Gallery Whispers

by Quintin Jardine

  off in mid-sentence. 'Who did you say?'

  The other three men looked at him, Mackie's surprise tinged with

  annoyance at the outburst. 'Gaynor Weston had a male friend that we

  haven't been able to trace,' the superintendent said. 'He was mentioned

  in her computer diary, but no one knows who he is; not her son, not

  anyone. We had one lead, but that went badly wrong on us. When

  Maggie got cut, it was him they were after.'

  The sergeant looked at him. 'But that guy's name was Joseph; or so

  Mario told me.'

  'That was his real name. He'd been living under an alias for a

  while. He was our only possibility. So now we're left with this odd

  name, Deacey, and we haven't a clue who it fits. But anyway, as I was

  saying, even if we did find him, he doesn't link into the Murray

  investigation.'

  Mcllhenney leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a

  while, in silence, as if he was thinking something over, very carefully.

  Eventually, he pulled himself forward and looked at Skinner. 'I'm

  afraid he does, sir, and to the Bathgate case. But no way is he the man

  you're after.

  'I can tell you who Deacey is; he's Derek Simmers, the consultant.

  It's his nickname, you see. He rarely goes by his Christian name;

  since his schooldays that's what all his friends have called him.'

  'Then we'd better talk to him again, Brian,' said Pringle, emphatically.

  'Two could be coincidence, three looks like conspiracy. I think

  we should try to have this guy suspended while we check back through

  his time at the hospital.'

  'Just hold on there,' Mcllhenney exploded. 'This man's in charge

  of my wife's treatment. She has confidence in him, and she's making

  good progress; take him out of it and God knows what could happen.'

  'If he's killing people,' the gruff superintendent countered, 'he needs

  to be taken out.'

  'Killing them! He's doing his fucking best to save their lives, you

  fucking idiot!' Neil was on his feet, looming over Pringle. The

  divisional CID head was a formidable man in his own right, but

  wisely he stayed glued to his seat and looked across the desk in an

  appeal for help.

  'Easy, sergeant, easy,' said Skinner, gently. He stood and took his

  assistant by the arm, pulling him gently towards the door. 'Come on,

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  let's you and I step into the corridor for a bit.' Mcllhenney was still

  shaking with rage and tension, but he nodded and followed him

  outside.

  'Just calm down now; get a hold of yourself,' said the DCC, when

  they were alone. 'Superintendent Pringle doesn't exactly wear

  jackboots, but he's old school nonetheless. You know that. Christ, you

  should; you're a younger version of him. If you weren't so involved in

  this personally, you'd probably have agreed with him.'

  Mcllhenney leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed, breathing

  slowly to steady himself. 'Maybe before, boss,' he said hoarsely, 'but

  not now. Not now.' As he finished speaking, his voice cracked, his

  chin dropped on to his chest, and he started to sob, helplessly. As

  Skinner looked at him, he thought that it was one of the most shocking

  things he had ever seen, and one of the saddest.

  'Neil, let's go along to your office.' He took the burly, thickset man

  by the elbow and led him the short distance along the corridor to his

  small room. 'Just sit in here by yourself, for as long as you need.'

  'I'm sorry, boss, for losing it,' the sergeant whispered, beginning to

  recover himself. 'It's just so fucking hard to handle, that's all.'

  'I know, pal. I know. Listen, don't worry about what Clan said back

  there. That's not going to happen. We're going to have to look into

  this, you know that, but it'll be done very carefully, and no one will

  rush into anything. I promise you that. You just stay here for a bit,

  now.'

  Mcllhenney nodded. 'Yes, sir. Give my apologies to Mr Pringle,

  will you.'

  'Like hell I will,' the DCC retorted. 'He was being a fucking idiot.'

  He closed the door on his assistant and returned to his own office.

  He looked at Pringle as he resumed his seat beside the window. 'Brain

  first, mouth second, Clan.'

  'Aye, sir, I'm sorry, I wasnae thinking at all.'

  'Okay, let me do some of that for you. Brian, when you saw Nolan

  Weston, you mentioned the name Deacey, didn't you?'

  'Yes, sir, we did. He didn't react at all.' He pursed his lips for a

  second, then added, slowly. 'And they're pretty close colleagues, so--'

  'Exactly: the name must have meant something to him. Before you

  do anything else, I want you to re-interview him, and find out what he

  can tell you about Deacey Simmers.' He glanced at Pringle again,

  with a faint smile. 'But gently, Clan, okay?'

  'Don't worry, sir,' the superintendent replied. 'I'll kiss his you

  know what, if I have to.' He paused.

  'Going on from what Brian was saying, there's another thing

  someone didn't say that might be significant. When the boy Steele

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  and I interviewed Simmers, up at the hospital, he never once asked us

  what we were on about. A detective superintendent and a sergeant

  turn up to ask him about the death of one of his patients, yet he didn't

  ask us why. In the light of everything, boss, does that no' strike you as

  odd?'

