The Third Sin (13 page)

DS MacNee and DC Hepburn had just arrived at Sea House when DI Fleming finished her inspection and was struggling out of the overalls and stripping off her plastic gloves to drop in a bin by the side of the path. She walked down to the gate to meet them.

‘How did you get on with Mrs James? Was she able to give you a coherent account?’

For some reason that was funny. ‘You could say,’ MacNee said dryly.

Hepburn nodded. ‘She’s what you’d call formidable. Ran some government department.’

Fleming was interested. ‘A battleaxe?’

They looked at each other. ‘Not quite – firm but fair, probably. In a scary sort of way,’ Hepburn said. ‘She’ll make a great witness.’

‘So – anything useful?’

‘Not directly,’ MacNee said. ‘She arrived, she saw the body in the water, she hailed a passing car and the driver called in to us. There was a wee bit of background – Julia was a spoilt child, Eleanor felt ashamed of what happened. But Mrs James came up with something that could be of interest.’ He relayed what she had said about Eleanor’s mermaid.

Fleming too was intrigued. ‘That’s fascinating. Raises all sorts of interesting questions. I wonder if she made any record of it? There was a SOCO going through her papers so we should get those before too long.

‘Now, did you see Macdonald and Campbell? No? They may be a while, with both the Lindsays to interview. Tam, I want to have another go at Skye Falconer so you can come with me. Louise, I’d like you to go back to Kirkluce. Inspector Wallace has sent through some interviews with neighbours and I’d like you to check those out, and anything else that comes in. But go off at the end of your shift. You’ll be working tonight at the party and you ought to have a break.’

‘Wish me luck!’ Hepburn rolled her eyes, but took the car keys from MacNee.

‘I do wonder about the mermaid,’ Fleming said as she and MacNee set off along the road to Ballinbreck. ‘This could be highly significant.’

‘Aye – the night of the storm, and the shock and bruising. The sort of thing you might expect if she’d been in some sort of accident, maybe – like a car going off the road with a murdered man inside it.’

‘It’s just a pity the Dumfries lads didn’t manage to pinpoint where the car went in the river. It was a long shot, of course, all that time afterwards. That’s the house there, isn’t it?’ She drew in to park.

It wasn’t Skye Falconer who opened the door. ‘Jen Wilson?’ Fleming asked.

The woman’s face was sombre and she waved them in at once. ‘I thought probably someone would be round because of the Julia connection. What a terrible thing – poor Mrs Margrave.’

‘You’ve heard, then?’

‘I went to get some rolls for breakfast and it’s all over the town. Is it true?’

Fleming repeated the usual mantra and Jen called through to the back of the house, ‘Skye, it’s the police,’ as she showed them into the sitting room at the front.

‘Perhaps we could talk to you first.’ When Skye appeared in the doorway, Fleming said firmly, ‘We’ll speak to you later on your own, Miss Falconer.’

Skye was looking tired, with dark shadows under her eyes and she directed a look at her friend – helpless, appealing? – as if she hoped Jen would argue, but then withdrew.

‘I think this is probably quite straightforward,’ Fleming said as they sat down. ‘Can you tell us where you were yesterday between noon and four pm?’

‘At school, of course. It was probably after four when I left, so I suppose it was around quarter past, twenty past maybe, by the time I got home.’

‘I see. Do you have a car, Miss Wilson?’

‘Yes, but I always walk to school.’

‘The keys are kept – where?’

‘On a hook in the hall, by the door. Wait a minute – you don’t think Skye had anything to do with this? She wouldn’t—’

‘We don’t think anything at this stage, madam. We just ask questions. Was Miss Falconer here when you got back?’

‘Yes, she was. And she’d just made scones too,’ Jen said. ‘So I should think she’d have to have been here for some time, wouldn’t you?’

Fleming made a non-committal noise. ‘Can you think of any reason why anyone would wish to harm Mrs Margrave?’

‘Of course not! I’m sure she never did anything to hurt anyone. And it was so sad for her, with Julia too. You just can’t believe that something like this could happen.’

Jen Wilson’s eyes filled with tears. Now Fleming looked at her closely, she looked pale, as if she too had not slept well.

‘I think that’s all. Thank you for your cooperation. Could you please tell Miss Falconer we’d like to see her now?’

