Cold Grave (25 page)

He gasped but something in the opening and closing of his mouth didn’t ring true.

‘I heard about Adam,’ he told her. ‘It was terrible. Poor guy.’

‘But not Laurence?’

‘No.’

‘Fell off a ladder. Cracked his skull open.’

‘That’s… It’s been a long time since we knew each other. But that’s very sad.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘Laurence? Not since we were at Jordanhill.’

‘And Adam Mosson?’

‘I’ve bumped into him a few times over the years. Our schools aren’t that far apart. But I haven’t seen him in a year or two.’

‘Hm. And what about Paddy?

‘I’m not sure who you mean. I don’t think I remember a Paddy.’

‘No? Maybe I should ask your wife if she remembers him. Maybe she can help jog your memory.’

Deans’ face tightened and she saw anger chase panic across his features.

‘I don’t think there’s any need for that.’

‘Not if you can remember on your own, no. Can you?’

‘No.’

Narey got up from her chair and began to make for the door.

‘No problem. In that case, I’ll just have a quick word with Mrs Deans.’

‘No. Stop.’

She turned, barely bothering to hide the smirk on her face.

‘Well?’

Deans hesitated, his eyes burning angrily into Narey’s.

‘Well, it could have been Peter Bradley, I suppose.’

‘You suppose?’

‘It was probably him, yes. He was called Paddy because he was such a big Celtic fan. There weren’t many of them on campus. He even called himself it after a while.’

Narey took her seat again, perching on the edge of it so she was nearer to the man.

‘Tell me about Mr Bradley.’

Deans drew his hand across his face, wearily rubbing at his eyes.

‘There’s not much to tell. We were at college together. I haven’t seen him since we left. He was from… East Kilbride, I think. Somewhere like that.’

‘Okay. And do you know where he teaches?’

‘No. I don’t even know if he still does.’

Narey turned to look at Winter, shrugging at him.

‘Do you think he knows?’ she asked him.

‘I think he probably does.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ she replied before turning back to Deans. ‘We think you do.’

The man’s face reddened, not with embarrassment but with the flush of anger.

‘Don’t come into my house and call me a liar. I haven’t seen Laurence or Paddy in nearly twenty years and I haven’t seen Adam in ages. I can’t help you and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’

Narey didn’t budge.

‘What did you tell your wife when she asked why the police were here?’

‘Not that it’s any of your business but I told her the little I knew: you wanted to speak to me but hadn’t told me why. She knows I wouldn’t be involved in anything… untoward.’

‘No?

‘No.’

‘Well, in that case, maybe you have reason to be worried.’

She received a hard stare from him.

‘Is that a threat?’

‘Not from me, no. But two of your friends have met with very unfortunate accidents. They do say that things happen in threes.’

‘It certainly sounds like a threat.’

‘It’s a warning, Mr Deans, an entirely different thing.’

Deans got up out of his chair, put his hands in and then took them out of his pockets before crossing his arms defensively in front of him.

‘I’ve already asked you to leave, Sergeant. Now I’m ordering you to go right now.’

Narey nodded. ‘Maybe I could have a word with your wife before I go, though.’

‘Absolutely not. She’s upstairs sleeping. I will not have her disturbed.’

‘Maybe next time. Because I will be back, Mr Deans. We both know that.’

Deans walked to the door and held it open until Narey and Winter followed him through it, leading them down the hall to the front door. A blast of icy wind greeted them as he pulled the door wide and ushered them onto the front step.

‘If you
are
coming back, Sergeant, then I’d suggest you bring a warrant with you. Otherwise there’s no way I’m letting you in to upset my family.’

‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll do that. Very protective of your family, aren’t you?’

‘I’d do anything to protect them.’

‘Anything?’

He didn’t answer but began to close the door.

‘Mr Deans?’ she interrupted his movement with the question in her voice.

‘What?’

‘You didn’t ask me why I was asking you about Paton, Mosson and Paddy. Have you received any interesting emails lately?’

The door was slammed in her face.

‘You leaving it at that?’ Winter asked her as they walked away, neither of them turning back.

