Life For a Life (22 page)

She would find some way to settle the bill. She always did.

She felt a smile crease her lips at the thought of taking Robert to a football game and watching his face light up at the deafening roar of a goal-happy crowd, or listening to ‘Hotel California’, ‘Brown Sugar’, or how about ‘Waterloo Sunset’? Now there was a song. None of this modern-day disco crap—

Her mobile rang. She removed it from her pocket, eyed the display, and cursed. She thought of letting it ring out but he would only call back. Lachie was like that – a persistent bastard when he put his mind to it.

She made the connection, and said, ‘Hello?’

‘Jessica?’

‘Who’s this?’

‘Got a new phone number, I see.’

‘Oh, it’s you, Lachie.’

He chuckled in that pig-grunting way of his that shook his jowls and narrowed his eyes to needle slits. ‘Couldn’t get through to you on the old one,’ he said. ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid me.’

‘Who,
moi
?’

‘Jessica, doll. I know I’m not the greatest catch in the world, but—’

‘I’m driving, Lachie. I shouldn’t be on my—’

‘I’ve fallen in love.’

Jessie cringed from the memory and the knowledge of what was to come. ‘Anyone I know?’ she said.

‘I’ve got a few days accrued,’ he pressed on. ‘Thought we might go away—’

‘Fuck’s sake, Lachie, I’ve just started a new job. I won’t be taking a few days off any time soon.’

‘I can pull a few strings,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that.’

This had always been the troubling side of Lachie, the willingness with which he was prepared to abuse his position to secure personal favours. He’d be fiddling his overtime next, if he was not already doing so. She turned from Robert – he did not need to be face on to lip-read – and said, ‘I’ve got Robert to think of.’

‘Bring him along.’

‘I’ll ask him,’ she said. ‘I’m sure he’ll jump at it.’

‘I’m serious,’ Lachie said. ‘He should come with us. I need to get to know him.’

Jessie pulled the phone from her ear, and glared at it. She thought of hanging up, then came back with, ‘I’ve got too much baggage for you, Lachie. You don’t want to get involved with me. I’ve told you before.’

‘Not a problem, my lovely,’ he said, his voice warming to the possibility that at long last he might be winning her over.

‘And so do you,’ she said.

‘I’m getting a divorce.’

‘You filed for it yet?’

‘It’s in the works,’ he replied, which told her nothing had changed. The only reason Lachie had not left his wife was because she was heiress, or rather one of four heirs, to a national biscuit manufacturing fortune.

‘Well, my baggage has just got bigger,’ she said.

The line fell silent, long enough for Jessie to think she had lost the connection. Then she heard the rush of traffic, someone’s voice on the background, and realised Lachie had been talking to someone else.

‘What’s that, doll?’

She thought of hanging up but he would only call her straight back. No, she had to bring this to a head. But how? She had tried to end sexual relations before. God, how could she have let her guard down – or her knickers, for that matter? Depression and drink, came the answer. But Lachie had just tried harder, sent her flowers, flooded her with love cards.

Once he’d even turned up in a stretch limo, wearing a new suit that had to have cost his wife over a thousand pounds, and refused to budge until she agreed to accompany him to the Rogano in Royal Exchange Square, where he’d reserved a table for two. Rather than have the limo block her street for the rest of the night, she had relented. Later, he tried to entice her to bed with a promise of a week’s holiday in the Swiss Alps over Christmas. She thought he finally got the message when she tore up the plane ticket in front of him. In response, he had suggested they try Spain in the summer. But in all that time, never a concern for Robert.

Until now.

‘I was saying my baggage has just got bigger.’

‘Don’t worry about that.’

‘Nice to know you care.’

‘Of course, I care, Jessica, but—’

‘It’s not about me,’ she snapped. ‘It’s Robert.’

The line fell silent again, and she had a sense of Robert turning her way, as if he had picked up the sound vibrations of his own name in the air.

‘So how is the wee man?’ Lachie asked.

‘Oh, like you care all of a sudden?’

‘Of course I care, Jessica—’

‘Enough to fork out a hundred grand for an operation?’

‘How much?’

‘You heard.’

A chuckle that had her fighting off another image of Jabba the Hutt. ‘Did you say one hundred thousand pounds?’

‘I did.’

‘That’s a lot of money.’

‘That’s what the operation’s going to cost.’ She had no idea how much a cochlear implant would cost. But she hoped that one hundred thousand was enough to scare Lachie away. Mumbling in the background told her he was talking to someone again.

