Lying Dead (13 page)

    ‘Then there was a robbery at a petrol station on the A75 – not sure yet if the gun was real or replica, but the boy at the till didn’t like to argue the toss. Oh, the lads had quite a night of it, seemingly.’

    ‘Nothing to the day they’re going to have,’ Fleming predicted gloomily. ‘Where were our regulars all last week, when we’d have welcomed a wee diversion? No, don’t tell me – having a holiday and topping up their tans, and now it’s back to business as usual with a backlog to make up.’

    ‘The Super’s in. He said he’d be wanting a word.’

    ‘You don’t say!’ Leaving Naismith to return to the desk and take his punishment like a man, Fleming took the stairs to her office two at a time.

‘It’s all simply a question of priorities.’ Superintendent Donald Bailey was leaning back in his chair, his hands together as if forming a tent over his spreading stomach. ‘Think triage, Marjory, triage!’

    This was a word Bailey had recently discovered – probably from one of the TV medical programmes he liked to watch – and as always when he had a word that was a novelty, he liked to play with it as a child plays with a new toy.

    ‘Of course.’ Agreement always kept him happy, and what did it cost her to pretend that arranging tasks in order of urgency wasn’t something you automatically did every day of your working life? ‘We have three major cases. Break-ins only come up near the top if the heart attack is serious. Gun crime – replica or otherwise – has to be high on the list. And then of course we have the woman’s murder.’

    Bailey was inclined to dismiss that. ‘As you said, it’s nothing to do with us, really.’

    ‘That’s not quite what I said,’ Fleming protested, but he paid no attention.

    ‘Sooner it’s handed over to Manchester, the better. Have the SOCOs finished up in the forest? We don’t exactly have unlimited numbers and we need people at the other sites this morning.’

    Fleming glanced at the notes she had brought with her. ‘They seem to think they’ve done the bulk of it. There’ll be a couple of them finishing up today, and we’ll need to detail uniforms to do a fingertip search after that.’

    ‘I suppose that’s necessary? Oh well, once we get it out of the way, we can give proper precedence to the local issues. The gun has to be at the top of the list – unless, God forbid, the poor woman dies.’

    Fleming conceded that, but when he went on to assume she would be taking charge, demurred. ‘I’m SIO on the murder, Don. There’s a couple of loose ends I have to tie up on that first, but with any luck it may clear my desk today.

    ‘They’ve just notified us that there’s a detective sergeant and a PC driving up from Manchester at the moment, escorting Jeff Brewer, the boyfriend, and a woman who worked in the bar with Wintour to do the ID. I’ll have to go to the autopsy and then I’ll need some answers from them before I hand over to the Manchester police. Tam MacNee can meet them and deal with the formalities.

    ‘I’ll get out myself to the other scenes this morning with Greg Allan and he can take it from there.’

    Bailey looked restive. ‘Marjory, I’m not sure I’m happy with that. Allan may be MacNee’s equivalent in rank but we both know he isn’t exactly dynamic. I want some highly visible progress on the local cases. After all, a press statement about the woman’s body went out yesterday and all it got in the Press this morning was a paragraph on an inner page. An armed robbery and three break-ins, with possibly the gravest of outcomes – the
Herald
could have a field day with that, never mind about the
Scottish Sun
. If you won’t take charge yourself, I’d prefer MacNee to handle it.’

    Fleming was stubborn. ‘I want the Manchester officers to get the best possible impression of our effectiveness at this end. As you said yourself, Allan’s not dynamic.’

    ‘Mmm. I take your point. Well, what about young Kingsley, then? He might put a bit of pep in it. He wants to go for sergeant, after all, and this would give him a chance to show his mettle.’

    ‘I could send him along with Allan,’ Fleming offered. ‘And Tansy Kerr can handle the heart attack situation – she’s got a good touch with people.’

    Appeased, Bailey said, ‘That’s better. And of course you and Tam will be free to take it on tomorrow once this Manchester business is sorted out.’

