Quintin Jardine - Hour Of Darkness

The detective sergeant smiled and replied, ‘Of course. He is a family-size unit, isn’t he.’

She waited while her hostess poured the coffee, and took a chocolate biscuit when it was offered.

‘Well, dear,’ the elderly lady began, once she had settled herself into her armchair, ‘how can I help you?’

‘By telling me as much as you know about the lady upstairs.’

‘Of course, dear. What’s happened to her?’

Karen longed to tell her that her proper title was Detective Sergeant, but the coffee was light years better than the crap in the CID room, and she was hoping for a refill, so she held her tongue. ‘Nothing, we hope, but she seems to be missing.’

Mrs McConnochie ventured a small conspiratorial smile. ‘She hasn’t done a moonlight, has she? Were those sheriff’s officers at her door?’

‘No, no,’ Neville assured her, ‘nothing as serious as that.’ She decided to volunteer some information. ‘The man’s a meter reader. Miss Spreckley’s hasn’t been read for over a year and it has to be done annually.’

‘And the young woman?’

‘She’s from the law firm that factors the flat.’

The neighbour’s eyebrows rose. ‘You mean Bella doesn’t own it? Well, fancy that! She told me that she did, the deceitful besom.’

‘You can forgive her that one,’ the DS said. ‘She lives there rent-free.’

‘Oh, she has a life-rent, does she? That’s different.’ Clearly, the old Scots legal term carried weight with Mrs McConnochie.

‘How long has she been there?’ She had put the same question to the girl from the law firm, only to find that she had been told nothing beyond the information she had needed for her weekend task.

‘Oh, quite a long time; maybe not as much as ten years, but not far short of it.’ The answer was followed by a question. ‘If Bella doesn’t own the flat, then who does?’

‘I have no idea,’ Neville replied, truthfully. ‘A client of the law firm, that’s all I’ve been told. I was half hoping you might be able to tell me that, otherwise I’ll probably have to wait until Monday to find out.’

‘It’s important then?’

‘Not necessarily, but. .’

‘Ah, so you do think something’s happened to her.’

Bloody hell , Karen thought. How stale am I? I’m supposed to be questioning this old bat, but it’s the other way around .

She yielded. ‘We can’t say that for certain, but it’s a possibility.’

Mrs McConnochie’s tight smile was more than a little smug. ‘And maybe a little more than that, dear, yes? I watch television; Silent Witness is one of my favourites. When I had a look upstairs I saw people on the landing putting on those white paper suits, and I know what that means.’

‘All it means,’ the DS assured her, defensively, ‘I promise you, is that we need to check some things. I’d love to tell you more, but I’m not allowed to.’

‘And far be it from me to get you into trouble, my dear. Would you like some more coffee?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘And another biscuit?’

‘Yes please. Do you and Miss Spreckley ever have coffee together?’ she asked, in a near-desperate attempt to regain the initiative.

‘Yes, but not regularly; I invite her in occasionally, but she never seems to return my hospitality. As a matter of fact, the only times I’ve ever been in her flat were when I’ve run out of milk and the shops have been closed.’

I’ll bet you had plenty in the fridge , Karen thought.

‘From what I was able to see, it’s very nice upstairs. Whoever does own the place spent a lot of money on it before Bella moved in. I remember it well, the joiners, painters, plumbers, carpet fitters all coming and going. They made a lot of noise. . not that I complained, mind you. Bella doesn’t, though; she’s very quiet.’

‘And did she,’ Damn it! ‘does she, live alone, yes?’

‘Oh yes.’ The old lady’s smirk told Karen that she had picked up on her faux pas. ‘There’s no man involved, if that’s what you mean. I’ve never seen any gentlemen callers, not of that sort anyway, in all the time she’s been here. In fact she very rarely had visitors.’

‘Has she ever spoken to you about family?’

‘No. Not in any detail. She did mention a sister once, and a niece. That’s right,’ she exclaimed, with a flash of recollection, ‘there was a girl came to visit her, with a toddler in a pushchair. I had to let them in as the lassie was like you two were earlier, not knowing which button to push. She asked me where her Auntie Bella lived.’

‘When would that have been? Do you remember?’

‘It was this year some time, and it had been snowing; maybe February, that would be right. Oh yes, and there was a man. He came to pick them up; I’d to let him in too. A rough-looking chap he was, I didn’t like the look of him. He didn’t even thank me when I let him in and told him where to go.’ She paused. ‘Here, you don’t think that he could have been involved, do you? Involved in whatever’s happened to poor Bella, that is.’

Karen finished her second cup of coffee, ignoring the leap to conclusions. ‘At this moment, Mrs McConnochie, I don’t think anything. But when I can see things a bit more clearly, if I do need more information, then I promise, you’ll be the first person I’ll ask.’

‘Do you know your trouble, David?’ Cheryl Mackenzie challenged her husband. ‘In your eyes, everyone is always messing you about, or out to get you. You’ve always been like that, and I don’t believe you’ll ever change.’

‘What the fuck do you mean by that?’ he shouted, spinning round in his chair to glare at her, his chin jutting out in a gesture that signalled sheer aggression.

‘You know bloody well!’ she yelled back, then paused, for second thoughts. ‘But maybe you don’t. I was going to say, “Just listen to yourself,” but why would you do that when you never listen to anyone else?’

‘That’s a laugh,’ David Mackenzie snapped. ‘I’ve got no choice but to listen to you.’

‘In that case, I’ll carry on,’ she shot back. ‘You’ve been sitting there all day, pretending to watch the football, but really you’ve been brooding, quietly boiling away. I don’t know what the ACC said to you yesterday, but whatever it was you’ve been in a foul mood ever since. It makes me glad the kids are at my mother’s and not in your way. Well, do you know what? I’ve had enough of it.’

‘Enough of what!’

‘You!’ she shouted. ‘I’ve had enough of you and these bloody grudges you carry all the time. Even when we were through in Strathclyde, and your career was going well, you were the same. You could see slights where none existed, and you decided that your colleagues were jealous of you when they didn’t actually give a damn.’

‘You’re making this up,’ he said, scornfully.

‘Am I? Do you remember Willie Crichton, that DI you worked with in Paisley for a while? Of course you do,’ she went on, not waiting for a response. ‘You never forget an enemy. Remember that police charity night we went to in the Hilton Hotel? No, probably you don’t,’ she conceded, ‘because you got completely trousered at it. I was dancing with Willie at one point while you were leering down the tits of some young WPC, and he asked me, straight out, what he’d ever done to make you hate him. The really terrible thing was, I knew.’

‘I’m glad somebody does, for I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about.’

‘Oh no? Does that mean you’ve forgotten about the case you worked on where Willie was asked to give evidence for the Crown and you weren’t?’

‘Oh, that one,’ Mackenzie muttered, his face darkening even further.