Flesh and Blood (DS Vicky Dodds Scottish Crime Thrillers Book 2)

by Ed James

  ‘But I can’t.’ A loud South African accent, like it could cut through ice.

  Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.

  ‘So you want me to get a warrant?’ Karen Woods, sounding determined and focused. ‘Because I’ll get one. And it’ll show me everything I want, but it’ll let me get at everything you really don’t want me to find.’

  Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.

  Vicky turned round. They were the other side of the fish tank, the view obscured from the entrance, but Vicky could see them from here.

  The party organiser—Lisa?—shook her head at Karen. ‘Listen to me, as much as I want to help, I’ve got a gala opening tonight that ain’t going to plan, honey. At half past three, I’ve got four Hollywood stars teeing off in front of the world’s press and there’s still a crime scene.’

  Karen looked like she was going to throw the poor woman through the fish tank and stab her through the heart with giant shards of glass. ‘Your hotel will be closed for a good while.’

  ‘This isn’t helping me!’

  ‘I’m not here to help you.’

  Vicky eased her way between them, giving a look to Karen that hopefully read support, but also shut up. She smiled at the organiser, trying to get on her side. ‘Lisa, isn’t it?’

  She gave Vicky the side eye. ‘Well done for remembering.’

  ‘Lisa, thanks for your help in identifying Derek Craigen.’

  And that seemed to disarm her. ‘Okay?’

  ‘The problem is, we still need to identify the woman. We believe that she might be Mr Craigen’s plus one.’

  ‘And, as I’ve told your little friend here, the whole point in a plus one is they’re not listed.’

  The lift door slid open and Vicky saw her chance. But Lamont stepped out into the hotel, looked right at her, then turned around, hitting the button until the lift shut. At least she knew where he was.

  Vicky swept her gaze back to Lisa. ‘I hear you, but I need you to help my colleague here to identify her. Whatever you can access to help us will be greatly appreciated.’

  ‘I still need to—’

  ‘Half three tee time?’ Vicky smiled. ‘If you play ball, we’ll make sure your stars are playing ball by then too.’

  Lisa thumbed behind her. ‘The CCTV is through there in reception. I can take you through it, show you who I know.’

  ‘That’d be great.’

  ‘I’ll just set it up.’ She sauntered off, her heels clicking off the floor, and passed around the fish tank, distorted by the glass.

  ‘Karen, I need you to find the victim, okay? And check into what Lamont was up to that night.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I gather he streaked across the course.’

  ‘What, seriously?’

  ‘Seriously. Could be nothing, but I’m getting a bad feeling about him. And not just about streaking.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘You get my text about the podcast?’

  ‘I did and I hope you’re joking.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘I mean it’s not like I’ve got a million things to focus on at once, is it?’

  ‘Thanks, Karen.’ Vicky set off towards the lift and hit the call button. It pinged, the lift already there. She stepped in and pressed the top floor button, soaking up the yacht rock soundtrack. Was it Steely Dan or the Doobie Brothers? Her old man would know.

  ‘Wait!’ MacDonald was charging towards her. ‘Hold it!’

  She was so tempted to press the door close button like Lamont had done, but she held them open.

  McDonald stepped through, his arms pressed against both doors like he didn’t trust them not to shut on him. ‘Thanks.’ He hit the button. ‘Absolute classic song this.’

  The door slid open and they climbed up.

  Vicky folded her arms and couldn’t take it any longer. ‘What the hell is it?’

  ‘You not a fan?’

  ‘It’s the kind of rubbish my dad listens to.’

  ‘Well, your dad sounds like a good lad. Doobie Brothers, What A Fool Believes.’

  ‘That was my fifty-fifty guess.’

  ‘What’s the other?’

  ‘Steely bloody Dan.’

  ‘Oh, now there’s a band. You’ve not lived until you’ve heard Aja through a fifty-grand hi-fi.’ The lift opened and MacDonald stepped halfway out, blocking the door with his hip and clicking his fingers in time with the music. ‘Anyhoo, I’ve got a little something for you.’

