‘OK. Now tell us this, and think carefully before you answer. When you went to the do last night, did you know that Mr Glover would be there?’
‘I don’t need to think about that one. I didn’t know, I wasn’t shown a guest list, and I never asked to see one.’
‘Did you expect him to be there?’
‘It never occurred to me to wonder whether he would be or not. I do not arrange my diary with Ainsley Glover’s movements in mind, any more than I do those of Fred Noble.’
‘Fred Noble?’ Pye exclaimed. ‘What’s he got to do with it?’
‘I’ve had a similar dispute with him. One of his books, the year before last, had a storyline about a politician whose wife was murdered. I thought that was far too close to home and I told Noble as much.’
‘Did you ever think of suing him?’
‘No, I’d had enough grief with Glover. I decided that the bastards were out to get me, but that I was going to let it all wash over me in future.’
‘Did you see Mr Noble last night?’
‘I saw him, across the room, but I ignored him, and happily he took the hint.’
‘When did you leave the event, sir?’ the inspector asked.
‘About eleven thirty.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes. Anthea would have accompanied me to the do, but we couldn’t get a sitter for Tanya. They were in the audience at my event, but left afterwards.’
‘Ah yes, you had a reading last night, didn’t you?’
‘I did, at six thirty in the main theatre; full house.’ He allowed himself a small, smug smile.
‘So you’d have been in the yurt?’
‘Yes, we were all asked to go there to meet our chairperson, and be miked up.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘Yes, I was there again. I met up with Anthea and Tanya, before they left. I had a long queue in the book-signing tent; it was after eight before I got there.’
‘So you’d have seen Mr Glover at that point? We know he was in the tent before the party started.’
‘Well. Yes, I suppose I did. At least I was aware of his presence. I was talking to my daughter and to Denzel Chandler then, so I paid him no mind.’
‘Was Lady Walters awake when you got home?’ asked McIlhenney.
Anderson shot his inquisitor a furious exasperated look. ‘Of course!’ he snapped.
‘Not “of course,” Doctor. As you said, you left at eleven thirty. You’re close to Charlotte Square, but it must still have taken you ten minutes to get home. I was asleep myself at that time.’
‘Well, Anthea wasn’t, OK? She was in bed, watching some crap on television. I let her know I was home but I was still boiling after the barney with Glover, so I read for a while, before turning in myself.’
‘And was she asleep by that time?’
Anderson stared at the superintendent for several seconds, long enough for the detective to decide that he was going to ignore his question, until finally he replied, slowly and evenly, ‘She was, but I woke her, and we had sex.’ He rose to his feet, dismissively. ‘Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me. We’re due at Anthea’s father’s place in Biggar this afternoon, and it’ll take us an hour or so to get there.’
McIlhenney stayed in his seat and looked at his colleague. ‘Are you done, Sammy?’
Pye smiled. ‘I think so, sir; for now, at any rate.’ He pushed himself easily up from the sofa.
Anderson showed them to the door in silence; they felt his eyes upon them as they walked downstairs, and stepped out into the street.
McIlhenney drew a deep breath, then let it out all in one. ‘Well,’ he exclaimed, as they walked towards Moray Place, ‘what did you think of that, Sammy my lad?’
‘I wouldn’t like to be in the same room as him and the boss, that’s for sure.’
‘I would, but tucked away in a corner. Apart from that, though?’
Pye frowned at him. ‘Are you asking me if he’s a viable suspect? He disliked the victim intensely, he has the medical knowledge to have planned the killing, and he was in the yurt with Glover earlier in the evening.’›
The superintendent nodded. ‘All of that, and by the way, that was pretty sharp, Sam. We only had the assumption that Glover was there before; we had no bloody witness. Now we have.’
‘And Anderson could have seen him put his pouch in that drawer. On top of all that, he has no alibi worth the name. He could have got home, flagged up his presence to Anthea, then gone out again without her knowing and been back up at the square in time to rig the insulin pen before Glover picked it up. I can see how he’d have done it.’
‘What about access to the Pavulon? You don’t find that in Boots.’
‘No, but Randall Mosley told me that he still consults at a private hospital in Midlothian; they do surgical procedures there.’
‘Do you fancy him for it, then?’
‘Let’s wait for McCall and his young PC to find that ampoule and see what we can lift from that.’
‘Every minute might count.’
‘Agreed, but. .’
‘I know, Sammy. The next stage would be a warrant to search his flat for Pavulon and glucose. Based on what we’ve got at the moment, I can’t see any sheriff, not even our tamest, giving us one. You’re right; let’s wait for the search to complete and see what that turns up.’
‘Nothing,’ said Pye gloomily, ‘if the perpetrator is as smart as we reckon he is. It’s not his flat, by the way. I checked the register before we went along; it belongs to Anthea Walters.’
‘Hey,’ the superintendent chuckled, ‘given her history, do you think the drugs squad could get a warrant to search the place?’ He paused. ‘It’s OK, I’m kidding. Still. . Bugger!’ he swore as his mobile’s ringtone interrupted him. He stopped in his tracks, took it out and flipped it open. ‘Yes,’ he said calmly, mastering his irritation.
‘How’s your day going?’ a clear male voice asked. ‘Caught the bad guy yet?’
‘No, but we’ve got a couple of options already. You not asleep yet, pal?’
‘Fat chance,’ Mario McGuire replied. ‘Paula’s zonked, but I’m still staring at the ceiling. Fucking jet lag. And it doesn’t just screw up your body clock: it slows your mind down as well. Since we spoke, there’s been something trying to burrow its way out of my brain. Finally it’s made it. I know who planned Glover’s murder.’
‘What?’ McIlhenney exclaimed. ‘Have you been smoking something that would get you arrested here?’
‘I’m serious. I know who worked out how to kill him.’
‘Man, if you’re taking the piss, this is not the time.’
‘Hear me out, Superintendent.’
‘Tell me then.’
‘He did; the man himself. Ainsley Glover did. I told you I’ve read all his books; well, in the third one, Black Sugar it’s called, there’s a murder where exactly that method is used. I’m surprised nobody’s put you wise already.’
‘We haven’t told anybody how he was killed.’
‘You might as well have.’ McGuire paused. ‘Oh dear, I’m in the shit. I’ve wakened Paula. Got to go.’
McIlhenney sighed as he put his phone back in his pocket.
‘Complication?’ the detective inspector asked him.
‘You could say that, Sammy. Our head of CID has just widened the field of suspects from somebody with medical knowledge to take in anyone who’s read one of Ainsley’s fucking books!’
Twenty-four
‘Where does that lot take us, Sarge?’ asked Alice Cowan.
Wilding shrugged as he placed a chair behind the extra desk that the Festival administrator had supplied. It had been sited just beyond the entrance and to the left, facing the area where Glover had died; that had been blocked off with yellow crime scene tape. At the back of the tent, a whiteboard had been set up, but it was virgin. ‘It rules out patricide, assuming Glover’s kids really were getting tanked up along the Royal Mile when he died. It tells us that he liked to keep his fan base at arm’s length. It tells us something about his circle of friends, lady friends at any rate. But in terms of a solution, it doesn’t take us any further.’