Love is like a glass door… sometimes you don’t see it, and it smacks you right in your face.

 
 
 
 
 
Tác giả: Val McDermid
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Chapter 31~32
hapter 31
ACC Lawson pulled the folder across the desk toward him. "I had high hopes of this," he sighed.
"Me too, sir," Karen Pirie admitted. "I know they didn't pick up any biological samples from the cardigan at the time, but I thought with the sophisticated equipment they've got now there might be a trace of something we could use. Semen or blood. But there's nothing, except those funny drops of paint."
"Which we knew about at the time. And it didn't take us any further forward then." Lawson flipped open the folder dismissively and skimmed the short report. "The problem was that the cardigan wasn't found with the body. If my memory serves me, it was thrown over the hedge into somebody's garden?"
Karen nodded. "Number fifteen. They didn't find it till nearly two weeks had gone past. By which time it had snowed, thawed and rained, which didn't exactly help. Identified by Rosie Duff's mother as the one she was wearing when she went out that night. We never did find her handbag or her coat." She consulted the bulging folder on her lap, flipping through the pages. "A brown below-the-knee swagger coat from C&A with a cream and brown houndstooth-check lining."
"We never found them because we didn't know where to look. Because we didn't know where she was killed. After she left the Lammas Bar, she could have been taken anywhere within, say, an hour's drive. Over the bridge to Dundee, down through Fife. Anywhere from Kirriemuir to Kirkcaldy. She could have been killed on a boat, in a byre, anywhere. About the only thing we could be reasonably sure of was that she wasn't killed in the house in Fife Park where Gilbey, Malkiewicz, Kerr and Mackie lived." Lawson tossed the forensic report back to Karen.
"Just as a matter of interest, sir?were any of the other houses in Fife Park searched?"
Lawson frowned. "I don't think so. Why?"
"It occurred to me that it happened during the university holidays. A lot of people would have already left for Christmas. There might well have been adjacent houses that were standing empty."
"They'd have been locked up. We'd have heard about it if anyone on Fife Park had reported a break-in."
"You know what students are like, sir. In and out of each other's places. It wouldn't be hard to come by a key. Besides, the four of them were in their final year. They could easily have kept a key from another house if they'd lived there previously."
Lawson gave Karen a shrewdly appreciative look. "It's a pity you weren't around for the original investigation. I don't think that line of inquiry was ever pursued. Too late now, of course. So, where are we up to on the exhibits search? Have you not finished it yet?"
"I had some time off over Christmas and New Year," she said defensively. "But I stayed late and finished it last night."
"So that's that, then? The physical evidence relating to Rosie Duff's murder has disappeared without trace?"
"So it would seem. The last person to access the box was DI Maclennan, a week before he died."
Lawson bridled. "You're not suggesting Barney Maclennan removed evidence from a live murder case?"
Karen backtracked hastily. She knew better than to cast aspersions on a fellow officer who had died a hero. "No, that's not what I meant at all, sir. I just meant that, whatever had happened to Rosie Duff's clothes, there's no official paper trail to follow."
He sighed again. "It likely happened years ago. They'll have ended up in the bucket. Honest to God, you have to wonder sometimes. Some of the people we get working for us?
"I suppose the other option is that the DI sent them off for further testing and either they never came back because he wasn't there to chase it up, or the package disappeared into a black hole because DI Maclennan wasn't there to take delivery," Karen suggested cautiously.
"I suppose it's an outside possibility. But, either way, you're not going to find them now." Lawson drummed his fingers on the desk. "Well, that's that, then. One cold case that's going to stay in the deep freeze. I'm not looking forward to telling the son, either. He's been on the phone every other day, asking how we're doing."
"I still can't believe the pathologist missed that she'd given birth," Karen said.
"At your age, I'd have said the same," Lawson admitted. "But he was an old man, and old men make stupid mistakes. I know that now, because I feel like I'm heading in that direction myself. You know, I sometimes wonder if this case has been jinxed from the start."
Karen could sense his disappointment. And she knew how that stung, because it matched her own feelings. "You don't think it's worth me having another crack at the witnesses? The four students?"
Lawson grimaced. "You'll have a job."
"How do you mean, sir?"
