hapter 3

The poetry of Baudelaire seemed to be doing the trick. Curled into a ball on a mattress so hard it scarcely deserved the name, Mondo was mentally working his way through Les Fleurs du Mal. It seemed ironically appropriate in the light of the night's events. The musical flow of the language soothed him, rubbing away the reality of Rosie Duff's death and the police cell it had brought him to. It was transcendent, raising him out of his body and into another place where the smooth sequence of syllables was all his consciousness could accommodate. He didn't want to deal with death, or guilt, or fear, or suspicion.

His hiding place imploded abruptly with the crashing open of the cell door. PC Jimmy Lawson loomed above him. "On your feet, son. You're wanted."

Mondo scrambled back, away from the young policeman who had somehow changed from rescuer to persecutor.

Lawson's smile was far from soothing. "Don't get your bowels in a confusion. Come on, look lively. Inspector Maclennan doesn't like being kept waiting."

Mondo edged to his feet and followed Lawson out of the cell and into a brightly lit corridor. It was all too sharp, too defined for Mondo's taste. He really didn't like it here.

Lawson turned a bend in the corridor then flung a door open. Mondo hesitated on the threshold. Sitting at the table was the man he'd seen up on Hallow Hill. He looked too small to be a copper, Mondo thought. "Mr. Kerr, is it?" the man asked.

Mondo nodded. "Aye," he said. The sound of his own voice surprised him.

"Come in and sit down. I'm DI Maclennan, this is DC Burnside."

Mondo sat down opposite the two men, keeping his eyes on the table top. Burnside took him through the formalities with a politeness that surprised Mondo, who had expected The Sweeney: all shouting and macho swaggering.

When Maclennan took over, a note of sharpness entered the conversation. "You knew Rosie Duff," he said.

"Aye." Mondo still didn't look up. "Well, I knew she was the barmaid at the Lammas," he added as the silence grew around them.

"Nice looking lassie," Maclennan said. Mondo did not respond. "You must have noticed that, at least."

Mondo shrugged. "I didn't give her any thought."

"Was she not your type?"

Mondo looked up, his mouth hitched up in one corner in a half-smile. "I think I definitely wasn't her type. She never took any notice of me. There were always other guys she was more interested in. I always had to wait to get served in the Lammas."

"That must have annoyed you."

Panic flashed in Mondo's eyes. He was beginning to understand that Maclennan was sharper than he had expected a copper to be. He was going to have to box clever and keep his wits about him. "Not really. If we were in a hurry, I just used to get Gilly to go up when it was my round."

"Gilly? That would be Alex Gilbey?"

Mondo nodded, dropping his eyes again. He didn't want to let this man see any of the emotions churning inside him. Death, guilt, fear, suspicion. He desperately wanted to be out of this, out of the police station, out of the case. He didn't want to drop anyone else in it in the process, but he couldn't take this. He knew he couldn't take it, and he didn't want to end up acting in a way that would make these cops think there was something suspicious about him, something guilty. Because he wasn't the suspicious one. He hadn't chatted up Rosie Duff, much as he might have wanted to. He hadn't stolen a Land Rover. All he'd done was borrow it to drive a lassie home to Guardbridge. He hadn't stumbled over a body in the snow. That was down to Alex. It was thanks to the others he was in the middle of this shit. If keeping himself secure meant making the cops look elsewhere, well, Gilly would never find out. Even if he did, Mondo was sure Gilly would forgive him.

"So she liked Gilly, did she?" Maclennan was relentless.

"I don't know. Far as I'm aware, he was just another customer to her."

"But one she paid more attention to than she did to you."

"Aye, well, that didn't exactly make him unique."

"Are you saying Rosie was a bit of a flirt?"

Mondo shook his head, impatient at himself. "No. Not at all. It was her job. She was a barmaid, she had to be nice to people."

"But not to you."

Mondo tugged nervously at the ringlets falling round his ears. "You're twisting this. Look, she was nothing to me, I was nothing to her. Now, can I go, please?"

"Not quite yet, Mr. Kerr. Whose idea was it tonight to come back via Hallow Hill?"

Mondo frowned. "It wasn't anybody's idea. That's just the quickest route from where we were back to Fife Park. We often walk back that way. Nobody gave it a second thought."

"And did any of you ever feel the need to run up to the Pictish cemetery before?"

