The Distant Echo. Val McDermidЧитать онлайн книгу.
think Rosie was keeping quiet about who she was seeing because she knew it would provoke her brothers. They seem like a close family. So maybe she was protecting them as much as her boyfriend.’
Shaw frowned. ‘How do you mean?’
‘She didn’t want them getting into more trouble. With Brian’s record especially, another serious assault would get them both jail time. So she kept her mouth shut.’ Janice put the cards back in the file.
‘Good thinking. Look, I’m going up to the CID room to write up the report. You go down to the mortuary and see about arranging a viewing for the family. The day shift can take the Duffs down, but it would be helpful if they know when that’s likely to happen.’
Janice pulled a face. ‘How come I get all the good jobs?’
Shaw raised his eyebrows. ‘You need to ask?’
Janice said nothing. She left Shaw in the intelligence office and headed for the women’s locker room, yawning as she went. They had a kettle in there that the guys knew nothing about. Her body craved a hit of caffeine and if she was going to the mortuary, she deserved a treat. After all, Rosie Duff wasn’t going anywhere.
Alex was on his fifth cigarette and wondering if the packet was going to last him when the door to his interview room finally opened. He recognized the thin-faced detective he’d seen up on Hallow Hill. The man looked a lot fresher than Alex felt. Hardly surprising, since it was getting on for breakfast time for most people. And Alex doubted very much if the detective was experiencing the dull ache of a fledgling hangover at the base of his skull. He crossed to the chair opposite, never taking his eyes off Alex’s face. Alex forced himself to hold the policeman’s gaze, determined not to let exhaustion make him look shifty.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Maclennan,’ the man said, his voice clipped and brisk.
Alex wondered what the etiquette was here. ‘I’m Alex Gilbey,’ he tried.
‘I know that, son. I also know you’re the one that fancied Rosie Duff.’
Alex felt a blush rising across his cheeks. ‘That’s not a crime,’ he said. Pointless to deny what Maclennan seemed so certain of. He speculated which of his friends had betrayed his interest in the dead barmaid. Mondo, almost certainly. He’d sell his granny under pressure, then convince himself it was the best possible outcome for the old woman.
‘No, it’s not. But what happened to her tonight was the worst kind of crime. And it’s my job to find out who did it. So far, the only person connected to the dead girl and also connected to the discovery of her body is you, Mr Gilbey. Now, you’re obviously a smart boy. So I don’t have to spell it out for you, do I?’
Alex tapped nervously on his cigarette although there was no ash to dislodge. ‘Coincidences happen.’
‘Less often than you might think.’
‘Well, this is one.’ Maclennan’s gaze felt like insects crawling under Alex’s skin. ‘I just got unlucky, finding Rosie like that.’
‘So you say. But if I’d left Rosie Duff for dead on a freezing cold hillside and I was worried I’d maybe got some blood on me, and I was a smart boy, I’d engineer it so that I was the one who found her. That way, I’ve got the perfect excuse for being covered in her blood.’ Maclennan gestured at Alex’s shirt, smeared with the dirty rust of dried blood.
‘I’m sure you would. But I didn’t. I never left the party.’ Alex was starting to feel genuinely scared. He’d been half expecting some awkward moments in the conversation with the police, but he hadn’t expected Maclennan to go in so hard so soon. Clammy sweat coated his palms and he had to struggle against the impulse to wipe them on his jeans.
‘Can you provide witnesses to that?’
Alex squeezed his eyes shut, trying to quiet the pounding in his head enough to remember his movements at the party. ‘When we got there, I was talking to a woman on my course for a while. Penny Jamieson, her name is. She went off for a dance, and I hung around in the dining room, just picking at the food. Various people were in and out, I didn’t pay much attention. I was feeling a bit drunk. Later, I went into the back garden to clear my head.’
‘All by yourself?’ Maclennan leaned forward slightly.
Alex had a sudden flash of memory that brought a flicker of relief in its wake. ‘Yes. But you’ll probably be able to find the rose bush I was sick next to.’
‘You could have been sick any time,’ Maclennan pointed out. ‘If you’d just raped and stabbed someone and left her for dead, for example. That might make you sick.’
Alex’s moment of hope crashed and burned. ‘Maybe, but that’s not what I did,’ he said defiantly. ‘If I had blood all over me, don’t you think someone would have noticed when I went back into the party? I was feeling better after I’d thrown up. I went back inside and joined in the dancing in the living room. Any number of people must have seen me then.’
‘And we’ll be asking them. We’re going to need a list of everyone who was at that party. We’ll be speaking to the host. And to everybody else we can trace. And if Rosie Duff showed her face, even for a minute, you and me will be having a much less friendly conversation, Mr Gilbey.’
Alex felt his face betray him again and hurriedly looked away. Not soon enough, however. Maclennan pounced. ‘Was she there?’
Alex shook his head. ‘I never saw her after we left the Lammas Bar.’ He could see something dawning behind Maclennan’s steady gaze.
‘But you invited her to the party.’ The detective’s hands gripped the edge of the table as he leaned forward, so close Alex could smell the incongruous drift of shampoo from his hair.
Alex nodded, too riven with anxiety to deny it. ‘I gave her the address. When we were in the pub. But she never turned up. And I never expected her to.’ There was a sob in his voice now, his tenuous control slipping as he remembered Rosie behind the bar, animated, teasing, friendly. Tears welled up as he stared at the detective.
‘Did that make you angry? That she hadn’t turned up?’
Alex shook his head. ‘No. I never really expected she would. Look, I wish she wasn’t dead. I wish I hadn’t found her. But you’ve got to believe me. I had nothing to do with it.’
‘So you say, son. So you say.’ Maclennan held his position, inches from Alex’s face. All his instincts told him there was something lurking under the surface of these interviews. And one way or another, he was going to find out what it was.
WPC Janice Hogg glanced at her watch as she made for the front counter. Another hour and she’d be off duty, at least in theory. With a murder inquiry in full swing, the chances were she’d be stuck on overtime, particularly since women officers were thin on the ground in St Andrews. She pushed through the swing doors into the reception area just as the street door was barged open so hard it bounced against the wall.
The force behind the door was a young man with shoulders almost as wide as the doorframe. Snow clung to his dark wavy hair and his face was wet either with tears, sweat or melted flakes. He hurtled towards the front counter, rage a deep growl in his throat. The duty constable reared back in shock, almost toppling off his high stool. ‘Where are they bastards?’ the man roared.
To his credit, the PC managed to find some sang froid from the deepest recesses of his training. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked, moving out of reach of the fists that were pounding on the counter top. Janice hung back unnoticed. If this turned as nasty as it promised, she’d be best served by the element of surprise.
‘I want those fucking bastards that killed my sister,’ the man howled.
So, Janice thought. The news had reached Brian Duff.