Past lying, p.32
Past Lying, page 32
‘Sure. Be right there.’
As he hung up she heard him say, ‘You can’t talk to—’ She could fill in the blanks herself. But Karen wasn’t about to dodge the knowledge that Eilidh had a point.
Jason appeared at the door, clearly having run down the stairs. Hair askew, face grey with worry where it wasn’t scribbled with ginger stubble. He looked as if he’d lost weight since that morning. ‘Boss,’ he said. ‘Sorry about Eilidh.’
‘I’d probably have said the same in her shoes. Strange days, Jason. We’re all strangers to ourselves. I’ve got some news that I wanted to tell you face to face. It’s not your mum,’ she added hastily, seeing his face crumple.
He frowned. ‘What, then?’
She repeated Charlie Todd’s information. ‘I’m sorry, Jason. Charlie’s going to pass it up the line to the Dog Biscuit as soon as Ronan lets you off the hook.’ She worried that might seem insensitive, with Sandra on a ventilator and Eilidh on the warpath, but she saw a spark of relief in his eyes.
‘Thanks, boss. It’s better for my head if I’ve got something else to think about. Like when Phil was in the hospital and we went to Oxford. Because that’s what he would have wanted us to do. Right?’
Karen remembered the white-hot burn of fear that had sat inside her; the only thing that had dampened it down was knowing Phil would have been cheering on from the sidelines. ‘I remember,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘I can’t believe Ronan. He’s pulled some stunts in his time, but this? He’s going to go to the jail. No getting away from that. And so he should. Fighting with nurses, for fuck’s sake. My mum’s going to give him a right tongue-lashing when she gets out of the hospital.’
It was a brave line. She hoped it would come true.
Ross McEwen got to his feet. ‘Are you moving in?’ he asked Daisy, more brusquely than he’d spoken before.
‘No. Now the scene examiners have gone, and we’ve not found your secret stash of Class A drugs, I think I’ll call it a day. I’ll just remind you that we’d prefer you not to leave the premises, but you’re not under arrest so you’re free to leave the house for your one hour’s permitted exercise. But you should be aware that there are a couple of journalists with long lenses sitting at the end of your drive. Two metres apart, obviously.’
‘Who told them there was something to see here?’
Daisy shrugged. ‘Wasn’t the HCU team. Probably a nosy neighbour seeing the comings and goings, put it together with the small announcement from Police Scotland that human remains had been discovered in a property in Barnton.’
‘Well, thanks a bundle, Police Scotland.’ No attempt to hide the sarcasm.
‘It’s the routine response to something like this. If you want to talk to the press, I’m not going to stop you. You probably won’t like the end result, though. The insinuations they’ll come up with . . . let’s just say you’ll wish you’d kept your head down.’
He sighed and walked to the door. ‘I might as well try and get some work done.’
‘There will be a police officer on duty overnight, protecting the integrity of what’s in your garage. Tomorrow, you’ll have more forensic officers on site. The poor sods who have to figure out how to deal with what’s down there.’
‘This is a like a bad dream,’ he said. ‘I make up this kind of thing for a living. Being at the heart of it for real makes me ashamed of how glib I’ve been about the whole business of murder.’
Daisy almost felt sorry for him. ‘We don’t know that these remains are those of a murder victim. We’ll need to see what the forensic anthropologist and the pathologist have to say.’
He snorted. ‘Aye, right. Why else would you go to all the trouble of such an elaborate disposal if you hadn’t murdered someone?’
‘It might be an accidental death.’ Another snort. ‘In compromising circumstances. It could have been a suicide, again in compromising circumstances. We don’t really know anything for sure until the forensics team have done their jobs. And we’ve finished our investigations.’
‘Bloody Jake Stein,’ McEwen spat. ‘He hated us so much. He could just have bitched and moaned about us all over town, but no. It wasn’t enough to make Ros’s life a misery, with his snide little messages. He had to keep his mouth shut until he’d worked out the best way to properly destroy us.’