She broke the connection, stuffed the phone into her pocket.

Part of her wanted to scream at the man, claw out his eyes, while another part wanted to pin him to a wall and say,
Your only concern was the money. You never once asked why Robert needed an operation.
And as her mind replayed their conversation, she knew that whatever relationship Lachie thought he had with her was over.

Gilchrist spent ten minutes reading Angus’s written statement, then looked at Mhairi and said, ‘He still maintains he didn’t rent out the Ramsays’ home. Let’s talk to him.’

He arranged for Angus to be escorted to Interview Room 1, while Mhairi went off and organised some tea and biscuits – Angus used to be her boyfriend, after all.

Angus was brought in and slumped into a chair on the opposite side of the table, and declined Mhairi’s offer of a cuppa. Gilchrist poured a mug of tea for himself, took a sip, then said, ‘Have you spoken to your solicitor?’

Angus gave a disinterested shrug. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I don’t need one.’

‘If you can’t afford one,’ Gilchrist said, ‘we can arrange—’

‘Has anybody told you you’re a right cheeky bastard?’ Angus snarled, then glared at Mhairi to include her in that comment. ‘I’ve got money. But I don’t need to waste it on some legal rep to sit here like a doo-wally and say fuck all, then send me a bill that would choke a fucking horse.’

‘Finished?’

‘Just get on with it.’

‘For the record,’ Gilchrist said, addressing the recorder on the table, ‘Mr McCarron has declined his right to have his solicitor present.’ He nodded to Angus. ‘Is that correct?’

‘Yeah.’

‘OK,’ Gilchrist began, ‘I’m going to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth about—’

‘Read my statement. It’s all there.’

Gilchrist waited several seconds while Angus shifted and shuffled on his seat. Once settled again, Gilchrist said, ‘Do you know Jana Judkowski?’

Angus frowned at him. ‘Who?’

‘The young brunette who accompanies Caryl.’

‘Oh, her. I never knew her name.’

‘She’s dead.’

Angus stilled for one, two, three seconds, then his gaze danced between Gilchrist and Mhairi. ‘Dead? What d’you mean she’s dead?’

‘She was shot in the head last night, then dumped on some street in the outskirts of Glasgow. Strathclyde Constabulary suspect it’s a contract killing.’

Angus frowned, looked away, looked back. ‘What’re you telling me this for?’ he gasped. ‘What’s this got to do with me?’

‘You said you knew her—’

‘But I only seen her with Caryl. That’s all—’

‘Caryl’s also dead.’

Angus stilled, as if struck by a stun gun.

‘Shot in the head too. Her body was found with Jana’s.’ Gilchrist leaned forward. ‘Three women dead from the cottage in Kingsbarns. And another two within twelve hours of us locating the house in Boarhills. Both houses rented through you.’

Angus fixed his gaze on Gilchrist. ‘What’re you telling me?’

‘That you could be next.’

‘
What?
’ Angus shook his head. ‘No way,
no way
—’

‘You rented both houses to Caryl—’

‘But . . . I . . . I . . .’

‘No buts, Angus. I believe you’re innocent,’ Gilchrist added.

Angus’s mouth hung open. He glanced at Mhairi, then stared at Gilchrist, as if pleading for an explanation.

‘I believe you were duped,’ Gilchrist said. ‘I think Caryl tricked you.’

As if seeing the wisdom in Gilchrist’s words, Angus nodded.

‘Along she comes,’ Gilchrist said, ‘looking beautiful, with plenty of money,’ – with Mhairi seated next to him, he chose not to mention sex – ‘and persuades you to go along with whatever she wants. It wouldn’t take much to agree, I have to say.’

‘All I did was—’ Angus stopped, as if realising he was about to set off his own trap.

‘I’m listening,’ Gilchrist urged. ‘All you did was . . . what?’

Angus wrung his hands, stared at the floor, shook his head. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong,’ he pleaded. ‘She said she would be looking for another couple of cottages out in the wilds in the next few weeks or so—’

‘Caryl said?’

Angus nodded, eager to let it all spill out. ‘She didn’t want to go through Patterson and McLeod. Said she would rather do business with me directly. I saw it as an easy way to make a few quid on the side. I mean, anyone would. Right?’

‘So you showed her the Ramsays’ house, and dropped off one of your McCarron and Co. cards.’

‘We’d had it on the books for some time—’

‘Patterson and McLeod’s books?’

‘Yeah. But they weren’t interested in short-term rents. Six months was about as short as they wanted. Not enough profit in it. So I took it on myself—’

‘Behind Patterson and McLeod’s back.’

