Deadline for Murder (18 page)

"That seems perfectly reasonable to me. What I suggest we do is this. I'll go down and tell Harry to go and fetch the cash. Then he can bring it back here, and the two of you can make your swap. That way, Harry can check he's getting everything back. Is that okay with you?"

"I don't want to see him," Alex blurted out. "Can't you handle it all?"

"Afraid not. You see, I don't know the details of every single item you removed from his desk, but Harry does. It's okay. He's not going to give you a bad time. I'll be back in a minute, okay?"

He nodded reluctantly. Lindsay left him and ran down the stairs. He was pathetic, she thought to herself as she walked down the path towards her car. She'd be happy to bet that he hadn't even had the
nous
to make copies of the stuff he'd stolen. But then, in his favour, she'd seen no sign that he planned to blackmail Harry, merely to cash in on his secret.

Harry was cowering in the seat of the car, a newspaper hiding his face. When Lindsay pulled the door open, he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Well?" he demanded. "Have you sorted him out?"

"PS750. You go and get the money and come up to Flat 9. Alex will hand over the stuff so you can check it." And that will be the end of this whole sordid business, she thought wearily to herself.

"PS750? Couldn't you get him any cheaper than that? I'm not made of money, you know," Harry protested.

"I told you before, if you get change out of a grand, it's cheap at the price. Just be grateful I'm not charging you for my time on top of what you're paying Alex," Lindsay snapped, furious at his pettiness. She handed him the car keys. "Be very careful with the car. I'll see you back here as soon as you can make it."

"Aren't you coming with me?"

"For Christ's sake, Harry, surely you don't need a minder to go to a cash machine? I'm going back to make sure Alex doesn't do a runner," Lindsay said over her shoulder as she marched exasperatedly back to the house. Suddenly Alex McNaught's company seemed more appealing than that of Harry Campbell MP.

By the time she returned, Alex had dressed in a tight white teeshirt and shrink-to-fit jeans that hugged his narrow hips and slim legs. He gave Lindsay a nervous grin and asked, "Did he agree?"

"He did," she replied.

"Christ, I bet that hurt," Alex said, pulling a face. "Getting that guy to part with money was like getting blood from a stone. Want a coffee?"

He'd obviously decided she was okay, Lindsay thought. She wondered if it was the line about getting back to Sophie that had swung it. "I'd love one," she said. "Milk, no sugar."

He turned off the kettle he'd already set to boil and made two mugs of instant. "How come you got into this?" he asked, settling down in the chair nearest the fire.

"It's a long story," Lindsay said. "His sister's an old pal of mine. And you?"

He shrugged. "He picked me up one night. He must have liked what he got, because he came back for more. We must have been together half a dozen times or more over the next couple of months." So Harry had been rather economical with the truth, Lindsay thought without surprise. "Then he just stopped seeing me. You know how it is," Alex continued. "Then I saw his picture in the paper and realised he was this respectable MP."

"You mean you hadn't realised before then who he was?" Lindsay demanded sceptically.

Alex scowled. He was used to people not believing him, but he'd never learned to like it. "How could I? Christ, the only time I buy a paper is for the racing. Besides, he's not exactly a hot shot, is he? I mean, who the hell even knows where Kinradie is? It's not as if he was a Glasgow MP, or one of those guys that're always on the telly shouting off about the poll tax. He's a no mark. His picture was only in the paper because they were doing some big thing about marginal seats. Anyway, I figured there must be some money in it for me, so I asked Barry."

"How do you know him?" Lindsay asked, curious to see if his version would tally with Ostler's.

"He did a story a while back, looking for rent boys who'd been with a judge. I couldn't help him, but I kept his number. You never know, do you? Anyway, he said if I could get any proof, it would be worth a few bob."

"
So
you broke into Ros's flat? Nice one, Alex," Lindsay said cynically.

"I didn't know it was her flat, did I? I thought it was his own place. When I saw the woman's stuff in the bathroom, I just thought he was probably married. A lot of them are. I never met her. I only saw a photo of her once in the kitchen. I never thought I was robbing her. I just waited till I saw her going out, then I nipped in. I lifted everything I could see that looked official, like Barry told me to. I thought all the papers and stuff I took were his. How was I to know she worked for the Scottish Office?"

"So how come you didn't hand Harry's personal stuff over to Barry with all the official papers?" Lindsay enquired.

Alex looked slyly at Lindsay, clearly pleased with his own cleverness. "I figured that if I gave him everything at once he might not pay me what he owed me. And I didn't know if we'd get away with it. If the police had traced the story back to Barry and lifted him, I'd have had to do a runner. This way, I held on to something that was worth a bob or two."

"Quite a profitable wee break-in," Lindsay said wryly.

