Murder in Court Three (11 page)

‘Not in my book, sir. The DCC impressed on me that this matter requires to be investigated properly so as to withstand scrutiny. Please leave my office now.' She smiled at Wallace. ‘Sergeant Wallace, please escort Chief Superintendent Traynor to somewhere comfortable and give him coffee or tea.'

Wallace held the door open. ‘After you, sir,' he said politely. Without a word, Traynor marched out. Wallace followed him and closed the door.

Flick leaned forward. With an expression she hoped was encouraging she said, ‘Well, Mrs Traynor, if you are prepared to make a statement, I should like to record it.'

Lynda Traynor shot a contemptuous glance at her and stared at a watercolour on the opposite wall. It depicted the ivy-clad All-England Club and had been presented to Flick by her colleagues when she left Wimbledon.

‘I can see you dislike me, Inspector,' she said after a pause. ‘And I couldn't care less about that, but what should be private has now become very public and it matters to someone important to me that this should be cleared up as soon as possible. So I'm going to give you my side of the story. You can record it if you like.'

Five minutes later they were in an interview room with recording facilities. Di Falco had joined them and, as Flick opened her spread-sheet, he turned on the machine. Flick cautioned Mrs Traynor that she was not obliged to say anything and confirmed she did not want a solicitor present.

‘I was pregnant when we got married and our son, Adam, is the only good thing that has come out of our relationship,' she began. ‘We both doted on him and still do. We shouldn't have married, but my parents … had views. After a few years it was a marriage in name only and we separated. Adam went with me but saw his father regularly. Neither of us could believe how upset he got. He was only seven, but there were heart-breaking scenes every time he went from one of us to the other. He began to wet the bed. It was all horrible. Eventually we consulted a child psychiatrist who told us Adam blamed himself for us separating and that he was seriously traumatised. My husband and I are not monsters, Inspector. We both love our son. We decided to stay together for his sake until he's old enough to accept the situation. But in the meantime we would live separate lives. We are both strong characters in different ways and it has been far from easy. Last year we decided it would be best if Adam were to go to boarding school as the atmosphere in the house is sometimes toxic. This is his third term away at Glenalmond and he was beginning to get used to being there when all this came up. We got a call from his housemaster last night. Apparently he's been teased about us and is in a dreadful state.
Good News
travels, you know. We're on our way to pick him up now. Together. My husband has made it clear to me that it's in everyone's interests to wrap this up quickly. Adam's most of all. While I repeat that my business is nobody else's business, I will tell you about my affair with Farquhar Knox and why it would not cause my husband to kill him.' She had spoken in a controlled, precise way, her voice catching when describing her son's distress.

Flick could see she was now close to tears and felt less unsympathetic towards her. ‘In your own time,' she said softly.

‘When the marriage was breaking down my husband lost interest in sex.' She glanced at di Falco, who shifted in his chair and looked at the floor. ‘I didn't, and he was not concerned if I had affairs. But he's a control freak and stubborn as they come. You'll have noticed how tidy the house is. He's totally anal about that. Anyway, he wanted to have a say in who I slept with, the important thing for him being to avoid scandal. Well, that was like a red rag to a bull and every now and again I'd pick a lover because of his potential to embarrass my husband. On Friday night he'd overheard gossip about me going to Court Three to shag Farquhar. It wasn't the shagging he objected to but the gossip. He thought people were laughing at him, and they probably were.' She looked from Flick to di Falco who grinned nervously and checked the tape. Flick nodded then instinctively reached across the formica-topped table and briefly squeezed Lynda Traynor's hand.

‘Thank you, Inspector,' she continued. ‘My affair with Farquhar had been going on for a couple of months. We usually met in hotels. He was passionate, and quite inventive. When he heard my husband and I had been invited to the Advocates and Archers he got very excited and arranged to go himself. He had originally planned to give it a miss. We arranged to speak after dinner.' She shook her head. ‘It's strange talking about this now he's dead. He told me to go to the Ladies and remove my knickers then, once the archery started, I was to go down a corridor he pointed out. The lighting only covered the start and I was to feel my way along the unlit bit until I found a door on the left that was ajar. I was to go in there and up a few steps. Of course I did this and found myself on the bench of this old courtroom. Farquhar was sitting in the judge's chair. Well, he had me on the bench itself. Not at all comfortable, but Farquhar was really turned on. Afterwards I tidied myself as well as I could and left. Farquhar was sitting in the judge's chair and he was very definitely alive. He said we shouldn't leave together and he'd follow me in five minutes. These were probably his last words.' Her voice caught and she paused. ‘I went to the Ladies then wandered about until I bumped into my husband, who was in a foul mood. I told you how we spent the rest of the evening, Inspector.'

