Authors: Caro Ramsay
There was very little noise in the place; even the radio in the corner of the kitchen was silent. There were no shuffles or whispers of anybody else in the building, just a resonance of emptiness. Costello looked up into the high ceilings and the dark wooden beams. It was a church and always would be. Outside she could hear the noise of workmen, somebody sawing wood.
Costello knocked gently on the open door. Leeza turned and looked through her with jumpy eyes. ‘Oh, hello. Come in, if you have to.’
Despite the unwelcoming words, Costello sensed relief. ‘I’m DS Costello. I see you’re busy.’ She wasn’t shaking hands with those gloves. ‘You look shattered.’ Costello said, aware she had to build a bridge here. ‘Why don’t I make you a cuppa?’
‘That’s a first. Thanks.’ Leeza turned away and began to attack the plughole of the larger stainless-steel sink with more venom than it warranted. ‘I’m sorry, but I’d best get on with this while I’m protected.’ She picked up a bottle of bleach and stood well back, aiming the bottle and squirting hard.
Costello picked up two cups, taking a good look at the knife cabinet. No empty spaces.
Leeza smiled at Costello, ignoring Mulholland, who was hanging round the door, and spread the cloth across the taps to dry. She indicated that Costello should refill the kettle, and then began the slow and noisy process of pulling the gloves from her fingers, prising them from her hands without bare skin touching rubber.
Mulholland moved so that he could lean back against the worktop. Out of the corner of her eyes, Costello saw him pick up a clean mug and peer into the bottom of it, rolling it round, scrutinizing it for dirt.
Costello waited for the kettle to boil. ‘It’s not you we want to talk to, actually, Leeza. Is Father O’Keefe about?’
‘No, he left a message on the answering machine. Won’t be in till later. He had a hard night.’
‘What about Mr Leask – is he here?’
Leeza walked back over to the cupboard and lifted out a jar of Nescafe marked ‘For Staff Use Only’ and a bag of Tetley’s. She said, ‘No. He’s up in Ballachulish; he goes up sometimes on a Thursday, birdwatching or something. He’s very into birds and photography.’
Was he up there last Friday?’
‘No, he was back here. He often goes up just for the one day. You’d think he’d go for the whole weekend. But he had business to attend to, I think. I hope he gets a decent break this time. All this has been getting to him.’
‘When did Mr Leask go north this time?’ Costello asked casually, appearing to concentrate on making the tea.
‘Early hours of this morning.’
Mulholland scrawled a quick note to check the timing – those roads, in this weather, how long would it take?
‘He’s already phoned in.’
‘Really?’
‘He mentioned he’d seen that piece in the papers, about DCI McAlpine. He sounded concerned. How is she? His wife?’
‘As well as you’d expect.’
‘Bet you that was a bit of a shocker. You never expect it to hit so close to home.’
‘Suppose so,’ Costello said. ‘And Mr Leask was concerned, was he?’
‘Of course he was. He thinks a lot of your DCI, and George Leask is not an easy man to impress.’ Leeza was aware of the disbelieving looks from the two detectives. ‘I’m not making it up, you know.’ She rubbed a persistent drop of water from her nose.
Costello gestured that Mulholland should leave them alone for a couple of minutes. ‘Have a seat and enjoy your coffee, Leeza; you’re knackered.’
Leeza sat down a little uncertainly, cradling the mug in both hands as if she was cold.
‘Take the weight off your feet and relax, the place is deserted.’
Leeza sighed deeply and dropped her head into her hands, tears not far away. ‘You know, sometimes I think George is the only one who ever notices me around here. Tom is so busy and full of good intentions… to everybody else. But just because I’m a volunteer I’m supposed to take –’
‘All the shit of the day?’ offered Costello. Leeza nodded and took a mouthful of hot coffee. ‘You’re not alone in that. So, does George talk to you a fair bit? I just wonder how he reconciles his faith with a place like this? How does Tom, for that matter?’ Costello swirled her coffee but didn’t sip from the cup.
‘Tom takes the Good Samaritan view, but he likes the publicity, he likes the kudos it gives him.’
‘And George?’
‘Different kettle of fish altogether. A lovely man, kind of quiet. He was a bit lost when he came down here. Just sold the family farm – his brother had died – and he needed to confront his issues head on. It’s very easy to have his faith in a wee place like Back. Bit different when confronted with the big city. George said DCI McAlpine has his burdens as well – his very words – and that he’d a great weight on his shoulders.’ Leeza waved her hands indecisively. ‘With – you know – this case. He thought your boss was under enough stress without that as well. What with his recent loss – ’
Costello took a deep breath and frowned. Leeza picked up a mug and stood up to shout out of the window. ‘Do you want a cuppa?’
