Gallery Whispers

by Quintin Jardine

  attached to the investigation up to now, we didn't look at the possibility

  that it might have come from other than a hospital pharmacy.

  'I was thinking about asking other forces for assistance, asking

  them to check pharmacies in their areas, until we came up with this

  link between Weston's daughter and Murray's niece. Then Brian

  Mackie called me this afternoon to say that the boy Raymond's been

  selling pills up in Furryboots city. That's made me wonder: is there

  another way that the diamorphine could have been obtained?

  'Would you like to think about that while I'm out tonight, and see

  if you can come up with any theories?'

  'Sure,' she said, bending to sweep Jazz up from the floor. 'I've been

  pondering on that for a while, as a matter of fact. I can give you a

  workable theory right now. Take someone with a steady hand who's

  good with a hypo; then give that person access to phials of diamorphine.

  If you use the finest needle you could puncture the rubber top

  of the bottle and draw the heroin into a syringe; it's a clear liquid, so

  you could leave the needle in place, attach another syringe and simply

  replace it with water.

  'That done, you return the phial to the drugs trolley. No one's

  going to notice the microdot, for that's all that would show, on the

  rubber seal. The only person who'll be any the wiser will be the poor

  patient who's injected with water.'

  Bob frowned, as he stroked his son's head gently with his big hand.

  'How many phials would it take to kill?'

  'Haifa dozen and you'd go out like a light.'

  'Yet there was only one puncture mark on Gaynor Weston's thigh,

  wasn't there?'

  'So what?' Jazz was dropping off to sleep, so Sarah's voice was a

  whisper. 'If you were a doctor, or a nurse, you'd just put a line in and

  administer them through that, one after another.'

  'What about Murray?' he asked her. 'You said you couldn't pin

  down the drug that was used on him.'

  'I couldn't for the purposes of evidence. The lab report showed a

  whole cocktail of substances in his bloodstream; there were steroids,

  morphine, ibuferon, and two sedatives, lorazepam and temazepam.

  All of those could have been administered orally, and would have

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  been normally prescribed to someone in Mr Murray's condition.'

  'Was the morphine the same as the other stuff?'

  'No. This was oramorph; it comes in ampoules usually. You break

  off the top and the patient swallows it.'

  'Could you extract that from the container without anyone

  knowing?'

  'No way. Anyhow, you'd need too much of it. I'll tell you what I did

  find unusual though; the use of two different sedatives from the same

  family. One or the other, but not both.'

  'Does that tell you anything specific?'

  'No, but I'll take a guess. I would say that whoever did this took a

  look at Mr Murray, made a judgement on his condition, then took

  some morphine tablets and temazepam, ground them down with a

  mortar, formed a solution with boiling water, then later on, injected it.

  You would do that for speed of absorption, rather than feed them it in

  solid form.

  'The shot didn't kill him, but it rendered him unconscious and

  allowed him to asphyxiate without distress.' She shrugged one

  shoulder, since Jazz was weighing down the other.

  'Those are my theories, for what they're worth. They're all you're

  getting out of me tonight; professionally at least. Now, if you've got

  some time to spare before you go to kick the crap out of your pals, go

  and check Mark's homework, while I put this one to bed.'

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  72

  'Alex, Mitch Laidlaw gave you a raise last week, you had confirmation

  this afternoon that you've bought a flat, you're getting plenty of

  jollies from your toyboy - even if he is a bit of a dweeb - and we're off

  on holiday the day after tomorrow: so why the hell is your face

  tripping you?'

  'He is not a dweeb,' she shot back at her friend and temporary

  landlady. 'He has the body of a young Greek god, I'll have you know.'

  'Well he'll have to give it back sooner or later. He's my cousin, I

  can say what I like about him. Anyway, he's a minor issue. Think of

  all the fun you're going to have in Marbella, now that you're free and

  more or less single. Lighten up, girl. Brighten up.'

  She glowered at Gina. 'I don't feel very bright, okay. I'm still

  pissed off at Andy, okay. He sat there on that bloody bar stool the

  other night and came right out with it. "I can't share you, Alex. Even

  with you," she mimicked. He hasn't been listening to a bloody word

  I've said.'

  'Sure he's been listening,' Gina countered. 'He's just having a hard

  time understanding it, that's all. So would I in his shoes. One minute

  you and he are a perfect menage a deux, the next you're kicking over

  the traces and asserting your right to fuck anything in long trousers if

  you so choose.'

  'I didn't assert any such thing.'A brief smile flickered across Alex's

  face. 'Well, maybe I did. That wasn't in my mind when I moved out,

  but when your cocky - and I use the word advisedly - young cousin

  came on to me, a whole lot of things fell into place. I felt like

  someone again.

  'I thought that I was succeeding in improving my relationship with

  Andy. After a difficult beginning, he seemed to be accepting my

  independence, but then on Tuesday, he started behaving like a

  possessive old fart all over again.'

  'Then switch on the Xpelair, my dear,' said Gina, 'and blow him

  away; break off your engagement.'

