Chapter 17
I could tell Susan Dornan was more than a little surprised to see me walking into the chapel. There were only half a dozen or so people there to attend Colin Banks’ funeral. Susan came over to me after I had helped place the coffin in the back of the hearse and watched it make its final journey.
‘I didn’t know you knew Colin Banks.’
‘We were at school together.’
‘So you were the lawyer who vouched for him. Why?’
‘Like I said we were boyhood friends. Kind of kindred spirits, I suppose. Both from single parent homes; frowned upon in those days, especially in Jesuit Taliban land.’
‘Why didn’t you say you knew him when you knew his connection to the Kate Turner case? I would have thought you could have confided in me, considering.’
‘Like the train ticket, you mean?’
Susan and I both looked at the retreating hearse.
‘Susan, it’s done. I don’t want to fall out over it. You mean too much to me.’
‘Do I, honestly?’
‘Honestly....I think.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Let’s go for a coffee or something. I’m not going to the crematorium, too depressing. Besides, Colin’s body might go off like an atomic bomb.’
We walked down Garnethill and found a coffee shop close to the city’s dental hospital.
‘Sorry about last night, Ray. McFarlane insisted on a celebration and I’m afraid I celebrated, if that’s the right word, a bit too much. What did you get up to, once you found out the love of your life; that’s me incidentally, wasn’t coming over.’
‘Stayed in, Jezebel. No, I was fine. Read a little, had an early night. Thought about poor Colin.’
‘What do you think?’
‘About him being Azrael?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s impossible; I just don’t believe it. Colin was, well, a zombie, for most of the time and for the rest of the time he was a sad, gentle soul.’
‘Yeah, a gentle soul who lost his job for threatening women, desecrating dead bodies and admitted to me that he was the killer.’
I looked down at my plate, fidgeted with my knife.
‘It’s true.’
‘What is?’
I looked into Susan’s eyes ‘You are the love of my life.’
***
Matt Healy knew Dornan was going to the Banks funeral that morning so hadn’t rushed into the station. He had made himself a cup of tea and was standing in his kitchen looking out at a squirrel stealing the nuts he had put out for the birds. Something his mother had done religiously. He had a good feeling about the previous night. He had gotten out of the pub with Susan before the alcohol consumption would have left him hung over that morning but, more importantly, Susan had asked him to leave with her. She had suggested the meal. Maybe she’s the kind of woman who likes to make the running, be in control. Fine by him. He had made a point of not mentioning a boyfriend and hadn’t attempted any parting kiss or romantic gesture of any kind. Cool, Matt, very cool.
He looked at his watch and decided to make a move. As soon as Susan came in, he was going to suggest a run out to grill Harris again.
***
Paul Allan was standing in his own kitchen. Max Kermack wandered in wearing only his boxers. Allan had told him the whole story around Banks the previous night, adding in the suggestion that it had been his initial interview with Mary Stringer that had provided the vital clue. Max as usual showed great interest in what Allan had to say about his work; was eager for further details.
‘So this tramp killed everyone but definitely not Julie Connor. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘That’s it in a nut shell. Things will slacken off a little now, Max. Want me to put in for some leave? Take that holiday we talked about?’
‘So who’s in the frame for that?’
‘What?’
‘Julie Connor.’
‘Christ, Max, I’ve told you we’re not sure. What is it with you?’
‘OK. Sorry. It’s just that I’m passionate about the writing. You know that. I want to get it as authentic as possible. Remember your promise, that’s all.’
‘I didn’t promise, Max. I said I’d try. Now shut up and come here.’
***
Dornan reached the squad room before Healy. Her joy was hidden, but unbridled. She was uncertain whether to say anything to Healy but he had behaved impeccably the night before and seemed to have accepted that friends were all they could ever be now. She scanned the room. Only French and T’Baht were in. French seemed engrossed in some paper work but T’Baht seemed to be staring at her.
‘Everything all right, Jack? I’ll remember to give special mention to the fact that you were the first to raise concerns over Banks. I’ve just left his funeral, by the way. He should be well on his way to meet the other Archangels by now.’
‘Thank you, Ma’am.’ T’Baht looked down at his desk and opened some old case notes. Heretic slut. He glanced across at French. JF...Jezebel Fuck. He rubbed his eyes, rose slowly and walked out of the office. Controlled breathing containing his rage.
Healy entered the near deserted office shortly after T’Baht left.
‘My God, Susan, is it Christmas today and nobody told me?’
‘I know but I don’t mind them having a bit of a lie in after last night. Can’t see McFarlane making an appearance anyway, can you?’
‘No chance. Anyway, how you feeling?’
‘Absolutely great, Matt. Honestly, life couldn’t be better.’
Healy smiled, he was right.
‘How you feel about tackling Harris this morning then?’
‘Let’s go.’
Susan Dornan and Matt Healy sat in Healy’s car a few yards from Harris’ front door. They would walk to the door giving Harris less time to see them and perhaps attempt to cover whether he was at home or not.