Mondo shook his head. "We knew it was there, we went up to look at it when they were excavating it. Like half of St. Andrews. Doesnae make us weirdos, you know."

"I never said it did. But you never made a detour there on the way back to your residence before?"

"Why would we?"

Maclennan shrugged. "I don't know. Daft boys games. Maybe you've watched Carrie a few too many times."

Mondo tugged at a lock of his hair. Death, guilt, fear, suspicion. "I'm not interested in horror films. Look, Inspector, you're reading this all wrong. We're just four ordinary guys that walked into the middle of something extraordinary. Nothing more, nothing less." He spread his hands in a gesture of innocence that he prayed was convincing. "I'm sorry for what happened to the lassie, but it's got nothing to do with me."

Maclennan leaned back in his chair. "So you say." Mondo said nothing, simply letting his breath out in a long sigh of frustration. "What about the party? What were your movements there?"

Mondo twisted sideways in his seat, his desire for escape obvious in every muscle. Would the lassie talk? He doubted it. She'd had to sneak in to the house, she'd been supposed to be home hours before. And she wasn't a student, had known almost nobody there. With a bit of luck, she'd never be mentioned, never questioned. "Look, why do you care about this? We just found a body, you know?"

"We have to explore all the possibilities."

Mondo sneered. "Just doing your job, eh? Well, you're wasting your time if you think we had anything to do with what happened to her."

Maclennan shrugged. "Nevertheless, I'd like to know about the party."

Stomach churning, Mondo produced an edited version he hoped would pass muster. "I don't know. It's hard to remember every detail. Not long after we arrived, I was chatting up this lassie. Marg, her name was. From Elgin. We danced for a while. I thought I was in there, you know?" He pulled a rueful face. "Then her boyfriend turned up. She hadn't mentioned him before. I was pretty fed up, so I had a couple more beers, then I went upstairs. There was this wee study, just a box-room really, with a desk and a chair. I sat there feeling sorry for myself for a bit. Not long, just the time it took to drink a can. Then I went back downstairs and mooched around. Ziggy was giving some English guys his Declaration of Arbroath speech in the conservatory, so I didn't hang around there. I've heard it too many times. I didn't really pay attention to anybody else. There wasn't much in the way of talent, and what there was was spoken for, so I just hung around. Tell you the truth, I was ready to go ages before we finally left."

"But you didn't suggest leaving?"

"No."

"Why not? Don't you have a mind of your own?"

Mondo gave him a look of loathing. It wasn't the first time he'd been accused of following the others around like a mindless sheep. "Of course I do. I just couldn't be bothered, OK?"

"Fine," Maclennan said. "We'll be checking your story out. You can go home now. We'll want the clothes you were wearing tonight. There'll be an officer at your residence to take them from you." He stood up, the chair legs grating on the floor in a screech that set Mondo's teeth on edge. "We'll be in touch, Mr. Kerr."

WPC Janice Hogg closed the door of the panda car as quietly as she could. No need to wake the whole street. They'd hear the news soon enough. She flinched as DC Iain Shaw slammed the driver's door without a thought and directed a glare at the back of his balding head. Only twenty-five and already he had an old man's hairline, she thought with a flash of smug pleasure. And him thinking he was such a catch.

As if the tenor of her thoughts had penetrated his skull, Shaw turned and scowled. "Come on, then. Let's get it over with."

Janice gave the cottage the once-over as Shaw pushed open the wooden gate and walked briskly up the short path. It was typical of the area; a low building with a couple of dormer windows thrusting out of the pantile roof, crow-stepped gables dressed with snow. A small porch thrust out between the downstairs windows, the harling painted some dun color that was hard to identify in the weak light shed by the streetlamps. It looked well enough kept, she reckoned, wondering which room had been Rosie's.

Janice put the thought from her mind as she prepared herself for the coming ordeal. She'd been brought in to deliver the bad news on more than her fair share of occasions. It came with the gender. She braced herself as Shaw banged the heavy iron knocker on the door. At first, nothing stirred. Then a muted light glowed behind the curtains at the right-hand downstairs window. A hand appeared, pulling the curtain to one side. Next, a face, lit on one side. A man in late middle age, hair graying and tousled, stared open-mouthed at the pair of them.

