Cold in the Earth (20 page)

‘You are kind! Tea’s just what I need, but I don’t want anything to eat, thanks.’

‘You’ll be needing your breakfast before the day’s over.’ It was an instruction, not a suggestion. ‘I’ve some nice morning baps the baker’s just delivered and there’s my mother’s home-made marmalade too.’

Laura was touched. ‘You’ve enough to do without having to go up and down with trays. I’ll get something later—’

‘Och, it’s no bother. With them all needing snacks and coffees all the time I’ve been able to get Dawn up from the village to help, a real sensible lass, and I’m fine now.’ And indeed, she did look much better this morning, busying herself in pulling over a table to put the tray on. ‘You just enjoy your tea and she’ll be up with your breakfast in a wee while.’

The kindness of strangers! Laura found her eyes filling again with weak tears but she blew her nose fiercely, determined not to lapse back into misery.

After tea and a shower she felt much better. She would, as Lisa had pointed out, need all her strength for the day ahead and when she tasted the freshly baked rolls with pale farm butter and dark, bitter, chunky marmalade she found she was hungry after all.

They had taken a DNA sample from her yesterday but clearly there was little doubt in their minds that the body so long interred was Dizzy. She mustn’t let herself dwell on the ghastly realities of that horror; how merciful that her mother had been spared it! How sad, though, that she couldn’t have known it wasn’t lack of love on her daughter’s part that had given rise to those cruel years of silence.

Today Laura was to be collected to go into the police headquarters in Kirkluce, ‘just for a wee chat’ as the detective with the broad Scots accent had said, but for all he made it sound innocuous, she was worried about it.

She was well aware that, while she had told them the truth in answer to their questions, it had been very far from being the whole truth. It had seemed at the time unnecessary, indeed distracting, to involve her whole family history.

Max had been so certain! And might there have been an element of subconscious denial, too, because she so wanted Dizzy to be out there somewhere, alive? Or perhaps it was simpler than that: she had gone to bed late and exhausted, with her head full of Max’s problems.

He had talked for hours about his dysfunctional family, about the difficulties there had been, about his father’s autocratic bullying. ‘She probably stood up to him for once and he lost it with her,’ Max had said. ‘The Mason temper. It’s a curse in our family.’

And, from the way he spoke, a source of pride as well, which was most likely what perpetuated it. And certainly, the vast majority of women murdered were killed by their partner, often in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

‘How did you get on with your mother?’ she asked.

As always, when she faced him with a direct question, she sensed withdrawal. Then he shrugged. ‘Hey, I was a teenager! But she loved me – I never had the faintest doubt about that.’

It had interested Laura that he said, ‘she loved me’ not ‘I loved her’, which would have been the appropriate answer to the question asked. She didn’t miss the implication that she would never have left home and abandoned the son she loved.

Women did, though, and now it looked as if this woman had. Which meant that in failing to tell the police about Dizzy Laura had withheld vital information. Was that an actual offence? She couldn’t remember and even if she had been able to, the laws here in Scotland were different. She felt distinctly uneasy.

She hoped it wasn’t the woman inspector who wanted to see her today. She’d felt skewered by her uncomfortably shrewd gaze the last time; this time she was afraid she might be barbecued as well.

There were sixteen e-mails Marjory Fleming hadn’t opened yet this morning and it was eleven o’clock. She’d had constant interruptions, phone calls, summonses to meetings, and she had the uncomfortable feeling of being strapped to a bolting horse.

Last night she’d made a point of going back to her parents’ house for supper to touch base with her children; she hadn’t seen them at all the previous day and she was still worried about Cammie. But when she went in, to her astonishment, she found her father with the GameBoy in his hands and Cammie sitting on the arm of his chair urging, ‘Go on, Grandpa, collect your ration pack now!’ When Marjory appeared, he barely took time to say, ‘Hi, Mum,’ and tell her that Cat was at hockey practice before he went back to his excited encouragement.

Smiling and shaking her head, she went through to the kitchen where Janet was engaged in the intricacies of making a pastry rose for the top of the steak pie. ‘I see diplomatic relations have been re-established,’ Marjory said.

