Dead in the Water (33 page)

Another giggle. ‘No, not really. Well, sort of – he once paid me into the cinema, but there was a gang of us going so I suppose . . .’ She sighed. ‘But then he started dating Ailsa Grant—’ She broke off, as if the name had slipped out and she could have bitten her tongue off. Her eyes were round with alarm.

So this was what was bugging her! Before MacNee could jump in with both feet, Fleming said casually, ‘Oh yes, she was a friend of yours, wasn’t she?’

Diane’s hands writhed nervously in her lap. ‘Yes, well – we were all friends.’

‘You must have been very upset when she was murdered.’

Genuine tears came to her eyes. ‘Oh yes, it was dreadful, dreadful! I couldn’t believe it.’

‘Did you know how she felt about getting pregnant?’

‘No.’ Diane shut her mouth firmly, as if to make sure nothing else slipped out.

‘You knew her in Glasgow, though. Your husband told me that,’ MacNee said brazenly.

‘Did he?’ She sounded both startled and confused, and Fleming directed a sharp glance at MacNee. But she didn’t correct him, and Diane went on, ‘Well, I suppose we did, a bit. She came to the house sometimes, or we’d maybe meet for a drink, though I didn’t get out much because I’d a baby by then. Then I suppose she got friends of her own – I didn’t see her much after that. I hadn’t spoken to her for ages when I heard she was pregnant and had come back here. I sent her a wee note, but she never replied.’

That last revelation was, at the very least, suggestive. They had got what they came for, if by dubious means.

MacNee was asking now, ‘Your husband never got on with Marcus, did he?’

This, again, was uncomfortable territory. ‘Oh, it was all just a bit of banter. You know how it is with old friends.’

‘You see,’ MacNee pressed on, ‘we’ve been told your husband hated him.’

It was a step too far. ‘That’s – that’s nonsense,’ she said, but wouldn’t be drawn further.

As they got up to leave, MacNee stopped by the photograph he’d commented on before. ‘Your son, is it? Nice-looking lad.’

Diane’s face lit up. ‘Yes, he is, isn’t he? Then, in a similar reaction to her husband’s, her eyes clouded and she said awkwardly, ‘He’s away in New Zealand now.’

‘Funny, that,’ MacNee said as they went back to the car. ‘She’s edgy about the son too.’

‘Not as edgy as Hodge’s going to be when he finds out you lied to his wife,’ Fleming said pointedly.

MacNee was unrepentant. ‘Wasn’t under oath, was I? Anyway, the way he went on, Hodge as good as told me. And no doubt you’re thinking the same as I am about what his reason was.’

‘You what! I can’t believe it! You stupid, stupid cow!’ The raised voice from the conservatory echoed round the garden.

The workmen on the roof looked up and grinned at each other. ‘
On nie jest szcz
e
˛s´liwy
. He’s not a happy man,’ Jozef said to Kasper.

‘Hasn’t been happy, since the police yesterday.’ Kasper listened appreciatively to the sounds of strife. ‘Serves him right, mean bastard.’

‘She did
what
? And we can get proof?’ Superintendent Bailey’s face registered unholy glee. ‘Marjory, we’ve got her now!’

‘We’ll have to search the records. Shouldn’t be difficult – Lindsay gave us dates. If she’s done it once, it’s probably not the only time. We can get Glasgow to trawl for cases she marked “no pro” and see how many were known to her. To be honest, given that cases are dropped on nothing more than one Fiscal’s say-so, I’ve always been surprised that more of this doesn’t go on.’

Bailey gave her a cynical look. ‘You sure it doesn’t? Anyway, Marjory, I’m pulling rank on this one – once we’ve proof, I want to confront her with it. After her impertinence, I can’t wait to see her face.’ Then, perhaps recalling his previous humiliation, he added, ‘Though of course, you can come too.’

‘Thanks,’ Fleming said dryly. ‘But I don’t want to start that running just yet. Lindsay’s been well warned to say nothing to her, and I believe he won’t – Tam scared him and he saw the merits of distancing himself.’