Shaw produced his warrant card and held it out. There was no mistaking the gesture. The curtain fell back. A couple of moments later, the front door opened to reveal the man, tying the cord of a thick woolen dressing gown round his waist. The legs of his pajamas pooled over faded tartan slippers. "What's going on?" he demanded, hiding apprehension imperfectly behind belligerence.

"Mr. Duff?" Shaw asked.

"Aye, that's me. What are you doing at my door at this hour?"

"I'm Detective Constable Shaw, and this is WPC Hogg. Can we come in, Mr. Duff? We need to talk to you."

"What have they laddies of mine been up to?" He stood back and waved them inside. The inner door gave straight on to the living room. A three-piece suite covered in brown corduroy laid siege to the biggest TV set Janice had ever seen. "Have a seat," he said.

As they made for the sofa, Eileen Duff emerged from the door at the far end of the room. "What's going on, Archie?" she asked. Her naked face was greasy with night cream, her hair covered in a beige chiffon scarf to protect her shampoo and set. Her quilted nylon housecoat was buttoned awry.

"It's the polis," her husband said.

The woman's eyes were wide with anxiety. "What's the matter?"

"Could you come and sit down, Mrs. Duff?" Janice said, crossing to the woman and taking her elbow. She steered her to the sofa and gestured to her husband that he should join her there.

"It's bad news, I can tell," the woman said piteously, clutching at her husband's arm. Archie Duff stared impassively at the blank TV screen, lips pressed tightly together.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Duff. But I'm afraid you're right. We do have some very bad news for you." Shaw stood awkwardly, head slightly bowed, eyes on the multicolored swirls of the carpet.

Mrs. Duff pushed her husband. "I told you not to let Brian buy that motorbike. I told you."

Shaw cast a glance of appeal at Janice. She took a step closer to the Duffs and said gently, "It's not Brian. It's Rosie."

A soft mewing noise came from Mrs. Duff.

"That cannae be right," Mr. Duff protested.

Janice forced herself to continue. "Earlier tonight, the body of a young woman was found on Hallow Hill."

"There's been some mistake," Archie Duff said stubbornly.

"I'm afraid not. Some of the officers at the scene recognized Rosie. They knew her from the Lammas Bar. I'm very sorry to have to tell you that your daughter is dead."

Janice had delivered the blow often enough to know that most people fell into one of two reactions. Denial, like Archie Duff. And overwhelming grief that hit the surviving relatives like an elemental force of nature. Eileen Duff threw her head back and roared her pain at the ceiling, her hands twisting and wringing in her lap, her whole body possessed by anguish. Her husband stared at her as if she were a stranger, his brows drawn down in a firm refusal to acknowledge what was happening.

Janice stood there, letting the first wave break over her like a spring tide on the West Sands. Shaw shifted from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next.

Suddenly there were heavy footfalls on the stairs that led off one end of the room. Legs clad in pajama bottoms appeared, followed by a naked torso then a sleepy face topped with a shock of tousled dark hair. The young man stopped a couple of steps from the bottom and surveyed the scene. "What the hell's going on?" he grunted.

Without turning his head, Archie said, "Your sister's dead, Colin."

Colin Duff's mouth fell open. "What?"

Janice stepped into the breach again. "I'm very sorry, Colin. But your sister's body was found a short while ago."

"Where about? What happened? What do you mean, her body was found?" The words tumbled out as his legs gave way and he crumpled onto the bottom tread of the stairs.

"She was found on Hallow Hill." Janice took a deep breath. "We believe that Rosie was murdered."

Colin dropped his head into his hands. "Oh Jesus," he whispered over and over again.

Shaw leaned forward. "We're going to need to ask you some questions, Mr. Duff. Could we maybe go through to the kitchen?"

Eileen's first paroxysm of grief was easing now. She'd stopped wailing and turned her tear-streaked face to Archie.

"Bide here. I'm no' a bairn that needs to be kept from the truth," she gulped.

"Have you got some brandy?" Janice asked. Archie looked blank. "Or some whiskey?"

Colin stumbled to his feet. "There's a bottle in the scullery. I'll get it."

Eileen turned her swollen eyes to Janice. "What happened to my Rosie?"

"We can't be certain yet. It appears that she was stabbed. But we'll need to wait for the doctor before we can be sure."

At her words, Eileen recoiled as if she herself had been struck. "Who would do a thing like that to Rosie? Her that wouldnae hurt a fly."

