A fair-haired constable took an initial statement from me in a police car outside. I’d give a fuller account of what had gone on tomorrow. For now, the Maitland house was a crime scene. I was numb with shock so they let me go. Being alone tonight was a bleak and unappealing prospect. Too many pictures in my head. I almost called Alile, then, with the mobile ringing in my palm, changed my mind. That would be using her. In the end I drove home and poured myself a large one. Around eleven o’clock I had an unexpected visitor.
Andrew Geddes stood in the doorway; he looked tired. ‘Thought you might appreciate company.’
‘Good thought. I think.’
I got him a whisky. He handed it back.
‘If you’re worried about my licence, Charlie, forget it. Got a taxi, so stop pissing about and give me a real measure, will you?’
I topped mine up, too.
‘Barr showed up at the cow’s tail. Always at the front of the queue when they’re dishing out prizes.’
‘Success has many fathers.’
‘And failure is an orphan. Too true, Charlie.’
‘Imagine he’s pleased.’
Geddes gulped his drink; he was in the mood for a session. ‘Pleased as fucking punch. Can’t be sure about Margaret Cooper ’till the autopsy comes back but it looks like she’d been smothered. That would make three murders and a suicide thrown in. All nice and neat. Lovely stuff. Just the kind of police work Barr revels in.’
‘The easy kind.’
‘For him, the only kind.’
He sat forward, warming to his new hobby of bad-mouthing his superior officer, who by the sound of him, thoroughly deserved it
‘Don’t expect credit. Won’t happen.’
From where I was there wasn’t much to take credit for. Nobody had survived.
‘You mentioned three murders. You mean two, don’t you?’
Geddes smiled. He had news and he wasn’t in a rush to tell it. ‘No, I said three and I meant three.’
‘Margaret Cooper, Wallace Maitland and…’
He emptied his drink, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and dangled the glass in mid-air. ‘Stick another one in that for an old friend.’
I ignored him. ‘And who else?’
Andrew got out of the armchair and organised a refill. His I-know-something-you-don’t-know expression told me he was enjoying this. ‘Gavin Law.’
‘Law? Cooper killed Law? That doesn’t make sense. He was going to testify for the Coopers. Their star witness. Without him, their case collapsed.’
‘Not Cooper…Maitland.’
‘What? When?’
‘Hogmanay.’
He’d lost me.
‘Mrs Maitland was visiting her sister when we finally tracked her down. Devastated of course. Between them we pieced it together. Maitland showed up at Hambley’s in the early hours of New Year’s Day, incoherent and covered in blood. The next morning, he couldn’t remember where he’d been, or what he’d done.’
‘A couple of million people were in the same boat.’
‘There’s more. His own wife says he was convinced he’d killed Law.’
‘Why would he?’
‘Because Law put in a formal complaint against him and was ready to testify he’d made a pig’s ear of Margaret Cooper’s operation. His reputation would be ruined. Might even be struck off. Hambley confirmed his brother-in-law was in a terrible state. He’d been drinking heavily, was very confused, and looked like he’d been involved in a car crash.’
Andrew caught the scepticism in my eyes.
‘Law spoke to his sister on Hogmanay, then he disappeared. We think Wallace Maitland killed him sometime later that night.’
‘We? Is this Barr’s theory or yours?’
Andrew bristled. ‘A missing person and a guy with blood on him who thinks he killed somebody? Not such a stretch.’
I disagreed. ‘How do you explain the credit card withdrawals?’
Geddes shrugged. ‘A party animal comes across Law’s wallet and the year’s off to a great start. Oh happy day.’
‘Cash was taken out in London. Explain that?’
‘Simple: a wee holiday before they get cold feet and stop using them.’
It wasn’t enough.
‘Where’s the body?’
‘It’ll turn up. Barr’s over the moon. Loves nothing better than a result that doesn’t get in the way of counting the paper clips.’
‘Have you spoken to Caroline Law?’
‘Not yet. We’ll interview Shona Maitland and the Hambleys again tomorrow and see where we are.’
Geddes went quiet and played with his glass; he’d expected a different reaction. I hadn’t bought into his version of events. He made one last attempt to persuade me.
‘You’re a great investigator yet you haven’t come close to finding Law. Doesn’t that tell you something?’
I shook my head. ‘Killing in a blackout, sure. Happens every day of the week. But a drunk man hiding the body? Not for me. You didn’t believe Tony Daly was capable of hanging himself, what’s different with this?’
