to go. There's no reason why I can't spend my time off here.
'Why don't we plan next year on that basis, and see how it goes?'
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She wrapped herself around him once more. 'Why don't we just
do that,' she murmured. 'You know, Wayne, you really are a lovely
man.'
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75
Brian Mackie stared out of his bedroom window into the night; it was
raining hard in Musselburgh too. He looked across at Sheila, still and
asleep on her side, facing the opposite wall, then crept softly out of
the room and downstairs to the hall.
He picked up the telephone, dialled Clan Pringle's divisional office
number and asked to be put through to the CID office. A sleepy voice
answered. 'DC Regan.'
'Hello,' he said, 'it's Detective Superintendent Mackie here. What
the hell's happening with the Weston and Paterson stakeouts?'
'Nothing, sir,' replied the detective constable, awake all of a sudden.
'Mr Pringle phoned twenty minutes ago, and I checked then with both
cars. The girl's in her flat, but the boy hasn't shown up yet at either
place. I've checked with Grampian, Tayside and Fife; he hasn't been
in a traffic accident, and he hasn't been lifted for anything. He seems
to have vanished, sir.
'Er, there's one of these rave events on at Ingliston all night tonight.
Maybe he's gone in there.'
'That's a possibility, I suppose,' Mackie conceded. 'We'll have
officers there; get Control to raise one of them on the radio and have
the car park checked. Oh aye, and have the Pandas in the city centre
keep an eye out for his motor in the streets near to the nightclubs.
Long shots, both, but better than sitting all night doing bugger all.'
He hung up the phone and walked into the kitchen. Wide awake, he
made himself a coffee and settled down to read, in front of the gas
fire. Gradually the warmth got to him: the pages of his book became
more and more fuzzy until. . .
He sprang back to consciousness with the ringing of the phone,
jumped out of his chair and dived into the hall. Sheila was there
before him, at the foot of the stairs, picking up the receiver. He heard
her answer.
'Hello Clan. Yes he's here. He doesn't look too sure what time it is,
but he's here. Hold on.'
Brian checked his watch; it was eight twenty-three. He took the
phone from his partner and grunted into the mouthpiece.
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'The boy's turned up,' said Pringle, gruffly. 'He showed up in his
motor at his dad's house ten minutes ago. The girl still hasn't stirred.
I've told the uniforms to stay on station and let us know whenever
either of them makes another move.'
'The girl could be on duty today, Clan.'
'Naw. I checked yesterday; the breast unit doesn't work at
weekends.'
'Let's wait and see then.'
'Aye. I hear you phoned during the night.'
'Mmm. Couldn't sleep.'
The neither. It's a bastard, this job Brian, is it no'?'
'Tell me about it. Speak to you later.'
He had just stepped out of the shower when Pringle called back.
Sheila, well-groomed even in her dressing gown, appeared in the
doorway of the en suite bathroom. 'Clan says,' she announced, 'that,
and I quote, "The wee bastard is on the move already, heading towards
the girlfriend's flat in Saughton." '
'He says he's told the watchers to do nothing other than follow
them if they move on from there. Failing that, he says he'll meet you
there at ten o'clock.'
He made a face. 'Sorry. I really feel guilty about working on
Saturdays.'
'That's all right,' she said. 'You can do the ASDA run on your way
home.'
He smiled. Domesticity was still a new experience for Brian
Mackie: he rather liked it.
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76
'They're still inside,' Clan Pringle growled as Mackie slid into the
back of the Vectra, behind Stevie Steele, in the driver's seat. 'Watching Live and fuckin' Kickin' likely. Ah don't know: chasing kids on a
Saturday morning!'
The rain had eased but the day was still grey and damp. They were
sitting in a street made up of blocks of three-storey flats, with flat
roofs, and steel framed windows which and seen better days. Ray
Weston's car sat outside the second block along.
'Potential double murderers,' said the younger superintendent. 'And
the girl's a bit more than a kid. I wonder where young master Raymond
disappeared off to last night. Probably a disco right enough, if he
didn't take the girlfriend.'
'Let's go and lift them and find out. Have you got the warrant?'
Mackie nodded, took a folded sheet of paper from his jacket, and
handed it across. 'There you are. Remember now, this warrant relates
to specific offences, so we've got to treat this as a drugs raid; at first.
Maybe technically we should have called in the Drugs Squad, but it's
okay. I've cleared that with the boss too.'
'Stuff the Drugs Squad anyway,' Pringle muttered. 'Let's just get
them.'
'Fine. Which floor?'
'Top, sir, on the left,' Steele replied.
'Do we know how many people are in there?'
'The watchers counted three women in last night: Andrina Paterson
and her flatmates; also one male, unknown, a boyfriend probably. He
and one of the women left together, just after nine-fifteen. So that leaves Paterson, Weston and one other girl.'