Skye’s elfin face was set in mulish lines when she came in. She sat down opposite the officers and folded her arms in a classic defensive gesture.

‘I didn’t borrow Jen’s car yesterday afternoon, if that’s what you’re saying. I was here all day.’

Fleming felt faintly annoyed that Jen had warned her of the question. ‘Can anyone vouch for that?’

‘No. There’s no one else here, when Jen’s at school.’

‘So you didn’t leave the house at all, or have any visitors?’

‘No.’

‘Did you know Mrs Margrave?’

‘Not really. I don’t think any of us did. I’ve never spoken to her. I only saw her the night it happened – I don’t think she came to the inquest.’ She was studying her fingernails.

‘Sure about that?’ MacNee said sharply.

She glared at him. ‘Quite sure.’

‘I just want to go back over what you said the last time we spoke,’ Fleming said. ‘You said you had been abroad. When did you come back to this country?’

Skye was obviously flustered. ‘I – I don’t know what I said. I told you it was very vague – I was just drifting about. I didn’t come up to Scotland until ten days ago. Jen can tell you.’

‘Miss Wilson can confirm when you arrived here. I’m asking where you were before that?’

‘Like I said, I don’t know exactly. I spent a few days in England after I got back, just coming north.’

‘Anyone who can say where you were?’

‘No they can’t!’ she said wildly. ‘I was just picking up a lift or two, coming up here – all right? Slept rough a couple of times. I was a bit broke.’

‘So when do you estimate you crossed the Channel?’

Skye pursed her lips. ‘I told you, dates don’t mean much when you’re travelling.’ Then she said, with an air of triumph, ‘I can tell you I was still in France on my birthday – April 22nd. A nice guy bought some cheap fizz.’

‘Don’t remember his name, I suppose?’ MacNee’s cynicism was obvious.

‘Dave,’ she said coldly.

Fleming had no doubt at all that she was lying now – and Skye was getting better at it, too, with fewer of the body language giveaways. Practice makes perfect.

She said, ‘I’m going to repeat two questions, Miss Falconer, and I cannot stress too much how important it is that your answers to them are accurate and truthful. I’m going to ask DS MacNee to make a note of them. Do you understand?’

There was no flicker of response.

Fleming waited for a second then went on, ‘Where were you yesterday afternoon?’

‘Here. All day.’

‘When did you arrive here in Ballinbreck?’

‘About ten days ago. You can ask me as many times as you like. The answer will still be the same.’

‘Thank you.’ Fleming got up. ‘For the moment, that’s all.’

Skye walked to the door and called through the hall. ‘Jen! Could you come for a minute?’ then when the kitchen door opened said, ‘Can you just confirm to them that I arrived here ten days ago?’

She’d outwitted them. Her back was turned; they couldn’t see Jen’s face, couldn’t judge the look that passed between them and they couldn’t stop her asking the leading question.

There was a tiny pause, but only a tiny one. ‘Yes, of course,’ Jen said.

When Skye turned back to face them, the sea-green eyes were wide and limpid. ‘All right?’

Back in the car, MacNee said, ‘She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?’

‘Certainly is,’ Fleming said grimly. ‘She’s getting better, too. I don’t
believe a word she says and we have to ask why the lies are necessary. We’d better check everything that’s checkable: ferry passenger lists, passport control – though given how porous our borders seem to be, not finding her name wouldn’t prove much.’

‘And the only wee vague kind of alibi she has is that she’d just made scones, says Wilson. How long does it take to make a scone?’

‘You’re asking
me
?’

‘Sorry, daft question. The Stewarts now?’

‘Yes. And let’s hope if they’re in the mood to tell lies that they’re not as good at it as she is.’

Skye went through to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. ‘I need coffee after being given the third degree like that. Make one for you?’

Jen followed her slowly. ‘Skye, why did you ask me to say you just came back here ten days ago?’

‘Because they came on like the Gestapo and as an innocent person, I don’t have to account for my every movement to the police. All right?’ She sounded very fierce.

‘All right,’ Jen said. But as she fetched the coffee mugs dark and ugly thoughts were beginning to stir.

Fleming and MacNee had gone by the time Macdonald and Campbell arrived at Sea House. They hadn’t told the duty constable where they were going and Macdonald was frowning as they went back to the car.

