‘Can I come clean with you? And this is off the record?’
He let out a little laugh. ‘It’s usually the police saying that to journalists, not the other way around, but yes, carry on.’
‘No, seriously, this can’t go any further.’ Oonagh realised how ridiculous she sounded. Of course she couldn’t give a copper of his rank information about a crime and expect him to do nothing. She doubted that his impending retirement would make him any less zealous. But she needed to get him on her side.
‘You know I can hardly promise that. But—’
‘I’ve been to see Dorothy Malloy.’
There was the briefest pause as he put the glass to his lips. This wasn’t what Oonagh had planned when she rang his doorbell. ‘And she says she knows who carried out the Raphael killings.’
It was only a slight choke but enough to spill some of the precious Bordeaux onto his nice clean shirt. Oonagh jumped up, dabbing the stain with a tissue. He grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away a tad too roughly for her liking. He’d be murder in a nursing home.
53
Glasgow 2002
Oonagh needed time to clear her head. The evidence was stacking up and she didn’t know what to make of it. There had to be a link, she just didn’t know what it was. Marjory Channing was killed to shut her up, but that didn’t make sense if the information was already in the public domain. She knew something else. Or somebody thought she knew something else.
She drove out of the city and headed north. In less than an hour she pulled into a little café along the banks of Loch Lomond, the view of Ben Lomond looming through the clouds. She’d had a jigsaw puzzle of this very scene as a kid. Trying to match the pieces together had seemed impossible; all blue sky and water’s edge with masses of green in between.
‘Get the corners first,’ her dad had said. ‘Once they’re in place everything else will just slot in.’ She’d looked at him with growing suspicion. ‘Trust me,’ he’d added.
It never really was that easy though. ‘Oh, Dad, I wish you were here to help me now!’ A soft breeze came in from the loch, stroked her face and caressed her back. She instinctively reached her hand to touch it and for a brief moment imagined she felt her dad’s hand. She knew she’d have to tread very careful with this one. Dorothy Malloy was fragile, and any main witnesses were long dead.
Dorothy had been convinced her husband had been cheating on her. A suspicion that had fed her increasing paranoia. That was what had driven her to kill those women. What Oonagh needed now was proof. The fact that Andrew Malloy had been killed before he blew the whistle on the tainted-blood scandal was just a bit too convenient for Oonagh to stomach. Someone or something had been pushing Dorothy over the edge. The question was, did they mean to push her quite that far?
Oonagh made her way back to the car. She’d arranged to meet Davies and thought it best to do so in a public place. She was sailing close to the wind with this one, and wanted to make sure he wouldn’t go off on one.
*
‘Are you insane?’
She pondered the question for a moment. She couldn’t guarantee that she wasn’t, but for the purposes of this line of questioning she felt on safe ground.
‘What on earth made you even go to his door?’
‘For God’s sake, Alec, he’s not the Pope. I can chap on his doorstep if I like.’
‘But to start quizzing him about his best friend, his wife…’
‘Alec, he’s hiding something. I’ll bet my mortgage on it.’
Alec ran his hands through his hair. ‘You told me you’d paid your mortgage off.’
Oonagh knew, despite the joke, he was furious with her. ‘Yes, oh, stop splitting hairs. What we need to do now is find out what he’s hiding.’
‘Hold your horses, Juliet Bravo! We don’t need to do anything. Not everything’s a great big bloody conspiracy. Forget it.’
Oonagh struggled not to bite the rim of her glass. ‘Forget it? Forget it. Thank you very much!’
They’d reached a stalemate. No one was taking her seriously.
‘What about the DNA?’
‘What about it?’
‘Did it match the suspect?’ Oonagh already knew the answer to that one. ‘Obviously not or we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.’
Davies let out a sigh. ‘You’re like a dog with a bone, d’you know that?’
She nodded, took it as a compliment, then slid the envelope across the table towards him.
‘What’s this?’ He didn’t touch it. Just looked.