Lawson opened his desk drawer and produced a three-day-old copy of the Scotsman. It was folded open at the death notices. He pushed it toward her, his finger stabbing the newsprint.
KERR, DAVID MCKNIGHT. The death is announced of Dr. David Kerr, of Carden Grove, Bearsden, Glasgow, dearly beloved husband of He'd, brother of Lynn and son of Adam and Sheila Kerr of Duddingston Drive, Kirkcaldy. The funeral will take place on Thursday at 2 p.m. at Glasgow Crematorium, Western Necropolis, Tresta Road. Family flowers only.
Karen looked up, surprised. "He couldn't have been more than forty-six, forty-seven? That's pretty young to be dying."
"You should pay more attention to the news, Karen. The Glasgow University lecturer stabbed to death in his kitchen by a burglar last Thursday night?"
"That was our David Kerr? The one they called Mondo?"
Lawson nodded. "The crazy diamond himself. I spoke to the DI on the case on Monday. Just to make sure I was right. Apparently, they're far from convinced by the burglary theory. The wife was playing away."
Karen pulled a face. "Nasty."
"Very. So, do you fancy a wee run out to Glasgow this afternoon? I thought we could pay our last respects to one of our suspects."
"You think the other three will turn up?"
Lawson shrugged. "They were best pals, but that was twenty-five years ago. We'll just have to see, won't we? But I don't think we'll be conducting any interviews today. Let it lie for a wee while. We don't want to be accused of insensitivity, do we?"
It was standingroom only at the crematorium. Mondo might have cut himself off from family and old friends, but it looked as if he hadn't had any problem finding replacements. Alex sat in the front pew, Lynn huddled beside him. Two days out of the hospital, she was still moving like an old woman. He had tried to persuade her to stay at home and rest, but she'd been adamant that she couldn't miss her only brother's funeral. Besides, she'd argued, with no baby at home to care for, she would only sit around and brood. Better to be among her family. He didn't have a line of reasoning to counter that. So she sat, holding her shell-shocked father's hand to give comfort, the familiar roles of parent and child reversed. Her mother sat beyond them, her face almost invisible behind the folds of a white handkerchief.
He'd sat further along the pew, head bowed, shoulders hunched. She looked as if she'd closed in on herself, placing an impenetrable barrier between herself and the rest of the world. At least she'd had the good sense not to arrive at the funeral on Jackie's arm. She shuffled to her feet as the minister announced the final hymn.
The sonorous opening of the Crimond setting of the Twenty-third Psalm brought a lump to Alex's throat. The singing faltered a little as people found the key, then swelled around him. What a clich? he thought, hating himself for being moved by the traditional funeral hymn. Ziggy's service had been so much more honest, so much more a celebration of the man than this cobbling together of superficialities. As far as he knew, Mondo had never been in a church apart from attending the traditional rites of passage. The heavy curtains slid open and the coffin began its final journey.
The strains of the last verse died away as the curtains closed behind the departing coffin. The minister intoned the blessing, then led the way down the central aisle. The family followed, Alex bringing up the rear with Lynn heavy on his arm. Most of the faces were a blur, but, halfway down, Weird's lanky frame leaped out at him. They acknowledged each other with a brief nod, then Alex was past, heading for the doors. He had his second surprise just as he was leaving. Although he hadn't see James Lawson in the flesh since everybody called him Jimmy, his face was familiar from the media. Bad taste, Alex thought, taking up his station at the end of the meeting-and-greeting line. Weddings and funerals; both required the same etiquette of thanking people for coming.
It seemed to go on forever. Sheila and Adam Kerr appeared utterly bewildered. It was bad enough having to bury a child so savagely despatched without having to try to take in all these condolences from people they'd never seen before and would never see again. Alex wondered if it comforted them to see how many people had turned up to say their last good-byes. All it did for him was to bring home how much distance had separated him and Mondo in recent years. He knew almost nobody.
Weird had hung back almost to the end. He embraced Lynn gently. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he said. He shook Alex's hand, placing his other hand on Alex's elbow. "I'll wait outside." Alex nodded.
At last, the final mourners trickled out. Funny, thought Alex. No Lawson. He must have left by another door. Just as well. He doubted whether he'd have managed to be polite. Alex ushered his in-laws through the subdued crowd to the funeral car. He handed Lynn into her seat, checked everyone else was settled, then said, "I'll see you back at the hotel. I just need to make sure everything's sorted here."
