‘Sure.’
‘Good, because I could do with a translator — none of us seem able to pronounce the name of her street.’
Fox studied James’s pad of paper.
‘It’s Sciennes,’ he said.
Sciennes Road was in Marchmont, not too far from Rebus’s flat. Fox was beginning to feel as if the city had become a labyrinth, its denizens and neighbourhoods all connected by knotted threads.
‘The red building on the left is the Sick Kids hospital,’ he told James, trying not to sound too much like a tour guide. ‘Sciennes Primary School next along.’ Then a run of shops with three storeys of flats above. A very different feel to Great Junction Street; a different part of the puzzle. Fox signalled and pulled into a parking space.
‘You always do that?’ Alvin James asked.
‘What?’
‘Signal.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Even when there’s no other traffic?’
‘It’s the way I learned.’
‘You’re a creature of habit, Malcolm. And you stick to the rules.’
‘Got a problem with that, Alvin?’
‘Not that I can think of.’
They got out and found the bell with ‘Dromgoole’ next to it. There was no answer from within. Both men stepped back as the door to the common stairwell swung inwards. One of the residents was emerging, hampered by a bicycle. James held the door open for him.
‘Ta.’
‘We’re here to see Maxine Dromgoole.’
‘Second floor left,’ the man said.
Alvin James nodded his thanks and waved Fox inside with a sweep of his free arm.
They climbed the stairs and stopped at Dromgoole’s door. Fox rapped with his knuckles. Nothing. James bent over and prised open the letter box.
‘Anyone home?’ he called.
Fox was just taking out one of his business cards and a pen when there was a sudden croaky voice from within.
‘Please, whoever you are, come back later.’
‘Can’t do that, Ms Dromgoole,’ James stated through the letter box. ‘We’re police officers.’
‘I can’t handle this right now.’
James made eye contact with Fox. ‘I can appreciate you’re upset, Maxine. Of course you are. But Robert would want you to help us, don’t you think?’
The silence lasted almost half a minute. Then the door was pulled open with infinite slowness, revealing a woman in what looked like pyjamas, the top baggy and grey, the trousers identical in colour and tied at the waist with a drawstring. Maxine Dromgoole had almost cried herself out. She looked ready to drop, face blotchy, hair unbrushed, eyes bloodshot. She held a wad of paper tissues in one hand. The area around her nose looked sore from rubbing.
‘Does Liz know?’ she asked.
‘About you and her partner? Not as far as I’m aware.’
‘But she’ll find out now, won’t she?’
‘Might not have to come to that,’ James said, looking to Fox to back him up.
‘We just need a few minutes of your time,’ Fox added as solicitously as he could.
‘It was revenge, wasn’t it?’
‘Was it?’
‘Rab had to chuck some guys out of a club a week or two back. He told me about it after. Said they’d promised payback.’
‘Tell you what, Maxine,’ James said. ‘Let’s go take the weight off while my colleague makes us all a cuppa. Does that sound okay?’
She nodded distractedly and turned towards the living room. Fox got busy in the kitchen. Once the kettle was on, he stood in the living room doorway, making sure he caught the conversation.
‘So how long had you known Rab?’ James was asking, notebook out.
‘Eight years or so.’
‘This would have been around the time you published your book?’
‘That’s right. He wanted to ask me about it.’
‘Because the case was being reviewed?’
She was nodding, her eyes fixed on the window and the sky beyond. ‘I’d reworked my interview with Vince Brady and sold it to a newspaper. This was in the days when newspapers still paid their contributors. Anyway, because it was back in the public eye, there had to be a review.’
‘And that was how you two met.’
‘We got on well. I didn’t really think about it afterwards, but he called me a couple of weeks later. I knew he was married but was on the verge of splitting up. He was already seeing Liz... Christ, that makes me sound like the scarlet woman, doesn’t it? It was actually a few years until we became serious — not that I ever wanted...’ She broke off, gulping and getting her breathing back under control. ‘I met Liz a few times. They have parties at the gym once or twice a year, partners welcome.’ She paused again, lowering her eyes. ‘She seemed very nice. You think it’s possible she won’t find out?’
Fox sped back to the kitchen and returned with a tray — three mugs, milk, sugar. He placed it on the coffee table and let them help themselves.
‘Did you see anything of him that last day?’ James asked when they had settled again.
‘He sent a couple of texts.’
Yes, Fox thought, at 10.45 and 11.10. Sent from home, with his partner either in the room or else not far away.
‘How did he seem?’
‘He was just letting me know he might not make it to the gym later.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘He’d been talking to someone about Maria Turquand.’
‘And that’s why he couldn’t come to the gym as usual?’ Fox probed.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can we see the texts?’ James asked.
‘They’re... some of them are personal.’
‘I think I understand. Maybe just those two from the day itself?’
She lifted her phone from the coffee table and opened it up, eventually turning it round so they could see the screen, but not about to let them take the phone itself from her.
Don’t be cross, Hot Buns — can’t watch you sweat today.
She had sent a reply a few minutes later:
Tomoz? Everything okay?
And then his response:
In other news, Maria T is back! Ex-cop on the prowl. Maybe I should be insulted my brilliant investigation wasn’t the end of it...
The last text ever sent by Robert Chatham.
‘Would he be at the gym most afternoons?’ James asked, sitting back down.
‘He had a good body. He liked to keep it that way.’ Dromgoole had turned the phone back towards her so she could stare at the texts. ‘He told me they used to tease him in CID, call him “Fat Rab”. He decided to do something about that.’
‘It was the Turquand case that threw you together,’ Fox interrupted. He was perched on the arm of the sofa, not quite ready to get comfortable. ‘Did he ever share the findings of the review with you?’
‘Would that have been against procedure?’ She placed her phone on the arm of her chair.
‘I’ll take that as a yes. What did you think when he sent you that text?’
She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. ‘I was a bit cranky that I wasn’t going to be seeing him. I don’t think I gave it much thought.’
‘No?’
‘Should I have?’
‘It was a story that interested you at one time. I notice your book’s still in Amazon’s top thousand.’
She gave a snort. ‘Top thousand True Crime. I doubt it sells fifty copies a year.’
‘Are you working on anything just now?’ Fox asked.
The question seemed to throw her. She studied his face, more or less for the first time. ‘Very early stages,’ she eventually admitted.
‘Mind if I ask the subject?’
‘Morris Gerald Cafferty,’ she said. ‘You’ll know the name, I dare say.’