‘Apparently.’
‘You speak to her?’
‘She switched off the engine, if that’s what you’re asking.’
Gilchrist nodded. It would probably be the first thing anyone would do. And, knowing Mhairi, once she had checked for a pulse, she would have taken control of the scene and told the ambulance crew they weren’t needed. But he had a few questions for her. ‘Where is she?’
‘Sent her off to fetch some coffees. I think she’s planting the beans, the time she’s taking.’
Gilchrist turned back to Cooper. ‘How’s it looking?’ he asked.
‘Nothing so far that would suggest it’s anything other than suicide.’
Jessie smirked.
‘Any bruises around the neck?’ Gilchrist asked. ‘Signs of a struggle?’
‘Nothing.’
Gilchrist waited until Cooper pulled herself upright, then he leaned into the car to inspect the body. Jessie had obviously seen something Cooper had missed, and he did not want their ongoing antagonism to turn into something nastier.
The first thing that struck him was how trim and well dressed McCulloch was – short back and sides, black hair greying at the temples, white twill open-necked shirt, gold cufflinks, dark blue suit, black leather belt, trousers neatly pressed, black polished shoes. The second was the empty bottle of Grey Goose vodka in the passenger footwell. But as he tilted McCulloch’s head from one side to the other, parted his lips, peered into his mouth, checked his hands, fingernails and wrists, he found nothing out of the ordinary. He eyed the settings on the car’s controls, confirming what Cooper had said. Then the sliver of an idea came to him.
He pulled back from the car’s interior and turned his attention to the door lock.
‘How did Mhairi get in to switch off the engine?’ he asked.
Jessie glanced at Cooper, then smiled at Gilchrist. ‘It was unlocked. Odd, don’t you think?’
Gilchrist gave it some thought. ‘You attach the hose, you take your seat, you switch on the engine, then you wait to pass out from carbon-monoxide poisoning, knowing there will be no coming back,’ he said. ‘But you don’t necessarily lock the door… because…’
‘Because someone put you there.’
Gilchrist shook his head. ‘Because you have doubts. Maybe McCulloch didn’t really want to go through with it. Maybe he was hoping someone would find him-’
‘Except that he was unconscious when they closed the door on him,’ Jessie said.
‘They?’ Cooper asked.
‘Figure of speech.’
‘We’ll check for fingerprints on the bottle.’ Gilchrist glanced at Cooper. ‘And alcohol in his system. And any narcotics, of course.’ Then he turned to Jessie. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’
‘Check the window.’
Gilchrist stepped back and swung the door shut. It felt solid, smooth, and closed with an easy click. The rubber tube still led to the exhaust pipe, the window still open a crack at the top, the gap stuffed with a black scarf. A quick look confirmed that McCulloch was not wearing a tie, so the scarf could have been his. Forensics would confirm that, or not.
What was he missing?
He pressed the door handle, pulled the door open again, studied the window, but still found nothing. He was about to give up when his eye was drawn back to the scarf. It was stuffed into a gap that was no more than an inch wide, narrow enough to nip the rubber hose and prevent it from slipping, but wide enough to leave someone thinking it needed to be sealed.
He glanced at Jessie and she raised her eyebrows. ‘Agree now?’ she asked.
He almost did.
‘The scarf’s been stuffed into the gap from the outside,’ she said. ‘See the way it’s folded? Someone’s pushed it in with their fingers. It would be impossible for it to lie that way if you pushed it in from the inside.’
‘That would indeed be impossible,’ he said. ‘I have to agree.’
Jessie’s smile hung for a moment, then faltered. ‘But…?’
‘But McCulloch could have set the hose in place by snecking it with the window, then stuffed the gap with his scarf from the outside, then got in the car and closed the door behind him. In fact, that’s how I would have done it.’ Although he would have chosen the passenger window, or one of the two rear windows – not the driver’s.
He thought it odd the way Jessie’s lips tightened, how she glanced at Cooper before lowering her zip, retrieving her mobile, and striding off into the fucking freezing cold, presumably to continue the conversation he had interrupted on his arrival.
Cooper said, ‘Not a good loser, is she?’
Gilchrist gave a quick smile. ‘She’s a good detective.’
‘I’m sure she is.’ Cooper pulled the coverall’s hood off her head, raked her fingers through her dark blonde hair, and tossed it in that way of hers that always teased him. Then she nodded at McCulloch’s body. ‘Is this a rush job?’
He shook his head. ‘After the weekend’ll be fine.’
‘If I find anything untoward, I’ll let you know.’ She strode away, then stopped and turned to face him. ‘Are we still on for this evening?’
It seemed such an odd thing for her to ask. Of course they were on for this evening. They had been on for every Friday evening since Christmas. ‘Like me to pick you up?’ he said.
She grimaced. ‘It might be better if I come to yours instead.’
He frowned, cocked his head, asked the silent question.
‘Mr Cooper’s come back,’ she said. ‘No doubt to demand his conjugal rights.’
It took Gilchrist a full two seconds before he could reply, ‘Ah. Right.’
‘I am still married,’ she said.
‘You are indeed.’
Another toss of her mane, then she turned and strode off to the Range Rover. He tried not to watch her, but they were still in the exploratory phase, and he found himself leering after her before he managed to turn away.
He had no right to be jealous. He knew that.
But it surprised him to feel how much it hurt.
CHAPTER 3
Gilchrist found Jessie in the dunes again, walking towards the sea, head down, kicking her feet through the sand – and no mobile in sight. He followed her in silence, closing the gap with every step, until she heard him and turned on her heel.
‘You hoping to catch me dropping my knickers for a pee?’ she said.
‘It’s too cold for that.’
‘Watching? Or peeing?’
‘Both.’ They stared at each other for several silent seconds, then Gilchrist said, ‘Can I help in any way?’
She shrugged, turned back into the wind, tilted her head as if to breathe in the ice-cold air. ‘I sometimes struggle with it all,’ she said.
He walked up to her, stood by her side, followed her line of sight.
Waves chased each other to the shore, their peaks rising, arching forward, about to break, but somehow carrying on, as if they were all rushing to see which of them would arrive at the shoreline first. There was a strange urgency about the scene, which pulled up memories of his son’s late girlfriend. Although Chloe had been a talented artist, she had refused to paint seascapes, arguing that she could never capture the ocean’s beauty in its stillness.
‘You have to see the ocean moving to appreciate its beauty,’ Gilchrist said.
Jessie looked at him. ‘You what?’
He shrugged. ‘Something someone once told me.’
Jessie nodded, returned her gaze to the sea. ‘That was Lachie on the phone earlier.’
‘Still making a nuisance of himself?’
She snorted. ‘Useless fat fuck.’
‘Well, he is fat. And probably useless, too. Most chief supers are. As for the fucking, I’ll leave that for you to decide.’
She chuckled, then shook her head. ‘I mean, what is it with you guys? You’d crawl five hundred miles on your hands and knees for a shag, but when it comes to shopping, oh, bugger that, it’s too much like hard work.’ Then her mood darkened.