‘So,’ Burnett steepled his fingers, ‘you admit, Lewis, to having moved Lucy’s body.’
Lewis cast a covert glance at the lawyer who sat, expressionless, by his side. ‘Aye.’
x
‘Is it OK if I ask you some questions?’ This addressed to Lewis by detective constable Susan Strachan, who sat alongside Brian.
Lewis looked to the lawyer for support. Found none. He turned to his mother.
‘Dinna look at me,’ Morag McHardy ducked away, defeat written all over her face. In her short career, Susan had seen that look on too many women: women worn down by circumstance and kept down by need.
The boy looked at the DC. He nodded.
‘After you left the kirkyard – you, Willie, Kieran, Ryan and Kyle – can you tell me what happened then?’
Lewis thrust out his chin. ‘We went hame.’
‘All of you?’
‘Aye. Kyle hud tae be hame by eight o’clock.’
The DC lowered her voice. ‘Then can you explain to me, Lewis, why your pals had to come looking for you?”
The boy’s leg started to spasm. ‘Dunno.’
‘Because that’s what happened, isn’t it?’
‘N-no.’
Susan shifted in her seat. ‘How would you respond, Lewis, if I said you were telling fibs?’
The boy looked up at the video camera. Looked down at the constable. ‘Ah’m no.’
‘I need to remind you, Lewis,’ she persisted, ‘that the reason I’m asking these questions is because the police are investigating a murder here. This is a very serious matter, and the way you answer my questions could have very grave consequences. Do you understand me?’
‘Y-yes.’
‘Well, then,’ she adopted a more conciliatory tone, ‘let me ask you again. Did you go back to the kirkyard on your own that evening?’
‘Christ almighty!’ The boy’s mother leapt to her feet.
There was a soft pattering sound. A pool of liquid formed on the floor by the boy’s seat.
Not again! Susan sighed inwardly. She turned to her superior officer for guidance.
‘Let’s take a break,’ Brian announced. ‘Interview suspended at…’ He checked the time on the clock, switched off the tape and rose to his feet.
x
The red light on the recorder winked. ‘Are you all right now, Lewis?’ Brian enquired.
The boy nodded.
‘Did they get you something to eat?’
His face lit up. ‘Coke and a KitKat.’
‘Good. Well then, do you remember that before your wee break, you were going to tell us about going back into the kirkyard? Is that what you did, Lewis?’
The lad shuffled in his seat. ‘Might have.’
‘And just say you did,’ Brian smiled encouragement, ‘what might you have done? Once you got back there, that is?’
Lewis turned his head away. ‘Don’t remember.’
Morag McHardy’s bulk stirred in its chair. ‘Ur we gaun tae sit here aw nicht?’
‘Mrs McHardy, you’ve already been warned…’
‘Aye,’ she glowered, ‘richt.’ She turned to her son. ‘Ye better tell the man. If there’s onythin tae tell.’
Lewis studied his trainers. He stuck a finger in his mouth, gnawed on it for a few moments, took it out again. ‘Ah wanted a keek at the quine’s willy. Oh,’ he corrected. ‘Pussy. Wimmin dinna hae a willy.’
Brian resisted the urge to smile. ‘That’s right, Lewis. They don’t. So correct me if I’m wrong – you wanted to have a look at Lucy’s private parts.’
‘Aye.’
‘And to do that, did you have to pull down her jeans?’
The boy nodded again. ‘An her breeks.’
‘Yah wee…’ Morag McHardy’s outburst was quelled by a stern look.
‘What did you find? Can you tell me that, Lewis?’ This from Susan.
Lewis looked to the female detective. ‘A wee pussy. It was nice,’ the boy had a dreamy look in his eyes. ‘Soft. Like a moosie’s nest,’ he added lamely.
‘Have you seen a pussy before, Lewis?’ the DC enquired.
‘Aye.’ The boy’s voice was indignant. ‘Ah seen them on the internet. Bit they wur nae like…’ He broke off sharply. ‘Naethin but baldy yins.’
‘Lew-is!’ Morag McHardy again.
‘An oor Michelle’s hud a Brazilian. Landing strips, the first time round,’ he snickered behind his hand. ‘An then she hud it aw aff.’
