Suddenly, the door of the interview room was thrown open and a small red-haired man entered, shoulders back, head erect, with the now familiar policewoman following behind him. Nicholas sensed that this time there would be no gentle preliminaries, no charade of ‘assistance’. The manner of the entrance proclaimed that an interrogation was about to begin, however it might officially be described. He could feel his heart-rate rise, the pounding in his chest audible to him, if not everyone else.
‘So, Mr Lyon, the Sheriff took the amitriptyline himself, did he?’
‘Yes. He must have done, if you found it in his blood, and as he had planned, in Edinburgh.’
‘And you knew all about it?’
‘Yes. Well, no… not exactly.’ The old man was becoming flustered, ‘I mean, I knew that he intended to take it and I thought that he was going to do so on Monday night, but I couldn’t be sure. You see, it’s difficult to explain, but James didn’t want me to know… when, exactly, I mean.’
‘How did you discover that he was dead?’
‘Like I said to the Detective Sergeant, our friend, Liv Nordquist, phoned and told me.’
‘And why, in God’s name, didn’t you immediately make yourself available to us for the purpose of our enquiries? The Sheriff had, after all, been murdered.’
It was difficult to explain. More than that. Maybe impossible, or at least impossible to explain to this strange martinet. But, again, he must try.
‘James was dead, Chief Inspector, and he never liked people to know that he was gay. He came from a long line of military men, generals and brigadiers, that sort of thing… Service people. You know the sorts of views they tend to have about people like us.’ Seeing the DCI’s expression of surprise, he corrected himself quickly. ‘James and me, I mean. Anyway, most people didn’t know that he was gay, or that he had a partner. If I had turned up… well, that would all be over, wouldn’t it? And word of his homosexuality would get out, it would have, wouldn’t it? Into the newspapers and everything.’ He glanced up at the policeman, seeking his reaction, expecting agreement but not finding it.
‘Not nowadays. You’ll have to do better than that, Mr Lyon.’
The old man, sensing that he was not being believed, looked dismayed. His words began to tumble out, a new note of desperation in his voice.
‘But I knew you would find me… I suppose if I had come forward sooner you’d have got whatever information I can give you sooner, but, you see, I don’t know anything. I have no idea who killed James or why anyone would want to. If I can’t help now then I couldn’t have helped then either.’
‘Did the Sheriff have other lovers?’
‘I’m sorry, what are you talking about?’ The old man appeared bemused by the question.
‘Lovers. Other gay lovers. Other than you. It’s simple enough. Did the Sheriff have other gay lovers?’
No. I was his lover, his friend, his companion for over forty-five years. I was all he needed.
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘What about when he was in Edinburgh, with you left in the country?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘But you didn’t know?’
‘Does anybody know what their lover does every minute of every hour of every day sufficient to know for certain that they are faithful, Chief Inspector?’
‘So the simple answer is that he could have done so?’
Of course, he could have done so. I could have done so but, you foolish man, I knew his heart. He would not have done so any more than I would have done so. A truth apparently beyond your imagination or experience.
‘Yes, he could have done so.’
‘And are you aware whether anyone might have any kind of grievance against him due to his job?’
‘No. He retired over ten years ago, but even when he was on the bench I never heard of anything like that. Once, ages ago, I remember him telling me that a woman pelted him with an egg as he left the Sheriff Court in Haddington. Otherwise, I can’t recall anything or anyone.’
Interfering Scottish fucking Executive. Them and their bloody rules, DCI Bruce thought to himself. I NEED a cigarette. I don’t just want a cigarette, I need one, and without one all that I can think about is a smoke and where the next one is coming from. Something to calm my shattered nerves and stop the constant re-running in my head of the meeting with the ACC. No less than a sodding fiasco, and a further obstacle on the road to promotion. When would DCI Bell be returning, indeed! As if the man could not wait to replace him. But a little nicotine would restore his confidence, restore his self belief. Oh, it was intolerable! This interference with the rights of individuals, particularly individuals doing important and responsible jobs and who needed, physiologically, needed a good drag to function at top level. Without it he could not listen to this drivel for a second longer.
‘Perhaps you could take over now, DS Rice?’ DCI Bruce said as he rose, departing with unconcealed haste, intent on achieving his single, easily accomplished goal. And it would not be, ignominiously, behind the bike shed either.
‘Mr Lyon, maybe we could continue this interview at Geanbank in a few days’ time?’ the policewoman asked.
‘That would be fine. Thank you, I’d prefer that.’
Alice looked at the exam paper.
‘(12) There are several factors that may affect underwater visibility. Tick those that do:
A – Weather.
B – Water movement.
C – Ambient pressure.
D – Suspended particles.’
The weather must, surely. Bright sunshine could only make things clearer. Tick. Water movement? If there are lots of waves, then stuff, like sand, would be mixed into the water. Tick.
Ambient pressure? Christ knows. Leave it out.
Suspended particles? Of course. Tick
‘(13) Almost all injuries caused by aquatic life are attributable to (fill in space) action by the animal. Tick, as appropriate:
A – Unpredictable.
B – Unprovoked.
C – Defensive.’
Alice racked her brain for an example. A shark attempting to bite a lump out of a diver. That would do. Let’s see; thoroughly predictable and therefore, possibly, avoidable. Routinely unprovoked and offensive in nature rather than defensive. Tick ‘unprovoked’. She wished she had read ‘Knowledge review – Module 3’ of the Open Water Diver Manual last night instead of another chapter of Ishiguro’s bleak novel, which had reduced her to tears. As she began to scrutinise Question 14, at first sight completely incomprehensible, she became aware of Bridget craning over her question sheet. The invigilator had left the room.
‘Well, what’s the answer to Question 12?’ Her friend murmured.
‘No idea, I’ve opted for A, B and D.’
‘And 13?’
‘Again, I haven’t the faintest, but I’m going for “Unprovoked”. What’s the answer to 14, Bridget?’
‘I’ve put “Establish buoyancy; Drop weight belt; Stop; Think; Act relaxed and signal”. I had it all written down on my palm.’
‘My palm wouldn’t be big enough!’
The urgent whispering in the room ceased as the invigilator returned, bearing a cup of coffee for himself.
‘Now, students, your time’s up. If you exchange sheets with your neighbour we will correct the exam.’ Before Alice had a chance to pass her sheet on to the man on her right Bridget snatched it from her grasp and thrust her own onto Alice’s lap, wheedling conspiratorially, ‘Last week, 90%. This week 92%? Eh? Top o’ the class for me?’
‘These things matter!’ hissed the waste disposal entrepreneur.
‘I know,’ nodded Bridget before adding blithely, ‘that’s why I intend to come first.’ And then she muttered to Alice, ‘water off a Dux’s back, eh!’
6
The woman’s carmine lipstick glistened moistly in the light. As always it had been immaculately applied, DI Manson decided, while he watched, transfixed, as she inserted a cashew nut into the flawless Cupid’s bow of her mouth. Oh, and her eyebrows were thin and perfectly arched, her nails long, manicured and pearly pink. Blonde hair, too. This is exactly how a woman, a proper woman, should look, and then men, all men, certainly this one, would give her whatever she desired.