‘I’ll think about it.’
He knew from experience that Maureen would not show up. ‘I can come by and pick you up, if you like.’ But the line was already dead.
He threw the mobile on to the passenger seat and cursed under his breath.
Gilchrist arrived at Bell Street Mortuary just before 2 p.m.
He stepped from the Merc and called Stan before entering. ‘Anything?’ he asked.
‘Early days, boss, but it looks like Stratheden’s not as successful as we thought it was. They’re making money, which I suppose is some measure of success, but it looks like they’re making it at the expense of their subs.’
Gilchrist pressed his mobile tighter to his ear.
‘I’ve been talking to Bea, their book-keeper. Apparently they owe over six million quid in disputed billings.’
Gilchrist grimaced at the amount. ‘Six million?’
‘Listen to this, boss. One hundred and seventy-three thousand to MTT3 Architects-’
‘One bill?’
‘An aggregate of ten invoices dating back over a year. Then there’s ninety-five thousand due to MacksiWorks Contractors. They specialise in earth-moving. You’ll have seen their equipment around.’
Gilchrist wouldn’t know a MacksiWorks earth-moving machine from a lawnmower, but he mumbled his agreement.
‘Another contractor is owed two-fifty thousand. A few more just under a hundred grand each. And on and on.’
‘Any idea what part McCulloch played in all of this?’
‘Haven’t had a chance to grill many of the staff yet. Some are still in shock, and in no state to talk about it. But according to Bea, the general gist is that McCulloch and Magner’s relationship was on the decline. They didn’t see eye to eye on a ton of stuff, including the financial side of the business.’
‘Is Stratheden going under?’
‘I’m not the man to ask, boss. But a number of subs have already taken legal action, which Bea says has never happened before. She had a meeting last week with McCulloch and Magner and some others from accounts, and she reckoned you could cut the atmosphere with a knife.’
Gilchrist felt a spit of rain and looked to the sky. Grey clouds were rolling overhead. ‘So what’s her take on McCulloch versus Magner?’ he asked.
‘McCulloch was definitely the more pleasant of the two – a bit aloof sometimes, according to Bea, but at least he took the time to listen. As for Magner, Bea says she can’t stand being in the same room as him.’
Well, there he had it – Jessie’s summary of Magner had just been confirmed by someone who had known him for years. It never failed to amaze Gilchrist how some women could see straight through a man’s façade, while so many others seemed blind to it. Witness the women who returned time and again to an abusive lover, partner, or husband.
‘What are they saying about the Magner rape investigation?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘As yet, no one’s been willing to talk about it. Bea showed me a copy of an office memo sent by Magner when the press first got wind of the allegations two months ago. It said he would terminate the employment of any member of staff who discussed the matter during office hours, and that if anyone spread rumours about him outside the workplace, then that would be just cause for instant dismissal, too.’
‘What did Bea make of that?’
‘She said six of them handed in their notice that day, and Magner told them to leave immediately. No compensation, nothing. Bea said she couldn’t afford to lose her job, or she would have walked with them.’
‘Doesn’t make for good employee relations,’ Gilchrist said. ‘And McCulloch? Where was he when all this was happening?’
‘Up in arms, apparently. Bea said she’d never heard him swear before, but he and Magner went at it big time.’
‘This was two months ago, you say?’
‘And again, last week, boss.’
Gilchrist blinked as a spot of rain hit his forehead, then another. He shielded the mobile and strode towards the entrance. ‘It seems to me, Stan, that Magner and McCulloch did not have the warm relationship their corporate image liked to portray.’
‘Bea said I should talk with Janice Meechan.’
‘Who’s she?’
‘Stratheden’s chief financial officer and – get this, boss – Amy McCulloch’s sister.’
Gilchrist sensed that more was coming. ‘I’m listening.’
‘The talk in the steamy is that Magner’s been giving Janice one.’
‘Is she married?’
‘Happily, allegedly, with three kids.’
‘Did McCulloch know about the affair?’
‘Bea says if he didn’t, he must’ve been blind.’
Gilchrist picked up his pace as the skies opened. ‘Okay, Stan. Get hold of Janice and find out if there’s any truth in it. We might just have uncovered a motive.’
‘I hope so, boss, because McCulloch’s phone records have given us nothing.’
‘Define nothing.’
‘Nothing to connect McCulloch with Magner.’
Gilchrist almost stopped. ‘Nothing at all? Are you saying they never spoke to each other?’
‘I’m saying they never phoned each other.’
‘Keep looking, Stan. There must be something.’ He killed the connection and ran inside.
CHAPTER 7
Gilchrist found Cooper in the post-mortem room, leaning over a hollow carcass – the lump of flesh that had once been the living, breathing body of Amy McCulloch. Two smaller bodies lay on gurneys locked on to the sinks, ready for their own PM examinations. The PM room could handle only three bodies at a time, so Brian McCulloch’s corpse would still be in cold storage, the forensic examination of his murdered family having taken priority.
The sight of the smallest body – Siobhan’s – had Gilchrist’s throat constricting. Life was far too short for fathers to fall out with daughters, so he resolved to phone Maureen, tell her he’d had a change of heart. He would swing by her flat, take her out, answer all her questions about the McCulloch massacre, maybe even show her some crime-scene photographs. He was in Greaves’s bad books anyway, so what difference would it make? He was about to make the call when he caught Cooper signalling to him to come to her office. Once there, he thought Cooper looked tired, as if the morbid task of confirming causes of death for an entire family was too much to bear, even for a pathologist. Or maybe too much bed and not enough sleep had finally caught up with her.
‘Anything?’ he asked.
She raked a hand through her hair, then tossed it. No sexual innuendo in sight. ‘I’d put time of death between three and six yesterday afternoon,’ she said.
‘After the girls got home from school?’
Cooper nodded. ‘Initial blood results on the girls show high levels of benzodiazepine. Not enough to kill them, but it would have put them into a state of unconsciousness. I suspect they were then simply smothered. I’ll be more certain once I’ve examined them.’
All of the date-rape drugs – Rohypnol, GHB, Dormicum, Hypnovel – contained benzodiazepine. Cheap, easy to find, easy to administer. Slip one into a drink and the girls would simply have fallen asleep.
‘What about the mother?’
‘No benzodiazepine,’ she said. ‘Different story entirely.’
‘Alcohol?’
‘Not sufficient to suggest she was anywhere near incapable of defending herself.’
Gilchrist thought for a moment. ‘Did he want her to feel pain?’
‘Even if he did, I don’t think she would have lasted long.’
‘Maybe he was in a hurry.’
Gilchrist had a mental image of Magner’s Aston Martin speeding from Fife to Stirling to establish his alibi. But could anyone really walk into a conference and act normal after doing this? – smothering the girls, and beheading, gutting, skinning their mother, then killing their father to make it look like suicide?