A Private Matter

‘Grumpian Police, Moira speaking.’ The voice on the other end of the phone bore the unmistakable vowels of Aberdeenshire. There was a pause, then, ‘Sorry, caller.’ Suppressed giggle. ‘Police Scotland Aberdeen. I keep forgetting.’

The absorption of the Grampian police force into Police Scotland hasn’t made a whit of difference! Maggie thought, with some rancour. She took a breath. ‘Maggie Laird here.’

Another pause, then: ‘I’m sorry?’

Maggie was sorry too. Sorry that the civilian in the comms office hadn’t the foggiest who she was. Sorry that she had speak to Force HQ ever again. Sorry for herself.

‘Maggie Laird,’ she repeated. ‘George Laird’s…’ She couldn’t bring herself to say the word ‘widow’.

‘Oh!’ She could picture the girl’s confusion, the frantic signals to whoever else was on duty. ‘Mrs Laird. How can I help you?’

‘I want’ – Maggie corrected – ‘need to speak to Detective Inspector Chisolm.’

‘May I ask what it’s in connection with?’

None of your bloody business!

‘It’s a private matter.’

There was silence at the other end of the line.

‘Hello?’ Maggie’s voice rose. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’

She’d imagined she detected a hint of embarrassment in Moira’s tone. Pack it in, she said to herself. You’re becoming paranoid.

‘If you’d like to hold the line, Mrs Laird,’ the girl hesitated for a moment, ‘I’ll check if he’s available. Or perhaps it would be more convenient if he called you back.’

‘I’ll hold.’ In her mind, Maggie had rehearsed what she was going to say. She’d no intention of being fobbed off.

The background music on the line – Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik – played over and over. Played for so long that it began to scramble Maggie’s brain. She looked at her watch. Who on earth chose these tunes in the first place, she wondered? And why didn’t it occur to them to change the track every now and again? She’d give it another two minutes, she decided. Perhaps the music was chosen on purpose to wear people down, lower their resistance. Like some form of psychological torture.

Calm down! If the girl had asked her to hold, Chisolm must be on duty. And at least Maggie hadn’t been told the inspector was in a meeting. In her experience, men were always ‘in a meeting’, when they were simply bunking off.

She was just about to hang up when there was a click.

‘Mrs Laird?’ Detective Inspector Allan Chisolm’s deep voice spoke her name. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘It’s…’ A shiver ran down Maggie’s spine. ‘About the case.’

‘The Seaton case?’ he cut her short. ‘I thought that was done and dusted.’

‘No, not that.’ She hadn’t spoken to Allan Chisolm since the Seaton debacle. ‘The other one.’

‘Lucy Simmons?’

‘No.’ Maggie was becoming increasingly agitated. What was it about this man that so unnerved her?

There was a long silence, then: ‘Which is it?’ Could she detect a hint of amusement in the inspector’s tone?

‘My husband,’ she managed. ‘I wondered…’ Small voice. ‘If you’d heard anything from upstairs?’

‘On re-opening your husband’s case? Not a dickey bird. Though I have to hold my hands up. What with one thing and another I haven’t made any moves on that front, I’m sorry.’

‘Oh.’ Maggie couldn’t mask her disappointment. ‘But you said…’ For the second time that day Maggie felt stung. She’d committed everything in her – admittedly restricted – armoury to vindicating her husband, only to be let down.

‘That I’d take your case forward, Mrs Laird? Yes, I did. And I’ve kept my word. Passed the information you provided together with the,’ he paused, cleared his throat, ‘tape recording to the fifth floor.’

‘But you haven’t heard anything back?’

‘No. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing.’ The inspector’s tone was reassuring. ‘At least they haven’t rejected the new evidence out of hand.’

‘But I thought…’

‘The information obtained under duress? You’re right. That does present a problem. It may be, though, that Mr Brannigan can be persuaded to ratify that with a voluntary statement. Last I heard we were working towards that outcome. But it all takes time, as I’m sure you appreciate, and with resources stretched as they are…’

‘I understand.’

‘All the same, I’ll chase it up and let you know.’

‘Would you? I’d be grateful.’

‘My pleasure.’

Did Maggie detect real warmth in Chisolm’s voice? She couldn’t be sure.

‘Is there anything else?’

Back to business, then. ‘N-no.’ He had her on the back foot again.

‘You haven’t stumbled across any bodies lately?’

Typical, Maggie seethed: the put-down to the little woman. Didn’t merit a response.

‘Mrs Laird? You still there?’

‘I’m still here.’ Frosty voice.

‘I gather you didn’t appreciate my joke,’ Chisolm offered.

Silence.

‘I’ll take it that’s a “no”, then.’

Maggie took a deep breath. If her quest for justice were to succeed she had to keep this man onside. But, still, she had her pride.

‘Thank you for your time,’ she answered stiffly. Then she cut the call.