‘Can you give a time for when you went along to Court Three?' Flick asked.

‘No. The archery might have been going for five minutes or so.'

‘And when did you leave the court?'

‘The archery had finished. I suppose we must have spent about twenty minutes on the bench together.'

‘Did you see anyone acting suspiciously as you left the court or anything that might help us find the killer?'

‘Honestly, no.'

‘How long was it after you left the court that you saw your husband?'

She frowned. ‘Maybe ten minutes. He was buying a bottle of wine at the bar.'

‘And he was angry with Mr Knox, threatening to “punch his lights out”?'

‘He was more angry with me. He kept saying I'd crossed a boundary. But he was furious because he felt he was being made a fool of, not because of the sex.'

‘If he had come across Knox, what do you think he would have done?'

‘I really don't know, Inspector. He's a very controlled man and I think, despite the drink, he'd have done nothing.'

Flick thanked her formally and signalled to di Falco to turn off the tape. Mrs Traynor, looking drained, stared blankly at the far wall. Flick smiled at her. ‘Thank you for telling us all that. It's very helpful. One thing bothers me. Did your husband use violence to persuade you to speak up?' She touched her own left cheekbone.

Mrs Traynor brushed her hair forward. ‘I'm not going there, Inspector. I walked into a door, actually.'

Flick shrugged. ‘Very well,' she said. ‘They all say that, you know. If you should change your mind, you know where I am. Now, Detective Constable, please take Mrs Traynor somewhere she will be comfortable and give her tea or coffee. And ask Sergeant Wallace to bring the Chief Superintendent in here.'

As she got up Mrs Traynor gave Flick a curious look that seemed to combine puzzlement and gratitude.

When her husband came in and sat opposite Flick he appeared calm but was very much on his dignity. As Flick went through the standard pre-interview caution all suspects were given, he wrinkled his nose in distaste. When she finished he got straight to the point.

‘I trust my wife has already informed you of the nature of our marriage. It effectively broke down many years ago but we live separate lives under the same roof for the sake of our son, Adam. He has been traumatised by the scandalous press coverage of your investigation and we are on our way to his school to reassure him.' He then launched into an account Flick could tell had been carefully thought out and rehearsed.

‘Because of the nature of our marriage, I had no objection if my wife saw other men, however I asked her to be discreet. I regret to say that discretion has never been her strong point and her lack of it that evening was particularly embarrassing as we were top table guests. I was there representing the police force as Divisional Commander. After dinner I saw my wife talking with Knox, whom I recognised. I didn't see her for a while and I went to look for her. The archery contest was proceeding at the time. We did not know many people at the function personally, but I remember casually asking one of the other men at the top table if he had seen my wife. He said he had not. Then I overheard some drunk discussing my wife and Knox in the coarsest of terms. He attracted quite an audience and I could hear him say they had gone off to some courtroom. I looked round, Inspector, but I did not enter any courtroom and I did not see my wife until she approached me as I was queuing to buy another bottle of wine. We went to the far end of the library together and left early. It was not a happy night.' He stopped and looked at Flick, challenging her to ask a question.

‘Did you and your wife quarrel, sir?'

‘We discussed the situation and I communicated my displeasure.'

‘What did she say?'

‘She denied any impropriety.'

‘Did you threaten to “punch Knox's lights out”?'

If the question took him by surprise, Traynor hid it well. ‘Possibly.'

‘How much had you had to drink at the time of the archery, sir?'

‘I don't know, Inspector. All I can say is the wine was good and my glass was being topped up constantly.'

‘Do you know where Court Three is, sir?'

‘I do now. But not then.'

‘Did you know where the arrows were stored after the contest?'

‘I believe I saw them being carried off by one of the senior archers, but I don't know where they went.'

Flick said nothing then looked towards Wallace, who shook his head. She said, ‘You can turn … On second thoughts, Chief Superintendent, for how long had you known about your wife's affair with Mr Knox?'