"Technically, it wasn't a break-in. I just made it look like one. I had keys," he said importantly.

"Handy that Harry gave you the keys to the flat," Lindsay remarked, trying to hide her surprise.

Alex gave her a sideways glance. "He didn't actually give them to me," he muttered.

Lindsay grinned. Another thing Harry had been less than frank about. There had been no mention of missing keys. "You mean you helped yourself?"

"Something like that," he admitted. "In my line of business, you never know what might come in handy. You can sometimes sell things, if you catch my drift."

Lindsay nodded. "Yes, I can see that having the keys to such a nice block of flats could be very profitable. So how come you never sold them?"

"After that woman was murdered there, the place was jumping with police. It wouldn't have been too clever to mess about there, would it? And then I kind of forgot about it again till I saw Harry's picture."

"You knew about the murder?" Lindsay asked, delighted that he'd brought it up himself. "Did you know the woman that was killed?"

"No." Alex looked chagrined at the admission.

"Did Harry ever mention her to you? That she was someone he knew?"

"Harry? No, he never talked about anything like that. Besides, that was the last time I saw him."

"You mean, you were with Harry on the day of the murder? You were actually in the building?" Lindsay fought to keep her excitement under control.

"I was more than there. I saw the murderer," he said self-importantly.

"You what?" Lindsay exploded.

Alex smiled, pleased with himself. "I saw the murderer."

Lindsay could only stare at Alex. But as she evaluated what he'd said, a faint scepticism crept in. "How did you manage that, then?" she demanded.

He gave her the smile and the wide-eyed stare. "I'd been with Harry. I left the flat about six o'clock. I remember the time, because Harry'd just put the radio on for the news. Bor-ring! Anyway, I waited for ages for the lift, then I decided to go down the stairs because I was in a hurry. I had an appointment, see? I was just pushing the door open on to the sixth-floor landing when this woman came tearing out of a flat and ran down the stairs ahead of me. I don't think she noticed me, but I saw her all right. You got any fags?"

Lindsay automatically handed over her packet. "So... why didn't you go to the police when you heard about the murder?"

"Are you kidding?" Alex expostulated. "For a kick off, I'm under age. I'm only seventeen. Soon as they started asking me what I was doing there, I'd be right in the shit. Besides, in my game, you have to be discreet. The word goes round that you blab to the police about where you've been and who with, you might as well be dead. Anyway, think about it. Who's going to take the word of a rent boy?"

What he said made sense, Lindsay thought. Her head was buzzing with the possibility that this was the break she needed. But she had to check that it wasn't Jackie he'd seen leaving the flat. She chose her words carefully. "I suppose you followed the case in the papers?"

"Of course I did."

"So you must have realised that your evidence would have helped the police nail Jackie Mitchell. They'd have been so glad to get someone backing up their version that they wouldn't have probed too closely into what you were doing there."

Alex looked at her as if she were extraordinarily stupid. "Don't you understand? The woman I saw wasn't the one they did for it."

Lindsay's heart lurched. This really was what she'd been waiting for. "What did she look like, then, this other woman?"

"What's it to you?" Alex asked, suddenly suspicious again.

"Just nosy," Lindsay lied.

"Well, she was wearing one of them ski caps so I couldn't see her hair. The weather was hellish that day, I remember I got soaking waiting for the bus. But I'd know her again anywhere, sure I would," he said.

"Well, was she tall or short? Thin or fat?" Lindsay pushed.

"I don't know. I'm not very good at describing people. She was just ordinary, I suppose. But what's the big deal anyway? Oh, wait a minute. You weren't thinking Harry had anything to do with it?" Laughter bubbled in his throat. "Come on! He hasn't got the bottle for that."

Lindsay took a deep breath. Before she could say more, the doorbell rang insistently. "That'll be Harry," she said.

"You go. I'll get his stuff," Alex muttered.

Lindsay returned moments later with an irritated Harry. They entered the room to find Alex pulling a plastic bag out from under his mattress. He turned to face them and gave Harry a grin. "Hiya, Dirty Harry," he said cheekily.

"You little shit!" Harry spat. "You scumbag! How dare you steal my things."

"Now, now, Harry, mind your language. There's a lady present. Don't give me a bad time or the deal might just be off." Alex had clearly begun to enjoy himself.

"You..." Harry trailed off as Alex wagged an admonishing finger.

"All right, boys, let's cut the posturing. Harry, money on the table. Alex, open the bag and let Harry have a look through it."

Both men looked at her, Harry with astonished anger and Alex with amusement. "You heard the lady," Alex said.

"I should have known you were trouble the minute I clapped eyes on you," Harry muttered as he put the bundle of tenners on the table.

