Cradle to Grave (57 page)

Fleming didn’t seem to hear him. ‘She took the bullet for me,’ she said, her voice quavering. ‘She pushed me aside, Tam. I – I think she wanted to die.’

Watching, that had been his reading of it too, but he said robustly, ‘Well, she maybe won’t. Look, the fog’s definitely lifting and they could get the air ambulance here in twenty minutes. And afterwards we’ll all just have to give Kim something to live for.’

He’d been a fool to take the time to get in the shot, but Black had simply lost it, furious at the bungling that had landed him in this situation, desperate to retrieve his position. It was all to play for: when he saw the door opening and the women coming out, he couldn’t resist. And then he hadn’t even got the right one.

Now he was cowering on a hillside in mist that was lifting by the minute, with God knows how many policemen on his heels. He was following the course of the river, upstream of the bridge. He’d have to ford it somewhere, then come down on the other side to his car.

They’d have had no reason to suspect it would be up beyond the turn to Rosscarron House. Once he reached it, he could put his foot down and blast his way through whatever was down there. At least it was a chance.

He could hear them shouting to each other, behind him and lower down. The water was a bit shallower here – and anyway, what alternative did he have? Making as little noise as possible and grimacing, he scrambled down the bank and struggled across.

At least he was on the right side now, and though he could see maybe twenty, thirty feet in either direction, there was nothing alarming. For speed, he must risk taking the road down, though he hugged the edge where a scrubby hedgerow of bushes might give him cover. He could hear a chopper overhead; he might need to disappear.

There was his car now. Maybe there was, after all, a chance to escape disaster. With a prayer to his patroness, Lady Luck, he reached it and opened the driver’s door.

It was only then he noticed a slashed tyre. A second later the door slammed over, pinning him painfully against the car, and holding it in place was a small man with an unpleasant, gap-toothed smile. It sent cold chills down his spine, that smile – that, and the three uniformed officers standing behind.

‘You and me’s got a wee bit of unfinished business, pal,’ the small man said. ‘Maybe you’d like to try resisting arrest?’ He smiled again. ‘We’ll all have a fine time subduing you, you dirty bastard.’

And suddenly no one was smiling any more.

‘I’m sure I don’t need a CAT scan,’ Marjory Fleming protested. ‘It was only a slight knock.’

‘That’s what they all say,’ the young houseman said cheerfully. ‘And then there’s a brain clot and they drop dead without warning two days later.’

‘Did anyone ever tell you that you had a wonderful bedside manner? No, I thought not,’ Marjory said, with forced cheerfulness.

It was a huge effort to act normally, but it was the only way she could get through all this without disintegrating. She daren’t let herself think about the woman in the operating theatre who was, in the conventional phrase, fighting for her life. Particularly since Marjory was fairly sure she wasn’t.

But certainly, once she’d had the scan, it was a relief to know that there had been no lasting harm. Bill, looking shaken, had arrived just as she got the verdict.

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Surface damage only.’

‘The surface is pretty bad,’ he said with husbandly candour. ‘They’ve said I can take you home – probably afraid you’ll scare the other patients.’

Marjory managed to smile. ‘Good. Lucky the hens are made of sterner stuff.’ But when Bill went to take her in his arms, she said quickly, ‘Don’t, Bill. I want to get home before I go to pieces. Make another joke – that might help.’

She hobbled out of the cubicle on her bandaged feet. Behind her, Bill said, ‘Not sure I can make a joke to order, but I could repeat the one Hamish Raeburn told me about a farmer, a lady vet and a farrowing sow—’

‘Anything but that,’ Marjory groaned, but it got her out to the car before the tears came.

Thursday, 27 July

‘A good, thorough go to the hall this morning, Hayley,’ Susan Telford admonished the young woman in a pink nylon overall. ‘There’s the brass to do, and it’s time the floor was polished again.’

‘Yes, Mrs Telford,’ Hayley said meekly, only pulling a face when her employer’s back was turned. Fussy old bat! But she switched on the hoover and got on with it. If it wasn’t properly done, she’d only end up having to do it again.

She poked the hoover under the hat-stand. A piece of paper stuck to the nozzle; she picked it up and glanced at it incuriously – just a copy of the sheet they put in all the bedrooms. She binned it and went back to her task.

