Lamb to the Slaughter (46 page)

Romy was wearing a dark red fisherman’s smock which, like the bench, had suffered from her professional activities, and she was looking dreadful: gaunt and dull-eyed, with lank hair and red blotches round her mouth and chin. Their intrusion was clearly unwelcome, but when she spoke it was as if she hadn’t the energy to sound hostile.

‘Who are you? What do you want?’

Kerr flashed the cards and introduced them and saw her unbend a little. ‘I thought you were more bloody journalists. I was considering using the blowtorch if you were.’

‘Had a lot of trouble?’ MacNee said with ready sympathy.

‘All the time, the first couple of days. Thought I’d go mad. Mercifully only one thought of coming here, so it’s been my bolt-hole.’

‘It must be so very hard for you. Your only son ... I can’t imagine what you must have suffered.’ Kerr, having offered the woman’s touch, seemed keen to supply it – overkeen, perhaps.

Romy looked at her coldly. ‘You can’t even begin. Look, if you’ve got questions, get on with it and ask them. Spare me the mushy stuff.’

Crestfallen, Kerr subsided and MacNee did as he was told.

‘I’ll be honest with you, Mrs Kyle. We’re working flat out, but so far there are no definite leads to point to your son’s killer. Is there anything – anything at all, that you know about Barney that might make someone decide to kill him?’

‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. I’ve gone over and over it, hour after hour, day and night since it happened. How do I know what he did, who he got across? He’s – he
was
...’ For the first time her voice faltered, but she went on, ‘a teenager, and it was the usual thing – “Where did you go?” “Out.” “What did you do?” “Nothing.” You know?

‘There isn’t anything I can tell you. The only person who had a reason to hold a grudge was that old woman and she didn’t do it – so ...’ She gave a helpless shrug.

If she hadn’t come up with something, after all that, what hope was there that this wasn’t a dead end? MacNee continued, a little desperately, ‘What about Dylan Burnett? It’s been suggested that they were wearing helmets, so it could be mistaken identity. I don’t suppose you can think of anyone with a reason for wanting him dead?’

Romy gave a humourless smile. ‘Apart from me, do you mean? He was a bad apple – Barney would be alive today if it wasn’t for that boy.

‘But no, same answer, I’m afraid. The old woman – no one else I know of.’

Not noticing MacNee’s sudden silence, Kerr asked, ‘Did Barney and Colonel Carmichael know each other, Mrs Kyle?’

MacNee hardly heard the reply, that they might possibly have spoken on the odd occasion but as far as Romy was aware had no further contact. His head was buzzing with questions and he had a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Suppose Christina Munro wasn’t just a poor, helpless, beleaguered old soul? Suppose the dead sheep, which had made him believe she couldn’t have done it, actually had nothing to do with the case? Suppose she had, not the wisdom, but the cunning of age? Suppose, as the pathologist had said, it couldn’t be ruled out that the momentum of the bike had carried Barney on, after he’d taken the fatal wound? What were the chances that anyone had done a thorough search of the outbuildings at the time? None, or less than that? What if somewhere on her farm, or buried now in the fields around it, was another gun, a bigger gun, loaded with buckshot?

‘I’ve come to make a confession, inspector.’

DI Fleming looked at Norman Gloag with an unfriendly eye. Somehow she didn’t think that this remark, delivered in a frank, open, one-reasonable-chap-to-another manner, was the prelude to the sort of conversation which meant she could produce the handcuffs. And unless her expectations were overly pessimistic, this early appointment with one of her bêtes noires was not a good start to a day which she feared was only likely to get worse. The Chief Constable had been at a conference in London; he would return tomorrow expecting serious progress and Bailey was getting his knickers in a preparatory twist.

She raised her eyebrows coolly. ‘Yes, councillor?’

My goodness, the man sweated easily! He had his handkerchief out already, patting at his jowls, but he went on smoothly, ‘I have been very foolish. No, that is being too lenient. What I did was simply wrong.’

His small eyes, in that pinkish, porcine countenance, were studying her closely. She didn’t react, looking at him steadily in return.