He was ashamed to feel a moment of relief as the car swept off down the drive. He'd left his car here earlier, wanting to make sure he had his own wheels in case anything needed his attention in the immediate aftermath of the service. Deep down, he knew it was because he would want some respite from the suffocating grief of his family.
A hand on his shoulder made him spin round. "Oh, it's you," he said, almost laughing with relief as he saw it was Weird.
"Who else were you expecting?"
"Well, Jimmy Lawson was lurking at the back of the crem," Alex said.
"Jimmy Lawson the cop?"
"Assistant Chief Constable James Lawson, to you," Alex said, moving away from the main entrance toward the area where flowers were displayed.
"So what was he doing here?"
"Gloating? I don't know. He's in charge of the cold case review. Maybe he wanted to check out his prime suspects, see if we were going to get overcome with emotion and fall to our knees and confess."
Weird pulled a face. "I never liked all that Catholic stuff. We should be adult enough to come to terms with our own guilt. It's not God's job to wipe the slate clean so we can go and sin again." He stopped and turned to face Alex. "I wanted to tell you how pleased I am that Lynn was safely delivered of your baby daughter."
"Thanks, Tom." Alex grinned. "See? I remembered."
"Is the baby still in hospital?"
Alex sighed. "She's a wee bit jaundiced, so they're keeping her in for a few days. It's hard. Especially for Lynn. You go through all that, and you come home empty-handed. And then having to deal with what happened to Mondo?
"You'll forget this heartache once you have her home, I promise you. I'll remember you all in my prayers."
"Oh well, that'll make all the difference," Alex said.
"You'd be surprised." Weird said, refusing to take offense where none was intended. They walked on, glancing at the floral tributes. One of the mourners came over, asking Alex for directions to the hotel where the buffet was taking place. When he veered back toward Weird, Alex saw his friend crouching over one of the wreaths. Once he was close enough to see what had attracted Weird's attention, his heart jumped in his chest. It was indistinguishable from the wreath they'd seen in Seattle; a neat, tight circlet of white roses and narrow-leaved rosemary. Weird detached the card and stood up. "The same message," he said, handing it to Alex. "Rosemary for remembrance."
Alex felt his skin turn clammy. "I don't like this."
"You and me both. This is too much of a coincidence, Alex. Ziggy and Mondo both die in suspicious circumstances?Hell, no, let's call it what it is. Ziggy and Mondo both get murdered. And the identical wreath turns up at both funerals. With a message that ties all four of us together to the unsolved murder of a girl called Rosemary."
"That was twenty-five years ago. If anybody was going to take revenge, surely they'd have done it a long time ago?" Alex said, trying to convince himself as much as Weird. "It's just somebody trying to scare us."
Weird shook his head. "You've had other things on your mind the past few days, but I've been thinking about this. Twenty-five years ago, everybody was watching. I haven't forgotten the time I got done over. I haven't forgotten the night they dropped Ziggy down the Bottle Dungeon. I haven't forgotten how Mondo got so wound up he tried to kill himself. The only reason it all stopped was because the cops gave Colin and Brian Duff the hard word. They were put on notice to leave us alone. You're the one who told me way back then that Jimmy Lawson said they'd only backed off because they didn't want to give their mother anymore grief. So maybe they decided to wait."
Alex shook his head. "But twenty-five years? Could you nurse a grudge for twenty-five years?"
"I'm the wrong person to ask that question. But there are plenty of people out there who have not taken Jesus Christ as their savior, and you know as well as I do, Alex, that there is nothing these people are not capable of. We don't know what's happened in their lives. Maybe something came up that set all this off again. Maybe their mother died. Maybe the cold case review reminded them they had a score to settle and it was probably safe to do it now. I don't know. All I do know is that this looks very like somebody's out to get us. And whoever it is, they've got time and resources on their side." Weird looked around nervously, as if his nemesis might be among the mourners moving toward their cars.
"Now you're being paranoid." This was not the aspect of Weird's youth that Alex wanted to be reminded of right then.
"I don't think so. I think I'm the one making sense here."
"So what do you suggest we do about it?"
