Dead in the Water

by Aline Templeton

  They both noticed him and he saw recognition on the face of the lad on the roof; the older man, though, looked at him with dead eyes and turned back to his work.

  A man wearing ash-grey chinos and a pink polo shirt with a crocodile on it answered the door. MacNee eyed the logo with contempt: he couldn’t understand why anyone over the age of six would want wee pictures on their clothes.

  ‘Mr Hodge? DS MacNee. Could I have a word?’

  ‘Police! Well, well – to what do I owe the honour?’ Hodge said with heavy jocularity. ‘Smash-and-grab raid on the souvenir shop in the village?’

  It was overdone. The man was distinctly uneasy, MacNee noticed with sharpened interest. Marcus Lindsay had said he would warn the Hodges to expect a police visit about Ailsa Grant; had this unsettled him – or was there some darker reason?

  ‘Not exactly, sir,’ he said with elaborate patience. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘Come away, officer, come away!’ He bowed, and with a sweeping gesture ushered MacNee into the house. A door stood open on to a large conservatory, and Hodge took him through there. They both sat down.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Hodge said.

  ‘I wonder if you’ve heard the news, Mr Hodge?’

  ‘News? No,’ Hodge said flatly, then, ‘I don’t know what news you may be talking about.’ It was a slightly odd thing to say.

  ‘Marcus Lindsay was attacked last night.’

  ‘Attacked? At Tulach House? Good lord! Burglary, was it? We’re like Fort Knox here, but I don’t suppose there’s a single modern lock in that house.’

  He hadn’t asked if Lindsay was all right. It seemed a phoney reaction, but then the whole set-up here was phoney. ‘No, not a burglary. This was an attempt on Mr Lindsay’s life.’

  ‘Attempt?’ Hodge said. He looked taken aback and there was a pause before he said, ‘Er – well, it’s come to something when you’re not safe, even in a place like this!’

  Again, MacNee was picking up strange vibes. ‘On his life?’ would be the natural question, not ‘Attempt?’ And surely ‘Is he all right?’ was next?

  He didn’t ask it, though MacNee gave him the chance before he said, ‘We’re gathering background information. You and Mr Lindsay – old pals, are you?’

  ‘Known him a long time, yes.’

  ‘Someone’s got a grudge. Any idea who?’

  Hodge had no suggestions. ‘Anything that might have set someone off?’ MacNee persisted. ‘Even if it was a long time ago?’

  Who said he couldn’t do subtle? That brought it round nicely – but Hodge wasn’t playing ball, shaking his head and again looking blank.

  That could only be deliberate, MacNee thought, unless you’d a space where your brain should be – though in this case that was a distinct possibility. Now Hodge was spreading his hands in a pantomime of openness.

  ‘Wouldn’t have the first idea, to be honest with you. We went over for a drink the other night – the wife thought it would be neighbourly, with him there for a week – but I hadn’t spoken to the man in years.’

  ‘Perhaps your wife might have more idea?’ MacNee suggested. ‘Is she—’

  ‘Staying with a friend in Glasgow.’

  ‘All on your own here, then – or have you family living at home?’ MacNee nodded towards a photograph on one of the side-tables – a young man, with a marked resemblance to Hodge himself, standing beside a yacht.

  For some reason, this threw Hodge. He jumped, then stammered, ‘Er – no, not at all. My son’s away. New Zealand. On a farm working for a friend of mine.’

  What on earth was that about? MacNee filed it away as he went on, ‘So you were here on your own last night?’

  The man visibly collected himself. ‘Yes, that’s right. Watched a bit of sport on Sky, had a few beers. Of course, that was after I went over to Tulach and sank a knife in Marcus!’

  He laughed. MacNee didn’t. ‘How did you know he was stabbed, sir?’ he said quietly.

  ‘You’ll like this place,’ Macdonald promised Kerr as they neared Miramar. ‘It’s like the Scottish parliament – cost a fortune and none of the bits relate to each other.’

  As they turned into the drive, Kerr gaped. ‘See what you mean. That’s – that’s awesome. I like the novelty tarmac path there – meant to match the lawn, presumably, supposing the lawn was bright emerald. I can’t wait to meet the owners if this is their dream, not a nightmare.’

