“DI Burns,” he snapped as he answered the phone.
“Sir, sir, it’s Drummond,” she said. “I might have something for you.”
“What, you mean other than a fucking headache?” he snapped. Sighed, took a deep breath that echoed down the phone. “Sorry, Drummond, bad day. I take it King’s caught up with you by now?”
“Yes, sir, and thank you for that. He’s been very, ah, helpful.”
Burns grunted. “First time for everything. Now, you said you had something for me?”
She took a breath, ran him through everything Hal had told her about Montgomery, the law firm Wallace and Dean. When she had finished, Burns murmured approval.
“Good work, Drummond,” he said. “I’ll get Lewis and Banks to check that out. So, we’ve got a potential link between Pearson and one of the deceased. But what about Greig?”
“I’m still working on that, sir, got some calls in with contacts, hopeful of a response soon.”
“Don’t rely too much on that little shit McGregor, Drummond,” Burns said. “You remember what I said about upstairs.”
Susie felt her cheeks redden. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. What’s your current whereabouts? This is all going to need writing up at some point. I don’t want a backlog in the reports. The Chief will go fucking spare.”
Susie winced. Paperwork. The backbone of modern policing.
“King and I are just about to talk to Mrs Pearson again, sir. Seems there might be some link between her and that drugs rammy you had us look into this morning.”
“Really? What?”
He snorted when she told him about the business card. “Could be anything. She’s a counsellor after all, speaks to drug addicts every day.”
“Yes, sir, but I‘d like to bottom this out, just to be sure.”
“Fine, but take it easy, the last thing I want is Mrs Pearson filing a harassment complaint against you.”
“Understood, sir,” Susie said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
She hung up. Chewed her lip. That same nagging feeling was back again. The one she got when she was speaking to Eddie outside Pearson’s office earlier. Something about what he said, and then Burns just now.
She stood, thinking. Replaying the conversation in her mind. After a moment, the answer came to her. Followed by another raft of questions.
She looked in through the window of the bar, saw Eddie’s not-so-subtle attempts to attract her attention. Smiled. Time for a little chat with Mrs Pearson.
56
Doug was in a place beyond shock. He was looking at the scene as if through thick glass, with his mind screaming and wailing at one side and him on the other, calmly doing what needed to be done.
He stood up, looked at the splatter of dark blood and brain matter that was streaked across the carpet and up the wall like a bloody exclamation mark. The bullet had taken most of the left side of Pearson’s skull off, leaving a gaping flap of bone hanging by a thin strand of sinewy raw flesh that glistened with fresh blood. But the path of the bullet had left most of his face intact and he still wore that same, almost calm smile.
Doug heard him whisper the words in his ear again as he looked down at him. He walked forward and picked up the gun, then moved to Esther, who had collapsed on the floor. Harvey had rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her. He was making soothing noises, the sounds muted by the ringing in Doug’s ears from the gunshot. He found he was strangely glad about that. If he could hear Harvey’s hypocrisy, he might not be able to resist the urge to use the gun himself.
He stood over Harvey, over the man he thought he knew, felt a flash of rage travel down his arm and bunch his free hand into a fist. Forced it to unfurl, then laid his hand on Harvey’s shoulder. Hard.
“Call the police and an ambulance for Esther,” he said in a voice he barely recognised. “Do it now.”
Harvey looked up at him, his face a contortion of relief, pain and guilt. Doug didn’t care. He just held his gaze long enough to make sure he got the message, then emptied the gun, pocketed the bullets and dropped it before turning and walking to the front door.
Outside, the world was impossibly bright, the wind in the trees a hurricane to Doug’s ears. Some guests had returned and gave him alarmed, questioning looks. He ignored them, focused on his car. Walked up to it as if for the first time and plipped the remote to spring the boot. As he got closer, his phone started to beep in his pocket, message after missed message coming in now he was clear of the hotel’s signal dead zone.
He ignored them. Time enough for that later.
