Lying Dead (29 page)

The constable stood aside and Kelly McConnell appeared. She had clearly taken some pains to prepare herself for the starring role of major witness: she was wearing a disco outfit of cropped top and rah-rah skirt, and the way she had applied her make-up hinted at a possible future career as a plasterer. She cast a scornful glance round the shabby kitchen, at Jenna and the thin, pale child at the table, then, homing in on Christie, favoured him with her mother’s come-on smile.

    Christie looked at her with some horror. He had daughters himself, two nice, well-doing lasses who would have been sent back upstairs to wash their faces if they’d come down looking like that.

    ‘Kelly McConnell,’ the constable told him, taking out his notebook in readiness.

    ‘Kelly, fine. Right, Kelly, what have you got to tell me?’

    Kelly moistened her lips. ‘Well, last night I, like, came home from hanging out with – well, a friend—’

    ‘Time?’

    She looked put out at the interruption. ‘Like – midnight, maybe? Didn’t really notice.’

    ‘Was anyone with you?’

    ‘No. There was just me and Chazz Armour at his house. We – kind of lost count of the time,’ she simpered. ‘Like you do.’

    ‘Where does this Chazz live, then?’ Christie’s distaste was evident.

    ‘Just round the bay there. I got home and went upstairs – being quiet, you know, because Dad goes, like, mental sometimes if I’m after ten o’clock?’ She giggled, looking up at Christie under her lashes.

    He wasn’t amused. ‘Kelly, I’m a busy man. Can you get on with it and tell me what you saw?’

    Kelly pouted. ‘Like, I’m trying to. I was just getting ready for bed and my window looks on to the road – and there he was!’

    With a dramatic pause, she surveyed her audience.

    ‘Who?’ Christie barked. She was sorely trying such patience as he possessed.

    ‘This really, really scary guy, all in black. I couldn’t see his face. I think he might have had something over it, you know, like a terrorist or something. He was standing out there in the road, just looking at this house.’

    ‘Tall, short? Fat, thin?’

    She hesitated. ‘I – I couldn’t say, really. He was down below me.’

    ‘And then what happened?’ Christie prompted her.

    ‘Well, I don’t know. Couldn’t see, after that. He just disappeared. Probably went to start the fire, I expect.’

    ‘So what did you do?’

    ‘Well, I went to bed, didn’t I?’ Disappointed by the effect she had produced, Kelly was sulky. ‘I was tired. Next thing I knew there were these fire engines and everything.’

    ‘You weren’t worried that there might be what you thought was a terrorist wandering about?’ Christie’s tone was sceptical.

    ‘She’s just making it up.’ Mirren’s shrill voice startled them all.

    Christie spun round. ‘What?’

    Mirren gave Kelly a contemptuous look. ‘I bet she didn’t see anything at all. She’s just trying to get attention. She’s a liar anyway.’

    ‘How dare you, you little cow!’ Kelly’s face contorted with rage. ‘She’s a total minger – always hanging around, all on her own, and she’s jealous of me! I tell you, I did too see that man – and I know who’s a liar, and it’s not me. You going to let her get away with that?’ She turned to Christie, glaring at him.

    ‘Now, now, Kelly, calm down. The constable there’s taken a note of what you said, and we’re very grateful to you for coming forward. Someone will take a formal statement you can sign, tomorrow, probably.’ Christie stood up, jerking his head to the waiting constable to get her out. She was most likely a total waste of time, this child. He found himself inclined to agree with the other one.

    ‘Why do you think what Kelly said wasn’t the truth?’ he asked her.

    ‘Because it’s just the sort of story she would make up – terrorists and things.’ Mirren’s theory sounded entirely plausible. ‘She always has to be the centre of attention, all the time.’

    ‘And did you see anything, yourself?’ Christie was interested.

    ‘My bedroom’s round the back. I heard my mum moving around and went out to see what was wrong.’

    ‘Yes,’ Jenna said. ‘That’s right. I told Mirren to go back to bed.’