Weird pulled his coat closely around him. "I plan to get on a plane tomorrow morning and head back to the States. Then I plan to send my wife and kids somewhere safe. There's plenty of good Christians who live out in the wilds. Nobody's going to get near them."
"What about you?" Alex could feel himself becoming infected with Weird's suspicions.
Weird gave the old, familiar wolfish grin. "I'm going on retreat. Congregations understand that those who minister to them have to go into the wilderness from time to time to reestablish contact with their spirituality. So that's what I'll be doing. The great thing about a TV ministry is that you can make a video wherever you happen to be. So my flock won't forget me while I'm gone."
"You can't hide forever, though. Sooner or later, you're going to have to go home."
Weird nodded. "I know that. But I'm not going to sit on my hands, Alex. As soon as I get myself and my family out of the firing line, I'm going to hire a private detective and find out just who sent that wreath to Ziggy's funeral. Because when I know that, I'll know who I have to look out for."
Alex exhaled sharply. "You've got this all worked out, haven't you?"
"The more I thought about that first wreath, the more I wondered. And God helps those who help themselves, so I made a plan. Just in case." Weird put a hand on Alex's arm. "Alex, I suggest you do the same. You have more than yourself to consider now." Weird pulled Alex into a hug. "Take care of yourself."
"Very bloody touching," a voice said harshly.
Weird pulled away and swung around. At first he couldn't place the grim-faced man glowering at him and Alex. Then memory erased the years and he was back outside the Lammas Bar, terrified and hurting. "Brian Duff," Weird breathed.
Alex glanced from one to the other. "This is Rosie's brother?"
"Aye, that's right."
The confused emotions that had been tormenting Alex for days suddenly fused into anger. "Come to gloat, have you?"
"Poetic justice, isn't that what they call it? One murderous wee shite sees off another one. Aye, I came to gloat."
Alex lunged forward, stopped short by Weird's firm grip on his arm. "Leave it, Alex. Brian, none of us harmed a hair on Rosie's head. I know you need somebody to blame, but it wasn't one of us. You have to believe that."
"I don't have to believe anything of the kind." He spat on the ground. "I really hoped that the cops were going to nail one of you this time around. Since that's not going to happen, this is the next best thing."
"Of course it's not going to happen. We never touched your sister, and the DNA evidence will prove that," Alex shouted.
Duff snorted. "What DNA evidence? Those fucking idiots have lost the DNA evidence."
Alex's mouth fell open. "What?" he whispered.
"You heard. So you're still safe from the long arm of the law." His lip curled in a sneer. "Didnae save your pal, though, did it?" He turned on his heel and strode off without a backward glance.
Weird shook his head slowly. "You believe him?"
"Why would he lie?" Alex sighed. "I really thought we might finally be in the clear, you know? How could they be so incompetent? How could they lose the one bit of evidence that might have put an end to all this shit?" He waved an arm toward the wreath.
"You're surprised? They hardly covered themselves with glory first time around. Why should this be any different?" Weird tugged at the collar of his coat. "Alex, I'm sorry but I need to head off." They shook hands. "I'll be in touch."
Alex stood rooted to the spot, stunned by the speed at which his world had turned upside down. If Brian Duff was right, was that the reason for those ominous wreaths? And if so, would the nightmare ever end while he and Weird were still alive?
Graham Macfadyen sat in his car and watched. The wreaths had been a master stroke. It paid to make the most of every opportunity. He hadn't been in Seattle to see the effect of the first one, but there was no question that Mackie and Gilbey had got the message this time. And that meant that there was a message to get. Innocent men wouldn't have turned a hair at such a reminder.
Seeing their reaction almost made up for the nauseating parade of hypocrisy he'd had to sit through inside the crematorium. It had been obvious that the minister hadn't known David Kerr in life, so it wasn't surprising that he had done such a good job of whitewashing him in death. But it made him sick, the way everyone had nodded sagely, accepting the bullshit, their pious expressions acceding to this hypocritical fiction.
He wondered how they'd have looked if he'd walked up to the front of the crematorium and told the truth. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to burn a murderer. This man you thought you knew spent all his adult life lying to you. David Kerr pretended to be an upstanding member of the community. But the reality is that many years ago he took part in the brutal rape and murder of my mother, for which he was never punished. So when you thumb through your memories of him, remember that." Oh yes, that would have wiped the looks of reverent sorrow from their faces. He almost wished he'd done it.
