‘Going back to the accusation,’ Alex murmured, ‘you said that Marcia denied it vehemently.’
‘Absolutely, from the beginning. She protested her innocence from the outset. When she was charged, she said that was how she intended to plead – and then the procurator fiscal had a private word with her solicitor. He told him that there was more than enough evidence to convict, and that if she went to trial, the sheriff would be likely to impose a custodial sentence, precisely because she was a public figure. On the other hand, if she pleaded guilty, there would be a modest fine and that would be it.’
‘What did she do?’
‘It didn’t get that far. The day before the pleading diet, she was found dead.’
‘Did she leave a note?’
‘No.’
‘Was there any hint that she was about to take her own life?’
‘None. On the contrary, she told Austin the night before she died that she intended to go to trial.’
Alex frowned. ‘Did the police treat her death in any way other than suicide?’
‘Not that I could see. The investigating officer was the man in charge of the shoplifting case.’
She gasped. ‘You’re joking. That’s . . . it’s irregular at the very least.’
‘It was nine years ago,’ Brass pointed out, ‘in a different policing environment.’
‘I don’t care if it was in the reign of Queen Victoria,’ she retorted. ‘Given the possibility that the death was linked to the prosecution he was driving, that should never have been allowed. Do you know the officer’s name?’
‘Terry Coats; he was a detective sergeant at the time, later detective inspector. Mind you, Austin did have a measure of revenge. He did an exposé on the man in Brass Rubbings a year or so back, and Coats was held to account. He resigned from the force shortly afterwards. I believe he was briefly a suspect in Austin’s murder.’
‘That much I do know,’ Alex said. ‘My father had a run-in with him. You’re correct, he was a suspect, but he was eliminated very quickly.’ She paused. ‘How did the Terry Coats piece come about? Was Austin watching everything he did, looking for evidence of any wrongdoing?’
‘No, he was very careful about Coats. The fact is, he was tipped off by a very senior officer that it was worth taking a look at him.’
‘Was that a coincidence, or did that officer share his doubts about the accusation against Marcia?’
‘I can’t honestly say, although I suspect that if it was the case, Austin would have told me.’ He paused, but only for a second. ‘No, it’s not possible,’ he decided. ‘Before he ran the exposé on Coats, he cleared it with me. I noted that it didn’t refer back to his mother, and he said no, that he didn’t want to be seen as less than objective, not until he had one hundred per cent proof of a conspiracy. Then he would act.’
‘This person who spilled the beans on Coats. Do you know who it was?’
‘I believe so. If I’m right, she’s dead.’
Alex nodded; she sat silent for a while, considering everything that he had told her. ‘Mr Brass,’ she continued, ‘this is a very sad story and I sympathise with you for the losses you’ve suffered. But what do you want me to do? Why are you here?’
He gazed at her across the width of the table; his eyes were kind, but as sad as any she had ever seen. ‘I would like to see justice done, for Marcia and for Austin. Her death triggered the circumstances that led to his murder. If she hadn’t died, he would never have started that blog of his, never have been working on the story that got him killed. He’d have had a quiet and fulfilling career and the world would never have heard of him. But he didn’t. To my shame, I encouraged him to start Brass Rubbings and backed him financially until it started to generate revenue. It was very popular. It didn’t take long until its readership was large enough to attract advertisers.’ He wrung his massive hands and winced. ‘I should have seen the danger in what he was doing, though. I should have realised that he might attract the attention of dangerous people, both within the police force and beyond.’
‘You couldn’t have anticipated what happened to him,’ she said.
‘I should have. I was blinkered, I didn’t realise the potential consequences. For example, I never knew, until your father told me, that someone died as a result of the piece on Detective Inspector Coats. It identified a man, a confidential informant to whom Coats was closer than he should have been. Not long after it appeared, the fellow was found murdered. If I had known that, I would have put a stop to the blog there and then, but I didn’t until it was too late for my son.’
‘This is about your conscience, isn’t it?’ Alex suggested. ‘As much as it’s about justice.’
‘I suppose it is,’ Brass admitted, ‘but it’s about my anger too, over Marcia and the way she was . . . what’s the phrase? Framed, fitted up, for that shoplifting.’
‘You think she was?’
‘I’m persuaded that she was, Ms Skinner. I don’t know who did it, or why, but I don’t think they did it without help. I suspect that Strathclyde Police, Mr Coats in particular, colluded with it.’