His mother blushed scarlet. ‘How the fuck d’ye ken that?’
‘Heard her on the phone tae wan o’ her mates.’
‘Anything else?’ Brian came back in. ‘I mean did you do anything after you’d had a look?’
Vigorously, Lewis shook his head.
‘All right,’ Brian scribbled further notes. ‘We can come back to that later. What I want you tell me now, Lewis, is whether Lucy had a mobile phone.’
‘Aye. It wis in her jacket pocket.’
‘Where is it now – Lucy’s phone? Did you take it?’
‘Nick it, d’ye mean?’ Lewis scratched his head. ‘Naw. Ah pit it somewhere safe.’
Bingo! Brian leaned forward. ‘And where would that be?’
Lewis cast him a vacant look. ‘Dunno.’
‘Lew-is,’ Morag McHardy again.
The lad whirled to face his mother. ‘Ye telt me no tae leave stuff like that lyin aroon.’
‘All right,’ Burnett intervened. ‘We’ll return to that. So to recap, Lewis, you went back to the kirkyard. You had a look at Lucy’s privates. Did you do anything else? Before you left Lucy, that is.’
‘Ah laid the lassie oot. That’s whit ye dae wi deid folk. Richt, Mum?’ Lewis looked to his mother for approval. Morag McHardy turned her face away. ‘That’s whit they did tae ma gran. Afore they took her to the crem,’ Lewis addressed Brian.
‘So you laid the girl out, you say? How did you do that, Lewis?’
‘Stretched oot her arms and legs. Nice an tidy, like.’
‘As if she was sleeping?’
‘Naw. Like a cross.’
‘A cross?’ Brian pounced on the word.
‘Nae a straight up an doon cross. It wis a X-shape ah wis meanin.’ His face lit up. ‘We got that in Sunday School – how Andrew wis a friend o’ Jesus, an he…’
‘Button it.’ Morag McHardy rolled her eyes.
‘So you had a wee keek, Lewis, and then you made the girl tidy?’
‘Aye,’ he grinned.
‘What did you do then? Touch Lucy, maybe?’
‘The bugger’s nine year old.’
‘Even so, Mrs McHardy.’
Brian earned himself another hard look. ‘Lewis?’
‘She looked that puir, lyin oot in the cold like that,’ Lewis turned an apologetic face. ‘Ah pit a wee cross on her.’
A shiver ran down Brian’s spine. ‘Why did you do that?’
The boy shrugged. ‘Keep the bad folk away.’
‘That’s whit ye get fur watchin them fuckin videos.’ Morag McHardy’s face was livid.
‘Would those be videos you were shown by a big boy?’
Lewis gave Brian a sideways look.
‘Do you remember? Back in my flat, you told me…’
‘Naw,’ Mrs McHardy answered for her son. ‘It’s they fuckin Goth things ye’re aye…’
‘Never mind about that,’ Brian quieted the woman with a look. ‘We’ll return to the videos later. And when you left Lucy, did you leave her lying outstretched on the big stone with her jeans undone and that wee cross on her body?’
The boy nodded. ‘Aye.’
‘Let me ask you one more thing.’ Brian collected his thoughts. ‘All that time you were with Lucy – the first time, when you went into St Machar an
d found her lying there and the other lads joined you, then when you went back on your own to have another look – in all that time, did Lucy show any sign of life?’
A flicker of alarm crossed the boy’s face.
‘A small movement, maybe?’ Brian prompted.
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
Lewis nodded.
‘Quite sure?’ Brian persisted.
For a moment, the lad hesitated.
‘Do you remember what you’ve been told?’ Brian continued. ‘Your answers will have very serious consequences. Not just for you, but for your mum too.’
Lewis looked to his mother. Morag McHardy squeezed her eyes shut.
‘Let me put this to you again. Did you see any sign of life?’
The boy shook his head so hard Brian felt dizzy.
‘Lewis,’ Brian dropped his voice. Leaned across the table.
‘She made a noise.’ Lewis’s eyes were out on stalks. ‘A wee wan. Like she wis snorin.’
There was a stunned silence in the room.
