‘I’ve put her in Interview Room Two,’ Chris said. ‘The DCI wants to sit in.’
Clare waved Benjy back towards the counter and he jumped up, taking his usual place. ‘Do we know who she is?’ she asked Chris.
‘Name’s Rena Bishop. Says she’s Fergus Bain’s aunt.’
‘The friend of his gran’s? The one who isn’t a real aunt?’
‘Think so.’
‘Then I’d better see her.’
Chris put a hand on her arm, to stop her. ‘There’s something else though.’
‘What?’
‘She’s missing the tip of the middle finger on one hand.’
Clare, DCI Gibson and Chris squeezed into the interview room and sat in front of the desk. On the other side sat the elderly woman Clare had seen crossing the car park as she left the station a few minutes earlier. Clare glanced at the woman’s short, middle finger. After all their legwork, Chris, the Edinburgh lads – even some of the Vice cops – poring over Social Work records for hours, all that work, then this. The owner of the fingerprints simply walks into the station and presents herself. It beggared belief.
Clare regarded her with some interest. She looked to be in her seventies and had the bearing of an elderly schoolmistress. Her silver hair was lightly permed and her face, while lined with age, was alert. She was spare, as if her bones would snap with the slightest touch. She sat, ramrod-straight in her chair, her hands folded in front of her.
Clare cleared her throat and began.
‘Mrs Bishop, I am Detective Inspector Clare Mackay. This is Detective Chief Inspector Gibson and this gentleman is Detective Sergeant Chris West. I understand you wish to make a statement.’
‘First of all, Inspector, it is Miss Bishop. Miss Rena Bishop.’
‘My apologies, Miss Bishop. Perhaps you could tell us what you would like to say?’
‘I wish to confess to three murders and to one attempted murder.’
Clare looked at Chris and the DCI but before she could speak Miss Bishop spoke again.
‘I killed all of them,’ she went on. ‘The chap at the wedding, then that brewery man…’
Clare interrupted her. ‘Miss Bishop, before we go any further, I need to caution you formally and I strongly suggest you have a solicitor present.’
‘I assure you, Detective Inspector, I have no need of a solicitor.’
‘Nevertheless, I would like you to have the duty solicitor at least, if you don’t have one of your own.’
She unfolded her hands and began twisting a ring on her finger. ‘Very well. If you insist, I’ll write down my solicitor’s details. But please note I do not intend to contradict anything I have just said.’
Rena Bishop’s solicitor arrived half an hour later. Clare asked Chris and DCI Gibson to stay and emphasised that if Rena felt unwell at any time the interview could be suspended.
‘I am perfectly well, Detective Inspector,’ she snapped. ‘I simply wish to have this over and done with.’
Clare nodded. She went through the usual preamble for the tape, then cautioned Rena who replied that she understood the caution. Clare then asked what she was confessing to and Rena reeled off the murders of Andy Robb, Bruce Gilmartin, Bertram Harris and the attempted murder of Nat Dryden. She was precise about dates and times, locations, the numbered cards placed on the victims’ chests; in fact, she was accurate in everything she said.
‘Miss Bishop,’ Chris began with a smile, ‘we found some footprints at the murder sites. Would I be correct in guessing you take a size four or five in a shoe? You have quite a slim foot, I think.’
The first flicker of doubt passed across her eyes. Brief and then it was gone. But it didn’t escape their notice.
‘Sometimes it gets muddy,’ she said, ‘and I have larger boots you see. Men’s boots. Keep them in the Land Rover.’
‘And did you use these boots at any of the crime scenes?’
Her gaze was once again steely. ‘I may have done.’
‘Can you recall which?’ Chris persisted.
‘The brewery one. The chap Gilmartin.’
‘So, after running Mr Gilmartin over, you climbed down from the vehicle, wearing the larger boots.’
‘That is correct.’
Chris paused for a moment. ‘The thing is, Miss Bishop, that the Gilmartins’ drive was gravel. And there was no rain the night Mr Gilmartin was run over, or the day before. So, the drive would not have been muddy and there would have been no need for the large boots. We didn’t actually find any footprints that night. Furthermore, we already have a suspect in custody who has confessed to the murders of Bruce Gilmartin and Bertram Harris. So I’m afraid your statement is untrue.’
‘Fergus did none of them,’ she said. ‘He’s trying to protect me.’
‘I didn’t mention any names,’ Clare said, watching Rena carefully.
They waited for a response. Rena Bishop pursed her lips and her solicitor leaned forward. ‘I think, officers, I should like to consult privately with my client.’