‘Right, let’s get in and have a word with this bastard.’ Susan shook her head and suppressed a smile.
Peter Harris sat with his back to the patio doors studying Dornan and Healy.
‘How’s things with you, Peter?’ asked Dornan.
‘Confused,’ replied Harris.
‘Oh, what about?’
‘As to why you are here.’
‘Well, we’re confused as well as it happens.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, we can’t work out what you were doing at “The Marriott Hotel” speaking to a young woman shortly before she was brutally murdered. Why you never came forward when you heard she’d been murdered. Small things like that.’
‘I told you. We were catching up. That’s all.’
‘Catching up on what?’
‘Old times.’
‘Need to do better than that, Peter.’
‘No, I don’t actually. I don’t need to talk to you at all, as it happens. As I’m sure you know.’
‘Heard from Sally?’
‘No.’
‘The kids?’
Harris just stared with hollow eyes.
‘Right, Peter. Tell you why else we’re here. We think you killed your first wife, Ann.’
Harris stared at Dornan for a moment. He appeared about to say something. Stopped. Wilted. Looked out into the garden.
‘I did.’
‘What?’
‘You’re right, I did.’
Dornan looked at Healy, back at Harris, and back again at Healy.
‘You’re admitting to killing Ann Harris?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why did you kill her?’
‘She’d just told me that our daughter wasn’t mine.’
‘What happened?’
‘We were having a shouting match at the top of the stairs. I pushed her. Not hard; but she went down the stairs and that was that.’
‘Do you know who the real father was?’
‘No. I never asked. Never got the chance really. It didn’t make any difference to me. I still loved my k
ids. But I couldn’t cope on my own. They went into foster care and were eventually adopted.’
‘Nice.’
Harris stared. He looked from Healy to Dornan.
‘Neither of you have kids, do you?’
Neither Healy nor Dornan spoke.
‘Thought not.’
***
John Frame appeared at work around 2.00pm. The office was still empty apart from Jill French.
‘Get me a cup of coffee, will you?’ he ventured.
‘Bugger off’ being French’s considered reply.
‘Charming. You’ll go far.’ He smiled; he knew he was “at it”. Suppose a romantic evening at your place is out of the question, then?’
French looked up and smiled, ‘Maybe twenty years ago, John.’
‘Ouch. Where is everybody anyway, Jill?’
‘Most are off skiving; Matt and the boss are off interviewing Harris again.’
Frame looked at a couple of messages on his desk. ‘All right,’ he exclaimed.
‘What?’ asked French.
‘A number for Ivana Jakonowski. You phone her, Jill. She might panic if a guy calls. Let her know straight away you’re not from immigration; or tax, or anything like that. Try to set up a meet. Get an address.’
Ivana had not seemed perturbed at all at receiving the call and had happily agreed to meet Frame and French later that afternoon.
***
Azrael stood and watched a number of women “doing lunch” in the various eateries around Buchanan Galleries. Where were their children, their husbands? Who was taking care of the homes? Not one head covered. Not one attempt at even token modesty. Bare legs, bared breasts. Azrael chose a table. He would now let God choose.
***
I got into my office after lunch without a care in the world. The sadness of the morning’s funeral had passed and I felt relieved for Colin, relieved that his torturous life was finally at peace. My overwhelming feeling though was one of unbridled joy. I hadn’t planned to tell Susan how I felt about her but when she made the flirtatious remark about being “the love of my life” I just felt I should. When she leaned across the table, took my hand, and told me she felt the same way then Luigi’s Coffee House could have been in Paris or Rome; I was truly happy. We had decided to keep things to ourselves in the meantime; choose the right time to tell colleagues and friends. I felt nothing could spoil my day; but I was wrong.
I hadn’t heard from Joe Turner for a while so when my phone rang I answered without checking the caller ID.
‘Ray, it’s me, Joe.’
‘Hello, Joe.’
‘Look, Ray, I’m sorry about the last time but you’ve no idea what it’s like to be in my shoes. Anyway, I’ve been reading about this fucking Banks bastard. It was him who killed Kate then, not Harris after all?’
‘It appears so yes.’ I didn’t say that Colin Banks had also been a friend; a more deserving friend than Joe in many ways.
‘Could he have killed Julie Connor as well then? I swear I didn’t do it, Ray, I swear.’
‘Whether you did or whether you didn’t Joe is not the issue. I’m still your lawyer despite what you want. I’ll instruct the QC on your behalf and we will do everything we can to help you.’
‘Ray, I need my passport back. The season’s over in Spain, if it ever fucking started that is, and God knows what’s happening with the takings and things. I’ve got to get back over there. What if I leave money, a bond or whatever? I swear I’ll come back. Even if I didn’t, I can’t hide over there. The Spanish Authorities would just extradite me. What do you think?’
‘Let me give it another go, Joe. I’ll let you know.’
‘OK hear from you soon, then.’
I sat and thought about Joe. Our childhoods; our different, perhaps preordained, paths. I thought again about Colin Banks.
