42

'Christ. Of course,' McKay exclaimed as they pulled into the roadside in one of the leafier quarters of Inverness.

'You just got religion, Alec?' Helena Grant asked. 'About time.'

'I'm been trying to think why the Baillie brothers rang a bell,' he said. 'I knew I'd heard it somewhere recently.'

'Go on.'

'They're the owners of the bloody comedy club. The bar where Jimmy McGuire performed before he was killed. I checked out the ownership at the time.'

'Interesting coincidence.'

'Isn't it? Wonder whether Mr McGuire was acquainted with the Baillie brothers.'

'The other question,' Grant said, 'is whether Elizabeth Hamilton was acquainted with the Baillie brothers.'

'Aye, that'll be an interesting one. Any word from Ginny yet?'

'Not so far. I'm guessing it'll take time even for Ginny to prise any information out of that bunch.'

They climbed out of the car and stood for a moment gazing at the house, a detached villa in one of Inverness's more desirable suburbs. The river was close by and the neighbourhood seemed eerily quiet for somewhere so close to the city centre. The house was set in a decent sized garden, thick with mature trees. The ground was a tapestry of green shade and golden sunlight.

'Nice looking place,' Grant commented.

'People with a few quid to spare.' McKay looked around him. 'Hamilton's father's place was around here somewhere too, wasn't it?'

'Just along from here, aye.'

'Another coincidence.'

'This is where the well heeled tend to end up in this town,' Grant said.

'Fair point.' The drive was blocked by marked patrol cars, blue lights still pulsing. 'See the uniforms have done their best to keep it discreet,' McKay commented.

They'd been told the bodies had been discovered at the rear of the house. Horton and McKay followed a path that led round the side of the building, and found themselves in a large rear garden. A woman with bright blonde hair was sitting at a picnic table, sobbing, apparently uncontrollably, comforted by a female uniformed officer. Three more uniformed officers were milling about on the lawn, clearly unsure of their role. There was no real need to protect the crime scene, except perhaps from nosy neighbours, and little more that could be done pending the arrival of the examiners.

The nearest of the uniforms had glanced up as McKay and Horton turned the corner, poised to challenge their presence. But Grant was already brandishing her warrant card. 'Afternoon, Charlie.'

The PC in question, Charlie Keen was familiar to Grant from previous enquiries. She'd always found him helpful and co-operative, which was not something she could say for all his colleagues. He walked forward to meet them, gesturing discreetly towards the blonde woman. 'That's the wife. She's in a bit of a state. She was the one who stumbled across the bodies.'

McKay looked around. 'Where are they? You've not touched them?'

Muir emitted a derisive snort. 'We're not all utter numpties, you know. They’re over the wee hill there. Nobody's been near them since they were found.'

'Did the wife disturb the scene at all?'

'She's not really been in a state to ask, but I doubt it. She got close enough to confirm the identities but that was about it, as far as I can tell.'

'She's sure it’s her husband and his brother?'

'Seems to be. As I say, difficult to be entirely certain as she's been like that since we arrived.'

---

Muir led the way up the gentle slope of the lawn. When they reached the point where the garden dropped down towards the far boundary, he stopped and gestured. 'There.'

Grant nodded and turned to McKay. 'Shall we try to have a word with the grieving widow?'

'She seems to be doing a fair bit of grieving. Almost too much, you might say.'

'You might. But you've said it yourself many times, Alec. You can't judge anything from the way people respond to these kind of events.'

'I know. It sends the copper's instincts buzzing, that's all.'

They walked back down the lawn and approached the woman sitting at the table. 'Mrs Baillie?'

She looked up and stared at them with tear-reddened eyes. 'Aye?'

'DCI Grant and DI McKay,' Grant said. 'Do you feel up to talking to us for a few minutes?'

'I suppose.'

'We just need a few words for the moment, Mrs Baillie. Just to understand what's going on–'

'I've no idea what the fuck's going on,' Baillie snapped. 'Who'd want to do that to poor Tommy. And Colin. Someone's going to have to tell his wife too. Poor Rona…' The tears had returned and she collapsed back into silence.

'We'll deal with all that, Mrs Baillie. We'll get the contact details from you and arrange for someone to break the news.' Grant paused, wondering how far it would be possible to take this. 'Can you tell us when you found your husband, Mrs Baillie?'

'I don't know. I mean, I called you pretty much straightaway. Half an hour ago?'

'You'd been out of the house?'

'I'd been away. Tenerife. With a girlfriend. For the last week. We flew back separately though, to Gatwick together but she was going to visit some friends in London, so I flew back up here by myself–' She stopped, as if unsure why she was telling Grant so much. 'I was expecting Tom to meet me at the airport. But he didn't, so I got a taxi. I thought he'd…'

'What did you think, Mrs Baillie?'

