Brian Galloway’s former house was not as big as McLean’s own home on the other side of the city, but it was still a sizeable mansion by anyone’s reckoning. Late Victorian, if his scant knowledge of architecture was anything to go by, it was well maintained, but had a gaudiness about it that jarred. By the time he’d parked and he and Harrison had climbed out of the car and taken all this in, the front door was open and a woman stood on the step. Tall and thin, her long blond hair snaked in an elegant braid over one shoulder and down almost to her hip. She wore a zip-up hoodie over a plain white T-shirt and those jeans that look like they’re ancient and frayed but most likely came out of the wrapping like that. She stared at him almost frowning as she approached, but she’d let him in the security gate so he assumed that she was short-sighted and had lost her spectacles.
‘Detective Inspector McLean?’ Her voice had a slight American drawl to it, but the intonation was pure Edinburgh. As she spoke, her gaze slid past him to the car, and she broke into a smile. ‘Oh, you drive a ZOE. Snap!’
‘It’s my partner’s, actually. I’m only borrowing it. Yes, I’m DI McLean. My colleague DS Harrison.’ He pulled out his warrant card and held it up, but the woman didn’t bother looking at it. ‘You’re Elizabeth Carter? Mr Galloway’s ex-wife?’
The smile scrunched into a frown at the mention of the name, but it was short-lived. ‘Lizzie. Yes. Brian was my husband. And as the father of my children I should probably be a bit more sad that he’s dead.’ She paused a moment, rubbed at her arms as if only then realising how cold it was. ‘Why don’t you both come in, then? Brian’s mum’s here with the kids. I’ll put the kettle on.’
They followed Lizzie Carter into the house, through a large hallway and out to a spacious and modern kitchen at the rear. Through a set of folding glass doors, a large glass structure covered a swimming pool, with a tidy patio area at the nearest end. The noise of splashing and excited childish shouting echoed through the doorway, bringing with it a sharp tang of chlorinated water.
‘So then. What do you want to talk to me about?’ Carter had her back to them as she talked. She worked her way methodically through various cupboards, bringing out teapot, tea, milk, biscuits and setting them all out before turning.
‘When was the last time you spoke to Mr Galloway?’
Carter tilted her head to one side, her long plait of hair dangling further to the floor like Rapunzel. ‘Let me see. Couple of weeks ago? Could be a month, actually. He wanted to see the boys.’ She nodded her head towards the open door and the pool beyond.
‘And did he? See them, that is?’ Harrison asked.
‘Christ, no. Wouldn’t let that bastard anywhere near them after what he did.’
The kettle clicked, and Carter turned away to deal with the making of tea. McLean let the silence grow as she went through the motions. There was no need to rush, and so far she was being unusually helpful. He’d not eaten in a while either, and didn’t want to jeopardise his chances with a substantial plate of biscuits. After a protracted ritual, Carter put everything on to a tray and lifted it up.
‘Come on. Let’s take this out to the poolside. Irene’s watching the boys, but after . . . this morning, she could probably do with a bit more adult company.’
They stepped from the dry warmth of the kitchen into the steam of the pool house. McLean didn’t want to think how much it cost to keep that pool heated, but it was clearly a source of great enjoyment to the two young boys dive-bombing into the far end before scrambling out and doing it again.
‘Detective Inspector, we meet again.’ Old Mrs Galloway sat at a cast-iron table far enough from the pool to avoid getting accidentally splashed, but close enough that she could keep an eye on her grandsons at play. She half rose, but McLean indicated she should stay seated before introducing Harrison.
‘I have to admit I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mrs Galloway. I hope the family liaison officer was able to help.’
‘Oh yes, thank you. Nice young lady. Took me home in a panda car and then brought me here. I don’t think what happened this morning’s sunk in yet, if I’m being honest. I expect the shock will hit eventually. Helps to have the boys here. And Lizzie, of course.’
‘How old are they?’ Harrison nodded towards the dive-bombing. Carter answered as she poured tea.
‘Jamie’s eight and his brother Edward’s ten. We’ve not told them about their father yet, but they’ve never really asked about him since the divorce.’
‘He didn’t get visiting rights?’
‘He should have gone to jail for what he did.’
McLean was surprised by the sudden anger in Carter’s voice. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. As I heard it, he cheated on you, which is certainly grounds for divorce. But jail?’
‘Cheated on me? You make it sound so quaint, Detective Inspector. You know Brian was a rock star, right? Mad Bastard, lead singer of the Idle Lunatics. Scotland’s answer to Oasis.’ Carter spoke in a kind of sing-song voice as she recounted the potted biography. ‘Cheating on me was part of the deal. He was away on tour for months at a time. Groupies throwing themselves at him. Hell, I was one of them, right at the start of it all. I knew about the cheating. But Jenny? The babysitter? She was only thirteen when he raped her. Right here in this very house.’
