Lamb to the Slaughter (41 page)

It was a tedious job, but just at the moment punishment made her feel better, in an odd sort of way. The problem about the cameras, of course, was that they covered such a small area. You could see when people went to and fro along the High Street and in the Square, but not where they were going to or what they were doing, except right there in the centre of town. Their movements told a story in themselves, but if you were taking trouble to avoid being seen there were plenty of back streets. It was no secret where the cameras were placed.

Kerr skimmed through, slowing down when she saw MacNee going into the Cutty Sark and again, rather later, when Macdonald appeared and went inside. Walked right into it there, hadn’t he? she thought with a wry smile.

Then, at last, she spotted something. She froze the frame, checked the number plate, and wrote down the time. She called up Saturday’s footage, fast-forwarding to the appropriate time, and had a look at that, too. Yes, this was definitely interesting. Very interesting.

She logged off, then went in search of MacNee. Wilson was working at a desk at the other end of the room, his head bent in ostentatious concentration.

It took her some time to run the sergeant to earth, but she finally found him in the control room, leaving instructions for the telephone operators with the Force Civilian Assistant who was in charge.

‘Nothing’s to be said to the press, whatever the query, except that Superintendent Bailey will be making a statement in the morning. DI Fleming isn’t to be disturbed – you heard about her father?’

The woman nodded, and he went on, ‘And there’s no point in putting them through to me or to the Super, because that’s all we’ll say. OK?’

Seeing Kerr, he turned. ‘Got something for me?’

‘Might have. Couple of things.’

They walked out of the control room together. There were several interview rooms further on down the corridor, but she was surprised that MacNee said, ‘We’ll just go into one of these, shall we?’ instead of heading back to the CID room. Still, it suited her. The less she saw of Will just at the moment, the better.

She told him about the pizza delivery, and he grinned. ‘Nailed the bastard on that one, anyway. He’ll have some explaining to do, at the very least. And?’

‘This is the interesting one. The Farquharsons’ statement claimed that on Saturday they’d left the farm in convoy to go straight to the superstore meeting. But the CCTV footage shows him coming into Kirkluce at quarter to six. She came in at around ten past. She came from the Ravenshill direction but he didn’t.’

MacNee’s eyes gleamed. ‘So what was he doing, for three-quarters of an hour before the meeting started? I like that – I like it a lot.’

‘I can do better than that. On Monday evening, when they claimed neither of them left the house, she’s on tape coming into Kirkluce, about twenty minutes before Barney was shot, driving towards the Wester Seton end of town and coming back again after all our cars started going out there.’

‘No sign of Farquharson himself, though?’

She shook her head.

‘Conspiracy,’ MacNee said thoughtfully. ‘Seriously plausible motive; they both had everything to gain – or thought they did. Leaves big question marks, mind. How could she have found out that the boys would be there at that time? Not to mention why he had to be killed. Kyle didn’t happen to go past Fauldburn House at a time when he could have seen something incriminating – Black told me the boys were with him in the afternoon, and when Macdonald and Campbell spoke to them this afternoon they confirmed it.’

‘We need to have a go at the Farquharsons, though. I don’t mind working late tonight,’ she urged, but MacNee wasn’t up for it.

‘I’d rather have a word with the boss first. I’m sure she’ll be back tomorrow, and we can pull them in then.’

She was a little surprised – it wasn’t like Tam to hold back. But it was his first day back at work, after all; maybe he wasn’t feeling great and didn’t want to admit it. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘If that’s all, I’ll just go back and tidy up before the end of the shift.’

MacNee looked at his watch. ‘Is that the time? For goodness’ sake – hadn’t realised it was so late. Is Will still here, do you know?’

She tried not to cringe at the mention of his name. ‘As far as I know. He was in the CID room when I left it.’

It had sounded as if MacNee wanted a word with him, so she was surprised when he didn’t follow her to the CID room, heading instead for the reception hall.

None of her business anyway. She headed there herself to finish off and prepare for a long, miserable evening. She hadn’t even the heart to phone one of her girlfriends.

