by Rob Wyllie
She nodded without saying anything.
'So Mrs Sinclair,' he began, 'if you don't mind, we want to ask you a few questions about your brother and of course the events around the tragic death of his wife and the wee lassie. And if it gets too painful, just say, because we don't want to upset you at all.'
'What's this all about?' she said guardedly. 'Are you opening up the case again or what?'
He shook his head. 'Not exactly. It's just that when something like this happens, I mean your brother taking his own life, then we just like to take another wee look at the case again, only out of respect if you like. It's just routine really. Standard procedure.'
He hated telling her that little white lie, but consoled himself with the thought that it was with the best of intentions. If they were going to make progress with this investigation, keeping everything nice and low-key was going to be absolutely vital. And top priority was making sure as few people as possible knew about the screw-up over the time of death of the victims, a screw-up that Frank hoped was causing Sir Brian Pollock to have sleepless nights. A screw-up that proved Jess Sinclair's brother couldn't possibly have done it.
'And I should have said of course, I'm really sorry for your loss. We both are.'
She looked at them impassively. They were just words, he knew it and she knew it, and she'd have heard it a hundred times in the last few weeks. But you still were duty-bound to say them, and although he didn't know her and hadn't known her brother either, the sentiment was genuine. He was bloody sorry that an innocent man had been convicted for something he hadn't done. And now he had to ask the question he really wasn't looking forward to asking.
He lowered his voice so that it was barely audible. 'Mrs Sinclair, have you any idea what drove James to take his life? I'm really sorry to ask, but it might help us.'
'I would have thought that was pretty obvious,' she said, not looking him in the eye. 'He adored that wee girl with all his heart, and without her... well, he just couldn't go on.'
'I know this will be very difficult,' Lexy said, 'but why did he choose to do it now? Four years after the event I mean?'
She gave her a sad look. 'I think the pain was unbearable for him and it just kept building up and building up. You might imagine it gets better over time but I can tell you it doesn't. The reason it happened now? He tried it just a few months after he was sent there, and so he's been on suicide watch ever since. But I think they were a bit short-staffed and weren't as careful as they should have been. And although it sounds a terrible thing to say, I'm glad in some ways. At least he'll be at peace now.'
Frank couldn't help but shake his head in disgust. An innocent man driven to despair and one day very soon his sister was going to find out the devastating truth, and all because of a piss-head pathologist and a short-cutting copper. It made him physically sick at the thought of it.
'I really hope he is at peace Mrs Sinclair, I really do,' he said. 'But you never ever believed he did it, did you? Why was that?' He was hoping she would give him more than a simple because he was my brother.
'He'd never have killed wee Isabelle. Not in a million years. No matter how angry he was with her.'
No matter how angry he was with her. He caught the nuance immediately.
'Was their marriage having problems then?' Frank asked in a sympathetic tone.
She looked uncomfortable. He guessed she was angry with herself for giving away more than she intended.
'I don't know, not really,' she said, staring at the carpet. 'I didn't think so at the time, but then you don't really know the truth about any relationship, do you? Not when you're looking in from outside.'
He assumed the question was rhetorical and let her continue.
'But they were very different, Morag and James.'
'How do you mean?' Frank asked.
'Well James was so quiet. When he was home he just like to potter about in the garden or play with Isabelle or just relax and watch the football. She was much more outgoing you see. I think she felt quite stifled by service life, and wanted more.' They way she said it, he could tell she didn't approve.
'Did you like Morag, Mrs Sinclair?'
'Like?' she said, then hesitating as if weighing up her response. 'Like? Well, we were friends I suppose, and yes I did like her in that regard. But I don't think she was always fair to my brother, looking back.'
'Why was that?'
'Well in my opinion, she just didn't appreciate what she had. My brother was a lovely person and his family meant everything to him, and it wasn't his fault if the job took him away for months on end. That's the reality of life in the navy and she should have thought about it before she married him.'
Frank smiled. 'You sound as if you're speaking from experience.'
