Across Glasgow, DS Geddes stood on the pavement at the bottom of High Street, outside the city mortuary, waiting for Constable Lawson to bring Anthony Daly’s sister to identify his body. To his left, the blue face and gold hands of the Tron clock told him it was ten minutes to three in the afternoon. The horrific scene at the bridge felt weeks rather than hours ago. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t over.
Lawson had stayed with Cissie and performed well. Being near somebody who had lost a loved one was difficult but Geddes’ cautionary words to the young policewoman had found their mark. The world could be an ugly place where people did terrible things to other people and to themselves. Learning to detach wasn’t just a question of being professional; it was essential if you were going to survive in the job. On the phone, the officer calmly reported the early stages of grief and agreed to meet the DS at three. Geddes was impressed. Lawson was going to be all right.
In the car, Cissie Daly looked out at Glasgow and saw nothing. She’d stopped crying and sat silently playing with her fingers. The police car turned left at the cathedral, headed down the hill and stopped at the lights on Duke Street. Cissie Daly did her thinking out loud.
‘I’ll have to give his season ticket away.’
She turned to the constable.
‘Do you ever watch football?’
‘Not really.’
‘Don’t you have brothers?’
‘No. Just sisters.’ Lawson had two brothers; both Rangers supporters.
‘So it wouldn’t be any use to you?’
In the circumstances, it was a silly conversation to be having. Cissie was trying to make sense of life without Tony. At the mortuary, the constable helped her out and Geddes joined them.
‘Sorry to ask you to do this today. It won’t take long.’
‘Has to be. Better to get it over with.’
DS Geddes had been to the city mortuary more times than he cared to remember. It wasn’t the way they showed it on television. Nobody would be drawing back a white sheet to reveal the deceased. The viewing room was small, a few chairs in front of a screen set into the wall. Cissie Daly stood between the officers as it flickered and filled with her dead brother’s face. Cissie tensed. For a moment she swayed. The constable laid a steadying hand on her emaciated arm.
‘That’s him. That’s Tony.’
Geddes led them back to the car. ‘Are you up to giving us a statement, Miss Daly?’
Cissie was confused. ‘A statement? What about?’
‘It would help us piece together your brother’s movements prior to his death.’
She hesitated. ‘I suppose so. If you think it’s necessary.’
‘We could go to the station and do it just now. Get you a nice cup of tea.’
Why did everybody keep giving her tea? She wanted to be left alone to come to terms with the fact that Tony wouldn’t be coming home. And to search for the missing Buckfast. Lawson took her to an interview room and waited for the DS to arrive. Geddes began by establishing the background of their relationship before moving on to how the dead man had appeared recently.
‘When did you last see your brother?’
‘Yesterday. He left the house in the afternoon.’
‘Did he say where he was going?’
‘I assumed he was going to the City Chambers.’
‘Was he worried or depressed? How did he seem to you?’
‘No. He was fine. Heard him whistling in the bathroom. Tony always whistled when he shaved. It’s my birthday soon. He told me he was going to surprise me.’
Daly had certainly delivered on that.
‘So he was all right? No health worries? Money worries? Nothing like that?’
‘He was a councillor so we did okay financially. I don’t understand why he would kill himself. He was happy.’
‘Your brother wasn’t married. Did he have a girlfriend?’
She shook her head. ‘He wasn’t interested in women. Not since the divorce.’
‘He was divorced? When?’
‘Twenty years. More.’
‘Any children?’
‘Weren’t together long enough. It was a mistake from the start. I don’t see how this helps.’
‘Was Tony a heavy drinker?’
The vagueness of the response told the DS what he already knew.
‘He liked a drink; he wouldn’t deny it.’
‘We expect the post mortem to show your brother had been drinking heavily at the time of his death. That’s why I asked if he had something on his mind.’
‘He was fine. Just his usual. Easy-going. Playing his music.’
‘What music did he listen to?’
‘Country and Western. Real music, he called it.’
