Evil for Evil Read online

  Tindall was standing staring at the screen where a newscaster was saying, ‘… near Kirkcudbright, thought to have been the victim of an attack by a German Shepherd-type dog. The woman has not been identified, but a man has been arrested and is in custody at the Galloway police headquarters in Kirkluce.’

  As the newscaster went on to the next topic, Tindall said, ‘Something’s come up. Phone Marianne and tell her I’m going away.’

  Then he hurried out, leaving the other man looking from his retreating back to the television. Then he shrugged, changed the channel, picked up the pile of offending magazines and went towards his office, shouting at the receptionist to come immediately.

  She pulled a face at the assistant manager, who had also been watching with interest the confrontation with Tindall.

  ‘He’ll pay it forward, I reckon. Like in that film, you know? Wish me luck!’

  Georgia Stanley was feeling harassed as she opened the door to yet another police officer – DI Fleming, this time. She’d become fond of Christie, and she was worried by the girl’s state of mind. Yesterday she’d been restless, unable to settle, twitching visibly; today she seemed unnaturally calm. It wasn’t healthy.

  She had gone out to feed the stags this morning, and when Georgia had suggested she leave Kerr to do it, she had said simply, ‘Matt will be relying on me. When they realise they have to let him out, I don’t want him to find things haven’t been done properly. I don’t trust Kerr.’

  Certainly, when Christie came back she had said, triumphantly, that there had been no sign of him, and that without her the stags would have gone hungry. She’d even seemed hungry now herself; when Georgia showed Fleming through to the sitting room she’d made considerable inroads into the plate of custard creams.

  As Fleming came in, Christie looked up at her, her eyes hard and bright. ‘Oh, come to try to break Matt’s alibi, have you? You’ll never do it. I’m standing by my statement.’

  Fleming showed no sign of knowing what she was talking about. She said only, ‘That’s fine, Christie. I actually just wanted to ask about your movements yesterday.’

  Christie sighed elaborately. ‘Oh, I’ll go over it again, if you want. Matt and I had supper with Georgia, then we all went up to bed. After Georgia had gone into her bedroom, I slipped across to sleep with Matt – we’re lovers, you know. I got back to my room shortly before I heard the sirens, and Matt seems to have decided to go back to the farmhouse then. All right?’

  There was a stillness about Fleming, Georgia thought, as if she was taking her time to assess Christie with those shrewd hazel eyes. When Christie finished, she said quietly, ‘Well really, Christie, I was talking about you more than Matt. If he confirms it, you have an alibi for the early hours of the morning. What did you do in the afternoon?’

  Georgia saw Christie freeze, and felt her own throat constrict. The girl had been so stressed yesterday that she couldn’t keep still, and at last had gone out, muttering that she needed to walk. She’d been out for two or three hours. And clearly the police thought that was the crucial time, so Christie’s gallant lie to cover for Matt was pointless.

  She was looking at her with great sympathy, when Christie said, ‘Oh, I was here all the time, wasn’t I, Georgia?’ Her blue eyes were flashing an urgent message.

  Georgia felt hot colour flood her face. The hazel eyes were coolly fixed on her now too. She felt like a butterfly skewered to a board by two hatpins.

  She had no choice, though. ‘Christie, I know you wouldn’t have killed Lissa, but I can’t lie to the police, and you shouldn’t either. It’s their job to find out who did this terrible thing, and we have to help them in any way we can.’

  ‘Traitor!’ Christie cried. ‘Traitor! I thought you were my friend.’

  Georgia felt, this time, as if the hatpin had gone straight through her heart.

  ‘I help you, Mr Tindall?’ Standing in the doorway of the master bedroom of the Salford penthouse flat, Lola stood watching in puzzlement as her employer threw what looked like a random selection of clothes into a suitcase.

  ‘No thanks, Lola. I’m just going to be away for a few days. Not sure how long. All right?’

  He snapped the case shut. He seemed very tense; she didn’t like to point out that though he’d packed shirts, underwear and sweaters, there seemed to be no trousers or socks. But he didn’t look as if he wanted advice and she wasn’t about to offer it. She wasn’t taking any risks with her nice, well-paid housekeeper’s job – and now with pretty much a paid holiday too.