Brian bent forward until his eyes were level with Lewis’s own. ‘And what did you do?’ he asked in a soft voice. Not that it made a difference. According to Alec Gourlay, the girl would have died anyway.
The boy cast around the small room: floor, walls, ceiling. He glanced from one official to another: DS, DC, solicitor.
He eyed his mother. Morag McHardy’s eyes remained resolutely shut.
Lewis looked down at his hands. Looked up again. He scanned the four blank faces. Fixed his eyes on Brian.
‘Ah jist wanted the quine tae shut up,’ he pleaded. ‘Look, ah’ll show ye.’
Lewis brought a hand to his face. ‘Ah said “wheesht”, that’s aw.’
He spread five small fingers over his nose and mouth.
Mindin yer Back
Maggie let herself in. Pulled the door to. For a few moments, she leaned back, exhausted. There wasn’t a sound from upstairs. Downstairs either. She tiptoed down the hallway and stuck her head into the dark kitchen. Through the window, a full moon cast long shadows onto gleaming worktops through clouds thready as skeins of wool. Tired as she was, Maggie felt a warm surge of satisfaction. She never went to bed leaving a dirty kitchen. Her mother had trained her too well.
She turned. All she’d been thinking about for the past hour was a hot shower and a clean bed. She retraced her steps. At the foot of the stairs she stopped. She’d look in on Colin, she resolved, before she turned in. One hand on the newel post, Maggie stiffened. She was sure she’d heard a noise. It came from behind, from the direction of the front door. Perhaps she’d been followed. Palpitations thudded in her chest. No, surely not. The street had been deserted when she got out of her car. Still, Fatboy had given her a fright. And hadn’t Brian warned her if she persisted in pursuing Gilruth, she’d be dealing with dangerous people?
It came again, a low, guttural sound. Like air being expelled from a tyre. No, not a tyre. A balloon, maybe, or a… She stood stock still. Held her breath for as long as she could manage. Snore.
The sitting-room door stood slightly ajar. Hand flat against the woodwork, Maggie exerted gentle pressure until she could just see in. The sodium streetlights cast an unearthly glow over George’s chair, stripping it almost completely of colour. Beyond that, the settee loomed out of the gloom like some great grey pachyderm. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she could make out a figure curled there. On the carpet stood a bottle and an empty glass.
‘Wilma?’ Maggie bent. Gently, she rocked the slumbering figure.
‘Ah-ah-ah-ah…’ A series of small snorts issued from Wilma’s nose.
‘Wilma!’ Maggie poked a tentative finger into her neighbour’s arm.
The figure turned over, back to her. Maggie jabbed again, more aggressively this time.
‘Wha-a-at?’ The body jerked. Rolled over. One eye blinked open, followed after an interval by the other.
‘What are you doing here?’
Wilma’s head jerked upright. ‘Ah wis waitin fur you, ya daft bugger.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘What the hell time is it?’
‘Past midnight.’
Ponderously, Wilma heaved herself to a sitting position. ‘How did it go?’
She smothered a yawn. ‘Tell you in the morning.’
‘Maggie.’ Wilma was wide awake now.
‘Seriously, Wilma, I’m shattered.’
‘I’ll make you a good strong cup of tea.’
‘No, it would only keep me awake.’
‘Drink, then. I’ve a bottle on the go.’
‘Oh, all right.’ She flopped down onto the settee. ‘Just the one.’
Maggie took a mouthful from the generous glass of wine Wilma poured. She swilled it around her mouth, savouring the brambly flavours of the Shiraz, then swallowed, letting the peppery liquid prickle the back of her throat.
‘Well?’ Impatient voice. ‘Did them kids play ball?’
She threw a rueful smile. ‘Yes and no. I didn’t get much joy on the drugs front, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh.’ Wilma’s face fell. ‘Wasn’t that the whole point of the exercise?’
‘Yes. And I did manage to scare the living daylights out of the lot of them during our wee session down the beach. All except Willie.’ Maggie pulled a face. ‘He was still protesting his innocence when I left him.’
‘Then if you didn’t get any joy on the drugs…’
‘I got something else. Wee Kyle let on it was them moved Lucy Simmons at St Machar.’