Daisy looked away so he wouldn’t see the eye-roll. She’d had a day of listening to McEwen whingeing and she really had had enough. She picked up her coat and her bag. ‘I’ll probably see you in the morning.’
‘Be still, my beating heart. I can hardly fucking wait.’ He hurried from the room, slamming the door behind him.
That was when Daisy realised she had no means of escape from Ross McEwen’s property. Karen had taken the car, the forensics teams were gone. The only vehicle around was the liveried car the officer on guard had arrived in. And she couldn’t take that, for all sorts of reasons.
There was nothing for it but to run the gauntlet of the journalists at the gate and walk down to the nearest bus stop. She could catch a 41 on Whitehouse Road. If they were still running.
She stepped outside the kitchen door. At least it had stopped raining.
For now.
Finally, Karen and River settled at opposite ends of a bench on the breakwater. Karen tried to put from her mind that she had last sat here waiting for Rafiq. She had no idea where he was; she hoped he was safe.
River snapped her fingers. ‘Hey, you’re miles away.’
Karen managed a smile. ‘Sorry, I’ve got a lot going on in my head at the moment. This case, the one I’ve asked for your help with, it’s like a cat chasing its tail. It started with a librarian phoning Jason.’
‘OK, you’ve got me. Not a sentence I ever expected to hear.’
So Karen ran through the complicated accumulation of information that had occupied them since she’d first heard of The Vanishing of Laurel Oliver. ‘It’s like a bloody kaleidoscope. At first, it all looks straightforward. Jake Stein wanted to take revenge on his ex-wife and her lover, who happened to be his chess partner and probably his only remaining friend. So he decided to implicate them – or at least, his successor in his ex-wife’s bed – in the murder of a young woman, taking care to ensure there would be no direct evidence against Stein himself. So far, so straightforward.’
River nodded. ‘That makes perfect sense. What’s the problem?’
‘Stein set all of this down in a first draft of a novel, describing the planning and process of the murder. But the person in the cross hairs isn’t the Ross McEwen character – it’s Stein himself. And that makes no sense.’
River ran her hand through her thick auburn hair and frowned. ‘It’s a novel, though, right? So Stein could argue that it was a fiction, not a confession and the only reason he knew all the details was that his wife’s lover had confessed to him.’
‘But why would he try to disguise McEwen’s role in it?’
River sighed. ‘What if he’s still in love with his ex? He knows that if he makes a direct accusation, she’ll just accuse him of vindictiveness. He has to find a way to make it real for her. So he writes something that will provoke you guys to search McEwen’s garage, et voilà.’
‘That’s beyond twisted.’
‘So are his plots. Byzantine doesn’t even begin to cover it. We’re as bad as him, coming up with these convoluted scenarios. Maybe he never intended to publish it? Maybe he was just getting it out of his system. People always talk about writing as therapy, don’t they?’
Karen pulled a face. ‘But why keep it once it had served its purpose for him? It’s a hell of a risk. Why would he leave it lying around among his papers? What are the chances that anybody coming across it would get that it’s just a fantasy?’ Karen stood up and started pacing, careful to keep her distance. ‘And what’s McEwen’s motive supposed to be here? Why on earth has he murdered a young woman who wants to be a crime writer? Did he nick a plot from her, or what?’
River shrugged. ‘I’m only a simple bone counter. You’re the ones who are supposed to know what makes criminals tick.’
‘Traditionally, it’s sex or money. But crime fiction has become such a big deal, on the telly and in books. So the motives have grown more complicated. And they make it look like murder is the reasonable answer.’
River laughed. ‘What? You think Agatha Christie didn’t go in for baroque murder motives? Everybody on a train murders the victim? Somebody murders three people with matching initials as a cover for murdering, what’s-his-name, Donald Duck? Somebody murders a teenage girl because they’re in love with her and can’t bear to see her wasting her love on an unsuitable bloke?’
‘OK, you have a point. But those old-fashioned detective stories, everybody knew they were nonsense. That people didn’t really behave like that. But crime writers now, they’re obsessed with realism. Get the police procedure right. Get the forensics right. Get the street names right. It’s all made to look real and even . . . yes, reasonable.’ Karen sat down heavily on the bench, tilting her head back to look at the sky.