The noise of sawing stopped, and a voice answered indistinctly.
‘Who’s that?’ Costello inquired.
‘The joiner. He’s fixing a window; we got a brick through it last night.’ Leeza squeezed the used tea bag with a spoon and dropped it carefully into the clean mug. ‘Could you take this out to him? It’ll stink of bleach if I touch it.’
Costello took the mug but didn’t move. ‘Who has DCI McAlpine lost recently?’ she asked innocently. ‘You said
his recent loss.?
Leeza looked confused. ‘Did his brother not die recently?’
‘Only recently in terms of Ice Ages; it was twenty years ago. More.’
‘Maybe I misunderstood. I know Alasdair – that’s George’s brother – died recently, but from the way George was talking I just presumed…’ Leeza looked very sheepish. She scratched at the piercing in her eyebrow and sat down.
‘Easy to get the wrong end of the stick.’ The Phoenix was suddenly very quiet. Costello watched the dust motes dance lazily in the still air. ‘Talking of getting the wrong end of the stick, could you help us out with George’s brother? What’s his name again – Alistair?’
‘Alasdair… with a
d.’
Leeza twiddled the ring in her eyebrow. ‘There’s not much to tell; it’s a straightforward enough story, from what George says. He moved down here, met a girl, was totally besotted with her. Between you and me I think she was leading him up the garden path. He was naive, and the Leasks are not poor.’
‘I get your drift.’
‘Then she leaves him, he was heart-broken.’ Leeza pulled at the ring, raising the skin underneath to a point. ‘No more to it than that. I think Alasdair must have been a bit doolally beforehand, but you can’t say that to George, can you? Most men would get drunk for a week, but Alasdair killed himself. Poor man.’
‘How did he –?’
‘I think he hanged himself, but I’m not sure.’
‘What about her? What did she do for a living?’ asked Costello.
‘No idea, nothing much, I think. She just up and offed, left him shattered.’ Leeza bit her bottom lip and sighed. ‘It’s strange, but when you think about it, that’s how a lot of men get here.’
‘At the Phoenix?’
‘Yeah, wife leaves, they lose their anchor and start to drift. No reason to go to work, no reason to get up in the morning.’
‘So much worse if the wife takes the kids; seen that often enough.’
‘Yeah, it’s the kids that tear blokes apart.’ Leeza nodded at the cooling mug. ‘But time moves on. And this tea’s getting cold. Can you take that out to Sean?’
Costello’s heart was in her mouth as she rounded the corner, following the noise of tuneful whistling and the gentle click of metal against wood. She found Sean McTiernan sitting on a wall and stopped dead in her tracks, hearing the door slam shut behind her.
His appearance surprised her. He looked much younger than twenty-five, younger even than the photograph in his file. Fresh air suited him. Lean, fair-haired, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt washed to a faded blue, he was sitting on a low wall that banked up the narrow garden running the length of the church. He wouldn’t have looked out of place on Bondi Beach. Beside him, stacked against the sandstone, were metal grilles taken from the high windows. He was whittling at a long thin piece of wood, shaping it to fit, his eyes slightly screwed in concentration, and whistling the ‘Skye Boat Song’ so well that even Costello recognized it. She stood for a moment watching the strong brown hands cut and carve the wood, powerful, talented fingers that stopped every now and then, the thumb feeling the depth of every cut made by the sharp single blade.
Confident and skilful use of a knife.
Anderson felt he was getting somewhere, if slowly. Sarah at the Parks and Recreation Department had got quite excited.
She’d never spoken to the police before, but it made a nice change from Americans phoning up asking, ‘Do you have any McKenzies buried there?’
There
meaning Scotland.
Anderson told her, ‘I can be more specific than that.’ He heard Sarah tap away at a keyboard, and in a few minutes she came up with three names, though she had great trouble pronouncing the third. ‘Just spell it for me, love,’ Anderson said. ‘And can you give me the number of your office in North Ayrshire?’
DS Costello pulled her ID from her pocket, flicking it open at shoulder level with arm outstretched, frightened to admit to herself that she was scared to get too close. McTiernan caught the movement in the corner of his eye, glanced up and smiled, both charming and disarming.
