'Two years later, sir.'
'Yes, and so what? That makes her a suspect in my book, and it would in yours too, if you hadn't been so personally involved.'
Steele said nothing, for he knew that Jay was right. 'What about this chap Coia?' the superintendent continued. 'What did you make of him?'
'Nothing much. I met him a couple of times, casual y, but he didn't make any impression on me. His beard was his most interesting feature, I reckoned. I could see that he and Paula hit it off, though. They were comfortable together… or maybe she was just sorry for him, being married to her sister. She's an absolute mouse beside Paula.
'You don't real y fancy Coia and Paula for this, do you, sir?'
Jay smiled. 'Start thinking with your policeman's brain, son, and not with your dick. You slept with her, so she can't be a murderer. Is that what you're saying? The fact is I've got no one else to fancy for this, but a stray lead to this character Essary and his partner Frances. But where are they? Who said they ever existed? Maybe they were just a front for Coia and your bird, fictional culprits set up for when they did in her father.'
Steele hid his surprise; clearly, Dan Pringle had chosen not to tell Jay about the couple's involvement in the death of Father Francis Donovan Green.
'But why would they do it, sir? Beppe Viareggio's murder was premeditated and planned. Okay, Paula's got a temper, but there's nothing cold-blooded about her.'
'Money, son. What else? The father controlled the business and they wanted him out of the way.'
'But Paula doesn't inherit control. She told me that when we were going together. Mario McGuire's mother becomes head of the family business, and after her, Mario does. Or are you going to tell me that Detective Superintendent McGuire's involved in this as well?'
Jay sat bolt upright in his chair. 'Certainly not,' he snapped.
'Well, that's where your logic's taking you,' said Steele quietly. 'Go with Paula as a suspect and you're bringing him into it as well. Are you ready to go to DCS Pringle, and to the DCC when he gets back, and tell them that?'
63
The drive to Gifford went by mostly in silence. Charlie Johnston sat in the passenger seat, content; he was back on day shift and did not mind one bit that he had been hauled off patrol to go on a jaunt with a detective superintendent. He liked the country, too, and spent the latter part of the journey staring out of the window, admiring the scenery on the winding approach to the village nestling at the foot of the Lammermuirs.
Dan Pringle was waiting for them, leaning against his car, when Rose drew up outside the Goblin Ha' Hotel. She rolled down her window as he approached. 'Where's Brian?' she asked.
'He's waiting for us. What he's got's no' here. It's up the Lammermuirs; a couple of backpackers found it this morning. We'l take your car up there; this used to be your patch, so you know the way.' Without waiting for agreement or invitation he opened the rear offside door and climbed in.
Maggie felt her blood run cold. She had been on the Lammermuirs before, and Pringle knew it; at the scene of a terrible air disaster, which had ended so many people's lives, and changed several more, irrevocably.
She had never been there since. Nevertheless she clenched her jaw and drove off, out of the vil age and up the winding, undulating road that led to the great heather-covered moor. They seemed to go on for miles until they reached the junction offering a choice of routes to Duns, Cranshaws on the left, Longformacus on the right.
'Take right,' grunted Pringle, from the back.
'You got wellies on?' she asked as she fol owed his direction.
'No. Why should I? It's been fine weather for days.'
'That's right; so the adders'l be out, sunning themselves. There are a lot of them up here, you know.' She took a quick glance in her rearview mirror and was quietly pleased to see the head ofCID's frown. Beside her, Charlie Johnston flinched; suddenly his day out seemed a little less cushy. She drove on, looking straight ahead, as they passed the crash site.
She guessed that they had reached the highest point to the road when they saw the vehicles pulled into a lay-by; a patrol car, an Audi estate, a Nissan saloon and an ambulance. On the other side of the single-track carriageway, a Land Rover was parked on the heather. As she looked towards it, the tall, dome-headed figure of Detective Superintendent Brian Mackie stepped out of the front passenger seat.
'Afternoon,' he said as they approached. It was two minutes past midday, but Mackie was famed for his precision.
'Hello, Brian,' Pringle answered. 'Where is it, then?'
'It's not far, but I'l take you in the four-by-four.' Rose followed behind the head of CID and the constable, looking on amused, as they picked their way through the heather to the waiting vehicle. They scrambled on board, awkwardly in the cases of Pringle and Johnston, and the uniformed driver set off up a steady incline. No one spoke as they drove; Johnston knew his place while the senior officers knew that the questions in their minds would be answered soon enough.
The terrain was rough even in the agile wagon; Maggie found it impossible to judge how far they had travelled, but as they drew to a halt she looked at her watch and saw that they had been travelling for around three minutes.
'We're here,' said Brian Mackie, superfluously, as he opened the door and jumped out. 'This way.' He nodded towards a group of white-coated men and women spread out in a line around thirty yards away, heads down, studying the heather intently. At their centre a big white frame tent had been erected; Mackie headed towards it, Pringle, Rose and Johnston fol owing close behind.
As they reached it, the flap opened and a tal young man stepped out; Maggie recognised him at once. 'Hello, Dr Brown,' she said cheerfully.
'Haven't seen you since North Berwick.'
The medial examiner smiled, a touch rueful y. 'I'm sure you're very nice socially, Superintendent,' he replied, in a light Irish accent, 'but every time our paths cross professional y, you've got a real ripe one for me.'
'Cause of death, doctor?' Mackie asked, briskly.
'As it seems, I'd say. Gunshot wound from close range; in the back and through the heart; death would have been instantaneous.'
'Is the bul et still in situ?'
The doctor shook his head. 'Not a chance. You might find a fragment, but you'l be lucky; there's an exit wound the size of a golf bal in the chest. Heavy calibre weapon, undoubtedly.'
'Was he killed here?'
'I'd say not; there's very little blood around the body. No, he was shot somewhere else and brought kere.'
'When?'
'I honestly haven't a clue. He's been dead for several days, but if I ventured anything more than tliat it would be pure guesswork. It's been warm so that would accelerate decomposition, and a few things have been gnawing at him. Too many variables; I'l leave that to the pathologist.'
'Fair enough,' said Mackie.'Let me have your report as soon as you can.' He turned to the driver. Jimmy, give the ME a lift to his car and then come back.'
As the doctor left, he tumedtowards the tent, with a glance at Pringle.
'It's all yours, sir.'
'I want nothing to do'with it,' the head of CID retorted. 'That's what Charlie's here for. On you goJohnston, take a look.'
The big constable stared atliim. The, sir?'
'Aye, you; did you think Superintendent Rose brought you as her bodyguard?
Take a look at the deceased and tell us if you've seen him before.'
Johnston paled, visibly. 'Very good, sir,' he answered.
'On you go, Charlie,' said Ease, lifting the flap once more. 'I'll come in with you.' She had known since Pringle's phone cal who, or what, they were likely to find.
It was breezy on the moor, md the air was redolent with the scent of heather. As soon as they stepped inside the tent, another smell overwhelmed them; the odour ofrecent death. Maggie steeled herself to ignore it, as she had done many times before. At her side she heard the constable's stomach heave.