CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Alex had never been happier to see the landing lights at Edinburgh airport. Rain lashed against the windows of the plane, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be home again, to sit quietly with Lynn, his hand on her belly, feeling the life within. The future. Like everything else that crossed his mind, that thought brought him up short against Ziggy’s death. A child his best friend would never see, never hold.
Lynn was waiting for him in the arrivals area. She looked tired, he thought. He wished she’d just give up work. It wasn’t as if they needed the money. But she was adamant that she would keep going until the last month. “I want to use my maternity leave to spend time with the baby, not to sit around and wait for it to arrive,” she’d said. She was still determined to return to work after six months, but Alex wondered whether that would change.
He waved as he hurried toward her. Then they were in each other’s arms, clinging as if they’d been separated for weeks instead of days. “I missed you,” he mumbled into her hair.
“I missed you, too.” They stepped apart and headed for the car park, Lynn slipping her arm through his. “Are you OK?”
Alex shook his head. “Not really. I feel gutted. Literally. It’s like there’s a hole inside of me. Christ knows how Paul’s getting through the days.”
“How’s he doing?”
“It’s like he’s been cast adrift. Arranging the funeral gave him something to concentrate on, take his mind off what he’s lost. But last night, after everybody had gone home, he was like a lost soul. I don’t know how he’s going to get through this.”
“Has he got much support?”
“They’ve got a lot of friends. He’s not going to be isolated. But when it comes down to it, you’re on your own, aren’t you?” He sighed. “It made me realize how lucky I am. Having you, and the baby on the way. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you, Lynn.”
She squeezed his arm. “It’s only natural you’re thinking like that. A death like Ziggy’s, it makes us all feel vulnerable. But nothing’s going to happen to me.”
They reached the car and Alex got into the driving seat. “Home, then,” he said. “I can’t believe tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I’m dying for a quiet night in, just the two of us.”
“Ah,” Lynn said, adjusting her seatbelt round the bump.
“Oh no. Not your mother. Not tonight.”
Lynn grinned. “No, not my mother. Nearly as bad, though. Mondo’s here.”
Alex frowned. “Mondo? I thought he was supposed to be in France?”
“Change of plans. They were supposed to spend a few days with Hélène’s brother in Paris, but his wife’s come down with flu. So they changed their flights.”
“So what’s he doing, coming to see us?”
“He says he had some business through in Fife, but I think he’s feeling guilty about not going to Seattle with you.”
Alex snorted. “Aye, he was always good at trotting out the guilt after the event. It never stopped him doing what he was guilty about in the first place, though.”
Lynn put a hand on his thigh. There was nothing sexual in the gesture. “You’ve never really forgiven him, have you?”
“I suppose not. Mostly, it’s forgotten. But when things come together like they have this past week…No, I don’t suppose I have ever forgiven him. Partly for dropping me in the shite all those years ago just to get himself off the hook with the cops. If he hadn’t told Maclennan about me fancying Rosie, I don’t think we’d have been considered so seriously as suspects. But mostly I can’t forgive him for that stupid stunt that cost Maclennan his life.”
“You think Mondo doesn’t blame himself for that?”
“So he should. But if he hadn’t made a major contribution to putting us in the frame in the first place, he’d never have ended up feeling like he needed to make such a ridiculous point. And I wouldn’t have had to contend with other people pointing the finger everywhere I went for the remains of my university career. I can’t help holding Mondo responsible for that.”
Lynn opened her bag and dug out change for the bridge toll. “I think he’s always known that.”
“Which might be why he’s worked so hard at putting so much distance between us.” Alex sighed. “I’m sorry that meant you lost out.”
“Don’t be daft,” she said, handing him the coins as they sped down the approach road to the Forth Road Bridge, its majestic sweep offering the best possible view of the three cantilevered diamonds of the railway bridge spanning the estuary. “His loss, Alex. I knew when I married you that Mondo was never going to be comfortable with the idea. I still think I got the best bargain. I’d much rather have you at the center of my life than my neurotic big brother.”
“I’m sorry about the way things worked out, Lynn. I still care about him, you know. I’ve got a lot of good memories that he’s part of.”
“I know. So try to remember that when you feel like strangling him tonight.”
Alex opened the window, shivering at the scatter of rain that hit the side of his face. He handed over the toll and accelerated away, feeling the tug of home as he always did on the approach to Fife. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “When’s he getting here?”
“He’s here already.”
Alex grimaced. No chance to decompress. No hiding place.
Detective Constable Karen Pirie scuttled into the shelter of the pub doorway and pushed the door open gratefully. A blast of warm, sour air flavored with stale beer and smoke flowed over her. It was the smell of release. In the background, she recognized St. Germain’s Tourist playing. Nice one. She craned her neck, peering through the early-evening drinkers to see who was in. Over by the bar, she spotted Phil Parhatka, his shoulders hunched over a pint and a packet of crisps. She pushed through the crowd and pulled up a stool next to him. “Mine’s a Bacardi Breezer,” she said, digging him in the ribs.