    She got up. ‘If Kingsley hasn’t solved it first. He’s got his reputation to think of, after all.’

    Her tone was dry, and Bailey tutted. ‘He has his faults. But we mustn’t hold back the ambitious young. It’s one of the failings of middle age which I flatter myself I haven’t succumbed to, but you must fight it, Marjory, fight it!’

    ‘Tooth and nail, Donald.’ Fleming left, muttering under her breath.

    She hit her office like a whirlwind, sending e-mails and making calls. The briefing on the Wintour case would have to be postponed, but that was no bad thing; the picture should be quite a bit clearer by the end of the day. She rescheduled it for nine the following morning, then summoned Tam MacNee.

    ‘The most important thing is keeping our end up,’ she told him. ‘Everything has got to run like clockwork so those snotty buggers don’t look down their noses at us poor teuchters.’

    MacNee smirked. ‘Someone got your dander up? Where’s your “sweetness and light to our southern brethren” campaign now?’

    ‘If I tell you that DCI Carter almost had me quoting Burns myself, you’ll get some idea of the provocation. Maybe his subordinates won’t be so bad, and anyway, all being well we should be able to get shot of it in twenty-four hours.

    ‘They’re on their way now with Brewer and a barmaid called Mandy Preston – should be here – what? Late morning? Fix up an immediate appointment with the mortuary – the autopsy’s early this afternoon and we want the ID done before that.

    ‘And remember, Tam, cool and dignified. Hang on, I’m not sure you do dignified. I’ll settle for civil. Just don’t let the side down with DS Arnold Tucker.’

    ‘
Arnold?
What kind of a man would have a posh name like that?’

    ‘Probably a very superior being. And if you start quoting “
A man’s a man, for a’ that
,” it’s a disciplinary matter.’

Chapter 7

The dining-room in the Mackenzie household was a silent place this morning. Jennifer Mackenzie, Susie Stevenson’s mother, was trying so hard not to give vent to her fury that the atmosphere was as thick as the porridge her grandson Josh was unenthusiastically pushing round his bowl. His father, the graze on his cheek now surrounded by a large and livid bruise, had been stirring and stirring at his tea as if totally unaware of what he was doing.

    At last his mother-in-law snapped. ‘For heaven’s sake, Findlay, you’ll wear a hole in the bottom of that cup.’

    Findlay, who had been avoiding her eyes since he came in, coloured, looked up briefly, muttered, ‘Sorry,’ and set down his spoon.

    Jennifer’s lips tightened and she fussed with the collar of her Alexon blouse. They had been sorely tried, she and Derek, these last few weeks, having their pleasantly ordered lives turned upside down with three extra people living in an executive villa designed for a retired couple with only occasional visitors. She really thought that if it weren’t for the en suite she would have gone mad, and Derek was seriously restive about his BMW being parked in the drive, now that the garage had become some sort of squalid kennels for Findlay’s wretched dogs.

    They’d been perfectly happy when Susie married him, but at the time he’d been a respectable farmer, well able to support her in proper style. Since then, he’d reduced their daughter first to being a shop girl, and now, as if
that
wasn’t bad enough, a common labourer’s wife. And Jennifer, with her high blood pressure, just didn’t dare to let herself think about this latest humiliation he had brought on the family.

    Susie, at the other end of the table, was drooping and red-eyed, making a production of her misery.

    ‘Have some toast, Susie. You’re not eating anything.’ Jennifer spoke bracingly; her supply of sympathy was running low. Findlay was Susie’s husband, after all, and she should never have permitted him to get himself into this sort of mess. If Derek had shown signs of stepping out of line – which, to be fair, in thirty blameless years of banking he never had – Jennifer would have brought him up so short he’d have pitched on to his nose.

    ‘How can I?’ Susie said tragically. ‘With all this – and the move today—’

    ‘If it’s still on.’ Findlay spoke without raising his eyes.

    Jennifer stiffened. ‘Still on? Why not?’ She couldn’t bear to think what Derek would say if she had to tell him that the garage wouldn’t be ready for thorough cleaning tonight.