  She was doomed to disappointment. There was no answer when they rang the bell.

  ‘There’s workmen round the side there,’ Macdonald said. ‘We can ask if they know where the Hodges are.’

  ‘Probably won’t speak English,’ Kerr pointed out. ‘Nearly all the builders around here are Polish.’

  ‘One of them does – I spoke to him before.’

  They went round the side to the new building. The younger workmen looked up but went on working. The older man glanced round and came over.

  They showed their cards. ‘We’re looking for the Hodges,’ Kerr said. ‘Do you know where they are, or when they’ll be back?’

  ‘She?’ He shrugged. ‘She went away yesterday – I don’t know. But he – I think you will know?’

  He had a harsh, stern-looking face, but when he smiled he was quite good-looking, Kerr thought. She smiled back. ‘Why should we know?’

  ‘It is one of your own takes him away. A small man, a black leather jacket—’

  Tam MacNee! The words ‘jammy bugger’ formed in a thought bubble over the detectives’ heads.

  ‘Er – took him away?’ Kerr asked delicately.

  ‘He is not happy. His face. Grey like his trousers.’ He was still smiling. Mr Hodge clearly was not popular.

  One of the men guffawed and another was grinning broadly, though Kerr noticed that the one on the roof – seriously fit, that guy – was still doggedly hammering.

  As they returned to the car, Kerr demanded, ‘How the hell did Tam get on to that? There wasn’t a mention of the Hodges at the briefing.’

  Macdonald had the answer. ‘Sold his soul to the devil years ago. We’d better get back – there may be new instructions.’

  ‘ “Helping us with our enquiries” – I see. I’ll be right down, Tam. Well done.’

  Fleming put the phone down, shaking her head in wonder. MacNee’s instinct was formidable. He’d cautioned not to expect too much, but she couldn’t help hoping.

  On her way to the interview room she bumped into Macdonald and Kerr, just back from Ardhill.

  ‘Anything useful come up?’ she asked in passing.

  ‘Not at Ardhill, no,’ Macdonald said.

  Kerr chimed in, ‘Boss, do you know if Tam MacNee’s brought Gavin Hodge in? They said he’d been taken away – we went there hoping to interview him.’

  ‘Did you, indeed? What put you on to him?’

  ‘Jaki Johnston said Hodge hated Lindsay – she didn’t know why, really.’

  ‘Thanks – that could be useful. I’m going to talk to Hodge now – he’s helping with enquiries.’

  ‘There was one other thing,’ Kerr said. ‘I asked her if Lindsay had been having problems with anyone else, and she said some woman wanted him to lie to the police and he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Lie to the police?’ Fleming was startled. ‘Any indication who it was?’

  ‘Sorry. That was all she knew.’

  ‘We were wondering,’ Macdonald put in, ‘how Tam thought of Gavin Hodge? It wasn’t mentioned at the briefing.’

  Uncomfortably, Fleming said, ‘Oh, you know Tam. Has his methods,’ and hurried on. It looked as if they’d be going public with the cold case review sooner rather than later.

  ‘Thank you for finding the time, Ms Milne,’ Superintendent Bailey said, sitting down opposite the acting Procurator Fiscal in her office with its walls of box files, table with unstable piles of books and paper-cluttered desk. Bailey looked round disapprovingly. He liked a tidy desk himself – organized desk, organized mind.

  �
�Glad to see you, Superintendent. I’ve felt for some time we should have a chat about your problems.’

  Her condescending manner made him want to slap her, but she wasn’t looking well. She looked tired, and the thick, glossy lipstick she always wore – another thing Bailey didn’t like – was too vivid, accentuating the pallor of her face.

  ‘I’m sure that would prove most enlightening. However, I’m afraid I have rather more urgent business than discussing your no doubt helpful suggestions.’ Bailey could condescend with the best of them. ‘The attack on Marcus Lindsay—’

  He thought she coloured, but she said, ‘I was appalled to hear about it. And one of my deputes gathered from an officer of yours in court that someone appeared recently at the medical centre with a knife wound, but there has been no follow-up.