Alex's eyes lit up at the sight of the money. It would be cocaine tonight instead of speed, Lindsay thought sadly. He moved towards it, but Lindsay swiftly interposed her body between him and the table. "Aw, c'mon!" he complained.

"All in good time," Lindsay said, keeping half an eye on Harry who was rifling through the bag's contents, an anxious look on his face. "All present and correct, Harry?" she asked.

He nodded doubtfully. "I think so. If you try and double-cross me, you little bastard..."

"You'll what, Harry? Give me a good spanking?" Alex asked sweetly.

Harry flushed purple. "You..." he spluttered.

"I'll see you down at the car, Harry," Lindsay said calmly. "I just want to have a wee word with Alex here."

Harry looked as if he was about to protest, but gave up without a fight. He edged out of the room, swearing under his breath.

"Don't vote, it only encourages them," Alex giggled as Lindsay moved away and let him get to the money. He rifled the bundles of notes gleefully. "Did you see his face? He was really shitting it, wasn't he?"

"Alex. About that other business. I was telling you a wee white lie when I said I was just nosy."

Immediately, the wary look came back into his eyes. "Oh aye?" he said.

Lindsay perched on the chair arm again. "The woman they put away for Alison Maxwell's murder is a good friend of mine. Her girlfriend hired me to see if I could clear Jackie's name. So far, I've come up with plenty of suspects but no hard evidence. Now, what you told me this morning makes a big difference to me. I want you to help me. I want to see if you can identify the woman you saw that day."

"You must be kidding. I told you before, I can't go to the police," Alex objected.

"You won't have to go to the police," Lindsay added, not caring whether it was the truth or not. "You see, once I know who it is, I can easily find other evidence to corroborate it."

"Oh aye. And once I've fingered the killer, what's to stop her killing me?"

"It's not you she's got to worry about. It's me. If anybody's taking a risk, it's me. I'm not talking about a one-to-one confrontation. I'm talking about a lot of witnesses. Will you help me, Alex?"

"Why should I? What's in it for me?" he demanded shrewdly.

"You won't lose by it. I can't say any more than that now. Think about it. If you come forward at this late stage, the first question the defence is going to ask you is whether you've been paid for giving evidence. Say yes and your evidence isn't worth a penny piece. So no talk about money now, eh? You'd have to take my word for it. But I saw you right this morning, didn't I?"

Reluctantly he nodded. "I don't know, though," he muttered, throwing himself petulantly into the armchair. "I just don't want to get involved."

"But you are involved, like it or not. And now I know, I intend to get you to help me to trap Alison's killer. With or without your cooperation," she added with an edge to her voice.

"How do you mean, with or without my cooperation?" Alex challenged.

Lindsay reached over for her cigarettes and lit one. She'd tried being nice. Now it was time to put the pressure on. And she'd seen Alex under pressure. It shouldn't be too hard, she thought, already making excuses to herself for behaviour she was ashamed of. "Look at it from my point of view for a minute," she said. "Jackie's my mate. I don't want to see her stuck in prison for a crime she didn't commit. But unlike Jackie, I don't owe you a damn thing. You're just a wee rent boy with a fondness for illegal chemicals and blackmail. I like you well enough, Alex, but it wouldn't honestly matter a toss to me if you were alive or dead. All I have to do is tell my suspects all about you, then sit back and wait to see what happens next."

Alex paled. "You wouldn't dare!" he gasped. "You wouldn't set me up like that!"

"I don't want to, Alex. But if that's the only way I'm going to nail Alison Maxwell's killer, I'll do it. Like I said, Jackie matters to me. But you don't. So what's it to be? You going to help me? Or am I going to have to throw you to the wolves?"

"I've got no fucking choice, have I?" he said bitterly. "Okay, okay, you win. I'll point the finger. But I'm not going to the police, is that clear?"

"As crystal, Alex." She got to her feet. "I'll be back here tomorrow to tell you about the arrangements." Swiftly, before he could stop her, she moved to the table and scooped up his money.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted as he leapt out of the armchair and threw himself at her.

The struggle was brief, and Lindsay soon threw his slight frame off her. She stuffed the money into the inside pocket of her jacket. "Think of it as insurance," she said. "In case you were tempted to try anything silly like doing a runner. I'll be back tomorrow, with your money."

"You can't do this," he howled, tears in his eyes.

"Who's going to stop me?" she asked calmly. "Going to call the cops, Alex?"

He looked at her with pure hatred in his eyes. "I thought you were okay," he panted. "But you're another bitch like the rest of them."

"Afraid so, Alex. I'll see you tomorrow about twelve. I'll be back. I promise you. Here's my address and phone number, if you don't believe me." She scribbled on her pad and tore off a sheet which she dropped on the bed, then walked out.