“Did Vhari keep in touch with Kate?”
“Oh, yeah. Called her every week. Called us both.”
They stopped for a moment, looking out through the dirty windscreen, seeing the garage as if they had just driven in. “So this is all your own?”
“Every bit of it. Got the lease, even drew the sign myself. The Burnetts were furious.”
“What’s Kate like?”
He smiled despite himself. “Kate never gave a fuck. Kate left home at fifteen and never went back. Grandfather left her a cottage when he died, up at Loch Lomond, and she never even went home for the keys.”
“Did you get anything?”
“No.” He looked bitter. “I’m not blood. I got nothing. Vhari got the Bearsden house. It’s worth a fortune.”
Paddy thought of the old-fashioned curtains she had noticed in the big bay window on the night of the murder. “Had she just moved in?”
“Yeah, three weeks ago. Half a mile from the folks, God help her.”
They sipped their tea, watching the still room and the pink fire ripple across the brazier surface, its light shifting the tones in the room. She glanced at Bernie out of the corner of her eye so that he wouldn’t know she was watching, and saw his eyebrows furrow with worry. Every time Kate was mentioned he balked.
“And Mark spent his last day here?”
Bernie blinked hard at his mug and shrugged. “He was outside waiting when I got here at eight thirty, dressed in his smart suit and that stupid Midge Ure overcoat. He was bloody freezing.” He smirked at the memory but his face crumpled suddenly at the thought of Mark. He struggled for breath for a moment, the shock of emotion making him fleck saliva onto his chin. He raised a hand and wiped it off. “I’m very sorry,” he said, his accent still as crisp as a fresh lettuce. “It’s just… a lot’s happened.”
Paddy tried to think of something kind to say. “I’m sorry too.”
“Mark had come to tell me Vhari was dead. He wanted to tell me. I don’t have a phone at home and he didn’t want me to hear from the radio.”
“Are Kate and Paul Neilson still together?”
“Dunno,” he said, too quickly. “Dunno anything about Kate’s life.”
“But you know Neilson?”
Bernie nodded. “We were at school together, all of us, Mark and Paul and us. Formed a tight little gang. Mark’s family only lived across the road from us. Paul lived farther away, he never really hung around the house much. I didn’t know him well.”
“He didn’t join the gang?”
“No, just sort of took Kate away. He was nothing to do with us. After school Vhari and Mark got engaged. Big family event. We were all big pals until Diana came along.”
She had heard Bernie’s accent before and now she could place it: it was a public school accent and the last time she’d heard it was from the mouth of the man she now knew was Paul Neilson when they were both standing outside Vhari Burnett’s door.
“Where does Neilson live?”
“Killearn. Huntly House or Lodge or something, Huntly Cottage.”
“Would Neilson have known where your grandfather’s house was?”
Bernie’s eye flickered to her and he shifted uncomfortably. “Dunno. Maybe.”
“But Mark would have known. They were engaged so he probably met your grandfather. He’d know where Vhari had moved to.”
“Well.” He cleared his throat unnecessarily. “I suppose.”
Paddy nodded, making mental notes. “Why didn’t Mark go to the police?”
Bernie shrugged again; it seemed to be a herald for a fib. “Mark was a lawyer. He didn’t have a particularly high opinion of the police.”
“Was he protecting you from them?” It was a stab in the dark and not a very good one.
Bernie smirked at her. “From the fuzz? What have I done? Been a toff in a working-class area?” The temperature was dropping between them so she decided to move on.
“Bernie, listen, Vhari had the chance to walk out of the house that night and she didn’t take it.” She watched his face closely. “Whatever secret you’re keeping from the rest of the world, she gave her life to keep it. I think she was protecting Kate. Why would she need to protect her from the police?”
Bernie looked at her regretfully and rolled his head away, rubbing his hair on the window, sad that he couldn’t tell her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay, Bernie. Even if she stayed for you.”
Fighting tears, Bernie rubbed his nose with an open palm. “It wasn’t for me,” he said. “Really.”
“Did Mark give Vhari’s new address to the person who beat him up?”
Bernie looked at her imploringly but said nothing.
“And then he killed himself? Because he felt he’d got her killed?”
He shook his head. Paddy felt he’d tell her if he could.
“I’ll find out, you know, I will find out and tell the police. Can’t you give me anything?”
His eyes wandered slowly around her face, considering what she said. “I can’t do anything that’ll hurt her.”
“Kate?”
He nodded at the dashboard. “We can’t involve the police.”
“Why? Has Kate done something illegal?” He didn’t answer. “I’ll protect her as much as I can, Bernie, but you need to give me something to go on, a name or a place or something, please? For Vhari.” Bernie shook his head. “For Mark?”
He drew in a deep breath and looked around the garage. “I don’t even know who he is but he’s important.” He worked his fingernail into the seam of his chair. “It’s Knox. Look for someone called Knox.”
TWENTY-EIGHT. INQUIRY
I
The clippings library was a pocket of calm order in the chaos of the newspaper. Helen, the chief librarian, dressed like a real librarian would, in tweed pencil skirts and jerseys. Her glasses hung on a red beaded chain around her neck. Paddy had never liked her when she was a copyboy but Helen seemed to have mellowed since Paddy got her promotion. Paddy sometimes dropped in for a chat when she was feeling beleaguered, a fellow female in the middle of a gang of nasty men. The rumors about Burns would be all over the newsroom by now and she wanted to linger in the safety of the library.
Helen dropped an envelope onto the counter and smiled at Paddy. “Here’s one set of Robert Lafferty clippings. We’ve got Neilson the musician but nothing for a Paul Neilson.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Not as much as a birth announcement. There’s so many clippings for the name Knox I’d need to let you in here to trawl through them yourself. Will I give you the first twenty sets?”
“Uch, no, Helen, I don’t have time this morning.”
“Yeah, I heard you’re going in front of the police inquiry into the Bearsden murder this afternoon.”
Paddy flinched. “Who told you that?”
“Shug Grant was in. He’s covering the inquiry.”
It was bad. Shug Grant already hated her for her Margaret Mary jibe and he was a loudmouthed bastard. He once slept with a sub ed’s wife after a party and came in the next day and told everyone. If he was reporting on the inquiry half of Scotland would know about the fifty quid before the first edition went to press.
The doors opened behind Paddy and a copyboy came in and stood next to her, his hands on the partition, looking around expectantly, but Helen ignored him.
“I heard,” she said quietly, “that the squad car took twenty-five minutes to get to the house. Someone’ll get their books.”
“I thought it was a closed committee?”
“It is, but Grant knows someone on it.”
Paddy smiled nervously and lifted the envelope. “Shug knows someone everywhere, doesn’t he?”
“Seems to.”
She hesitated on the stairs but climbed them slowly, making for the newsroom. She couldn’t dodge them forever or they’d know she was scared.