The response which didn’t come provoked another outburst of patting. Then he said, ‘You see, you pointed out that as someone who had prior knowledge that a crime was planned, I should have contacted the police. I am ashamed to say, in my relief that my son was not again involved, it didn’t cross my mind. As a councillor particularly, it was my duty and I was afraid that this might come out.’

‘Your knowledge, rather more importantly, made you a suspect.’

‘Yes, yes!’ He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Of course I know that. Which is why, as I now realise, what I did was extremely foolish as well as wrong.

‘Inspector, I assure you, on my honour—’

Fleming permitted herself a small, satirical smile, and he said defensively, ‘Yes, I realise that my behaviour entitles you to treat that with scorn, but I will attempt to outline—’

She had had enough. ‘Councillor Gloag, you are not in the council chamber now and I have no time to listen to speeches. You said you had come to make a confession. Perhaps you could just get on with it.’

She wondered if this would provoke aggression, but he only gulped. ‘I’m sorry. In my second conversation with you, I claimed I was told later than I had been, quite falsely. But I wasn’t lying to cover up guilt.

‘It was vitally important that you would rule me out of your enquiries at the very start. In a place like this, gossip travels like wildfire. If you’d started questioning people about my movements and told them that I was aware an attack was due to take place on an elderly and vulnerable constituent, and had done nothing about it, I would have been punished at the ballot-box. As you no doubt realise, success in local elections is a matter of just a handful of votes, and I would be in line to be leader of the council next year, a position which will – would have,’ he corrected himself bitterly, ‘allowed me to bring the great benefit of modern shopping to the folk of Kirkluce.’

‘Ah yes. I understand the ALCO deal has fallen through.’ Seeing him wince was the only part of the interview she had enjoyed.

‘Yes. Most unfortunately. And nothing, it appears, can be done about it now.’ He gave a gusty sigh. ‘But to return to the problem that brought me here. I can see, inspector, that I have placed myself in a most invidious position.

‘You probably consider me a serious suspect. I had, I admit, hoped I could simply convince you that I had nothing whatsoever to do with these dreadful acts, since if you demanded corroboration you would have turned to a source who would not supply it. My wife, seeing me in difficulties, has left the family home – the luxurious home she was quite content to have me supply for her – taking the children with her, and I could hope for no loyalty from her.’

‘Perhaps she felt she should be loyal to the son you attempted to suborn,’ Fleming said cruelly. ‘Or even, dare I say it, to the truth? In any case, it is hardly relevant. We already have evidence that shows the account you gave us – the second account, that is, contradicting the first – was untrue.’

‘Yes,’ he said, unconsciously twisting the handkerchief he had in his hands. ‘I was afraid you would. What I have told you now is the absolute truth, but it now comes down to this – do you believe me?’

On balance, and to her own annoyance, Fleming thought she probably did. The squalid little man was quite stupid enough to behave as he had for just such stupid reasons, and arrogant enough to think he’d get away with it. If he hadn’t lied, would he have been a serious suspect? Unlikely.

Not that she was going to tell him. She wanted him left to twist in the wind a little longer. She got up.

‘Thank you for the information. We will take into account what you have said.’

At the failure of his confession to produce immediate ­absolution, Gloag looked almost comically dismayed. ‘But – but now you’ve heard what I have to say, couldn’t you at least tell me unofficially what you yourself believe?’

‘Believe, councillor?’ She gave him a wintry smile. ‘I’m a police officer, not a theologian. Now, I’m afraid you must excuse me...’

When MacNee came into Fleming’s office, she was frowning over one of those ‘mind-maps’ she was so keen on. She looked up, then, a little self-consciously, folded it over. He’d expressed himself fairly freely in the past about what he saw as a pointless exercise.

‘Tam. Anything come up?’ The words were hopeful, but the voice was flat.

He wasn’t ready yet to explain his latest idea. He wanted to sniff around, talk to Christina, talk to Annie again, perhaps. When he’d played gin rummy, too, he’d always preferred to gather his winning cards so that he could put them down at the same time and say, ‘Gin!’ It was one of his weaknesses, and even what had happened last time he’d tried it hadn’t discouraged him. Christina Munro wasn’t tall enough to hit him over the head.