‘Och well, you know men,’ Janet said comfortably. ‘Often they’re just needing a wee excuse not to go on being daft.’

‘That’s pure domestic magic! How on earth did you do it?’

She dimpled demurely. ‘Did you not know a magician’s never allowed to let on to anyone how the trick’s done?’

So that was all right, then. Marjory’s phone call to Bill, though, had been brief and entirely unsatisfactory. There was really nothing she could do at the moment except keep phoning until he told her the farm had been cleared. Then she would simply move herself and the children back in, whatever he said, and start making some sort of pretence at normal life. As normal, anyway, as it could be, in the middle of this investigation.

The result of the DNA tests was expected in the afternoon and after that she would have to give a statement to the media; so far, the discovery of the body had been an inside-page item, only a few lines in the tabloids, but this – a blonde, glamorous young woman missing for fifteen years and found in a shallow grave – would promote a feeding frenzy.

Fleming was determined, though, to sit in on the interview with Laura Harvey, scheduled for half-past eleven. Her first impression of her had been of someone very cool, very controlled, calculating, even; surely someone like that would have worked out that another missing woman would have, at the very least, been of interest to the police? Tam was interviewing her along with DC Charlotte Nisbet; he was always reliable and she didn’t miss much – a quick-minded, able young woman with a can-do attitude and a good sense of humour, working already for her sergeant’s exams – but even so, if Harvey was holding out on them, her own formidable presence could make a significant difference. With a hunted glance at her watch she began popping open e-mails as if she was shelling peas.

Despite her best efforts, the interview was well under way before Fleming arrived. At the sound of the door opening behind her Laura Harvey turned her head.

It was a shock. Fleming had pigeonholed her as the typical English rose: fair-skinned, blonde, good-looking and very self-assured. Today her blue-grey eyes were swollen to half their size and her skin was puffy and raw from the salt of tears; she was obviously in a fragile state. You could not doubt the genuineness of her grief and there was no sign of the cool control which had made Fleming suspect calculation. Indeed, a look of definite alarm crossed her face as she recognised the new arrival.

Fleming had come with the express intention of using her presence to apply pressure; it was a bit like lifting a sledgehammer and looking down to see the hapless nut in pieces already. Unfortunately dematerialising wasn’t one of her skills, so she did the next best thing by refusing a chair at the table and standing in the farther corner of the room, just out of Laura’s line of sight.

MacNee was positively cooing, smiling benevolently the while – not a pretty sight. ‘So this was how it came about that you discovered your sister’s connection with Chapelton?’ He indicated a newspaper article which was lying in front of him on the desk. ‘Max Mason contacted you?’

Laura nodded and MacNee, with a glance at his boss, handed the article to her. As Laura went on to describe their meeting and the story Mason had told her, Fleming skimmed through it.

It was good, quality-feature journalism, given added force by the personal dimension. Fleming looked at Laura with new eyes; it came through very clearly that she had still believed her sister was alive and there didn’t have to be any other reason for following up the line of enquiry offered to her. The families of Missing Persons always did, even on slighter evidence than this.

DC Nisbet had been listening intently, her sleek dark head on one side. Now she cut in, ‘But you had no suspicion when this body was discovered that it might be the explanation for your sister’s disappearance?’

Laura was wearing a black sweater with a turquoise and black silk scarf looped round the neck; she began to fiddle with the fringe. ‘Not until I saw the gold chain.’ She paused. ‘You didn’t find her ankle bracelet, did you? She always wore that too – it had a little gold dolphin on it.’

MacNee looked at Fleming, who shook her head. ‘Not as yet.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Her voice was low and still husky from crying. ‘I suppose I should have thought of Di but I – I just didn’t.’

Fleming waited for MacNee to pursue that, but he only nodded sympathetically. Reluctantly she stepped forward and saw anxiety flare again in the other woman’s eyes.

‘Laura, why didn’t you mention your sister either to me or to Sergeant MacNee when he spoke to you yesterday?’

‘It didn’t occur to you, maybe?’ MacNee suggested helpfully.

