I tossed the newspaper at him. It fluttered and landed at his feet. ‘You’re wasted as a football pundit,’ I said. ‘Never mind transfer news. You should have your own Dear Malky column. You could maybe even manage to write it yourself, seeing how you seem to know everything about everyone else’s love life.’
Malky reached down and lifted the newspaper. ‘Robbie, I don’t really care about your pathetic love life, but if you screw things up and Tina is taken away by her gran . . . ’
Before he could say any more, the kitchen door opened and Tina danced through, all red-puffy eyes, but smiling. My dad was behind her carrying a plate completely without trace of any root vegetables.
‘Good girl!’ I said, and she hugged me and Malky in turn and then skipped off to fetch the domino box.
‘What are you two talking about,’ my dad asked.
‘My murder case,’ I said, before Malky could land me in trouble. ‘There’s a good chance my client didn’t murder the woman. No, really,’ I added, spotting a wry expression forming on the old man’s face. ‘The forensics don’t stack up.’
Tina arrived, opened the box and scattered the dominoes all over the table and onto the floor.
‘Was she in a relationship?’ my dad asked, sitting himself down on the sofa, and for once not rejecting the presumption that my client might be innocent.
‘That’s not clear yet. She was married before, though. He was violent.’
One by one my dad took the fallen dominoes from Tina as she picked them up off the floor.
‘There you are then,’ he said.
‘There I am then, what?’
‘The ex. When a woman is murdered it’s usually by a man and it’s usually by a man she’s in or has been in a relationship with. It’s a statistical fact.’ He turned the dominoes face down and helped Tina swirl them around on the coffee table. ‘That’s where you should start looking. Never know what you’ll find.’
‘And if I look in your kitchen bucket, what will I find there?’
He patted Tina on the head. ‘There are some places it’s best not to look.’
29
After enquiries with the Fiscal’s office, Grace-Mary obtained the information I needed to follow up my dad’s advice. When she told me that Daisy Adams’ ex-husband ran a florist’s shop on Gorgie Road, not a goal kick from the home of Heart of Midlothian FC, I’d half expected him to come mincing out from behind the dahlias, droopy-hands and blousy-shirt, talking corsages and centrepieces. He didn’t. Monday morning, standing behind the counter in a full-length leather apron, was a man unshaven and with the look of someone who’d been to bed late and got up early.
‘What do you want?’ He folded his arms across his chest, the links of a chunky watch tangled in the hairs on his broad wrist. Here was a man convicted of domestic violence. A man who used to let his fists do the talking, now saying it with flowers.
‘It’s about your ex-wife,’ I said. ‘Can we talk somewhere private?’
The shop was quiet, the only other occupant a girl who looked to be in her late teens, cramming bunches of blooms into plastic buckets filled with water.
‘Here’ll do.’ His manner suggested that he didn’t think this would take long.
‘I take it you know about Daisy.’ It was only when I said her name that I realised the irony of a florist marrying a woman called Daisy.
‘The police took me in for questioning. Four hours straight. I suppose you want to know where I was during the second week in October too? New York. My fiftieth. The cops have all the details.’
A trip to the Big Apple. Handy. Just what you need between you and your ex-wife when she’s being murdered: three thousand miles of North Atlantic. That was a proper alibi.
‘I’m acting for the man accused of her murder,’ I said.
‘And you think I can help? How?’ He looked past me. ‘Mary, when’s the pick-up for Interflora?’
‘Half eleven,’ the girl replied around a wad of gum. She lugged a bucket of blooms to the front window. ‘I left the list beside the phone.’
‘I was wondering if you knew anyone who might want to harm Daisy?’ I said.
‘The police have my statement.’
‘Yes, but I don’t.’ I asked him again. ‘Can you think of anyone who might want to harm her?’
He picked up a sheet of paper and stared at it for a couple of seconds. ‘Other than your client? No.’
‘You know my client?’
‘The police have told me about him.’
‘He denies killing Daisy.’
