‘Not exactly invited, Inspector,’ I said.
‘Mrs Aitken told me you weren’t invited last week either. To the jubilee.’
‘Again, not exactly,’ I said, nodding.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Alec’s voice, sounding to me as though it were at the bottom of a well.
‘But along you came and “found” Mirren Aitken. Then along you came again today and now you tell me you’ve “found” Dougie Hepburn.’ He turned sharply away as someone came towards us through the archway.
‘It’s him all right, sir.’ It was one of the first three constables, looking rather green and with his voice wobbling. I gave him an encouraging smile; I was feeling rather green and wobbly too. ‘Dead as dead can be. About two hours I’d say, from the state of him.’
‘And when did you slip off to take your medical degree?’ said the inspector, spitting the words out. ‘Get Dr Stott. And escort this gentleman back to the station. I’ll want to speak to him.’
‘I’ll come with you, Alec,’ I said, and I was aware that my lips felt rather peculiar as I formed the words.
‘Don’t you move, lady,’ the inspector said, and with those brutal words, so harshly fired at me, finally I began to make sense of what he was saying and Alec’s protests and the strange sensation of my lips and legs knowing better than my brain what was happening to me.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ I said, faintly. Alec put out a hand of restraint, because of course this was no way to be speaking to the man. ‘You can’t seriously… what are you…’
As I saw the dim foyer grow even dimmer and felt the air around me begin to roll past with a rushing sound, the last thing I heard was that ugly voice, uglier than ever.
‘Oh, that’s right! Treat yourself to a wee swoon, why don’t you?’
I came round with a dull headache and a feeling of nausea just short of making me check my surroundings for suitable containers. Then memory flooded in and I sat bolt upright, headache sharper, nausea gone. I was still in Aitkens’ foyer, sitting on one of the taxi chairs just inside the door. Alec and the inspector were gone and one of the second lot of constables, the ones I had thought of as the inspector’s henchmen, was standing firmly planted in front of me, his face quite impassive under his hat.
I made as if to stand but he stopped me with a practised gesture, formed I suppose to keep motorists out of busy street junctions but just as effective at keeping me in my chair.
‘You’re to stay put till the doctor gets here and has a wee look at you,’ he informed me.
‘Very well,’ I said. ‘It’s perhaps not a bad idea. I don’t make a habit of fainting, you know.’ At that I remembered the inspector’s last words and a surge of fury gave me back every bit of the vigour which had temporarily deserted me.
‘Here he’s now,’ said the constable as a man let himself in the front door. ‘Doctor!’ The doctor hurried towards us, frowning. ‘This… witness fainted and the boss wants you to give her the all-clear before we shift her.’ I blinked at his choice of words but before I could answer the doctor was upon us. He was a harried-looking sort who held himself at a forty-five-degree forward angle as though using gravity to keep himself moving at the pace he had set. He peered at me.
‘Fainted, eh?’ he said. ‘You saw the body?’ I resented the implication but it seemed easier than trying to explain and so I nodded. ‘And how are you feeling now?’ he said.
‘Quite well, thank you,’ I said. This was the answer I had been brought up to give and it came out of me without prompting.
‘Fine, then,’ said the doctor and he turned and propelled himself towards his real business at the back of the store. The constable and I watched him go and then caught one another’s eye.
‘Right,’ I said, tucking my feet under me in preparation to stand. ‘Thank you for waiting with me, young man. And do pass on my thanks to the inspector. It was most thoughtful of him to ask the doctor to have a word. Now, can you tell me where Mr Osborne went when he left us so that I can… What is it?’ The constable had begun shifting his feet and was darting glances at me as though not quite able to look me straight in the eye.
‘I’m sorry about this, Mrs Gilver,’ he said, fumbling at his pocket or his tunic belt; I could not quite see. ‘But it’s my orders and I cannae help it.’
‘Help what?’ I said, but then I saw what he had been fumbling for; they glinted as they swung free, the two solid rings bright with polish and the chain between them sparkling. I stood up and looked him straight in the eye, pleased to see that he cringed a little under my gaze. ‘Your inspector,’ I said, in a voice I will never cease to be proud of summoning at such a moment, ‘is an oaf and a bully and since you choose to emulate him, I expect you will go far. But your mother will be ashamed of you for this and rightly so.’ Then I turned, very slowly, and keeping my eyes locked on his as long as I could.
‘It disnae have to be behind you,’ he said, in a mournful voice.
‘No, no!’ I said, rubbing it in hard. ‘I would hate the inspector to suspect you of chivalry.’ And I thrust my hands upwards, wrenching my shoulders horribly. Silently, he clicked the handcuffs closed about my wrists and then guided me to the door and out onto the street, where a small knot of onlookers, attracted by the commotion, were well rewarded for their wait; a thrill which was almost a shriek ran through them at the sight of me. I kept my chin very level, resisting the temptation either to bow my head or to stick my nose in the air, and stepped into a waiting motorcar. It was no mean achievement, what with having no hands to help and with my legs weak from rage and fear, but I made it and I slid onto the seat, crossing my legs at the ankles and letting my shoulders rest lightly against the seatback as the driver started the motor and we pulled away.
At the police station, minutes away down the High Street, I began to shake and I had to clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering for I half-suspected that I would be thrown into a cell and, trying to picture it, I could not decide which would be worse between the prospect of being all alone behind bars in a little cell of my own or of being cast into a crowd of the sort of women I thought might be there already.
In the end it was not so bad as all that; perhaps Dunfermline did not possess those sorts of women anyway. I was taken straight from the motorcar into the type of little room I had seen before in my few visits to police stations; a bleak enough place, furnished with three hard chairs, one very plain table and an empty waste basket, but at least it had an ordinary door with a handle, no bars, no shackles and no grilled window to the street through which my loved ones would have to feed me titbits to keep me alive. (My imagination had soared away from all controls during the short trip and had left me somewhere between Marie-Antoinette and the Pankhursts for pathos and hopeless damnation.)
I was given a disgusting cup of dark brown tea and was left alone to stare at it for almost an hour until the inspector opened the door, entered and sat down opposite me.
I pushed the cup towards him.
‘I’m finished with this, thank you, Mr…?’ I said, but I did not succeed in making him angry. He was used to insolence from his captives, I supposed. ‘Now,’ I went on. ‘You’ve been very clever and if this is the sort of nonsense the Fife Constabulary go in for, I’m sure you’ll be due a medal at the end-of-year party, but it’s gone on long enough. Ask me what you would like to know and then be kind enough to telephone a taxicab for me. I don’t feel up to walking to the station, as I’m sure you can appreciate.’
‘I’ll give you this,’ he said, ‘you didn’t go straight to the county.’ I frowned. ‘Your pal’s been dropping names like autumn leaves, threatening me with every top brass that ever walked a golf course.’