The three of them rose and left Rena and her solicitor to speak.
‘What do you make of that?’ Clare asked the DCI.
‘At a rough guess I’d say she wants to spare Fergus prison. She knows what he’s been through and wants to take the blame.’
‘But she must know he wouldn’t let her do that. He wouldn’t tell us anything about his accomplice. I’m not even sure I believe her.’
The DCI looked across the room. Rena Bishop’s solicitor was hovering. ‘See what he says and let me know if there are any problems. I’ll leave you to it.’
The solicitor seemed hesitant then spoke. ‘It’s an… unusual situation, Inspector. Normally I wouldn’t be speaking to you like this but…’
‘You don’t believe her either?’
He shook his head. ‘But she insists on signing a confession to three murders and to one attempted murder.’
‘Any idea why?’
‘Not really, other than…’ he seemed reluctant to continue.
‘Could she be protecting someone?’
‘I think so. I really should not be telling you this but I’m concerned if I don’t that a miscarriage of justice may occur.’
‘Go on,’ Clare said.
‘Miss Bishop – she’s very fond of the grandson of a close friend. Her friend died some years ago and Miss Bishop has taken an interest in the lad. It seems that he had a difficult time when he was in a children’s home. She harbours some regrets that she wasn’t able to help him. I think this is her way of making it up to him.’
Clare considered. ‘You do know that we can’t allow that to happen? We have to prosecute those we believe are guilty. It’s up to the courts after that to decide what happens to them.’
‘Of course,’ the solicitor said. ‘I just thought you should know. I’m as keen as you that my client shouldn’t confess to a crime she has not committed.’
Clare stood thinking for a minute then said, ‘I’d like to have her examined by a doctor. To assess her capacity to plead.’
‘She won’t like it.’
‘No, she won’t.’
Rena Bishop was indeed outraged at the idea of being examined by a doctor. ‘I am in no need of a psychiatrist, I assure you, Detective Inspector. I am fully in charge of my faculties.’
‘Miss Bishop, you have voluntarily walked into a police station and confessed to the most serious of crimes. I would be failing in my duty of care to you if I didn’t ascertain that you are competent to make such a statement.’
She made no reply to this.
It was growing late now but the doctor agreed to come out. He arrived shortly afterwards and Clare left him to his patient.
Twenty-five minutes later the doctor emerged. Clare called the DCI and Chris to hear his thoughts.
‘A tough cookie,’ he observed. ‘She only agreed to co-operate when I hinted at the possibility of her being detained under the Mental Health Act.’
‘And what’s your view, doctor?’
‘Mentally, she’s as sound as a bell. If you want a specialist to look at her it’ll take longer but I very much doubt she’ll be found unfit to plead.’
The DCI nodded. ‘Anything else?’
The doctor hesitated. ‘If what she says is true then she won’t be with us very much longer.’
‘Meaning?’
‘After I concluded the examination of her mental capacity I asked a few questions about her general health and she came right out with it. She has an inoperable tumour and expects to live no longer than six months.’
The DCI stared. ‘Do you believe her?’
‘Frankly, yes. She doesn’t look well and, given her age, it’s not particularly surprising. But you’ll be able to confirm this with her GP. She’s given me the details.’
Clare took the note with Rena’s GP’s details and thanked the doctor. When he had left the station, she turned to Chris and the DCI. ‘Chris, get on to her GP and find out if she’s telling the truth about having six months to live. Then we’ll get her fingerprints done and see if she matches the white cards. We’ll remand her in custody while we wait for the results of the prints. If they match the white cards, I’ll charge her with the murder of Andy Robb and the attempted murder of Nat Dryden.’
The DCI frowned. ‘Do you still think she’s lying, Inspector? About carrying out all the attacks?’
‘I’m sure of it, sir. I think she probably did the two that Fergus has alibis for – Andy Robb and Nat Dryden. But I reckon Fergus did the others – Bruce Gilmartin and Professor Harris and we have his signed confession.’ Clare put a hand to her ear which was now buzzing loudly, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed.
‘You get away,’ the DCI said to her. ‘Young Chris and I will sort out Rena Bishop.’
A sharp bark alerted Clare to the fact that Benjy was still there. She eyed him and Benjy eyed her back.
‘Go on,’ Chris said. ‘Sounds like the pair of you need to get home.’
Clare smiled at Chris and the DCI. ‘Thanks guys. I appreciate it.’ She turned to Benjy again who cocked an ear. ‘Okay,’ she said, and he leapt off the counter and ran towards her.