Oonagh opened it and took out a clear plastic wallet containing a lock of hair. ‘Can you test this for a match?’
‘What the hell’s that? And if you say a lock of hair I really will—’
‘You can test for familial DNA, can’t you?’
‘Spill the beans, Oon. Whose hair is that?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
Alec sat back, folded his arms and raised one eyebrow.
She scratched her head, knowing he wouldn’t believe a word, but she went for it anyway. ‘I got it sent to me…’ she swallowed hard ‘… anonymously, from someone who thinks they know who the killer was.’
‘You’ll need to give me the envelope it was sent in and any letter and—’
‘I threw them away.’
‘Sorry, am I meant to keep a straight face while you’re talking crap?’
He picked up the lock of hair, but didn’t remove it from the plastic wrapping. ‘Why are you asking about familial DNA?’
‘The em, the letter said their dad may have been the killer so they sent a lock of their own hair to see if…’
Alec raised an eyebrow. Let out a sigh. ‘Oonagh, that line’s already been used.’
‘What?’
‘Willie Mack’s daughter said she thought her dad was the killer.’
Bugger. She hadn’t thought this through and was digging herself deeper and deeper into a hole. ‘I just got a tip-off, Alec, right?’ She was being ridiculous and she knew it. What were the chances of getting an anonymous tip-off about a cold case that no one but the cops knew was under review? And even if that was the case, why would they send it to her?
‘Please, Alec, if there’s no match then fair dos. If there is a match then I’ll tell you everything—’ she backtracked slightly ‘—or as much as I know. Deal?’
She held out her hand and he took it but said nothing. She couldn’t read the look in his eye. He’d been a bit funny with her ever since he’d found that sleaze ball in her bed. The one she’d thought she’d killed. He was probably judging her. Thinking she was a wreck, and he’d be right. Alec gave her hand a tiny squeeze and Oonagh swallowed hard as the butterflies fluttered in her chest. She pulled her hand away and was mortified to feel she was blushing.
‘Don’t look so serious, Oonagh.’ He placed his hand back on top of hers.
‘So you’ll do it?’
Oonagh could see he looked tired. He wasn’t yet fifty and kept himself fit, but today he looked every one of his years and a few besides. She noticed the smooth band of skin around his finger where his wedding ring once was. In all the years she’d known Alec he’d never spoken about his wife, or why they’d split up. In fact, despite them being friends, she actually knew very little at all about DI Alec Davies.
‘You got any family?’
‘Eh?’ He clearly didn’t get the connection.
‘I was just wondering, you know?’
‘Why?’
Oonagh shrugged her shoulders. ‘We’re pals; I thought I should probably find out a wee bit about you.’
Davies let out a laugh. ‘OK, I have a brother, who I haven’t seen for almost a year, no sisters, nae weans and my mum and dad live out in—’
Oonagh cut in before he finished. ‘You’ve got a mum and dad?’
‘Well, hell, yeah! D’you think I was assembled at police training college?’
‘No, I mean, yes, I mean… I didn’t think they were still ali
ve.’
‘I had them cryogenically frozen, they’re 102. Jeez, how old d’you think I am?’
‘It’s just that you don’t really talk about them much, so I thought…’
He looked more relaxed and seemed to be glad the conversation had steered away from the case. ‘Oonagh, cops don’t really talk about their mammies very often. It’s not good for the tough-guy image. But if you must know they live in Helensburgh, they drive me bonkers and I love them both to bits.’
She couldn’t really imagine Alec being someone’s wee boy.
‘And before you ask, eleven.’
‘Shoe size or former lovers?’
‘Both! Now you know everything about me.’
She threaded the silver chain of her locket through her fingers. ‘Yip, we’ll be getting each other friendship bracelets next.’ He let out a laugh. ‘Alec, why won’t you help me with this?’
‘I didn’t say that. It’s just… unethical.’
‘Unethical?’
‘You know what I mean. I can’t have you steering this investigation.’