Bailey thought he was doing Fleming a favour by ordering her to take time off, and it was true that she was still feeling ill with shock. But she would so much have preferred to be in the thick of it all, to have an inquiry that was rapidly gathering pace to occupy her mind. She had phoned Andy Macdonald, who had told her briefly that the Fraud Squad had gone in to Rosscarron House and a very promising laptop computer had been found in the kid’s bedroom. They’d sworn out warrants for Lloyd and Driscoll, and both Ryans were in custody.

He added, with obvious relief, that they’d been able to stand down the armed-response unit before it dented the budget, and that Bailey was taking all the credit going for exposing the fraud and condescending to Glasgow about having rounded up one of their serious villains. Macdonald hadn’t time to chat, though, and while she was grateful for these crumbs of information, it only made her hungry for more detail.

The house was empty. Bill was away today at a sale, the kids were at school, and though her mother, Janet, clucking her distress, had said she’d be out to see her, she’d a friend to take for a hospital appointment first, so Fleming was delighted when she saw Tam MacNee’s car pulling up in the yard and hobbled out on her bandaged feet into the drizzle to greet him.

Meg, bored by inactivity, bounded out too and MacNee looked gratified by the welcome. ‘Oh, it’s great to be bonny and well liked, as they say. How are you feeling?’

‘Fine. Come on in – I’ll put the kettle on. Everyone else is too busy to talk to me. I’m glad to have a companion in ignorance.’

‘Who says?’ MacNee said cockily, and she turned from the range to look at him.

‘What do you know? Oh, have you heard anything about Kim? I phoned this morning, but they wouldn’t tell me because I’m not a relation.’

‘The word is, she came through the op, but she’s critical.’

They were silent for a moment and then MacNee went on, ‘Cara Ryan’s got herself one of the Glasgow lawyers who knows every trick in the book and has a few wee wrinkles of his own, and she’s ready to say she knew nothing about it and lay all the blame on her husband. And Ryan’s claiming he didn’t do anything except keep quiet about what she and Jason Williams were up to.’

‘Where are you getting all this from?’ Fleming demanded, pushing a mug of coffee across the table. Then, when MacNee winked and tapped the side of his nose, she said, ‘And you’re not getting any of my mother’s baking if you don’t tell me.’

MacNee caved in at once. ‘Jock Naismith and I are old pals, and nothing goes on that he doesn’t know about. He’s agreed to keep me posted.’

‘Right. So what about – Black?’ She couldn’t control a shudder as she said the name.

‘He’ll appear on petition this morning and they’ll remand him, of course. There’s a lot of interest in the gun. The lads up in Glasgow seemingly think it might clear up one or two outstanding murder cases for them. He’s looking at thirty years, and that’s if the judge is in a sunny mood.’

Fleming had been eating a flapjack, but she put it down again, feeling queasy. ‘I couldn’t really take it seriously, you know, before. I couldn’t quite believe it. I mean, look at this.’ She gestured around the farmhouse kitchen – the cheerful curtains, the Aga, the dog asleep beside it, the dresser with the unmatched china and the holiday postcards and the photos of the family. ‘This is real – the other’s fantasy. Only it isn’t.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ MacNee agreed. ‘I’ve known that since I was just a wee boy. But anyway, we got him.’

‘
You
got him.’ Fleming crumbled her flapjack. ‘The next bullet would have been for me. You and Kim between you – you saved my life. You’re making a habit of it.’

‘Och, haud your wheesht!’ MacNee looked embarrassed. ‘And Kim’ll be all right, you’ll see. She’ll have to be, to corroborate your allegations about Cara Ryan or they’ll be claiming she’s no case to answer. A good lawyer would say your fingerprints in the larder were just the result of a search and it would be your word against hers. I’ll tell Kim she’s needed, if they’ll let me in to see her. It’ll give her something to fight for.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Fleming said gloomily. ‘Oh, it’s all such a mess and a muddle – I’m not sure I’ve got it clear even now.’

‘It’s looking as if it was Cara who was pulling the strings all along,’ MacNee said. ‘She wanted to punish Lisa Stewart.’