  ‘You seem to be presiding over an epidemic. What are you doing about it?’

  Bailey’s teeth ground together. She was an advocate, of course, trained to think on her feet, return any attack and give nothing away. He was up against it here, but by God, he’d give it his best shot!

  ‘I’m not personally familiar with the first case, but any complaint will have been followed up and I shall have you informed of the outcome. And as you know, the attack on Mr Lindsay is under intensive investigation as we speak.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but since his injuries were, mercifully, minor, we can’t expend excessive police time on it, unless you can produce solid evidence of attempted murder which, I have to say, seems extremely unlikely when the result has only been a precautionary night in hospital which was in any case largely because of an accidental head injury.

  ‘No, the bigger picture of knife crime has to be our priority before we have more of our citizens attacked. What steps are you—?’

  He cut across her ruthlessly. ‘We are both busy people and I suggest you contact my secretary if you want to arrange a general discussion.

  ‘I am here to ask you about your relationship with Marcus Lindsay.’

  ‘Relationship? What is this?’ Her slightly bulbous eyes bulged now with temper – or was it alarm? She had started fiddling with one of her shoulder-length dark blonde curls.

  ‘This is an investigation into an attempted murder. We are talking to everyone in recent contact with Mr Lindsay, and your name is on that list. I know you would wish to give us every assistance.’

  She was still glaring at him. ‘Naturally, though I can’t imagine what information you could think I might have. Our acquaintance, when I was in Glasgow, was of the slightest, and our only recent contact was a phone call in which he complained about police harassment. As you no doubt know, I passed that on to DI Fleming.’

  That, in fact, had never reached his desk. Fleming had presumably taken care that it didn’t, but he wasn’t going to betray her. ‘And why, I wonder,’ he said, ‘did he phone you instead of me? That would be a more normal course of action – unless, of course, it was on the basis of your friendship?’

  Bailey was proud of that question; it caught her by surprise. ‘He didn’t – er – he probably didn’t want to cause too much trouble – just a word in someone’s ear.’

  ‘I see. It’s not long since you moved here. You keep in touch, then?’

  ‘No, no, not really.’

  He couldn’t quite understand why, but he’d definitely touched a nerve. Doggedly, he persisted, ‘So how did he know you were here, and phone you, if you didn’t keep in touch?’

  Milne was actually becoming flustered. ‘Someone here must have mentioned it, I suppose.’

  ‘But who is likely to have known he would know you?’ Bailey was honestly puzzled.

  ‘Perhaps friends in Glasgow . . .’ she began, then stopped. ‘Wait a moment. I’ve just remembered. I – I think, perhaps, I may have phoned him.’

  Bailey looked astonished. ‘Phoned him – to see if he had a complaint to make about police harassment? I confess, I would find that very strange behaviour, very strange indeed – something I would need to take up with the Chief Constable.’

  ‘No, no! Of course not! I – I heard he was in the area, phoned to ask how he was, and he mentioned this complaint in passing. That’s all. Stupid of me to have forgotten. I apologize if I unintentionally misled you.’

  She was quite confident again, challenging him with her cold blue eyes, and he still didn’t know what that had really been about. He was beginning to wish Fleming had taken it on herself.

  ‘Right,’ he said, trying to regain the initiative. ‘Now – your friendship with Mr Lindsay. My information is that you all but denied to DI Fleming that you knew him.’

  Milne tossed back her hair and laughed. ‘Did she say that? How ridiculous – just because I am not someone who chooses to claim friendship with celebrities based on nothing more than a couple of chance encounters. Our “relationship”, as you so picturesquely term it, was that we met at functions. That’s all.

  ‘And as you said, superintendent, we’re busy people. So—?’ She raised very thin, pencilled brows.

  Procedure. You couldn’t go wrong with procedure. ‘Just a couple more routine questions. Do you know anyone who would have a grudge against Marcus Lindsay, from your Glasgow days?’

  ‘I can’t imagine who would. He was always very charming.’ She was smiling faintly now.

  She had got away from the sensitive area, and Bailey couldn’t quite see how to get back to it.

  ‘Perhaps you could give me an account of your movements last night?’

