Old Sins, page 8
It came back to him with some force when he read a text message asking him to call Hattie Sinclair urgently. He frowned, and rang at once.
‘Hattie? I was going to phone to thank you anyway, but do I gather something’s happened?’
‘You could say that! Last night at around twelve there was this huge bang and then all these flames. I was still up and I ran out and it was Danni Maitland’s car – it had gone on fire and exploded. I ran up there and she was all right – no damage except for cut feet from a broken window. Sean Reynolds arrived just minutes after me and gave us a lift back here. She’s staying with us but all she wants now is to pack up and get out.
‘The thing is, she’s convinced herself that Flora Maitland’s death wasn’t an accident and that this has been an attempt to kill her too. When the police come to inspect the car, she’s going to demand that they reopen that case, but the trouble is they’ve just said there’s no need for them to do anything except record it and the insurance company will do their own investigation, but she’s not satisfied with that. She’s getting more and more frantic about it and she says she’s not leaving until they’ve come and shown they’re taking it seriously. I know this is taking advantage of our friendship, but is there anything you can do?’
‘Good gracious,’ Kelso said blankly. ‘You do live life on the edge out there.’
Hattie groaned. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But my personal problem is that with her in the house, Ran is trying to pressure her to commit to selling to him and went off in a sulk when she wouldn’t. If the police would just come and have a look …’
‘The trouble is, they’re following standard procedure for a car fire where it’s burnt itself out. It happens quite often. But you said it exploded?’
‘Oh yes, this incredible bang! Sounded like a bomb going off. It was just lucky it was well away from the house.’
‘Certainly was. They won’t have detectives based locally – just someone whose remit is basically community policing, but your best bet is to keep up the pressure on him – it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the grease. I’m very doubtful that there’s anything I can do, but I promised Angus I’d have a look at the Maitland file when I got a moment, so I’ll check that out at the same time. Keep me in touch with what’s going on at your end.
‘And thanks for being such a brilliant hostess. Once my aching muscles recover from the unreasonable demands made on them on the way up Suilven I’m sure all that fresh air will have done me good.’
But Strang was in a very thoughtful mood when he put the phone down. It was an odd little story, that. Cars regularly go on fire – electrical faults are the most common explanation, apart from a carelessly extinguished cigarette butt. Car manufacturers know that they do and build in an incredible level of protection around the fuel tank. Cars on fire almost never explode. Not without a lot of help. And knowledge of what to do.
Off the top of his head, he could think of two people who could have an interest in giving Danni Maitland the sort of scare that would change her mind about settling down in Flora Maitland’s cottage and he acknowledged, with a sinking heart, that one of them at least would possess all the knowledge required.
Strang glanced at his watch. It was time for his break and he had a meeting scheduled in the afternoon, but he decided he’d cut lunch. A bit of starvation would do him good after all those lavish meals at Inverbeg.
Hattie Sinclair got up from the table and moved the pan of chicken soup to one side of the Aga hotplate. As Danni was going out, she’d told her they had lunch at half-past twelve but it was one o’clock now and there was still no sign of her.
Ranald had come in as usual, and she’d told him to go ahead while she waited for Danni. He shrugged, had soup and a toasted cheese sandwich, grumbled about some supply problem and then went out again.
At least Hattie wouldn’t have to be on tenterhooks about what he’d say next. He’d certainly been very efficient and helpful this morning: he’d gone up to the house first thing, checked that Angus was going to arrange for a glazier and that there was cardboard in the window meantime, collected the insurance papers, called the company and then even made a follow-up call with the police when Danni insisted on it because, she said hysterically, they wouldn’t listen to her – not that they’d listened to him either, as he’d told her they wouldn’t.
He’d spent quite a bit of time on it, but Ran couldn’t disguise the fact that he didn’t like her and she clearly didn’t like him either. Her offhand ‘Thanks’ when he’d put himself out so much for her riled him; Hattie could see the angry flush rising in his cheeks and with dismay heard him pretty much suggesting that in gratitude she ought to agree to sell the croft to him. While Hattie had given a sort of inane, covering-up laugh and fluttered that of course he was joking, Danni had said nothing, only giving Ran a long, cold, sideways look.
She’d gone out after that. She hadn’t said where she was going and Hattie hadn’t liked to ask. Danni could have been meeting one of her young men, or even both, but she had an uncomfortable feeling that she’d probably gone to see Sean to see how much he’d pay.
So there probably wasn’t any point in waiting. Hattie made a toastie, warmed up the soup again and ladled some into a bowl, then sat back down with two attentive companions, one on each side.
When she’d talked to Kelso on Saturday night, she’d been thinking things could hardly be worse. How wrong she had been! She’d been worried then, but now she was actively scared.
She wasn’t stupid. Both Sean and – oh god! – Ran had wanted to get Danni to leave and last night’s events were going to achieve that. The car fire had actually been more dramatic than dangerous, but you couldn’t be sure – a sudden gust of wind, say, and burning material could land on the roof and set timbers on fire. She didn’t dare to think what she might have found last night if it had.