'Right,' said Mackie. 'Clan, it's your patch. Lead on, sir.'
Pringle nodded, with a grim smile, and stepped out of the car into
the soft drizzle. As the other two detectives followed, he waved to a
car behind. Two uniformed officers emerged, donning their caps.
The burly superintendent strode briskly along the street, his
colleagues in his wake, and turned into Andrina Paterson's block.
Saving his breath this time, he climbed steadily to the top floor,
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finding a door with a paper pinned to it, bearing three names,
'Paterson, Gallagher, Smith'.
He nodded a signal to the others, and knocked, firmly.
After only a short wait, the door was opened by a woman in her
early twenties, wearing a long T-shirt which reached down to her
knees. Her impatient frown turned to one of alarm as she saw Pringle's
grim expression, and the paper which he brandished in her face.
'I have a warrant to search these premises for controlled substances,'
he barked. 'Stand aside please.' The girl had no option but to obey as
he barged past her.
'Ray Weston. Where is he?' asked Mackie, evenly. She pointed to a
door at the end of the hall. Pringle stepped up to it thrust it open.
The naked couple on the bed leapt apart. Ray Weston started at the
intruder, white-faced and open-mouthed with surprise. Andrina
Paterson clutched the cover to her chest, and screamed at Pringle.
'What the bloody hell is this? Who the bloody hell are you?'
Brian Mackie put a hand on his colleague's shoulder and stepped
past him. 'Ray,' he began, 'we've met before on a couple of occasions.
I'm sorry for the embarrassment,
Miss Paterson, but we can't give
advance warning of this sort of visit.
'Mr Weston, I have information that you have been in possession
of and dealing in prohibited and controlled substances. The Sheriff
has given us a warrant to search this flat, and your father's house.
We'll do all that if we have to, but personally, I'd rather not. So tell me
if you're holding anything right now, and spare everyone the bother.'
The pale-faced boy stared at him for a while, then pointed to a
black leather jacket which was slung over a chair beside the window.
It was the only garment in the room which was hung up. The rest,
jeans, a nurse's tunic, shoes, socks, male and female underwear, were
spread on the floor. 'There,' he whispered.
Mackie stepped across and picked it up. He felt his way into the
right-hand pocket, and produced a tin of tobacco, a packet of cigarette
papers, a lighter, and a roughly wrapped package, laying each in turn
on the window-sill. Then he reached into the left-hand pocket and
produced a small white, round, plastic bottle. He shook it, and heard
it rattle.
'What are these?' he asked.
'Diazepam,' Ray Weston replied.
'For which you do not have a prescription, I take it.' The boy shook
his head.
'And in the package?'
'Marijuana.'
Andrina Paterson was no longer looking at the detectives. She was
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staring instead at her boyfriend, with fury in her eyes. 'You stupid'
she began.
'Later, lass, later,' said Pringle. He took a dressing gown from a
hook behind the door and tossed it to her. 'Away somewhere else and
get yourself dressed. We need you to come with us. You, son, you get
your kit on right here.'
'What about me?' The woman in the T-shirt was standing in the
doorway. As Andrina Paterson slipped into the dressing gown and
opened a dressing table drawer, the policemen turned.
Mackie held up the package and the pill bottle. 'Did you supply
him with these?'
She drew in an indignant breath. 'I'd have chucked him out of that
window if I'd known he had those.'
'Before this morning's over,' Pringle growled, with an ominous
glance back at the bed, 'the boy might wish you had.'
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'I'm glad you could come in to sit in on this, Karen; I need a woman
for this interrogation. Normally it would have been DCI Rose,
but'
'That's all right sir. I was sitting on my hands today anyway. Wayne's
taking Dennis for a drive up to Perthshire.'
'What?' said Mackie. 'On a miserable day like this?'
'He'd promised; whatever the weather was like, he said. Dennis has
to get himself worked up for trips like that. I just hope his wheelchair
doesn't rust.
'Where is the Paterson girl?' Neville asked.
'In the bathroom. We whipped the pair of them out of there pretty
sharpish, so I said that since we were waiting for you, she could go
and freshen up.'
As he spoke, the door opened, and Andrina Paterson came into the
room, a uniformed woman constable behind her. Karen eyed her
appraisingly; she was a short girl, with a trim waist, neatly built but
with strong, well-muscled arms, a trait that she had noticed before in
nurses.
'Join us, please,' said Mackie, standing and showing her to a chair
across the table from where he and the sergeant were seated. 'I repeat
my offer to you. You can have a solicitor if you wish. I'll delay this
interview for that purpose.'
Staff Nurse Paterson shook her head. 'No, like I said before, let me
hear what this is about, then I'll decide. I haven't got the money to
splash out on lawyers.'
'If that's how you want it. We can stop the interview at any time if
you wish.' He reached across and switched on the black box tape
recorder, identifying himself and Neville formally, stating the time,
place and subject of the interrogation.
