go, he mouthed to her, then turned away.
‘How long’s McGovern been there, Stan?’
‘Since last night.’
‘And when did they make the connection with the jewellery?’
‘This morning. When he was interviewed.’
Jessie interrupted with, ‘This must be serious. You’ve still got a pint to finish.’
Gilchrist nodded for her to follow, and they entered College Street. ‘Call Whyte,’ he said to Stan, ‘and tell him we’re on our way to talk to McGovern.’
‘I’ll do what I can, boss.’
‘I’m talking to McGovern with or without Whyte’s approval,’ Gilchrist said, and ended the call.
‘Something I need to know?’ Jessie said.
‘I’ll explain in the car.’
Jessie had her mobile out. ‘Here, listen to this from Jackie.’ She read from the screen. ‘Confirm Magner married twice. Still married, question mark. PO in office.’
Gilchrist stuffed his hands into his pockets to ward off the stiff wind. ‘PO?’
‘Printout, I think.’
‘So, she’s found another marriage certificate. Did she find any divorce papers?’
‘I guess not. Nor a death certificate. Hence the question mark.’
‘When did you receive that text?’
‘Just opened it.’
Gilchrist tried to recall their interrogation of Magner, but could not remember asking if he was married. ‘Let’s see what Jackie’s got,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll head to Glenrothes.’
CHAPTER 15
The door to Jackie’s office was closed, her seat vacated, her computer switched off, and no crutches in sight. It was Saturday afternoon after all, and civilian staff were less compelled to work overtime than members of the Force.
Gilchrist found the printout on Jackie’s desk with an attached Post-it on which was scribbled FAO: DS Janes. He picked it up. ‘Anne Mills,’ he said. ‘Married in February ’86, round about the time Magner started Stratheden—’
‘And within six months of his first wife dying,’ Jessie reminded him, as she fingered through more papers on Jackie’s desk. ‘Anything here that tells us where she’s living now?’
‘Text Jackie back and find out.’ He headed to the door. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’m in just the mood to tackle a piece of shite.’
Once on the A92, Gilchrist called the Glenrothes Office and informed the duty officer they were on their way to interview Jerry McGovern. He expected an interview room to be made available.
Arrangements made, he turned to Jessie. ‘We were talking in The Central,’ he said. ‘Where were we?’
‘Can’t remember.’
From the way Jessie was staring at the passing countryside, Gilchrist knew she was regretting opening up to him about her relationship with Jabba, albeit for only a few minutes. Still, a bit of reluctance had never stood in his way.
‘Chief Super Lachie McKellar,’ he said. ‘More commonly known as Jabba the Hutt. As fat and as annoying as they come. He wants to set you and Robert up in a flat in town so he can visit the Fife coast every other weekend for a little bit of domestic life—’
‘Domestic life my arse,’ Jessie snapped. ‘Try domestic abuse. And it won’t be me taking it.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Look, I don’t want to talk about it,’ Jessie said.
‘I think you need to air any issues you—’
‘Please, Andy. Can we just leave it?’
Gilchrist tightened his grip on the steering wheel and concentrated on the road ahead.
By the time they arrived at Glenrothes, dusk was settling.
Jerry McGovern was already in Interview Room 2. He looked frail compared to Gilchrist’s recollection of his brother, Malky, with bedraggled hair and a lantern jaw that aged him by at least ten years. He looked as if he had lived all of his life in the shadow of a bigger, older brother. Or maybe he was just the runt of the litter.
By his side sat a young woman, no more than thirty, Gilchrist guessed, with spiked blonde hair and black-rimmed designer glasses. She stood and held out her hand.
Gilchrist ignored it and took his seat without a word. Jessie did likewise. He switched on the recorder and formally introduced himself and Jessie, stated date and time, and added that they were interviewing Jerry McGovern with respect to the deaths of the McCulloch family. He then confirmed that Mr McGovern was accompanied by his solicitor, at which point he looked across at the young woman.
