A Big Ask

Maggie wasn’t long out the shower when the doorbell rang. Must be the window cleaner. This week, she’d finally squeezed time out of her jam-packed schedule to address domestic matters.

She scrambled into a torn pair of jeans she’d saved for doing housework and tugged a baggy jumper over her head. Grabbing her purse, she made a beeline for the front door.

Allan Chisolm stood on the doorstep. His eyes swept the dishevelled clothes, the tousled hair. ‘Have I got you out of bed?’ he asked, an amused look on his face.

Maggie bristled. ‘No.’ Instinctively, one hand reached up to smooth her curls. ‘I’ve chores to tackle, that’s all.’

His expression grew serious. ‘I’m sorry to land on you like this, but I wondered if I could have a word?’

Not again! Maggie felt like a schoolgirl summoned to detention. What was it about the man that always had her on the back foot?

‘Of course.’ She composed herself. ‘Come in.’ She stepped aside to let him pass, shut the door and led him into the front room.

‘May I?’ Without waiting for an answer, Chisolm lowered himself onto the settee. ‘It’s about Sheena Struthers.’

‘Oh.’ Small voice. That was one place Maggie definitely didn’t want to go.

‘I’ll be honest with you, Mrs Laird.’ He made himself comfortable. ‘We’ve reached something of an impasse in our investigation.’ He looked for a reaction, found none. ‘I rather hoped you might help us move forward.’

‘In what way?’ Maggie perched on the edge of the big chair in the window.

‘Put some flesh on the bones of our findings. From the statement you gave at Queen Street, I understand you had several meetings with Mrs Struthers before she…’ He eyed Maggie circumspectly. ‘Before the incident.’

‘I did, yes.’

‘And at that time you stated you were of the opinion the lady was, shall we say, misguided?’

‘I thought she was imagining things.’

‘Did you at any point think her state of mind would lead her to attempt suicide?’

‘No.’

‘Turning to the husband, you also pursued enquiries there?’

‘Yes. As I informed your officer, I ran what were fairly limited checks on Gordon Struthers’ movements, but found nothing to substantiate his wife’s claims.’

‘In short, he had no reason to make an attempt on her life.’

‘None that I could establish.’

‘Nor was she, in your stated opinion, sufficiently distraught to make an attempt on her own?’

‘Mrs Struthers exhibited varying levels of anxiety. I suggested she seek medical advice,’ Maggie answered defensively. ‘I understand she did so. I doubt this takes you forward, but…’ She broke off.

‘No matter.’ Allan Chisolm made to rise. ‘I’ll let you get on.’ There was a twinkle of merriment in the clear blue eyes. ‘With whatever.’

‘While you’re here…’ How Maggie wished, now, she was properly dressed and made up. ‘Can I press you on George’s…’ She flushed. ‘My husband’s case?’

Chisholm leaned back again. ‘I did raise it again only last week. I’m sorry to tell you the impression I got is they’d like it to go away. I’ll be straight with you. When I first took it upstairs, they seemed amenable to the idea. Indeed, the ACC himself said if I could deliver the goods – in the shape of a formal, signed admission from Craigmyle that he’d turned off that tape recorder, and from Brannigan that he’d been coerced into giving perjured evidence – they’d be willing to re-examine the circumstances surrounding your husband’s departure from the force. That case was a blot on Aberdeen’s resolution rate, after all, and it would be mighty satisfying to put the record straight. However…’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘This last couple of meetings, I get the impression the thinking has changed. Too much time has passed, Mrs Laird. There’s little appetite to reopen old wounds.’

‘I know. Nonetheless…’

Chisolm cut her short. ‘If I were to present them with a fait accompli in the form of Craigmyle’s statement, that might concentrate minds. Are you in a position yet to obtain that?’

‘No. There’s been a development in that quarter. A setback actually.’ She broke off, a defeated look on her face.

‘Well, in that event…’

Maggie strained forward. ‘If you could put some pressure on.’ She looked into the inspector’s eyes. ‘Persuade the powers-that-be to pull Bobby Brannigan back in…’ She held his gaze. ‘That would get the ball rolling.’

‘That’s a big ask, Mrs Laird.’ The blue eyes didn’t waver. ‘It had been my firm intention to do so. But that was before this latest turn of events.’

‘I don’t quite…’ Maggie began.

‘You haven’t heard?’ Chisolm’s mind raced. He’d been under the impression Maggie Laird’s business partner had her ear to the ground at Foresterhill. But he’d also heard a rumour that Big Wilma, as she was referred to at Queen Street, was back in Torry, and that the partnership had been dissolved.

He collected his thoughts. ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings. Bobby Brannigan was attacked in the street earlier this week.’

‘Oh!’ Maggie put a hand to her mouth. She slumped back in her seat. ‘How serious?’

‘It’s touch and go. He’s out of surgery. They’ve put him in an induced coma. According to his consultant, he’s likely to stay that way for quite some time.’

‘Will he recover, do you think?’

Chisolm offered a grim smile. ‘I hope so.’

‘Me too.’ Maggie offered up a silent prayer.

‘I should warn you, Mrs Laird,’ Chisolm added. ‘There is extensive damage to Mr Brannigan’s vocal chords.’

Maggie felt sick. She couldn’t meet his eyes.

‘Even if he does survive the attack, he may be unable to speak.’