And now if Danni was being stubborn about not leaving before the police had come, and if even Kelso couldn’t do anything about their stubborn refusal, what would happen now?
There was a gentle nudge on her left knee. There were pleading eyes fixed on her face and tails that had begun to twitch hopefully. The toastie was cooling on her plate and she discovered she wasn’t hungry after all. For form’s sake she scolded Juno for nagging, but then she divided the toastie between them. Ran would have a fit if he knew, but she didn’t care.
This was pointless! After fifteen minutes of trying to trace who was dealing with the vehicle fire at Inverbeg, DCI Strang was no further on. There was no point in asking for a name he could discuss it with since the case had no existence except as a number, logged by a civilian assistant in Glasgow.
He gave up and moved on to see what he could access about Flora Maitland. There had at least been a full enquiry but here, too, it was difficult to get a clear picture: it was a good example of what was wrong with the unitary force that had reduced local CIDs to a bare minimum. There were apparently no suspicious features so it hadn’t come the way of the SRCS and had been treated as a reportable death, like any other accident. There had been no one team specifically allotted to it and there were a number of different detectives involved, none of them based in the area, as far as he could tell. A report had been made to the Procurator Fiscal and the medical officer had been satisfied enough to sign the death certificate. So, NFA – no further action.
The autopsy report was straightforward. Flora Maitland had died from severe trauma to the head; her other injuries were consistent with a fall down a rock face from a height onto a stony shore. She had fallen face first and there was no evidence that suggested any third-party involvement. Strang noted that some fingernails were broken and had traces of earth underneath them, but she could have fallen and tried to get some purchase on the ground to stop herself going over.
The witness statements, too, supported the accident theory. A couple of them stated that Flora had said she wasn’t feeling well; one of them also claimed that she’d quickly swallowed a shot of whisky just before she left in a rush. Others had testified to her presence that night and to her leaving, but with no further detail.
Then there was Angus Mackenzie’s statement – statements, in fact, since after the death certificate had been issued he had returned twice to protest against the case being signed off. All echoed what Angus had said to Strang himself – with one small exception. His third statement mentioned ‘threats’ – unspecified. ‘He was unable to say what these threats to Ms Maitland might have been’ was the next sentence. Reading between the lines Strang guessed that the questioner had decided this was a story calculated to make the police pursue the investigation further and the final judgement had been that there was nothing left to pursue. That could well be true.
Yet he’d seen for himself Angus’s reluctance to provide a motive for Flora’s putative killer and he didn’t believe this had been simply manipulative. It wasn’t only Flora’s general fitness and hard-headedness that had left Angus unconvinced; he knew something about her past that made a deliberate execution at least possible.
Certainly, if you wanted to commit murder without leaving any traces, a fall off a cliff was pretty much ideal. Get your unsuspecting victim over the edge with a sudden push, and there would be nothing that couldn’t be explained by the fall itself.
If there was someone with an obvious motive – the heir, say – any investigation had only their movements to focus on, and even then it would be hard to prove non-accidental death. Danni Maitland hadn’t arrived in Inverbeg until well after her aunt’s death. Angus had mentioned a brother too, but he didn’t seem to have been around either.
Strang couldn’t see grounds for reopening the case, whatever ancient history Angus might be prepared to relate. He didn’t think it was unlikely that Flora had just fallen – she’d mentioned feeling ill and a dizzy turn could be enough to have her staggering off the steep path. He’d liked Angus and admired his determined loyalty, so he would be sorry to disappoint him – and Hattie too, over Danni’s car. Not very impressive for an ‘ever-so senior’ policeman.
He had a fleeting moment of curiosity about what Flora Maitland’s ‘interesting past’ might have comprised and he began a search. According to the Criminal Records Office, she had no previous convictions. No apparent presence on social media – unusual. Very unusual, in this day and age. He frowned – someone deliberately living under the wire? That might be suspicious in itself.
Then he glanced down at the file in front of him. It was headed, in the normal Scottish style, ‘Flora Maitland or Reith,’ with the maiden name first. That was what she had been using, but she’d been married previously, and when he keyed in ‘Flora Reith’ she sprang into immediate, vivid, virtual life.
She’d been a striking-looking woman, quite tall and rangy, and she’d taken a lot of trouble with her appearance. She’d changed her hair, in colour and style, on a regular basis: everything from a flaming auburn crop to black shoulder length with a Cleopatra fringe and eye make-up to match. As she got older, she had settled for a glossy hennaed bob – very chic.
There was no privacy restriction on the Facebook page and it was almost exclusively photos with a brief jokey comment. They had often been taken in a club or restaurant, along with some sun-lounger beach shots, and a bottle or a glass usually featured somewhere. As he flipped back through her postings, he found a few of her with a much younger Danni heavily made up to look as if she was eighteen, rather than the fourteen or fifteen he reckoned she would have been, in venues that obviously hadn’t a very strict age policy.
It certainly squared with what Angus Mackenzie had muttered about her past, but it didn’t so much as hint how the life displayed here had been financed. Kelso had a certain curiosity about that, but he had a lot more immediate demands on his time. The detectives who had investigated Flora’s death had decided to NFA it, and on the face of it he couldn’t see what else they could have done. Sorry, Angus!
