‘There is one further possibility to be explored,’ Morelli went on. ‘You say I was the victim of a hate crime, or else I was mistaken for Sal. But I could have been targeted precisely because I was part of his circle — another way of sending a message to him.’
‘But if he had no enemies...’
‘None that he knew of,’ Morelli qualified. ‘None that any of us knew of. And yet he was murdered and I was attacked.’ He offered another shrug.
There was silence in the room for a few seconds until Fox broke it.
‘What will you do after university, Gio?’
‘I may continue my studies.’
‘Here or in Rome?’
‘Who knows?’
‘You’ve been friends with Isabella for some time,’ Clarke said. ‘Have you ever met her father?’
‘Yes.’
‘Here or at Strathy Castle?’
‘Here, London, up north...’
‘Parties?’
‘Of course.’
‘He owns the land this millionaires’ playground of Mr Scoular’s would be built on.’
‘It is a foolish location — too windy, too cold.’ Morelli made show of shivering. ‘The one thing this country does not do well is weather.’
‘Was Salman at these parties?’ Fox enquired.
‘Some.’
‘They were pitches for funding?’
‘In a way, I suppose.’
‘Your family has money — your father is an industrialist...’
‘You’re wondering if I’ve ever been asked to contribute — the answer is yes. But I’ve always declined. I grew up knowing business and commerce and the people involved. None of it appeals to me. Give me books and art — those are what’s important.’
‘Nice to have the choice,’ Clarke commented.
‘I know I am pampered, privileged, a dilettante — I have heard it from my father’s own lips.’ Morelli’s face fell a little at the memory.
Clarke exchanged a look with Fox. A twitch of his mouth told her he felt they were done here. She pushed back her chair, rising to her feet. Fox did the same. Morelli looked up at them.
‘Finished?’ he asked.
‘Thank you for coming in,’ Clarke said.
The two detectives escorted him from the room and watched him descend the stairs to the ground floor.
‘He didn’t seem particularly intimidated by our interview room,’ Fox commented in an undertone.
‘Might need to toughen up the decor,’ Clarke agreed. ‘Either that or we’re just going soft in our old age.’
‘Speaking of which — any word?’
‘Not a peep.’
‘Walkies at lunchtime, then?’
Clarke nodded resignedly and took a look at her phone. No missed calls or messages.
‘Could just be his way of avoiding all the changes here,’ Fox offered. ‘The new flat and everything.’
‘That’s not it,’ Clarke said. ‘He’s working a case and he’ll be damned if anything gets in the way of him solving it.’
‘Begs the question — why have local CID not run him out of town?’
‘Give them time,’ Clarke said, turning and heading into the MIT office.
24
Rebus was in the kitchen, eating a bacon roll and talking with Cameron and May. Cameron had mentioned the possibility of T-Cut to get rid of the damage to the Saab.
‘And you should report it,’ May added. ‘When all’s said and done, it’s a criminal act.’
‘I phoned Creasey and told him,’ Rebus answered. ‘He’s doubtless putting his best officers on it.’ He dug the note from his pocket and held it up so they could both read it. ‘Meantime, this was shoved through Samantha’s door.’
‘Christ, some people...’ May Collins shook her head, rising and heading to the sink.
‘Why, though?’ Cameron asked, still chewing.
‘Because someone wants her gone,’ Rebus said.
‘Is that what your car’s all about? A warning?’
‘Maybe.’ Rebus folded the note up again and pocketed it. There was the sound of a distant thump. Someone was outside the pub’s front door. Collins, dish towel in hand, went to investigate, returning a few moments later, Julie Harris at her shoulder.
‘What’s wrong?’ Rebus asked, rising to his feet.
‘They’ve arrested Sam — taken her to Inverness.’
May Collins’ eyes were on Rebus. ‘Is that serious?’
‘One way to find out,’ he said.
Five minutes later he was in the Saab, heading south. Cloud was low, rain threatening and a couple of Dutch-registered motorhomes impeding his progress. He thought things through, knowing it made sense from the investigation’s perspective. Keith had pretty obviously been killed the same night his car ended up abandoned in the lay-by. Stood to reason it had been driven there by whoever killed him, meaning he and his killer had probably been in the car when it was driven to the scene of the murder — how else had the killer got there? Someone he knew; someone he trusted.
Even if they’d recently been arguing.
Why dump the car in such a conspicuous spot, though? Because the killer panicked, once the initial shock had worn off. Panicked, stopped the car and fled the scene. Nearest house to the lay-by was Samantha’s. And where was Carrie while all this was happening? Creasey and his troops would doubtless reckon her old enough to be left alone for an hour — an hour being all it would have taken, maybe even as little as forty minutes. Premeditated? That was a question they couldn’t answer as yet. What mattered to them right now was coming up with a convincing suspect and pushing that suspect into confessing. Rebus couldn’t know what the autopsy had thrown up, or what evidence might have been gleaned from the crime scene. Would they want all Samantha’s clothes and shoes for analysis? The Volvo had already been checked and he doubted they’d found anything incriminating there — if they had, Samantha would already have been charged.
Why take Keith’s laptop and notebooks? He suspected CID wouldn’t worry themselves about any of that — details to be ironed out later or brushed aside.
Once past the motorhomes, he put his foot down, only to be overtaken quarter of an hour later by a parade of motorbikes with German plates. The road was relatively benign thereafter, passing places appearing with enough regularity to mean oncoming vehicles didn’t slow him by much. At Lairg, he branched off the A836, keen to get onto the faster A9 as quickly as possible.
Traffic was sluggish as he neared Inverness, the rain pelting down now, the Saab’s wipers just coping and no more. He began to wonder if the old car would get him back to Naver in one piece. He knew where the police HQ was and reckoned they’d have taken her there. He bypassed the centre of the city, staying on the A9 until the turn-off for the main infirmary. His destination was directly opposite it, which he supposed could come in handy from time to time. He dreaded to think how many hours he’d wasted driving out to Edinburgh’s Royal Infirmary once it had relocated from the city centre to the outskirts. All to take a witness statement or try to collar an injured suspect.
Of course she’s a suspect, he thought to himself as he headed into the car park. When he turned off the ignition, the Saab’s engine coughed a complaint loud enough to be noticed by a small group of smokers congregated at one corner of the building. They seemed to be finishing their break, readying to head indoors. But one of them lingered and began walking in Rebus’s direction.
‘Didn’t think we could keep you away,’ Creasey said, staring up at the sky to gauge when the next heavy shower would arrive. ‘But you know how these things are. This has to happen.’ He gestured towards the HQ.
‘Can I see her?’
‘Don’t think so.’