MacNee looked anxiously round the reception area. It was quiet at the moment; there was a man waiting at the far end, patiently reading a newspaper. The evening shift was coming on, and his brow cleared when he saw that the desk sergeant, Linda Bruce, was handing over to Jock Naismith.

He greeted the two officers, then asked whether Will Wilson had gone home yet.

‘Don’t think so. Hasn’t passed here, anyway. Have a good evening, boys!’ She slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘I’m just off to aerobics. The things we do for so-called pleasure! Ta-ra!’ She went off with a grin and a wave.

Naismith grinned after her. ‘Nice lassie,’ he said to MacNee.

‘Yes,’ MacNee agreed absent-mindedly. ‘Listen, Jock, I’m going to do something awful. It’s going to cause trouble.’

‘Oh God! And you only back today!’ Naismith was resigned.

‘Listen.’ MacNee outlined his plan. At the end, he said, ‘Are you with me?’

Naismith groaned. ‘You’re aff your heid!’

‘Not as much as you think. I can cope. Are you in?’

Naismith said guardedly, ‘Well, I won’t say anything to contradict what you say.’

‘And you’ll say that one line I told you?’

Naismith gave a heavy sigh. ‘I’ll say that one line you told me. But I must be as daft as you are.’

It was only minutes later that Wilson appeared, going off shift. His face was set in hard lines, and though he nodded to the others as he passed, he didn’t speak or smile. Then MacNee called, ‘Will, I just wanted to warn you – there’s press sniffing around. Watch what you say about it if they approach you.’

Wilson looked surprised, but came across. ‘About what?’

‘Have you not heard? We’ve made an arrest.’

‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard,’ Naismith said a little woodenly. ‘Everyone’s buzzing with it downstairs.’

‘Who is it, then?’ Wilson’s expression had changed to one of avid interest.

‘Salaman. He’s being charged with Carmichael’s murder.’

‘Really? Thought he was miles away at the time.’

‘That’s what we all thought,’ MacNee said solemnly. ‘But—’ He shrugged.

‘That’s amazing. And what about Kyle?’

‘Hasn’t been charged with that yet – there’s a bit more work needed. But look, Will, I was wanting to warn you – we’ve to be careful. The
Daily Record
seems to have picked up on it – one hint of confirmation and they’ll run the story. And the Super’s dead keen to announce it at his conference tomorrow.’

‘Sure, sure,’ Wilson said eagerly. ‘I’m on my way home anyway, and I’m not stopping to talk to anyone.’

‘Good lad,’ MacNee said, and he and Naismith watched in silence as Wilson went out, looking rather better pleased with life.

‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Naismith said ­heavily.

‘I know what I’m doing, all right.’ MacNee grinned. ‘I’m just not absolutely sure what will happen now I’ve done it. But you can get a long way with flat denial.’

The editor was doubtful. ‘No official confirmation of this, though?’

‘No,’ the reporter admitted. ‘They’re stalling. Couldn’t get hold of anyone in authority and all they’re saying is there’s to be a statement tomorrow – don’t want their thunder stolen is my guess. But my source is a good one – given us some great leads, one hundred per cent reliable in the past.’

‘It’s a huge risk. Anything else at all to back it up?’

‘The hotel says he left unexpectedly this afternoon, which would fit the facts. And apparently the
Daily Record
’s snooping around. They’ve obviously got wind of it too somehow. If we don’t run it, they’ll dig it out and get the scoop. And it’s a great story.’

The editor chewed his lip, between the devils of the deadline and the deep blue sea. ‘OK,’ he said at last. ‘We’ll run it. But I hope to God you’re right.’

20

DC Will Wilson came into the CID room with a spring in his step. Avoiding Tansy Kerr, who was hard at work at one of the desks, he made for the group of detectives standing over by the window, talking about football. That surprised him a little: usually when stuff was happening, there was a hum of excitement.