‘Course not. It might be fucking freezing but I can still make him sweat. The man’s a bloody liar. He’s in this up to his neck and the only question right now is if he’s going to be a victim or tell us what the hell is going on.’

The Bank turned out not to be a bank at all. It was a restaurant in Upper Craigs in Stirling, a two-storey sandstone Georgian mansion with a Doric porch of pillars and fanlights at the top of a flight of stairs leading up from the road. It was an impressive building from the outside and Narey cynically wondered if Detective Inspector Marty Croy’s ambitions extended beyond lunch.

Inside, it was surprisingly modern, with mood lighting and glass partitions a world away from the building’s façade. Croy was already seated when she was shown to a booth of plush leather seats and he got to his feet to introduce himself.

‘We could have done this at Randolphfield,’ he told her, inviting her to sit. ‘But from what I gathered from Kirsten, I thought you’d prefer to keep it away from HQ — for now at least.’

‘Yes, thanks. I’m grateful for that. We’ll need to go official when push comes to shove but I’d rather keep it between us for now, sir.’

‘No problem. Glad to help if I can. And call me Marty.’

Croy was around forty and in very good shape, Narey noticed without a hint of guilt. He had thick, dark curly hair and a roguish glint to his blue eyes. He was a good-looking guy and she reckoned it was at least some small compensation for the generally shitty turn of recent events.

‘This is a nice place,’ she said, looking around at the restaurant, taking in the sky-high ceilings and the marble columns offset by the modern tones of wood and subdued lighting. It all added up to a luxurious feel. ‘Expenses must be better in Central than they are in Strathclyde.’

Croy grinned. ‘I wish. Expenses are virtually a distant memory. But I like it here and try to come when I can. It’s been all sorts of things, this building. It started out as a private mansion built in the early 1800s before it became a private school for girls. It was a Masonic hall for a while and when I was growing up it was a nightclub named Le Clique, then a fast food joint called Fat Sams and finally the Bank of Scotland took it over before it became this place.’

‘So how come you know so much about it?’

Croy had the good grace to look embarrassed.

‘Bit of a local history nut.’

‘You’ll know all about Lily of the Lake, then.’

‘Ah, straight to business,’ he smiled. ‘Fair enough. Yes, of course. I’d have been about twenty, I guess. I was at university in Edinburgh and the fact that it happened so near to home made it seem worse somehow. Everyone was talking about it. It wasn’t just that the murder was so brutal, it was this idea of someone going over to the island with her and not leaving a trace. I guess it spooked a lot of people.’

‘How long after that did you join the force?’

‘Four years. I suppose I’m a bit of a home bird. I came back to Stirling because I like it here. Family and friends are around and that works for me. It was tempting to try for a move to Glasgow or Edinburgh but I’ve somehow never gone for it.’

‘Maybe when you go for a chief inspector’s post.’

He laughed, his eyes creasing at the side.

‘Maybe, but there’s a CI post here I’ve got my eye on. Maybe when I go for superintendent.’

Narey realised Croy was only half joking and his obvious ambition made her realise how her own aims didn’t extend far beyond catching criminals and seeing what happened from there. She was like her dad: take care of the job and leave the ladder climbing to others.

‘So, did you ever work on the Lake case?’ she asked him. ‘Reconstructions, anniversaries and the like?’

‘A little. I was involved on the fringes of it when we did an appeal for information on the tenth anniversary of her death in 2003. We went back to the lake, a superintendent did a short piece to camera for
Crimewatch
, we stuck up some posters and did a round of interviews with the locals. It was all superficial stuff really though. Anyway, what’s your interest in the case? Kirsten didn’t say.’

‘That’s because she didn’t ask.’

‘I guess we cops tend to ask different questions than professors of life sciences. But I’m asking.’

There was no getting away from it. In fact, there was every chance Croy already knew about her link to the case. Whether he did or not, the time for covering it up had gone.

‘My dad worked the case. So I guess I’ve got a personal interest.’