‘And she wanted to punish her father for bringing Lisa into their lives,’ Fleming added. ‘She said as much. And we saw for ourselves how little she minded his death.’

‘Here – she maybe even set it up. Come to think of it, she gave Ryan his orders right under my nose, that day at lunch after the accident, and I was standing beside Ryan when he told Jason that Crozier would be coming up through the wood to see the caterers. Cara was Ryan’s meal ticket, so he did as he was told.’

‘They can’t have planned that all along, though,’ Fleming argued. ‘It only became necessary after Rencombe was killed. I worked out that he must somehow have put Williams under threat.’

‘Jock said that Pilapil more or less told Andy and Ewan there was a plan to blackmail Crozier, and he’d guessed what they were up to – if Rencombe was sent to find out the details, then threatened to expose them, that would do it. Of course, if they’d got him to commission Lisa’s death – well, they’d have him over a barrel, wouldn’t they?’

‘Then Cara saw the chance to frame Lisa for Crozier and Williams – after all, as she saw it, Lisa had got off with her first killing.’

‘And had she?’

Fleming shook her head. ‘No, I simply can’t see it. Nico, jealous, uncontrolled – it’s far more likely. Oh goodness, I’ve got to buy him a computer game. He helped us escape, you know.’ Then she stopped. ‘What’s going to happen to the poor kid now?’

‘You know as well as I do. He’ll go into care and it’ll be a downward spiral. I just hope we’re not looking for him for murder in another ten years. He’s a right little psychopath, if you ask me.’

‘I can’t bear to think about it.’

‘Forget it, then. There’s nothing you can do.’ MacNee was pragmatic as always. ‘Try working out how we’re going to nail Ryan for Williams’s murder. Last time I looked, Forensics hadn’t come up with anything useful at all.’

‘It’s an odd one, that,’ Fleming said slowly. ‘An incredible risk to take, just to set Lisa up to take the rap. Elaborate – a lot could have gone wrong, for a revenge that might not even work. You’d be better just paying Williams to kill her too.’

‘Maybe Ryan was scared of blackmail. Williams knew too much, and that was the way his mind worked, after all. And with Crozier out of the way, Ryan would be in the money and Williams would be expecting to take his cut . . .’ He hesitated.

Fleming looked at him, then said flatly, ‘I don’t buy it. Not convincing.’

‘OK, OK, but what, then? It wasn’t Black, that’s for sure – too messy.’

She was tapping her finger on her front teeth. ‘You know what Bailey would say, Tam?’

‘Occam’s razor,’ MacNee said slowly. ‘Cut through all the fussy fantoosh – if there’s a simple explanation, it’s the right one.’

‘There’s a simple explanation. Lisa Stewart was there, on the spot, with every reason to hate Williams. We know she couldn’t have killed Crozier, so we’ve been looking to the others involved in his killing. But where did she get the weapon? You said it wasn’t lying around.’

‘It wasn’t.’ MacNee was confident. ‘But if Williams knew Lisa had seen him kill Crozier – he’d killed twice already – taking her out would be the obvious thing to do.’

‘And somehow the tables were turned on him when he produced the crowbar,’ Fleming said thoughtfully. ‘He was slight, and she’s probably quite strong.’

MacNee nodded, then said, ‘But hang on – Cara did her best to dump Lisa in it that morning when we told them about Williams. How did she know Lisa was even at the guest house?’

‘Williams knew, of course. And if he was planning to kill her, Cara would have been cheering him on, and they’d be expecting to hear the news that Lisa was dead,’ Fleming suggested. ‘When they couldn’t contact him, they’d be worried – worried enough for Ryan to go and see what had happened, maybe. And then he couldn’t raise the alarm because there would be too many awkward questions to answer. They were probably hoping no one would be able to establish who Williams was.’

‘And once we did, it was the ideal opportunity to claim that Lisa killed Crozier too.’

‘It hangs together,’ Fleming said, then sighed. ‘I hate these situations – where you have a plausible theory that you can’t put to the test. Unless there’s new evidence of some sort, which is getting more unlikely, we won’t be able to prove who murdered Williams. Then there will have to be a case review, to point out all the ways we’ve failed.’ She groaned.