‘What?’
Gilchrist gave a quick update, then said, ‘First thoughts?’
A gasp of breath down the line, then, ‘That’s fucking inconvenient. Or convenient, depending on whose side you’re on.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
When Gilchrist ended the call, he eyed the plastic sheeting by the side of the road, the abandoned car, the police vehicles, the ambulance, the dark fields beyond. He felt his body give an involuntary shiver as fingers of ice slithered over him. He did not believe in coincidences – never had, never would.
Everything was linked.
Believe that, and you would be surprised at what you could uncover.
The downpour was diminishing, no longer beating the ground, just patting it. Jessie peeked out from beneath the umbrella, as if to test the strength of the rain. ‘I heard most of that,’ she said. ‘So you think it’s convenient?’
‘Could be,’ he said, tugging her towards the plastic sheet. A shoeless foot protruded from one end, toenails painted an electric blue. He looked around. Janice must have been really distracted for a vehicle to hit her out here. ‘This way,’ he said, and they walked towards Janice’s car.
Gilchrist showed his warrant card to the first PC and said, ‘You find her mobile?’
‘Not yet, sir. We’re about to start searching the grass verges.’
‘Start close to her car,’ Gilchrist instructed. ‘At the edge of the road, maybe in the hedgerow. Better still, have someone get her number and give it a call. Once you find it, check her records. I want to know who she talked to last.’
With that, he turned and stared at the body.
A chill slid over him, as if Death had reached out and stroked his skin. He had come up against some nasty creatures in his thirty-plus years with Fife Constabulary, seen cruelty that defied belief, gruesome scenes that could choke the breath from your throat. But at that moment he felt as if he were standing at the edge of a black precipice, his thoughts filled with doubt, afraid to take the next step, with nothing between himself and the devil.
‘What’s up?’ Jessie asked.
‘I think Stan’s chat with Janice has just flushed Magner out.’
CHAPTER 19
It was close to midnight when Gilchrist entered the interview room in Strathclyde HQ on Pitt Street, Glasgow. Jessie took the seat to his left, with Stan on the other to the right. Opposite them sat Thomas Magner and his solicitor, no longer the slick-haired Thornton Pettigrew, of Jesper Pettigrew Jones, but a white-haired man with a deep tan and white teeth that boasted of too much sun or too much money – or probably both.
With the help of Strathclyde Police, Stan had tracked Magner to the Urban Bar and Brasserie on St Vincent Place in Glasgow city centre. He had been enjoying a meal and a bottle of Krug Vintage Brut in the company of an attractive blonde young enough to be his daughter. Gilchrist was convinced she had been hired for the occasion.
When cornered by two detectives from Strathclyde, Magner had dabbed his lips with a napkin, stood up, and held out both hands in mock-arrest to the shocked gasps of other patrons. Then he had excused himself from his blonde companion with all the airs and graces of a knight about to slay a dragon.
A short interview with Magner’s girlfriend-for-hire confirmed Gilchrist’s suspicions. She had only met Tommy the day before, in Maison Bleue, Edinburgh, spent the night with him at the Balmoral Hotel on Princes Street, and not left his side, or his wallet, since.
Well, there he had it. Another perfect alibi.
Magner’s solicitor was the first to make a move.
He slid a card across the table to Gilchrist, then another to Stan, and sat back – Christopher Brooks Jones of Jesper Pettigrew Jones.
‘Don’t I get one?’ Jessie said.
Jones’s mouth twisted in a what-do-you-think? smile.
Gilchrist slid his card to Jessie, who smirked at it, then said, ‘Right. For the record…’ She introduced all five present, ending with place, date and time, and noting that Magner’s attendance was voluntary, and that he was free to leave at any time.
Then she eyed Magner. ‘How’s your hand?’
Magner turned it over to reveal a fresh plaster. ‘Getting better.’
Jessie returned his gaze. ‘Who’s the bimbo?’
Jones leaned forward, his mouth in a lopsided twist. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Why? Did you burp?’
Jones’s eyes failed to blink. ‘You asked, Who’s the bimbo?’
‘Good to see your hearing aid works.’ Back to Magner. ‘Well?’
Jones leaned forward and said to Gilchrist, ‘We have a problem here. You are obliged to advise my client why he is being questioned.’
‘It’s a continuation of an earlier interview,’ Gilchrist said. ‘We’re investigating multiple murders.’
‘About which my client has already advised you he knows nothing.’
‘Correct,’ Jessie said. ‘But now we have another one to add to the list.’
Jones raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘And when and where did this alleged new murder take place?’ he asked Gilchrist.
‘This evening. Outside Anstruther,’ Jessie replied.
Jones looked at his client, eyebrows still high, then faced Gilchrist again. ‘So, how-’
‘You’re right,’ Jessie interrupted. ‘We do have a problem. Usually, when I talk to someone, they answer me. You know, I speak to you, you speak to me. That sort of thing. One on one. Face to face. Understand?’
Jones smiled at her, then turned to Gilchrist. ‘As I was saying-’
‘Let me repeat my question, Mr Magner – who’s the bimbo?’
‘This is out of-’
‘Shut it.’
‘I really do have to object-’
‘Put it in writing,’ Jessie snapped. ‘Address it to him, if you want,’ nodding at Gilchrist. Then she turned her attention to Magner. ‘Are you going to answer the question or just sit there looking dumb? Who’s the bimbo?’
Magner returned Jessie’s look but said nothing.
‘To clarify, I’m not talking about your solicitor,’ she added. ‘Even though bimbo could be an apt description. I’m talking about the blonde bombshell you picked up last night to establish your alibi.’
Magner shifted in his seat, as if about to speak, but Jones turned his head and leaned in. ‘You don’t have to say anything, Tom.’
Magner nodded at his solicitor’s wise words, then said, ‘I’ve a busy day ahead of me, Chris. Besides, I’ve got a blonde bimbo to get back to tonight.’
Jones chuckled, then sat back with a smile. ‘As you will, then.’
Magner’s eyes burned at Jessie. ‘I don’t know the bimbo’s name.’
‘So you pick her up, wine and dine her, spend the night with her, and don’t have the common decency to ask her name?’
‘Is that a crime?’
‘Not yet. Was she expensive?’
‘She’s not a prostitute, if that’s what you’re asking. But I’ve spent a couple of thou since we met, so I guess you could say-’
‘All that money, and you haven’t even bought her a going-away present yet.’
‘I don’t believe she’s intending to leave any time soon.’
‘I wasn’t talking about her.’
Jones chuckled, put his hand to his mouth, and winked at Gilchrist.
Magner smiled, although Gilchrist caught the tiniest hint of annoyance.
On the drive to Glasgow earlier that night, they had discussed their interview strategy, and agreed that Jessie should lead, try to wriggle under Magner’s skin, get him to say something he might regret. She was doing well, but Magner looked as cold as stone.
‘How did you meet Miss Anonymous?’ Jessie asked.
‘I walked up to her in a bar and said, Hi gorgeous, I’d like to fuck your brains out.’
Jessie laughed. ‘With a face like yours? That’s chancing your arm.’
Magner kept his composure.
Jessie pressed on. ‘More like you flashed her a few hundred quid and told her there was plenty more where that came from if she stuck by your side for a night or two. Of course, you wouldn’t tell her she was going to get dumped before the end of the weekend.’