'Miss Paterson, I want to ask you a few questions about the death
of your boyfriend's mother, Mrs Gaynor Weston.'
The nurse stared at him, in apparent astonishment. 'But what about
Ray's drugs?'
'They've got nothing to do with you, as we both know. Anyway,
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that's a relatively minor matter. Now: Gay Weston. You recall the
circumstances of her death?'
'Yes. She killed herself. She had cancer and decided to opt out.'
'So you approve of that?' asked Mackie quietly.
Andrina frowned. 'I approve of people having the right. A lot of
nurses do. At the end of the day, it's often the drugs rather than the
tumour that take people out anyway.'
'When did you learn that Mrs Weston had cancer?'
'Ray told me.'
'Before she died?'
The girl thought for a few seconds. 'No. Afterwards; he definitely
told me afterwards.'
'Did he say anything about the circumstances?'
'He told me that his dad had discovered it. He told me that she had
taken an overdose.'
'Did he say how?'
'By injection.'
Mackie frowned. 'Didn't it strike you as unusual for someone to
kill themselfwith a syringe?'
'Why should it? People kill themselves with syringes often enough
in this city. Druggies and such.'
'Don't be flip with me Andrina, this is too serious. Come on, now.
You're a bright person, I can see that. Haven't you worked this out
yet?'
She looked at him, silently.
'Okay,' he said. 'I'll spell it out for you. I'm looking at a situation
where I have two apparent suicides. I've got Ray's mother, and I've
got your Uncle Tony. A big coincidence, for sure. You've been having
a bad run of luck in the relative stakes of late.' Andrina Paterson's eyes
narrowed and her mouth tightened. The superintendent continued, regardless.
'This is where you really get unlucky though. Our pathologist has
determined that neither Gay Weston or your uncle were alone when
they died. They both had help; and that help came from the person
who injected them both, someone who was skilful to professional
standards with a hypodermic.
'I hear you're damn good with a needle, Andrina.'
The girl gulped; her hands began to tremble, but only very slightly.
'I think I'd better have a solicitor now, don't you?'
'I think that would be a good idea,' said Mackie, switching off the
tape.
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'I'll bet you wish you were next door, Raymond,' barked Clan Pringle,
looking round the drab, windowless room. 'Next door with your nice
girlfriend and that nice Mr Mackie.'
He glared across the table at the boy. 'Well you're no',' he snapped.
'You're in here with me, and you're not getting out until you tell me
what I want to know.'
'That remains to be seen, superintendent,' said the solicitor. The
man was frowning. More than a bit pissed off to be hauled away from
the golf club, even on a wet day, the policeman surmised.
'Listen, Mr Lesser,' he rumbled. 'You've got a right to be here,
but
don't you think that you're running this interview. Don't you think
that for one fucking minute. We're in charge here, Sergeant Steele and
I.' He glanced to his left.
'Now, let's cut out all the crap. Ray, son. Where did you get the
grass?'
The tall youth lifted his eyes from the table. 'You don't need to
admit anything,' the solicitor whispered, but his client waved him
away with a long slim hand.
'From a guy I was at school with. I bought it from him.'
'Are you going to tell us his name.'
'No. He's a friend.'
Pringle shrugged. 'Fair enough; you posh school lads stick together.
Where did you get the pills?'
Raymond Weston looked back at him across the table. There was
something about the lad, Pringle admitted to himself. A sort of wild, rangy presence, not physically threatening to a grown man perhaps,
but he could understand how he was able to dominate his roommate
Beano, and to attract a tasty wee girl like that Andrina, even though she was a few years older than him.
'I took them from my dad's study.'
'Did you sell them?'
'Not exactly. I swapped them for beer.'
The superintendent nodded. 'Right. You can regard this as an
official caution. Don't do it again, understood, or you'll be banged up
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in Aberdeen, rather than studying there. You'd hate that, son; inside a
week your arsehole would feel as if it had been cored like an apple.'
The solicitor stared at him across the table, not knowing whether to
be relieved, astonished, or to be flattered that his mere presence had
made the formidable detective crumble. 'Well, if that's it.' He began
to stand. 'Come on Raymond. I'll take you home.'
'Sit down, man,' Pringle growled. 'Don't you know when the decks
are being cleared. I'm going on to the real business now. Can you
guess what that might be?'
The tall youth leaned back in his chair. 'I could try,' he said. 'I'm
bright enough to know that you don't send two superintendents out on
a Saturday over a wee bit of smoke and a couple of junior aspirins. I'd
say this has something to do with my mum and Andrina's uncle.'
'Why would you say that?'
'Because I can't think of anything else.'
'As it happens, you're right. We've got evidence that both of them
were helped to kill themselves. Wrap that any way you like, it means
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