‘Don’t all murder suspects?’ The florist came around the counter and selected some sprays from the buckets on the floor. When he returned, he started laying out the flowers neatly on the counter. ‘I was told he does the collecting for a moneylender. It was all over payments for a car, wasn’t it?’ Clearly Dougie Fleming, or whoever had taken his witness statement, had filled him in fully on how the Crown saw things. ‘Hell, I would have bought her a car if she’d asked me.’
‘I didn’t think the two of you would have kept in touch,’ I said. ‘Not after the divorce.’
He lifted the bunch of flowers, held it upright, gently tapping the base with the palm of his hand. When the stalks were even he snipped a few centimetres off the end with a large pair of scissors that were attached to the counter on a piece of hairy string. ‘You mean, not after I broke her jaw?’
‘It’s why your marriage ended, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, yeah. Except it wasn’t me who broke it.’
‘Isn’t that what all suspected wife beaters say?’ I asked.
He smiled like a pair of secateurs.
‘When was the last time you spoke to Daisy?’
He checked his work, holding the bouquet in one hand while unfurling a roll of shiny-red paper from a dispenser secured to the end of the counter. ‘Don’t remember. It would have been a phone call, though. Last time I actually set eyes on her was at my trial. She was in the witness box, behind a screen. A vulnerable witness they said. Too scared to even look at me. I had to watch her tell her lies on a TV screen.’
In my line of work a lot of people told me they were innocent. It wasn’t my job to believe or disbelieve. They told me their story and, no matter how incredible it sounded, I did my best to present it in the most credible way possible. It wasn’t my liberty at stake and if there was one thing a defence lawyer learned after a few years in the job it was that sometimes the most outrageous version of events turned out to be the truth – even if it did still result in a conviction. Deek Pudney said he wasn’t guilty, which meant someone else had murdered Daisy and with his alibi gone, the-ex-husband-did-it was the best, the only, defence available, so far as I could see. And, yet, there was something about the florist’s mannerisms, the careful way he put together the bouquet, wrapped it, set it aside and started on the next, selecting the blooms, laying them out in a careful, unhurried manner. He couldn’t have murdered his ex-wife from the other side of an ocean. Could he have ordered her death and still be so at ease with himself?
‘So who did break her jaw?’ I asked, conscious of the fact that at any time he could show me the door. This wasn’t a courtroom. He wasn’t in a witness box and he didn’t need to answer my questions.
‘What difference does it make?’
‘It might have made a difference at your trial.’
‘Too late for that now. I’ve done my time. I just want to forget all about it and get on with my life.’
‘Still, I’d be interested to know.’
‘Really?’ The florist ran the scissors across the wrapping paper in one clean swipe. ‘Why’s that?’
‘You say you didn’t assault Daisy. Well, people blamed for something they say they didn’t do – it’s my line of work. Like you might be interested in a nice bunch of . . . ’ I pointed to a flower with pretty purple petals and a yellow button centre.
‘Asters,’ he said.
‘Probably not a good idea for me to use
flowers as an example. I don’t know the names of that many.’
His smile was more genuine this time. ‘I’m not saying I’m an angel.’ At six foot four and bordering on twenty stones, I wasn’t about to confuse him with one. ‘I’ve done time. Even before I met Daisy.’
‘What for?’
‘Theft mainly. A lot of thefts, in fact, and a few robberies. But I’ve never touched drugs. Never.’ He said it like that one fact excused his other misdemeanours. ‘And I’ve never hit a woman.’
So he said. A man like him would have no trouble breaking a facial bone. One drunken backhander would have done the job.
‘Why did Daisy say that you did?’ I asked.