‘Who were his friends?’
Cissie struggled to explain the dynamics of her brother’s life. ‘The council kept him too busy for friends. Sometimes meetings go on to all hours. Tony said it was a young man’s game.’
‘There must have been some. Other councillors?’
‘He was pals with Lachie Thompson. Mentioned him a lot. Apart from that there was nobody. Except me. We looked after each other.’
She spoke to the constable. ‘I’d like to go home now if that’s all right.’
Geddes sympathised. Cissie was holding up well but it wouldn’t last. He’d seen it before – a period of almost unnatural calm then grief arrived like a storm and blew the facade of normality away.
‘Have you someone you could call?’
‘Tony was all I had.’
Geddes didn’t voice what he was thinking. An FLO – Family Liaison Officer – was only assigned when a murder had been committed. DI Barr was convinced Daly killed himself so his sister would have to depend on the kindness of a neighbour. Otherwise she’d be spending the longest night of her life alone.
‘Okay. Give us fifteen minutes to get this typed-up then you can sign it and we’ll organise a car for you. You’ve got my card?’
‘Yes.’
‘You might remember something about Tony. If you do, call me.’
Lawson took the woman’s arm and led her to the door. Cissie straightened her back and held her head high in an effort to salvage some dignity. It was a good try.
The constable said, ‘I’ll wait with her ’til the statement is ready and see her home, if that’s all right, sir. Get her settled.’
DS Geddes nodded and pulled Lawson aside. ‘The wine. Put it back.’
The drive back from the borders was uneventful. Late afternoon. I had the road to myself. On the horizon, dark clouds heavy with more rain scudded towards me. With luck I’d be in Glasgow before they arrived.
Meeting McMillan had been interesting. At one point, the bitterness he had to be feeling came through. Otherwise I’d found him remarkably candid. So far, the people I’d spoken to were either for Gavin Law or against him. McMillan struck me as being neither. Praise and criticism were offered in equal measure: Law was a pretty fair surgeon with a less than wholesome reputation as a womaniser that wasn’t a secret.
Before I left, in almost the same breath, he’d made two suggestions: the rape allegation could be something James Hambley had invented to keep Law from causing trouble for his beloved Francis Fallon. Or, Law was guilty and had gone into hiding leaving the Coopers high and dry.
I liked Colin McMillan though I wouldn’t want to be him. Whatever he told himself, he was drinking too much and, in the rain, on the banks of the Tweed, it was clear the man was dying of loneliness.
My mobile rang and a voice with an accent that wasn’t from north of Hadrian’s Wall said, ‘Charlie?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s Alile. Do you remember me?’
She couldn’t be serious. It wasn’t every day you met a goddess.
‘I’ve been asking people around here about Gavin if you’re still interested.’
In her, yes. In Gavin Law, not so much. This woman from Africa could be a movie star. I pretended my mind was on the case and tried to be cool. ‘Sure. I can use anything you can tell me.’
‘Good. Are you around? I’m finishing at four. Fancy a coffee?’
The clock on the dashboard told me it was three-forty-five. The city was thirty minutes away and rush hour traffic would swallow me up.
‘Great idea. Where do you want to meet?’
‘Was thinking of Sonny and Vito’s in Park Road.’
‘What time?’
‘Four-thirty sound all right?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Okay.’
For the rest of the journey, my foot was hard on the accelerator while my brain processed images of a beautiful Malawian female who wanted to have coffee with me. At ten past the hour, I arrived at Newhouse and joined the motorway and the stream of cars heading into the city. The rainclouds I’d seen in the distance had taken a different direction – the sky was a brilliant blue – and I almost persuaded myself I was going to make it. Then I hit Junction 16 and crawled my way past the Necropolis, the Royal Infirmary and on to Charing Cross, cursing my stupidity.
I could have suggested five o’clock. What difference would it have made? Instead, I’d chosen to make it difficult for myself and race like a madman across the country.