‘I guess I’d better phone the boss and see what we’ve to do next. If she’s doing the other interviews herself she’ll maybe send us back to the station. There’ll be stuff coming in by now.’

Campbell grunted. ‘Haven’t finished here.’

‘Look, I don’t like paperwork any more than you do but if Randall Lindsay’s bunked off we can’t interview him, can we?’

‘Find him.’

‘Yeah, find him – how?’

‘Where would you go?’

‘To get out the house when my mum was expecting visitors? Find a cafe that sold bacon butties if the pubs weren’t open, I suppose. Well, maybe it’s worth a try.’

He drove back to park in the village. They drew a blank at the first coffee shop where the clientele consisted of a retired couple and a
table with pushchairs forming a sort of palisade for a posse of young mums. The only other one, rather scruffier, had the smell of frying that had Campbell’s nostrils flaring like a hound scenting truffles and as well as a group of elderly men with red tops folded to the racing page there was a tall young man wearing red cords and looking distinctly out of place.

He looked up warily as they came in then, as they approached his table, sat back in his chair, pulling a face. ‘Oh, not again!’

Macdonald could never quite work out why it was that people he had never seen before so often seemed to recognise him as police even before he spoke. He was wearing a perfectly ordinary shirt with a zip-up jacket and jeans; perhaps it was going round in a pair that gave it away, like the Mormons.

‘Mr Lindsay?’ he said. ‘Could we have a word?’

Conversation at the other table had stopped. The two old men with their back to the room swivelled round, ready to enjoy the sideshow.

‘Outside, I think?’ Macdonald suggested. Lindsay nodded curtly, put down some money on the table with a gesture to the waitress and followed them out.

Macdonald introduced himself and Campbell and showed his warrant card. ‘Perhaps we could talk in the car? It might be more private.’

Lindsay sneered. ‘Oh, great idea! And have it all round the place that I’ve been arrested for whatever crime it is you have in mind to fit me up for?’

The rash that Hepburn had said Lindsay brought her out in must be contagious; it was afflicting Macdonald as well. ‘Where do you suggest, sir?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!
I
don’t know. If we go back to the house we’ll be trampled underfoot by the old She-Elephant and her host of minions. You want to talk to me – you find somewhere.’

It was hard not to crack a smile at his spot-on description of his mother, but keeping a straight face was a professional skill. ‘Could I suggest we use the car, but drive to some quieter spot outside the village? It’s unmarked; there’s no reason why it should attract attention.’

‘Oh – if you insist. I’ll walk until I’m leaving the village and you can pick me up.’

He set off as Macdonald walked back to fetch the car with Campbell. ‘Poor Louise!’ he said. ‘I thought she was exaggerating, but if anything she was playing it down.’

It only took a few minutes after they had picked up Lindsay before they found a field gate where they could draw in and park.

‘Get on with it, then,’ Lindsay said. ‘Spending time with police officers isn’t one of my favourite pastimes.’

‘And why is that?’ Macdonald, turning round in his seat, asked blandly.

‘Can’t think. Oh, yes I can. I got a particular distaste for it when I realised I was being used as a stooge by one of your little friends.’

‘Don’t know what you mean, sir.’

‘Oh, yes you do. She’s blocking my calls so if you see Louise you can tell her not to bother coming to the party tonight. I don’t know what she thinks she’s going to spy on but she won’t get a very cordial reception. Distinctly
un
cordial, in fact.’

The raw hostility in his voice was alarming. Even as Macdonald ignored this and went on to his first question, he decided to phone Louise himself and tell her to forget it.

‘Where were you between the hours of noon and four p.m. yesterday?’

Lindsay bristled visibly. ‘And why should I have anything to do with that?’

‘“That”?’ Macdonald raised his eyebrows. ‘You know about Mrs Margrave’s death, do you?’

‘Well, duh! It’s all over the town, but I don’t see why you should pick on me. I hardly know the old bat – haven’t set eyes on her for years. Anyway, I’ve been in Paris most of the time. Why should I have come back in a homicidal frenzy and killed first Connell Kane and then Julia’s mother?’

‘I don’t know, sir,’ Macdonald said. ‘Perhaps you could tell us.’

