Gillian Galbraith - Blood In The Water

She displayed little concern when shown the police identity cards, leading her two visitors into her sitting room as if such guests routinely appeared. Even when they began asking questions about her husband, no anxiety was apparent, and her tone conveyed no sense of involvement. They might have been enquiring about the milkman or the postman. Occasionally, she would interrupt to tell them how much she enjoyed The Bill or to confess that before she decided on dog grooming she had considered a job in the force, like that Prime Suspect woman.

‘So, Donny moved out in about July of this year?’ Alice ploughed on.

‘Yes.’

‘Where did he go?’

‘Like I said, I’m sorry but I’ve no idea.’

‘Mrs Girvan thought, perhaps, he’d gone to stay with a friend.’

‘You mean Billy?’

‘Maybe. Can you give us Billy’s address?’

‘He stays in Tranent. 14 Kirk Wynd.’

‘Why did your husband move out?’

‘I think I’ll not answer that one, if you don’t mind.’ She smiled politely, as if they were holding a social conversation and she had signalled that this topic was, regrettably, out of bounds.

‘I’m afraid I do mind,’ Alice said ‘We need to know. So could you tell us why your husband moved out?’

‘Do I have to tell you?’

Alice nodded, amazed that the woman did not appear to have realised that she was involved in a murder investigation, rather than simply engaged in a friendly chat.

‘Cause he was more interested in his sister, Teresa, and Davie and the rest of them than me. He might as well have been her husband. After Sammy left it got worse, he spent more time up at her house than in ours. I couldn’t get him as much as to change a light bulb here, but he was shopping, cleaning and babysitting all hours up at Bright Park. In the end I threw him out. I’d found someone else, someone interested in me for a change.’

‘You said you and Donny were living together when Davie’s court case was on?’

‘In June. Aye,’ she nodded.

‘Did he talk much about it?’

‘He never stopped talking about it,’ she said tartly. ‘He was up at the court in the High Street every day, every single day it was on, and in the evenings he’d rave about it to me. I didn’t want to know. I had my own life.’

‘Did he ever mention a Dr Clarke?’

‘Who’s she?’

‘Dr Elizabeth Clarke. She was one of Teresa’s doctors for the birth. You might have seen in the papers…’

‘I don’t read the newspapers. But there was doctor he was mad at. Said the judge had the hots for her, maybe that was the lady doctor. Imagine that, eh, a judge and all.’

‘And David Pearson, QC, did he mention him?’

‘He mentioned a QC, alright. He was forever going on about him, up his own arse he said. Tore Teresa and her witnesses to shreds in the witness box.’

‘Did he mention Flora Erskine?’

‘Who?’

‘Flora Erskine. She was in the case too, with the QC.’

‘I don’t remember him mentioning that name, but he did talk about Pearson’s helpers. He said he reckoned Pearson was showing off in the court half the time to impress all the other lawyers, like.’

‘Have you seen your husband since Teresa died?’

‘Just the once. He came to collect the rest of his clothes, and anything else he’d left behind. It was after Davie got taken away to Musselburgh.’

‘How did he seem?’

‘What you mean?’

‘What impression did you form of his state of mind?’

‘He seemed fine. He was a bit concerned having nowhere to stay, and that, and when I said that he couldn’t take the photo album he lost his rag. Otherwise, he took the break-up well. I don’t think he was that bothered about us splitting up or nothing, then I’d hardly seen anything of him or him, me. I’ve got someone else, maybe he has too, poor bitch. Why are you all interested in him anyway?’

Without answering, Alastair picked up a framed photograph which had been lying face down on a coffee table and passed it to Alice. It showed Marie Mair in flowing white wedding gown standing, hand-in-hand, with a tall, dark-haired man dressed in a grey suit.

‘Donny?’ Alice enquired.

‘Him and me on our wedding day in 1990.’

‘Have you got anything more recent?’

‘Nope. Donny hated having his photo taken, he was always so self-conscious.’

The squad meeting fixed for noon was ill-attended, the room barely half full, but this time no bodies were slumped dejectedly in their seats or gazing gloomily out of the windows. The news of a hard suspect had travelled fast and reinvigorated everyone, and the absence of so many of the regulars was attributable to the speed of DCI Bell’s reactions and her conviction that, finally, they might be on the right road. Copies of the photograph of Donald Mair were being circulated and Alice took the opportunity, while waiting for her boss to appear, to inspect the man, to memorise the face of their quarry. The print showed a young man with very short, dark hair, his bride’s hand clasped tightly in his own. Her figure had been cropped, leaving only her hand in his and a small white triangle of her dress. The bridegroom’s gaze was fixed on the ground, oblivious to any loving looks being bestowed upon him by his now invisible wife, seemingly entranced by the shine on his own black shoes. The camera had caught a shy creature, one keen to escape scrutiny, eager to return to the shadows. No wonder his wife had only been able to produce one image of him, a wedding photo, no doubt obtained under some form of sentimental duress. Alice looked up and saw Elaine Bell moving towards the board; glancing again she took in the newly made-up appearance and the spring in her boss’s step.

‘You all know,’ she began, her voice loud, confident and cold-free, ‘that we now have a good suspect. His name is Donald Mair. He is aged forty. Photographs of him, aged twenty-four, have been distributed and we are presently working on the computer to see what noticeable changes, if any, the additional years may have made. On the only occasion on which he was seen by an eyewitness he was wearing jeans and a jacket, a dark jacket, and carrying a poly bag. He comes from Edinburgh and knows the city and East Lothian well. The last known address for him was 14 Kirk Wynd, Tranent. We think that he may be responsible for the deaths of Dr Clarke and David Pearson. He seems to think that they screwed up the life of his sister, Teresa, resulting in her eventual suicide. He may have had a grudge against McBryde and Flora Erskine, too. He probably has other targets in his sights. In particular, another doctor, Paul Ferguson, and a Court of Session judge, Matthew Campbell-Smythe. Lord Campbell-Smythe to you lot, to us.

Eric Manson has already made contact with Dr Ferguson and we’ve got a watch over his home in Veitch Park, Haddington, and his workplace at Roodlands Hospital. Campbell-Smythe’s a big fish. His home, in Drummond Place, is being watched and he’s got protection at the Court of Session, beyond the norm. Half of the Forensics team are combing Mair’s house in Stenhouse Lane at the moment, and the other half are on their way to his last known address in Tranent, a local authority flat tenanted by a Billy Gannon. Uniforms picked Gannon up at his work on the industrial estate in Macmerry and they’re bringing him here. They should arrive within the next ten minutes or so, and he may be able to give us some clue, as a minimum, where Mair has been living for the last few weeks.

More copies of the suspect’s photo are being produced so that we can circulate them to the press when the time comes. What we know about him so far is that he has no previous convictions or form of any kind but, if it’s him, he’s a highly effective killer. Whilst it’s not difficult to see how he could gain access to Sammy McBryde-they were effectively brothers-in-law after all-he must have managed to talk his way into Dr Clarke’s house and Flora Erskine’s. Certainly, there were no witnesses to any scuffles or disturbances or anything like that. He’s probably strong. It’s likely he was able to overpower McBryde and Pearson, albeit that he had a weapon, and the element of surprise was on his side. Also, he seems well organised. The poly bag he was seen carrying in Granton Medway likely contained his bloody clothes. Forensics have always been clear that his handiwork resulted in a virtual bloodbath-most of you have seen its effects at first hand-so he’d have needed a change of togs. The bag probably also contained his weapon of choice, most likely a knife. No trace of any weapon has been found despite exhaustive searching, and the guesstimate is that the same blade, or whatever, seems to have been involved in all the killings.