  Skinner frowned. 'I wish I could say no, for Olive and Neil's sakes,

  but I have to agree with you; it certainly does.'

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  'Of course I know who Deacey is, Superintendent Mackie. When you

  asked for this meeting at my home rather than in my office at the

  Western, I guessed that you'd worked it out too.'

  Nolan Weston smiled softly across the conservatory at the two

  detectives. The last of autumn had gone from the garden outside, save

  for a few wet, brown leaves which clung on to the skeletal branches of

  the trees.

  'So why didn't you save us the trouble of finding out?' asked

  Pringle. He was about to add, 'After all, this is a fucking murder

  inquiry!' until, just in time he remembered his promise to Skinner.

  The surgeon's expression changed in an instant to one of contrition.

  How controlled he is, thought Mackie. How much tougher than

  Simmers.

  'I can only say I'm sorry about that. I'm afraid that at the time I

  decided that the tragedy ofGaynor's death had touched enough of us,

  and that I would keep it away from Deacey's door.'

  'Did it occur to you that Mr Simmers might be that "third arrow"

  your wife mentioned?' the younger detective asked.

  'Not for a moment, or I doubt if I'd have brought it up. We go back

  a long way, Deacey, Gaynor and I. We were at university together, a

  typical triumvirate of friends. Gay and I got engaged when we

  graduated, and married shortly afterwards; Deacey went off to England

  to do his internship, then he did some post-grad study in an oncology

  centre in Canada.

  'We didn't have any contact, apart from Christmas cards, until he

  was appointed a consultant at the Western General.'

  'We
re you surprised by the idea that your former wife and Mr

  Simmers might be having a relationship?'

  'You still haven't shown me that they were, superintendent. If that

  was the case then yes, I'd be mildly surprised. Yes, they were great

  friends as students, but their relationship was always on that level.

  Deacey and I weren't rivals for her hand, or anything like that.

  'However I suppose they might have been having an affair; if they

  were it'd have been entirely their own business, since they were both

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  single. But if you were to ask me, I'd say that it was more likely that

  Deacey would be someone she'd turn to in time of need.'

  'To help her end her life?' Pringle asked, in a voice which was for

  him, surprisingly soft.

  Professor Weston frowned and rubbed the top of his bald head,

  anxiously. 'No, no, no: that wasn't what I was implying at all. Deacey

  Simmers is a very special man; he's a great friend in time of crisis. He

  is also a very gifted physician. She may well have gone to him for a

  second opinion, before deciding on her course of action.'

  'Wouldn't he have needed your case notes if she had done that?'

  'If Gay had described the situation as I explained it to her, and

  considering that I was involved, he wouldn't have needed them. There

  was no alternative prognosis.'

  'In your opinion,' asked Mackie, 'once Mrs Weston had decided on

  her course of action, as you put it, might Mr Simmers have been so

  good a friend that he decided to help her through with it?'

  Nolan Weston looked him in the eye. 'Ever heard of the Hippocratic

  Oath, superintendent?'

  'Yes, but that's not an answer.'

  'It's the only one I could possibly give you. I can only examine my

  own conscience, no one else's. I've already told you what I believe I

  would have done if she had come to me.'

  'When we saw Raymond at your house, he denied any knowledge

  of the name Deacey. Was he lying to us?'

  'No. I doubt if they've ever met.' He frowned at Mackie. 'Look, go

  easy on my son, gentlemen, please. He told me about his interview

  with you, about the cannabis and the sedatives which he took from my

  personal supply. I hold myself responsible for that to an extent. While

  Avril's been pregnant I've been taking them to help me sleep. I

  mentioned that to Ray, and he did something very stupid as a result. I

  assure you that will not happen again.'

  He smiled. 'I hope I don't have the same problems with my new

  son. Avril had a boy, three days ago.'

  'Congratulations,' said Pringle.

  'Thank you. Raymond told me about Andrina's uncle also,' Weston

  continued. 'I can understand why you made the connection between

  his suicide and Gay's death.'

  'Not suicide. There might be a legal grey area in Mr Murray's case,

  but as far as we're concerned they're the same, and the same person

  was involved in both. Did your boy tell you anything else about the

  chat he and I had?'

  'He told me about the other young lady, if that's what you mean. I

  didn't approve of his treating Andrina that way, but then, I'm not

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  really in a position to throw stones, am I? He didn't tell me who the

  other girl was, only that she was a friend of Gina, my niece.'

  'Professor.' Mackie's tone was sharper than before. 'Have you ever

  discussed the substance of our first conversation with Mr Simmers?'

  Weston nodded. 'I told him about it.'

  'And did you tell him about the hypo and the roll of tape being

  removed from the scene?'

  'Yes. I believe I did.'

  'Well do us all a favour,' said the superintendent, heavily, 'yourself

  in particular. Don't talk to him about this one. Okay?'

  i

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  'What's the betting Weston's called him?'

  'Not a chance, Clan,' Mackie exclaimed. 'The boy didn't mention

  Alex's name, even to his father, after your talk with him. The Prof got

  the same sort of message: he'll have understood it all right.'