Wallace withdrew his hand from the control of the tape. Startled, Traynor coughed into an ironed linen handkerchief. ‘I … I hadn't known about it until that night.'

‘But if someone at your table were to say you seemed quite distracted when you saw your wife and Mr Knox speaking earnestly after dinner, can you explain that?'

A nervous tic beside his left eye showed that the question was a good one. ‘I do not believe I reacted in that way,' he said.

Flick decided to end the interview there. Wallace turned off the tape and, as a gesture of respect for his rank, Flick stood as the Chief Superintendent left the room. But they both knew he would not be taken off the suspects' list immediately.

‘Delivery!' Baggo shouted into the intercom beside the outer door of Gary Thomson's stair, which he had found on a steeply sloping street in Dunfermline's old town, near the Maygate. It was after ten-thirty, a time of day at which he thought a waiter might be up but not yet working. Although Joe Thomson and his wife, Myra, lived in a substantial modern house out of town past the Canmore Golf Course, Gary did not live with them.

‘Okay.' The disembodied voice was accompanied by a click.

Up two flights of stairs, a scruffy young man stood in the doorway of a flat.

‘Are you Gary Thomson?' Baggo asked, trying not to sound out of breath.

‘Yes.' There was suspicion in the youth's voice. ‘What have you got for me?'

Baggo put his foot in the door. ‘Just a few questions. I'm a policeman, but there's nothing to worry about.' He shoved his warrant card under Thomson's nose. ‘May I come in?'

Scowling, Thomson led the way into a sitting room in which beer cans, cigarette ends, papers and a pizza box served as ornaments. Despite the open window the air was stale and the sunshine was filtered by a greasy curtain which neither opened nor closed properly. Unaware or uncaring of the impression the room made, Thomson stood barefoot in the middle of the floor, his pose defensive.

Baggo perched on the arm of the settee. ‘I am engaged in the inquiry into the death of Farquhar Knox,' he said, ‘and I hope you might be able to help me.'

‘So you're doing as that London polisman said, and you're going to pin it on some guy with a record?' Nearly six feet tall and slimly built, his greasy, black hair fell over his face, which was framed by a thin beard. Baggo thought he looked like a horse. A grubby tee-shirt bore the image of a woman's breasts and revealed gangly arms. His low-slung jeans appeared to defy gravity. He spoke with a strong Fife accent and avoided Baggo's gaze.

‘No.' Baggo was not going to rise to that dig.

After a few moments Thomson broke the silence. ‘Well why are you here, then?'

‘The man who died was prosecuting your father and you were there as a waiter. So of course we're going to talk to you.'

‘Okay.'

‘Do you remember seeing Farquhar Knox that evening?'

‘I may have seen him. I didnae know the man so I cannae help you.'

‘Had you never been at your father's trial?'

‘Naw.'

Baggo could not recall seeing him on the public benches. ‘How do you get on with your father?' he asked.

‘It's no' a secret. We dinnae get on.'

‘Why not?'

There was a hard glint in Thomson's eye. ‘Lots of reasons.'

‘You've been out about eighteen months, I believe?'

‘And I'm on licence.'

‘You work as a waiter?'

‘Sometimes. Like last Friday. My main job is shelf-stacking at Tesco. I'm just back from the early shift.'

‘Do you know Johnny Dolan?'

Thomson pushed his hair out of his eyes and walked over to the window. ‘Aye,' he said, pulling back the curtain. The extra light did not improve the room.

‘From jail?'

‘Aye.' Thomson stared out of the window.

‘Did you see him on Friday night?'

‘Aye.'

‘Did you speak to him?'

Thomson turned and looked at Baggo as if he was daft. ‘Naw. He's a fucking heidbanger. Half the screws were scared of him.'

‘So you tried to avoid him?'

‘Aye.'

‘I understand he has become very religious.'

‘Very Catholic, you mean. You wouldn't admit to being a bluenose near him. In jail, the word was after he'd beaten someone up he said one
Hail Mary
for every bone he'd broken. Jeez …'

Baggo had been in Scotland long enough to know that Rangers supporters were called bluenoses. ‘I understand. But did you see him do anything odd or suspicious on Friday night, especially during the archery contest and, say, an hour after that?'

‘Naw.'

‘Did you see him go along a darkened corridor at that time?'

‘Naw.'