‘You looking for me?’ He stood up and wiped the sawdust from his open palm, strong long fingers against the denim that covered his thighs.
‘Sean McTiernan?’ asked Costello, aware her voice was shriller than it should have been.
‘Aye.’
‘DS Costello.’
‘Hello, DS Costello.’ He sounded faintly amused. Costello could not help but smile back; McTiernan’s easy charm invited confidence. ‘I hope you’ve said something to put Leeza’s mind at rest, she’s so jumpy about all this I nearly gave her a heart attack this morning.’
‘Me too.’ She smiled. ‘It’s understandable – her being nervous – this place almost deserted.’ Her voice hardened. ‘Can you tell me where you were Saturday, the 16th of September, in the evening?’
‘Are you going to caution me?’
‘I’m not supposed to be talking to you.’
McTiernan smiled, very charmingly. ‘Don’t bother. I remember it, it was the third week of my phased release. I went for a swim, then I had a pint in Jinty McGinty’s. Got some fish and chips and went back to the bedsit in Gardner Street.’
‘You remembered that well,’ said Costello sarcastically. ‘And last Friday? The 29th?’
‘Last Friday? I think I was working late. You can check it out with my boss.’
‘We will. Where were you working?’
‘I was on 24-hour call all week, broken windows and that. We had one in the’ – he clicked his fingers together trying to remember – ‘that deli down in Byres Road, can’t remember its name, and then there was another one, up round Prince’s Gardens.’
‘Another what exactly?’
‘Broken window. I boarded it up,’ he said, looking at the pane of glass leaning against the wall. His blue eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘I have signed in, you know. I’ve seen my social worker, I haven’t broken the terms of my parole or anything.’
Costello looked at him, thinking. His face seemed open and honest. Yes, she would let him help if her car broke down in the middle of the night. She would let him in the house if he wanted to use the phone. ‘What time were you finished at?’
‘Late, early morning. Half one, I would be guessing. Like I say, it was stand-by.’
‘All week? That’s a lot of stand-by.’
‘In my circumstances, I’m glad I have a job. It helps me get out. Meet people.’
‘Do you know a girl called Arlene Haggerty?’
McTiernan seemed to think for a minute, then smiled
sadly. He kicked at a piece of wood. ‘Yes. The Ashton Café, Saturday lunchtime? Blonde hair, short skirt? I think a lot of men knew Arlene Haggerty.’
‘So you noticed her skirt in particular?’ asked Costello, her voice hard.
‘The lack of it.’
‘And you met her later?’
‘I took her back to my bedsit.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do you think?’ Sean smiled at her wryly. ‘I’ve been in prison for a long time. It’s a man thing,’ he said.
‘Did you pay for it?’
McTiernan looked past her as if he had not heard right, his lips forming a wider smile at something so absurd. ‘Do you think I need to?’
She didn’t think so. ‘Talking of paying for things – do you own a cottage out by Culzean, paid for in cash?’
That question did take him by surprise. He nearly managed to hide it but not quite. ‘Well, that’s a new one.’ A slight lift of the eyebrow.
‘Immoral earnings,’ Costello hinted, smiling at him. ‘I don’t really want to do anything about it. I just want to know. You can’t serve time twice for the same crime.’
‘Immoral earnings? Yes. But my mother’s, not mine. She left me three things in this world: a tough heart, a good smile and a small wad of cash. I’m working hard, keeping my nose clean. I have my job back, and I’ll get a flat when I can afford it. But to get back to your original question – yes, my mother was a prostitute. But I, myself, do not have to pay for sex.’ He winked at her.
Ain’t that the truth.
Costello tried to keep her mind on the job. Where would you be looking for the flat? The Ayrshire coast seems to be a favourite of yours.’
McTiernan swallowed hard before answering. ‘I lived in Ayr for a couple of years, you know that. You lot seem to know everything. So you’ll also know the Boss has a company down there. Property was cheap to rent, and the job was on my doorstep, nothing strange there.’
‘Did you live there alone?’
‘Yes.’ It held the glibness of a lie.
‘You weren’t there with Trude?’
His answer was instant. ‘I haven’t seen Trude for years.’
‘We have you on CCTV tape, running out of Cleopatra’s Disco on the weekend of the 1st and 2nd of October.’
‘I know. I was there. What of it?’
‘You were seen
running.
Were you in a hurry?’