‘Ali McCrae,’ she said, ‘R. K. Leith & Associates, Dundee.’ She handed Gilchrist her card, and slid another across the table to Jessie.
Gilchrist faced McGovern. ‘You’ve confessed to stealing jewellery,’ he said.
McGovern nodded. ‘That’s all I done. I didnae kill anyone—’
‘Just answer the questions one at a time,’ Gilchrist said.
McGovern pursed his lips, lowered his head. He could be a scolded child.
McCrae leaned forward. ‘My client has categorically denied any involvement in the murder of the—’
‘So he says,’ Jessie interrupted. ‘What else does he say?’
McCrae frowned. ‘Haven’t you read his statement?’
‘We’re not interested in his statement. We’re here to ask him—’
‘We’ve already been through this.’
‘This?’ Gilchrist said.
‘My client’s whereabouts on the night in question.’
‘And which night was that?’
‘Please tell me you’re not serious.’
Gilchrist sat back in his chair and eyed McCrae. Anger and incredulity seemed to lift off her like heat from rock. ‘I’m serious,’ he said.
‘If that were true, you would’ve made sure you knew all the facts before—’
‘If we knew all the facts,’ Jessie cut in, her Glasgow accent as heavy as a punch to the gut, ‘we wouldn’t be here asking questions, would we?’
McCrae glared at her for a long moment, then slumped back in her seat.
Jessie turned to McGovern. ‘Why don’t you tell us where you were on Thursday evening?’
‘I have to instruct my client not to answer—’
‘On what grounds?’ Jessie snapped.
‘On the grounds that he has already supplied the police with—’
‘You worried he might incriminate himself this time?’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Mr McGovern,’ Gilchrist interrupted. ‘I have to tell you that even though your solicitor will assure you that she is protecting your rights, she is doing you no favours at all here.’
McCrae slapped her pen on to the table. ‘I’ve heard it all now.’
‘Do you understand?’ Gilchrist asked him.
‘Don’t answer that.’
McGovern swallowed, a hard dunking of his Adam’s apple. When McCrae reached for his arm, he shrugged her off. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ he said.
‘Since when has stealing jewellery been legal?’ Jessie asked.
‘Aye, okay. But I’ve no killed nobody.’
‘Once again, my client denies any involvement in—’
‘I’ve nothing to be afraid of,’ McGovern interrupted.
‘You’ve plenty to be—’
‘You’re no listening to me,’ McGovern snapped at McCrae, who seemed surprised by his angry tone.
‘Jerry,’ she said, ‘you need to—’
‘Shut it, yeah?’
McCrae’s eyes sparked with fury. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you’ve—’
‘Look nothing. I want to clear my name.’
Give McCrae her d
ue. She dropped the aggressive tone as easily as casting off a coat, and said, ‘Fine. I’ll take notes, Jerry.’ She raised her hand to ward off any complaint. ‘And I won’t say another word, I promise. Okay?’ She could have been speaking to a temperamental child.
McGovern glanced at Gilchrist, then Jessie, then back to Gilchrist, and nodded.
Gilchrist was about to speak when McCrae reached for the recorder and switched it off. ‘I’m going to listen very carefully to everything you two ask my client. Be warned, I will take this further if I consider—’
‘Where do you get off?’ snarled Jessie, and switched the recorder back on. ‘Right,’ she said to McGovern. ‘For the record, you have instructed your solicitor not to intervene on your behalf. Is that correct?’
McGovern nodded.
‘Please speak for the record,’ Jessie said.
‘That’s correct.’
Gilchrist caught McGovern’s nervous glance at McCrae, and realised that the man was more frightened of his solicitor than he was of the police. As long as McCrae was in the interview room, Gilchrist doubted that McGovern would open up to them. So he said, ‘Would you like your solicitor to leave?’
‘Now wait just a minute.’
‘I’m not speaking to you, Ms McCrae,’ Gilchrist said. ‘But I’ll repeat the question for your client.’ He waited a couple of beats, then said, ‘Would you like your solicitor to leave the room?’