‘It’s a company, not two people. I run the St Andrews branch.’

‘So when you say
they
weren’t interested in short-term rents, you mean
you
chose not to put it through their books.’

Angus wrung his hands, then pushed his fingers through his hair. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Can I have a smoke?’

‘No.’ It was Mhairi.

‘I’m not asking you,’ Angus snapped.

‘I’ve only got a few more questions,’ Gilchrist said, ‘then you’re free to go.’

Angus looked at him. ‘You’re not charging me?’

‘I told you I think you’re innocent.’ Gilchrist smiled, and said, ‘Of course, it all depends on whether or not I believe your answers to my remaining questions.’

Angus swallowed a lump in his throat, then nodded, eager to prove his innocence.

Gilchrist took another sip of tea, replaced the mug on the table with deliberation. He was in two minds whether to charge Angus with obstructing an investigation, perverting the course of justice, or just let him go. As he watched Angus watch him, he came to realise that Angus was little more than a fly-by-night salesman, a common or garden conman who could see no further than the next deal, who lived only from day to day, with unrealistic aspirations of making it on his own. A toss of the coin might better decide on which side of the law he would earn a living. Gilchrist felt saddened for Mhairi, and hoped she now saw that too.

He leaned forward, narrowing the gap between him and Angus. ‘How many other cottages in the wilds was Caryl looking to rent from you?’

‘Two or three.’

‘Did you show her any?’

Another glance at Mhairi told Gilchrist that Angus had been seeing Dillanos behind Mhairi’s back for longer than a couple of months. ‘One or two,’ Angus said.

‘Maybe four or five?’

‘Maybe.’

Gilchrist reached forward and switched off the recorder.

Angus looked at him, then Mhairi, a smile twitching his lips. ‘Is that it?’

Gilchrist slapped the table with a move so sudden that both Mhairi and Angus jolted. Then he reached out, grabbed Angus by the neck of his shirt, and said, ‘Now you listen to me, sonny Jim. When I ask you a question you tell me the truth, and nothing but the truth. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies. Got that?’ He shoved Angus back on to his seat, with a force that almost toppled it over.

Angus tugged his shirt, adjusted the collar, ran a hand through his hair, eyes fired with an anger of his own, as if readying to tell Gilchrist where to get off.

‘And before you think of filing a complaint,’ Gilchrist said, ‘Mhairi saw nothing, and heard nothing, other than your repeated lies.’ He leaned forward again. ‘You have one thing going for you, Angus. Do you want to know what that is?’

Angus swallowed a lump in his throat.

‘The fact that whoever killed Caryl Dillanos, Jana Judkowski, and the three other women probably doesn’t know about your involvement.
Yet
.’ Gilchrist watched the meaning of his words work their way through Angus’s stunned mind. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying? If you continue to feed me a bunch of shite, then I’m going to feed you to the lions.’ He waited one beat, two beats, then said, ‘Do you understand now?’

Angus nodded.

‘I didn’t hear you.’

‘I understand.’

Gilchrist nodded for Mhairi to switch the recorder back on. A glance at the light to make sure it was recording, then, ‘Let me ask you that question once again, Mr McCarron. How many other cottages in the wilds was Caryl Dillanos looking to rent from you?’

‘Two, she said, maybe more.’

‘And did you show her any?’

‘I did.’ Another furtive glance at Mhairi.

‘How many did you take her to?’

‘Six in total.’

‘And did she take any on?’

Angus pursed his lips for a moment, then let his breath out with, ‘One.’

‘Did she sign any paperwork?’

‘No.’

‘Give you any money?’

‘Three months’ rent in advance.’

‘Cash?’

Angus nodded, defeated.

Gilchrist thought of pursuing the details, and wondered if the owner of the property knew his place was being rented out on the side. Angus McCarron really was flying by the seat of his pants. Cash meant no declaration to the Inland Revenue.

‘When did you show her these properties?’

‘Last week.’

As Gilchrist worked out the significance of that timing, a frisson ran the length of his spine. With three women dead from the cottage in Kingsbarns, the ringleader – this Kumar, if that’s who it was – would have known it was only a matter of time before their bodies were discovered. Time to move on. A no-brainer. But if Dillanos had been hired to locate a new property, then been killed, the logical conclusion was that Kumar was starting off with a clean slate, getting rid of anyone who could give away his new hideaway. He stared hard at Angus and wondered if he knew how much danger his life was in.