'I am. My man was in it for eight years and I knew he'd be at sea for long periods. So you learn to cope. That's what you have to do if you're a navy wife.'
And Morag McKay couldn't cope and was therefore to be despised, that was the clear implication.
'But that was one of the main things the prosecution used during the trial wasn't it?' Lexy said, then looked at Frank. 'I'm talking about the state of their marriage. You don't mind if I ask about that sir?'
'No, go ahead,' he said.
'So there was a massive email trail between them, wasn't there Mrs Sinclair?' Lexy said, furrowing her brow. 'Whilst he was on his last mission. Mrs McKay said over and over again she was tired of her life in Ardmore and was going to move to the city with the little girl. At first your brother was pleading with her, telling her how much he loved her and wee Isabelle. But then his replies began to get more and more angry.'
'Until he threatened to kill them both,' Frank said. 'That's right, isn't it?'
'Yes sir,' Lexy said simply.
'That wasn't right.' Jess Sinclair shot out the words. 'It wasn't right.'
'What do you mean Mrs Sinclair,' Frank asked.
'I told you James was a quiet man, didn't I? Everyone was always teasing him about it, even his navy friends. You ask anyone and they would say the same thing. He's a man of few words your James, that's what they would say.'
'So what are you saying Mrs Sinclair?' he asked again.
'I don't know, I don't know what I'm saying.' She looked at him, her expression a mask of confusion. 'But James was such a quiet man. He wouldn't have said all these things.'
'But he did say them Mrs Sinclair, I'm afraid,' Frank said. 'It's all in our evidence file, in black and white. He did say them.'
◆◆◆
He kept his eyes firmly closed as Lexy, her driving having now morphed from over-cautious to over-confident, swung the big Volvo left and right down the twisty glen that led to the village of Lochmorehead. Partially it was because he really didn't want to have to look where they were going, but it was mainly because it helped him think. Assuming he could stay awake that was, because the rocking motion was causing him to drift off.
Jess Sinclair hadn't been much help, other than confirming what they already knew. His marriage to Morag had been in difficulty and that presented a cast-iron motive for the killing. If I can't have you, then no-one else will have you either. They got about a dozen of these a year in the Met alone, so it was hardly unusual. So strong was the motive and the evidence, it was easy to forget that James McKay hadn't actually done it. He wondered too if there was anything in Jess's belief that he wouldn't have said all these things in his emails to his wife. But that was crazy, and he quickly dismissed it from his mind.
However, there was no doubting that whilst Pollock might be a sly bastard, he was no fool. He would have known at the time that the case against Lieutenant James McKay didn't quite stack up, and somewhere tucked away in that file there must be a fact or two that could prove it. The problem was that for them, it would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
Then suddenly a modest smile of satisfaction spread across his features as, quite out of the blue, a rather brilliant idea came to
him through his semi-meditative state. Because whilst he and Lexy might not know where to look in that bloody file, Chief Constable Sir Brian Pollock most definitely would. And what's more, Frank thought he now knew how to tease it out of him. For that, he would need to enrol the services of Maggie Bainbridge and her associate. And of course DCI Jill Smart had furnished him with plenty of budget in the kitty to cover it. No bother.
Chapter 14
The flight from Heathrow to Glasgow Airport was a mere sixty minutes in duration and equipped only with overnight bags, it hadn't taken them long to de-plane, as the lead flight attendant had described it, and reach the concourse area, where the rental car booths were located. At which point the operation had gone somewhat belly-up, on account of Jimmy's driving licence having an out-of-date photo and Maggie having forgotten to bring hers with her at all.
'Look, you can see it's me,' Jimmy was arguing, holding up the licence and stabbing at the picture with his forefinger. 'It's supposed to be just for ID purposes, and anyone can see it's me. And we've got a booking. Look, here's the paperwork, I printed it out just in case.'