The item was where Pearson had said it would be, in the boot well where the spare wheel should be. The well was empty apart from a small pressurised gun filled with gel that could be fired into the tyre to seal it in the event of a puncture. Before that moment, Doug had never thought about what an idiotic idea that was.
The items Pearson had left were in a large envelope, old and tattered. It contained a letter and something else, something Doug recognised immediately. A notebook. He held it in his hands, an echo of the past. He leaned against the boot of his car and read slowly. When he finished it, he stood for a moment, as though digesting, forcing himself to think everything through logically until he had an unbreakable chain of events, one leading seamlessly to another.
It was, he realised bitterly, another trick Harvey had taught him.
He read it all again, slower this time, making sure he had missed nothing. It all made sense now. Hell, he might have killed Greig that way himself in Pearson’s shoes.
He stuffed the letter and the notebook back into the envelope, tossed it into the boot. Walked back to the hotel. He got halfway there when he heard the first scream from one of the returning guests. He paused, listened, heard the distant echo of a siren. Out here, it was a harsh, alien sound.
He started walking, picking up his pace. He didn’t want to be here when the police arrived. Didn’t have time for their questions. But before he left, he needed to have a final word with Harvey.
57
Eddie found Diane Pearson at a small booth at the back of the diner, eating a salad and reading what looked like a reference book on pharmaceutical approaches to addiction issues. He introduced himself, knowing what she looked like from Susie’s description, then turned back to Susie and waved.
He offered to buy Diane another drink, which she declined, then slid onto the upholstered bench on the opposite side of the table. Susie slid in beside him a moment later.
“Ah, Detective Drummond,” Diane said, voice heavy with weary sarcasm, “nice to see you again.”
Susie caught the tone, and Diane’s use of her title rather than her name. Good, she wanted her off balance a bit.
“Diane, sorry for troubling you again,” she said. “But we had a very puzzling incident this morning, and we were hoping you could help us with it.”
“Oh,” she said, putting down her fork and sliding aside the salad she was picking at. “I’m not sure how, but I’ll do what I can.”
Susie smiled a thank-you. “Seems a drug addict fell out with his dealer this morning in Leith. Bit of a tussle ensued, and they both wound up in hospital, one of them with a particularly bad eye injury.”
“I imagine that would be fairly common,” Diane said. “We see a lot of drug-related violence. Not that common for a user to lash out at a dealer.”
Interesting, Susie thought. “Well, we’re not sure that’s what happened. You see, the victim, Paul Welsh, seemed to have been staying at the flat. His clothes were in the wash and it looked like he’d recently showered.”
“Interesting,” Diane said, her tone growing bored. “But I’m not sure how I can help shed any light on this.”
“Well, you see, that’s why we’re here. Among the personal effects of the dealer, we found a business card. Your business card to be exact.”
Susie paused, watched Diane’s eyes. Nothing. It was like watching ice. “Tell me, Diane, do you know a Stevie McInnis or Paul Welsh?”
Diane leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. I’m thinking, the pose said.
“Paul Welsh. Paul Welsh. Wait. Runty little kid? Thinning dark hair combed forward.” She mimed the action of hair being brushed forward above her head. “That him?”
Eddie nodded. “That matches the description, yes. Do you know him?”
Diane smiled. “You know I can’t tell you that, detective. Client confidentiality prohibits me from discussing who may or may not be receiving treatment.”
Susie twitched a smile. Clever. “Very true,” she said. “But if we were to officially ask to see your client list, to identify why that business card was at a crime scene, we might find his name there?”
Diane flashed her own smile, as warm as the lettuce on her plate. “I would say it was a strong possibility,” she said.
“Great, we’ll get right on that.” Something Eddie had told her crossed her mind, about Paul mentioning a Frankie. Maybe short for Franklin. As in Gavin Franklin Pearson. Worth a shot.
“Incidentally, these wouldn’t be the sort of people your husband would associate with, would they?”
