Gallery Whispers

'What about Murray?' he asked her. 'You said you couldn't pin down the drug that was used on him.'

'I couldn't for the purposes of evidence. The lab report showed a whole cocktail of substances in his bloodstream; there were steroids, morphine, ibuferon, and two sedatives, lorazepam and temazepam.

All of those could have been administered orally, and would have been normally prescribed to someone in Mr Murray's condition.'

'Was the morphine the same as the other stuff?'

'No. This was oramorph; it comes in ampoules usually. You break off the top and the patient swallows it.'

'Could you extract that from the container without anyone knowing?'

'No way. Anyhow, you'd need too much of it. I'll tell you what I did find unusual though; the use of two different sedatives from the same family. One or the other, but not both.'

'Does that tell you anything specific?'

'No, but I'll take a guess. I would say that whoever did this took a look at Mr Murray, made a judgement on his condition, then took some morphine tablets and temazepam, ground them down with a mortar, formed a solution with boiling water, then later on, injected it.

You would do that for speed of absorption, rather than feed them it in solid form.

'The shot didn't kill him, but it rendered him unconscious and allowed him to asphyxiate without distress.' She shrugged one shoulder, since Jazz was weighing down the other.

'Those are my theories, for what they're worth. They're all you're getting out of me tonight; professionally at least. Now, if you've got some time to spare before you go to kick the crap out of your pals, go and check Mark's homework, while I put this one to bed.'

72

'Alex, Mitch Laidlaw gave you a raise last week, you had confirmation this afternoon that you've bought a flat, you're getting plenty of jollies from your toyboy — even if he is a bit of a dweeb — and we're off on holiday the day after tomorrow: so why the hell is your face tripping you?'

'He is not a dweeb,' she shot back at her friend and temporary landlady. 'He has the body of a young Greek god, I'll have you know.'

'Well he'll have to give it back sooner or later. He's my cousin, I can say what I like about him. Anyway, he's a minor issue. Think of all the fun you're going to have in Marbella, now that you're free and more or less single. Lighten up, girl. Brighten up.'

She glowered at Gina. 'I don't feel very bright, okay. I'm still pissed off at Andy, okay. He sat there on that bloody bar stool the other night and came right out with it. "I can't share you, Alex. Even with you," she mimicked. He hasn't been listening to a bloody word I've said.'

'Sure he's been listening,' Gina countered. 'He's just having a hard time understanding it, that's all. So would I in his shoes. One minute you and he are a perfect menage a deux, the next you're kicking over the traces and asserting your right to fuck anything in long trousers if you so choose.'

'I didn't assert any such thing.'A brief smile flickered across Alex's face. 'Well, maybe I did. That wasn't in my mind when I moved out, but when your cocky — and I use the word advisedly — young cousin came on to me, a whole lot of things fell into place. I felt like someone again.

'I thought that I was succeeding in improving my relationship with Andy. After a difficult beginning, he seemed to be accepting my independence, but then on Tuesday, he started behaving like a possessive old fart all over again.'

'Then switch on the Xpelair, my dear,' said Gina, 'and blow him away; break off your engagement.'

'But I don't want to do that. He's my old fart… don't grin like that, you know what I mean… it's the possessive bit that gets to me.

I want to marry him, but in my own good time.'

'Then give him back his ring and tell him to offer it to you again in five years or so.'

'I can't do that. If I break it off it'll be the end of it; I have to stay engaged to him.'

'If you do, are you going to tell him about'

Alex's look cut her off short. It would have done her father proud.

'Are you kidding?'

'But don't you think you owe it to him?'

'No, I do not. It's my body, Gina. He has no ownership rights, none at all. Now let's drop the subject. I'm sorry; I'll cheer up I promise.'

She grinned. 'As of now, in fact. Come on, we've got no gentlemen callers tonight, either of us. Let's us girlies go an have a bevvy.'

73

Brian Mackie was in his office, in the early'afternoon, dictating a sanitised note for the record of his interview with Beano Litster in Aberdeen, when the phone rang. He picked it up and heard, to his private delight, Maggie Rose's voice at the other end. He had just been thinking of how much he missed his deputy.

'Good afternoon, Brian,' she said. 'This is a left-handed phone call just to keep you in touch with my trawl through the suicide files. God, if I'd known that I was taking on-'

'I can imagine. Depressing is it?'

'You don't imagine; that's the trick. You switch your imagination off for the duration. Poor old Mario, he's come home to serious grief every night since I started doing this job. Did you know that there were over a hundred suicides in our force area last year alone? And I've got three years' worth to go through.'

'Do I get the impression that you're not calling to tell me that you've made a big breakthrough?'

Maggie laughed, shortly. 'You do indeed, superintendent. I'm just calling to let you know that I am now one third of the way through, without finding the slightest hint of anything that reminds me of the Weston or Murray deaths. I am also calling simply to blow off steam.

After all, why should my innocent husband catch all the flak?'

'Why indeed?' Mackie answered. 'How's the arm, by the way?'

'Itching like what I'm too much of a lady to say. I've got a light cast on it at the moment, to immobilise it. That comes off on Monday; then the rehab work should start.'

'That's good. You'll be glad to hear that the maggot who did it has been charged with murder in Birmingham, remanded in custody, and sent back up here. There's a pleading diet at the Sheriff Court on Tuesday, at which, I am reliably informed, he will admit to serious assault and be sent to the High Court for sentence.'

'He's pleading, is he? I'm surprised at that; I didn't think he was the type.'

Mackie grunted. 'David Pettigrew gave him a straight choice; plead to the assault or be tried for attempt to murder. He thinks he's got a deal, but Big Bob told me that he's had a word with the Lord Advocate.

When the case comes up for sentence the Crown will lay it on thick, say that this was a hair's breadth away from murder and ask for fifteen years. They doubt if he'll get that, but they reckon that the judge, whoever he is, will be scared to give him less than twelve, in case the Crown appeals against it. The Bench doesn't like being accused of leniency; especially in cases like this.'

'He'll do his stretch down south though, won't he?' asked Rose.

'It'll take at least a year to bring him to trial for the other offence … if they ever do, because one of the key witnesses is dead, they've discovered. Whatever happens he's got at least one winter in Peterhead to look forward to.'

'You've made my day,' said the Chief Inspector. 'I'm glad I phoned.

I feel better now.'

'That's good,' laughed Mackie. 'See you soon.'

The phone was hardly back in its cradle before it rang again. 'Yes?' the superintendent said curtly.

'Hello sir,' said a voice at the other end. 'It's Craig Garland, here, from Aberdeen. I'm just phoning to let you know that Raymond Weston just left the city, heading south. I've been following him ever since, at a discreet distance. He's just stopped and gone into a pub in Stonehaven.'