Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) (23 page)

‘It
makes no sense. No sense at all.’ They reached Iain’s office. Liam noticed his pallor, the shadows round his eyes.

‘I
mean, why Moffatt?’ Iain flung himself into a chair.

‘Why
what?’

‘Dead,
I mean.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk, absently, gazing unseeing at his computer.

Liam
sat down on the other chair.

‘I
miss him.’ Iain looked up. His eyes were bleary. ‘Murdo. Don’t know how I’ll manage…’

‘Can
you take a break?’ Liam watched the twitch of his fingers.

‘A
break?’ He spoke loudly. ‘We’re right at the crunch point, aren’t we? These charges are all wrong, Murdo would have known….’ His voice cracked.

‘Family?
Someone you can visit?’

Iain
met his eyes. ‘My mother is in a home in Morningside and doesn’t know who I am.’

‘But
back in Edinburgh…’ Liam remembered there was someone, some story, he couldn’t quite recall, a girl, certainly, a
grand
amour
, maybe, a microbiologist, was it, Penelope –

Iain
shifted in his seat. ‘I’m better off here,’ he said.

‘Wasn’t
there someone – ?’

Iain
gave a brief bark of laughter. ‘Penny’s the last person I want to see at the moment,’ Iain said.

‘Of
course,’ Liam murmured, feeling foolish.

A
flock of geese crossed the sky, black triangles against the now thunderous clouds. ‘Do you think we’re worse than most?’ Liam said.

‘What?’

‘Physicists. All dysfunctional. No families, no connections, all wedded to our work…’

Iain
gave a dry smile. ‘Not worse. Just more committed. Anyway, you’ll be OK. Someone will sweep you off your feet, you’ll be married with two kids and a dog to walk on the beach – ’

‘Maybe…’
I’d like that, Liam was about to say -

‘Haunted.’
Iain spoke suddenly. His fingers assumed their tapping ‘Ghosts, walking the corridors. I was here last night…’

‘Ghosts?’
Liam looked up.

‘Murdo.
That soldier. God knows. Definitely someone, over by the workshops, disappeared before my eyes…’

‘Iain,
mate – ’

‘By
the wall there.’ Iain went on. ‘You know where the old house is, on the other side. You know, where Moffatt was buying the land.’

‘The
famous expansion.’ Liam smiled.

‘Don’t
suppose it’ll happen now.’

‘We
could never have afforded it. To rebuild the tunnel now. Although the new results are going to get us noticed…’

Iain
picked up a pencil from his desk, gazed at it for a long moment. He seemed to be elsewhere, edgy, anxious. ‘Do you think that’s why Moffatt was picking on Lizzie? Because of her family connection with the land there?’

Liam
shrugged. ‘Doubt it. Don’t you just think it was her turn? He didn’t like people being cleverer than him.’

‘Even
though everyone is. Was,’ Iain corrected himself.

‘There’s
a book,’ Liam said. ‘From the van Mielen’s.’

Iain
focused again.

‘Newtonian
stuff. The vicar’s got it, from Mrs. Maguire – ’

‘She
gave it to him?’ Iain’s voice was loud.

‘You
know about it?’

‘Sure.
Lizzie had it. From her family. And when she and Murdo…’ He picked up the pencil again. ‘Murdo wanted it, she didn’t.’

‘Alan
was bullying Tobias to give it to him.’

‘Alan?’
Iain’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘No
idea.’

Iain
shrugged. ‘Alan bullies everyone.’

‘He
was bullying you – ’ Liam began.

‘No,
not really. Only because I thought I might buy the old house.’

‘There
was that shouting match – the two of you…’

Iain
narrowed his eyes. ‘He hates competition, that’s all. And anyway, I gave up on the Voake house in the end. Left the field free for him.’

‘Perhaps
that’s why he wanted the book. Some old connection…’

Iain
shrugged. ‘Oh well. Now it’s with the vicar. Funny old world.’ He turned to his computer, pulled up a screen. ‘Back to work, eh?’

‘Sure.’
Liam got to his feet. ‘What’s that?’ On Iain’s desk there was a crumpled sheet of lined paper.

‘This?’
Iain picked it up. ‘Oh, this.’

‘Another
one?’

‘’Fraid
so.’ He handed it to Liam. ‘Pinned to the main gate last night.’

‘“Dont
think it’s finished.”’ Liam read. ‘“The flood will come and our sins will be washed clean.”’ It was written in pencil, in capitals. ‘We should show the police.’

Iain
nodded. ‘Aye. That was my intention.’

‘The
police have promised some kind of guard.’ Liam looked down at him.

‘Do
you think it’ll help?

Of
course, Liam was about to say, but Iain was speaking again.

‘What
if the threat is from within?’ He stared out of the window at the heavy sky.

‘Iain
– ’

Iain
waved him away. ‘Do you think – ’ he turned back to Liam. ‘The ghost. He was bleeding. Red blood, you could see it. Or was I imagining it, do you think? The mind playing tricks…’ His voice was a whisper, almost to himself. ‘Torn shirt, you could see it, white shirt…’

‘Iain,
you should talk to HR. Sort out a break from here…’

Iain
shook his head. ‘Murdo’s gone. The experiment is critical. And anyway, I’ve got nowhere else to go.’ Another wave to indicate the door.

Liam
leaned over and patted his shoulder, then left.