‘This one confessed to his wife.’
‘Confessed, or couldn’t remember?’
Andrew finished his drink; the session hadn’t materialised. He stood, and buttoned his coat. ‘There are loose ends. I don’t deny it. But when everybody dies what else can you expect? We may never know the whole story.’
I threw him a bone. ‘Three out of four isn’t bad.’
He put a friendly hand on my shoulder. ‘And to answer your question: it’s Barr’s theory. Racing to conclusions – his trademark. Ten minutes in the door and the case is solved.’
‘You were testing me?’
He grinned. ‘Yep.’
‘So how did I do?’
‘Like you usually do, Charlie. You passed. It’s bullshit.’
Weak sunshine on the road to Peebles seemed almost tropical compared with the weather of late. A long way to go to have lunch with a man I barely knew, but after the hellish scene with David Cooper and Wallace Maitland, the city felt oppressive; escaping it wasn’t unwelcome and I did my best to enjoy the trip.
At Neidpath Castle, I got out on the high ground and studied what remained of the ruined tower house close to the River Tweed, imagining what living here must have been like. The sun chose that moment to dip behind a cloud and brought the obvious conclusion. Bloody cold. I got back in the car and drove on.
Sometime today, the police would give Caroline Law the news about her brother and she’d been right about something bad having happened to him. I’d have to speak to her as well and wasn’t looking forward to it. What I had to say wouldn’t match. She’d be in enough pain without me raising a question mark against the official version, flimsy though it was. Andrew had floated his DI’s flawed reasoning and got the reaction he was looking for. Yet, something he’d said rang true – we might never know the whole story. Both of my cases had run into a dead end. Caroline and Cissie Daly were going to be disappointed women; there were a lot of them about. Alile had been gracious and understanding about Kate Calder, more than could be said for me. I was all over the place.
I arrived in Peebles after two o’clock to find Colin McMillan waiting where I’d parked on my previous visit to the town, still wearing his expensive coat. When I turned down Port Brae to Tweed Green he waved. In the car, I followed his directions and drove up Main Street, past the Tontine hotel. McMillan seemed in good form for a guy whose whole life had gone down the toilet.
‘At least it isn’t raining.’
‘There’s always that though it’s cold. I stopped at Neidpath Castle for five minutes and nearly froze.’
He laughed. ‘Tell you about the castle later. Remind me.’
‘Another ghost story?’
‘’Fraid so.’
‘You should write a book.’
He let the idea settle. ‘Maybe I will. Take the Innerleithen Road. I’m about half a mile away. Is pasta okay? Thought I’d keep it simple since I’m out of practise. Or we can always go somewhere. I won’t be offended.’
‘No need, pasta’s fine.’
A couple of hundred yards further on, we stopped at a cottage set back from the road. It was old and uncared for.
McMillan read my mind and explained. ‘This was my mother’s house. Considered selling it after she died. Glad now I didn’t. Doesn’t feel like home, but then, nowhere does.’
He led us inside, took my coat, and hung it up behind the door. In the lounge, the remains of a wood fire burned in a hearth that had probably been new in 1935 and filled the room with smoky air that caught the back of my throat. Noises from the kitchen told me my host had already started on our meal.
He shouted to me with forced joviality, like someone not used to having company who was trying too hard. ‘Got the water on. Won’t be too long.’
‘No rush.’
‘And sit down for God’s sake.’
I didn’t sit down. I wandered round, taking in my surroundings. A cottage in the country sounds romantic; this was anything but. The low ceiling made a small room smaller, and I guessed the heavy furniture, set against the white-washed walls, had belonged to McMillan’s mother. It reminded me of old times and hard times. There was no television, stereo, PC or magazines. Nothing of him.
How did he spend his time? What did he do at night?
On an ugly chest of drawers that might have pre-dated the First World War, a photograph of a blonde woman holding an infant lay beside the envelope it had come in. The woman was kissing the child’s forehead. Underneath the inscription written in an assured hand read “One year on and going strong. Thanks to you.”
McMillan came in and saw me studying the picture.
‘Not bad, eh? Another satisfied customer. Only thing I miss about it.’
He knelt down and added wood to the fire from a wicker basket, grinning.
‘These old places don’t hold the heat. No joke this time of year I can tell you.’
‘Can imagine.’
‘What’ll it be?’
‘I’m good. And I’m driving.’
