Murder in Court Three (12 page)

As soon as di Falco paid attention to her, Mona McBride stopped sobbing. Flick and Baggo exchanged glances then concentrated on the flat. Passing from a pale blue hall they came to the living room which was light and south-facing, its height giving views across nearby houses and the M8 to the green fields of South Lanarkshire. The carpet, a stronger shade of blue, was disfigured by a bloodstain beside the large but simple pine desk on which sat two computer screens, a keypad and a printer. A leather-covered sofa and two armchairs were angled towards a flat-screen television. A glass coffee table held a pile of glossy art brochures and a black stone carving in the African style, probably the pair of the weapon used to knock Tam out. Flick noted that the SOCOs had been thorough. Traces of grey fingerprint powder were everywhere.

But it was the paintings hanging on the walls that made her gasp. At first sight they were worth several millions. Above the sofa, a view of a boldly-coloured wheatfield, painted with the thick strokes of Van Gogh, was signed Vincent. On the wall opposite, a nude with large breasts and a round face carried Picasso's signature. Beside it an obscene painting of a woman, her legs splayed open, also had Picasso's name on it. ‘Is that Mona McBride?' Baggo asked innocently, earning a guffaw from Hepburn and, to his surprise, a broad grin from Flick. On the wall facing the window, two paintings of Flapper girls in the Vettriano railway poster style carried the discordant theme further. Flick examined them closely and wondered how many experts they might fool.

Next to the living room was a small bedroom which Walker had used as a studio. The smell of paint, detectable in the rest of the flat, was strongest here. The room was as shambolic as the living room had been tidy. Paints, brushes, rags and canvasses appeared to have been dropped haphazardly. A large easel stood in the middle of the chaos, the painting on it turned to the light. It was the image of a woman with a fish draped across her head.

‘He couldn't stop himself,' Hepburn chuckled.

‘What do you mean?' Flick asked.

‘John Bellany, a very successful Scottish painter, died not so long ago. He painted a lot of women with fishes on their heads. This could have been Bellany's, you know. It would take an expert to say it's not. Perhaps Tam was needing to boost his pension.'

Another small bedroom, this time facing west, was full of photographic apparatus. The chemical smell and heavy curtains were evidence of an effective printing facility. It was in a drawer in this room that the tell-tale papers and pictures had been found.

‘I'm surprised no one tried to pinch this,' Flick said.

Hepburn said, ‘Tam had the sort of friends you want living here. It's amazing the number of local drug barons who have Van Goghs on their walls – Van Goghs that have never come up for sale and never will. But they look mighty impressive.'

‘Could this have been an underworld hit?' Baggo asked.

Hepburn shook his head. ‘Unlikely. It was well known Tam had protection and he was too smart to seriously piss off one of the big guys.'

‘He had a big flat for a single man,' Flick commented.

Hepburn explained, ‘When he got it he was living with a woman and five kids. She left and he kept the flat. It's not exactly the most popular place to stay in Coatbridge. Not much competition for the tenancies.'

Flick was not surprised but didn't say so. Working quickly, she and Baggo searched the flat with Hepburn's help, amassing drawings, letters and photographic equipment, anything that might prove useful. They were joined by di Falco, who had learned little new from Mona, except that the morning Tam died he'd been talking about getting some extra money. Di Falco had asked her if he had seen a newspaper that morning and she confirmed that he had. The paper had been
Good News
, she thought. She had popped in for a coffee about eleven and left half an hour later. She hadn't seen him alive again.

They locked up and left the flat together, taking the lift once more. On the ground floor they were hailed by a tiny, bent old lady wearing a shabby apron with a flower pattern.

‘Tam was a good man,' she told them in a trembling voice. ‘I hope ye make his killer pay.'

‘Did you know him well?' Flick asked.

‘Well enough,' the old lady said. ‘He was good to me. Two months ago he gave me a picture of a wumman wi' a fush on her heid. He telt me I'd get three thousand pund fur it. But I like it and it's still on my wall. Imagine going aboot wi' a fush on yer heid. Daft, like. But he was a good man.'

‘And I'm not going to stop her trying to get her money for that painting,' Hepburn said as they came to their cars. ‘If the buyer thinks it's worth three thousand pounds it shouldn't matter who painted it.'