Bailey looked like a child who has just been told his birthday party’s been postponed. ‘Once we get proof, what’s the point of waiting? The sooner she’s out of there, the better.’

‘This is major stuff, Donald. It’s a serious criminal offence. She was scared enough about it coming out to ask Lindsay to lie to the police. How do you suppose she felt when Lindsay refused?’

Bailey stared at her. ‘You don’t think—’

‘I don’t know. Ruthless enough, controlling enough, and she has the murderer’s characteristic of solipsism.’

Bailey frowned. ‘Er – remind me?’

Fleming smiled. ‘Thinking the world exists for your benefit, and Milne’s arrogant dismissiveness is characteristic.’

‘Her speciality,’ Bailey said with feeling.

‘And, interestingly, it was her attempt at control that put us on to her – inventing a spurious complaint to prevent me from having any further contact with Marcus Lindsay. Bad mistake.’

‘So where do we go from here?’

‘Wait for footprint evidence and DNA results. Nothing till Monday at the earliest, and there won’t be much doing over the weekend.’

‘Oh yes. You’re remembering I fly to Ireland first thing tomorrow for a long golfing weekend – I told you where
I was going, didn’t I? There’s this amazing hole on one of
the courses—’

Fleming smiled. ‘Yes, Donald, you told me. I hope you have a lovely time.’

‘I’m looking forward to it, I must say. And you’ll report to the Deputy Chief Constable if necessary, of course.’

‘Of course.’

As she got up, Bailey cleared his throat. ‘Er – before you go, Marjory, on the other case – any progress?’

She had hoped he wouldn’t press her. She said awkwardly, ‘Oh, this and that. Nothing very dramatic.’

He said, ‘Of course,’ but with obvious displeasure, and Fleming left feeling irritable. He’d put her in charge of the review and now resented the inevitable consequences. She wished he’d called in another Force to deal with it instead.

But did she? Ailsa’s case had really gripped her imagination, and she’d hate to give it up now. When she reached her office, she went back to the box which held the photos of Ailsa Grant and took out the portrait shot and one of the post-mortem shots of her face and laid them side by side on the desk. The eyes of the living girl looked out with all the shining confidence of youth; the glassy stare of the dead one cruelly mocked all those hopes and dreams.

But at least one thing had fallen into place. It all added up: Hodge’s violent reaction to questions about Ailsa; Diane’s artless disclosures which had revealed his lies . . . Fleming knew, as surely as if she actually had the DNA evidence in front of her, that Gavin Hodge was the father of Ailsa’s child. If she could find anything approaching proof that the bastard had done this as well, she was going to hound him until a prison sentence would look like a preferable alternative.

On impulse, she phoned Tam to see if he fancied a drink after work – like she had to ask! She needed a sounding-board, and nowadays Cat tended to drift in when she and Bill were talking over a dram – and she stayed up later than they did. It was like having a chaperone monitor all your conversations, since any meaningful bedroom discussion suffered from Bill’s habit of falling asleep slightly before his head hit the pillow.

They went to the Cutty Sark, Tam’s local, rather than the Salutation opposite the Kirkluce headquarters which was the Force’s favoured watering-hole. It was bigger, with more space between the tables, and in the early evening comparatively quiet. MacNee hailed a few of his cronies, then found a table away from the bar while Fleming got in the drinks.

‘TGIF!’ MacNee said, raising his glass. ‘And a weekend off. Dumfries were looking for extra manpower – they’re at full stretch with a nasty rape they’re investigating but they’re reluctant to put their hand in their pocket.’

‘I heard about that. Their DI is tearing his hair out – he’s desperate for a breakthrough, but as always the budget’s tight.

‘Have you anything planned?’

‘I’ve a ticket for the match tomorrow – can’t think why, really. Ayr United’s not exactly the Rangers. What about you?’

‘Might do paperwork at home, but I’m not coming in. Plenty to do in the house.’

‘How’s “
the hardy son of rustic toil
” these days? Need to get him in for a pint some night.’

‘Do that – he’d like it. But never mind that. Look, we both know I’m going to have to open up about the cold case. After what Diane Hodge said this afternoon . . .’

