ACC Lawson pulled the folder across the desk toward him. “I had high hopes of this,” he sighed.
“Me, too, sir,” Karen Pirie admitted. “I know they didn’t pick up any biological samples from the cardigan at the time, but I thought with the sophisticated equipment they’ve got now there might be a trace of something we could use. Semen or blood. But there’s nothing, except those funny drops of paint.”
“Which we knew about at the time. And it didn’t take us any further forward then.” Lawson flipped open the folder dismissively and skimmed the short report. “The problem was that the cardigan wasn’t found with the body. If my memory serves me, it was thrown over the hedge into somebody’s garden?”
Karen nodded. “Number fifteen. They didn’t find it till nearly two weeks had gone past. By which time it had snowed, thawed and rained, which didn’t exactly help. Identified by Rosie Duff’s mother as the one she was wearing when she went out that night. We never did find her handbag or her coat.” She consulted the bulging folder on her lap, flipping through the pages. “A brown below-the-knee swagger coat from C&A with a cream and brown houndstooth-check lining.”
“We never found them because we didn’t know where to look. Because we didn’t know where she was killed. After she left the Lammas Bar, she could have been taken anywhere within, say, an hour’s drive. Over the bridge to Dundee, down through Fife. Anywhere from Kirriemuir to Kirkcaldy. She could have been killed on a boat, in a byre, anywhere. About the only thing we could be reasonably sure of was that she wasn’t killed in the house in Fife Park where Gilbey, Malkiewicz, Kerr and Mackie lived.” Lawson tossed the forensic report back to Karen.
“Just as a matter of interest, sir…were any of the other houses in Fife Park searched?”
Lawson frowned. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“It occurred to me that it happened during the university holidays. A lot of people would have already left for Christmas. There might well have been adjacent houses that were standing empty.”
“They’d have been locked up. We’d have heard about it if anyone on Fife Park had reported a break-in.”
“You know what students are like, sir. In and out of each other’s places. It wouldn’t be hard to come by a key. Besides, the four of them were in their final year. They could easily have kept a key from another house if they’d lived there previously.”
Lawson gave Karen a shrewdly appreciative look. “It’s a pity you weren’t around for the original investigation. I don’t think that line of inquiry was ever pursued. Too late now, of course. So, where are we up to on the exhibits search? Have you not finished it yet?”
“I had some time off over Christmas and New Year,” she said defensively. “But I stayed late and finished it last night.”
“So that’s that, then? The physical evidence relating to Rosie Duff’s murder has disappeared without trace?”
“So it would seem. The last person to access the box was DI Maclennan, a week before he died.”
Lawson bridled. “You’re not suggesting Barney Maclennan removed evidence from a live murder case?”
Karen backtracked hastily. She knew better than to cast aspersions on a fellow officer who had died a hero. “No, that’s not what I meant at all, sir. I just meant that, whatever had happened to Rosie Duff’s clothes, there’s no official paper trail to follow.”
He sighed again. “It likely happened years ago. They’ll have ended up in the bucket. Honest to God, you have to wonder sometimes. Some of the people we get working for us…”
“I suppose the other option is that the DI sent them off for further testing and either they never came back because he wasn’t there to chase it up, or the package disappeared into a black hole because DI Maclennan wasn’t there to take delivery,” Karen suggested cautiously.
“I suppose it’s an outside possibility. But, either way, you’re not going to find them now.” Lawson drummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, that’s that, then. One cold case that’s going to stay in the deep freeze. I’m not looking forward to telling the son, either. He’s been on the phone every other day, asking how we’re doing.”
“I still can’t believe the pathologist missed that she’d given birth,” Karen said.
“At your age, I’d have said the same,” Lawson admitted. “But he was an old man, and old men make stupid mistakes. I know that now, because I feel like I’m heading in that direction myself. You know, I sometimes wonder if this case has been jinxed from the start.”
Karen could sense his disappointment. And she knew how that stung, because it matched her own feelings. “You don’t think it’s worth me having another crack at the witnesses? The four students?”
Lawson grimaced. “You’ll have a job.”
“How do you mean, sir?”
Lawson opened his desk drawer and produced a three-day-old copy of the Scotsman. It was folded open at the death notices. He pushed it toward her, his finger stabbing the newsprint.
KERR, DAVID MCKNIGHT. The death is announced of Dr. David Kerr, of Carden Grove, Bearsden, Glasgow, dearly beloved husband of Hélène, brother of Lynn and son of Adam and Sheila Kerr of Duddingston Drive, Kirkcaldy. The funeral will take place on Thursday at 2 p.m. at Glasgow Crematorium, Western Necropolis, Tresta Road. Family flowers only.