But that would have been self-indulgence. It wasn't fitting to gloat. Better to stay in the shadows. Especially since his uncle had turned up out of the blue to make his point for him. He had no idea what Uncle Brian had said to Gilbey and Mackie. But it had rocked the pair of them back on their heels. No chance now of them forgetting what they'd once been part of. They'd be lying awake tonight, wondering when their past was finally going to catch up with them. It was a pleasant thought.
Macfadyen watched Alex Gilbey walk to his car, apparently oblivious to everything around him. "He doesn't even know I'm on the planet," he muttered. "But I am, Gilbey. I am." He started his engine and set off to haunt the fringes of the funeral buffet. It was amazing how easy it was to infiltrate people's lives.
Chapter 32
Davina was making progress, the nurse told them. She was breathing well without oxygen, her jaundice was responding to the fluorescent lights that shone night and day around her cot. While he held her in his arms, Alex could forget the depression Mondo's funeral had trailed in its wake, and the anxieties Weird's reaction to the wreath had generated. The only thing that could be better than sitting with his wife and daughter in the neonatal unit would be doing exactly the same thing in their own living room. Or so he'd thought until his conversation at the crematorium.
As if she read his mind, Lynn looked up from feeding. "Just a couple of days now, and we'll be bringing her home."
Alex smiled, hiding the uneasiness her words created. "I can't wait," he said.
Driving home afterward, he thought about broaching the subject of the wreath and Brian Duff's revelation. But he didn't want to unsettle Lynn, so he kept quiet. Lynn went straight to bed, exhausted by the day, while Alex opened a particularly good bottle of Shiraz he'd been saving for a night when they deserved indulgence. He brought the wine through to the bedroom and poured them each a glass. "Are you going to tell me what's eating away at you?" Lynn asked as he climbed on top of the duvet next to her.
"Oh, I was just thinking about He'd and Jackie. I can't help wondering if Jackie had a hand in Mondo's murder. I'm not saying she killed him. But it sounds like she knows people who might, if the money was right."
Lynn scowled. "I almost wish it was her. That bitch He'd deserves to suffer. How could she creep around cheating on Mondo and pretend to be the perfect wife?"
"I think He'd's genuinely suffering, Lynn. I believe her when she says she loved him."
"Don't you start defending her."
"I'm not defending her. But whatever the score is between her and Jackie, she cared about him. It's obvious."
Lynn pursed her lips. "I'll have to take your word for it. But that's not what's bugging you. Something happened after we left the crematorium and before you arrived at the hotel. Was it Weird? Did he say something to wind you up?"
"I swear to God you're a witch," Alex complained. "Look, it was nothing. Just some bee Weird got in his bonnet."
"Must have been the killer bee from Alpha Centauri to have this much effect when you've got so many other important things going on. Why don't you want to tell me? Is it boys' own stuff?"
Alex sighed. He didn't like keeping things from Lynn. He'd never believed that ignorance was bliss, not in a marriage that was supposed to be equal. "In a way. I really don't want to bother you with it, you've got enough on your plate right now."
"Alex, with what I've got on my plate, don't you think anything would be a welcome diversion?"
"Not this, love." He sipped his drink, savoring its warm spice. He wished he could channel all his consciousness into appreciating the wine and lose touch with everything that ailed him. "Some things are better left."
"Why am I having trouble believing you?" Lynn leaned her head against his shoulder. "Come on, spill. You know you'll feel better."
"Actually, I'm not at all sure that I would." He sighed again. "I don't know, maybe I should tell you. You're the sensible one, after all."
"Which is not something any of us could ever have said about Weird," Lynn said dryly.
And so he told her about the funeral wreaths, making as light of it as he could. To his surprise, Lynn made no attempt to dismiss the story as Weird's paranoia. "That's why you're trying to convince yourself Jackie hired a hitman," she said. "I don't like this one little bit. Weird's right to take this seriously."
"Look, it could have a simple explanation," Alex protested. "Maybe somebody that knew them both."