‘I’ll take this young man home,’ she said. ‘And, unless anything desperately urgent comes up, I’m taking tomorrow off to go and see my sister and my nephew.’
DCI Gibson flashed a rare smile. ‘Sounds like a good idea, Clare. You too, DS West. We’ll sort everything out on Sunday morning. Let’s say ten o’clock.’
This time, Clare made it home without being called back. Benjy trotted round her feet and she realised he was probably hungry. Fortunately, she still had some of the dog food left and she poured a generous helping and some water into the ice cream tubs. Benjy gobbled the food up greedily and Clare’s thoughts turned to her own evening meal. The pizza was a distant memory now but it was late and she was too damned tired to cook. She went to the fridge and took out a bottle of rosé wine and a tub of humous, which she carried to the front room. There, she flopped onto the settee.
She looked around the room. It had been an easy house to move into a couple of months ago when she’d upped sticks from Glasgow, but it wasn’t really for her. A bit too modern and soulless. Her mind wandered to that cottage along the road from Fergus. She vaguely recalled seeing a sign at the entrance. Daisy Cottage, or something like that. She would really like to have a proper look round. She checked her watch. The estate agents had closed hours ago but perhaps she would call them in the morning and arrange a viewing for next week. In fact, if she called them now and left a voicemail – then she remembered the phone call she had ignored.
She fished her mobile phone out of her bag and saw that she had four voicemail messages. She switched her phone to speaker, clicked to start playing the messages and uncorked the wine, pouring herself a glass.
The first was from Tom. Asking her to call him. Hoping she was okay and not too busy with the investigation. She smiled. If only he knew what had happened in the past twenty-four hours. He’d be flapping round her like a mother hen. ‘Thank the Lord he doesn’t know,’ she muttered, taking a glug of wine.
The next message was from her sister Judith asking if she was free at the weekend.
‘Baby James would love to see his Aunty Clare,’ her sister’s voice said.
‘And Aunty Clare would love that too,’ Clare said to her phone.
Realising she had brought nothing to dip in the humous, and that she was too tired to go and fetch some tortilla chips, she stuck a finger in the tub and scooped as much as she could with her fingertip.
‘And I don’t even care,’ she told Benjy, as the next message clicked on.
‘Oh hello, Inspector. Geoffrey Dark here. Just to say it was nice to meet you and I hope I was able to help. And – well – I’m back in Dundee next week, lecturing. Evening this time. Perhaps if you’re free, you’d like to come along? We could meet first for a drink and I could explain a bit about it. You have my number so, it would be lovely to hear from you. Bye, then.’
Clare thought back to the tall figure in dark jeans and the blue Oxford shirt. The cabinetmaker turned sculpture expert. She thought his lecture might very well turn out to be her thing. And maybe – just maybe – he would turn out to be her thing too. Perhaps she could ask him to look round Daisy Cottage with her. An expert eye, so to speak. A smile played on her lips and she clicked to save the message.
And then the final message began to play.
‘Clare? It’s Drew Walsh here. I was hoping to speak to you, but you’re probably still tied up with this investigation. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know about Pam Cassidy. Spoke to her this morning and the upshot is she’s withdrawing the statement she gave to the Ritchies’ solicitor. She won’t be testifying against you if their private prosecution comes to court, which it probably won’t now. I think she was their only witness. Anyway, I thought you’d like to know. That’s all. Good work last night. Remember, if you ever want to come back to armed response, just let me know. Okay – well, bye for now, Clare. Take care.’
Clare let her phone fall to the floor. Suddenly, she was outstandingly tired. The events of the previous night flashed before her eyes. Fergus in that kitchen. His gun inches from her. The split-second decision to tackle him to the floor and the gun going off. The armed officer’s eyes beneath the balaclava. The eyes that became Pam’s face. Pam, whose life she had probably saved by flooring Fergus before he could fire through the door. And now Pam was returning the favour.
It changed nothing. Yes, the private prosecution against her would probably be abandoned now. But she had still shot and killed Francis Ritchie, mistaking his replica for a real gun. A mistake she would have to live with.
That would never go away.
She reached down for her phone and dialled her sister’s number. ‘Jude? Hiya. I’d love to come to see my nephew tomorrow if that’s okay. I could do with a day off.’
Her sister was delighted. ‘Oh, Clare. That would be lovely. Will you stay?’
‘Not this time, Jude. I’ve to be in work on Sunday. But maybe I could bring my new lodger? He’s called Benjy…’