The desk clerk, wearing a badge that identified him as Calum, and clearly harassed from dealing with the early-morning rush, was determined to be unmoved. Maggie cursed their luck for finding this spotty youth on duty rather than one of the usual smartly-uniformed young women, upon whom Jimmy would have been able to cast his spell. She thought it likely the youth would be immune to her physical charms, that of a forty-two-year-old former barrister who never looked her best after an early start, but that didn't mean she couldn't dust down some of her old advocacy skills. Not that she'd been much good at that either.
'Calum,' she said, in what she hoped was a respectful tone, 'I know you're only doing your job, but this is really really important.' She dropped her voice to a whisper so Jimmy couldn't hear. 'And I'm sorry about my brother, but it's just that he's terribly upset. We're going to our mum's funeral you see. She died very suddenly and it's been a huge shock to us all as you can imagine.'
The youth gave her a suspicious look. 'I'll speak to my manager. Wait here,' he said, disappearing off into the little office behind the front desk. To the rear of them, a queue of customers who had been hoping for a swift and efficient transaction were starting to make their displeasure heard.
A couple of minutes later he re-emerged. 'My manager says we can retain a credit card as security on this occasion. And she says we'll have to charge you an extra insurance fee of a hundred and twenty pounds. She says it's refundable if you bring back the car on time and undamaged.' He didn't look or sound pleased about any of it.
'What did you say to him?' Jimmy asked, as they made their way to the multi-storey car park, keys in hand.
'I told him we were going to a funeral.' Maggie hoped he wouldn't ask for any more details.
'You lied,' he laughed.
'I'm a barrister, remember? That's what we do.'
They had three or four hours to spare before their early afternoon meeting with Alison Macallan in Lochmorehead, which Jimmy had decided would be used to show her some of the sights of his home city.
'Been to Glasgow before boss?'
'Nope, never,' she said. 'I don't think I'd even been to Scotland before my last trip to see Alison.' That time when she'd sneaked a visit to Dr Flora Stewart.
'Well you've got a wee treat in store,' he said, smiling. 'I'll take you up to the West End and show you the Uni and all my old haunts. It's beautiful at this time of year, with all the trees turning to gold in Kelvingrove. That's the park that sits alongside the river Kelvin. A really nice spot.'
They parked up on a long tree-lined avenue that seem to bisect the park, the University buildings set high on a hill to their left. On their right, a group of elderly men and women were playing bowls, their laughter audible above the gentle whistle of a cool wind.
'Sir George Gilbert Scott designed them,' Jimmy explained, pointing up at the buildings. 'The same guy that did St Pancras station in London. Gothic style, that's what they call it I think. Pretty fancy. Although he died before the Uni was actually built I believe. They ran out of money a couple of times and his sons had to finish it off.'
'Looks like Hogwarts to me,' she laughed, 'but it is beautiful.'
'We can take a walk up if you like, you get a nice view over the city from up there.'
'So this is where you did your law degree then?' she asked, as they wound their way up through a rhododendron-lined path, their verdant blooms now faded. But it was just an opener for the question she really wanted to ask.
'Yep, did my four years. I enjoyed it. Well, not so much the course, but I enjoyed Uni life a lot. I joined the OTC and that's what got me into the army.'
'The OTC?'
'Sorry, the Officers' Training Corps. It's a bit like the Boy Scouts but with real guns. It was fun, lots of outdoor stuff, you know, camping and hiking and the like. Right up my street.'
'And is this where you met Flora? At Uni I mean?' She tried to drop the question in as casually as she could.
He smiled. 'Aye, more or less right here in fact. Summer term. She was sitting on the grass having a picnic with some of her medic pals and we got talking. We just sort of hit it off right away.'
In other words, love at first sight. Maggie didn't find it difficult to understand how that would have happened, having seen Flora Stewart nee McLeod in the flesh, and she already knew all too well the effect her handsome colleague had on the opposite sex. They must have been a beautiful couple.
'Sorry, but I'm awful aren't I? So nosey.' She smiled at him, deciding not to push it any further. Unless of course he wanted to tell her more.