McLean had taken the opportunity of Carter’s monologue to sneak a biscuit off the plate. Now it was poised halfway to his mouth. It might have only been a few hours since he’d been sent to the tiny house in Fountainbridge, but one of the first things he’d got the team to do was run Galloway’s name through the system. After the mess with Whitaker it had seemed prudent. There’d been a few brushes with the law over the years, but it was all the sort of thing you might expect a rock star to do, and the most recent caution was for possession of marijuana over ten years ago.
‘We don’t have a record of that offence,’ he said. By the look on both Carter and Mrs Galloway’s faces, it wasn’t perhaps the best response.
‘Have you any idea how difficult it is to make a rape charge stick?’ Carter asked, not angrily but certainly aggressively.
‘I do. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘It was a stitch-up from the start. Brian got himself some fancy lawyer who somehow managed to smooth the whole thing over. I was presented with an ultimatum. Divorce, the kids and the house. Plus a substantial payment to her if I persuaded Jenny to withdraw the allegations.’ Carter’s hands rested on the table, either side of her teacup, and she clenched them into tight fists as she spoke. ‘I didn’t give a damn about divorce or the house. But he was threatening to take my children away. I made a deal, but only if he agreed to keep away. No visiting rights. It wasn’t until after I’d signed the papers that I found out Jenny wasn’t the first. Who knows if she was the last?’
Mrs Galloway spoke into the silence that fell. ‘Like I told you before, Detective Inspector. Brian was an angry child, and an angrier man. He never could keep a control of his passions or his anger for long. That might have made him a good artist, I don’t know. But it made him a bad man. Maybe I could have done better by him. I tried my best.’
McLean let the words sink in, aware of both women watching him uncomfortably closely. A scream punctured the moment, followed by a loud splash as one of the boys managed a spectacular dive bomb on his brother. He could only hope the two of them turned out better than their father.
‘Does the name Gail Elmwood mean anything to you?’
Both women looked blank. Carter shook her head slowly. ‘No. Doesn’t ring a bell.’
So much for that link. McLean opened his mouth to ask the next obvious question, but Harrison beat him to it.
‘You said Mr Galloway got himself a fancy lawyer who stitched up this whole deal.’ She raised both hands to indicate the house and all it represented.
‘Aye, that’s right.’
‘You don’t remember his name, do you?’
‘Don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Horrible slimy man. Made me feel dirty the way he looked at me.’ Carter almost shivered as she spoke. ‘Fielding, he was called. Tommy Fielding.’
DS Harrison kept her comments to herself until they were once more in the car and driving back to the station, for which McLean was grateful. He could see that she was pleased with herself, and no doubt wanted to call him out on his earlier scepticism about the link between Galloway and Fielding. It didn’t change the fact that she’d stepped over the line.
‘I know it’s a bit speculative, sir. But am I the only one beginning to see a pattern here?’
‘You are? How?’
‘Well, see how Galloway’s wife divorced him, kept the house and the kids, aye?’
‘And he stayed out of prison thanks to Tommy Fielding.’
‘Aye, but that’s not what I’m on about. That chappie Steve Whitaker? That lad who burned himself to death? Seems his wife divorced him not so long ago, took the kid with her, no visiting rights. Same with Purefoy at the building site.’ Harrison waved her hand in the direction of Liberton Brae. ‘He had two wee boys, but his wife got sick of him playing away from home. And there was Christopher Allan too, now I think about it. You know? The guy Izzy kicked in the nuts so hard he’ll probably always walk with a limp now. His wife divorced him and took the kids to Australia.’
‘What? You think Fielding defended them all? Doesn’t say much for his skills as a lawyer if they all lost.’
Harrison shrugged. ‘Fair point. But like you said, Galloway could have lost way more. What if the same was true for the others? What if they all owe Fielding? What if they all have a grudge against women?’
McLean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in thought. ‘Allan and Galloway both claimed they’d fallen down the stairs, but you reckon your friend beat the crap out of them, right?’
‘Aye, sir. Izzy was very clear about the damage she inflicted, and those two both ended up at A and E with those injuries not more than an hour or so later.’
‘And she claims they were put on to her by Tommy Fielding because she disrupted his conference?’
‘Reckon there’s maybe a wee bit more to it than that, but she was trying to lobby one of the MSPs at Holyrood about Fielding’s men’s rights activist organisation. Something about getting its funding cut or de-platforming it or whatever. That’s why she was in that part of town.’
McLean negotiated a roundabout, then floored the throttle as the road opened up ahead of him. No great surge of power pinned him into the seat, and the noise was more washing machine spin cycle than roar of untamed Italian horses.
‘I need to speak to her, to Izzy. Soon as possible.’
Harrison reached for her phone. ‘I can give her a call. Ask her to come to the station.’
McLean shook his head. ‘No. Best keep this unofficial for now.’
‘Well, she’s staying at my place right now, but I can bring her over to yours after work if that’s better.’
McLean considered it, then remembered the state he’d left the kitchen in that morning. Not that it really mattered. Izzy DeVilliers was a teenager after all. ‘Where did you say she was staying before she came to you? With Madame Rose?’
‘With Rose, aye.’
‘OK. There’s still plenty to get done before your shift ends. Give Izzy a call and ask her to meet us at Rose’s place. Eight o’clock should be fine.’