"We don't know that yet either," Shaw chipped in. "But we'll find him, Mrs. Duff. We'll find him. I know this is the worst time in the world to be asking you questions, but the sooner we get the information we need, the quicker we can make progress."

"Can I see her?" Eileen asked.

"We'll arrange for that later today," Janice said. She crouched down beside Eileen and put a comforting hand on her arm. "What time did Rosie usually come in?"

Colin emerged from the kitchen carrying a bottle of Bells and three glasses. "The Lammas has last orders at half-past ten. Most nights, she was in by quarter-past eleven." He put the glasses down on the coffee table and poured three stiff measures.

"But some nights she was later?" Shaw asked.

Colin handed his parents a whiskey each. Archie downed half of his in one gulp. Eileen clutched the glass but didn't put it to her lips. "Aye. If she was going to a party or something."

"And last night?"

Colin swallowed some whiskey. "I don't know. Mum? Did she say anything to you?"

Eileen looked up at him, her expression dazed and lost. "She said she was meeting some friends. She didnae say who, and I didnae ask. She's got a right to her own life." There was a defensive tone in her voice that told Janice this had been a bone of contention, probably with Archie.

"How did Rosie usually get home?" Janice asked.

"If me or Brian was in the town, we'd stop by at closing time and give her a lift. One of the other barmaids, Maureen, she'd drop her off if they were on the same shift. If she couldn't get a lift, she'd get a taxi."

"Where's Brian?" Eileen said suddenly, anxious for her chicks.

Colin shrugged. "He's not come home. He must have stayed down in the town."

"He should be here. He shouldnae hear this from strangers."

"He'll be back for his breakfast," Archie said roughly. "He needs to get ready for his work."

"Was Rosie seeing anybody? Did she have a boyfriend?" Shaw let his eagerness to be away take over and shunt the interview back on the track he wanted.

Archie scowled. "She was never short of boyfriends."

"Was there anyone in particular?"

Eileen took a tiny sip of whiskey. "She's been going out with somebody lately. But she wouldnae tell me anything about him. I asked her, but she said she'd tell me in her own good time."

Colin snorted. "Some married man, by the sounds of it."

Archie glared at his son. "You keep a civil tongue in your heid when you talk about your sister, you hear me?"

"Well, why else would she keep it secret?" The young man's jaw jutted out defiantly.

"Maybe she didnae want you and your brother sticking your oar in again," Archie retorted. He turned to Janice. "They once gave a laddie a battering because they thought he wasnae treating Rosie right."

"Who was that?"

Archie's eyes widened in surprise. "That was years ago. It's got nothing to do with this. The laddie doesnae even live here anymore. He moved down to England not long after it happened."

"We'll still want his name," Shaw insisted.

"John Stobie," Colin said mutinously. "His dad's a green-keeper at the Old Course. Like Dad says, he wouldnae dare go near Rosie."

"It's not a married man," Eileen said. "I asked her. She said she wouldnae bring trouble like that to our door."

Colin shook his head and turned away, nursing his whiskey. "I never saw her with anybody lately," he said. "But she liked her secrets, did Rosie."

"We'll need to take a look at her room," Shaw said. "Not just now. But later today. So if you could avoid moving anything in there, that would be helpful." He cleared his throat. "If you'd like, WPC Hogg can stay with you?"

Archie shook his head. "We'll manage."

"You might get reporters coming to the door," Shaw said. "It would be easier for you if you had an officer here."

"You heard my dad. We're better left to ourselves," Colin said.

"When can I see Rosie?" Eileen asked.

"We'll send a car up for you later. I'll make sure somebody calls you to arrange it. And if you remember anything Rosie said about where she was going tonight, or who she was seeing, please let us know. It would be helpful if you could make a list of her friends. Especially anyone who might know where she was last night and who she was with. Can you do that for us?" Shaw was gentle now he could see his escape route clear.

Archie nodded and got to his feet. "Later. We'll do it."

Janice stood up, her knees complaining at their prolonged crouch. "We'll see ourselves out."

She followed Shaw to the door. The misery in the room felt like a tangible substance, filling the air and making it hard to breathe. It was always the same. The melancholy seemed to grow incrementally in those first hours after the news arrived.

But that would change. Soon enough, the anger would come.