Lindsay groaned and struck his forehead theatrically. ‘Never joke with the plods. That wasn’t a confession, Sergeant. That was me being funny.’

‘I hadn’t realised.’ Macdonald earned himself a suspicious glance. ‘So – your movements?’

Lindsay groaned again. ‘I was just – around. After lunch I went to do an errand for my mother in Castle Douglas – there’s a butcher there who was giving her a good deal on sausages for the barbecue. Then I just – didn’t go back. Not until about five when I reckoned the worst would be over.’

‘And where did you go when you “weren’t going back”?’

‘Drove around. Went along to Kippford, had a walk along the shore, that sort of thing.’

‘I have to press you for details of times, and anyone who might be able to vouch for your whereabouts.’

‘
Whereabouts?
God, who says “whereabouts” nowadays?’ Macdonald could see a flush of annoyance appearing. ‘I told you – it’s vague. That’s because I haven’t done anything. If I had, I’m sure I’d be able to give you a minute-by-minute alibi vouched for by witnesses.’

‘Not as easy as you make it sound, I’m afraid. So there’s no one at all who can back up your account of where you were after you collected the supplies from the butcher?’

‘No, there isn’t. So?’

‘But you estimate that you came back shortly before five o’clock. Did you notice anything as you passed Sea House?’

Lindsay stared at him. His face was getting redder, his blue eyes starting to bulge a little; he clearly had quite a temper. ‘Trick question, is it? I should have seen a police car or tapes or something, should I? Well, tough. I didn’t come back that way. I came back through Kirkcudbright. All right?’

‘Adding a good ten, twelve miles to your journey? Rather an odd way round to go, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I was wasting time, for God’s sake! Oh, go on, arrest me, why don’t you?’

‘We’re not in the habit of arresting people unless we have some reason for it,’ Macdonald said, adding provocatively, ‘I’m not sure why you should be so upset about such a simple, routine request.’

He thought for a moment that Lindsay might lose it and land a punch – taking him in would be a real pleasure – but with an obvious effort of will Lindsay controlled himself.

‘Don’t you?’ he said unpleasantly. ‘I should have thought, with all the training courses funded by the long-suffering taxpayer these days to keep you from actually doing any police work, you’d have had one on empathy by now.’

‘Not so far, sir. Now, we’ll be sending someone round to take a formal statement from you. I take it you won’t be going anywhere for the next few days?’

‘No. Is that all? Can I go now?’

Macdonald was just about to agree when Campbell said, ‘Julia Margrave – good pals, were you?’

Lindsay, who had been leaning forward in his seat ready to get out, slumped back. ‘What on earth has that got to do with this?’

‘We’re not saying it has,’ Macdonald said. ‘It’s just a question.’

‘Oh, just a question. Well, this is just an answer. We knew each other slightly when we were young and then we worked together – she was my boss. She helped me get the job, in fact, and I was very
grateful to her. Yes, we were friends and yes, I was very upset when she died.’

‘Going back to Paris soon, then?’ That was Campbell again.

Randall’s face turned a dark, mottled red. He said, with reluctance, ‘No, actually, since you ask. I’ve decided it doesn’t suit me – I’m looking for a new job.’

‘Turf you out, did they?’

‘No, they didn’t. I resigned.’ He opened the door of the car. ‘That’s it. I haven’t anything more to say to you, except’ – he leant forward to push his face closer to Macdonald’s – ‘you can tell that little bitch to stay at home. We won’t be welcoming gatecrashers and she’ll regret it if she tries.’ He got out and slammed the door.

Macdonald whistled softly. ‘Seriously nasty. I’m going to tell Louise she can’t go.’

Campbell gave him an ironic glance. ‘Good luck with that,’ he said.

The Stewarts were all so elaborately cooperative, so willing to help in any way they could, that both Fleming and MacNee came away from the interview deeply suspicious.

They had interviewed them together; when they suggested seeing them individually, Kendra had said earnestly, ‘Well, of course, Inspector, if that’s what you want, but you know it’s all really just a sort of jigsaw. We were to and fro during the afternoon and it will be easier to sort out the time frame if we’re together. I’m sure you’d find it helpful.’ She had directed a winsome look at Fleming that left her feeling faintly queasy.