‘That’s a big accusation, and it brings me back to my question. What do you want me to do about it?’
The man drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. For a moment, Alex thought that he was meditating, but in fact he was simply composing himself, finding the right words, for his eyes opened and he replied. ‘I want you to take Marcia’s case. Even though she’s dead, even though it’s years in the past, even though the supermarket in question no longer exists. I want you to reopen the investigation and clear her name.’
‘You want me to treat her as a living client?’
‘Precisely.’
‘The problem with that is that she isn’t,’ she exclaimed, ‘and unfortunately dead people don’t qualify for legal aid.’
‘That isn’t a problem, Ms Skinner. I’m not Warren Buffett, but I’m wealthy enough; I can afford your fee.’
‘And my associated costs? I might need to employ an investigator, and I tell you now, it will not be my father, not on a case that might involve police corruption as you suggest.’
‘That too. This means a great deal to me, Ms Skinner.’
‘Call me Alex, for God’s sake,’ she retorted. ‘I’m still struggling to see where I would start on this. It’s ancient history, the case never came to court and the chances are that the investigation files have been destroyed.’
Brass picked up his briefcase and snapped it open. ‘That may be, but I have a copy. Austin came by the papers through a contact who had a down on Mr Coats and who had his own doubts about the quality of the case against Marcia.’ He took out a thick folder and laid it on the table. ‘It’s all here. The complaint by the supermarket, witness lists, statements, all that stuff. All of it bogus, I believe.’
‘Again, do you know who that contact was?’
‘Not by name, but my understanding was that he worked in the procurator fiscal’s office.’
‘Let me see the papers, please.’ He slid the file across. She opened it and began to study.
‘This appears to have come from the procurator fiscal’s office,’ she murmured. ‘This is the charge sheet. It alleges that she stole a matching jacket and dress, value one hundred and sixty pounds, from the premises of LuxuMarket Limited in Kilmarnock.’ She moved on and read in silence for over a minute. ‘This appears to be a statement by the store manager, Mrs Hazel Delaney. It alleges that the items were hidden in a plastic bag that Ms Brown . . . Ms Brown?’
‘Marcia reverted to her maiden name after our divorce,’ he explained. ‘Not because she was at odds with me, but because she was very combative in her council role and didn’t want me or my dental practice to suffer because of her.’
‘I see. The statement says that she failed to present the bag at the checkout, that she was observed by store security and stopped in the car park.’ She flicked through the file. ‘There’s a statement by one Zaqib Butt, describing tha
t. It says her groceries were in five bags and the clothes were in a sixth, hanging on a hook on her trolley.’
‘That’s right; I know it all by heart. It describes the contents of the bag.’
Alex looked at the guard’s deposition. ‘Matching dress and jacket in peacock blue,’ she read, ‘from the LuxuMarket Regency range.’
‘Size?’ Brass interjected.
‘Size twelve.’
‘Exactly. Marcia was a biggish woman. She was a size sixteen, although she would only ever admit to being a fourteen. If she was going to steal something it wouldn’t have been that many sizes too small for her; maybe one out of vanity or optimism, but no more.’
Alex nodded, fully engaged in the story for the first time. ‘What did she say about the bag on the hook?’
‘She told me that after she cleared the checkout, she was distracted by another shopper, a constituent who wanted to nobble her about some complaint or other that he had against the council. She left her trolley at the exit and went across to speak to him for a few seconds. She believed that was when the bag was put on the hook.’
‘Why didn’t she see it? Usually these hooks are below the handle and pretty visible.’
‘This one wasn’t. There was a hook there, but others on the sides of the trolley. The bag was on one that was out of her sight. If you look in the file, you’ll find a photograph that Detective Coats took when he arrived.’
‘Coats was actually at the scene?’ she exclaimed. ‘Shoplifting is a uniform job as a rule.’
‘Delaney, the store manager, called the station commander, and Coats turned up. He said it was because Marcia was a councillor and the police thought it might be a delicate situation.’
‘How did she know to phone the commander?’
‘I can’t say for certain, but I have my suspicions.’
‘Those being?’