‘Did you see him go near the room where they stored the bows and arrows after the archery?'

‘Aye. Most of us must have been there. We used it as a place to keep valuable things like candelabras that were ready to take away. Kingsleys, the caterers, had to bring most of the stuff themselves. After we cleared the tables we took everything downstairs. We made sure the valuable stuff was clean then carried it to that room. I think the first van came just after eleven.'

‘Was there anything furtive or strange about how Dolan behaved there?'

‘Naw. Not that I saw, but I wasn't watching.'

‘And what did you do during the hour after dinner?'

‘What the other waiters did. We had to clear the hall for the archery which was hard as naebody wanted to move. We took the stuff downstairs and packed it up then carried it up for collection. The valuable things were put in that room with the bows and arrows.'

‘How many times did you visit that room?'

Thomson shrugged. ‘Twice, maybe. I dunno.'

‘Which tables did you serve during the meal?'

‘Numbers ten, eleven and twelve.'

‘Did you recognise anyone on any of them?'

‘Naw. They were mostly pissed lawyers.'

‘When did you leave Parliament House?'

‘About eleven-fifteen. Some had to stay but they let us part-timers go once things were packed and ready to go. And before you ask, my mate drove me. I didnae breach my ban.'

‘You don't live with your parents, who are in the same town. Why not save yourself some money and live at home?'

‘Like I say, we don't get on.'

‘Is it just you who lives here?'

‘I share with a mate from school. He's at work.'

Feeling he had learned disappointingly little, Baggo thanked him and left. Looking back at the tenement from the pavement, he identified the sitting-room window and saw the greasy curtain twitch.

* * *

Flick found half a dozen missed calls on her phone, all from Fergus. She called him back and listened to a rant about
Good News
, which was nothing compared with the diatribe he then aimed at Inspector No. ‘That drunken heap of horse-shit had better not stray into Dundee or I'll show him how old-fashioned methods work in Scotland,' he spluttered.

Flick found his impotent rage strangely comforting. ‘I'm okay, darling, really. I'm furious about it too, but it's jolted the Traynors into coming clean about their marriage and Lynda's affair with Knox. We're finding out more all the time and we're following up everything. Even the baby feels calmer. She's dancing
Swan Lake
this morning.'

‘I'm glad you can look at it that way. You're doing really well, my love. I'm so proud of you.' She could hear the emotion in his voice.

Forcing herself not to weaken as she rang off, she hoped the investigation would get the bit of luck it needed sooner rather than later.

That breakthrough came earlier than expected. Continuing to work on her spread-sheet, she was irritated when asked to take a call from Detective Inspector Hepburn of Coatbridge CID.

‘We have a murder,' he told her. ‘A man in his forties. Struck on the head then asphyxiated in his home. He's got a record. Forgery.' He paused theatrically. Flick said nothing, willing him to get on with it.

‘In his flat we found pictures of farm land beside a river. Jack Nicklaus, the golfer, appears in many of them and he's been stuck in by some techy expert. Whoever it was, and we think it was the deceased, had a sense of humour. In one picture Nicklaus is showing some plans to pigs. There are also artist's impressions of a golf course and letters that look as if they're from Nicklaus, with his signature. They concern a proposed new course near St Andrews. I think we've found someone who was involved in your big fraud case. But we've no leads in tracing his killer.'

At her desk, Flick punched the air. One of the features of the fraud had been the expertly-produced artist's impressions of the finished project. The identity of the artist had remained a mystery. ‘When was he killed?' she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

‘Yesterday evening, we believe. His lady friend found him last night.'

Flick's mind raced. ‘This could be linked to the murder I'm investigating at the moment, Farquhar Knox. You know he was prosecuting the fraud. Can I come now to discuss it?'

They arranged to meet in an hour and a half. Flick phoned Baggo, who was driving out of Dunfermline on his way to see if anything useful came out at the fraud trial, and to see Melanie. He changed his plans and would meet them in Coatbridge.

Di Falco driving, Flick found Coatbridge Police Office without difficulty. A squat, ugly building, it sat beside a roundabout in the middle of a town that had seen more prosperous times. At reception they were greeted with the warm informality that the West prided itself on. Chatting happily about the weather, a young PC led them upstairs and along a drab corridor. Baggo's laugh could be heard as they approached DI Hepburn's office.