‘So why do you think Jake Stein murdered Lara Hardie?’
‘If I was making this up, I’d say he killed her purely to frame Ross McEwen for a murder. To punish him and his ex-wife. And I don’t know how I prove any of it.’
‘Let’s walk. I’m getting cold, sitting here.’ River stood up and they headed for the lighthouse, a quick circuit of the point before they headed back. ‘I really miss sitting across a table from you, thrashing stuff out. It’s just not the same without a big bowl of pho and a cold beer.’
‘I know. I still can’t get my head round how quickly the world has changed. If you’d run this lockdown stuff past me six months ago, I’d never have believed how obedient people would be. I’d have thought we’d all be going, “Fuck it, I’m getting my pals round and we’re going to get tore in to the G&Ts.” Every day, I’m gobsmacked. I’m glad, don’t get me wrong. But I’m gobsmacked.’
River shrugged. ‘It’s not rocket science, Karen. People are afraid of dying.’
‘I get that. And I don’t want to die. That’s why I’m doing my level best to stick to the rules. But I’m a polis, River.’ She stopped; River turned to face her. ‘I have to be out on the streets doing what I do. Because I want the world still to be a decent place when we come out the other side of this. And that’s why I’m trying to make sense of what’s going on here. Because tomorrow, or the day after, I’m hoping you can tell me the bones swilling around in that board bag belonged to Lara Hardie. Then we can see about bringing her home, and punishing whoever’s done this to her. If they’re still within reach.’
40
Karen woke the next morning with a sense of having dreamed something important. But as always, she couldn’t piece together anything that had happened in dreamland. She stood under the full blast of the power shower in the en suite bathroom; that was when her subconscious woke up. Two thoughts followed in swift succession. ‘You’re not seeing the wood for the trees.’ Then ‘Look through the other end of the telescope.’
Neither seemed at first to open any kind of crack in the case, but by the time she’d dressed and made her first cup of coffee, more thoughts were rumbling through her head. What if she had indeed got everything back to front?
When Daisy emerged from her room, towelling her hair dry, Karen was clear what she needed to do. ‘How did you get on with McEwen after I left?’
‘He’s channelling Mr Grumpy. He’s mostly pretty pissed off about losing his liberty. I pointed out that lawfully he could only go outside on his own for an hour. And that there were a couple of journos parked at the end of his drive, so good luck with that. He said he was going to do some writing, but I think he was actually loading up Assassin’s Creed.’ Her expression was scornful.
‘I’m going to send you back out there today. River’s going to examine the scene and sort out how we move the remains. It’s seriously disgusting, but it’s got to be done.’
‘You want me to witness it?’ Daisy sounded horrified.
‘Somebody has to. Chain of custody, and all that. I’ve got other things to do, including a word with your old boss.’
‘DCI Todd?’
‘The same. They got hands on Ronan Murray last night. I’m hoping he’ll have made a statement that gets Jason off the hook. And then I’ll have to talk to the Dog Biscuit to get Jason back on the books.’
‘Then he can take over at Barnton?’ She looked hopeful.
‘One step at a time.’ She picked up her phone. It was still too early for the other call she had to make but she might as well get Charlie Todd out of the way. ‘Morning, Charlie,’ she began.
‘Good to hear from you, Karen. You’re on my list. You’ll be pleased to hear Murray copped to the lot last night, and he was very clear that your Jason had nothing to do with it. He knows he’s going down, he’s just trying to get some Brownie points.’
Karen gave Daisy the thumbs up. ‘That’s great news, Charlie.’
Karen and Daisy high-fived like teenagers. ‘At least something’s working out,’ Daisy said, heading for the fridge and breakfast.
Karen settled for a second cup of coffee as a bracer, then called ACC Markie. ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ she said, as bright and cheerful as she could manage. ‘DCI Pirie here, bringing tidings of comfort and joy.’