‘Lisa Voake,’ Berenice read. ‘Aged fifteen. Mother, Nina Carey. Father, Clem Voake. Family known to Social Services…’ There followed a record of interviews, incidents, visits from social workers, various concerns noted, various actions indicated.

And
she’s ended up in a caravan by the lab with a villain for a father.

Whatever
you might say about my mother, Berenice thought, she would never have let me end up like that.

Mind
you, she seemed sparky enough that kid. Maybe she’ll survive too.

Footsteps,
the door opened. Mary was standing there.

‘Here
you are, Boss.’ She slapped a file down on the desk in front of her. ‘The boys have been following up leads on this Voake character. Someone answering his description tried to off-load a doctored shot-gun. The guy in the shop, told us, reluctantly, that it had been altered. He wasn’t happy about it. Wouldn’t take it. The guy, if it was Voake, threatened him vaguely, then said there’d be plenty of people who would take it, and it was his loss not to get a bargain. It’s that little shop on the Dover Road. Dodgy bloke, though he was helpful, the boys said. He said it wasn’t the first time this Clem guy had been in. He said he must be storing them somewhere.’

‘Any
thoughts where?’

‘We’ve
checked the field again, round the caravan. The Chief has told the lads to go back to the disused airfield. He said someone’s shipping stuff that way.’

Berenice
looked at her. ‘The Chief? What’s he doing on a minor case?’

Mary
fiddled with the edge of the file. ‘Dunno. Guess he’s keeping an eye on the case.’

‘Not
on the case. On me.’

Mary
threw her a look. ‘Surely you’re not suggesting…’

‘That
a senior male copper might not be up to speed on feminist and multi-ethnic issues?’

Mary
smiled. ‘Didn’t think you were.’

Berenice
shrugged. She picked up the file. ‘So, what do we do about Voake? Is he adapting rural shot guns and selling them on to gangs?’

‘That’s
what our friend in the gun shop suggested.’

Berenice
yawned. ‘He can’t be that good at it, if he’s slumming it in that caravan. And his daughter is in rags.’

‘Saving
up, maybe?’

‘Yeah,
right.’

Mary
was about to answer, when the desk phone rang. Berenice picked it up, nodded, said Yes, twice, rang off.

‘Another
shout. They’ve found the suspect boy who was at the tower.’

‘Tobias?’

‘That’s the one. We’re going to have to call him in. Now. Get someone to pay a call to his stepmother or whoever she is.’

‘Will
do.’ At the door, Mary paused. ‘One other thing. That physicist dropped by. Hate notes. Wanted us to see them.’

She
passed a plastic bag across to Berenice.

Berenice
picked it up, peered through at the enclosed papers. She passed it back to Mary. ‘Get the fingerprint boys onto it.’ She clicked her computer into life. ‘And I thought it would just be cattle rustling out here.’

Mary
smiled. ‘Don’t chat breeze, Boss. You never wanted no quiet life.’

‘Don’t
suppose I did,’ Berenice said, as Mary went out of the door.

I could go home, Chad thought. He stared out of the windows at the late afternoon.

Nothing
to keep me here. The stationery order is done. The readers’ rota is e-mailed out. And Phyllis has sorted out the church hall bookings.

The
office was attached rather as an afterthought to the side of the church. It had a small dark window, a bright strip light which made a whining noise. His study at home was book-lined, comfortable, with a lamp on his desk and a broad window which gave on to the rose garden.

I
should go home. Helen will be… waiting for me? No, he thought. Helen will be in her studio, as if hiding. I’ll breeze in, pop my head round the door, suggest a cup of tea… There will be a distance, a frostiness, as if I’ve interrupted something private.

It
was not like this in London.

In
London, I would go home. Home to my wife. Not home to rattle around a huge vicarage in a weird kind of solitude.

He
bent to the computer keyboard, pulled up his sermon document. He flicked through the reference texts he’d printed out. He picked up Johann’s book, and flicked through that.

‘The
truth is not that we are the Fallen. It is that we fall still, continuously, in this world now. The force of Gravity is exerted upon Everything, and upon Everyone…’

He
wondered about these words as a start for a sermon. Man’s Fall From Grace, he thought, picking up his Bible, scanning the Old Testament for references. How simple it was for van Mielen, to tie his faith to his physics. Enviable, really -

The
ring of the ugly grey phone on the ugly grey desk.

‘Hello
– ’

‘It’s
Virginia. It’s not over…’ Her voice was faint and shaky. ‘They want to see him, tomorrow, Tobias, I tried to refuse but they talked of arresting him…’ A choke in her voice, then she carried on. ‘Can you – can you come too? Tomorrow? Solicitor there and everything… Oh, it’s all so impossible, why won’t they leave us alone? Tomorrow at ten o’clock, we have to be there…’

‘Yes,’
he said. ‘I’ll be there.’

An
out-breath of relief. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘I’ll
come to you and we can go on from there,’ he said.

There
were more thanks, and then she’d gone.

Chad
replaced the phone receiver.

He
returned to his screen, scrolled through his notes. ‘Fall,’ he saw he’d typed. ‘Gravity. Emptiness.’

It
had come on to rain.

Emptiness,
he read, again.

He
saved the document, folded up the papers into his briefcase, and left for home.

The name was still visible. Voake. Carved into the old post box on the edge of the path.

Clem
ran his finger along it. He turned towards the house. In the twilight, in the rain, the old walls loomed in front of him. He reached the front door, pushed against the rotten wood, which gave at once. He was inside.