  Vicky stepped out of the lift and it already started to descend. ‘Story of my life…’

  ‘One of my journo chums out there, Big Fergus, he spoke to the greenkeeper who found the body.’ He gave a flash of eyebrows. ‘I’ve sent Buchan and Summers round to validate this, but it sounds like someone paid him to open the lighthouse so they could watch the fireworks display from the Open. It took two hundred quid for him to nick some tools from a work van and hack away at the door.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell us?’

  ‘Because it’s illegal?’

  Vicky shook her head. ‘Right.’

  MacDonald grinned wide. ‘The description matches Craigen and his mystery woman.’

  16

  Vicky walked along the hotel corridor, keeping a few steps ahead of MacDonald. Somewhere, someone was using an angle grinder, but the sound was deadened by a few doors. And elsewhere, someone was brewing coffee, a caramel-y sweetness. ‘The greenkeeper just told your mate?’

  MacDonald was racing to keep up with her. His boots had a slight heel on them that’d hurt like crazy to wear. ‘It took Big Fergus a lot of prodding to get even that much out of him. And the greenkeeper didn’t go up there with them, before you ask.’

  ‘How did you guess?’ Vicky stopped outside Lamont’s office and tried the door.

  It opened into a reception area, the same one they’d been in the previous day. The smell of coffee seemed to emanate from here, much stronger smelling. The standing desk was manned by a secretary. A local girl plastered in thick makeup, her blonde hair dyed to within an inch of its life. She looked up at them and smiled, even had the perfect teeth of a catalogue model. ‘How can I help you?’ Definitely local, judging by that accent.

  MacDonald walked over and leaned against her desk, the giant silver computer partially obscuring her. ‘Looking for Mr Lamont.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘Police, right?’

  ‘Right.’ MacDonald didn’t even need to show ID. ‘Mind if we go on in?’

  ‘Sure, but just a sec.’ She walked over to a high-end coffee machine and handed an espresso cup to MacDonald. ‘Saves me a job.’

  ‘Happy to help.’ MacDonald took the saucer and led Vicky into the office.

  The room’s lighting was up full blast.

  No sign of Lamont, though.

  MacDonald rested the coffee on the table over in the banquette by all the sports memorabilia.

  Vicky searched around the place. Lamont’s giant desk had the same computer as his receptionist. ‘What the hell?’

  A suit jacket and trousers hung from a handle to the side of the other door. Then a flush came from behind and it sounded like a tap came on, followed by one of those high-end hand-dryers that seemed to be everywhere.

  MacDonald was standing next to her now. ‘Is he in there?’

  The door opened and Lamont waltzed out of an executive bathroom, all ivory and varnished oak with soft spotlights, just wearing a shirt and bright-orange boxer shorts. He smiled at them like this was all perfectly normal and eased his trousers out from the hanger, then stepped his toes in like he was putting on a crime scene suit. He stepped into a pair of shiny brogues, then took his suit jacket down and brushed off some hairs and dust before slipping his arms in. ‘Can’t abide creases.’

  ‘So I can see.’ MacDonald passed him his coffee. ‘Your secretary gave me this.’

  ‘Goddamn it.’ Lamont snarled like MacDonald had just splashed it across his face. ‘She knows it’s not supposed t
o just sit there.’ Regardless, he took a sip and smiled. ‘Good coffee, but I expect great coffee every time.’ He cracked it down off the desktop. ‘How can I help you guys?’

  MacDonald gave him a warm smile. ‘Yesterday, you confirmed that Mr Craigen was at the function on Saturday with a woman, but you didn’t know her name.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, we’ve found out that you were sitting next to her for your sit-down dinner.’

  Lamont stared hard at him for a few seconds, then emptied his cup. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Look, buddy. I’m as upset as anyone that Derek Craigen is dead. We grew close as we worked together. He’s good people. But I have no idea who his plus one is.’

  ‘See, if I spend an evening with someone, I’ve usually got their name out of them within minutes.’

  ‘Believe me, I was trying. She just wasn’t playing.’

  ‘Marie.’

  ‘Huh?’ Lamont looked him up and down. ‘I mean, you’re a much prettier guy than me. Maybe women furnish you with their names and numbers just like that?’

