The Third Sin

by Aline Templeton

  ‘All right,’ Jen said. But as she fetched the coffee mugs dark and ugly thoughts were beginning to stir.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Fleming and MacNee had gone by the time Macdonald and Campbell arrived at Sea House. They hadn’t told the duty constable where they were going and Macdonald was frowning as they went back to the car.

  ‘I guess I’d better phone the boss and see what we’ve to do next. If she’s doing the other interviews herself she’ll maybe send us back to the station. There’ll be stuff coming in by now.’

  Campbell grunted. ‘Haven’t finished here.’

  ‘Look, I don’t like paperwork any more than you do but if Randall Lindsay’s bunked off we can’t interview him, can we?’

  ‘Find him.’

  ‘Yeah, find him – how?’

  ‘Where would you go?’

  ‘To get out the house when my mum was expecting visitors? Find a cafe that sold bacon butties if the pubs weren’t open, I suppose. Well, maybe it’s worth a try.’

  He drove back to park in the village. They drew a blank at the first coffee shop where the clientele consisted of a retired couple and a table with pushchairs forming a sort of palisade for a posse of young mums. The only other one, rather scruffier, had the smell of frying that had Campbell’s nostrils flaring like a hound scenting truffles and as well as a group of elderly men with red tops folded to the racing page there was a tall young man wearing red cords and looking distinctly out of place.

  He looked up warily as they came in then, as they approached his table, sat back in his chair, pulling a face. ‘Oh, not again!’

  Macdonald could never quite work out why it was that people he had never seen before so often seemed to recognise him as police even before he spoke. He was wearing a perfectly ordinary shirt with a zip-up jacket and jeans; perhaps it was going round in a pair that gave it away, like the Mormons.

  ‘Mr Lindsay?’ he said. ‘Could we have a word?’

  Conversation at the other table had stopped. The two old men with their back to the room swivelled round, ready to enjoy the sideshow.

  ‘Outside, I think?’ Macdonald suggested. Lindsay nodded curtly, put down some money on the table with a gesture to the waitress and followed them out.

  Macdonald introduced himself and Campbell and showed his warrant card. ‘Perhaps we could talk in the car? It might be more private.’

  Lindsay sneered. ‘Oh, great idea! And have it all round the place that I’ve been arrested for whatever crime it is you have in mind to fit me up for?’

  The rash that Hepburn had said Lindsay brought her out in must be contagious; it was afflicting Macdonald as well. ‘Where do you suggest, sir?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake! I don’t know. If we go back to the house we’ll be trampled underfoot by the old She-Elephant and her host of minions. You want to talk to me – you find somewhere.’

  It was hard not to crack a smile at his spot-on description of his mother, but keeping a straight face was a professional skill. ‘Could I suggest we use the car, but drive to some quieter spot outside the village? It’s unmarked; there’s no reason why it should attract attention.’

  ‘Oh – if you insist. I’ll walk until I’m leaving the village and you can pick me up.’

  He set off as Macdonald walked back to fetch the car with Campbell. ‘Poor Louise!’ he said. ‘I thought she was exaggerating, but if anything she was playing it down.’

  It only took a few minutes after they had picked up Lindsay before they found a field gate where they could draw in and park.

  ‘Get on with it, then,’ Lindsay said. ‘Spending time with police officers isn’t one of my favourite pastimes.’

  ‘And why is that?’ Macdonald, turning round in his seat, asked blandly.

  ‘Can’t think. Oh, yes I can. I got a particular distaste for it when I realised I was being used as a stooge by one of your little friends.’

  ‘Don’t know what you mean, sir.’

  ‘Oh, yes you do. She’s blocking my calls so if you see Louise you can tell her not to bother coming to the party tonight. I don’t know what she thinks she’s going to spy on but she won’t get a very cordial reception. Distinctly uncordial, in fact.’

  The raw hostility in his voice was alarming. Even as Macdonald ignored this and went on to his first question, he decided to phone Louise himself and tell her to forget it.

  ‘Where were you between the hours of noon and four p.m. yesterday?’