    ‘And I did.’ Mirren went back to her cereal.

    ‘Good, good.’ Christie was hearty in his approval. He liked little girls who did as they were told. There weren’t many of them about these days. ‘Thanks, Mrs Murdoch. We’ll be in touch later and a forensic team will be working with the fire department to see how the fire was started – you’ll be amazed what they can find out.

    ‘When are you expecting your husband back?’

    Jenna hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. He didn’t say.’

    Christie nodded and left.

    Mirren had finished her cereal. She stood up. ‘Can I go and see what they’re doing outside?’

    ‘Fine, but don’t get in anyone’s way,’ Jenna instructed mechanically, but as Mirren left she was frowning. There was something odd about her daughter’s response to this, something very odd.

Janet Laird was looking heart-breakingly frail, a small figure in the big hospital bed, with a great dark bruise on her temple which her soft white hair, pulled forward, couldn’t conceal. She was dozing, propped up on her pillows, when Marjory came in, but when her daughter said softly, ‘Mum?’ her eyes opened and her face lit up in its usual sweet smile.

    ‘It’s you, dearie! Oh, what a shame you had to come, with you so busy. I’m to be away home today so you could have seen me there.’

    Marjory sat down on the chair beside the bed and took her mother’s hand. ‘I’m just upset I wasn’t here when all this happened. How are you feeling?’

    ‘Och, I’m fine. They’ve been real good to me in here. But how’s Bill? I was worried, keeping him so late last night.’

    ‘I’ve told him he’s to take the afternoon off. But look, Mum, I want you to come back to the farm. I don’t like to think of you by yourself in the house.’

    ‘Oh, I’ll not be by myself! John and Mary Brodie are picking me up this afternoon and Aileen from number twelve is making our tea. And I’m needing to get back anyway, to sort things out . . .’ Her voice faltered and Marjory squeezed her hand.

    ‘It’s awful, I know.’

    Janet’s faded brown eyes filled. ‘He’s been such a good man to me, your father. He didn’t know what he was doing, didn’t mean it—’

    ‘Of course he didn’t.’

    ‘– and now it’s like he’s being punished, locked away in that place. We need to get him back, Marjory. They’ll find some pills for him or something  . . .’

    ‘Mum,’ Marjory began, with her old feeling of irritation at her mother’s stubborn determination not to face facts, but Janet simply wasn’t strong enough to be upset by being taken through the old arguments again. Once she’d had a chance to rest and to eat properly, without the strain of caring for Angus, it would be time enough to insist. She said instead, ‘You do realize they’ll have to keep him there for quite a while until they get his medication sorted out?’

    Janet sighed. ‘He’ll not be happy. He likes his things about him, and I know his routine and what he likes to eat. I’ll need to explain that to them. I was thinking, maybe the Brodies could take me in on the way home—’

    ‘No,’ Marjory said firmly. ‘You probably wouldn’t be able to see him yet anyway.’ Then, cunningly, she added, ‘You don’t want to put the Brodies to any more trouble, when they’ve been so good to you. And if Aileen’s making your tea, you wouldn’t want it to get spoiled because you were late.’

    It was a masterstroke. Janet’s face clouded. ‘Right enough, I wouldn’t want to do that. Maybe I could ask them about tomorrow—’

    ‘I’ll phone the hospital and if we can see him I’ll take you there myself.’

    ‘Oh dearie, I don’t like to ask you – but it would make a difference.’

    ‘Mum, he’s not just your husband, he’s my dad too.’ A sudden picture of her father as she remembered him as a child, tall and splendid in his police uniform, came to her mind and Marjory felt her throat constrict. Her relationship with Angus had never been easy, but there were those other memories too and it was hard to think of him as he must be now, just one more demented old man along with all the others.

    ‘I know, I know.’ Now it was Janet who was the comforter this time, and she produced a wobbly smile. ‘We just have to keep brave and cheery for him, pet.’

    Marjory smiled too, but it was with the melancholy thought that whatever they might do, Angus Laird would now neither know nor care.