  MacDonald’s cheek dimpled as he beamed. ‘But you chatted to her, right?’

  ‘Right. I mean, in my line of business if someone doesn’t immediately give you a business card, it means they don’t want to know who you are. We had a ton of people at that table who were all keen to press the flesh and they took up most of my attention. I was keen to get them to sign on the dotted line for memberships.’

  ‘How much would that set them back.’

  ‘Twenty grand.’

  ‘That’s a lot of cash.’

  ‘Not for these guys.’

  ‘So what did you talk to her about?’

  ‘Nothing much, to be honest. She only had eyes for Dez, wasn’t interested in me or the other dudes there. Didn’t seem to want to chat to the other dates, either. And let me be clear here, they were all wives.’

  ‘So you think Craigen brought a prostitute to this fancy dinner?’

  ‘Oh, come, come. This wasn’t that fancy.’ Lamont gestured at his open shirt neck. ‘Smart but casual dress code.’ He spluttered out a laugh. ‘It wasn’t even black tie. I wanted my guests to relax and let their hair down and open their wallets.’

  ‘And then head up to the lighthouse?’

  ‘Lighthouse?’

  MacDonald’s turn to laugh. He pointed out of the window behind him. ‘See that big building sticking out of the sea there? It’s called a lighthouse.’

  ‘I know what a lighthouse is, son, I just have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.’

  ‘Someone broke in there to allow some of your guests access to the building so they could watch the fireworks.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘We found a bottle of champagne up there. Two glasses. It’s where we found Mr Craigen’s body, as you know.’

  Lamont stared at him, then at Vicky, but he was still processing things. Assessing the risks and pay-offs of various lies, various stories, no doubt.

  Vicky leaned her head forward like she was wanting him to confide in her. ‘I suggest you tell us the truth.’

  ‘You do, huh?’ Lamont shook his head. ‘Look, I heard about this excursion but I had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘See our source suggests that money changed hands.’

  ‘Well, your source might be an excellent greenkeeper but he’s not irreplaceable.’

  ‘I didn’t say it was him.’

  ‘But I know it was.’ Lamont gestured at his coffee. ‘This whole business has thrown me. You’ve no idea the amount of stress I’m under. Think I told you the last time we spoke, I’m used to being on the other side of the fence. Doing the work. Paying for it… It’s a killer.’ Lamont sat there, arms folded enough to crease his suit jacket sleeves. He was going to hate that if he noticed. ‘God, my head is thumping today.’ He reached over and pressed a button on his desk. ‘Rachel, please bring in three espressos.’

  MacDonald stood up and thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘Trespassing on government property is a crime.’

  Lamont didn’t have anything for that, just sat there, eyes narrowed, fists balled.

  ‘Streaking across a golf course is illegal too.’

  Lamont looked round at Vicky. ‘Excuse me?’ He switched his gaze between them, then settled it back on Vicky. ‘Look, I was drunk and it was my party, so I can cry if I want to, right?’

  ‘Thank you for telling us the truth. We appreciate it.’

  The door slid open and his secretary tottered in on too-high heels, carrying a tray laden with cups on saucers. She rested it on the table and tilted her head towards Lamont.

  But he wasn’t looking at her. ‘Thank you, Rachel.’ He waited until she left the room, then looked at MacDonald. ‘You want to try one?’

  ‘Sure.’ He passed a cup across the table. Lamont raised his eyebrows at Vicky.

  ‘I’m allergic to espresso.’

  ‘Is that a thing?’

  ‘Apparently so. I can drink filter and cafetière, but espresso gives me cold-like symptoms a couple of days later.’

  ‘Huh. Well, I had that machine flown in from Milan,’ pronounced Mee-lan, ‘and it makes the perfect coffee. Sent Rachel on a week-long barista course to make sure she gets it just right.’ He snarled again. ‘I designed these two offices so that by the time she brought it from the machine to my desk, my espresso was at precisely eight-five degrees centigrade.’ He took a sip. ‘The perfect temperature.’ He tossed the espresso down his throat like it was vodka and he was on a stag weekend in the Algarve. ‘Magnificent.’ He reached over and hit the button again. ‘Rachel, that’s the ticket. Keep it up.’