‘This is where it gets tasty.’ Brass leaned back stiffly on his chair. ‘When Austin began to investigate, after his mother’s death, he went through her papers, her notes, everything. He found a diary entry that referred to a fellow councillor, an opponent, a Labour person. It was underlined and had three exclamation marks after it, a typical Marcia sign that she was not best pleased with that person. Austin approached one of her allies on the staff of the council, and established that a week before the LuxuMarket incident, Marcia and this person had a blazing row in the councillors’ sitting room.’
‘Did he find out what it was about?’
‘No, only that there had been voices raised and fingers pointed, threats made on either side. There was nothing in Marcia’s notebook that offered a clue to the business.’
‘The name of her enemy?’
‘She’s called Gloria Stephens. She’s still on the council; in fact she’s its leader, as she was then. With Marcia out of the way, she went from strength to strength; she pretty much runs the district now.’
Alex nodded. ‘Okay, David. If I’m reading this right, your suggestion is that there is a connection between their argument and Marcia’s arrest. How could that possibly happen?’
‘Very simply. Councillor Stephens has a daughter, Vera. She was on the staff of the supermarket, an assistant manager. Her responsibilities included the clothing range. At that time, she was engaged to a police constable, who was a regular golf partner of Terry Coats. Austin believed that Vera Stephens set the whole thing up at her mother’s behest, and that it was her fiancé who advised her to make the complaint directly to the station commander.’
‘What’s the cop’s name?’
‘If I ever knew, I’m afraid I can’t remember. We didn’t know about him until Austin started to investigate.’
‘If it was that carefully set up,’ Alex pointed out, ‘surely the constituent who distracted Marcia must have been involved too. Do you know who he was?’
Brass sighed. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘That’s the damnable thing. Marcia couldn’t remember his surname; his forename was Adrian, that she did recall.’
‘Did Austin try to find him?’
‘He did, but without success. That of itself was significant. He went through the entire electoral roll for the West Coast Council, but couldn’t find a single registered voter called Adrian, first name or second.’
‘What about the security man, Mr Butt? Was he interviewed?’
‘Only by the police and the fiscal. When Austin tried to speak to him, he was told that he had resigned from his job.’
‘I assume that Marcia had a solicitor. What was his name? Is he still in practice?’
‘She did, but no, he isn’t. His firm, Black and Grey, still exists but he retired four years ago. His name is Cedric Black, but I have no idea where he is these days.’
‘Do you know if the firm holds a file on the case?’
‘They did, but they refused to release it to Austin; they may have been scared by LuxuMarket’s aggressive posture. Austin believed it had been destroyed because it showed that Black had made no real effort to put together a defence for Marcia.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
Brass offered a small smile. ‘Does that mean you’ll take the case?’ he asked.
‘I’ll explore it,’ Alex replied. ‘But you need to know this. The only way it will be reopened will be if I find evidence of criminality. Nine years on, even if you’re right, the chances are that tracks will have been covered well and truly; what I’m saying is don’t build your hopes up.’
‘I understand that; I’ve always understood it. What more do you need from me?’
‘Initially, I need a letter of instruction from you. If I have to require access to the records of Black and Grey, I’ll need to have the authority to go to the Law Society to force it. I may need access to Austin’s papers on the subject as well.’
He frowned. ‘Austin’s files are quite extensive; I had them moved to my house in Kelso after he died. Do you want me to bring them all up here?’
‘I don’t need you to bring anything up. I’ll ask my investigator to go to you if it becomes necessary.’
‘Do you know who that will be, if not your father?’
Alex grinned. ‘Oh yes. I have the very woman in mind.’
To continue reading The Bad Fire,
download the ebook now.
www.headline.co.uk
Uncover the very best in crime and thriller writing . . .
Sign up for the Crime Files newsletter
@CrimeFilesBooks
/crimefiles
/crime-files-podcast
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About the Author
Praise for Quintin Jardine
Also by Quintin Jardine
About the Book
Dedication
Epigraph
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Fifty-Nine
Sixty
Sixty-One
Sixty-Two
Sixty-Three
Sixty-Four
Sixty-Five
Sixty-Six
Sixty-Seven
Sixty-Eight
Sixty-Nine
Seventy
Seventy-One
Seventy-Two
Seventy-Three
Seventy-Four
Seventy-Five
Seventy-Six
Seventy-Seven
Seventy-Eight
Seventy-Nine
Eighty
Eighty-One
Eighty-Two
Eighty-Three
Read an extract from THE BAD FIRE
The Roots of Evil (Bob Skinner) Page 33