    She left, promising to look in on Janet at home later, and wishing that she could have taken her back to the farm and been a proper daughter, comforting and cherishing her mother at a time of such crisis in her life. But Janet would insist that Marjory’s work came first – she’d been a policeman’s wife, after all – and then, with the others out all day too she’d be lonely, and being Janet would probably set about cooking meals and doing the neglected housework. No, she was better off with the neighbours who had been her friends for thirty or forty years.

    It didn’t make Marjory feel comfortable, though. If Ingles had indeed pled guilty, Greg could wrap it up. He’d enjoy that, and given his success he was entitled, along with Jon, to get all the credit going. Then she could take some of her leave allocation, which had been piling up, and persuade her mother to come and stay for a few days while Marjory did all the proper daughterly things, and perhaps look for a home where Angus could be comfortable, if she and Bill could manage to convince Janet that there was no alternative. If!

The crowd had drifted away now, and only people passing on the way to their day’s sailing stopped briefly to have a look. Mirren Murdoch, perched on the garden wall and shivering in a chilly breeze, watched the proceedings. The ashes were grey now, not glowing red, and the two fire engines had gone, leaving the fire chief to wait for the investigators.

    He was standing, hands on hips, surveying the debris, when Sergeant Christie came over to him.

    ‘Discarded petrol can there, look.’ He kicked at the blackened, buckled object poking out of a pile of ash.

    ‘Ah! that’s good. Now, see and not let anyone touch it,’ he instructed. ‘Get it bagged up for Fingerprints when it’s cool enough.’

    He got a sardonic look in reply. ‘I’ve seen more fire inquiries than you’ve had Sunday roasts. We know the ropes. But it’s definitely arson, as if we’d any doubt. The team’s on its way.’

    Christie tapped his nose. ‘Got our man fingered. Just radioed to have him lifted on suspicion of wilful fire-raising.’

    Aware of a presence at his elbow, he turned. Mirren had left her perch and was standing beside him, staring at the can. It crossed his mind that the next discovery, when they started sifting through, was likely to be the charred bones of her deceased pet – not very nice. And anyway, the last thing he needed was a child having hysterics.

    ‘Off you go now,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘You’re better inside with your mum. There’s going to be a lot of coming and going here and we don’t want any accidents.’

    ‘I don’t want to go.’ Mirren stood her ground. ‘It’s our shed. I want to see what happens. And I could help – look, I could show you where the dog slept. There was straw all round – here.’

    She ducked under the tapes and headed towards where the fire chief was standing. ‘It was just where this can is—’ She bent forward and was just about to pick it up when the fire chief grabbed her.

    ‘Are you daft, lassie?’ he roared. ‘You’ll burn your hand – and that’s evidence, anyway. See those tapes – they’re there to keep you out. Get back on the other side of them. In fact, do like the sergeant said – get back in the house. We’re not needing you getting in our way.’

    With a bad grace, Mirren allowed herself to be removed, then with a smouldering glance back over her shoulder went into the house. The two men were shaking their heads; she heard one of them say, ‘What do they use for brains nowadays?’

    Inside the house, she stopped to listen. It was all very quiet; there was no sound of drilling or anything. She tiptoed down the corridor leading to the office; the door was shut and she stopped to listen again, in case her mother was inside and on the phone, but she couldn’t hear anything there either. Most likely she was upstairs working on the new flat; she’d said something yesterday about doing the painting.

    It was a risk she had to take. She opened the door.

    Jenna, sitting at her desk frowning over some papers, looked up. ‘Hello! Are you looking for me? I’m just checking on the insurance.’

    ‘I just wondered if you were going to be working in the flat today?’ It was all Mirren could think of on the spur of the moment.

    ‘I doubt it. There’ll be too many interruptions to make it worthwhile. Did you want me to do something?’

    ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not really.’ She shut the door on her mother’s anxious, ‘Are you all right?’ and stood chewing her lip.

    There would be interruptions. Her mother would have to deal with them. And then  . . .