‘I won’t ask you to look at the photos again,’ the DCI said, ‘but the boot of your BMW was lined, with thick black foam rubber. Do you keep that at Kingston?’
‘Yes, I do. But there was none in it the last time I looked, I’ll swear. What does that tell you?’
‘It suggests to us,’ Haddock replied, ‘that the person who stole your car did so with the intention of using it to abduct Zena. Also, it suggests that whoever took it might have known about the rubber being there in your garage, so it makes us think we’re looking for somebody who’s been there before.’
‘The guy that was driving,’ Sullivan ventured. ‘What was he like?’
‘Thin-faced white man in his twenties, wearing a hoodie and quick on his feet.’
‘In his twenties, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry.’ He gazed at the table once more. ‘That doesn’t suggest anyone in particular to me. I know a few people who look like that.’
‘Still,’ Pye said, ‘we might ask you to look at an artist’s impression when we can get one prepared.’ He looked Sullivan in the eye. ‘What can you tell me about your relationship with Mary Jean Harris?’
‘Eh? Mary? She’s my sister.’
‘She lives with you, yes?’
The other man nodded. ‘Yes. She has done since just after my wife and I split up, a couple of years back. She lived through in Cumbernauld and she’d had a rough time, so I offered her a change of scene and a roof over her head.’
‘A rough time? How rough?’
‘Her husband had walked out on her,’ he replied, ‘and she was struggling financially.’
‘So it had nothing to do with your nephew, Maxwell?’
‘No,’ Sullivan retorted. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Is Maxwell still at school?’ Haddock asked.
‘No. He left at the end of last year.’
‘Does he have a job?’
‘He helps me out, from time to time. He got enough Higher passes last summer to tie up a university place next autumn, so he’s calling this his gap year.’
‘How does he help you out?’
‘Driving mostly. If I’m delivering a car to a buyer, he’ll come behind me to bring me back. If I’m taking one to the mechanic, same thing.’
The DS paused. He looked sideways at Pye, who nodded, a signal to carry on.
‘Tell me more about your sister’s problems in Cumbernauld,’ he continued.
Sullivan drew a breath, exhaling through his nose. ‘It just wasn’t a happy place for her. She didn’t like the town, and she didn’t like her job.’
‘What did she do?’ Haddock asked.
‘She’s a teacher. Mary was educated at Watson’s and did her degree at Moray House. She taught in Royal High at the start of her career, a good school. Then she married Stewart Harris, and it all started to go wrong. They lived in Bathgate at first. She could commute from there, but he was posted to Paisley, and that was the end of that. Then he was promoted and transferred to Cumbernauld. The only jobs she could find in either place were in rough, low-end schools. She just wasn’t cut out for them, but she needed to work.’
‘What did her husband do?’
‘He was one of your lot. He was a PC in Airdrie when they married. He left her two years ago, when Maxwell was fifteen. He was a sergeant by then, but going no higher.’
‘What happened?’
‘The usual,’ Sullivan sighed. ‘Another woman, Mary told me. And as can happen in these cases, she was victimised twice. She had to increase her mortgage to give him his share of the house, and it just broke her. She’d been pretty low anyway, and that was the last straw. Coming to live with me worked out well for her,’ he added. ‘There’s plenty of room in the house and she has a job at North Berwick High. Maxwell sat his Highers there.’
‘You haven’t had much luck in the marriage stakes, you and your sister,’ Pye observed.
‘You could say that.’
‘What happened to yours?’
‘Nothing dramatic. We just weren’t suited.’
‘Did you buy her half of the house?’ Haddock asked.
‘No, it wasn’t like that. I’d sold my main business . . . it made compressors for central heating units . . . so I gave Janine a generous settlement. It included our house in Polwarth. I moved out to North Berwick, and started to do what I’d fancied doing for a while, dealing in specialist cars.’ He smiled, for the first time. ‘Every man’s dream, pursuing his hobby full time.’
‘Mine would be golf,’ the DS confessed. ‘Some day, maybe I’ll play the senior tour.’
He straightened in his chair, then leaned a little closer, his hands on the table.
‘So,’ he murmured, ‘your sister’s move; you say it had nothing to do with Maxwell?’
‘No, why should it?’
‘It had nothing to do with his appearance before the panel?’
Sullivan’s eyes narrowed; he too leaned towards his interrogator. ‘What fucking panel?’
‘Three years ago, when he was fourteen, Maxwell appeared before a Children’s Hearing in North Lanarkshire. He was accused of exposing himself to a group of three-year-old girls in a park in Cumbernauld. The panel placed him under the supervision of a social worker for a year. Both his parents were at the hearing.’
‘I never knew about this! The dirty little bastard. Are you telling me he’s on the sex offenders’ register?’
‘No, he isn’t,’ Pye said, intervening. ‘There was no conviction recorded; the Children’s Hearing isn’t a court.’
‘Still, he’s a pervert!’
‘Mr Sullivan, we’re not rushing to judgement here, but the lad’s past does flag him up for attention. Does he have access to your garage?’
The uncle nodded. ‘Yes, he knows where the keys are.’
‘You’ve indicated that he has a driving licence. Does he have a car of his own?’
‘Not as such, but I’ve got a general insurance policy on all my vehicles and I let him use one when he wants.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Last night, but . . . Fuck me, my house isn’t far from the primary school.’ He whistled. ‘No wonder Mary was having a hard time in Cumbernauld. There are no secrets in a place like that.’
‘You didn’t see him this morning?’
‘No, nor did I hear him, and I probably would have if he’d been in. He’s always got music going in his room.’
‘Does he often go out early?’ Haddock asked.
‘Not often, but it’s not unknown. As well as helping me, he works part-time down at the Seabird Centre. It opens at ten, but if there’s been an evening event, sometimes they ask him to go in early to clear up.’ Sullivan’s hands were shaking. ‘Christ, you’ve got me worried. He is a quiet lad, Maxwell, but I’ve never read anything into that. Now, I feel as if I don’t know the boy at all.’
‘Can you describe him for us?’
‘He’s tall, and he’s thin . . .’ He looked the sergeant in the eye. ‘Are you saying it might have been him that was driving the Beamer?’
‘No,’ Pye replied. ‘The description we have is of an older man, and our witness is . . . reliable, let’s say. But we do need to speak to Maxwell, if only to eliminate him. As a matter of interest, does he wear a hoodie?’
‘He’s got one.’ The reply was a whisper.
‘Thanks . . . but listen,’ the DCI added, ‘who doesn’t these days? It seems to be unofficial uniform for youngsters.’
Haddock nodded. ‘I have one myself,’ he volunteered. ‘So has my girlfriend.’
‘How do you want to handle this?’ Sullivan asked. ‘Do you want me to bring him here?’
‘No,’ Pye replied, at once. ‘If he is at the Seabird Centre, will he go home for lunch?’
‘Yes, Mary too. I usually make it for all of us. ’ He looked at his watch. ‘I should be getting back there. Can I go now?’
‘You’re not being detained,’ the DCI told him, ‘but we’d appreciate your cooperation. To be frank, we need to see the boy before you do, and we don’t want you to call him before then. Trust us, it’ll be in his best interests.’