The Darkness and the Deep (30 page)

‘Yes, ma’am. May I stand at ease?’

‘No.’

‘It’s sort of a long story.’

‘Oh, I have all the time in the world, Constable.’

‘You see, I was following up on Operation Songbird.’

‘The brief I gave to Tam. Yes.’

He reddened. ‘I suppose I should have cleared it through him. But anyway, I’d got the undercover bit all worked out and I thought I’d try it in Knockhaven before the gossip mill caught up and it was all round the place who I was.’

‘Tam told me.’

‘Yes, I was pretty sure he’d recognised me.’

‘That, you see, was why we were so worried. You’d been in the town already working as a policeman so there was no guarantee that Tam was the only one to see through the disguise. You were in the company of known drug-users, you must have been asking questions, then you disappeared.’

‘Oh! Sorry, I never thought of it like that.’

Dear God, it was like explaining to a teenager why you might be anxious if they missed the last bus and decided to walk home! Heaven send her patience!

‘So here you are, in the pub, undercover. Take it from there. Oh, and I suppose you can sit down.’

‘Thanks, boss,’ he said with marked relief. ‘Really, I mean it – I am sorry it caused so much trouble.’

‘So am I. OK – but this better be good.’

His eyes lit up. ‘It is, I promise you! It was all going pretty well last night. I told them I’d just come to the area, doing IT work locally, and where could I get hash – the usual line. Actually, I’ve done it in two or three pubs all across the area over the last bit, picked up some heavier stuff as well – thought we could run comparisons on whether it seemed to be coming from the same source.’

He was certainly cutting corners, a high-risk strategy, but just at the moment she wasn’t going to worry about playing it by the book. ‘Go on.’

‘It was just luck that one of the lads I’d fallen in with was Ryan Duncan – Willie’s son, you know? And when his old man kicked us out at closing time we bought a few more beers and went back to this lad Dale’s house. Smoked a bit of pot – which, incidentally, to coin a phrase, I didn’t inhale – then sat around, talking football mostly. They were all pretty drunk by then—’

‘You, of course, were stone-cold sober?’

He grinned. ‘I’ve got quite a good head. Evidence of a misspent youth. Then suddenly Ryan’s sister came in, hysterical, saying what had happened to her dad. And I have to say, people sobered up pretty quickly. Ryan went off home and I was left with the rest of them.

‘They were all shocked rigid. There was a lot of talk about what Willie had said originally about being a marked man and I noticed one of them, Dale, was keeping pretty quiet. When the others decided they’d better go, I asked if I could doss down on his sofa – the place was going to be crawling with cops and I didn’t want to lose my licence, I said. Actually I think he was glad of the company.

‘I led him on a bit after that and he and Ryan were obviously in on it through Willie, though the rest of them weren’t. He was scared, but he was angry too, not angry enough to name names, but I stoked it up, went on about how the big men had it all and didn’t take the risks and reckoned everyone was expendable, told him the best revenge was to shop him so everyone else would be safe . . . That sort of stuff.

‘But I didn’t push it – he was still edgy, so I just said I needed to crash out. Then when I woke up – a bit late, I’ll admit that – he offered me breakfast and I didn’t want to go off to make a call and lose the momentum.’

‘Fair enough. I’ll accept that.’

‘Thanks. We were going back over it all when Ryan appeared. He was looking terrible and he wasn’t best pleased to find I was still there, but I just sort of went quiet and made coffee and toast in the background while he and Dale started talking.

‘After a bit they almost forgot about me. Dale said, “Are you going to let him get away with it?” and Ryan said, “No, I’m effing not.” Then it got pretty obvious who they were talking about. There’s a network outside the area, of course, but here he’s a one-man band, runs a tight operation with just himself and men like Willie who distribute.’

‘Ritchie Elder?’

‘You were on to him already?’

‘Only suspicion. But if we’ve got those two lads, we know who to lean on—’

‘Better than that.’ Kingsley’s face broke into a triumphant smile. ‘I’ve got them downstairs.’

‘They’re ready to talk?’

‘Better than that, even. If you can persuade the Super to do a bit of horse-trading with the Procurator Fiscal on the question of charges, they’re ready to sing, just like canaries.’