Karen looked up, surprised. “He couldn’t have been more than forty-six, forty-seven? That’s pretty young to be dying.”
“You should pay more attention to the news, Karen. The Glasgow University lecturer stabbed to death in his kitchen by a burglar last Thursday night?”
“That was our David Kerr? The one they called Mondo?”
Lawson nodded. “The crazy diamond himself. I spoke to the DI on the case on Monday. Just to make sure I was right. Apparently, they’re far from convinced by the burglary theory. The wife was playing away.”
Karen pulled a face. “Nasty.”
“Very. So, do you fancy a wee run out to Glasgow this afternoon? I thought we could pay our last respects to one of our suspects.”
“You think the other three will turn up?”
Lawson shrugged. “They were best pals, but that was twenty-five years ago. We’ll just have to see, won’t we? But I don’t think we’ll be conducting any interviews today. Let it lie for a wee while. We don’t want to be accused of insensitivity, do we?”
It was standingroom only at the crematorium. Mondo might have cut himself off from family and old friends, but it looked as if he hadn’t had any problem finding replacements. Alex sat in the front pew, Lynn huddled beside him. Two days out of the hospital, she was still moving like an old woman. He had tried to persuade her to stay at home and rest, but she’d been adamant that she couldn’t miss her only brother’s funeral. Besides, she’d argued, with no baby at home to care for, she would only sit around and brood. Better to be among her family. He didn’t have a line of reasoning to counter that. So she sat, holding her shell-shocked father’s hand to give comfort, the familiar roles of parent and child reversed. Her mother sat beyond them, her face almost invisible behind the folds of a white handkerchief.
Hélène sat further along the pew, head bowed, shoulders hunched. She looked as if she’d closed in on herself, placing an impenetrable barrier between herself and the rest of the world. At least she’d had the good sense not to arrive at the funeral on Jackie’s arm. She shuffled to her feet as the minister announced the final hymn.
The sonorous opening of the Crimond setting of the Twenty-third Psalm brought a lump to Alex’s throat. The singing faltered a little as people found the key, then swelled around him. What a cliché, he thought, hating himself for being moved by the traditional funeral hymn. Ziggy’s service had been so much more honest, so much more a celebration of the man than this cobbling together of superficialities. As far as he knew, Mondo had never been in a church apart from attending the traditional rites of passage. The heavy curtains slid open and the coffin began its final journey.
The strains of the last verse died away as the curtains closed behind the departing coffin. The minister intoned the blessing, then led the way down the central aisle. The family followed, Alex bringing up the rear with Lynn heavy on his arm. Most of the faces were a blur, but, halfway down, Weird’s lanky frame leaped out at him. They acknowledged each other with a brief nod, then Alex was past, heading for the doors. He had his second surprise just as he was leaving. Although he hadn’t see James Lawson in the flesh since everybody called him Jimmy, his face was familiar from the media. Bad taste, Alex thought, taking up his station at the end of the meeting-and-greeting line. Weddings and funerals; both required the same etiquette of thanking people for coming.
It seemed to go on forever. Sheila and Adam Kerr appeared utterly bewildered. It was bad enough having to bury a child so savagely despatched without having to try to take in all these condolences from people they’d never seen before and would never see again. Alex wondered if it comforted them to see how many people had turned up to say their last good-byes. All it did for him was to bring home how much distance had separated him and Mondo in recent years. He knew almost nobody.
Weird had hung back almost to the end. He embraced Lynn gently. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. He shook Alex’s hand, placing his other hand on Alex’s elbow. “I’ll wait outside.” Alex nodded.
At last, the final mourners trickled out. Funny, thought Alex. No Lawson. He must have left by another door. Just as well. He doubted whether he’d have managed to be polite. Alex ushered his in-laws through the subdued crowd to the funeral car. He handed Lynn into her seat, checked everyone else was settled, then said, “I’ll see you back at the hotel. I just need to make sure everything’s sorted here.”
He was ashamed to feel a moment of relief as the car swept off down the drive. He’d left his car here earlier, wanting to make sure he had his own wheels in case anything needed his attention in the immediate aftermath of the service. Deep down, he knew it was because he would want some respite from the suffocating grief of his family.
A hand on his shoulder made him spin round. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, almost laughing with relief as he saw it was Weird.
“Who else were you expecting?”