‘Please. At least see if there’s a familial match. If there is then your case is closed.’
‘If you have evidence, Oonagh, then tell me. If it’s a nutter sending you weird stuff through the post, then no can do.’
Oonagh let this rest with her for a while. ‘I can guarantee it’s not a nutter. This is the real deal, Alec. The killer is right there. I bet my mortgage on it.’
‘You told me you’d paid your mortgage off.’
‘Let’s not go through that again!’
She was glad to see he was smiling.
54
Glasgow 2002
Threadgold was waiting for him in the office. His gut burned in anticipation of the confrontation. Threadgold didn’t look pleased. Davies loosened the tie around his throat; it was choking him.
‘Sir.’ He tried to sound upbeat, casual even, but the tightness in his throat squeezed his voice and gave him away.
Threadgold’s jaw was set in a firm line; his fingers drummed out a rhythm on the desk. ‘So, what’ve you got for me?’
Davies sat down across from him and placed the file between them. ‘We have a familial match for the DNA.’
*
Oonagh ran to the front door, wiping her hands on her jeans. Whoever was there was insistent. Holding their finger on the bell; it buzzed constantly. She recognised Alec’s outline through the frosted glass. He barged through almost before she’d had time to open the door, a thunderous look on his face.
‘Right, you cut the crap, Oonagh, and tell me what the fuck’s going on.’
Oonagh wasn’t sure if it was fear, nerves or excitement that pricked her skull, but she knew by his look that the DNA matched. She ushered him through to the kitchen; he perched one hip on the edge of the island unit.
‘So, we struck gold, then?’ She wasn’t sure what else to say.
‘Struck gold? It’s not The Sun fucking bingo.’
Alec tipped his head; a thin band of sweat had formed on his top lip. Oonagh shook her head. ‘Can’t tell you.’
He walked to the hall. She thought he was leaving, but instead he opened the front door and there was a squad car outside. Two uniforms sat in the front seat. ‘Then I’ve no choice but to arrest you, Oonagh. This isn’t a game. This is a murder investigation.’
Her legs weakened and she held the banister for support. ‘Oh, shit.’ A wave of betrayal against Dorothy Malloy washed over her. ‘It’s Robbie Malloy’s.’
‘Fuck’s sake.’
‘I borrowed… OK, I stole a locket from Dorothy during one of my visits. It had the lock of hair inside.’
He closed the front door and led her through to the kitchen. ‘Why? You must have had your suspicions.’
She told Alec of the diary and the evidence stacked against Dorothy. His jaw tightened. ‘She was on all sorts of prescriptive drugs that made her crazy, Alec. Add to that post-partum psychosis.’
‘But she killed three innocent women, Oonagh. For fuck’s sake, you should have brought this to me as soon as you had an inkling.’
Oonagh was secretly miffed that Alec didn’t ask what post-partum psychosis was. ‘A clear case of diminished responsibility.’
He held up his hand. ‘You’re doing it again!’
‘What?’
‘Taking over. Can you just calm down, Oonagh? There’s a lot to take in here. OK, first things first. Can I see the diary?’
She reached into her handbag, for the copies of the extract. ‘I don’t have the original on me.’ It was on the table in front of them in a padded envelope so it wasn’t quite a lie. ‘But here I have copies.’ She held the brown envelope lightly out of reach, knowing he could take it at any time. ‘She gets treated with respect, Alec, right?’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘Please. You have to give me your word.’
He nodded and once again the overwhelming sense of betrayal engulfed her. ‘What happens now?’
‘We’ll take it from here, Oonagh.’
‘Alec, she’s not in a fit state to be…’ Oonagh’s voice cracked with emotion.
Alec softened and he reached out, holding her by the shoulders. Oonagh dropped her forehead onto his chest and let her cheek rest against the warmth of his body. He immediately jumped back.
‘What is it?’ he said, tugging at his sweater.
‘Nothing.’
‘You were sniffing my jumper. Do I smell funny?’