'No, that's all right. I've been an idiot and there's no excuse for it. But you make your bed and you have to lie in it.'
She hoped he might now go on to tell him how it had all started, that bizarre relationship he'd had with Astrid Sorenson the beautiful Swedish star of country music. The relationship that had blown his marriage apart. But it seemed he was now anxious to change the subject.
'See over there,' he said, pointing in the distance. 'That's the famous Finnieston Crane. They used it to lift big railway engines onto the ships when they were being exported, back in the old days. And that's the new BBC building just on the other side of the river.'
'Fascinating,' she laughed, her tone accidently ironic. 'No, honestly it is,' she added quickly, seeing the look he gave her. Knowing him, she didn't think he'd be permanently offended.
'How about we take a wee tour through the quadrangles and then wander down to Byers Road?' he said. 'And you can sample the culinary delights of the famous University Cafe. I don't think it's changed for about a hundred years and all the better for it. Although the coffee's fresh of course. And they do a nice sausage roll.'
That clinched it for her.
'Sounds delightful,' she said, and this time she meant it.
◆◆◆
North of Tarbet, the A82 main road alongside Loch Lomond changes in character, a sudden steep vertical rise in the terrain meaning the road builders had just about managed to carve out a winding course between the mountainside and the loch itself. It didn't pay to be in a hurry, your speed of progress being dictated by the giant tourist coaches and the articulated lorries supplying the supermarkets of Fort William and beyond. Maggie and Jimmy drove in comfortable silence, the sat-nav's estimated time of arrival at Lochmorehead still well in the black, allowing them to be content with the leisurely pace of travel. Earlier he had planned to stop off at Luss, a pretty little village on the edge of the loch that was popular with tourists, and a calling point for the cruise boats that plied their trade on the beautiful expanse of water. But it had started to rain, causing a hazy mist to descend from mighty Ben Lomond and hover just above the loch.
'No worries, we might be able to fit it in on the way back down tomorrow,' he had said, pointing to the junction that led down to the village.
Now they were finally clear of the loch
side, the road straightening out as they crossed the boundary of the National Park and entered the Highlands proper.
'This scenery is amazing,' Maggie said, her nose almost pressed against the side window. 'I didn't really get the chance to look at it properly the last time because I was driving, and then it was pitch-black on my way back.'
'Aye, it is amazing,' Jimmy said, 'and if you carry on another thirty miles or so you're on Rannoch Moor, and that's really beautiful but really wild too. They chucked us out of a lorry up there in the middle of winter when we were doing our basic training and told us not to come back for five days. With no food, no water, no tents, nothing. And no phones, obviously.'
'But I'm assuming you survived,' she said, laughing, 'otherwise you wouldn't be here now.'
'Just about. Lost a bit of weight though,' he grinned. 'There's not much eating in a rabbit, especially when you're having to share it with five other guys. But anyway, this is our turn-off. B8214. Lochmorehead eleven miles.'
Twenty minutes later they arrived, Jimmy pulling the car into an empty space in the hotel car park, the same hotel which six months earlier had hosted the wake of Commodore Roderick Macallan and his son Peter. Births, marriages and deaths. It was the only decent place for miles around and had seen plenty of all three. Glancing at his watch he said, 'Time for a quick lunch then?'
'Yes, I'm starving,' Maggie said, then remembering the sausage roll she had consumed earlier, 'although goodness knows why. But yes, we've got time and it's stopped raining too. It's just a fifteen-minute walk to Alison's from here and it'll be nice to stretch our legs after the journey.'
Lunch dispatched, they made their way along the beautiful lochside. An old Ford Focus, much in need of a good wash, had been parked at an oblique angle on the gravelled driveway, leaving the narrowest of gaps to squeeze through between it and the laurel hedge. They found Flossie the labrador lounging in the small porch that sheltered the front door, and after looking them over with mild suspicion, she struggled to her feet before padding over to greet them.