‘Supposition,’ she protested. ‘Anyway, the fact is that Derek and I were here, having dinner, when my father died, and you could never come close to proving that I gave my keys to anyone else.’
‘Because Manson’s dead?’ the young DS murmured.
For the merest fraction of a second Alafair might have been about to betray herself with a nod, but if she had she mastered the voluntary reflex, and contented herself with a cool stare back at him. ‘Really, sonny,’ she sighed, ‘you can do better than that.’
‘Until very recently we might have,’ Pye said. ‘You weren’t Tony’s only woman. He had another on the go; when your father went into the pool and the bubbles stopped coming up, the pair of them were on a Mediterranean holiday together.
‘Her name is Bella Watson, and if you know anything at all about your own family history. . and I’m sure you know everything. . you’ll be aware that the Holmeses pretty much wiped hers out, one way or another. You couldn’t get to her, though, not as long as Manson was alive. When he wasn’t she went back to her maiden name and moved into a place that was bought for her.’
He paused, looking for another reaction, but he saw none. ‘She probably thought she was safe there,’ he went on, ‘but fate can be a real bastard. By a sheer accident, not long before he was released from prison, Hastie was given a clue to her whereabouts, and shortly after he was released, somebody stabbed her to death and put her body in the Firth of Forth.’
‘Well, it wasn’t Hastie,’ she exclaimed. ‘I can tell you that.’
‘We know that. Physically he couldn’t have inflicted the injuries that killed the woman; he doesn’t have the strength in his hands.’
‘He doesn’t have the strength anywhere,’ she retorted. ‘He’s in a nursing home. He went into our limo hire business a couple of weeks after he got out. He has to show the probation people that he’s working, and he decided to get involved with that as a starter. He’d only been there a few months when he had a funny turn; he was taken to hospital from there and he’s been diagnosed with a brain tumour. Go on; go and check if you doubt me.’ Her face twisted into something very unattractive. ‘And they said the Watson family was hard done by,’ she exclaimed.
‘Yes, they did,’ Pye agreed, ignoring the irony, ‘and they still do. Your brother might be out of commission, and your husband too, but you’re a big strong woman, and I’m sure Hastie could have found you a helper from his hospital bed. I’m going to require a DNA swab from you, Mrs Drysalter, and your fingerprints. . for elimination of course,’ he added. ‘DS Haddock has all the kit. We can do them here, and if we hurry, we’ll be done before your daughter gets home. If not, and you have to explain, I’m sure the story will give her bragging rights at Mary Erskine for a long time. You know what kids are like. You used to be one, after all.’
Forty-Seven
Friday was the day I’d meant to do something about the decision I’d reached while Sarah and I were in Spain. I had faced a straight choice: embrace the future and shape it to my will, or look to maintain as much of the status quo as I could. Either way would have to be best for my family, among whom I included Sarah, for me, and for the police service, in that order.
I knew how I’d jumped and I was sure it would please at least two of those, and maybe all three.
It was the day I was going to tackle it, but it was sidetracked, because I found myself up to my oxters. . that is, my armpits, to those who don’t speak Scottish. . in events that ran pretty quickly beyond my control.
I’d been at my desk for just over an hour when Sandra knocked on my door and stepped into my room without waiting for an answer. I was with my deputy, Bridie Gorman, at the time, talking about the practicalities of the handover to the new unified Police Scotland, or rather its impracticalities, as far as Bridie was concerned, so neither of us minded the interruption.
‘I’m sorry, sir, ma’am,’ Bulloch said, ‘but you did say that when this came back you wanted to see it right away.’ She handed me a package, about the same size and shape as the one Maggie Steele had sent through from Edinburgh.
I thanked her and told Bridie that it concerned a sensitive matter that I had to deal with on my own. I could tell that she was miffed that I didn’t trust her enough to share, but I decided to apologise later.
I tore the package open and found the Mackenzie HR file, and an added bonus, a second envelope containing a handwritten note from Arthur Dorward. . it couldn’t have been from anyone else; his style is unique.
You asked me to dust the first entry document in this extensive file for fingerprints, and to run comparisons of all the results through the national fingerprint library. You did so, in your usual cryptic and enigmatic ******* [his asterisks, not mine] way without giving me any clue about who I was ******* looking for. As usual, you assume that I can work blindfolded at one hundred per cent efficiency. As usual I have proved you right.
From seventy-three fingerprint traces in total, I’ve managed to find three matches in the library. All three relate to individuals whose prints are held for purposes of elimination, and not as convicted persons.
Not unnaturally, one of those sets is your own. Jesus Christ, Chief Constable, will you ever learn to wear disposable gloves? Another belongs to one David Mackenzie, currently, as I am advised, a detective superintendent in Edinburgh. Since the document is his employment application, that’s hardly a surprise. The third and final set, left thumb, partial left palm print, right thumb and right index finger, belong to the recently retired Assistant Chief Constable Max Allan.
I have no idea what any of this means. Maybe one day you’ll tell me, maybe you won’t, but whatever, you can go to court on it.
Arthur D
Was I surprised? Was I hell. Max had professed little knowledge of Mackenzie’s background to Dan Provan, and yet he had told Tom Donnelly that he was the investigating officer when the boy had chucked the chips at his uncle.
I thought about sending the file back to Arthur and telling him to dust every entry looking for Max’s prints, but that really would have been pushing my luck. I reckoned that I had enough to go on, so I left it at that. Instead I called the head of Human Resources, direct.
‘Chief Constable here,’ I said; I was thinking too hard to exchange pleasantries. ‘I want to see the HR folder on ACC Max Allan. I know he’s retired, but if you tell me that you’ve destroyed it I won’t be happy.’
‘Then you can relax, Chief,’ she said. ‘We’ve just finished processing his pension, and because of his rank, it came to me to be signed off. His file’s still in my office, awaiting return to storage. You’ll have it in five minutes.’
Forty-Eight
‘Boss, I’ve been thinking,’ Haddock said.
‘Glad to hear it,’ Sammy Pye retorted. ‘Sometimes I wonder. Did it produce a pearl of wisdom?’
‘Up yours. . with respect, of course. I’d love us to be able to put Alafair Drysalter in Bella Watson’s kitchen and find a strand of her hair stuck in the blood, but I don’t believe it’s going to happen. She’s a spoiled selfish woman, and she has that dim sod of a husband on a string, but I don’t see her with a knife in her hand.’
‘Me neither,’ the DI admitted. ‘I only did the test out of thoroughness, not expectation. . and to rile her a wee bit as well. I’m quite convinced we hit the nail on the head over her father’s death, and it’s possible she could have paid people to do the job on Bella Watson, but the timing’s wrong for me.
‘We know from the feedback from the ACC that Hastie McGrew picked up a clue to where she was living while he was still in prison. If they were that desperate to get rid of her, would they have waited until Hastie was released? I don’t see that.