Not again! Maggie felt like a schoolgirl summoned to detention. What was it about the man that always had her on the back foot?
‘Of course.’ She composed herself. ‘Come in.’ She stepped aside to let him pass, shut the door and led him into the front room.
‘May I?’ Without waiting for an answer, Chisolm lowered himself onto the settee. ‘It’s about Sheena Struthers.’
‘Oh.’ Small voice. That was one place Maggie definitely didn’t want to go.
‘I’ll be honest with you, Mrs Laird.’ He made himself comfortable. ‘We’ve reached something of an impasse in our investigation.’ He looked for a reaction, found none. ‘I rather hoped you might help us move forward.’
‘In what way?’ Maggie perched on the edge of the big chair in the window.
‘Put some flesh on the bones of our findings. From the statement you gave at Queen Street, I understand you had several meetings with Mrs Struthers before she…’ He eyed Maggie circumspectly. ‘Before the incident.’
‘I did, yes.’
‘And at that time you stated you were of the opinion the lady was, shall we say, misguided?’
‘I thought she was imagining things.’
‘Did you at any point think her state of mind would lead her to attempt suicide?’
‘No.’
‘Turning to the husband, you also pursued enquiries there?’
‘Yes. As I informed your officer, I ran what were fairly limited checks on Gordon Struthers’ movements, but found nothing to substantiate his wife’s claims.’
‘In short, he had no reason to make an attempt on her life.’
‘None that I could establish.’
‘Nor was she, in your stated opinion, sufficiently distraught to make an attempt on her own?’
‘Mrs Struthers exhibited varying levels of anxiety. I suggested she seek medical advice,’ Maggie answered defensively. ‘I understand she did so. I doubt this takes you forward, but…’ She broke off.
‘No matter.’ Allan Chisolm made to rise. ‘I’ll let you get on.’ There was a twinkle of merriment in the clear blue eyes. ‘With whatever.’
‘While you’re here…’ How Maggie wished, now, she was properly dressed and made up. ‘Can I press you on George’s…’ She flushed. ‘My husband’s case?’
Chisholm leaned back again. ‘I did raise it again only last week. I’m sorry to tell you the impression I got is they’d like it to go away. I’ll be straight with you. When I first took it upstairs, they seemed amenable to the idea. Indeed, the ACC himself said if I could deliver the goods – in the shape of a formal, signed admission from Craigmyle that he’d turned off that tape recorder, and from Brannigan that he’d been coerced into giving perjured evidence – they’d be willing to re-examine the circumstances surrounding your husband’s departure from the force. That case was a blot on Aberdeen’s resolution rate, after all, and it would be mighty satisfying to put the record straight. However…’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘This last couple of meetings, I get the impression the thinking has changed. Too much time has passed, Mrs Laird. There’s little appetite to reopen old wounds.’
‘I know. Nonetheless…’
Chisolm cut her short. ‘If I were to present them with a fait accompli in the form of Craigmyle’s statement, that might concentrate minds. Are you in a position yet to obtain that?’
‘No. There’s been a development in that quarter. A setback actually.’ She broke off, a defeated look on her face.
‘Well, in that event…’
Maggie strained forward. ‘If you could put some pressure on.’ She looked into the inspector’s eyes. ‘Persuade the powers-that-be to pull Bobby Brannigan back in…’ She held his gaze. ‘That would get the ball rolling.’
‘That’s a big ask, Mrs Laird.’ The blue eyes didn’t waver. ‘It had been my firm intention to do so. But that was before this latest turn of events.’
‘I don’t quite…’ Maggie began.
‘You haven’t heard?’ Chisolm’s mind raced. He’d been under the impression Maggie Laird’s business partner had her ear to the ground at Foresterhill. But he’d also heard a rumour that Big Wilma, as she was referred to at Queen Street, was back in Torry, and that the partnership had been dissolved.
He collected his thoughts. ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings. Bobby Brannigan was attacked in the street earlier this week.’