‘Don’t mind if the chef indulges himself, do you?’
‘Not at all.’
He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a whisky the size of three pub measures; the obstetrician wore it well but he was still drinking heavily. We sat by the fire watching tongues of new-born flames devour the logs, not speaking, until McMillan broke the spell.
‘Any luck with Gavin Law?’
‘As a matter of fact there is.’
‘You’ve found him?’
I told him about the night before and he listened in silence. When I reached the end he poured himself another drink. The story affected him; the hand holding the drink shook though his voice was steady.
‘Sorry, Charlie, don’t believe it. I knew Maitland – not well – though I knew him. His incompetence might have hurt people, but he wouldn’t kill anybody.’
‘How can you be sure? Law had him in a corner. He must’ve hated him.’
‘Even so, it doesn’t compare with David Cooper. His wife had been taken from him. Over the years, Maitland’s done well enough financially. Being forced to retire early isn’t the worst thing in the world.’
He sipped his drink and got up to set the table. Out of the blue he said, ‘So what did he do with the body?’
I gave him the answer Andrew had given me. ‘It’ll turn up.’
McMillan was smart; smarter than DI Adam Barr – how hard was that? ‘Hasn’t so far. Shouldn’t that concern the police?’
Not when closing a file was more important than the truth. His voice reached me from the kitchen. ‘Hope you’ve brought your appetite with you.’
A minute later, he appeared holding two plates of spaghetti.
‘Careful, it’s hot.’
He opened a bottle of red wine and offered me a glass. I refused.
‘Sure? Just one? All right. More for me.’
The pasta was cooked to perfection and the meat sauce hadn’t come from a jar.
‘Don’t stand on ceremony. Dig in.’
McMillan spoke through a mouthful of Bolognese. ‘What happened to the rape allegation Law was so worried about when he spoke to me?’
Good question.
‘The woman won’t come forward. So Hambley says.’
McMillan paused. ‘I wonder if there ever was an allegation. Wouldn’t be surprised if he invented it to shut Law up. He’d realise no hospital would employ an obstetrician without a reference. Believe me, I know.’
He changed the subject.
‘I’ve decided to go away for a while. Take a villa for six months and live like the locals then move on to somewhere else.’
‘Where?’
‘Haven’t decided. The Greek islands. The South of France. Sit in the sun and watch my lemons grow.’
‘Nice idea. Won’t you get bored?’
He smiled across the table. ‘I expect I will.’
‘When are you leaving?’
‘Soon. I’m done with Scotland. Glasgow especially. Won’t be going back there. The agent can sell the house and everything in it for all I care.’
Colin McMillan sounded low. The adventure he was describing didn’t excite him as much as he made out. His eyes were hooded and his cheeks were flushed, and in the firelight, he looked old and unhappy. He refilled his glass, missing me out. He hadn’t been joking about more for him.
‘So I suppose what I’m saying is, this is goodbye.’
‘Drop me a postcard from the Promenade des Anglais, or wherever.’
‘I will. And don’t stop searching for Law. The answer is probably staring you in the face. All you have to do is see it.’
At the door, he said, ‘You’re a smart guy, Charlie. I like you.’
‘I didn’t hear the ghost story. Neidpath Castle, remember?’
‘What? Oh, yes. Some other time. Take care of yourself.’
On the drive back to the city, it started to snow. Night closed in and although it was only five-thirty, it could have been ten o’clock. At one point, it was coming down so fast the wipers struggled to clear the windscreen, and I was glad I’d left the drinking to him. Colin McMillan was decent company but he was heading for trouble. The shaking revealed how much booze he was getting through. A new beginning took courage. McMillan could be going through the motions, making a geographical change, or he might be opening himself to the future.
I wished him well.
At a BP station in Biggar, I stopped, still thinking about the obstetrician and what he’d been through. I’d been through some stuff, too: from discovering Margaret Cooper dead in her wheelchair to standing helpless while her husband executed Maitland and turned the knife on himself. And I hadn’t once thought of Kate Calder.
My text was short, two words: it’s over.
Alile’s reply matched it: I’m at home.
I got into the car, turned off the forecourt, and put my foot on the gas.
The door opened before I reached it and Alile stood with light at her back. There were no words. We tore each other’s clothes away until we were naked and fell against the wall. She buried her face in my shoulder, crying and moaning before she climaxed. I carried her upstairs and in her bed, we finished what we’d started. Slowly and deliberately this time, but we finished it.