There in Coatbridge, Flick could see his point. Having said a cheery goodbye to Bryan Hepburn she beamed at the other two. ‘Let's find somewhere for lunch.'

As she spoke, her phone rang. It was Wallace. She listened then turned to the others. ‘Lance has just heard from Eloise Knox's solicitor. After a lot of humming and hawing he's admitted that she stands to receive a life insurance payout of three million pounds.' She paused. ‘Unless of course it was she who killed her husband.'

The place they found for lunch was a drive-through McDonald's in Airdrie, a continuation of Coatbridge to the east. As they sat in Flick's pool car pretending not to enjoy their guilty pleasures, they watched police vans bearing the day's custodies coming and going from the nearby sheriff court.

They agreed that the insurance pay-out gave Eloise Knox a real motive to kill her husband instead of divorcing him. Following up on her was a priority.

After lunch they dropped di Falco at the train station so that he might go to Glasgow to see Johnny Dolan as planned. In their separate cars Flick and Baggo made for Eloise Knox's house, hoping that Lord Hutton would be kept busy on the bench until they were finished. On her hands-free, Flick asked Wallace, still pinching himself after fingerprinting half a dozen High Court judges, to stay in Edinburgh and interview the accused in the fraud trial, checking alibis for the previous evening. ‘Nicola Smail as well,' she added as an after-thought.

Flick and Baggo liased in India Street, up from Eloise Knox's house. On their previous visit she had responded better to di Falco, so Flick asked Baggo to start the questioning. She would be ready to come in as good cop or even worse cop, depending on circumstances.

They had not phoned ahead and, after two loud rings of the doorbell, wondered if anyone was in. Flick was reaching for her phone when they heard the click of the inner door and a sullen Ranald opened the outer door wide enough to stick his head out.

‘My mother is still very upset,' he said, his voice anglicised and defiant. From his tone he might have added ‘you plebs'. He withdrew his head and made to shut the door.

Baggo was too quick for him and stuck his foot in the way. ‘I sincerely regret having to trouble you but we are at an important stage in trying to find your father's murderer and we must speak with your mother.'

The boy said nothing but walked away from the door. The detectives followed him in, shutting the door behind them. Ranald went to the foot of the staircase and shouted up, ‘It's the police, Mummy.' The reply, sounding more angry than upset, was ‘Well show them into the drawing room then.'

A full five minutes elapsed between Ranald leaving them in the drawing room and Eloise making a theatrical entrance, complete with a lace handkerchief with which she dabbed her eyes. Unhurried, she took her seat on the sofa. Flick wondered whom she might have been phoning and how long they would have before reinforcements arrived. She nodded to Baggo, who, while inspecting the room, had been thinking the same thing.

‘Mrs Knox, I regret that it is necessary to ask you this,' he began after introducing himself, ‘but were you aware that your husband was having an affair with Mrs Lynda Traynor?'

Her back stiffened and she clenched her fist. ‘No,' she said with a sniff.

‘Yet after seeing your husband talking with Mrs Traynor after dinner on Friday, you asked a friend if he “was off with that whore”. Can you explain that?'

‘Just a manner of speaking.'

‘And when your friend prevaricated, you made a comment about “bloody men” sticking together?'

‘I don't remember saying that.'

‘And when you went outside to smoke immediately after the archery, you were heard to say that you could kill your husband. Can you explain that?'

‘I don't remember saying that either, but it's something lots of women say every day.'

Flick decided to intervene. ‘Come on, Mrs Knox. Please don't insult our intelligence. I know this is distressing and embarrassing, but the sooner we conclude our investigation the better it will be for everyone. We know, yes, we know that your husband had been having an affair with Mrs Traynor and that they went off to Court Three to have sex immediately before he was killed. We know that when the archery was over you went out for a cigarette. We also know that you did the Dashing White Sergeant with the Cuthberts. But there is a gap of ten to fifteen minutes which you have not accounted for. You could have killed your husband during that time. Please help us. If you can establish what you were doing then, we can eliminate you as a suspect.'

‘I've already told you …'

Flick cut in. ‘With respect, you haven't. The last time we met you said you came in from smoking and then the dancing started. But there was a gap.'

‘Maybe I went to the Ladies. I can't remember.'

‘You had been to the Ladies after dinner.'