‘Oh!’ Maggie put a hand to her mouth. She slumped back in her seat. ‘How serious?’
‘It’s touch and go. He’s out of surgery. They’ve put him in an induced coma. According to his consultant, he’s likely to stay that way for quite some time.’
‘Will he recover, do you think?’
Chisolm offered a grim smile. ‘I hope so.’
‘Me too.’ Maggie offered up a silent prayer.
‘I should warn you, Mrs Laird,’ Chisolm added. ‘There is extensive damage to Mr Brannigan’s vocal chords.’
Maggie felt sick. She couldn’t meet his eyes.
‘Even if he does survive the attack, he may be unable to speak.’
A Mobile Phone
‘What are you doing?’ Ros stopped mid-stride as she came through the sitting room door.
‘Nothing.’ Nic dropped the phone as if it was red-hot. It fell with a clatter onto the coffee table.
Ros crossed the room, snatched it up. ‘Have you been checking my mobile?’ she demanded.
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then why is your face bright red?’
‘Is it?’ He checked his reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. ‘Must have been from running at lunchtime.’
‘You didn’t say you were going running.’
‘And you didn’t ask.’ Casually, he ambled to her side. ‘What is this? The third degree?’
‘Makes a change.’ Sarky voice. ‘It’s usually the other way around.’
‘Come on.’ Reluctantly, she was pulled into an embrace. ‘Just because I pick up your phone doesn’t mean I’m checking up on you. If you must know, I had a meeting cancelled at the last minute. Thought I’d take a quick run to clear the cobwebs, then nip home and have a tidy round. Give you a surprise.’
‘You did that, right enough,’ she retorted. ‘Just as well I came back for it.’
‘Ros.’ He gave a squeeze. ‘Don’t you think you’re being a bit…?’
‘If you say “paranoid” one more time…’
‘Hasty,’ he squeezed harder, ‘was the word I had in mind.’
‘As hasty as you jumping in that last time I was on the phone to Fi? Wanting me to switch to speakerphone so you could listen in?’
‘Not listen in, silly. I thought you were arranging something – a jolly. I was keen to be part of the conversation, that’s all.’
‘Since when? You don’t have a good word to say for Fiona. She’s too bloody…’ She groped for the right word. ‘Self-sufficient for you.’
Nic grinned. ‘She is a bit ballsy, agreed, but I like that in a woman.’
‘Just not in this woman, is that it?’
Blank look. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘What I’m talking about…’ She wriggled free of his embrace. ‘Is…before we met…’ She held his gaze. ‘I was that woman. Not as bolshie as Fiona, I’ll grant you, but strong and self-confident and independent-minded all the same. And since we married, I’ve lost all that. You’ve systematically ground me down, Nic, with your petty criticisms. Picked me apart.’ She fought back tears. ‘To the extent I’ve completely lost sight of who I am.’
‘Oh, babes.’ He reached for her hand. ‘Don’t take it to heart like that.’
She batted him away. ‘How the hell do you expect me to take it when you put me down in front of our friends, my family, your colleagues even?’
&nb
sp; ‘It’s only meant as a bit of fun.’
‘Fun?’ she shrilled. ‘Right. It’s been a bundle of fun. Since we moved here. For as long as I can bloody remember.’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t realise it made you that unhappy.’
‘No? You only have to look at your own family: the way they live in their own little bubbles.’
‘There’s no need to bring my family into this.’
‘No? They’re dysfunctional, Nic. And you’re the product of that, can’t you see? It’s history repeating itself. And it sure isn’t the way I want to live my life, nor bring up my child.’
‘Huh!’ he sneered. ‘Now you’re playing the baby card.’
‘Max!’ Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘What time do you make it?’
He glanced at his wrist. ‘Oh, Christ! We’re late.’
‘I’ll go.’ Ros lunged for her bag.
‘No, me. I’ll be quicker.’ He made a dash for the door.
A Misdemeanour
Maggie was working her way through a mound of ironing when her mobile rang. She scrabbled in a tangle of washing for her phone. ‘Maggie Laird.’