As one last gesture – a homage, really, to loyalty – he went back to the records to see if Flora Reith, her alter ego, did have previous. He had barely typed in the name when a notice flashed up. He stared at it blankly.
There was a DCI in the Met urgently requesting information on whereabouts and feeling fairly stunned, Strang picked up his phone.
Life on the edge in Inverbeg, indeed!
CHAPTER SEVEN
She’d struck lucky with her tasks this morning. Unusually, everyone she needed to talk to had been in when DC Murray called and she’d got back to Fettes Avenue early. She reached the CID room before anyone spotted her and, resisting the temptation to join in the general gossip that was as usual going on, she installed herself at the desk in her favourite corner by the window and behind a large filing cabinet, which obscured the view from the door if someone came in looking for a DC with time on their hands.
Murray fetched out the textbook she was working on for retaking the sergeant’s exam and opened it with a sigh, but she didn’t focus on it immediately, just sat looking out of the steamy window at the raindrops running down. It was getting close to crunch time: she had a serious decision to make. She’d told Pete, her almost-boyfriend, that she was going to start working for it again and he hadn’t been impressed. He’d been complaining it was getting in the way of what he wanted to do, even before the exam when she hadn’t actually been studying much at all, and now, though he hadn’t spelt it out in so many words, he didn’t need to.
She had to choose: the relationship or her career. A guy she liked who maybe would work out to be the right guy, or the ambition that had driven her for the last three years? She knew in her heart the decision wasn’t that difficult. She’d had a good time with Pete, but if she was brutally honest she could see it was always all about him, not about her, or even about them. She needed to wave him goodbye and knuckle down to work.
And she could get started right now. With another sigh she started reading the open page that was thick with the yellow highlighting she had made last time. This time she had to remember, not just highlight, and it did seem to be making a bit more sense as she applied herself. She could be making progress at last.
When the door opened, she cowered back in her seat. There were three other detectives in the room to choose from but with dismay and annoyance she heard DI Rachel French saying brusquely, ‘I was wanting DC Murray. Does anyone know where she might be?’
Oh, she bloody would turn up just now! Grinding her teeth, Murray closed the book and stepped forward. ‘Yes, ma’am. I’m here.’
French was looking a little flustered. ‘Oh good. I didn’t realise there was a desk in that corner. Livvy, I’ve got a list of information I need to have tracked down as a matter of urgency. Are you able to get on to it right now?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said stiffly, coming to take the list French was holding.
‘Thanks, Livvy. Type it up and run it off, please. Quick as you can.’ She went out.
The list had been scribbled on a sheet of paper and Murray recognised the DCI’s untidy scrawl. She bit her lip. Surely if Strang wanted her to do something, he could have summoned her direct? He’d always done that before. In SRCS business, he’d relied on her, treated her like his first assistant, not just a dogsbody. It had meant a lot to her that latterly he would take her into his confidence and even wanted to know her opinion, sometimes. She’d worked hard for that trust, felt she’d earned it.
Had French edged her out? When she’d spoken to her on Saturday morning Murray had realised that the two of them had been discussing her. Now, if a big case came up, would he call on French, not her?
Of course he wouldn’t. You wouldn’t need to send out a DCI and a DI on the same case, and she was sure Strang liked being hands-on himself. She was just being paranoid. And anyway, she should get on with working through the list. She’d better not make things worse by failing to get the job done by the time French came back.
Strang had asked for details of Flora Maitland or Reith’s will. No problem there: niece, Danielle Maitland was the sole heir, apart from a couple of minor bequests. The solicitor’s firm was in Lochinver. He’d wanted Flora’s brother’s address too and with Danielle’s cited address being in Glasgow she took a punt on that being her parents’ home so checking out William Maitland was quicker than it might have been.
After that it got more labour-intensive. Transco, an import–export company: check on all board members and employees on the list, and it was quite a large company. They were pretty much clean, apart from a few minor offences, which she duly noted. Directors seemed to major in speeding fines and the odd drink-driving ban.
She was just printing off the information, as requested, when DI French came back. She looked as if she was still on edge.
‘How are you getting on with that, Livvy?’
‘Just finishing up, ma’am.’
‘Excellent. I’ll wait. DCI Strang’s in a hurry for it.’
‘Oh, you’re obviously busy. Don’t worry – I can take it round to him myself.’
French shook her head. ‘I’ll have to discuss it with him, anyway.’ As Murray reluctantly handed over the report, she added, ‘Good work, Livvy. The boss was right when he said you were efficient.’
Patronising cow! Murray gave her a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, then went back to her desk – no longer a safe haven, now French knew about it. It had been her own little secret for years but that would be the inspector’s first port of call if she suspected Murray was skiving. She was muttering sweary words under her breath as she propped her head on her hands and tried to concentrate on her studying.
DCI Strang had arranged for DI French to fill in at his afternoon meeting and told her what had happened and what he was planning to do. ‘I’m going to ask JB if you can cover for SRCS if there’s an emergency. I’ll only be away for a couple of days. All right?’
