It was Pauline's turn to look puzzled. “Sure. The women in membership records clubbed together to buy it for my birthday. Real class. Le Must de Cartier. Marion got it in the duty free at Paris Airport,” she said proudly.
Lindsay looked horrified. Then the irony hit her. She threw her head back and roared with laughter.
EPILOGUE
The cabin steward bent towards Lindsay and said, “Would you like a drink, madam?”
Lindsay looked questioningly at Sophie. “Champagne?”
Sophie grinned. “Oh, I think so.”
“Make it a bottle, please. Oh, and have you got any freshly squeezed orange juice?”
The steward smiled. “I'll check, madam.” Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Sophie doubling up with silent laughter. She looked slightly bemused as she walked away.
“California, here I come,” Sophie snorted.
“Just because I like some things about the place doesn't make me a California girl,” Lindsay said with a scowl.
“Something to celebrate, ladies?” the returning steward asked, making conversation as she placed a half bottle in front of each of them. “And your juice,” she added, handing Lindsay a small pitcher.
Lindsay grinned. “Thanks,” she said. “Thank God we're flying back with an American airline.” The steward moved away, leaving them to fill their glasses. Lindsay tipped a little orange juice into each glass and made a silent toast.
“I feel like we have something to celebrate,” Sophie said. “We made a good decision in Sheffield.”
Lindsay sipped her champagne thoughtfully. “My heart agrees with you, totally. But part of me feels like maybe I'm making too much of a habit of letting people walk away from murder.”
“But you don't walk away from murder,” Sophie objected. “If indeed what happened to Union Jack
was
murder. That's the whole point. There won't be a day when Pauline doesn't remember him going through that window, and her responsibility for it.”
Lindsay nodded. “I know all that. And I keep telling myself that justice wouldn't be served by taking her away from her kid and locking her up in Holloway. Like you said, her punishment's in her head. And it
was
an accident, probably. I just get this little nag at the back of my conscience, that's all. And I start to worry a little about my judgement too.”
“What do you mean?”
Lindsay gave an embarrassed cough. “I know rather too many women who kill, don't you think? It's getting a bit beyond a joke.”
Sophie could think of nothing reassuring to say to that, so she took a step backwards in conversation. “Well, if your conscience is bothering you, console yourself with the thought that at least one of them is going to jail for a long time, even if it's for a murder she didn't commit.”
Lindsay gave a wicked grin. “Ironic, isn't it? We couldn't find enough evidence to nail her for the murder she
did
.”
“By the way, you owe me a bottle of Caol Ila.”
“You what?” Lindsay protested.
“You bet me a bottle of Islay malt of my choice that Laura was directly involved in Tom Jack's death. And she wasn't.” Sophie smirked irritatingly.
“But thanks to my mistaking Pauline for Laura, they've got more than enough evidence to put her away for Tom Jack's murder, even if she didn't do it. So she
has
become directly involved. So you owe me,” Lindsay said triumphantly.
“Tell you what. We'll write to Laura in prison and ask her to adjudicate.”
“I wish I could believe Laura's going to end up in prison,” Lindsay sighed.
“What do you mean?”
Lindsay downed the rest of her glass and burped discreetly.
“Come on, Soph. Do you really think that's ever going to come to trial?”
“Why won't it?” Sophie demanded. “They've arrested her, charged her, and with your evidence, they've got enough to convict her at a trial. Bang to rights, I'd have thought. And not just for the murder. They've also got her for fiddling the union's expenses, embezzling the strike pay and fraudulently manipulating the pension fund. All to keep her in blackmail cash and designer clothes. None of which is calculated to endear her to a jury.”
“I'm not disputing any of that. Nor do I think it's anything other than disgusting. But I'm not holding my breath waiting for a trip back to the UK at the taxpayers' expense.”
“But why not?” Sophie persisted.
“A Special Branch undercover operative in the witness box? You'll be telling me Britain's a democracy next!”
Sophie smiled wryly. Lindsay adjusted her seat and stretched out her legs. “Well, at least we got everything neatly tied up.” She grinned. “I'd have hated never knowing who the phantom Chronicler was. You know how I hate loose ends.”
“Hmmm.”
Lindsay jerked upright. She looked sharply at Sophie. “What do you mean, âhmmm'?”
“Nothing.”
“What d'you mean, nothing?” Lindsay demanded frantically.
“Well . . .” Sophie drawled. “I was just wondering . . .”
“Wondering what?” through clenched teeth.
“At the ceilidh, Union Jack arranged a meeting with you for the following morning.”
“That's right,” Lindsay said impatiently. “So?”
“So what did he want to talk to you about?”
Lindsay looked thunderstruck. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened in panic. “I've no idea,” she gasped.
“I just wondered,” Sophie said, the picture of innocence. “Now I suppose we'll never know.”
Lindsay stared at Sophie, frustration incarnate. Then she saw the hint of the smile Sophie was trying to suppress, and she couldn't keep a rueful smile from her own lips. She shook her head. “I may have mentioned this before, Sophie, but sometimes you really piss me off.”
V. L. McDermid
Val McDermid published her first Lindsay Gordon mystery,
Report for Murder
, in 1987. Since then she has written a further five books in the series featuring the Scottish lesbian journalist. The fifth,
Booked for Murder
, was nominated for a Lambda Literary Award. She has also written six novels featuring PI Kate Brannigan, four featuring psychologist Tony Hill and police officer Carol Jordan, four standalones and a collection of short stories. An international best-seller, her books have been translated into almost 30 languages and the Hill & Jordan series has been adapted for the award-winning TV series,
Wire in the Blood
. Her many awards include the Gold Dagger (for
The Mermaids Singing
), the Los Angeles Times Book Prize, the Anthony, the Dilys, the Barry, the Macavity (for
A Place of Execution
), the Sherlock (for
The Distant Echo
) and the Grand Prix des Romans d'Aventure (for
Star Struck
).
Val grew up in a Scottish mining community and is a graduate of Oxford University. She worked as a journalist for 16 years, becoming National Bureau Chief of a major national Sunday tabloid. She quit journalism in 1991 to become a full-time writer. She is also a regular contributor to BBC radio. She has one son and divides her time between the cityâManchesterâand the countryâa seaside village in Northumberland.
Â
copyright © 1993 by Val McDermid
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Bywater Books, Inc.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
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, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.
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First published in Great Britain as
Union Jack
by The Women's Press Ltd, 1993
Â
First published in the United States of America as
Conferences are Murder
by Spinsters Ink, 1999
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eISBN : 978-1-612-94009-0
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This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.