  ‘Going to see Mrs Tindall?’ she suggested, and was surprised when he shuddered.

  ‘I don’t know. I … I hope not,’ he said, mystifyingly, and then picked up his case and departed.

  Fleming took Campbell with her to the interview room, where Lovatt was waiting for them already. He looked dreadful: eyes red-rimmed, his good cheek hollowed in, leaving the other looking oddly plump. His head was down and he didn’t even look up as Campbell went through the procedures for the recording, then came back to sit beside Fleming.

  ‘Mr Lovatt?’ she began.

  At last he looked up. ‘Someone’s trying to destroy me.’ His voice was husky and strained. ‘I don’t know who it is, I don’t know why, but bit by bit they’re tearing my life apart. They tried to destroy my farming, then my house, and now my – my wife. And my dog. Has he – has he …?’ He broke down.

  Fleming said hastily, ‘Mr Lovatt, let’s deal with that first. Nothing’s going to happen to the dog. The whole thing was a misunderstanding. It looked as if your wife had been attacked by an animal, but further investigation has shown that this wasn’t the case.’

  Lovatt seemed unable to control his tears, but he looked at her with dawning hope. ‘You swear? That’s not just some sort of trick, is it?’

  ‘No, of course not. That is absolutely true.’

  ‘Oh thank you, thank you! You have no idea what that means to me.’

  Campbell shifted uneasily in his seat and Fleming, too, was uncomfortable with this heartfelt gratitude.

  ‘I have to apologise that this happened at all,’ she said awkwardly.

  He hardly seemed to hear her, going on, ‘You see, Lissa and I … well, we hadn’t been getting on for some time. And then, of course, she was having an affair with Kerr Brodie – not that I blamed her, after all that had happened. But recently I had the impression he was trying to end it, so there was nothing for her here, nothing. But she couldn’t just leave because—’ He broke off. ‘You know about the baby’s grave?’

  Fleming nodded, reluctant to break the flow by speaking. She wondered, though, whether they had told him where his wife’s body had been found; she rather thought not, from the way he spoke.

  Lovatt went on again. ‘At least I had the farm. I love the life, love the land. And I had Mika – such a great dog! You’re sure—’ He was suddenly anxious again.

  ‘Sure,’ Fleming said.

  ‘He’s been with me through so much – Bosnia, this …’ He touched his face. ‘When I was at my lowest ebb, when I thought a bullet would be the best way out, he was there, never leaving my side, watching me, reminding me that I had to stay alive, for him. He’s a one-man dog – if anything happened to me, they’d have to put him down.’

  Then it struck him. ‘If I went to jail—’

  His voice shook, and Fleming stepped in hastily. ‘Matt, we’re not going to charge you – certainly not at the moment. I don’t know whether you killed your wife, as yet—’

  ‘I didn’t, I swear it!’

  She ignored the impassioned response. ‘Extensive enquiries are under way, and depending on what emerges we may bring you back here. You must stay in the area, but at the end of this interview you will be free to go and we’ll return your dog.

  ‘There’s just a couple more questions. What is your relationship with Christie Jack?’

  Lovatt looked unhappy. ‘Lissa always said she had a crush on me. I didn’t believe her, but … Christie
thinks she’s protecting me by saying we were together. We weren’t, of course.’

  ‘Could she have been hoping for that outcome if Lissa was out of the way?’

  ‘No!’ he protested. ‘She couldn’t – she wouldn’t! She’s just a child.’

  ‘She had very dreadful experiences in Afghanistan, I understand.’

  ‘She did, but …’

  His voice trailed away. He was, Fleming thought, very uneasy. He didn’t think it was entirely impossible, but he certainly wasn’t going to say so.

  ‘Anyway, is there anyone, anyone at all, who would have reason to, as you put it, tear your life apart? Oh, I know you’ve talked of local problems before and of course we are looking into these, but this, to be honest, seems just too extreme.’

