Purvis clicked off his mobile, slipped it into his pocket, then lowered his hands to his sides. When he clenched his fists, the muscles on his forearms flexed like tendons of steel.
Gilchrist held out his warrant card. ‘We’re with Fife Constabulary.’
Purvis hissed something that Gilchrist failed to catch, then felt his blood turn to water as the two Rottweilers slipped from the side of the cottage and squatted on their haunches either side of their master. Rumbling growls, as deep as thunder, filled the air. Something hit the grass to Gilchrist’s left, and a quick glance confirmed that Jessie had dropped her phone.
Purvis almost smiled. ‘You still haven’t told me what you want.’
‘To talk.’
‘About what?’
Gilchrist returned the warrant card to his jacket. ‘About where your BMW is.’
‘Don’t have it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Lent it to a friend.’
‘Name?’
‘Jimmy Watson.’
‘When?’
‘Last week.’
‘When’s Jimmy going to return it?’
‘When he’s done with it.’
‘Done?’
‘Finished his holiday. He wanted to drive to Europe.’
‘Why drive to Europe when you can get all these cheap flights?’
‘You’d need to ask him.’
‘Didn’t you?’
‘Didn’t I what?’
‘Ask Jimmy why he wanted to drive to Europe.’
‘I couldn’t give two fucks why Jimmy wanted to drive to Europe. As long as he brings the Beemer back in one piece, that’s all that matters.’
‘Where does Jimmy live?’
A half-nod at the cottage. ‘Here.’
‘He lives here? With you?’
‘You deaf, or what?’
Gilchrist let several seconds pass, then said, ‘We could always arrest you and take you to the Office, if that’s what you’d prefer.’
‘Arrest me?’ Purvis grinned. ‘For what? Besides, you’re a long way from home. So why would I let you arrest me?’
‘In case you haven’t thought it through,’ Gilchrist said. ‘The Office knows we’re here.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ Jessie said. ‘Do you think we’d come out to the middle of nowhere to talk to a nutter like you without covering our backs?’
Anger shifted across Purvis’s face like a shadow, as if his mind were debating whether to order the dogs to attack. As if sensing his dilemma, the Rottweilers’ growls deepened, and for one uncertain moment Gilchrist thought Purvis was about to let them loose. Then Purvis snapped his fingers, and both dogs rose to their feet.
‘Been broken into twice in the last five years,’ he said, as if that explained everything. ‘So it’s good to have these boys around.’
‘Did you report the break-ins?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘What’s the point reporting anything to you lot?’ Purvis said.
Gilchrist stifled a smile. There never were any break-ins. ‘Get rid of the dogs,’ he said.
Purvis held his gaze for longer than Gilchrist thought polite. Then he cocked his head and gave a shrill whistle. Both Rottweilers jerked into motion, and ran off through the long grass towards the barn. ‘The door’s not locked,’ he said. ‘Help yourself to a cup of tea and a biscuit while I lock that pair up for the night.’
Gilchrist returned Purvis’s cold stare, toying with the idea of cuffing him just for the hell of it. But it would likely take no more than another whistle for both dogs to return to protect their master. Better get rid of them first, he thought. ‘We’ll be waiting for you,’ he said.
Purvis gave a scowl in response, then strode after his dogs.
Jessie stood with her arms wrapped around her middle, as if on the verge of tears.
Gilchrist retrieved her mobile. ‘You dropped this,’ he said.
She took it from him and wiped it clean. ‘I think I wet my knickers.’
‘I would’ve wet mine, too, if I was wearing any.’
Jessie tried to smile. Then Gilchrist brushed past her and walked to the back door. He twisted the handle. To his surprise, it opened – unlocked, just as Purvis had said – leaving him thinking he had it all wrong, that Purvis, just like Magner, might be innocent. Or more correctly, when he thought about it, that proving Purvis or Magner were guilty was another matter entirely.
He pushed open the door and stepped into a tidy kitchen.
‘Not quite the proper way for a criminal to behave,’ Jessie said.
He looked around the small room, ready to seize the opportunity. He had work to do while Purvis locked up the dogs. ‘You any good at making tea?’ he asked.
‘I’m a mum, you forget, and mums can do anything.’
‘I’m not asking if you can or can’t,’ he said. ‘I’m asking if you’re any good at it.’
‘I think you’ve got verbal OCD.’
‘Jesus, Jessie. Just put the bloody kettle on, will you? And give me a shout before Purvis gets back.’ Then he turned and walked into the lounge.
CHAPTER 25
Gilchrist worked out that he probably had four minutes, tops.
He walked straight through the living room, intending to start in the master bedroom. The first thing that struck him was how neat and tidy everything was. The bed was made, pillows fluffed up, duvet cover folded over without even a hint of a ruffle. A quick opening and closing of wardrobe doors offered nothing obvious.
He entered the en-suite shower room, which was still warm and clammy from Purvis’s recent shower. The glass panel had been wiped down with a rubber T-blade, the sink dried with paper towels. The toilet seat was down, and a quick look-see revealed nothing. He launched himself at a wicker basket in the corner and pulled off the lid, only to feel a surge of disappointment on seeing the contents – a white tee-shirt, a pair of white underpants and black socks. If his theory was correct, that Purvis had been involved in the murder of Linda James, then there had to be blood-covered clothes lying around somewhere, or at least some traces of blood.
Purvis surely could not have had time to dispose of them.
A look under the bed revealed nothing, so Gilchrist strode into the spare bedroom.
A quick inspection told him that if Jimmy Watson shared the cottage with Purvis, then he maintained an almost invisible presence. The wardrobe, drawers and bedside cabinets were all empty, except for two sports jackets that looked as if they would fit Purvis, three tee-shirts, an unused pocket diary, and a small plastic container.
The latter piqued Gilchrist’s interest.
He opened it to find twenty-five separate compartments – five by five – with the whole unit perfectly sized for storing twelve-gauge shot-shells in the down position. Given Purvis’s record, by law he would not be permitted to own any gun. So, did the empty ammunition container belong to Watson?
With a mild flush of panic, Gilchrist realised he was almost out of time. He returned the container to the cabinet drawer and made his way back to the kitchen. The kettle was reaching the boil, and three mugs were lined up on the counter-top next to a packet of biscuits. Jessie had the kitchen drawers open, and was scratching her way through their contents.
‘Anything?’ Gilchrist asked.
She shook her head. ‘You?’
‘Maybe.’
The cottage was too small to have a separate utility room, and Gilchrist opened the kitchen units one at a time to confirm they were fully integrated. A small under-the-counter fridge hid behind a wooden cabinet door. Next to that he found a freezer. He located the tumble-drier and washing machine at the far end of the kitchen.
‘You see him?’ he asked Jessie.
She eased back the curtain. ‘He’s on his way back. I’ll let you know.’
Gilchrist pressed the button to open the washing machine’s door. It clicked, but nothing happened. He tried again, but the door was either locked or stuck. He kneeled on the floor and peered through the glass.