  'But I don't want to do that. He's my old fart . .. don't grin like

  that, you know what I mean .. . it's the possessive bit that gets to me.

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  I want to marry him, but in my own good time.'

  'Then give him back his ring and tell him to offer it to you again in

  five years or so.'

  'I can't do that. If I break it off it'll be the end of it; I have to stay

  engaged to him.'

  'If you do, are you going to tell him about'

  Alex's look cut her off short. It would have done her father proud.

  'Are you kidding?'

  'But don't you think you owe it to him?'

  'No, I do not. It's my body, Gina. He has no ownership rights, none

  at all. Now let's drop the subject. I'm sorry; I'll cheer up I promise.'

  She grinned. 'As of now, in fact. Come on, we've got no gentlemen

  callers tonight, either of us. Let's us girlies go an have a bevvy.'

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  73

  Brian Mackie was in his office, in the early'afternoon, dictating a

  sanitised note for the record of his interview with Beano Litster in

  Aberdeen, when the phone rang. He picked it up and heard, to his

  private delight, Maggie Rose's voice at the other end. He had just

  been thinking of how much he missed his deputy.

  'Good afternoon, Brian,' she said. 'This is a left-handed phone call

  just to keep you in touch with my trawl through the suicide files. God, if I'd known that I was taking on--'

  'I can imagine. Depressing is it?'

>   'You don't imagine; that's the trick. You switch your imagination

  off for the duration. Poor old Mario, he's come home to serious grief

  every night since I started doing this job. Did you know that there

  were over a hundred suicides in our force area last year alone? And

  I've got three years' worth to go through.'

  'Do I get the impression that you're not calling to tell me that

  you've made a big breakthrough?'

  Maggie laughed, shortly. 'You do indeed, superintendent. I'm just

  calling to let you know that I am now one third of the way through,

  without finding the slightest hint of anything that reminds me of the

  Weston or Murray deaths. I am also calling simply to blow off steam.

  After all, why should my innocent husband catch all the flak?'

  'Why indeed?' Mackie answered. 'How's the arm, by the way?'

  'Itching like what I'm too much of a lady to say. I've got a light

  cast on it at the moment, to immobilise it. That comes off on Monday;

  then the rehab work should start.'

  'That's good. You'll be glad to hear that the maggot who did it has

  been charged with murder in Birmingham, remanded in custody, and

  sent back up here. There's a pleading diet at the Sheriff Court on

  Tuesday, at which, I am reliably informed, he will admit to serious

  assault and be sent to the High Court for sentence.'

  'He's pleading, is he? I'm surprised at that; I didn't think he was

  the type.'

  Mackie grunted. 'David Pettigrew gave him a straight choice; plead

  to the assault or be tried for attempt to murder. He thinks he's got a

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  deal, but Big Bob told me that he's had a word with the Lord Advocate.

  When the case comes up for sentence the Crown will lay it on thick,

  say that this was a hair's breadth away from murder and ask for fifteen

  years. They doubt if he'll get that, but they reckon that the judge,

  whoever he is, will be scared to give him less than twelve, in case the

  Crown appeals against it. The Bench doesn't like being accused of

  leniency; especially in cases like this.'

  'He'll do his stretch down south though, won't he?' asked Rose.

  'It'll take at least a year to bring him to trial for the other offence

  . .. if they ever do, because one of the key witnesses is dead, they've

  discovered. Whatever happens he's got at least one winter in Peterhead

  to look forward to.'

  'You've made my day,' said the Chief Inspector. 'I'm glad I phoned.

  I feel better now.'

  'That's good,' laughed Mackie. 'See you soon.'

  The phone was hardly back in its cradle before it rang again. 'Yes?'

  the superintendent said curtly.

  'Hello sir,' said a voice at the other end. 'It's Craig Garland, here,

  from Aberdeen. I'm just phoning to let you know that Raymond Weston

  just left the city, heading south. I've been following him ever since, at a

  discreet distance. He's just stopped and gone into a pub in Stonehaven.'

  'Let's hope he doesn't get nicked for drunk driving.'

  'Do you want me to follow him all the way, sir? My boss has given

  me clearance to do so.'

  'No, sergeant, you don't need to leave your patch. What's he

  driving?'

  'A red Polo: registration mark F213 TJL.'

  'That's fine. I'll make arrangements at this end; we know where

  he's going. I'll drop a formal note to your boss, but meantime, thanks

  Craig, for all your help.' Mackie hung up, then dialled Superintendent

  Pringle's direct number on his hands-free. 'Clan,' he announced, as

  soon as the call was answered, 'Brian here. The boy Raymond's coming

  home for the weekend.'

  'Right,' Pringle grunted. 'He needs taste be met, then. What do you

  think?'

  'As I see it, we just keep Weston's house and the girlfriend's flat

  under observation. Do we know where she lives?'

  'Aye, Stevie sweet-talked her address out of the hospital personnel

  department.'

