Costello knocked on Toastie Warburton’s door. She had said that she wanted a word. He had acquiesced.
Now, there was silence for a moment; she could imagine the desk being cleared, monitor screen being put into hibernation, him holding on to the hesitation.
‘Come in.’
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
‘Yes?’ the Detective Chief Superintendent Crime Division asked, failing to hide the hostility from his voice.
Costello stood inside the door, holding the file she had in both hands.
‘What’s that you have there?’ he asked, nodding.
‘Can this be off the record, sir?’
‘I doubt it.’
She placed the file in front of him, sliding it over the clean desktop. She didn’t sit down; she remained standing, arranging her limbs and features into an empathetic posture.
Detective Chief Superintendent Crime Division didn’t open the file but glanced at the date and case number, no doubt recognizing the initials and the handwriting scrawled on the outer cover, still musty and clinging on to its fine film of dirt, even though Costello had wiped it clean many times.
‘My, my, you have been thorough.’ He pushed his chair back from the desk and crossed his legs. ‘I should have put a couple of more incompetent officers on this case. There’s enough of them around.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, sir. That’s all the paperwork that applies directly to this situation.’
He raised his head at the phrase ‘this situation’.
‘DCI Colin Anderson knows and the Chief Fiscal has read the file. They’re the only other people who know the contents. You went to Invernock Primary School. I bet you played on that beach. The dates fit that you would have been there when Ellis Whyte was around, learning how to groom children.’
‘You are correct.’
‘It was later in his paedophile career that he decided he preferred girls to boys. Before that, he would assault anything. You’d be the right age – a wee boy, playing on the beach. There’s a statement in there that I think you may not want others to read. You have a distinctive name.’
Warburton stared at her for a long minute. ‘My mother didn’t realize what was going on. It was only when the later assaults by Ellis Whyte became public that my parents paid attention to what I had said, and while they had reported it, maybe it was not taken as seriously as it should have been.’
‘Ellis Whyte could have been stopped many times, but he never was. So the fiscal knows that you have the file. Clarissa Fettercairn has her story and it’s her story to tell. I was just aware that you may not want your story to be part of that.’
He nodded slowly.
‘Although times have changed and victims do speak out, that must be their choice. I had my past shoved in my face recently. It’s not nice.’
He nodded again. ‘Thank you for your discretion.’
She turned to leave. ‘It’s nothing nowadays, you know – nothing at all.’
‘It was everything to me.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Everything.’
‘Times are different now.’
‘Maybe they are. People are not.’
DCI Colin Anderson and DI Costello got out of the Beamer and by tacit consent began to walk round the cemetery. The case was closed. The air seemed fresher, and they had both had a good night’s sleep. They were back in the Procurator Fiscal’s good books – the entrapment of Veronica had been deemed a success. There was a whole panel of experts queuing up to decide exactly what disorder she had. It was a topic they returned to time after time: what was going on in her mind. They had even sat and watched the films again with hindsight. None of these children had been subject to any abuse from an adult. The real threat had been from someone much closer to their own age.
Watching those films, the kids engaged with Dougie and Eddie more; they were more involved, more fun. Frankie was either with the guys or having a cigarette on his own. There was no real interaction with his own kids, easy to see now they knew what they were looking at. Frankie talked a good game at being a dad.
The lasting relationship, the great friendship, was between the three blokes, the Peacocks. Dark-haired Veronica, a skinny wee thing with eyes so black they seemed bottomless, ran around, twice shouting for her mum’s attention, then for her dad’s, getting neither. She climbed a rock on the beach. It was a big rock and she couldn’t get down. It was Eddie who gave her the round of applause, then came to her rescue. He was the one looking out for her.
‘I was happier thinking that Frankie and Birdie were lovely people and Veronica was born with some kind of personality disorder, but I’m not so sure. No matter what she may or may not have been born with, they didn’t do much to help.’
‘They were both very self-absorbed people.’
‘That’s putting it mildly. How could her mum do that? Run away from her – that lassie needed help and treatment.’
‘And locking up.’
‘Well, she will be now.’