Phil roused himself and caught the eye of the harassed barman. He ordered, then lounged against the bar. Phil was always happier in company than on his own, Karen reminded herself. Nobody could be further from the TV cliché of the maverick lone cop, taking on the world single-handed. He wasn’t what you’d call the life and soul of the party; he just preferred to hang out with the gang. And she didn’t mind in the least standing in for the crowd. One to one, he might just notice that she was a woman. Karen seized her drink as soon as it arrived and took a hearty swig. “That’s better,” she gasped. “I needed that.”
“Thirsty work, raking through the evidence boxes. I didn’t expect to see you in here tonight, I thought you’d be straight home.”
“No, I needed to come back and check out a couple of things on the computer. Pain in the arse, but there you go.” She drank some more and leaned conspiratorially toward her colleague. “And you’ll never guess who I caught poking about in my files.”
“ACC Lawson,” Phil said, without even a pretense at guessing.
Karen sat back, peeved. “How did you know that?”
“Who else gives a shit about what we’re up to? Besides, he’s been on your back far more than anybody else’s since this review began. He seems to be taking it personally.”
“Well, he was the first officer on the scene.”
“Yeah, but he was only a woolly suit at the time. It’s not like it was his case or anything.” He pushed the crisps toward Karen and finished his first pint.
“I know. But I suppose he feels connected to it more than the other cases in the review. Still, it was funny to walk in on him poring over my files. He’s usually long gone by this time of night. I thought he was going to jump out of his skin when I spoke to him. He was that engrossed he didn’t hear me come in.”
Phil picked up his fresh pint and took a sip. “He went to see the brother a while back, didn’t he? To tell him about the fuck-up with the evidence?”
Karen shook her fingers, the gesture of someone ridding herself of something unpleasantly clinging. “Let me tell you, I was more than happy to let him handle that. Not an interview I’d have enjoyed. ‘Hello, sir. Sorry we lost the evidence that might have finally convicted your sister’s killer. Oh well, that’s how it goes.’” She pulled a face. “So, how are you getting on?”
Phil shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I was on to something, but it looks like another dead-end. Plus I’ve got the local MSP blethering on about human rights. It’s a balls-acher, this job.”
“Got a suspect?”
“I’ve got three. What I’ve not got is decent evidence. I’m still waiting for the lab to come back with the DNA. That’s the only real chance I’ve got to take it any further. How about you? Who do you think killed Rosie Duff?”
Karen spread her hands. “Perm any one from four.”
“You really think it was one of the students who found her?”
Karen nodded. “All the circumstantial points that way. And there’s something else besides.” She paused, waiting for the prompt.
“OK, Sherlock. I’ll buy it. What’s the something else?”
“The psychology of it. Whether this was a ritual killing or a sexual homicide, we’re told by the shrinks that murders like this don’t come on their own. You’d expect a couple of attempts first.”
“Like with Peter Sutcliffe?”
“Exactly. He didn’t get to be the Yorkshire Ripper overnight. Which leads me neatly on to the next point. Sex killers are a bit like my gran. They repeat themselves.”
Phil groaned. “Oh, very good.”
“Don’t clap, just throw money. They repeat themselves because they get off on the killing like normal people get off on porn. Anyway, my point is that we never see another sign of this particular killer anywhere in Scotland.”
“Maybe he moved away.”
“Maybe. And maybe what we were presented with was a stage set. Maybe this wasn’t that kind of killer at all. Maybe one or all of our boys raped Rosie and panicked. They don’t want a live witness. And so they kill her. But they make it look like the work of a crazed sex beast. They didn’t get off on the murder at all, so there was never any question of repetition.”
“You think four half-cut lads could manage to be that cool with a dead lassie on their hands?”
Karen crossed her legs and smoothed down her skirt. She noticed him notice and felt a warm glow that had nothing to do with white rum. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”
“And what’s the answer?”
“When you read the statements, there’s one of them that sticks out. The medical student, Malkiewicz. He kept his head at the scene, and his statement reads pretty clinical. The placing of his prints indicated he was the last one to drive the Land Rover. And he was one of the three Group O secretors among the four of them. It could have been his sperm.”
“Well, it’s a nice theory.”
“Deserves another drink, I think.” This time, Karen got the round in. “The trouble with theory,” she continued once her glass was refreshed, “is that it needs evidence to back it up. Evidence which I don’t have.”
“What about the illegitimate kid? Doesn’t he have a father somewhere? What if it was him?”
“We don’t know who he was. Brian Duff is keeping his mouth zipped on that one. I’ve not been able to talk to Colin yet. But Lawson tipped me the wink that it was probably a lad called John Stobie. He left town round about the right time.”
“He might have come back.”