A sullen shrug.
‘Please speak for the record.’
‘Aye,’ McGovern said, shifting on his seat, as if distancing himself a crucial inch or two from McCrae.
‘And, in the absence of legal assistance, would you like to continue with the interview?’
‘I would.’
‘I can’t recommend this, Jerry. You’re making a big mistake.’
McGovern cast another nervous glance in her direction, as if fearful that holding her gaze might petrify him. ‘You can listen to the recording,’ he said, then looked at Gilchrist. ‘She can, can’t she?’
Gilchrist nodded. ‘She can.’
‘But by then you might have dug a hole too deep for me to be able to help you.’
‘I’ll take my chances.’
‘It’s your life.’ McCrae pushed to her feet and walked to the door.
Jessie lifted her business card and said, ‘Ali McCrae of R. K. Leith & Associates is now leaving the interview room.’ She glanced at the wall clock and confirmed the time.
McCrae left with a parting scowl at Jessie.
When the door closed, McGovern’s eyes darted left and right, as if expecting McCrae to pop out of thin air and frighten him. Or maybe he was just a scared kind of guy, not someone capable of killing an entire family. But psychopaths rarely fitted preconceived ideas of how they should behave, so Gilchrist knew he still had to tread with care.
‘Where were you on Thursday night?’ he asked McGovern.
‘At home.’
‘Anybody with you?’
‘No.’
‘Did you steal jewellery from the McCullochs’ house?’
‘Yes. But that’s all I done. I didnae kill anyone.’
Gilchrist folded his arms and sat back. ‘Talk us through it, Jerry.’
Neither he nor Jessie said a word as McGovern explained that he had staked out the McCullochs’ home off and on over a three-week period, noted who came and went, what time Brian McCulloch went to work, when Amy took the children to school, when they came home.
‘All by yourself?’ Jessie asked.
McGovern gave a tic for a glance, and Gilchrist knew the next words out of his mouth would be a lie. ‘Me and Malky.’
Gilchrist watched McGovern’s eyes dance after the lie. Roping in his dead brother was as good a way as any to cover up the involvement of others. ‘Malky’s been dead for a wee while,’ Gilchrist said to him. ‘So I guess you did it all by yourself last week?’
McGovern nodded, a tad unsure. ‘Aye.’
‘So, why Thursday morning?’ Gilchrist pressed.
‘The cleaner works Mondays and Fridays.’
‘Which made Thursday morning the best time to break in?’
McGovern squeezed his hands together. ‘Look. I know youse dinnae believe me. But I swear I just done the house when she was out shopping. It’s what she does—’
‘Shopping?’ Jessie asked.
‘Aye. She shops a lot.’
‘How do you know she went shopping? You were staking out the house. She could have gone anywhere. Did you follow her?’
‘No.’
‘Yet you knew she’d gone to the shops. So someone must have followed her.’
Gilchrist watched confusion shift over McGovern’s face like an illness. The man was truly torn. He could tell the truth and drop one or more of his thieving associates in the shit, or dig himself a deeper hole out of which his spiky haired solicitor might not be able to pull him.
Gilchrist decided to offer a hand. ‘Would the others cover for you, Jerry, if they were in this situation?’
Jessie chipped in: ‘You owe them no favours, Jerry. None at all.’
Still McGovern squirmed, said nothing, then Gilchrist thought he saw it.
‘Who shifts the stuff for you?’ he asked.
McGovern’s eyes jumped.
Gilchrist waited a couple of beats. ‘He’s let you down, hasn’t he?’
McGovern tightened his lips.
‘When your fence heard about the McCulloch murders, he didn’t want to touch the stuff with a barge pole. And now he’s dropped you right in it.’
McGovern closed his eyes, and a high keening sound filled the room as he rocked back and forth. Tears rolled down his cheeks, giving life to another possibility. Gilchrist raised a hand to silence Jessie, and waited until the keening subsided to a steady sobbing.