He finished wrapping the flowers, stepped back from his work and looked at me across the foliage-strewn counter. ‘For a long time things weren’t great between me and Daisy. When we had money, and that wasn’t very often, I’d drink or gamble it. When we didn’t, I’d go stealing. When I got out of jail the last time, I promised her I’d go legit. I’d promised before, but this time I really meant it. I met a guy inside. He owned this place and said I could have it until he got out and then he’d want it back or I’d need to pay him rent. It was a total fresh start for me. For the first time I was going to make Daisy proud. Even her dad saw it. He started speaking to me, gave me money to buy stock. Daisy worked here too. She knew a lot about flowers, more than me anyway, which wasn’t difficult. She showed me what to do. For a while we were a real team. Everything was the best it had ever been.’
‘Broken jaw?’ I reminded him.
His assistant had finished arranging the buckets in the window and was sweeping up fallen leaves and petals. Still chewing away on her gum, I could see her give us an embarrassed, over-the-shoulder glance. The florist told her to take a break.
‘Daisy got depressed,’ he said, once the girl had gone next door for a coffee. ‘She wanted to start a family and . . . ’ he shrugged, ‘she couldn’t have kids. After a while I noticed money going missing. She started acting strange. I couldn’t get her out of bed in the morning. She never came to work, even when I was run off my feet. One day I closed the shop and followed her to a house in Leith. I thought at first she was seeing someone else. She wasn’t. She was buying drugs. That was the start of it. I don’t like drugs. I’ve done a lot of bad things, but—’
‘You’ve never touched drugs.’
‘That’s right. I don’t like them. I had a quiet word with the dealer, put him straight on what would happen if Daisy ever got any more smack off him and I thought that was that sorted. A week later Daisy nearly died of an overdose. I was all set to pay her dealer another visit, until some boys I knew told me to lay off. They said the guy was serious trouble, well connected, and I was still on licence. So I lifted the phone.’ The florist looked down at the counter and shook his head. ‘Only time I’ve ever ratted on anyone. I wish I had just done him in.’ He looked at the list, walked over to the window display and began the selecting process all over again. ‘That’s when it happened.’
‘What happened?’
‘One night Daisy came home with the side of her jaw way out here.’ With an open hand he indicated an area six inches from his face. ‘I took her to hospital. Next thing I knew I was in custody, charged with assault. I heard later, when I was inside, that the cops had done a raid on Daisy’s dealer. They got his stash. It was the haul of the year. The guy must have been supplying the whole of Leith. He took it out on Daisy and I got the blame. I swore I’d do him in the second I got out.’ The florist’s face knotted. He smashed a fist on the counter, squishing stray, snipped-stalks and fallen leaves.
‘And?’
‘He disappeared. I just hope that was because somebody wanted him dead even more than I did.’
I shuffled my feet, not sure what to say. I wasn’t interested in some missing drug dealer. I wanted to establish a motive for the florist having his ex-wife killed. If he was saying that Daisy had lied and got him the jail, that was definitely helpful, a reason why he might want to exact revenge, but his wife’s allegation, false or otherwise, would only have been one piece of evidence. Where was the corroboration?
‘You don’t believe me,’ he said, swiftly wrapping the next bouquet. ‘Well, you know what?’ He picked up the pair of scissors and cut a length of gold tape from a reel. ‘I don’t really care.’
‘Her word against yours? If that’s all they had, it wouldn’t have been enough to convict you,’ I said.
‘You’re right, it wouldn’t.’ He drew the trailing ends of the gold tape across a scissor blade, curling them. ‘But Daisy had a witness. Another liar. A woman who swore blind she’d seen everything.’ He set the scissors down between us. ‘I don’t know where she found her. She should have been an actress. Maybe she was, she was pretty enough. By the time she’d given her evidence, I almost believed I was guilty. They took me down to the cells to give me a cup of tea while the jury were out deliberating. I’d hardly blown the steam off the top before they came back with a unanimous guilty verdict.’
He held up the two wrapped bouquets, one in each hand and, satisfied, set them aside in a bucket by the door.
‘So you’re saying Daisy fabricated everything? She found someone who was prepared to perjure themselves just to convict you?’
‘Not a woman. A witch. An American witch. Lafayette Delgado. That’s a name I won’t forget. I don’t know where Daisy found her or how she managed to talk her into it.’
‘Or why?’