“That’s what Lawson was looking for in the file. To see if I’d got anywhere with that angle.” Karen shrugged. “But even if he did come back, why kill Rosie?”
“Maybe he still carried a torch for her, only she didn’t want to know.”
“I don’t think so. This is a kid who left town because Brian and Colin gave him a doing. He doesn’t strike me as the hero who comes back to reclaim his lost love. But, no stone unturned. I’ve got a request in to our brothers in arms down where he lives now. They’re going to go and have a wee chat with him.”
“Aye, right. He’s going to remember where he was on a December night twenty-five years ago.”
Karen sighed. “I know. But at least the guys that interview him will get a sense of whether he’s a likely lad. My money’s still on Malkiewicz working alone or with his pals. Anyway. Enough shop. D’you fancy a last curry before the turkey and sprouts get a grip?”
Mondo jumped to his feet as soon as Alex walked into the conservatory, almost knocking over his glass of red wine. “Alex,” he said, a tinge of nervousness in his voice.
How abruptly we shift back in time when we’re knocked out of our daily lives and into the company of those who make up our past, Alex thought, surprised by the insight. Mondo, he was sure, was assured and competent in his professional life. He had a cultured and sophisticated wife with whom he did cultured and sophisticated things that Alex could only guess at. But confronted by the confidant of his adolescence, Mondo was that nervy teenager again, exuding vulnerability and need. “Hi, Mondo,” Alex said wearily, slumping into the opposite chair and reaching over to pour himself some wine.
“Good flight?” The smile was just on the edge of beseeching.
“No such thing. I made it home in one piece, which is the best you can say about any flight. Lynn’s sorting out the dinner, she’ll be through in a minute.”
“I’m sorry to descend on you this evening, but I had to come through to Fife to see somebody, and then we’re off to France tomorrow and this was the only chance…”
You’re not a bit sorry, Alex thought. You just want to assuage your conscience at my expense. “Pity you didn’t find out about your sister-in-law’s flu a bit sooner. Then you could have come to Seattle with me. Weird was there.” Alex’s voice was matter-of-fact, but he meant his words to sting.
Mondo straightened up in his seat, refusing to meet Alex’s gaze. “I know you think I should have been there, too.”
“I do, actually. Ziggy was one of your best friends for nearly ten years. He put himself out for you. Actually, he put himself out for all of us. I wanted to acknowledge that and I think you should have, too.”
Mondo ran a hand through his hair. It was still luxuriant and curly, though shot with silver now. It gave him the look of an exotic among everyday Scottish manhood. “Whatever. I’m just not good at that sort of thing.”
“You always were the sensitive one.”
Mondo shot him a look of annoyance. “I happen to think that sensitivity is a virtue, not a vice. And I won’t apologize for possessing it.”
“Then you should be sensitive to all the reasons why I’m pissed off with you. OK, I can just about grasp why you avoid us all like we’ve got some contagious disease. You wanted to get as far away as possible from anything and anyone that would remind you of Rosie Duff’s murder and Barney Maclennan’s death. But you should have been there, Mondo. You really should.”
Mondo reached for his glass and clutched it as if it would save him from this awkwardness. “You’re probably right, Alex.”
“So what brings you here now?”
Mondo looked away. “I suppose this review that Fife Police are doing into Rosie Duff’s murder brought a lot of stuff to the surface. I realized I couldn’t just ignore this. I needed to talk to somebody who understood that time. And what Ziggy meant to all of us.” To Alex’s astonishment, Mondo’s eyes were suddenly wet. He blinked furiously, but tears spilled over. He put down his glass and covered his face with his hands.
Then Alex realized that he too wasn’t immune from time travel. He wanted to jump to his feet and pull Mondo into his arms. His friend was shaking with the effort of containing his grief. But he held back, the twinge of old suspicion kicking in.
“I’m sorry, Alex,” Mondo sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Alex said softly.
Mondo looked up, his eyes blurred with tears. “Everything. Everything I did that was wrong or stupid.”
“That doesn’t really narrow it down,” Alex said, his voice gentler than the ironic words.
Mondo flinched, his expression wounded. He had grown accustomed to his imperfections being accepted without comment or criticism. “Mostly, I’m sorry about Barney Maclennan. Did you know his brother is working on the cold case review?”
Alex shook his head. “How would I know that? Come to that, how do you know?”
“He called me up. Wanted to talk about Barney. I hung up on him.” Mondo heaved a huge sigh. “It’s history, you know? OK, I did a stupid thing, but I was only a kid. Christ, if I’d been done for murder, I’d be walking the streets again by now. Why can’t we just be left alone?”
“What do you mean, if you’d been done for murder?” Alex demanded.
Mondo shifted in his chair. “Figure of speech. That’s all.” He drained his glass. “Look, I’d better be off,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll say cheerio to Lynn on the way out.” He pushed past Alex, who stared after him, bemused. Whatever Mondo had come for, it didn’t look like he’d found it.