Diane paused, her throat working as the colour faded slowly from her cheeks. When she spoke, it sounded and looked as if her jaw had been wired shut. “As I told you, detective, I’ve had no contact with Gavin for years. I have no idea who he might associate with, or why.”
Susie conceded the point with a small wave of her hand. “Of course, Diane, of course. Sorry.” She paused, heard Burns in her mind, his warning from less than ten minutes ago. The last thing we want is a harassment complaint against you from Mrs Pearson.
Mrs Pearson.
Fuck it.
“Well, thanks for your time, Diane, sorry to interrupt your lunch. Oh, one small thing. When I asked about Gavin just now, I said ‘husband’, and I noticed you still use ‘Mrs Pearson’. You did divorce him, didn’t you?”
Diane swallowed, reached for her drink. Let it go. Eyes bored into Susie, glaring. And for a moment, Susie saw something lurking there behind the cold civility.
Hate.
“I never got round to it. I had little things like providing for my disabled son and keeping a roof over our heads to deal with,” she said, her voice the model of practised calm.
“Of course, of course,” Susie said. “I apologise again for the interruption. We’ll be in touch about those patient lists.”
They walked out of the bar, weaving through the customers. When they got to the door, Susie glanced back, saw Diane with her head back in her book. Saw the fork clenched in her hand like a weapon, hovering over her plate, ready to strike.
58
Doug ushered the guests out of the lounge where Pearson’s body lay, did his best to calm and reassure those who had realised what had happened. He closed the door firmly, then went outside, looped round to the door at the rear of the hotel and back into the lounge.
He scooped Harvey up by the arm, squeezed hard enough for him to know it wasn’t a request, and plucked him from Esther’s side. Knelt down next to her, took her hand in his gently. She looked at him uncomprehendingly. Her face was a waxy mask, her eyes staring at something only she could see. If Doug was beyond shock, she was right in the middle of it. He wondered how long it would be before he joined her there.
“Esther? Esther, it’s Doug. I just need to talk to Harvey for a minute, okay? The ambulance is on the way, they’ll look after you.”
She nodded, a small, birdlike motion, then went back to staring into nothing. He smiled at her the best he could, leaned forward and kissed her forehead.
Stood up and marched to Harvey, pushed him hard towards the bay window.
“Talk,” he said. “Why, Harvey? Why the fuck did you do this? How could you be part of something like this?”
Harvey looked into his eyes, the facade gone. His eyes glistened with a feverish intensity, his breath was harsh and ragged. Doug vaguely wondered if he was about to have a heart attack.
“How much do you know?” he asked in a small voice.
“All of it,” Doug replied. “But what I don’t understand is how you could do this, Harvey. Fuck, after everything you taught me…”
Harvey jerked his gaze to Doug. “Who the fuck are you to judge me?” he hissed, a vague echo of anger in his voice. “You just said it. I taught you everything you know, got you a job. A career. Don’t you fucking forget that.”
“Yeah,” Doug replied, gesturing to the corpse of Pearson behind them. “And look how well that turned out for us. So cut the shit, Harvey, tell me. Why? And why the fuck did you ask me up here when you knew he was here? Were you scared I’d look into Greig’s death too closely, find the secret for myself? Did you hope Pearson would take care of me for you?”
“No!” Harvey hissed. “Of course not. When I heard about Greig being killed, I knew it was Pearson. I had no idea you’d be in conference, I thought I’d taught you well enough to stay the fuck off newsdesk. So when I heard you were there, I wanted to make sure you were okay. And getting you up here seemed the safest option. I thought he’d stay in Edinburgh. Had no idea he’d come all this way.”
“Why?” Doug snapped. “The moment you heard about Greig and Charlie, you must have figured it was Pearson settling old scores. Surely you must have known he’d come for you?”
Harvey dropped his head. His voice was a whisper. “I just thought he’d expose me, I thought that was the deal,” he said.