‘Maybe I went again. I can't remember exactly.' Her voice caught and Flick could tell that real tears were not far away. ‘All right. I knew about Lynda Traynor and I was furious, really furious, that Farquhar should make a fool of me by going off to shag her when I was being the dutiful wife. I sort of drifted about for a bit outside – it was a pleasant night – and calmed down before going back in. And, before you ask, no one can confirm that. How was I to know someone was going to stab him then?' She glared at the officers, her face full of hurt and anger.

‘There's something else,' Baggo said softly. ‘We know about the three million pounds insurance policy. Was that your idea?'

She looked at him steadily. ‘No it was not. My husband found fidelity a challenge, as he put it. After yet another argument over one of his many affairs, he insured his own life for three million. Of course I was very grateful until he told me it was to protect himself. Because the sum was so large, if he was ever murdered I'd be the prime suspect. There would be no way the insurance company would pay out until they were sure I had nothing to do with his death. I remember his words, “With this policy, there's no way you'll ever dare to kill me.” And he was right.'

‘You thought about it?' Baggo asked.

A twisted smile on her face she said, ‘Yes. But I only thought about it.'

‘So have we finally got the truth from you?' Flick asked. ‘You had your smoke, then went for a walk to calm down and then came in for the Dashing White Sergeant?'

As she nodded, Lord Hutton burst into the room. This time he wore a well-tailored dark suit and it was easy to believe he was a High Court judge. ‘What is this outrage, Inspector?' he blustered. ‘I thought I warned you the last time we met. Mrs Knox is a very vulnerable person. You will hear more of this matter.'

Flick gave him her sweetest smile. ‘She's a lot less vulnerable than she was, Lord Hutton, now that she says she has finally told us the truth. We'll see ourselves out.' Without giving him time to come back from that, they left.

‘Did you hear the doorbell then?' Baggo asked as they walked up the hill to their cars.

‘No,' Flick replied.

‘So does the upright judge have a key so that he can comfort the grieving widow any time he wants?'

‘My thoughts entirely.'

‘Did you see his jaw drop when you said about her telling the truth?'

‘It practically bounced up off his tie.'

‘Interesting, perhaps?' he asked.

‘But he wasn't there on Friday night. I checked the list.'

‘There was some late swapping of tickets. I think I'll double check he wasn't there. I know just the person to ask.'

* * *

Baggo arrived at the fraud trial in time to hear a red-faced man tell the jury that Joe Thomson was totally honest. He was overdoing it, and the raised eyebrows in the jury box told their own story.

‘If he hears of one of his men doing a homer for cash he'll sack him,' the witness said belligerently.

Thomson's advocate decided not to ask any more. Baggo could see that Melanie wanted Radcliffe to cross-examine but he remained seated and the witness was discharged. That concluded all the evidence in the case and Lord Tulloch told the jury that the next day they would begin to hear speeches from the crown then the defence and he hoped the case would finish early the following week.

‘See you tonight?'Baggo whispered to Melanie as she collected her papers.

‘Not tonight. Mark wants to go through his speech with me.' She gave him a sad smile.

‘Well can I meet you for a quick drink in half an hour? I need to ask you a couple of things.'

After arranging to meet her in The Verdict, Baggo turned his attention to the accused in the trial. They were all in the foyer talking to their lawyers. Wallace and McKellar waited nearby to check alibis for Tam Walker's murder. They agreed that Wallace should speak to both Smails, McKellar to Maltravers and Baggo to Thomson.

The builder was about to ignore him and walk away when Baggo asked if he knew Tam Walker. ‘No,' he replied quickly but the flicker of his eyelids suggested otherwise.

Baggo explained that he was investigating his murder and asked what Thomson had done from the time he left court to eight pm the previous evening.

Although he wore an expensive suit, Thomson looked like a man who had worked his way up from a poor background. His skin was coarse and bore a few scars. To Baggo it suggested whisky, fights and open air. His hands had been hardened by work. Showing neither surprise nor resentment at being questioned, Thomson said, ‘I was going round my building sites, checking the work.' In a matter-of-fact way he described how the sites were spread round West Fife and West Lothian. Baggo took down details of all of them. Everyone had knocked off for the day by the time the boss arrived and no one could back up his account. ‘I made some phone calls too of course,' Thomson added. ‘Business calls, on my car phone.' He set his jaw, as if inviting a challenge.