  ‘Oh dear, superintendent, you may have to lock me up after all.’ She was laughing at him. ‘I haven’t a soul who can bear witness that I was in all evening, doing a bit of work, then reading and listening to opera.’

  She would be the opera type, Bailey thought bitterly. Wagner, probably – he could almost see her with one of those horned helmets on her head. He got up, thanking her formally for her help.

  Just as he reached the door, she said, ‘Oh, and I won’t forget about an appointment to discuss what we need to do to make your work more effective. I have serious doubts about DI Fleming.’

  Bailey mumbled something and left the battlefield to go back to Headquarters and lick his wounds.

  13

  DS MacNee was waiting for Fleming beside one of the interview rooms. ‘He’s in there,’ he greeted her, and she looked through the little inset window.

  Gavin Hodge was slumped in one of the bolted-down chairs in the stark room, legs stretched out and hands in the pockets of his chinos, looking both sullen and scared.

  Fleming turned to MacNee. ‘Any chance he’s our man?’

  ‘Could be. No alibi, alone all evening. Just not sure. He thinks I took him in because he knew Lindsay was stabbed without being told—’

  ‘Sounds promising – apart from the fact that you’ve no one to corroborate.’ Fleming showed her annoyance.

  ‘Aye, well . . . didn’t know he was going to say a daft thing like that, did I?’ He grinned hopefully, then catching her eye hurried on, ‘Anyway, gossip in the local store is how he knows, he says, and it’s maybe right – not that it puts him in the clear even so.

  ‘What I’m really wondering is why he was like a hen on a hot griddle when I arrived and why he tried to kid on he knew nothing about it. It’s all round the place that Lindsay’s dead, Jock Naismith says, and Hodge looked shocked when he heard he wasn’t. So—’ MacNee shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘So either he’d heard the rumour, or else thought he’d killed him. Or possibly both, I suppose. Let’s work him over.’

  ‘What are we waiting for? Oh, just one other thing – got a son in New Zealand he didn’t like me asking about.’

  ‘Black sheep, maybe,’ Fleming suggested. ‘Presumably if he’s in New Zealand he’s nothing to do with this. Let’s go.’

  As MacNee went through the formalities for the recording, Fleming observed the man opposite, who was not meeting her eyes. He was unprepossessing, big and flabby, with thinning fair hair combed for
ward to disguise a rapidly expanding forehead. He had watery blue eyes with heavy bags underneath them and his jawline sagged into his bull-like neck. Age or self-indulgence – or possibly even both – had not dealt with him kindly.

  MacNee joined them, and Fleming began. ‘Thank you for coming in this morning, Mr Hodge. We appreciate your cooperation.’

  ‘Cooperation!’ the man said bitterly. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

  Fleming raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you alleging an element of compulsion?’

  ‘No, no – apart from your sergeant refusing to accept a perfectly innocent explanation and leave it at that. I hope you’re going to show a bit more intelligence.’

  ‘I understand that you showed special knowledge of the attack on Mr Lindsay.’

  ‘Yes, but I can explain it – I did explain it. I heard it in the local store. You can check.’

  ‘We certainly will. And I’m sure you will prove to be right.’

  Hodge smirked in triumph at MacNee. ‘Well, thank God for a woman with some sense. Never thought I’d live to hear myself say that! Can I go now?’

  The look Fleming gave him would have frozen boiling water. ‘It’s hardly relevant. What I want to know is why you lied about it.’

  The change in his expression was almost comical. ‘Lied? I – I didn’t lie—’

  ‘Sorry, of course not. You didn’t lie, you just pretended.’ Her tone was icily scornful. ‘When DS MacNee told you what had happened, you pretended you didn’t know anything about the attack on Lindsay. Then you showed surprise on hearing he was alive. Did you leave him for dead on the terrace last night, Mr Hodge? You have no alibi.’

  MacNee stifled a smile. He almost felt sorry for the poor bugger, but he’d walked into it with that remark about women.

  ‘I didn’t – I didn’t! Of course I didn’t! Why should I want to kill him?’

  ‘My information is that there was considerable ill-feeling between you, dating back some years.’