‘Bill Cowie here. I’m duty desk sergeant at Police Scotland Headquarters here in Aberdeen.’
‘Oh.’ She racked her brains, but couldn’t conceive what could have prompted the call.
‘Can you confirm Colin George Laird, a student at Robert Gordons, is your son?’
Maggie’s knees buckled. Letting go of the iron, she sank to the floor.
‘He is.’ Disembodied voice.
‘Then you’d better come down to the station. He’s got himself in a bit of bother.’
She fought for breath. ‘What sort of bother?’
‘When my officer searched him, he was found to be in possession of a quantity of cannabis.’
‘A quantity, you say?’
‘Don’t worry, it was a very small amount.’
‘Then, surely…’ Maggie began.
On the other end of the line she swore she could hear a chuckle. ‘If you’re going to tell me they’ve all tried a spliff at his age I’d have to agree with you.’
‘In that case,’ Maggie recovered herself, ‘I take it you won’t be charging him.’ Livid as she was with Colin, she wouldn’t give a single one of those bastards at Queen Street – with the possible exception of Brian – the satisfaction of further sullying the Laird name.
There was a long pause, then: ‘It’s not as straightforward as that.’
Her pulse raced. ‘You’ve just said it was a small amount. And you’ve accepted it was for his own use. So what’s the problem?’
‘The problem…’ Another silence ensued. ‘Is that your son was apprehended in the perpetration of a theft.’
‘A theft?’ Maggie repeated, dumbfounded. Colin might try her patience, but he knew right from wrong. ‘What of?’
‘Centre caps from a car.’ The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘A very expensive car.’
‘Where did this happen?’
‘The West End.’
Little sod! Maggie made a point of giving Colin money for a hot meal at lunchtime, more so since she was often late home. The idea that he was roaming the city squandering her hard-earned cash on who-knows-what made her see red.
She tried to think straight. ‘Was he alone when he committed this…’
Cowie came to her rescue. ‘We’ll call it a misdemeanour.’ He added ominously, ‘For now. And, no, your son wasn’t alone. We’ve one of his pals here and all.’
Maggie closed her eyes.
If only George were alive, he’d know what to do.
There was a smell of burning.
She blinked her eyes open and dropped the phone, lunged for the iron and slid it safely into its holder. On the ironing board, a new Next blouse bore a large triangular singe mark.
Dammit to hell! She’d only bought the blouse a couple of weeks before, a treat to herself to glam up an old trouser suit.
‘Sergeant Cowie?’ She picked up her phone. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Aye.’ Patient voice.
‘What happens now?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
‘I doubt we’ll take any action on the possession,’ another chuckle, ‘other than tear your lad off a strip. The vandalism, however…’ He was serious, all of a sudden. ‘That’s another matter. Once we’ve spoken to the vehicle’s owner…’
‘How long will that take?’
‘I can’t say. They can sometimes be difficult to get hold of. But, after that, we’ll establish if he wants to press charges.’
Maggie tried to make sense of it. ‘Am I right in saying you’ve recovered these…caps?’
‘Correct.’
‘Then…’
‘That makes no difference. At the end of the day, the charging decision’s up to the owner. So, as I’ve said, best you get yourself down here, Mrs Laird. As you can imagine, your lad’s in a bit of a state.’
He’s in a state? Maggie raged. She was a quivering wreck.
Slipping into PI mode, she gave it one last go. ‘The car owner, you said “he”, so I take it we’re talking about a gentleman?’
‘We are.’
‘Is he local, may I ask?’ Long shot, but it might be somebody she knew. Knew of. Anything to get Colin out of this mess.
‘He is.’ The silence that followed was so prolonged Maggie thought she’d been disconnected. Finally, the sergeant’s weary voice: ‘Our records have identified him as Mr James Gilruth.’
Back to Square One
‘Brannigan.’ Chisolm scanned the room. ‘Give me an update.’