Doug rocked back. Fought off the urge to grab Harvey and smash him against the wall. “The deal? Is that all this was to you? A fucking deal? Harvey, these are lives you were fucking around with here!”
Harvey let out a long, weary sigh. He glanced around the room. “You know, this is all I ever wanted, Douglas. To own a place like this on this island, to have a respected hotel that people came to relax and enjoy. And now look. Just look.” He shook his head, tears dribbling down his cheeks.
Doug fought the urge again. Lost. Grabbed Harvey by the shoulders and spun him round, dragged his face into his. “Harvey. You put this all together. What were you fucking thinking?”
Harvey looked back at him, something like pity in his gaze.
“Oh Douglas,” he said. “You never were good at the big picture. What was the first thing I taught you? Look for the why in every story.”
“Why? What the fuck?”
“Why,” Harvey repeated. “Why did Pearson choose now to take out Greig? Why after all this time?”
Doug’s mind flicked through the options, like a dealer shuffling the deck. He heard Pearson’s last words whisper in his mind, those four simple words.
He wasn’t my son.
“The boy? Danny?” Doug said. “He started this. How? Because Pearson only found out he wasn’t his after he was hurt? Something about the hospital tests? That’s when he found out Danny was yours?”
Harvey gave Doug a smile that made him want to cave his teeth in. “Mine? Mine? Ah, so that’s why you’re so angry. You think I cheated on Esther?” Amazingly, he laughed, the sound chittering like insects crawling in Doug’s ears. “No, no, no, Douglas. Again, you’re missing the big picture. Pearson knew for years that Danny wasn’t his. Danny was Greig’s, but it didn’t matter to him. It was only when he heard how Greig reacted to the accident, it pushed him off the deep end.”
Doug stared into Harvey’s face. “He didn’t care,” he whispered, cold understanding shivering through him. “He heard about the accident and he didn’t care.”
“Exactly,” Harvey agreed. “Though he was a little blunter than that. As I recall, the words Greig used were, ‘Good riddance to the defective little fuck. That’s one less bill to worry about every month.’”
Doug felt revulsion twist in his g
uts. Jesus, he almost understood. It made him hate Harvey a little more. The man he once respected above all others. The man who had taught him his trade, his profession. The man who had been a dad when his real father could not be.
The stranger in front of him now.
“And of course, you just had to tell Pearson that, didn’t you?”
Harvey looked at Doug, then his eyes flicked to Esther. “Why not? You know how bad Esther is Douglas, she’s not going to be here in six months’ time. And then what? I rattle around this old place, smiling and swapping inane chat with the over-entitled fuckers who come here? The little shits that think money buys them class?” He straightened his back. “No, Douglas. As you said, I put this whole mess in place to start with, then tried to make something good out of it. Greig made a mockery of that. So why not make him face the consequences?”
Doug shoved Harvey back, hard enough for him to lose his footing. He fought back the urge to step forward and bury his boot in his ribs. Fury raged in his chest like a breaking storm, churning up a wake of regret, betrayal, anger, pain.
He walked away from Harvey, tears stinging his eyes. Glanced over to Pearson’s body. Went to check on Esther then headed for the car. Heard the sirens, closer now, ignored them and turned over the engine.
He had to get home. Everything Doug thought he knew about the man who had taught him his trade was a lie, but he still knew the truth. And telling it was more important to him now than ever. Get the story before anyone else, make it yours, tell the truth, no matter the cost. It was what he’d always believed, and he clung to it now like flotsam after a shipwreck. He could hear a small, squirming voice in the back of his mind – Harvey’s voice, he realised – telling him that he was mad, that it could end his career, destroy everything he’d worked for. He ignored it.
He grunted something that was almost a laugh. The best story of his career, and he couldn’t write it for the Tribune, wouldn’t. He was too close to it now, no longer an impartial reporter but a part of the tale. But he could still tell it. He wondered if Susie would be happy with a written statement, hoped she would be. After all, it could be his last byline.
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