  Lindsay bristled visibly. ‘And why should I have anything to do with that?’

  ‘“That”?’ Macdonald raised his eyebrows. ‘You know about Mrs Margrave’s death, do you?’

  ‘Well, duh! It’s all over the town, but I don’t see why you should pick on me. I hardly know the old bat – haven’t set eyes on her for years. Anyway, I’ve been in Paris most of the time. Why should I have come back in a homicidal frenzy and killed first Connell Kane and then Julia’s mother?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ Macdonald said. ‘Perhaps you could tell us.’

  Lindsay groaned and struck his forehead theatrically. ‘Never joke with the plods. That wasn’t a confession, Sergeant. That was me being funny.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised.’ Macdonald earned himself a suspicious glance. ‘So – your movements?’

  Lindsay groaned again. ‘I was just – around. After lunch I went to do an errand for my mother in Castle Douglas – there’s a butcher there who was giving her a good deal on sausages for the barbecue. Then I just – didn’t go back. Not until about five when I reckoned the worst would be over.’

  ‘And where did you go when you “weren’t going back”?’

  ‘Drove around. Went along to Kippford, had a walk along the shore, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I have to press you for details of times, and anyone who might be able to vouch for your whereabouts.’

  ‘Whereabouts? God, who says “whereabouts” nowadays?’ Macdonald could see a flush of annoyance appearing. ‘I told you – it’s vague. That’s because I haven’t done anything. If I had, I’m sure I’d be able to give you a minute-by-minute alibi vouched for by witnesses.’

  ‘Not as easy as you make it sound, I’m afraid. So there’s no one at all who can back up your account of where you were after you collected the supplies from the butcher?’

  ‘No, there isn’t. So?’

  ‘But you estimate that you came back shortly before five o’clock. Did you notice anything as you passed Sea House?’

  Lindsay stared at him. His face was getting redder, his blue eyes starting to bulge a little; he clearly had quite a temper. ‘Trick question, is it? I should have seen a police car or tapes or something, should I? Well, tough. I didn’t come back that way. I came back through Kirkcudbright. All right?’

  ‘Adding a good ten, twelve miles to your journey? Rather an odd way round to go, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘I was wasting time, for God’s sake! Oh, go on, arrest me, why don’t you?’

  ‘We’re not in the habit of arresting people unless we have some reason for it,’ Macdonald said, adding provocatively, ‘I’m not sure why you should be so upset about such a simple, routine request.’

  He thought for a moment that Lindsay might lose it and land a punch – taking him in would be a real pleasure – but with an obvious effort of will Lindsay controlled himself.

  ‘Don’t you?’ he said unpleasantly. ‘I should have thought, with all the training courses funded by the long-suffering taxpayer these days to keep you from actually doing any police work, you’d have had one on empathy by now.’

  ‘Not so far, sir. Now, we’ll be sending someone round to take a formal statement from you. I take it you won’t be going anywhere for the next few days?’

  ‘No. Is that all? Can I go now?’

  Macdonald was just about to agree when Campbell said, ‘Julia Margrave – good pals, were you?’

  Lindsay, who had been leaning forward in his seat ready to get out, slumped
back. ‘What on earth has that got to do with this?’

  ‘We’re not saying it has,’ Macdonald said. ‘It’s just a question.’

  ‘Oh, just a question. Well, this is just an answer. We knew each other slightly when we were young and then we worked together – she was my boss. She helped me get the job, in fact, and I was very grateful to her. Yes, we were friends and yes, I was very upset when she died.’

  ‘Going back to Paris soon, then?’ That was Campbell again.

  Randall’s face turned a dark, mottled red. He said, with reluctance, ‘No, actually, since you ask. I’ve decided it doesn’t suit me – I’m looking for a new job.’

  ‘Turf you out, did they?’

  ‘No, they didn’t. I resigned.’ He opened the door of the car. ‘That’s it. I haven’t anything more to say to you, except’ – he leant forward to push his face closer to Macdonald’s – ‘you can tell that little bitch to stay at home. We won’t be welcoming gatecrashers and she’ll regret it if she tries.’ He got out and slammed the door.