"The way Mondo cut himself off from his past? The only people who could reasonably have known them both must come from Kirkcaldy or St. Andrews. And everybody there knew about the Rosie Duff case. You couldn't forget something like that. Not if you knew them well enough to be sending a wreath to funerals where the announcements said 'family flowers only,' " Lynn pointed out.
"Even so, it doesn't mean somebody's out to get us," Alex said. "OK, someone wanted to get a dig in. That's no reason to suppose that the same person has committed cold-blooded murder twice."
Lynn shook her head in disbelief. "Alex, what planet are you on? I can just about credit that somebody who wanted to get a dig in might have seen the reports of Mondo's death. At least that happened in the same country as Rosie Duff's murder. But how would they have heard about Ziggy's death in time to get flowers to his funeral unless they were involved somehow?"
"I don't know. But it's a small world these days. Maybe whoever sent the wreath had a contact in Seattle. Maybe somebody from St. Andrews moved there and ran across Ziggy through the clinic. It's not exactly a common name, and it's not like Ziggy was Mr. Nobody. You know yourself?whenever we ate out with Ziggy and Paul in Seattle, somebody always came over to say hello. People don't forget the doctor who treated their kid. And if that's how it happened, what would be more natural than to e-mail somebody back home when Ziggy died? A place like St. Andrews, news like that would spread like wildfire. It's not so far-fetched, is it?" Alex's voice grew agitated as he struggled to find something that would mean he didn't have to believe what Weird had suggested.
"It's stretching it a bit, but I suppose you could be right. But you can't just leave it at that. You can't rely on a faint possibility. You've got to do something, Alex." Lynn put down her glass and hugged him. "You can't take risks, not with Davina coming home any day now."
Alex drained his glass, paying no attention to the quality of the wine. "What am I supposed to do? Go into hiding with you and Davina? Where would we go? And what about the business? I can't just walk away from my livelihood, not with a child to support."
Lynn stroked his head. "Alex, take it easy. I'm not suggesting we jump off the deep end like Weird. You told me earlier that Lawson was at the funeral today. Why don't you go and talk to him?"
Alex snorted. "Lawson? The man who tried to con me with lentil soup and sympathy? The man who's carried the torch so long that he came along to see one of us cremated? You think he's going to give me a sympathetic hearing?"
"Lawson might have had his suspicions, but at least he stopped you getting a kicking." Alex slid down the bed, nestling his head against Lynn's stomach. She winced and pulled away. "Mind my wound," she said. He shifted back, settling against her arm.
"He'd laugh in my face."
"Alternatively, he might take you seriously enough to make some inquiries. It's not in his interest to turn a blind eye to vigilante justice, if that's what this is. Apart from anything else, it makes the police look even more crap than they already do."
"You don't know the half of it," Alex said.
"What do you mean?"
"Something else happened after the funeral. Rosie Duff's brother turned up. He made sure Weird and I knew he'd come to gloat."
Lynn looked shocked. "Oh, Alex. That's awful. For all of you. That poor man. Not to be able to let it rest after all this time."
"That's not all. He told us that Fife Police have lost the evidence in Rosie's case. The evidence that we were relying on to produce the DNA that would clear us."
"You're kidding."
"I wish I was."
Lynn shook her head. "All the more reason why you need to talk to Lawson."
"You think he wants me rubbing his nose in it?"
"I don't care what Lawson wants. You need to know for sure what's going on. If there really is someone after you, it might be the realization that they're not going to get justice after all that has set them off. Call Lawson in the morning. Set up an appointment. It would put my mind at rest."
Alex rolled off the bed and started to undress. "If that's what it takes, consider it done. But don't blame me if he decides the vigilante's right and decides to arrest me."
To Alex's surprise, when he called to arrange a meeting with ACC Lawson, the secretary gave him a slot that afternoon. It left him enough time to go to the office for a couple of hours, which left him feeling more out of control than he had previously. He liked to keep a close eye on the day-to-day business, not because he didn't have confidence in his staff but because not knowing what was going on made him feel uneasy. But he'd had his eye off the ball too much lately, and he needed to get up to speed. He copied a stack of memos and reports on to a CD, hoping he'd squeeze some time at home later to get on top of things. Grabbing a sandwich to eat in the car, he headed back to Fife.