Fleming shot him a look of intense irritation. Laura began, ‘Yes, that’s right,’ then catching Fleming’s eyes on her, faltered. ‘No, it isn’t really. Of course it occurred to me when you asked me why I was here. It’s absolutely true that I’m doing an article on foot-and-mouth for the
Sunday Tribune
, of course. But if I’d told you about my sister there would have been questions and questions and questions when it wasn’t relevant at all. Max seemed so positive it was his mother—’

Still keeping her gaze fixed, Fleming said, ‘It’s not that there’s something you don’t want us to know, is it? Because if there is, this would be a good time to tell us. We’ll find out anyway.’

Laura shook her head vehemently. ‘I’m sure there must be things I haven’t told you – my head feels so thick and stupid this morning – but it’s not deliberate.’

This time Fleming allowed herself to be convinced. She moved on. ‘So – am I right that your family had no contact with your sister after she left home? No idea what sort of relationships she might have had with anyone up here?’

‘There was that one phone call to say she was all right but she didn’t even say where she was. All I know is what Max told me. He said his aunt had rows with her and his cousin fancied her, but then I’m pretty sure Max had a crush on her himself. She was . . . very attractive.’

‘And Jake Mason? Was he attracted to her?’ Nisbet asked.

‘Max didn’t say so. When they were out in Pamplona – I told you about that, didn’t I? – it was his father who told Dizzy to get in touch with him if ever she needed a job. But I don’t know.’

‘Fine. Now, was there anything else, boss?’ The glance MacNee gave Fleming was a little nervous, she thought – as well it might be! ‘No,’ she said. ‘I think Laura’s had enough for today. Thanks very much. This can’t have been easy.’

With evident relief Laura got to her feet. ‘I was afraid you might be going to charge me with obstruction or something.’ She managed a shaky laugh. ‘I’m sorry if I wasted your time, or if I’ve been less than completely coherent today. I think I’m probably in shock.’

‘I’m sure you are,’ Fleming agreed. ‘We’ll arrange to have you taken back to the hotel and there’ll be someone there to control the Press – you’ll be under siege later, I’m afraid. Someone will be in touch with you to talk about what to do.’

Laura grimaced. ‘It does make bad even worse, doesn’t it?’

‘Try our job!’ MacNee said with feeling. ‘Now, if there’s anything else you think of, however daft – an impression, even, anything that strikes you as maybe a bit out of kilter – share it, will you? Here’s my card.’

Laura took it. ‘There is one thing,’ she said slowly. ‘I don’t know if I should even mention it—’

‘Yes.’ All three police officers spoke at once. ‘Definitely,’ Fleming added.

‘It was just – well, Max told me that Scott Thomson was working at Chapelton when he left home so he must have been there when my sister disappeared – was killed. He was behind the bar when Max told Conrad who I was and when I went out a few minutes later he gave me a really strange look. Not – not pleasant.’ She gave a half-humorous shudder. ‘That’s it. That’s all, and it’s a pretty subjective judgement, of course, to say it was a strange look. I was very tired and probably making too much of it.’

MacNee scribbled something down in his notebook and Fleming said, ‘You can leave the evaluation to us. You’ve told us he was at Chapelton at the significant time, which will save us having to find out. Keep thinking. Sometimes it’s some minute observation that’s the key to the whole thing.’

As the door shut behind Laura, Fleming turned wrathfully on MacNee. ‘And what the hell was
that
about, Tam? Since when have you started suggesting excuses to someone who’s being questioned?’

Nisbet grinned. ‘Oh, you missed all the best bits.’ She mimicked a Glasgow accent. ‘“Now don’t you worry yourself, we’re no’ as bad as we look! You just sit down here, Laura – you don’t mind if we just call you Laura?” Tam MacNee doing the kid-glove treatment – they’ll never believe it down the pub!’

Stubborn under the combined assault, Tam protested, ‘You’d only to look at her today to know she was a poor wee soul. “
Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman
,” as the Great Man says.’

He was howled down. ‘I’m setting up a fines box for Burns quotations,’ Marjory declared. ‘Ten pence for a phrase, fifty pence for a whole verse.’

With a flourish Tam produced a £1 coin and gave it to her. ‘There you are. That should cover the next couple of days. Though by rights it should be you that’s paying for the privilege – cheap at twice the price.’