‘You’re either a bit late or ridiculously early with the Christmas spirit, Pirie.’
Not in the face of that much frost. ‘I’m just off the phone with DCI Todd in Fife. He tells me they’ve arrested Ronan Murray, and the good news is that not only has he admitted all the charges, he’s said categorically that DC Murray knew nothing of his plans and made no contribution to his crime.’
A pause. Then, ‘So how did he get his hands on DC Murray’s uniform?’
She wasn’t giving up easily, Karen thought. ‘It was in storage at his mother’s house. With her being in hospital, it was a simple matter for Ronan to help himself. Jason has no complicity here, ma’am.’ Unspoken, so un-suspend him.
‘I will confirm this with DCI Todd. And if it is the case, I will restore DC Murray to duty.’ Every word sounded like it cost Markie dear.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Karen’s response was equally grudging. An ACC who wouldn’t take the word of one of her DCIs spoke volumes about her lack of respect for Karen. She couldn’t help wondering how she dealt with the many senior officers whose success rate fell well below Karen’s. She had a suspicion they saw a very different Ann Markie.
Daisy was frying bacon and potato scones, an egg balanced on the worktop next to the stove. ‘That sounded good. Want anything while I’ve got the pan on?’
‘No thanks, I’ll have a banana.’ She took the fruit through to Hamish’s office and sat at the desk, staring out at the back side of the houses further up the hill. The patchwork of aged sandstone, the different tones taken on by years of coal smoke and weathering. The visible stain of the days when Edinburgh was called Auld Reekie. The regulation windows, four panes to each, shedding light on the very different lives beyond them. Karen was coming to love her adopted city in all its variety. How many wounds would this pandemic inflict on its people, on the very fabric of the city itself?
She was starting to have a glimmer of an idea about this case, an idea that contradicted what she thought she knew. There was only one place where she could check her hunch against the evidence. If that evidence existed.
Karen picked up her phone and made the call.
As before, Bethan Carmichael was waiting by the rear entrance, sheltering from the rain under her umbrella. ‘We must stop meeting like this,’ she said. ‘People will talk.’
Taken aback by the evident warmth in the greeting, Karen grinned and said, ‘Let them.’
Bethan led the way inside. ‘My book club has taken to meeting online,’ she said. And? ‘We were discussing Belinda Bauer’s Snap, and we got talking about how the police are represented in fiction. And one of our group is Ruth Wardlaw.’ She threw a look over her shoulder.
Karen smiled. ‘Fiscal Depute. I’ve worked with Ruth a few times.’
‘Yes, she said. She gave you a glowing reference.’
And you realised I might be somebody worth paying attention to. ‘That was kind of her. I appreciate you opening up the archive to me again.’
‘It wasn’t a problem, everything’s where you left it. I’m trying to avoid making work for the staff.’ They reached the room where Karen and Daisy had been before, and Bethan threw open the door. ‘There you go, Chief Inspector. Any problems, drop me a text.’ She pulled the door closed behind Karen.
Every now and then in an investigation, Karen felt she was standing on the very edge of something and almost wished she believed in someone she could say a prayer to. But wishing and hoping were for the country and western singers; they were no substitute for hard graft. She pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and turned her phone off. She wanted no distractions this morning.
She had two initial targets. She knew where one was, but not the other. She knew it wasn’t in the boxes they’d already worked their way through, so she started going backwards from there. Halfway down the second box she tried, she hit pay dirt. Held together by a large elastic band was a bundle of printed paper. Scribbled on the top right-hand corner in Jake Stein’s characteristic block letters was CULLED TO ORDER.
Karen took out the bundle and sat down to work her way through it. On the second page, she found the first example of what she’d hoped to discover; ‘broken’ was scored through. In the right-hand margin, a mark Karen thought was called a carrot sat next to SHATTERED. Three pages further on, the word ‘looked’ was underlined three times and there was an X in the margin. Another four pages and a double line ran down the length of a paragraph. CLUMSY, REJIG appeared alongside. She turned back to the beginning and began photographing the marginalia.