‘What did you see, Jerry?’
McGovern’s nostrils flared. He shook his head.
‘You must have seen something, Jerry, to get yourself into such a state.’
‘Nothing,’ he gasped, his eyes wide open now. ‘I swear I seen nothing.’
‘You broke in on Thursday morning, when Mrs McCulloch was out shopping?’
‘Aye.’
‘And what about Mr McCulloch?’
‘I never seen him. He’s away early and always comes back late at night.’
‘And we estimate the family were killed on Thursday afternoon, when the girls came back from school.’
‘I wouldnae know.’
‘Who’s your fence?’ Gilchrist asked, hoping the change of tack might trip up McGovern.
‘I cannae tell you. I’ll never get nothing sold again,’ he said – an open admission that he intended to continue stealing for a living.
And Gilchrist wondered that if McGovern had children, would he bring them into the family business, let them take over when he retired?
It didn’t bear thinking about.
He pushed his chair back. ‘When you remember, Jerry, give me a call, okay?’
McGovern stared at Gilchrist, an unspoken question in his eyes.
‘I believe you,’ Gilchrist said. ‘I’m sure you had nothing to do with the McCulloch murders.’ He paused.
McGovern twisted his hands, his rough calluses rasping like sand for soap, but he offered nothing.
Gilchrist stood.
Jessie said, ‘Interview terminated at eighteen-twenty-one.’ She switched off the recorder.
Gilchrist removed a business card from his wallet, leaned forward and slipped it into McGovern’s shirt pocket. ‘If you can help us in any way, Jerry’ – he paused until McGovern looked up at him – ‘I’d be grateful.’
Silent, McGovern lowered his eyes.
CHAPTER 16
Jessie spent much of the return drive to St Andrews texting Robert or staring out the window.
‘You see anything interesting?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘Just thinking.’
‘Has Robert written any new jokes lately?’ he
tried.
Even that failed to bring a smile to her face. ‘None that would interest you.’
Well, there he had it – leave her alone.
It was almost seven o’clock by the time they passed the Old Course Hotel. ‘I’m going to check the in-tray,’ he said, ‘then have a pint. Interested?’
‘I’m taking Robert to the movies, remember?’ she said, and offered a wry smile. ‘If you’re happy to give me the time off, that is.’
They were involved in one of the biggest murder cases in Fife’s history, and all hands were needed. But his staff were only human, and time away from the investigation could be just as important as cranking up the gears. Relaxation helped clear minds, focus concentration. The occasional pint helped, too.
He turned right at the City Road roundabout and drove straight to Canongate.
He pulled up outside Jessie’s house. ‘Enjoy the movies. I’ll be in touch,’ he said, his reminder not to switch off her mobile.
Jessie opened the door.
‘Before you go?’
She stopped, half in, half out. ‘Yeah?’
‘I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is.’
She held his gaze for two, maybe three, seconds then slipped from the car. Before closing the door, she said, ‘Later, Andy. Okay?’
Gilchrist watched her walk up the driveway, past her Fiat – a car Jabba had helped her buy – and waited until she had the house key in her hand before he drove off.
In Bridge Street, he took out his mobile.
His call was answered on the third ring with, ‘Small speaking.’
‘Dainty. Andy Gilchrist here. Got a minute?’
‘If it’s quick.’
Gilchrist smiled. Some things never changed. And DCI Peter ‘Dainty’ Small of Strathclyde Police was one of them. Straight to the point. No messing.
‘What can you tell me about Chief Superintendent Lachlan McKellar?’ Gilchrist asked.
A hissed, ‘Fuck sake.’ Then, ‘What’s he been up to now?’
‘He’s giving Jessie Janes a hard time.’
‘Be careful with him, Andy. I mean it. He’s not someone you want to mess with. I know all about Jessie’s reasons for transferring from Strathclyde. And I don’t blame her. But walking on eggshells around Chief Super McKellar doesn’t cut it. You burn your bridges with him, there’s no coming back.’