‘Not a lot,’ he said. ‘Bit of a bummer about Ossian having a solid alibi – Andy Mac was telling me. So what’s next – the Farquharsons?’

‘Yes.’ Fleming glanced at her watch. ‘They’re bringing them in shortly. She was unamused, I hear.’

‘Given their statements were as full of holes as a fishing net, they’re lucky not to be under arrest.’

‘Certainly are. But we’ve given the press enough sensation lately.’ Fleming gave him a pointed look.

He parried it effortlessly. ‘Don’t know what you mean, “we”. Changing the subject completely, they’re saying downstairs that Will’s resigned. He’s not even in today.’

It had the desired effect. ‘He has? Oh – I’m sorry about that lad. He had real promise. And Tansy – what’s the ­situation? Should I have a word with her?’

‘Only if you’re thinking of cruel and unusual punishment. She’s black burning ashamed, as my mammy was always saying I should be about something I’d done.’

‘Not sure she doesn’t deserve to be.’

‘Aye, she does. But “
gently scan your brother man ...
”’ he suggested.

She’d slated the patronising follow-on, ‘
Still gentler sister woman
’, before now and he was prepared for some scathing comment. None came: Fleming looked as if some uncomfortable thought had occurred to her and he suddenly wondered whether, unlikely as it seemed, she too had known what it was to be tempted.

But all she said was, ‘Is she coping?’

‘Och, yes. Keeping her head down and hoping we’ll all forget about it.’

MacNee saw her eyes go back to the folded-over paper on her desk. ‘Tam,’ she said slowly, ‘how much thought have you given to the dead sheep?’

As she spoke, the phone on the desk in front of her rang and she picked it up. ‘Yes?’

She listened, said, ‘Thanks,’ and put the phone down again. ‘That’s the Farquharsons arrived downstairs. I want them questioned separately, obviously, and we don’t take no for an answer. Which do you fancy?’

‘Lady Macbeth,’ MacNee said immediately. ‘That’s what Andy Mac calls her. He reckons it’s a conspiracy that she’s master-minded. Interview under caution?’

Fleming considered. ‘See how it goes. I reckon this is probably a preliminary skirmish, so softly-softly to start with. We’ve frightened the horses enough lately.

‘Who’s around? If Tansy’s downstairs, she can pair up with you. I think Andy Mac’s in the building so I’ll draft him in. I don’t think I want Campbell – he has the odd impressive insight but it unnerves me having to check in the course of the interview that he’s still breathing.’

MacNee went off in search of Kerr. He was turning into the corridor leading to the CID room when Sergeant Bruce hailed him.

‘Tam! Big Marge asked me to find you. I’ve just buzzed her again to say that the Farquharsons have been taken to the interview rooms and everything’s set up for you to start.’

‘Right.’ Tam turned back. ‘I’d better go straight there. Can you tell Tansy – in the CID room, I think. She’s to sit in.’

‘OK.’

Bruce headed off and MacNee went along to the interview rooms. He’d been hoping he might have been able to slide off quietly to check out this latest theory, but it wasn’t on. And was he absolutely sure, anyway, that Fiona Farquharson didn’t fit the role Andy Mac had assigned to her?

When Sergeant Bruce reached the CID room, DC Kerr was sitting at one of the desks with a sheet of paper in her hand and a thoughtful look on her face.

‘Hi, Tansy!’ Linda Bruce said brightly. ‘Tam wants you for an interview. They’re going to grill Colonel Carmichael’s nephew and his wife – them that thought they’d a big windfall coming.’

Without looking up, Kerr said, ‘Yes,’ almost as if she hadn’t taken in what had been said. Then, ‘Is the boss in, do you know?’

‘She’s interviewing too. You’ll see her along there.’

Kerr nodded and left, still with the paper in her hand. When she reached the interview rooms, there was no one around apart from a constable on duty outside.