  This time, Deacey Simmers was waiting for the two policemen in

  his little office. 'Two superintendents this time,' he exclaimed as he

  greeted them. 'Your investigation must be in trouble.'

  'It was, Mr Simmers,' said Pringle, easing himself into a tight-

  fitting chair, 'until we got lucky. We were looking for this bloke

  Deacey, see; then we found that we had interviewed him and didn't

  even know it. See the surprises this job throws up from time to time!

  'So, Deacey, tell us about GaynorWeston. Were you and she having

  an affair?'

  Simmers leaned back in his seat, and looked back at the superintendent.

  Neither man was smiling. 'I should have asked you this at

  out first meeting, Mr Pringle. What is all this about?'

  Fuck that, thought Pringle. Me Tarzan, you Jane. I ask, you answer. Then, as it had earlier, Bob Skinner's face appeared before his mind's

  eye. 'In due course, sir,' he said, politely. 'But first, we have to ask

  you about your relationship with the late Mrs Weston. You did know

  her, sir, didn't you? You are the Deacey she referred to in her social

  diary, aren't you?'

  'Yes, superintendent, I am.'

  'So I ask again, were you and she having an affair?'

  'Really, Mr Pringle, is that relevant?'

  'Possibly, sir. Answer, please.'

  'The word "affair" in the context in which you are using it implies

  something illicit. That was not the case as far as Gay and I were

  concerned. We had known each other for many years, from our

  schooldays in fact: I was at Daniel Stewart's and she was at Mary

  Erskine. Then we went up to University together. I found myself on

  the same course as Nolan Weston; he and Gay met and fell in love.'

  'Did this upset you?'

  'Frankly, it did, for a while at least. Gay and I had had a little fling

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  by that time, but when Nolan came on the scene that was that. I got

  over it though, and the three of us stayed pals. After we all qualified, I went off to extend my studies. Gay and Nolan got married and had

  a son, so that tied them to Edinburgh. It didn't hold him back though.

  His career developed very well indeed. When I was appointed to my

  present post eight years or so ago, I found that he and I were

  colleagues.'

  'Did you meet up with Mrs Weston again at that time?'

  'I saw her at a couple of parties. About a year after I arrived here,

  she and Nolan split up.'

  'That had nothing to do with you, had it?'

  Simmers glared at Pringle, bridling. 'Certainly not,' he snapped.

  'So when was your relationship with Mrs Weston renewed?' asked

  Mackie.

  'Not that long ago, actually. After the divorce, she and I would

  speak occasionally by telephone, me calling her mostly to make sure

  she was all right. I think we probably met about three times in six

  years, once accidentally in the street, and the other occasions by

  arrangement for a drink. During most of that period I was in a

  relationship myself, so there was no question of us dating as such.

  'Then maybe around nine months ago, Gay called me and invited />
  me to Oldbams for dinner. I went out there expecting a party, but it

  was just the two of us. We talked for longer than we had since our

  student days. In fact, we hadn't spent that length of time alone together

  in over twenty years.'

  'Did she say why she'd called you like that, out of the blue?'

  Simmers shook his head. 'No, she didn't, but I suspected that there

  was some sort of crisis in her life. She talked about Nolan and their

  continuing relationship, which I didn't really want to hear, to tell you

  the truth, since I know Avril very well and like her very much. And

  she spoke of this ad-man Futcher, which I didn't approve of either for

  similar reasons.'

  'Because he was married?'

  'Exactly. For all that though, and although she denied it, I sensed

  that she was troubled. At the end of the evening ... to answer your

  original question, Mr Pringle .. . she said, "Come on Deacey, let's go

  to bed. Maybe you're the one after all." So we slept together, for the

  first time since the end of our schooldays.

  'After that, we saw each other, oh, maybe once a month. On

  occasion we'd go to the opera, or the theatre, but usually, I'd go out to

  Oldbarns, we'd have dinner, and I'd stay the night. Always, though,

  there was this thing that I felt hovering over us. At the time, I hoped

  that it meant she was thinking about putting an end to her other

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  relationships. Now, of course, I'm convinced that she was worried

  about the developing growth on her leg.'

  'Didn't you ever notice it?'

  'No. She always wore jeans when we were together.'

  'Not always,' said Mackie, quietly.

  'She would only ever get undressed in the dark, superintendent.

  Surprisingly for such a strong personality, she was slightly shy. I

  remember that about her from when we were youngsters.' He sighed.

  'Yes, even then.

  'The last time we had breakfast together, I asked her to marry me.

  She said that I should ask her again in three months.'

  'And that was the last time you saw her?'

  'Yes,' he said, firmly.

  'And when was the last time you saw Anthony Murray?' asked

  Pringle.

  The consultant frowned at him. 'Two days before he died.'

  'And Nicola Marston?'

  'Nicola. ..'

  'A patient of yours from three years ago.'

  'Yes, I remember her. When you have people's lives in your hands,