  MacDonald drank his more slowly. ‘Got to say, that’s good coffee.’

  Lamont took Vicky’s cup and downed it in one go. ‘Still just about right.’

  ‘Sir, this displacement activity isn’t getting you off.’

  ‘What displacement?’

  ‘I don’t care what it is, someone trespassed in that lighthouse. Two people were subsequently brutally murdered.’

  Lamont sat back and his arms hung to his sides. ‘Look, I knew nothing about it. I’ve tried buying that lighthouse, but they won’t sell it to me. Apparently it’s still needed. But it’s been built way too close to my hotel, so it’s unnecessary and irritating.’

  The way his mind worked, it didn’t seem to occur to him that he was the one building next to a lighthouse and not the other way round.

  ‘Buying that land and getting through planning was hell on earth. I had to give them access rights across my land. You know how much I spent on course design? I had to throw out designs for three, four, sixteen and seventeen because of a path that needed to run down from here to that goddamn lighthouse.’

  ‘We need the names of the guests who went there.’

  ‘Good luck with that. I can’t give you any names, as I wasn’t there. As you pointed out, I was half-naked and running across the eighteenth.’

  ‘Just half-naked?’

  ‘Okay. Fully naked.’

  Given the lack of forensics at the lighthouse, it offered a plausible explanation. Kill someone, wash the blood off in a bracing dip in the North Sea and prance around your own golf course, tackle out.

  ‘So where did you go on this jaunt?’

  ‘I was a bit worse for wear, it has to be said.’ Lamont folded his arms. ‘As far as I know, it was the first and eighteenth, with a detour around the second and third.’

  ‘You go near the sixteenth?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Anyone who can validate that?’

  ‘Well yeah, sure.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, it’s all on CCTV, but how can I trust you guys with it?’

  MacDonald laughed. ‘Here’s the deal. Couple of cops review the footage, validate it’s you. No harm, no foul.’ He left a long pause. ‘Unless it’s not true.’

  ‘No, it’s true.’ Lamont leaned
forward. ‘I suggest you take that up with Lisa. She’s got a mind like a steel trap.’ He pressed the button again. ‘Rachel, another espresso please.’

  THE LIFT DOORS slid shut and they started the slow descent back down.

  MacDonald ran a hand through his hair. ‘That was astonishing coffee.’

  ‘Take your word for it.’

  ‘You’re really allergic to coffee?’

  ‘Just espresso. Never been tested, but one cup absolutely breaks me. I have two cups of filter every morning and it’s fine. If I even think about having an espresso it blows me up.’

  ‘Such a shame.’ The doors opened and MacDonald gestured for her to go first. ‘So, what do you think we should do about this?’

  Vicky stepped out into the atrium and realised she had absolutely no idea. ‘What’s your take on Lamont?’

  ‘You first?’

  ‘Just a rich dickhead.’ Vicky looked across the atrium, where the fish were getting fed into the giant tank. ‘Well, Euan, what’s the plan?’

  ‘I need to find the event organiser.’ MacDonald got out his mobile and put it to his ear.

  ‘So you can work your charms on her again?’

  ‘My charms? Believe me, that wasn’t me flirting.’

  ‘Right. Well, she was with DC Woods in the security office.’ Through the warped glass, someone was waving at her. Considine. ‘I’ll catch you later.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  Vicky walked across the tiles but Considine had already slipped through the doors.

  Outside, Forrester and Raven were making best use of the haar to speak to the journalists one by one. An impromptu press conference. And knowing Raven, they’d be watermarking the stories, adding in little nuggets to each one to be able to trace them back to a journalist, to see who was sharing with who.

  Forrester was dealing with Alan, both with their hands in their pockets. Laughing too hard.

  Vicky caught up with Considine. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I was waving for MacDonald, but I suppose you’ll do.’

  ‘I’ll do?’

  ‘Christ, you need to calm down. Of course I was waving at you.’ His smirk soon soured, though. ‘Oh, Jenny Morgan was looking for you. She’s at Craigen’s house just now. Trouble is, she won’t speak to me.’