“Well, Jimmy Lawson was lurking at the back of the crem,” Alex said.
“Jimmy Lawson the cop?”
“Assistant Chief Constable James Lawson, to you,” Alex said, moving away from the main entrance toward the area where flowers were displayed.
“So what was he doing here?”
“Gloating? I don’t know. He’s in charge of the cold case review. Maybe he wanted to check out his prime suspects, see if we were going to get overcome with emotion and fall to our knees and confess.”
Weird pulled a face. “I never liked all that Catholic stuff. We should be adult enough to come to terms with our own guilt. It’s not God’s job to wipe the slate clean so we can go and sin again.” He stopped and turned to face Alex. “I wanted to tell you how pleased I am that Lynn was safely delivered of your baby daughter.”
“Thanks, Tom.” Alex grinned. “See? I remembered.”
“Is the baby still in hospital?”
Alex sighed. “She’s a wee bit jaundiced, so they’re keeping her in for a few days. It’s hard. Especially for Lynn. You go through all that, and you come home empty-handed. And then having to deal with what happened to Mondo…”
“You’ll forget this heartache once you have her home, I promise you. I’ll remember you all in my prayers.”
“Oh well, that’ll make all the difference,” Alex said.
“You’d be surprised.” Weird said, refusing to take offense where none was intended. They walked on, glancing at the floral tributes. One of the mourners came over, asking Alex for directions to the hotel where the buffet was taking place. When he veered back toward Weird, Alex saw his friend crouching over one of the wreaths. Once he was close enough to see what had attracted Weird’s attention, his heart jumped in his chest. It was indistinguishable from the wreath they’d seen in Seattle; a neat, tight circlet of white roses and narrow-leaved rosemary. Weird detached the card and stood up. “The same message,” he said, handing it to Alex. “Rosemary for remembrance.”
Alex felt his skin turn clammy. “I don’t like this.”
“You and me both. This is too much of a coincidence, Alex. Ziggy and Mondo both die in suspicious circumstances…Hell, no, let’s call it what it is. Ziggy and Mondo both get murdered. And the identical wreath turns up at both funerals. With a message that ties all four of us together to the unsolved murder of a girl called Rosemary.”
“That was twenty-five years ago. If anybody was going to take revenge, surely they’d have done it a long time ago?” Alex said, trying to convince himself as much as Weird. “It’s just somebody trying to scare us.”
Weird shook his head. “You’ve had other things on your mind the past few days, but I’ve been thinking about this. Twenty-five years ago, everybody was watching. I haven’t forgotten the time I got done over. I haven’t forgotten the night they dropped Ziggy down the Bottle Dungeon. I haven’t forgotten how Mondo got so wound up he tried to kill himself. The only reason it all stopped was because the cops gave Colin and Brian Duff the hard word. They were put on notice to leave us alone. You’re the one who told me way back then that Jimmy Lawson said they’d only backed off because they didn’t want to give their mother anymore grief. So maybe they decided to wait.”
Alex shook his head. “But twenty-five years? Could you nurse a grudge for twenty-five years?”
“I’m the wrong person to ask that question. But there are plenty of people out there who have not taken Jesus Christ as their savior, and you know as well as I do, Alex, that there is nothing these people are not capable of. We don’t know what’s happened in their lives. Maybe something came up that set all this off again. Maybe their mother died. Maybe the cold case review reminded them they had a score to settle and it was probably safe to do it now. I don’t know. All I do know is that this looks very like somebody’s out to get us. And whoever it is, they’ve got time and resources on their side.” Weird looked around nervously, as if his nemesis might be among the mourners moving toward their cars.
“Now you’re being paranoid.” This was not the aspect of Weird’s youth that Alex wanted to be reminded of right then.
“I don’t think so. I think I’m the one making sense here.”
“So what do you suggest we do about it?”
Weird pulled his coat closely around him. “I plan to get on a plane tomorrow morning and head back to the States. Then I plan to send my wife and kids somewhere safe. There’s plenty of good Christians who live out in the wilds. Nobody’s going to get near them.”
“What about you?” Alex could feel himself becoming infected with Weird’s suspicions.
Weird gave the old, familiar wolfish grin. “I’m going on retreat. Congregations understand that those who minister to them have to go into the wilderness from time to time to reestablish contact with their spirituality. So that’s what I’ll be doing. The great thing about a TV ministry is that you can make a video wherever you happen to be. So my flock won’t forget me while I’m gone.”
“You can’t hide forever, though. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to go home.”