‘Chief Inspector Alan Narey,’ he nodded. ‘I remember seeing his name in the case files. I never knew him but some of the guys who came through the ranks with me did. They said he was a very good cop. Don’t think I ever heard anyone say a bad word about him.’

The compliment slapped her on both cheeks, warming and saddening her. She wanted to ask more about what the cops had said but wasn’t sure she could cope with the answers. Instead she forced out a single word reply.

‘Thanks.’

‘So why now?’ he asked her, with an edge to his questioning that hadn’t been there before.

She sized Croy up, wondering who was supposed to be getting information from whom.

‘Detetective Inspector Croy, why do I get the feeling you already know the answers to the questions you’re asking me?’

Croy sipped the mineral water in front of him and looked at her over the glass as he did so.

‘Okay. So your name came up in Randolphfield after the woman in Wallace Place complained about you. It wouldn’t have registered a jot if it weren’t for the fact that you were a Glasgow copper. It put a lot of noses out of joint over here, I can tell you. If anything, it just made the people who matter all the more certain that, whatever you had to say, it was wrong. You know how territorial cops get and provincial forces are the worst of the lot.’

Narey said nothing. She knew it had been a risk. But she needed the support now.

‘Your dad was lead local investigator on the case and Laurence Paton was his chief — his only — suspect,’ Croy continued. ‘Paton dies and now you turn up wanting a cosy chat about facial reconstruction. Just how fucking noddy do you think we are over here?’

‘Not that noddy, I guess,’ she grimaced.

‘Correct.’

‘Okay, that’s me told off. So now can we stop buggering around and talk straight?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ he said, raising his glass of water in a mock toast. ‘So what’s the deal with Laurence Paton? You really think he was murdered?

‘Yes.’

‘Hm. That would be interesting. We don’t get anywhere enough murders round here. Would look good on the CV.’

She smiled ruefully at him, trying not to look impressed by his approach. He was cocky enough to flaunt the naked ambition routine and the cheeky sparkle in his eyes allowed him to get away with it.

‘So can we swing it?’ she asked, a hand carelessly toying with her hair. ‘I wouldn’t, of course, want to stand on any toes at Central Scotland Police but I do want permission to exhume Lily’s body.’

‘Of course you don’t and of course you do. I’d need to get permission from the Procurator Fiscal here but she’s generally receptive to sensible requests. Getting the okay from my guvnor might be a bit harder though. He’d want to make sure there was something in this for us otherwise he’d just propose we do the whole thing ourselves.’

Narey knew he was only testing her as part of a prelude to a bargaining process but the suggestion of taking it away from her still caused her stomach to knot.

‘I’m sure there’s no need to inflict an even greater workload on your force than I’m sure it’s under already.’

‘We like hard work,’ Croy smiled. ‘We can always find the time to do more.’

‘Perhaps a venture of cooperation is the way forward,’ she relented. ‘After all, Laurence Paton, however he died, died on your patch.’

‘So, if we give the go-ahead for Lily to be exhumed, then you’ll give us what you have on Paton’s death and any possible murder inquiry?’

‘Of course,’ she lied without a glimmer of guilt.

‘In that case, we’d be grateful for Strathclyde’s input into the identification of the girl on Inchmahome.’

‘Thank you,’ Narey said, extending her hand.

‘You sure you don’t want a glass of wine with your lunch?’ Croy asked, shaking her hand for a heartbeat longer than was necessary. ‘You could have one.’

‘As a police officer, you should be aware that one shouldn’t drink any alcohol at all if intending to drive. But okay, a glass of white — just one.’

‘Perfect. In that case, I’d recommend the Petit Chablis to go with the seared scallops with Stornoway black pudding. It’s superb.’

‘Hm. Black pudding? Not for me,’ she replied. ‘I don’t really have a taste for blood.’

Julia Corrieri had bounded into Narey’s office space with such enthusiasm that the DS had to stifle a giggle at the sight of her. With her mop of dark hair and ungainly stride, a pile of folders under her arm, the tall and gangly DC could have walked straight out of double maths and be on her way to PE. She wore a bashful grin Narey now knew to mean she was pleased with herself.