They led me up to a duty sergeant at the front desk. ‘Prisoner Blackstone for CID,’ said the older one.
That was too much. I looked hard at the three-striper, in the hope that he had a brain. ‘I want you to remember this,’ I told him. ‘I haven’t been cautioned, or formally arrested, or given any reason why I should be here. I’ve come voluntarily, and if this gorilla doesn’t let my sleeve go right now, my solicitor will send a formal complaint to the Chief Constable before the day is out. If that happens, since you seem to be in charge of these people, much of the shit, when it flies, will land on you.’
The sergeant didn’t say a word. However he shot a quick glance at the younger constable, who gave me my arm back. And then the two of them just disappeared. Without a word, they turned and walked back outside to their car, to spend another fulfilling day in the public service.
When I looked round, the sergeant was gone too. He came back soon, though, with two men in suits. One of them was the older of the detective constables who had taken my statement at the Infirmary; this time he was clearly a bit player.
‘Mr Blackstone,’ said the senior suit, a bulky man in his late forties. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Bell. I’m so glad you agreed to join us.’ I checked his tone for sarcasm and found plenty.
I checked my watch. It was five past nine. ‘You’ve got till nine-thirty,’ I replied, looking at him deadpan.
That ended the niceties. ‘I’ve got as long as I fucking like, son. Come with us.’ Bell and the DC whose name, I recalled, was Slattery led me up a flight of stairs and into a small interview room. The DI switched on a black tape recorder and told it who we all were. And then he gave me an official police caution; read me my rights, as they say on NYPD Blue.
Up to that point, I had only been annoyed. Now I could feel a big black cloud above my head, making ready to rain, hard.
‘I’ve been looking at the statement you gave yesterday evening, Mr Blackstone,’ he said, getting down to business, ‘about the poisoning of Mr David Phillips, of Semple House, Auchterarder. Would you run through the gist of it again for me, and for the tape.’
‘Sure, David and I went for a walk late yesterday afternoon; on the way back we stopped for a couple of pints. By the time we got home, he was behaving erratically. This turned to delirium, and the doctor was called.’
‘Fine. Now let’s concentrate on what happened in the bar. Who bought the first round?’
‘I did. A pint of Guinness for David, and lager for me.’
‘Who else was there?’
‘The bar was quite crowded at that point; I think a bus-load of tourists had come in. I remember there was a bloke behind me; the barman was going to serve him first, but he said no, that it was my turn.’
‘So what happened then?’
‘The guy poured the drinks. . Guinness first, because it takes longer to settle.’
‘Okay,’ said Bell, as if he was building up to something. ‘So he pours the Guinness and puts it down in front of you, then goes back to the lager tap. Right?’
‘Right.’
‘Was that when you put the atropine into the Guinness?’ he asked. ‘When the barman wasn’t looking?’
I gasped in real amazement. ‘I didn’t put anything into that glass!’ I protested.
‘So you say. I take it that Mr Phillips got the second round.’
‘Yes.’
‘And was the bar crowded then?’
‘Not the serving area, no.’
‘So no one else could have spiked the second one?’
‘The barman could have,’ I pointed out.
‘Forget the barman. He’s worked there for twenty-three years, and his brother owns the place. No, Blackstone, as I see it the only person who could have poisoned that drink was you. I’m looking at attempted murder here.’
I was incredulous, but in spite of that, I felt myself go cold with fear. ‘Don’t be daft,’ I protested. ‘David Phillips will be my father-in-law in a few weeks. What possible motive would I have for trying to kill him?’
Detective Inspector Bell leaned back in his chair and laughed. ‘Listen, son, you shouldn’t believe everything you read in crime novels. I don’t give a stuff about motives; I don’t care what goes on in criminals’ minds. I just look for opportunity, that’s all. Mr Phillips was poisoned by atropine added to his drink, and only you had the opportunity to do it.’
‘No!’
‘Who else then? You watched that drink being poured, you picked it up and you carried it over to him.’
I looked back at him, replaying that scene at the same time. ‘No,’ I said again. ‘I did take my eye off it at one point. I turned round and asked David whether he wanted crisps or nuts. The stuff must have been added then.’
‘By whom?’
‘What about the guy behind me at the bar?’
‘What about him? The barman says he doesn’t remember him. And why should he? He serves hundreds of punters in a day. Naw, I don’t buy your mystery man. .’ Bell paused and a wicked smile spread over his face.
‘Unless,’ he said, slowly, dragging the word out, ‘unless it was the same mystery man who shoved your wee nephew into the Bottle Dungeon on Saturday.’
I felt my jaw drop. ‘Surprised you, eh,’ the detective continued. ‘You never thought we’d link the two incidents, did you. But I’ve been talking to a lot of people since last night, son. We’ve never heard of you before on this force, so I decided to try your name on the other Scottish police.
‘And guess what? I discover that at the weekend you reported an assault on your nephew in St Andrews Castle. You claimed that he was attacked by an unknown man. Then I find out that a few weeks ago you were involved in an incident in Union Street during a film shoot. You knocked a lady to the ground, then told the investigating officers that someone was about to shoot her from a motorcycle. Yet when they looked at the film that was shot, they couldn’t see any gun, or hear anything above the traffic noise. They haven’t recovered a bullet either, and they’ve swept every inch of the area.
‘The way they see it now, it was just as likely that you dived at her and tried to shove her in front of that motorbike. They also said that they suspected there was a link between you and the woman, and that you were reluctant to confirm it, although eventually you did. They hadn’t any evidence against you, but now that I’ve told them about this thing. .’
He paused, leaning forward across the desk. He was an ugly man close up, with more of a snout than a nose. ‘On top of that,’ he grunted. ‘I discover from the Strathclyde that their computer coughed up your name as having called them about a fire at your house a few weeks ago, in which a car was completely destroyed. It was written up as an accident, but when I spoke to the senior fire officer who attended the incident, his attitude struck me as more than a wee bit odd. He told me to fuck off, in fact, when I pressed him.’
‘Why don’t you then?’
‘Aye, you’d like me to do that, wouldn’t you,’ Bell muttered. ‘I won’t though; I’ve got you, son, by the short and curlies. So why don’t you just admit it all, eh?’
I glanced at the tape, to make sure it was still running. ‘There is nothing to admit,’ I told him, as steadily and clearly as I could. ‘All of those incidents happened, sure; and I now believe that they were the work of one person, but not me, not me. Someone has a grudge against me and he’s taking it out on my friends and family. Investigate that, why don’t you, if you can see beyond the end of your piggy nose.’
He scowled at me, but didn’t rise to my bait. ‘Why should I look further when the obvious truth is right under my not unattractive nose? Like I said I don’t need to find a motive, Blackstone, and you don’t need to have one either, to have done all these things. You just have to be a bad bastard, that’s all.’