Is it all just chance? Pre-destined…..fate.
I returned to the present.
Life is what you make it…and mine was now complete.
Chapter 18
Matt Healy showed Peter Harris into an Interview Room while Susan Dornan went to organise three coffees. Harris hadn’t said a word on the way to the station and Healy had sensed that Dornan’s thoughts were elsewhere, so he had kept small talk to a minimum.
‘Just to let you know, Peter, we’ll be seeking an exhumation order for Ann. Forensic science has moved on in the last decade. We’ll be able to tell now if she fell down the stairs or was deliberately pushed down’ said Healy once they were all seated. Harris didn’t respond. He appeared a defeated man.
‘Did you rape Kate Turner, Peter? I know you didn’t look at it that way. You thought she wanted to make love but that night, by the river, the woman you loved, did you maybe go a bit too far?’ asked Dornan.
‘Maybe. What does it matter now? She’s dead. My Kate is dead.’
‘But she wasn’t your Kate, Peter, was she?’
Harris seemed to stir. ‘Well, she wasn’t that arsehole Joe’s either; I can tell you that. She told me that herself. She was in love with someone else; not that no mark.’
‘Do you know who?’
‘I told you before, no.’
‘So you did rape her?’
Harris stared at his coffee and said nothing.
‘Did you maybe stab her as well, Peter? Anger, frustration just blinded you.’
‘The tramp killed her,’ Harris muttered. ‘I loved her.’ Tears started to form in the corners of his eyes.
‘What were you talking to Julie Connor about, Peter?’
‘Life.’
‘What about life?’
‘It’s so unfair.’
‘Did you kill Julie Connor, Peter?’
‘No.’
‘Was she your girlfriend, Peter? Your bit on the side?’
Harris wiped his eyes.
‘Is that what you think? Everything has to be in the gutter for you people, hasn’t it? Sordid.’
‘Was she? Were you sleeping with Julie Connor?’ shouted Healy.
Harris calmly stared into Healy’s eyes.
‘Julie Connor was my daughter, Detective, so no, I was not sleeping with her.’
Healy sat in Dornan’s office after handing Harris over to be kept in the cells before appearing in court the next day for his arraignment over the killing of his first wife.
‘What do you make of all that, Susan?’
‘I just don’t know, Matt, I was trying to pressure him before leading up to Julie Connor. Don’t know what to make of it, to be honest, whether it’s relevant or not.’
‘I think he raped Kate Turner and Banks, or maybe Joe Turner, came along and finished her off. Joe Turner then killed Julie in a rage. The Harris connection is coincidental.’ He held up his hand. ‘Don’t say it.’
John Frame appeared at the door of Dornan’s office.
‘Just to let you know, Ma’am, we’ve spoken to Ivana Jakonowski; the receptionist at the hotel when Kate Turner stayed there. She says she thinks she could ID the man she booked in with and who booked out on his own, but we showed her photos of Turner and Harris and she said; “yes, not certain”,whatever that means. Her English isn’t great. She said she needs to see “whole of man”. Not sure where that leaves us.’
‘Good work, John. It’s something to work on at least.’
Jill French then knocked on Dornan’s door shortly after Frame had left.
‘Sorry, ma’am, I know the case is closed but I was reading up on the Internet about Colin Banks. You know just trying to get into his mind, find out what might have set him off. Anything really.’
‘And did you?’
‘No, not really but something did come up I thought was quite interesting. Maybe nothing; but interesting all the same.’
‘Well, go on. Don’t keep us guessing.’
‘The initials thing.’
‘What about it?’
‘Banks was dyslexic.’
Healy and Dornan attended court the next day to see w
hat the outcome with Harris would be, although they were certain he would be detained. His defence lawyer seemed resigned to the fact as well and did not raise much enthusiasm on behalf of his client’s case. Harris himself appeared not to care, even when the Sheriff duly remanded him. Dornan watched Harris being led away; a slight touch of pity in her heart. Once outside she took Healy’s arm.
‘Matt , let’s go for a coffee somewhere. I want to talk to you.’
‘No problem. Sounds mysterious.’ Healy smiled. He had been right, stand back, let Susan do the running.
They found a coffee shop in one of the new developments that had sprung up in the previously run down Glasgow Cross area of the city, not far from the court building. Dornan went to the counter to order for them both. Their table was at a window and Healy looked at the large stone tower that dominated the area. A Jesuit priest, John Ogilvie, had been hung there in the not too dim and distant past. Healy’s reverie on his own religious views was brought to a halt by Dornan’s arrival with the coffees.
‘So, Susan, what’s happening?’
‘Matt, do you ever feel that perhaps you’ve missed out by being so devoted to the job?’
‘In what way?’ Gently does it.
‘Relationships, kids, that sort of way.’
‘Yes, kids especially.’
‘You’re roughly ages with me; do you think it’s too late?’
God she’s not messing about, but good, I’m ready. ‘No, not at all.’ Healy leaned over and put his hand on top of Dornan’s.
The Initial Blow Page 19