  'Let's just watch them both until he shows. We don't need CID for

  that job, just a couple of uniforms in unmarked cars, with their collars

  turned up and their hats off. Wherever and whenever he shows up,

  they can call us then.'

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  'Fair enough. I think we should wait till they get together before we

  lift them. And wherever they are we should have a legal excuse to

  search.'

  'That's no problem,' said Mackie, at once. 'I have information from

  Aberdeen that Ray Weston's been using and supplying prohibited and

  controlled drugs. I'll go and see the Sheriff this afternoon and get a

  warrant to search the girl's flat and Professor Weston's place, both of

  them if necessary.'

  'Ah don't think the Prof'11 like that.'

  'Then it'll be tough on him, won't it, mate. This is a double murder

  investigation. Mind you,' he added, after a moment's thought, 'I think

  I'll run it past the DCC, just to cover our tails.'

  'Aye,' Pringle agreed, 'just as well if you do. Mine's getting too

  near retiring age for it to be left exposed.'

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  74

  'Hi Dennis,' Karen called out as she stepped into the apartment. As

  her relationship with Wayne had developed, so the hemiplegic had

  become more friendly towards her.

  'Evenin', Missy,' he greeted her, in broad Aussie tones. As always,

  when his attendant was going out for the latter part of the evening, he

  was in pyjamas and dressing gown.

  'How's your research work going?' she asked him.

  'It's everything I hoped it would be. I will leave Scotland a wiser

  man, and I'll bet you not too many people can make that claim.'

  'Don't you be so cheeky,' she chided him. 'We've been exporting

  knowledge for a long time now. Come to think of it, that's all we've

  got left to export.'

  'Hi.' Wayne's voice came from the bathroom door, at the far corner

  of the living area. She looked at him, with his newly trimmed beard

  and his bright shining eyes, and felt her stomach roll over with

  anticipation. As he walked towards her she noticed that his limp was

  almost gone.

  'Ready for the off?' he asked.

  She nodded. 'I've booked two seats for the ten o'clock screening

  out at the UCI. You quite sure you want to see Saving Private Ryani

  I've heard that the opening is one of the bloodiest things ever filmed.'

  'We can close our eyes at the bad bits,' he suggested. 'Remember

  in Jaws, when they're looking over this wrecked boat and a head

  comes rolling out? God, I almost wet myself when I saw that; nothing

  can be any worse.'

  'How are we going to know which are the bad bits until we've seen

  them?' Karen asked.

  'Roll me through next door, mate,' said Dennis Crombie from his

  wheelchair, 'then you can go and find out.'

  The cinema complex was thronged, as it was every Friday evening,

  making Karen pleased that she had booked the seats. And the

  beginning of the film was as realistic as every critic had described it:

  for the first twenty minutes and more, she felt as if she was half a

  century back in time, and on those Normandy beaches. In fact, neither

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  closed their e
yes, but watched fascinated, hand squeezing hand

  involuntarily with each explosion, each awful on-screen death.

  Eventually, Private Ryan saved, they emerged from the UCI

  complex impressed and emotionally sodden. 'It makes you feel lucky

  you didn't live in those times, doesn't it?' said Karen.

  'Yeah,' the Australian replied, then smiled. 'Your place or yours?'

  An hour later, they lay in the dark listening to the rain assaulting

  the bedroom window. 'Nice night, huh?' he whispered.

  'In here, it is.' She slid even closer to him, drawing on his heat.

  'Wayne,' she asked suddenly, 'where are we going with this thing?'

  'Where would you like to go with it?'

  'That's just it. I'm not exactly sure; I've never been in a relationship

  when I've thought further ahead than what I was going to give him for

  Christmas. Hell, I don't even know whether you'll be here for

  Christmas, but I find that I want you to be. On top of that I sort of

  think that I want you to be here next summer too. How long are you

  staying? When does Dennis's research end, and when do you have to

  take him back to Australia?'

  She looked up, and saw him smile. 'It's just about over,' he said.

  'But that doesn't mean we're going home yet. You've read about the

  world economic summit?'

  'Read about it? I spend every day planning for it, vetting joumos

  and the like.'

  'All's smooth I trust?'

  'Yes. There will be so many security guys in that hall - all of them

  vetted, carrying guns and wearing their wee eagle badges - it should

  be the world's safest place for the duration.'

  'Well I'm pleased to hear that,' he said, emphatically. 'The reason

  being that Dennis has been asked to join the Iranian delegation to the

  summit, as an adviser. As usual, I'll be rolling him in there.'

  'That's quite an honour for him.'

  'Too damn right. It also means that the Iranians are paying our

  expenses from now to the end of the conference, not to mention a fat

  fee.'

  'That's great. .. but once it's over?'

  He settled down into the bed. 'Afterwards? Well, neither of us have

  any close ties back in Oz, so ... hell, it would be a shame to pass up

  a chance to live through a Scottish Hogmanay.'

  She hugged him, tight. 'After that, mind,' he added, holding her off

  for a moment, 'I have to go back to the rig. But since all my work is

  offshore, I have decent leave intervals, fares paid to wherever I want