There was silence for a moment. 'I thought he'd forgotten. I tried to phone him, but it just went to voicemail. So I thought maybe he'd had to go into the office for some reason or, I don't know…'

Grant exchanged a glance with McKay. 'What does your husband do, Mrs Baillie?'

'He's a company director. They both are. Tom and Col. They own various bars around the city. But they've stepped back from the business a bit in the last year or so, so he's often around the house.'

'Would you have expected your brother-in-law to be here?' Grant asked. 'I mean, did he visit often?'

Baillie seemed taken aback by the question. 'Not really. I mean, we occasionally have them over for supper, but not often. Tom reckoned he and Col spent enough time in each other's pockets at work as it was, so we tended to do our own things outside that. He hardly ever came over apart from that. If they had a business matter to discuss, they'd do it in the office. Tom liked to keep work and home separate as much as he could.'

Grant nodded. 'I don't like to push you on this, Mrs Baillie, so don't feel that you need to answer. But you're sure it is your brother-in-law?'

Baillie blinked but answered immediately. 'It's definitely him. He was the one I checked first. He was rolled against the fence but I could see his face quite clearly. For a moment, I'd thought it was Tommy, then I realised it wasn't. It was Col. There was dried blood all round his neck. Then I knew the other one must be Tommy…'

The tears were returning but Grant felt she had to continue with the question. 'And you're sure it's your husband there, too?'

'Aye, it's Tommy right enough…' She was sobbing again deeply.

Grant gestured to the female PC who had been standing a discreet few metres away. 'Thank you, Mrs Baillie. I'm sorry we had to trouble you with these questions. We needed to be certain of the situation. We'll leave you be for the moment. Is there someone we can contact to be with you? A family member or a friend?'

There was no immediate answer. As Grant and McKay rose, the PC took Grant's place. 'I'll find someone,' she said. 'Leave it with me.'

Grant nodded her thanks and led McKay to the far end of the decking. 'What do you think?'

'Question is why were both brothers here,' McKay said. 'And I know you can never fathom other people's marriages – Christ, I can't even fathom my own – but I got the impression that maybe the Baillies might have been a little semi-detached.'

'The solo holiday, you mean? Not that unusual, especially with business types who can't get time off together.'

'Baillie wasn't exactly a pub landlord. He could presumably take time off when he wanted. But it wasn't just that. It was the way she talked about him not meeting her at the airport. That she thought he might have forgotten. You don't forget that your wife is coming back from holiday.'

'You don't have a memory like mine,' Grant said. 'But point taken.'

'Maybe I'm adding two and two and making who knows what, but I had a sense Baillie might have been engaged in extracurricular activity. Maybe his wife wasn't necessarily the first thing on his mind.'

'An affair?'

'Something worth looking into. Something to push his wife on, maybe, when she's in a state to be pushed.'

'She said there was blood around the brother's neck.'

'Looks like we have another garrotting special then. Which suggests a link with McGuire, Young and Dingwall.'

'Which in turn puts Elizabeth Hamilton firmly in the frame. At least until we have reason to think otherwise. Speaking of which…' Grant pulled her mobile from her pocket and glanced at the screen. 'I felt it buzzing while we were talking to Baillie. Ginny.' She thumbed the call back button. 'Any luck?' There was silence as she listened to what Horton had to say. 'That sounds straightforward. Are you heading up there? If so, stop when you get to Culbokie. There's a car park by the village shop. Pull in there and wait for us. We don't know if Hamilton's potentially dangerous.' She felt the phone buzz in her hand. 'Hang on, Ginny. I've another call coming in. Stay there while I take it in case it's relevant.' There was almost always a moment like this, Grant thought. The point where the enquiry takes off and everything happens at once. She switched calls and spoke. 'Grant. Yes. Oh, for Christ's sake. When was it called in? Don't let anyone go up there, uniform or plain clothes, until you've heard from me. No, I'll sort that with the powers that be. I'm heading back to HQ. We'll regroup there and decide next steps.' She flicked back to Ginny Horton. 'Ginny. Change of plan. Don't go to Culbokie. Head back to HQ. New developments. We're not going into this without backup. See you in my office.'

She ended the call. McKay was regarding her quizzically. 'New developments?'

'Aye. Just the sort we don't need.'

'Another body?'

'You fucking psychic or something? Aye, another body. And Ginny's found out where Elizabeth Hamilton's staying. So, Mr Mentalist, have a wild stab at guessing where this new body's been found.'