‘Do you have any children of your own?’
‘I’ve not been blessed in that way.’
Gilchrist returned Magner’s innocent look. Rather than ask for more personal details – he could always get them later – he decided to change tack. ‘It took us a while to locate you, Mr Magner,’ he said.
‘I was in Stirling at a developers’ convention in the Highland Hotel last night. Most of these affairs are boring and can drive you to drink. So I obliged and had a few too many at the bar.’ He flashed a white smile, which had Gilchrist making a mental note to count his fingers if he ever shook hands with the guy. ‘I took advantage of having no appointments this morning by sleeping in later than usual, so I never caught the tragic news until mid-morning. As soon as I realised it was Brian and Amy, I contacted the local police station in Anstruther to offer assistance.’
‘Extremely busy schedule?’ Jessie said. ‘Drinking in the bar? Sleeping in?’
‘Most of my business is done at odd hours,’ Magner said. ‘I was talking business until well past midnight last night, and I’m scheduled to be in meetings in Aberdeen this evening. They will have to be postponed now, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Jessie concurred. ‘And do the late hours you keep explain why you don’t return phone calls?’
‘I almost never return calls from numbers I don’t recognise.’
‘Even when they leave an urgent voice message?’
‘Indeed.’
‘What my client is saying,’ Pettigrew reasoned, ‘is that he contacted the police at the very first opportunity afforded him.’
‘And how did you first hear of the tragedy?’ Gilchrist asked, in an effort to get them back on track.
‘In the hotel. When I switched on the TV this morning. It was all over the news.’
‘And your convention? Was that held in the same hotel?’
‘It was.’
‘Many people at it?’
‘Two or three hundred, I’d say.’
‘How long did it last?’
‘From seven in the evening until eleven.’
‘Straight through?’
‘With ten-minute breaks on the hour.’
‘Were you with anyone?’
‘Brian was supposed to meet me, but of course he never made it.’ Magner tightened his lips, shook his head.
Not a tear in sight, Gilchrist thought. ‘Did you try calling him?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s busy. I’m busy. We meet up when we can.’
‘Not even to arrange a meeting?’
‘No.’
‘So, you attended the convention by yourself?’
‘As it turned out, yes.’
‘Were you seated at a table with other attendees?’
‘No, we were in rows, like in a theatre.’
‘Pre-assigned seats?’
‘No, it was informal. You could sit wherever you liked.’
Jessie leaned forward. ‘So where did you sit?’
Magner shrugged. ‘I was near the back, but I couldn’t tell you the seat number or row.’
‘All night?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Did you return to the same seat after each of the hourly breaks?’
‘I did, yes.’
Jessie pressed on, ‘And who did you sit next to?’
Magner raised his eyebrows. ‘I couldn’t tell you his name.’
‘His name?’ Gilchrist said.
‘Yes, it was a man.’
‘Singular, only one man. Did you sit at the end of a row?’
Magner stared hard at Gilchrist, as if seeing him for the first time. ‘Yes, I was next to the aisle.’
‘And was this man on your left or your right?’
‘Does it matter?’ snapped Pettigrew.
Gilchrist kept his eyes on Magner. ‘Left or right?’
‘Left.’
‘So, you sat near the back row, in an aisle seat. You must have been one of the last to arrive.’
‘I missed the start of the conference, yes.’
Gilchrist sensed Jessie shifting by his side, so he held up a hand to tell her to keep out of it. Vehicular access to Tentsmuir Forest was closed from 8.30 p.m., but the exit barrier was never locked, so visitors could leave any time. And it took an hour and a quarter, maybe an hour if you pushed it, to drive to Stirling. So if McCulloch’s death was not suicide, Magner conceivably could have killed his business partner, then driven to the convention, arriving at around 9.30 to establish his alibi. Well, it was a weak theory, he supposed, but at least worth a shot.
‘How late were you?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘Minutes only. The first speaker was already at the podium, so I took the nearest available seat.’
Gilchrist nodded, deflated by the answer. Still, he could check the hotel’s CCTV footage to determine whether Magner was telling the truth. ‘And before that, where were you?’
‘Stirling. I’ve been there most of this week.’
‘Most of the week?’
‘I drove to Glasgow for a meeting on Wednesday.’
Gilchrist persisted with his line of questioning, poking, prodding, but gaining nothing, going round in circles. He could check CCTV footage of every bar and restaurant Magner said he visited, but that would be man-hour intensive. Besides, he was beginning to sense that discretion was essential when dealing with someone like Magner – not the sort of man you arrested at the first opportunity.
Fifteen minutes later, he sat back and nodded to Jessie to take over.
She obliged with, ‘You said you knew Amy McCulloch for a long time. How long?’
Magner shrugged. ‘Twenty or so years.’
‘Before or after she married Brian?’
‘Before.’
Jessie nodded, waited a couple of beats. ‘Did you ever go out with her?’
Pettigrew jerked upright. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Jessie said, ‘I was asking if your client ever dated Amy McCulloch, before – or after – she married Brian McCulloch.’
‘On the grounds that my client is currently under investigation after a series of rape accusations-’
‘That is precisely why I’m asking the question-’
‘… which he continues to deny vehemently, I will have to advise my client not to answer that.’
Gilchrist said, ‘You should also advise your client that we are investigating a multiple murder, so any answers that seem evasive could encourage us to reconsider your client’s supposed innocence.’
Pettigrew scowled, but sat back, as if considering his options.
Jessie turned to Magner again. ‘So, did you date Amy McCulloch?’
Gilchrist sensed that Magner was sorely tempted to ignore his solicitor’s advice, but instead he let out a heavy sigh and said, ‘No comment.’
‘How well did you know Amy?’ asked Jessie.
‘What do you mean by that?’ Pettigrew again.
‘Was your client intimate with Amy McCulloch?’
‘My client has never been intimate with-’
‘I’m not asking you,’ Jessie snapped. ‘I’m asking him. So sit back and shut it.’
Pettigrew reclined in his chair with an almost unnoticeable shake of his head.
Magner repeated, ‘No comment.’
‘Not even a peck on the cheek when you met up at some fancy event, or went round to dinner and shared a Grey Goose or two with them?’
‘No comment.’
Jessie smiled, but Gilchrist could tell it was forced. He also noted Magner’s lack of reaction to the mention of Grey Goose vodka, so he took up the questioning again. ‘What car do you drive, Mr Magner?’
‘Aston Martin Vantage.’
‘Company car?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many company cars does Stratheden Enterprises have on its books?’
‘Only two. Brian’s and mine.’
‘Only two?’ Gilchrist frowned in disbelief, and glanced at his notes. ‘But Stratheden’s turnover was in excess of sixty million last year.’
‘We broker the development side of the business to subcontractors and consultants. They have their own cars. We have in-house administration and accounting sections, a staff of about thirty, but they’re salaried – no cars or car allowances. Strictly speaking, and legally speaking, too, Brian and I are the only executives of Stratheden Enterprises.’