The empty office he was shown into was about twice the size of his own. The privileges of rank were always more visible in the public sector, he thought, taking in the big desk, the elaborately framed map of the county and James Lawson's prominently displayed commendations. He sat down in the visitor's chair, noting with amusement that it was much lower than the one behind the desk opposite.
He wasn't kept waiting long. The door behind him opened and Alex jumped up. The years hadn't been kind to Lawson, he thought. His skin was lined and weathered, with two patches of high color on his cheeks, the broken veins the badge of a man who either drank too much or spent too much time exposed to the harsh east winds of Fife. His eyes were still shrewd, however, Alex noted as Lawson took him in from top to toe. "Mr. Gilbey," he said. "Sorry to keep you."
"No problem. I know you must be busy. I appreciate you fitting me in so quickly."
Lawson swept past without offering his hand. "I'm always interested when someone connected with an investigation wants to see me." He settled into his leather chair, tugging at his uniform jacket to straighten it.
"I saw you at David Kerr's funeral," Alex said.
"I had business over in Glasgow. I took the opportunity to pay my last respects."
"I didn't think Fife Police had much respect for Mondo," Alex said.
Lawson made an impatient gesture with one hand. "I presume your visit is connected to our reopening of the Rosemary Duff murder?"
"Indirectly, yes. How is the inquiry going? Have you made any progress?"
Lawson looked irritated by the questions. "I can't discuss operational matters relating to an ongoing case with someone in your position."
"What position is that, exactly? You surely don't still regard me as a suspect?" Alex was more courageous than his twenty-year old self; he wasn't about to let a remark like that pass without challenge.
Lawson shuffled some papers on his desk. "You were a witness."
"And witnesses can't be told what's happening? You're quick enough to talk to the press when you make progress. Why do I have less rights than a journalist?"
"I'm not talking to the press about the Rosie Duff case either," Lawson said stiffly.
"Would that be because you've lost the evidence?"
Lawson gave him a long, hard stare. "No comment," he said.
Alex shook his head. "That's not good enough. After what we went through twenty-five years ago, I think I deserve better than that. Rosie Duff wasn't the only victim back then, and you know it. Maybe it's time I went to the press and told them how I'm still being treated like a criminal by the police after all these years. And while I'm at it, I could tell them how Fife Police have screwed up their review of Rosie Duff's murder by losing the crucial evidence that would have exonerated me and might just have led to the arrest of the real killer."
The threat clearly made Lawson uncomfortable. "I don't respond well to intimidation, Mr. Gilbey."
"Neither do I. Not anymore. You really want to see yourself all over the pages of the papers as the copper who invaded a grieving family's last farewell to their murdered son? The same son whose innocence was still in doubt, thanks to the incompetence of you and your team?"
"There's no need for you to take this attitude," Lawson said.
"Oh no? I think there's every need. You're supposed to be conducting a cold case review here. I'm a key witness. I'm the person who found the body. And yet there's not been a single officer from Fife Police in touch with me. That doesn't exactly smack of zeal, does it? And now I discover you can't even keep a bag of evidence safe. Maybe I should be talking about this with the investigating officer, not some bureaucrat who's hidebound by the past."
Lawson's face tightened. "Mr. Gilbey, it's true there's a problem with the evidence in this case. At some point in the past twenty-five years, Rosie Duff's clothes have gone missing. We're still trying to track them down, but so far, all we've been able to find is the cardigan that was found some distance away from the crime scene. And that had no biological material on it. None of the clothes that might have been susceptible to modern forensics are available to us. So at the moment, we're stymied. Actually, the officer in charge of the case wanted to have a chat with you, just to go over your original statement. Perhaps we can arrange that soon?"
"Jesus Christ," Alex said. "Now you finally want to interview me? You really don't get it, do you? We're still twisting in the breeze. Do you realize two of the four of us have been murdered in the past month?"
Lawson raised his eyebrows. "Two of you?"
"Ziggy Malkiewicz also died in suspicious circumstances. Just before Christmas."
Lawson pulled a pad toward him and unscrewed a fountain pen. "This is news to me. Where did this happen?"
"In Seattle, where he'd been living for the past dozen years. An arsonist set a firebomb in his house. Ziggy died in his sleep. You can check it out with the police over there. The only suspect they've got is Ziggy's partner, which I have to tell you is about as dumb as it gets."