  He was nodding agreement. ‘I know. I can’t see it. I’m positive they let the stag out, I would believe they might have set fire to the house, just to try to drive me away, but this …’

  ‘Who, then?’ she pressed him.

  ‘Done something bad in your past life?’

  Campbell, who hadn’t spoken at all, shot out the question and Fleming saw Lovatt take it like a bullet.

  ‘N–no,’ he stammered. ‘Of course not. What could I have done?’

  As usual, Campbell was on to something. She followed it up. ‘You were in a theatre of war. Was there something happened in Bosnia?’

  She realised from his face that she had asked the wrong question. ‘War crimes, you mean? Certainly not.’ He spoke with all the authority of a clear conscience, and a touch of arrogant anger too at his honour being impugned.

  ‘Something else, though?’ she asked, but not very hopefully. He’d had that moment to collect himself.

  ‘Probably in the course of my life I’ve upset people – be surprising if I hadn’t. But there isn’t a living soul who would have a reason to hate me that much.’

  ‘Anyone who might hate you anyway, reasonably or not?’

  Lovatt shrugged. ‘Unreasonably – how should I know?’

  He had put up the barricades, and they had no legitimate reason to keep him here any longer. Fleming got up. ‘I am terminating the interview here,’ she said for the benefit of the recording. ‘You are free to go, Mr Lovatt. But I would urge you to be very careful. For whatever reason, you seem to have become a target, and until we know who and what is behind it, you aren’t safe.’

  When he had gone, she turned to Campbell. ‘Well?’

  ‘Brave man,’ Campbell said. ‘Knows something. Rather get his throat slit than tell us.’

  ‘Foolhardy,’ Fleming corrected him. ‘Oh damn! I meant to ask him about Andrew Smith, but I forgot. Doesn’t matter – I doubt if we’ve seen the last of him. Let’s go and have a chat with his little friend Christie.’

  Louise Hepburn had just finished her shift and by now should be going home for Sunday lunch. But she was too caught up in the case to want to leave, high on the adrenaline of the chase.

  After the interview she and Campbell had done with Lovatt, she’d ruled him out as Lissa Lovatt’s killer, especially now that Tam MacNee’s conclusion had proved embarrassingly wrong. Lucky the poor dog hadn’t resisted arrest and been shot on the spot!

  She tucked herself away in a corner of the CID room, hoping to avoid notice from other detectives who might feel unpaid overtime was letting the side down, and cosied up to a computer. There were two ideas she wanted to follow up.

  The easy one was Lovatt’s grandmother’s will. Wills were a matter of public record, held at the General Register Office for Scotland, in Edinburgh. She got the full name from the voters’ roll, then keyed it in with an approximate date and clicked ‘Search’.

  It wasn’t easy. There was no Elspeth Lovatt in the system, apparently. Hepburn swore. No doubt it was delayed in probate, or something – lawyers were famous for dragging their heels. That would mean discovering who her solicitor was, getting hold of him and persuading him to disclose the contents, which lawyers were notoriously reluctant to do. It would certainly take time, and she was a young woman in a hurry. What Big Marge had said about teamwork hadn’t stopped her wanting to be the team member who got the breakthrough.

  Thwarted, she turned to her second quest. She wanted to dig up a bit of background on Lovatt’s army career. That, too, was more complicated than she had thought; information about the now disbanded King’s Own Scottish Borderers was held by the Army Personnel Office in Glasgow – closed on Sunday. With some inspired googling, she managed to track down the brigadier in command at the time and with liberal mentions of the CID and a murder investigation, persuaded him to disclose the names of officers serving with the regiment in Bosnia.

  This time, she struck gold. She listened, gobsmacked, to the man at the other end. She asked another question. Then she thanked the man profusely, rang off, and returned to the General Register.

  Lovatt’s grandmother’s will was there, right enough, and the first sentence, where it stated her name, was confirmation. Hepburn looked at it with widening eyes as she scrolled down the short document. There it was – under their noses all the time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  They weren’t getting anywhere. Lack of sleep was catching up with Fleming – she was feeling light-headed, her bones ached and there was a constant muzzy buzz in her head. Christie Jack, attending by invitation, was answering their questions with a mixture of shrugs, denials, and silence. Her eyes looked completely dead.