  Macdonald whistled softly. ‘Seriously nasty. I’m going to tell Louise she can’t go.’

  Campbell gave him an ironic glance. ‘Good luck with that,’ he said.

  The Stewarts were all so elaborately cooperative, so willing to help in any way they could, that both Fleming and MacNee came away from the interview deeply suspicious.

  They had interviewed them together; when they suggested seeing them individually, Kendra had said earnestly, ‘Well, of course, Inspector, if that’s what you want, but you know it’s all really just a sort of jigsaw. We were to and fro during the afternoon and it will be easier to sort out the time frame if we’re together. I’m sure you’d find it helpful.’ She had directed a winsome look at Fleming that left her feeling faintly queasy.

  It was true, though, that the pattern that emerged was one of a group getting ready for a busy weekend, in the kitchen, in the pub and in the restaurant upstairs, which was being prepared for the next evening’s fine dining.

  Logie was in the kitchen all afternoon, along with an assistant. Kendra and Will were working separately but were never, they claimed, out of sight of each other for more than about quarter of an hour, twenty minutes maximum.

  ‘In any case,’ she went on, ‘Will said that this has nothing to do with Connell’s murder and you’re only linking the two because they happened around the same time and you haven’t any other ideas. Didn’t you, Will?’

  Will looked embarrassed. ‘I wouldn’t have chosen to put it like that, but yes, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. It’s much more likely that Mrs Margrave disturbed a burglar and it all went wrong. I was trained to look for a pattern in repeated crime and there’s certainly none here.’

  ‘And anyway, we’re all each other’s alibi,’ Kendra said, ‘especially me and Will.’ She had given him a sidelong glance which, as Fleming said when they got back to the car afterwards, should have rung deafening alarm bells for her husband.

  MacNee shook his head in disapproval. ‘In temptation’s path ye gang astray,’ he quoted portentously. ‘What’s that alibi worth?’

  Fleming considered it. ‘If one of them asked the other to lie I doubt if they’d get a refusal. On the other hand, it was risky – I can’t see the husband being part of it and they both went into the kitchen occasionally.’

  ‘Time unspecified,’ MacNee pointed out. ‘Still, Logie’s alibi is solid. We can eliminate him, at least.’

  ‘He wasn’t really part of the Cyrenaics either – too busy working to be anything but a hanger-on.’

  ‘What did you think to Will’s claim that it was a burglar?’

  ‘Well, he’s wrong, of course – you don’t invite a burglar in and start making them tea, but he didn’t know that and I suppose he may believe it. We certainly don’t have the luxury of a neat pattern but I don’t believe it’s unrelated. Anyway, back to the station. I’ll have to see the super and find something she can tell the press conference.’

  ‘Several active lines of enquiry?’

  ‘Several active lines of enquiry – absolutely. Someone should write a guide to standard phrases: Police Officers: For the Use of.’

  ‘Numbered, so you could just tell the press “Number Twenty-Four and Number Thirty-Two” and you wouldn’t have to say anything at all. Here, I like the idea. Might even write it myself.’

  Louise Hepburn was washing her hair. If a girl was going to a party, even if not for the usual reasons, she had to look good and Louise’s hair – the bane of her life – needed proper styling if she wasn’t to look as if she’d been hauled through a hedge backwards and then had mussed it up a bit.

  When the phone rang, she let it go to voicemail. Randall again, no doubt. He’d rung her four or five times before he gave up and left a message withdrawing his invitation. She’d been expecting that – he wasn’t stupid and once he heard about Eleanor Margrave’s murder he’d realise why she’d accepted – so she’d ignored that too.

  The last message he’d left had been nastier. He’d said, coldly, calmly and unpleasantly, that he knew why she wanted to come and that he’d make it his business to see to it that she’d regret it if she did.

  She would have preferred rage and expletives. His tone made her uneasy; perhaps to go anyway was foolish, just asking for trouble. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to let a little sod like Randall Lindsay tell her what she wasn’t going to do. Maybe there were bouncers on the door to throw her out, but it wouldn’t actually be a new experience. They were unlikely to be as rough as the ones in Glasgow had been after that particularly raucous night at uni.