"I'm sorry to hear about Mr. Malkiewicz?
"Dr. Malkiewicz," Alex interrupted.
"Dr. Malkiewicz," Lawson corrected himself. "But I still don't see why you should think these two deaths are connected to Rosie Duff's murder."
"That's why I wanted to see you today. To explain why I believe there's a connection."
Lawson leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "You have my full attention, Mr. Gilbey. I'm interested in anything that might shine a light in this particular dark corner."
Alex explained about the wreaths once more. Sitting here at the heart of police headquarters, it sounded feeble to his ears. He could feel Lawson's skepticism across the desk as he tried to give weight to so slight an occurrence. "I know it sounds paranoid," he concluded. "But Tom Mackie is convinced enough that he's putting his family into hiding and going underground himself. That's not something you do lightly."
Lawson gave a sour smile. "Ah yes. Mr. Mackie. Maybe a wee touch of 'too many drugs in the seventies?' I believe hallucinogens can lead to long-term paranoia."
"You don't think we should take this seriously? Two of our friends die in suspicious circumstances? Two men who lived respectable lives, with no criminal connections? Two men who had apparently no enemies? And at both funerals, a wreath turns up that refers directly to a murder investigation where they were both regarded as suspects?"
"None of you was ever publicly named as suspects. And we did our best to protect you."
"Aye. But even after that, one of your officers died as a result of the pressure that was put on us."
Lawson jerked bolt upright. "I'm glad you remember that. Because nobody in this building has forgotten it either."
"I'm sure you haven't. Barney Maclennan was the killer's second victim. And I believe that Ziggy and Mondo were his victims too. Indirectly, obviously. But I think somebody killed them because they wanted vengeance. And if that's what happened, then my name's on that list too."
Lawson sighed. "I understand why you're reacting like this. But I don't believe that someone has embarked on a deliberate program of revenge against the four of you. I can tell you that the police in Glasgow are pursuing promising lines of inquiry that have nothing to do with Rosie Duff's murder. Coincidences do happen, and that's what these two deaths are. Coincidence, nothing more. People don't do that kind of thing, Mr. Gilbey. They certainly don't wait twenty-five years to do it."
"What about Rosie's brothers? They were pretty keen to take a pop at us back then. You told me you'd warned them off. That you'd persuaded them not to bring anymore trouble to their mother's door. Is their mother still alive? Are they free from that worry now? Is that why Brian Duff turned up at Mondo's funeral to taunt us?"
"It's true that Mr. and Mrs. Duff are both dead now. But I don't think you've anything to fear from the Duffs. I saw Brian myself a few weeks ago. I don't think vengeance was on his mind. And Colin works out in the Gulf. He was home over Christmas, but he wasn't in the country when David Kerr died." Lawson breathed deeply. "He married one of my fellow officers?Janice Hogg. Ironically, she came to Mr. Mackie's rescue when he was set on by the Duffs. She left the force at the time of the marriage, but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't encourage her husband in lawbreaking on this scale. I think you can rest easy on that score."
Alex heard the conviction in Lawson's voice, but it brought him small relief. "Brian wasn't exactly amiable yesterday," he said.
"No, I can see he might not have been. But let's face it, neither Brian nor Colin was what you would call a sophisticated criminal. If they'd decided to kill you and your friends, they'd probably have walked up to you in a crowded bar and blown your heads off with a shotgun. Elaborate planning was never their style," Lawson said dryly.
"So that kind of disposes of the suspects." Alex shifted in his seat, preparing to stand up.
"Not quite," Lawson said softly.
"What do you mean?" Alex asked, apprehension gripping him again.
Lawson looked guilty, as if he'd said too much. "Ignore me, I was just thinking aloud."
"Wait a minute. You can't brush me off like that. What did you mean, 'not quite?' " Alex leaned forward, looking as if he was about to jump across the desk and grab Lawson's immaculate lapels.
"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry, I was just thinking like a policeman."
"Isn't that what you're paid to do? Come on, tell me what you meant."
Lawson's eyes flickered from side to side, as if he was looking for a way out that didn't involve passing Alex. He ran a hand over his upper lip then took a deep breath. "Rosie's son," he said.
The Distant Echo The Distant Echo - Val McDermid The Distant Echo