‘Why did she do it?’
‘Finding her dad became her obsession. He had rejected her, more than once. She’d worked out for herself what was going on when her dad stopped coming to visit her at school. But was she ever subjected to abuse? Who knows. I believe that Frankie was on the lookout for a vulnerable girl who was built like Birdie, I’m sure of it. He was after Lizzie. Then Birdie found Maureen. He was lying when he said that the kids never met the babysitter.’
‘They weren’t to know that Veronica was going to stab her, were they?’
‘Did she?’ Costello sulked.
‘She did. She has the scar. Veronica killed both Ben and Andrew. They were her rivals as far as she saw.’
‘There’s too much pre-organization. It was planned.’
‘That doesn’t make sense.’
‘I know, but it feels right. That’s the issue, but it’s not reality. It’s the way Veronica sees reality.’
‘What time did you tell Jackie?’
‘Half past. We have a bit of time yet.’
‘Have you recovered?’
‘Och, yes. I don’t know who I feel more sorry for: Frank for having Veronica as a daughter or Veronica for having Frank as a father.’
‘They both had Birdie. Maybe it’s hereditary – you could ask Lynda whatsit. Her with the degree in scarves.’
‘Or I could pull my eyes out with a fork.’
‘And there’s Betty McGillivery, giving it all up for her son. Well, getting away from Sandy Muir was a no-brainer, but not easy to do in those days.’
‘Not easy to do in any day.’
‘How’s wee Norma?’
‘Still not decided whether to keep her or not.’
‘Yes, you have. You’re keeping her. You don’t talk about your dad much.’
‘There’s not much to say.’
‘Well, serial killer or good at sandcastles? What end of the spectrum was he?’
‘More the sandcastles. We used to build lorries in the sand. He died when I was eighteen. And that was that. He taught me good values.’
‘Yes, he did. My mum taught me to never have kids in case the wee bastards turned out like me.’
‘Good thinking.’
‘And Dukes? Serial killer or sandcastles?’
‘Sandcastles, I think. I suspect he genuinely loved kids. He didn’t do what he did for Frankie or Birdie; he did it for Veronica to give her a chance. And look how she repaid him.’
‘We should have let her loose on Frank. He deserved it. Eddie didn’t tell her where he was, though. How strong that bond was, eh? All that dancing.’ Costello thought for a moment. ‘Do you think it went wrong because they stopped dancing? They had that wee bit of celebrity, then lost it.’
‘Maybe they spent their lives trying to recapture that magic. Here’s Jackie coming. I’m no good with crying women.’
‘You are, actually – one of your few talents.’
‘Oh God, she has another two women with her.’
‘Her daughters, Anderson. They are here to see where their cousin is buried – they have a decorated slate with her name on it. They want to put it on the grave until it all gets sorted. Just make the introductions and leave them to it. They don’t need us. Why did you bring me along, anyway?’
‘They wanted to meet you, to say thank you.’
‘Aye, well, it’s not often that happens in this job. The daughter has been in touch – the one that Maureen had, I mean. She’s been trying to trace her birth mother for years, kept updating her contact details. She’s a granny herself now, so that family has gained a whole new load of relatives.’
‘That’s not going to end well.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Moses didn’t do so bad, did he?’
Her phone went. ‘Excuse me.’ She took the call, falling behind Anderson as he walked up slowly to meet the three women, on their way to the grave marked Marilyn Scanlon but holding the remains of Maureen Laverty.
Costello had a short conversation and then ended the call and jogged to catch up with Anderson.
‘Wee Vera passed away during the night.’
‘Bloody hell. I am so sorry.’
Anderson stood with her for a moment. She was still looking at her phone.
‘The brain bleed was just the start of something. They had told Joanna, but she never told me. If I had known, I’d have gone to see her. I feel like shit now.’ She swore quietly. ‘Be bloody ironic if Joanna inherits the flat after getting ready to sell it out from under her. Where is the justice in that?’
‘Who said there was any justice in any of it?’ Anderson sighed, watching the three women walking slowly up the hill, their arms linked, and allowed himself a wry smile.