    ‘Ask your daughter.’

    The ready tears came to Susie’s eyes. ‘My fault now, is it? If you hadn’t—’

    Her mother rose majestically. ‘Come, Josh,’ she said to the child who had been a silent witness, looking from one parent to the other in anxious dismay. ‘Mummy and Daddy have something they need to discuss together.
Quietly
.’ It was an instruction. ‘It’s time you went up to tidy your room anyway.’

    Obediently Josh went out with his grandmother, who shut the door behind them in a marked manner.

Susie, aggrieved, wasted no time in springing to her own defence. ‘I was only doing it for you, Fin. And they released you, so it worked – you can’t say it didn’t.’

    ‘I can, actually.’ Findlay had the temper that went with his colouring; he was having to struggle to keep it under control. ‘I had been told I was free to go before the phone call from Marjory came through. And I can’t believe what you inflicted on poor Josh.’

    ‘Then you should have thought of that before you got into a fight.’ Her expression was mulish.

    ‘I know, I know,’ Findlay said impatiently. ‘But I told you what that bastard’s threatening to do to Moss—’

    ‘Moss is a dog, remember?’

    ‘A dog who’s brought us in the money that we needed, just to scrape along. If I hadn’t built a reputation on his cleverness, I wouldn’t be getting the prices for the trained pups that I am now. Don’t you think I owe him something – life, at the very least?’

    Susie pouted. ‘Oh, in an ideal world  . . .’

    ‘This is far from an ideal world.’ Findlay’s voice rose. ‘In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have lost the farm. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have been forced to sell the best collie I’ll ever have. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have a wife who was dumb enough to antagonize the very people who are offering us a job and a home that would get us out of this awful situation.’

    ‘My parents’ house isn’t good enough for you? And I’m not good enough either? Is that what you’re saying?’

    For a moment they glared at each other, then Findlay dropped his head into his hands with a groan. When he looked up, he said tiredly, ‘They don’t want us here, Susie – you know that as well as I do. We need a fresh start, need to get back to being a proper family again. It was fine before all this, wasn’t it?’

    She hesitated, then sighed. ‘Oh yes, it was fine before. And of course the Flemings won’t withdraw the offer – how could they? It would make them look terrible.’ She brightened. ‘And you got a good price for Flash yesterday. Once you have a paying job, and we’re living rent-free, we can use that as the start of the fund for a better future—’

    ‘That money’s going to buy back Moss.’

    ‘
What?
Are you mad?’

    ‘I’m going to offer it to Murdoch,’ Findlay said stubbornly. ‘It’s three thousand less than he paid me, but I can’t see him getting a better offer.’

    His wife jumped to her feet, too angry for her usual tearful response. ‘You don’t care about us, do you? Not about me, not about Josh, not about what you’ve put us both through since you lost the farm. We’ve been forced on to my parents’ charity and even now you haven’t been able to find a decent job.

    ‘Well, you can choose. Do that with the money, and you can forget the idea that Josh and I will come and live with you in the miserable hovel that Her Graciousness Marjory Fleming has been kind enough to offer. Get out, and take your stupid dogs with you. We’ll stay here.’

    ‘Fine.’ In the pallor of his face, the bruise stood out among the freckles more vividly than ever. ‘I’ll do just that. And you can suit yourself about whether you come or not.’ In a pantomime of indifference he picked up his cup with a shaking hand and, without even noticing, drank the stone-cold tea.

    Closing the door with a vicious slam, Susie marched across the hall to the kitchen.

Putting dirty plates into the dishwasher, Jennifer heard the slam and she compressed her lips again. She straightened up as Susie came in and looked at her daughter with disapproval. ‘Good gracious, what was all that about?’ she asked coldly.

    ‘That was me, telling Findlay to get out. I’m staying here, with Josh.’

    Jennifer looked at her with consternation. ‘But Susie, you can’t—’

    ‘Oh, can’t I? He’s going to throw away all the money he got yesterday on buying back his stupid Moss!’