‘Do you think I’ve never wondered that myself? Let me tell you, I’ve got several theories. I’ve also got four more bouquets to make up in the next fifteen minutes.’
‘When you’re finished,’ I said, ‘do you think you could manage one more?’
30
‘Robbie, you shouldn’t have.’
‘I haven’t.’
Barry Munn’s chubby little face fell in mock disappointment. His eyes were bright and his complexion as ruby-red as I suspected had been his lunch.
‘Where is she?’ I asked.
Barry looked around his office as though someone might have concealed themselves without his noticing.
‘Vikki,’ I said. ‘Is she here?’
‘Vikki? Vikki Stark? Oh, no. Not the flowers. Listen, Robbie, I know you have your own way of doing things, but the woman is preparing your child welfare report. It’s still bribery even if you do it with flowers.’
‘These . . . ’ I said, the posy had flattened slightly on the drive from Edinburgh and I tried to resuscitate the blooms with a little tug here and a tweak there, ‘are not a bribe, but by way of an apology. Vikki and I had a slight misunderstanding and I was hoping to clear the air.’
‘Well, she’s not here.’
‘Her office said—’
‘I’m busy, Robbie.’ He pulled a file from a bundle on his desk, opened it and began to read.
‘What’s the big problem? I only want to know where Vikki is so I can give her these flowers and say sorry.’
‘Was there anything else? Because if not . . . ’
‘I hope you’re not thinking of driving home after work.’
Barry rolled his eyes. ‘I’ve had one small glass of shiraz.’
‘I may be a miracle worker, but there’s no way I can get you off next time. Believe me, it took a whole lot more than a bunch of flowers to make that last drink-driving charge go away.’
Barry covered his ears. ‘I know, I know, and I am forever in your debt. I’d just rather not be privy to your methods.’
If Barry ever found out my methods amounted to sheer blind luck, I was in for trouble, or, even worse, a fee for his work on my custody case; however, until then, he felt obliged to put up with me.
I sat down at the desk opposite him. ‘So why was Vikki here?’
‘If Vikki was here, anything we may or may not have discussed remains confidential.’
‘Come on, Barry. We’re both solicitors.’
‘Sometimes it’
s very hard to believe that.’
‘Was she here to talk about Tina? Or are you saying it’s all a big coincidence that we fall out and next thing she’s up seeing my lawyer?’
‘Yes, that’s right, Robbie. It’s all a big cover-up. Vikki was here and we were having a secret meeting about you and your daughter.’
‘Sarcasm is often a way of covering up the truth,’ I said.
‘Is that just your opinion or do all the other conspiracy theorists think that too?’ Barry shut the file, put it to the side and took another from the bundle. ‘I do have other clients, you know. As does Vikki. I’m a family lawyer, she’s a lawyer who works with families, our paths cross occasionally. We don’t centre our entire professional lives on what’s happening to Robbie Munro’s little girl.’
‘So she was here?’
Barry’s secretary put her head around the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Miss Stark thinks she left her mobile phone on your desk.’
There was a small black leather case on the desk by Barry’s penholder. He reached for it, but not quickly enough.
‘I’ll see that she gets it,’ I told him and, phone in one hand, flowers in the other, followed his secretary out of the door, to where Vikki was standing in the corridor.
‘Thanks,’ she said sharply, not making eye contact with me. She opened the case, checked the screen and then having dropped the phone into her bag, nodded at the flowers. ‘Who are those for?’ It was more of a threat than a question.
I gave the posy to Barry’s secretary. ‘Just a wee thank you for all the work you’re putting in on my custody case,’ I said to her. By the time she’d thanked me, Vikki was already off and, if not running, moving pretty quickly.
I caught up with her in the car park. ‘I’m glad I bumped into you.’
She fumbled around in her handbag. ‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’
‘Saturday morning at Sunnybrae . . . I know how it must have looked. I didn’t know Professor Bradley was going to be there, and when I saw him I thought I’d take the opportunity to ask his opinion on something.’
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