It was true, though, that the pattern that emerged was one of a group getting ready for a busy weekend, in the kitchen, in the pub and in the restaurant upstairs, which was being prepared for the next evening’s fine dining.

Logie was in the kitchen all afternoon, along with an assistant.
Kendra and Will were working separately but were never, they claimed, out of sight of each other for more than about quarter of an hour, twenty minutes maximum.

‘In any case,’ she went on, ‘Will said that this has nothing to do with Connell’s murder and you’re only linking the two because they happened around the same time and you haven’t any other ideas. Didn’t you, Will?’

Will looked embarrassed. ‘I wouldn’t have chosen to put it like that, but yes, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. It’s much more likely that Mrs Margrave disturbed a burglar and it all went wrong. I was trained to look for a pattern in repeated crime and there’s certainly none here.’

‘And anyway, we’re all each other’s alibi,’ Kendra said, ‘especially me and Will.’ She had given him a sidelong glance which, as Fleming said when they got back to the car afterwards, should have rung deafening alarm bells for her husband.

MacNee shook his head in disapproval. ‘
In temptation’s path ye gang astray,
’ he quoted portentously. ‘What’s that alibi worth?’

Fleming considered it. ‘If one of them asked the other to lie I doubt if they’d get a refusal. On the other hand, it was risky – I can’t see the husband being part of it and they both went into the kitchen occasionally.’

‘Time unspecified,’ MacNee pointed out. ‘Still, Logie’s alibi is solid. We can eliminate him, at least.’

‘He wasn’t really part of the Cyrenaics either – too busy working to be anything but a hanger-on.’

‘What did you think to Will’s claim that it was a burglar?’

‘Well, he’s wrong, of course – you don’t invite a burglar in and start making them tea, but he didn’t know that and I suppose he may believe it. We certainly don’t have the luxury of a neat pattern but I don’t believe it’s unrelated. Anyway, back to the station. I’ll have to
see the super and find something she can tell the press conference.’

‘Several active lines of enquiry?’

‘Several active lines of enquiry – absolutely. Someone should write a guide to standard phrases: Police Officers: For the Use of.’

‘Numbered, so you could just tell the press “Number Twenty-Four and Number Thirty-Two” and you wouldn’t have to say anything at all. Here, I like the idea. Might even write it myself.’

Louise Hepburn was washing her hair. If a girl was going to a party, even if not for the usual reasons, she had to look good and Louise’s hair – the bane of her life – needed proper styling if she wasn’t to look as if she’d been hauled through a hedge backwards and then had mussed it up a bit.

When the phone rang, she let it go to voicemail. Randall again, no doubt. He’d rung her four or five times before he gave up and left a message withdrawing his invitation. She’d been expecting that – he wasn’t stupid and once he heard about Eleanor Margrave’s murder he’d realise why she’d accepted – so she’d ignored that too.

The last message he’d left had been nastier. He’d said, coldly, calmly and unpleasantly, that he knew why she wanted to come and that he’d make it his business to see to it that she’d regret it if she did.

She would have preferred rage and expletives. His tone made her uneasy; perhaps to go anyway was foolish, just asking for trouble. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to let a little sod like Randall Lindsay tell her what she wasn’t going to do. Maybe there were bouncers on the door to throw her out, but it wouldn’t actually be a new experience. They were unlikely to be as rough as the ones in Glasgow had been after that particularly raucous night at uni.

She wasn’t going to answer the phone and let him abuse her directly, though. She sprayed on half a ton of frizz-taming mousse and went on styling her hair.

But when she did pick up the phone and check it wasn’t Randall, Andy Macdonald was asking her to call him back urgently. It must be business; she and Andy didn’t have any social contact.

His first remark put her back right up. ‘Oh, Louise, good! Look, you can’t go to this party tonight.’

‘I can’t?’ she said sweetly.

‘We’ve just been interviewing Randall Lindsay. Has he spoken to you?’

‘No.’ That was true, sort of.

‘He’s making threats and he sounded as if he meant them. I would assess him as volatile – he’s lost his job and he’s not taking it well. It would simply be too risky to take him on.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Oh, definitely. I’m not sure what you’d gain from it, anyway – at a party no one’s going to go confessing to murder, are they?’