  She wasn’t going to answer the phone and let him abuse her directly, though. She sprayed on half a ton of frizz-taming mousse and went on styling her hair.

  But when she did pick up the phone and check it wasn’t Randall, Andy Macdonald was asking her to call him back urgently. It must be business; she and Andy didn’t have any social contact.

  His first remark put her back right up. ‘Oh, Louise, good! Look, you can’t go to this party tonight.’

  ‘I can’t?’ she said sweetly.

  ‘We’ve just been interviewing Randall Lindsay. Has he spoken to you?’

  ‘No.’ That was true, sort of.

  ‘He’s making threats and he sounded as if he meant them. I would assess him as volatile – he’s lost his job and he’s not taking it well. It would simply be too risky to take him on.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Oh, definitely. I’m not sure what you’d gain from it, anyway – at a party no one’s going to go confessing to murder, are they?’

  ‘Who knows? Anything could happen, if it’s a good party.’

  Andy’s voice sharpened. ‘Louise, you’re not taking this seriously, are you?’

  ‘Thought you’d never notice. He’s asked me and I’ve accepted. I’m going.’

  ‘No, you’re not. As your superior officer, I’m forbidding it.’

  She had to take a deep breath and count to ten. ‘It may come as a shock, Sergeant, but even if I’m only a humble constable your awesome power doesn’t extend to my social life. Though of course, it’s awfully sweet of you to be concerned.’

  ‘Louise—’

  ‘Of course, you can go and clype to Mummy. “Boss, Louise won’t do what I tell her! It’s not fair!” But she can’t do anything if I don’t answer the phone – and I won’t. I’m switching it off right now. And don’t come round – I’m not answering the door. Sorry – must dash. I’m just going to have a lovely relaxing bath before I get my slap on.’

  Grinning, she could hear his bleating protests as she rang off. The smile only faded as she went through to the bathroom. Andy had sounded really concerned. Was she just letting her contrary nature override her common sense? She was, of course she was.

  But she couldn’t climb down now. And anyway, she’d known Randall since uni and at bottom he was just a pussycat. Wasn’t he?

  DC Lizzie Weston fi
nished taking the statement from a householder whose garden ornaments had been stolen, assured him, untruthfully, that they would indeed be investigating the case and then before someone else could nobble her, slipped outside again.

  It was a different person who took her call to the Kirkluce headquarters, but the message was exactly the same. She could talk to someone who would take it forward to DI Fleming if necessary.

  That wasn’t the point. Well, it was partly the point, of course: she had important information relating to a murder enquiry and it was her duty to pass it on to the appropriate authority.

  But she wanted DI Fleming to know that it was her, Lizzie Weston, who’d taken the risk of incurring the vengeance of her inspector by doing her duty. She wanted to be able to ask her directly about a transfer and even if she hadn’t quite decided how she’d do it, she wasn’t going to give up yet.

  Her husband was a farmer, wasn’t he? Surely she could find out the name of the farm and get the phone number.

  DI Fleming was in an irritable mood by the time Macdonald, Campbell and MacNee arrived in her office. DSI Rowley was on her back already, demanding miracles, and she’d been forced to endure a gleeful phone call from DI Taylor in Dumfries, washing his hands of the Connell Kane case so energetically that she could almost hear the water splashing.

  To add to her annoyance, the SOCOs were dragging their feet. She’d hoped to find the papers that had been removed from Sea House on her desk by now, but they hadn’t appeared.

  ‘For the moment there’s little to go on,’ she told her team. ‘No useful fingerprints or footprints and the fingertip search didn’t produce anything either.’

  She gave Macdonald and Campbell a brief report on the woman who had arrived on Eleanor Margrave’s doorstep on the night of the storm and the outcome of the interviews with Skye Falconer, Jen Wilson and the Stewarts. Macdonald reported on Philippa and Randall Lindsay, including his threats.

  Fleming listened, frowning. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. I’ll tell Louise not to go.’