Wilma’s eyes popped. ‘What did he have to say?’
‘It was Kieran that filled in the gaps. And after we got to Brian’s…’
‘Hang on. Brian Burnett? How does he come into this?’
‘I took the kids to his place. Willie Meston was so desperate to avoid any contact with the law, I thought maybe Brian might be able to help. He was pretty shocked…’ Maggie yawned, ‘when he discovered what the boys had been up to. And to top that, Lewis was able to fill us in on the drug dealer.’
Wilma brightened, ‘So you got a result after all?’
‘And how? Seems the guy is not only dug in to that flat I’ve had my eye on – the one Kyle goes to the child minder. But he’s had Lewis round to his own place to watch porn movies.’
‘What a dick!’
‘And as if that wasn’t enough, there seem to have been some very odd things going on in Esplanade Court. Anyhow, Brian was a big help. Smoothed the path for us at Queen Street.’
Wilma grinned. ‘Didn’t I tell you he had the hots for you?’
Maggie grimaced. ‘Still, I counted myself lucky to get my statement in without running into that bastard Chisolm.’
‘So you all went down there together?’
‘Brian took the kids. I followed.’
‘Did you now?’ Wilma threw her a quizzical look.
She buried her nose in her wine glass.
‘Maggie!’
‘As a matter of fact,’ she raised her head. ‘I nipped back to Seaton first. Thought I’d check out that flat.’
‘You reckon that was a good idea?’
‘We-ell,’ Maggie looked hang-dog. Her encounter with Fatboy had frightened the wits out of her.
‘The dealer, was he there?’
‘Yes. Shouldn’t have been, but the child minder had gone missing.’
‘So what did the guy have to say for himself?’
‘Oh,’ she looked away, ‘not a lot. And I couldn’t have been in there long before the police came crashing in, complete with enforcer, and took the pair of us down to Queen Street.’
‘Maggie Laird,’ Wilma tittered, ‘that’s some going.’
Maggie glowered. ‘What d’you mean by that?’
‘Well, first you’ve had uniform at your door. Next
thing you’re being escorted down the nick by the boys in black, visors an all.’
She ignored this. ‘What I can’t understand is who set that up. I mean, Brian wouldn’t have had time, and…’
Wilma’s nose twitched.
‘It’s not funny.’
Her shoulders started to heave.
‘Wil-ma!’
She was laughing now, mouth wide, head thrown back.
‘Stop it.’
Wilma covered her face with her hands, but her shoulders continued to shake.
‘What I can’t work out,’ Maggie ran on, ‘is how the police managed to turn up, complete with search warrant, at the very moment when…?’
‘When, what?’ Concern was etched on Wilma’s face. ‘Did something happen in that flat, Maggie?’
She shrugged. ‘As I was saying, it couldn’t have been Brian, and…’ Her eyes met Wilma’s. Sharply, Wilma turned her head away.
‘It was you, wasn’t it?’
She turned back. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because you’ve got that guilty look on your face. Have you been spying on me, Wilma Harcus?’
‘No.’
‘Then how did you know they were in black, with visors, the lot that took us away?’
Wilma shrugged. ‘That’s what a drugs raid looks like.’
‘I never said it was a drugs raid.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘I did not. Wilma, I’ll ask you again, have you been spying on me?’
‘Not spying. Shadowing, mebbe?’ she ventured. Then ‘If you must know, I was mindin yer back.’
‘Why on earth would you…?’
Wilma cut Maggie short. ‘You’ve had me scared half to death, Maggie Laird. And tonight, when I saw you go in… And then you didn’t come out again… I damn near had a heart attack. Oh, Christ,’ she banged a hand to her forehead, ‘I’ve put my fuckin foot in it again.’
Maggie drew herself up. ‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Off and on. Ever since thon night you forgot your phone.’
‘You’ve got a nerve.’
‘Aye,’ Wilma countered, ‘I have. It’s one of the reasons we make a good team.’ Hastily, she changed the subject. ‘What about the kids?’
‘I never saw them after they went off with Brian. The police would have had to wait for legal representation before they could be interviewed, I suppose. And get the mothers in.’
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