Alile was leaving Sonny and Vito’s just as I turned into Park Road. When she saw me she smiled. ‘They’re throwing me out. They close at five.’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘I am a bit.’
‘There’s an Italian deli on the corner. Want to give it a go?’
‘Why not? I thought you weren’t going to show up.’
‘Traffic.’
Inside Eusebi, a waitress took our coats and gave us menus.
Alile said, ‘What do you recommend?’
‘Everything’s good here. If you like pasta, try the Yesterday’s Lasagna.’
We ordered a bottle of Gran Passione Veneto Rosso to wash it down and launched into conversation that had nothing to do with missing obstetricians and everything to do with chemistry. Alile was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen: her dark eyes looked deep inside me and her smile made me want to kiss her and not stop. Eventually, with most of the red wine gone, the reason for meeting finally got mentioned. Not by me.
Alile ran a finger up and down the stem of her glass. ‘I told you I’d checked Gavin out before I agreed to go with him to his sister’s on Hogmanay. Some of the girls were against it. Said it was a bad idea. He had a reputation for being a bastard with women.’
‘Yes. You thought he was brave because he’d made an official complaint against a colleague.’
‘Did I say that?’ She laughed a laugh that had more than a touch of Gran Passione about it.
‘You did.’
‘Then I suppose I must’ve felt it. But I hadn’t heard about the rape allegation. After you left I asked a couple of nurses. None of them knew what I was talking about.’
‘And what do you take from that?’
She turned her palms towards me. ‘I think it’s strange. You’d have to work in a female environment to get it. Everybody knows or wants to know everybody else’s business.’
‘It isn’t just women who gossip. Men do, too.’
‘But some women are on a mission. Secrets are almost impossible, and a secret like that… With the best will in the world, not a chance. Especially if a doctor was involved.’
‘You’re suggesting what?’
Alile shrugged. ‘It would be a scandal. We’d have newspapers outside the main door and people queuing to sell the story. Even if they don’t know anything they’d make it up because money was involved. That isn’t happening.’
‘So, in your opinion…’
She interrupted me. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Andrew Geddes was reading Cissie Daly’s statement for the second time when DI Barr stuck his head round the door. The inspector flashed a smile which the DS assumed was an attempt at friendly. Geddes didn’t return it.
‘Just staying in touch with the troops. That go okay, did it?’
‘As well as you’d expect. The poor woman’s in shock. Doesn’t know what’s hit her. It’ll be a few days before reality sinks in. Then she’ll go to pieces. Seen it too often.’
‘And – don’t tell me – Anthony was a saint, am I right?’
Barr’s cynicism annoyed his sergeant.
‘Sinner or saint, he was her brother. The only relative she had in the world.’
Empathy wasn’t Adam Barr’s thing.
‘By the smell off him and the look of her I’d say they were boozing buddies. So of course he’ll be missed.’
‘She loved him if that’s what you mean.’
The rebuke bounced off.
‘Wasn’t worried about anything as far as she knew. Can’t believe he’d take his own life. No relationship dramas. No money troubles.’
‘’Course not. He was a councillor. Up to his ears in brown envelopes.’
‘She claims he wasn’t a morbid drunk. Her brother was a happy guy.’
‘Yeah. We saw him. Did he look happy to you? There’s a line when the high becomes a low. Just how low depends on the individual and the amount, and that guy had had a skinful.’
‘His sister knew him better than anybody. She could be well wrong but something about Tony Daly’s death rings false.’
‘Listen, Geddes. Happy people don’t jump off bridges with a rope round their neck. This is simple. Write the report and move on.’
The door closed. The DS stared at it. Somewhere along the line Barr had skipped the class on the importance of considering alternative points of view. His mind was made up and had been from the moment he’d stepped out of the car on the Queen Margaret Bridge. The DI had the confidence of a man who didn’t know what he didn’t know. Barr was on a mission. Unfortunately for Cissie Daly, finding out what had happened to her brother in the early hours of a freezing morning, wasn’t part of it.