For the third time, the phone rang and rang until it rang out. Dorothy Randall, who had been tapping her fingers on the table as she listened, set down the receiver with an impatient sigh. She looked at her watch: ten to one, and Lewis should have been home for lunch just after twelve-thirty.

She had always been scrupulous about not phoning him during working hours. She had always been sensitive, too, to the faint sigh of irritation, the slight furrowing of his brow, that indicated he felt she was crowding him. As a result, theirs had been a close, happy relationship; she needed to be careful that in this time of anxiety and stress she did not jeopardise it. Dorothy had already made the mistake of going to his house, uninvited, to cook a meal for him, but she hadn’t done it twice.

However, she badly needed to talk to him, after last night. If he wasn’t coming home for lunch, she’d just have to phone him at the surgery after all. She’d give it one more try.

This time, her persistence was rewarded, though Lewis’s ‘Hello?’ at the other end of the phone sounded almost tetchy.

‘Lewis, it’s me.’

‘Yes, I thought it might be.’

She was immediately apologetic. ‘Darling, I’m sorry to interrupt. Is that you only coming in for your lunch now?’

‘Yes. I looked in on Jackie Duncan on my way home.’

It gave her the opening she wanted. ‘It’s quite shocking, isn’t it? Lewis, I really need to talk to you—’

‘Mother, I have to be back at the surgery in half an hour. Surely this can wait?’

She backed off hastily. ‘Oh yes, of course.’ Then she added, with artistic hesitation, ‘It’s – it’s just I’ve had a little heart flutter that’s been worrying me this morning . . .’

She couldn’t hear the sigh, but there was an appreciable pause before he said, ‘I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes.’

‘Oh but Lewis – your lunch! That’s too bad. I could make you a sandwich—’

‘Don’t bother. I have some.’

He wasn’t pleased, but at least he was coming. Going into the sitting room to wait, Dorothy caught sight of herself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. She was looking gaunt, her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep and her face looked blotchy. She’d always taken pride in keeping herself fit, but even leaving aside the imaginary heart flutter, she didn’t feel particularly well, and with a twinge of alarm she reflected that it wouldn’t do any harm to have Lewis check her over. At her age, this level of stress could be positively dangerous.

When he saw her, it was clear that Lewis thought the same. There was no sign of annoyance now as he opened his medical case and took out the sphygmomanometer he had taken for Jackie Duncan. But when he had completed the test and sounded her heart he sat back on his heels saying with some relief, ‘Your blood-pressure’s up a bit, but not badly – nothing to worry about. It’s been an upsetting time – you just need to take it easy. Stop running round after your son, who’s really perfectly capable of looking after himself.’

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. ‘That’s my pleasure. But Lewis, this awful business about Willie Duncan—’

‘You’ve obviously heard all about it. Were you out this morning? Oh no, let me guess. Muriel phoned.’

He didn’t sound pleased. Dorothy said, ‘Oh, I know what you think of her. But she does keep me in touch with what’s happening.’

‘And quite a lot of things that aren’t,’ he said dryly.

‘What’s poor Jackie saying?’

‘She’s sobbing, mostly, and still in shock, of course. But she knew the risks he was running, getting involved with drugs, though her worry I think had mainly been about prosecution rather than something like this.

‘And terrible as it is, I can’t say it isn’t a relief that this will draw a line under Ashley’s death – and the others’, of course.’

‘But Lewis!’ She leaned forward urgently, putting her hand on top of his. ‘That was what I wanted to speak to you about. Don’t you see – it hasn’t?’

Shock was evident in his face. ‘What nonsense is this, Mother?’

‘We can’t afford to be caught off guard. Muriel says that Willie’s death could easily be a blind. Willie said himself that he wasn’t in danger, and everyone knows that if there wasn’t a drugs connection the police would be looking for someone else. So if you were the killer and you wanted to throw them off your scent, you’d have to kill Willie, wouldn’t you?’

Lewis got up. Dorothy couldn’t remember the last time she had seen her son angry, but he was angry now. ‘That woman is pure poison! I don’t want you to have anything more to do with her. Her one aim in life is to cause trouble.’