‘No change in his condition, sir,’ Duffy answered. ‘I checked with ARI first thing this morning.’
‘Struthers case.’ Chisolm moved swiftly on.
This was met by groans of dismay. His team had invested way too many man-hours on the bloody woman, their backlog of newer cases was building up, and there was no end in sight.
‘Right, guys, what have we got that’s new and exciting?’
‘Fuck all.’ Dave Wood was his usual cheery self.
‘You first, DC Strachan. What’s the latest? Is Sheena Struthers ready to give us a statement yet?’
‘No, sir. Sorry. I’ve sat at the bedside for hours on end, but the patient is phasing in and out, only comes to for a few minutes at a time, so I haven’t been able to do any real questioning. She’s still hooked up to a whole load of stuff.’ Her face was earnest. ‘Plus, there’s a real targer in charge of the ward.’
‘Don’t give us that po-face,’ Douglas Dunn sneered. ‘I’m sure there’s charm lurking in there somewhere.’
Chisolm ignored this. ‘Husband been in?’
‘I’ll say. He visits first thing in the morning, and comes back in after work.’
‘First impressions?’
‘Devoted. Sits holding her hand. Won’t leave at night till they throw him out.’
‘True love,’ Wood muttered with a curl to his lip.
‘Sounds like he’s desperate to get her back,’ Burnett observed. He knew only too well what it was like to live on one’s own.
‘Either that or terrified she’ll come round and spill the beans,’ George Duffy chipped in.
‘Well, stay on it, Strachan.’ Chisolm threw Susan an encouraging glance. To Douglas, he said only, ‘DC Dunn, I have your report. I need nothing more from you.’ Sharp look. ‘For now. How did the interview go, Burnett?’
‘Good, sir.’ Brian swelled, seeing a chance to redeem himself in his superior’s eyes. ‘Struthers had his solicitor present. Savvy bugger. Up to all the tricks.’
‘And?’ Impatient voice.
‘Dunn raised some financial question marks that might give Struthers a motive. Might be worth d
igging deeper.’
‘We’ll return to that. But first I want to discuss the latest from the lab. We asked ARI to test for a whole range of substances.’ He consulted a folder. ‘They’ve all tested negative.’
A ripple of disappointment ran round the table.
‘Where do we go from here?’ Susan asked.
‘Back to square one,’ Dave Wood muttered dolefully.
‘You’re a negative bastard, Wood, you know that?’ Duffy nudged his colleague in the ribs.
He responded in kind. ‘What do you suggest then, smartass?’
‘We need to think outside the box, that’s what.’ Chisolm scraped back his chair. He rose to his feet. ‘What do we know?’ His arm shot out, finger pointing straight at Duffy.
Douglas pondered for a moment, then: ‘Attempted suicide-slash-murder?’
‘Before that?’ Chisolm started pacing round the table.
‘Susan?’ he stopped behind his DC.
She craned her neck. ‘An unconscious woman?’
Chisolm moved on. ‘With what in her bloodstream? Wood?’ He stopped again, tapped his sergeant on the shoulder.
‘Zopiclone.’
‘And?’ Chisolm completed the circuit of his squad.
There was total silence.
‘We know what isn’t present.’ He resumed his seat. ‘This little lot.’ He opened the topmost file and waved the test results in the air. ‘The lab has screened for every common substance you can imagine. So now,’ he stuffed the sheets back into the file, ‘I’m asking you to address the uncommon, the esoteric…’ He paused. ‘The fucking obscure.’
Wood ducked his head, Duffy wrinkled his brow, Dunn doodled furiously on his notepad. Susan looked towards DS Burnett for inspiration. Brian looked away.
‘Wake up!’ Chisolm banged the flat of his hand on the table. ‘What substance wouldn’t you expect to find in the bloodstream of a middle-aged, middle-class married woman?’
Nobody answered.
‘Think! Is there something we haven’t tested for? Something we can’t test for?’ He scanned the bowed heads. ‘DC Dunn?’
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