‘When did you last see your son, Gary?' Baggo asked.

Thomson looked startled. ‘What has that got to do with anything?' he asked.

‘It's a perfectly innocent question, sir,' Baggo pointed out.

‘If you must know, a long time ago.'

‘Months or years?'

Thomson glared at him. ‘Years.'

‘When did you last speak with him?'

‘I've no idea. Years.'

‘Did you know he was working as a waiter at the Advocates and Archers function last Friday at which Mr Knox was killed?'

Thomson scowled. ‘I see. You're wondering if I put him up to killing the man prosecuting me.'

‘I have to make full and thorough inquiries, sir.'

‘Well understand this. That ungrateful shite would have helped any enemy of mine. So if he did kill Knox he didn't do it for me.'

There was no more to be learned from Thomson. Wallace reported that the Smails said they had left court together and driven home to Fife. No one could back this up. Only Maltravers had given names of people he had seen after court the previous day. These were business contacts and he had implored McKellar to be discreet when checking his alibi.

* * *

Melanie was waiting in a booth far from other customers when Baggo arrived at The Verdict. She had bought pints and gave him a frothy smile as he slid along the bench opposite her. For a time they chatted about the trial, then Baggo asked if she had seen Lord Hutton on Friday night.

‘'Orrible 'Utton? Yes, I did. I bumped into him, actually. Why?'

‘I'll tell you in a bit, but how did you bump into him?'

‘Remember I was pissed? Well I was on my way to the Ladies when he sort of loomed in front of me. Actually he was looking down the corridor towards Court Three.'

‘When was this?'

‘I think, yes it was, just after the archery had finished. I was surprised to see him on his own like that, just staring down a corridor. He had been one of the Faculty's archers, not very good but at least he hit the butt every time. Not like poor Bradshaw, who missed completely with his first shot and damaged the wall.' She giggled.

‘Hutton must have been a late substitute. He wasn't on the list we were given.'

She frowned. ‘He was, now you mention it. Lord McNorris was supposed to be one of our archers, but he's on circuit in Inverness and someone offered him a weekend's fishing on the Spey. So he called off. Hutton can shoot with bows and arrows and he was persuaded to take McNorris's place. McNorris is divorced and Hutton's wife spends all her time in the Borders so the numbers worked out. The only thing was, Hutton had to join Lady Pumpherston's table and they're supposed to hate each other. We were all chatting about it.'

‘Are all Scottish judges Lords or Ladies?'

‘All High Court judges. But it's only a courtesy title. Their children don't inherit, unless they become judges too, of course, and that's not inheritance. Well, it's not supposed to be.' She smirked.

‘Flick was talking about a Lord Craigdiller. He's not a judge, is he?'

‘No. He's the chief Archer, I believe. As my mum would say, he's a proper lord, blue blood in his veins and rattling about in an ancestral pile but strapped for cash.' She shrugged.

‘What's Hutton like? You called him 'Orrrible 'Utton.'

Melanie winced. ‘He can be really vicious, particularly if people don't stand up to him. And woe betide you if you go into his court unprepared. Apparently he's reduced quite experienced counsel to tears. He's a very sound lawyer, of course. But tell me, why all the questions about him?'

‘Please keep this under your hat, as you say, but he seems to have taken a shine to his neighbour, Mrs Knox, who stands to collect three million pounds insurance money as a result of her husband's death. He is terribly protective of her and I wonder why.'

‘Chivalry,' she said with a straight face, ‘or lust.' She started to giggle. Baggo wondered what was so funny but he found himself joining in.

‘He has a pretty twisted view of life. Apparently, not so long ago he was talking to a tree surgeon and said something like, “You cut trees down to size and I cut people down to size.” And he does. So is he a warm suspect, then?' she asked gleefully.

‘Not really. We've had some bizarre leads, and we are even investigating am extreme Catholic sect called
Vita Dei
in Glasgow. They're taking a great interest in the assisted suicide case that's on at the moment and it's just possible one of their crazier members killed Knox. He might have mistaken him for the QC defending in the assisted suicide case. So we're still looking in all directions.' Aware that he'd said more than he should have, he added, ‘But keep all that to yourself, and if the evidence in the fraud trial gives you any ideas …'