‘Hey! What about Salaman, then?’ he said jauntily as he joined them. ‘Any more news this morning?’

They looked at him blankly. ‘Salaman?’ one said.

‘The arrest. You know,’ he prompted.

‘Has he been arrested? Who said?’

They were all staring at him and he felt the first prickle of unease. ‘He was arrested yesterday afternoon – they were going to charge him with Carmichael’s murder at least. Tam MacNee told me.’

‘Maybe they’re keeping it quiet,’ someone else said doubtfully. ‘But I booked someone in on a drink-driving charge early evening yesterday and they didn’t say a word down at the charge desk.’

‘
Everyone’s buzzing with it downstairs ...
’ Wilson could hear Naismith’s voice saying it. Someone else said unkindly, ‘Probably Tam having you on. You’re not flavour of the month around here, you know.’

Wilson could feel the blood draining from his face. His head felt light, as if it might detach itself and float away. ‘Where’s – where’s MacNee?’

No one seemed to know; there was a bit of tittering. He set off to find him, his stomach starting to churn. If this was one of MacNee’s little games he’d – well, he’d make him pay. Somehow.

He saw his quarry coming towards him along the corridor, with his usual cocky stride. Seeing him, MacNee broke into a grin and it was all Wilson could do not to seize him by the throat and wipe it off with his fist.

‘Is it true, MacNee?’ he said thickly. ‘What you told me last night – is it true?’

‘What did I tell you last night, Will?’

‘You know perfectly well – that Salaman had been arrested for Carmichael’s murder.’

‘Arrested? Dear me, no! Now Will, you should listen more carefully to what people say or there could be a serious misunderstanding. I said he had a powerful motive and it would be good if we had found anything to arrest him for.’

‘You set me up, you bastard! You know you said no such thing!’ Wilson howled.

‘Oh, I think you’ll find I did. Ask Jock Naismith – he was there at the time. That’s a dangerous habit of yours – jumping to conclusions.’ Then MacNee’s playful tone changed. ‘But I can’t see that it’s really a problem, even if you did get hold of the wrong end of the stick. Why does it matter, Will?’

Wilson’s eyes fell. ‘You know why, don’t you?’ he muttered.

‘Yes, of course I bloody do.’ MacNee stepped closer until his face was only inches away from the other man’s. ‘And it answers a question that’s been bugging us for years – who’s the dirty bastard who’s been tipping off the press? Must have been a nice little earner.’

Wilson shrank back, his legs feeling like rubber. He leaned against the wall, attracting a curious look from a passing FCA. ‘What – what are you going to do?’

‘Oh, I think it’s more of a question of what you’re going to do. If you want a suggestion, put in your resignation right away. Tell them you want to spend more time with your family – that’s the usual line.’ The sergeant’s tone was caustic.

Wilson hardly heard him. ‘They’ve run the story. What’ll they do to me?’

‘Your pals in the gutter press? You know them a lot better than I do, I’m happy to say. But Salaman will sue, of course, and he’ll be looking for big bucks – he’s a hot-shot London lawyer, after all, isn’t he? And he’ll have them over a barrel. Let’s put it this way – I doubt if they’ll be putting you up for an award for services to journalism.’

Cold fear brought rage. ‘I’ll dump you in it too, MacNee!’ Wilson blustered.

MacNee’s lip curled. ‘You think they’ll be interested? This is between you and them. You can always come and make a complaint to your ex-colleagues when they send someone round to break your legs.’ He started to walk away, then turned back.

‘You’d be best to take up that job Aileen’s dad offered you in his firm. You’ll need a wage to support Aileen and all those bairns. Not that he’s going to make it easy for you. You’re one of these folks Burns talks about – “
Who know them best, despise them most
.”’

With a look of utter contempt, MacNee walked away.

Making the coffee so strong had been a bad idea. It had been meant to clear her woozy head, but it was disgusting. Marjory Fleming took another sip, grimaced, then pushed it aside. She was feeling terrible this morning, with aching bones and heavy eyes, almost as if she had flu or something.