‘Lewis!’ She was on her feet too. ‘You don’t see, do you? Oh, I know what Muriel is. I don’t trust her, I only believe ten per cent of what she tells me, but if she’s thinking that way, sooner or later the police will too. And then you’ll be back under suspicion again. Don’t think you won’t be!’

She could tell he was sceptical. ‘Don’t you remember that incident at university?’ she said. ‘I’ve never been sure they accepted your innocence. They’ve probably still got you on a file somewhere.’

When he didn’t say anything, she pursued her advantage. ‘So where were you last night? What were you doing?’

‘I was at home, Mother, as I usually am at the moment, working in my study alone.’

‘No, you weren’t.’ Dorothy had moved closer to him, fixing her eyes on his. ‘You were here. We had supper. Steak and kidney pie, then fruit salad. Then we chatted over coffee and decided to watch a film on my video –
Lawrence of Arabia
, I think. You’d seen it before, but we both enjoyed it. It’s a long film, of course, so it was after midnight when you left here. You walked, naturally, so no one would have heard you arriving or leaving, and they might have seen your car still parked outside your house. You probably left the lights on too, to discourage burglars.’

‘You’re crazy,’ he said flatly.

‘No, I’m not. We just have to sort this out before the police come round asking more questions. Of course you’re innocent, but if you believe in British justice, given the amount of compensation they pay out for wrongful imprisonment every year, then you’re a fool.’

Dorothy could see him wavering. ‘Did you have any phone calls?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Nor visitors,’ he said slowly.

‘Then you had supper here.’ Her voice held a tone of firm command she had not used to him since he was a child.

Lewis moistened his lips. ‘Yes. All right.’ He bent to pack his instruments in his case then straightened up, the ghost of a smile on his lips. ‘And a very good steak pie it was too.’

When he had gone, Dorothy Randall slumped back in her chair. If Lewis had been checking her during the course of that conversation, he might have been alarmed by the way her heart was racing, but it was slowing down now. She’d go upstairs and lie down for a nap and after that she’d be feeling
much
better.

16

‘That’s all fine and dandy,’ Tam MacNee said as he sat in one of the chairs by Marjory Fleming’s desk; it was Jonathan Kingsley, this time, who was perched on the table having taken up this position to wait for MacNee and Kerr appearing in answer to the inspector’s summons. ‘And I’m not saying you haven’t done a good job. You have. I’ve been trying to get a handle on that bugger for weeks and it looks like you’ve nailed him. Congratulations.’

‘Thanks, Tam, that’s generous.’ The younger man’s smile was just a fraction too smug.

‘You’d have to admit you could hardly have done it if Willie hadn’t got himself killed,’ Tansy Kerr put in sharply, since he didn’t seem to be going to say it himself.

‘Of course,’ Kingsley acknowledged. He could afford to be gracious.

MacNee went on, ‘But I’ve been chewing over our interview with Elder. Did it strike you, boss, that when we were questioning him about the murders he was all over the place? But the drugs – he was shocked, right enough, at being accused at all, but when we tried to press him on it later he’d all the answers about getting in his lawyer off pat. Och, I know he got time to pull himself together, but even so . . . It just seems kinda funny that if he was guilty of the killings too he wouldn’t have worked out a smarter way to handle it.’

Fleming, who had observed the interplay between her detectives in watchful silence, said, ‘I hear what you’re saying. It wasn’t the being prepared that struck me, but I did think that if either the story about your mistress was a fabrication, or you were ruthless enough to kill her, just the mention of the state of her face would be unlikely to make you physically sick. As he was,’ she added in explanation to the other two.

Kingsley’s face stiffened. ‘But surely, with the greatest respect, you can’t be saying you don’t think he’s guilty just because the gory details revolted him? It’s been clear from the start it’s a drugs scenario.

‘Oh, I know he’s claiming an alibi in both cases, but they sound pretty flimsy to me – his wife and a barmaid who won’t remember him. If we start from the premise that we know he did it and work backwards from there, I promise you we’ll find the evidence to fit.’

There was a silence. MacNee and Kerr exchanged glances, then Fleming said coolly, ‘It’s not really the way we work here, Jon. It’s too close to stitching someone up for comfort. Miscarriages of justice happen when coppers believe that all they need for a conviction is the conviction that they know who did it.