  ‘Christie,’ Fleming said, making her voice warm and persuasive with a considerable effort, ‘don’t make things harder for yourself. You’ve begun by lying to us. That’s a bad start. But I can think of reasons why you did that.

  ‘The lie you told us about being with Matt Lovatt—’

  ‘It wasn’t a lie.’ Her voice was flat. ‘He only denied it so I wouldn’t be involved.’

  ‘We’ve been there already, Christie, and we’re not going there again. I’ll concede that you’ve been feeling persecuted, so perhaps in asking Georgia to lie you were only trying to get us off your back, and it’s in your favour that the “alibi” you constructed involving Matt was for the wrong time.

  ‘But I have to look at the other side. You may be quite smart enough to reckon we’d make that assumption, and you could also have thought Georgia would be too kind to drop you in it. You have to convince us the first scenario is the right one, not the second.’

  ‘What would make me think you would believe me?’

  ‘Try it and see.’ Fleming’s patience was wearing thin.

  Christie gave her a bored, sulky look that was almost adolescent, and Fleming snapped. ‘Fine. It’s your choice. We request that you remain at the Smugglers Inn while investigations are under way.’

  She terminated the interview and when she told Christie she was free to go, the girl got up and left without a word.

  Fleming rubbed her hand tiredly down her face. ‘Is she just bolshie, or is she a killer?’

  When Campbell only shrugged, she said crossly, ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t you start. I want your considered opinion. And don’t shrug!’

  Campbell duly considered. ‘Bolshie, probably.’

  Giving him a dangerous look, Fleming went back to her office.

  DS MacNee breezed into the CID room, radiating bonhomie. A phone call to customs had told him not only that Kerr Brodie had been charged with serious drugs offences, but that his companion, a lad on the run from the army, was cooperating fully. There was nothing like a spot of revenge for putting you in a good mood.

  Revenge for the poor lassie he had found probably wasn’t on the cards, but he was now ready to devote his full attention to achieving justice for her, at least.

  There were three detectives working at computers when he came in. ‘Right, lads,’ he said briskly, ‘what’s happened? Have they brought Lovatt and the dog in?’

  To his surprise, it provoked a laugh, and he frowned. ‘Come on, share the joke.’

  There was an exchange of
glances, and then one said, ‘Ah well, Tam, it’s not quite like that. You’ve surely been in Glasgow after an Old Firm match?’

  MacNee, a lifelong Rangers fan, stiffened. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Thought you’d have recognised a glassing when you saw it. Broken bottle. Straight in the throat.’

  He gaped. The picture of her lying there, which he’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to put out of his mind, came back with sickening clarity.

  ‘It … it wasn’t the dog?’

  ‘Nope.’

  He could feel cold sweat prickling on his forehead. ‘They haven’t … they haven’t …?’

  ‘Will we put him out of his misery, lads?’ one grinning officer said. ‘Och well, Tam, I’m in a good mood this morning. It’s away home with Lovatt now. It wasn’t amused, mind you. Gave the handler a nasty nip.’

  MacNee wiped his brow. ‘Thank God it’s all right. Is the boss here? I daresay she’s not amused either. I’d better go and see her and get it over with.’

  Someone whistled the ‘Dead March’ as he left and he went slowly up the stairs, feeling humiliated. He’d jumped to conclusions without proper evidence, and he knew why he hadn’t waited to get it – pure cowardice.

  The knowledge fairly took the shine off his satisfaction.

  Marianne, alerted by the aggrieved manager, dialled her boss’s mobile. He was expected back for a specially scheduled meeting with an important client with a fleet of cars he replaced every year from Tindall’s ex-dealer stock. He was due in half an hour and she wanted to know what to say to him, and when to make another appointment.

  Eddie’s tone, when he answered, was not encouraging, but Marianne was made of stern stuff.

  ‘What the hell’s going on, Eddie? Where are you?’

  ‘Carlisle. I’m on the hands-free.’

  ‘Carlisle! You’ve got Brian Miller going to toddle in here any minute. What am I to tell him?’