Weird nodded. “I know that. But I’m not going to sit on my hands, Alex. As soon as I get myself and my family out of the firing line, I’m going to hire a private detective and find out just who sent that wreath to Ziggy’s funeral. Because when I know that, I’ll know who I have to look out for.”
Alex exhaled sharply. “You’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you?”
“The more I thought about that first wreath, the more I wondered. And God helps those who help themselves, so I made a plan. Just in case.” Weird put a hand on Alex’s arm. “Alex, I suggest you do the same. You have more than yourself to consider now.” Weird pulled Alex into a hug. “Take care of yourself.”
“Very bloody touching,” a voice said harshly.
Weird pulled away and swung around. At first he couldn’t place the grim-faced man glowering at him and Alex. Then memory erased the years and he was back outside the Lammas Bar, terrified and hurting. “Brian Duff,” Weird breathed.
Alex glanced from one to the other. “This is Rosie’s brother?”
“Aye, that’s right.”
The confused emotions that had been tormenting Alex for days suddenly fused into anger. “Come to gloat, have you?”
“Poetic justice, isn’t that what they call it? One murderous wee shite sees off another one. Aye, I came to gloat.”
Alex lunged forward, stopped short by Weird’s firm grip on his arm. “Leave it, Alex. Brian, none of us harmed a hair on Rosie’s head. I know you need somebody to blame, but it wasn’t one of us. You have to believe that.”
“I don’t have to believe anything of the kind.” He spat on the ground. “I really hoped that the cops were going to nail one of you this time around. Since that’s not going to happen, this is the next best thing.”
“Of course it’s not going to happen. We never touched your sister, and the DNA evidence will prove that,” Alex shouted.
Duff snorted. “What DNA evidence? Those fucking idiots have lost the DNA evidence.”
Alex’s mouth fell open. “What?” he whispered.
“You heard. So you’re still safe from the long arm of the law.” His lip curled in a sneer. “Didnae save your pal, though, did it?” He turned on his heel and strode off without a backward glance.
Weird shook his head slowly. “You believe him?”
“Why would he lie?” Alex sighed. “I really thought we might finally be in the clear, you know? How could they be so incompetent? How could they lose the one bit of evidence that might have put an end to all this shit?” He waved an arm toward the wreath.
“You’re surprised? They hardly covered themselves with glory first time around. Why should this be any different?” Weird tugged at the collar of his coat. “Alex, I’m sorry but I need to head off.” They shook hands. “I’ll be in touch.”
Alex stood rooted to the spot, stunned by the speed at which his world had turned upside down. If Brian Duff was right, was that the reason for those ominous wreaths? And if so, would the nightmare ever end while he and Weird were still alive?
Graham Macfadyen sat in his car and watched. The wreaths had been a master stroke. It paid to make the most of every opportunity. He hadn’t been in Seattle to see the effect of the first one, but there was no question that Mackie and Gilbey had got the message this time. And that meant that there was a message to get. Innocent men wouldn’t have turned a hair at such a reminder.
Seeing their reaction almost made up for the nauseating parade of hypocrisy he’d had to sit through inside the crematorium. It had been obvious that the minister hadn’t known David Kerr in life, so it wasn’t surprising that he had done such a good job of whitewashing him in death. But it made him sick, the way everyone had nodded sagely, accepting the bullshit, their pious expressions acceding to this hypocritical fiction.
He wondered how they’d have looked if he’d walked up to the front of the crematorium and told the truth. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are here today to burn a murderer. This man you thought you knew spent all his adult life lying to you. David Kerr pretended to be an upstanding member of the community. But the reality is that many years ago he took part in the brutal rape and murder of my mother, for which he was never punished. So when you thumb through your memories of him, remember that.” Oh yes, that would have wiped the looks of reverent sorrow from their faces. He almost wished he’d done it.
But that would have been self-indulgence. It wasn’t fitting to gloat. Better to stay in the shadows. Especially since his uncle had turned up out of the blue to make his point for him. He had no idea what Uncle Brian had said to Gilbey and Mackie. But it had rocked the pair of them back on their heels. No chance now of them forgetting what they’d once been part of. They’d be lying awake tonight, wondering when their past was finally going to catch up with them. It was a pleasant thought.
Macfadyen watched Alex Gilbey walk to his car, apparently oblivious to everything around him. “He doesn’t even know I’m on the planet,” he muttered. “But I am, Gilbey. I am.” He started his engine and set off to haunt the fringes of the funeral buffet. It was amazing how easy it was to infiltrate people’s lives.