‘Never saw Ailsa in Glasgow, Hodge claims. Diane didn’t get out much because she’d a baby, she writes to Ailsa when she hears she’s up the spout and gets no reply – Might as well be a signed confession.’

Fleming took it on. ‘Absolutely. And did he kill her as well, in case his wealthy wife divorced him? And did he think Marcus knew something, and had a go at him too?’

‘What are the chances of getting a swab from Hodge? None, or less than that?’

‘Less than that. Even innocent people get stroppy about giving their DNA,’ Fleming pointed out. ‘Lindsay refused, and I simply don’t believe he elaborately sneaked home, once to impregnate the wretched girl and once to murder her.’

‘Yeah. But I’ve a feeling he’s not being completely frank with us.’

‘You know someone who’s completely frank with us? We must move in different circles.’

‘And what about our Sheila? When can I let the rest of the lads in on the joke?’

Fleming pulled a face. ‘Not yet. Have to check absolutely everything first. If we go off half-cocked and she wriggles out, we’re dead in the water. Right enough, she had quite a solid motive to kill him, but be honest, Tam – can you actually picture her skulking around in the dark with a knife?’

MacNee looked at her for a moment, then smiled. ‘Do you know, I think I can.’

The European Commission’s agricultural policies were seldom popular with farmers, but the set-aside land at the foot of a grazing hill was one of Marjory Fleming’s favourite places. There was a curved rock which provided a sheltered seat with a view out over the valley to the farmhouse and the cottage which, built as they were of the local stone, looked almost like rock formations themselves.

It was, for once, a glorious Saturday morning and she couldn’t bear to waste it on admin. That could wait. She’d scrubbed out the henhouse, then gone for a five-mile hike, and glowing now from virtuous exercise, was sitting among the spring flowers which spangled the rough meadow – buttercups, a few clumps of primroses, bluebells over by the dyke. The gorse was in bloom now too, great banks of golden colour, and she could smell the faint coconut scent.

Karolina was in the cottage garden, watching Janek pedalling frantically round on a small trike, and Marjory watched them, smiling. A small, mean part of her still hoped Karolina’s cooking venture wouldn’t be so successful that she lost the help that had transformed her life. If it wasn’t for Karolina, she’d be inside now, muttering under her breath while she did the ironing.

She’d left Bill struggling with accounts. She’d asked him if he wanted to come out with her, but he’d only growled like a bear and she’d left him to his misery.

Marjory leaned back in her stone chair, tipping her face to the sun. She’d done a lot of thinking on the walk and her plan of action was clearer.

Sheila Milne – essential to get that one right. The Fiscal would be fighting for her professional life, and their case when they confronted her would have to be as meticulously prepared as if it were to be presented in court – as indeed, it might well have to be. And was it possible that Milne could have been responsible, too, for the attack on Lindsay? Certainly Tam thought she could, and his instincts were remarkably sound. If so, the struggle would get even dirtier. Milne was a dangerous enemy.

Then there was Gavin Hodge. She’d need to set Tam on him again, since he’d got under the man’s skin to a very useful extent. When the DNA result came through, if they chose their sheriff with care sweet-talking might get them a warrant for a swab, though of course that would only determine parentage. The murder was a lot more problematical.

Marcus Lindsay kept intruding on her thoughts. Marjory still couldn’t make him out. Tam claimed he was keeping things back, and perhaps he was. Everyone has secrets, and from the start of this investigation she had sensed them all about her, thick and dark. As an actor, Lindsay would presumably be adept at concealing areas of sensitivity, though he’d certainly failed when it came to talking about Sheila Milne.

There was something about that house . . . It almost seemed as if this elegant white elephant was a sort of shrine to Laddie Lazansky, as if Marcus was more his father’s son than his own man, and Marjory reckoned Tam’s friend Sylvia had a lot to do with that. She was powerfully charming; perhaps Marcus would only win his freedom from the Laddie cult once she too was dead. Not a very strong character, perhaps?

And then, Ailsa Grant . . . Would they ever be able to prove who had killed her? Or find the answer to the question that still niggled at Marjory – why had her father not followed procedure, as he famously always did? He had to have had a reason.