Bryan Hepburn was a muscular looking man of medium height. His welcoming smile did not detract from worldly-wise eyes. A good friend and a bad enemy was Flick's first impression. As Baggo pushed a file he had already seen over to Flick, Hepburn related what he knew.

Tam Walker had been a talented forger, but he had over-reached himself some years earlier when he passed off one of his efforts as a Peploe. When people are asked to part with three hundred thousand pounds for a square of canvas covered in paint they are apt to be very careful indeed. It was a tribute to Tam's skill that he fooled one famous gallery owner and several art journalists before an expert hired by the would-be buyer detected something in the brush-strokes that jarred. From there it was all downhill. After an entertaining trial Tam got five years, the scale of his potential reward being uppermost in the judge's mind. After his release he had enjoyed four years of freedom during which it seemed that he had refined his skills by embracing technology. He had owned a sophisticated and expensive desk-top computer capable of doing much more than e-mails, internet and word processing.

His main companion, and occasional bed-mate, was Mona McBride, who lived across the landing. The previous day she had expected him for a drink about eight and when there was no sign of him by nine she decided to check up on him. She found his body on the floor beside the computer. Lying on his back, the cushion which had been used to smother him still covered his mouth. The African stone statue used to strike the back of his head lay blood-stained nearby. The hard drive of the computer had been removed and there was no trace of his mobile phone.

‘Our SOCOs have done their job, of course, as has the photographer,' Hepburn explained. ‘The items recovered have been sent to the lab in Glasgow and they have started to examine them. The post mortem will be going on now. In Glasgow, again. It was only a couple of hours ago I realised the connection with Fife.'

‘Well I certainly want to be fully involved,' Flick said, examining the file. As well as photos of the body there were the letters and images Hepburn had mentioned on the phone. ‘I recognise a lot of these,' she said. ‘We never found out who did the art-work for the fraud. Now we know.'

Hepburn beamed. ‘It suits me if you want to take over. This is one of three murders we've got right now and we're stretched. I've no time for daft turf wars. You're welcome to this one.'

‘You mean I take over as senior investigating officer?' Flick was astonished. Most police officers she knew guarded their cases like a mother hen.

‘Unless that's a problem. Mind, we'll probably get our balls chewed by the number-crunchers. If you know what I mean.'

Flick liked Hepburn. In a way he reminded her of Fergus. ‘I know exactly what you mean. I sometimes want to stick their budgets where you won't hear the numbers crunch,' she said. Fergus had used that expression the previous week and Hepburn's informality was infectious. She saw Baggo and di Falco look amazed and resolved to startle them with more of the risqué lines she had absorbed but not used.

Hepburn said, ‘We've already done door-to-door inquiries in the block of flats, with the usual result. Naebody saw nothing. It will all be on the file I'll e-mail to you. Just keep me in the loop if there's something I should know.'

It took little time to exchange e-mail addresses and arrange for the transfer of the inquiry to Fife, with the proviso that if the Nicklaus angle went cold the case would revert to Coatbridge. Pausing to pick up the dead man's computer, for whatever use it might be without the hard drive, Flick, Baggo and di Falco followed Hepburn to the crime scene.

Tam Walker had lived in a block of flats on high ground in the Whifflet area of town. The parking area was pot-holed and strewn with broken glass. Baggo's hired car and the two unmarked police cars seemed unusually obvious. The officers entered the block through a graffiti-defaced doorway. Crude images of genitalia, some accompanied by names, had been daubed on the foyer walls. High on one wall the remains of a bracket hung, parts of a smashed CCTV camera scattered below. A lift stinking of urine squeaked and shoogled its way to the third floor, where a woman in a low-cut cocktail dress waited for them. Mona McBride might have been any age between twenty-five and fifty. Laddered tights spoiled her elegant legs but it was her generous and well-supported breasts that caught the eye. Dabbing her heavily made-up face, she assured them that she and Tam had been soul-mates and that he had been a lovely man.

Hepburn had a key to the flat. He shut the heavily reinforced door in the woman's face and they heard loud sobs from the landing.

‘Billy, please take a full statement from her,' Flick said, ‘and concentrate on yesterday, obviously, but also what she thought he may have been doing on his computer. Had he talked much about money recently? Use your discretion. Oh, and make sure to get her key, or keys,' she added, looking at the sophisticated locks.