Shit, she hadn’t meant to do that. ‘I wasn’t sniffing your jumper! Behave yourself.’ Mortified, Oonagh busied herself around the kitchen and wiped down an already immaculate surface. ‘So, you promise to take care of her, Alec.’
He nodded slightly. ‘Don’t worry, Oonagh, all the correct procedures will be followed this time.’
It didn’t fill her with much confidence. ‘She won’t stand trial, will she? She’ll be banged up again.’ Oonagh could picture Dorothy being led back through the gates of Cartland. The place where she’d rotted for decades after the deaths of her husband and son. The place that had induced her into a medical coma for weeks and even months on end until half of her adult life had been spent in a drug-hazed stupor. That place.
Alec got up to leave and Oonagh watched him walk down the stairs. Closing the door, she couldn’t help but feel she’d signed Dorothy Malloy’s death warrant.
55
Glasgow 2002
Davies swirled the dregs of the milky coffee around the bottom of the cup before tipping the by now cooled liquid down his throat. He was within spitting distance of solving one of the most notorious cases in Glasgow, yet the burden weighed heavy on his shoulders. The thought of telling Threadgold that, not only had Dorothy Malloy slaughtered his best friend and his only son, but she was also responsible for slitting the throats of three innocent women in Glasgow. It was a procedural nightmare. The boss was looking to close this case before retirement and bask in the reflective glory that the press coverage would bring, but Davies had that gnawing feeling in his gut that this would be one victory that Threadgold would not want publicised.
He looked at his watch. The meeting was scheduled for 10 a.m. He was cutting it fine, but had no real desire to meet this Malloy woman.
‘Y’right, boss?’ McVeigh was already standing, doing that irritating thing with his left foot, dancing his heel on the ground. Davies nodded and put the coffee cup to his lip once more, but it was already empty.
The car was still warm from the morning journey, and some weak sunshine pierced through the thin clouds as they made their way to Pollokshields. He hadn’t told Threadgold who the familial DNA had belonged to. At that stage he hadn’t known himself, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that his boss was not exactly kicking his heels at the news of a breakthrough. It might have been his imagination, but, by the look in his eye, he was sure the old boy was fucking furious. Perhaps Oonagh was right, and he knew more than he was letting on.
; Davies had a few calls to make so let McVeigh drive – easier that way.
‘You’re driving too close to the kerb.’
‘This is the correct road position.’
‘Don’t argue, McVeigh, and… Oh, for fu… you almost hit him.’
‘No, I never, he’s miles away.’
‘Catch that light, catch the light, it’s still green.’
McVeigh stopped at the amber light, pulled on the handbrake and eased the gear stick into neutral.
‘You could easily have made that!’ Davies was sure his anger issues would subside if only they’d keep other people away from him.
‘Stop it. You’re making me nervous.’
‘Where the fuck did you pass your test? Some bloody sheep-shagging outpost somewhere with no traffic lights?’
McVeigh ignored the jibe and drove in relative silence before taking the sharp left into the driveway.
‘Right, no fuck-ups this time.’
McVeigh nodded.
‘Everything by the book.’ Davies had no intention of having any slip-ups this time round with Dorothy Malloy.
They were led to a drawing room at the back of the house by a woman with a manic grin. Davies couldn’t help but wonder had she been born with that affliction. Sunlight flooded the room and the Manic Grin Lady pulled the blind down very slightly before offering them tea.
‘She’ll be down in a moment.’
Davies steeled himself against meeting Dorothy Malloy, and unclenched his fist in case he was met with an overwhelming desire to punch her. He’d met people before, playing the ‘I’m fucking mental’ card. It didn’t wash.
The door opened and in walked a small, slightly built chap, holding his hand out. ‘Alec, good to see you again,’ he said, and nodded to McVeigh.
Davies didn’t have a clue who he was; it must have showed in his expression.
‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
‘Just remind me, sorry – I’m hopeless with names.’
Keep Her Silent Page 23