Val McDermid - The Distant Echo

Janice Hogg slithered across the car park in Iain Shaw’s wake. They’d been more or less silent on the drive back to the police station, each relating the encounter with the Duffs to their own lives with varying levels of relief. As Shaw pushed open the door leading into the welcome warmth of the station, Janice caught up with him. ‘I’m wondering why she wouldn’t let on to her mum about who she was seeing,’ she said.

Shaw shrugged. ‘Maybe the brother was right. Maybe he was a married man.’

‘But what if she was telling the truth? What if it wasn’t? Who else would she be secretive about?’

‘You’re the female here, Janice. What do you think?’ Shaw carried on through to the cubbyhole occupied by the officer charged with keeping local intelligence up to date. The office was empty in the middle of the night, but the cabinets with their alphabetically arranged filing cards were unlocked and available.

‘Well, if her brothers had a track record of warning off unsuitable men, I suppose I’d have to think about what sort of man Colin and Brian would consider unsuitable,’ she mused.

‘And that would be what?’ Shaw asked, pulling open the drawer marked ‘D’. His fingers, surprisingly long and slender, began to riffle through the cards.

‘Well, thinking aloud … Looking at the family, that buttoned-up, Fife respectability … I’d say anybody they considered beneath her or above her.’

Shaw glanced round at her. ‘That really narrows it down.’

‘I said I was thinking aloud,’ she muttered. ‘If it was some toerag, she’d probably think he could hold his own against her brothers. But if it was somebody a bit more rarefied …’

‘Rarefied? Posh word for a woolly suit, Janice.’

‘Woolly suit doesn’t mean woolly brain, DC Shaw. Don’t forget you were in uniform yourself not so long ago.’

‘OK, OK. Let’s stick to rarefied. You mean, like a student?’ Shaw asked.

‘Exactly.’

‘Like one of the ones that found her?’ He turned back to his search.

‘I wouldn’t rule it out.’ Janice leaned against the doorframe. ‘She had plenty of opportunity to meet students at her work.’

‘Here we are,’ Shaw said, pulling a couple of cards out of the drawer. ‘I thought Colin Duff rang a bell with me.’ He read the first card, then passed it over to Janice. In neat handwriting, it read, Colin James Duff. DoB: 5/3/55 LKA: Caberfeidh Cottage, Strathkinness. Employed at Guardbridge paper mill as fork-lift truck driver. 9/74 Drunk and disorderly, fined £25. 5/76 Breach of the peace, bound over. 6/78 Speeding, fined £37. Known associates: Brian Stuart Duff, brother. Donald Angus Thomson. Janice turned the card over. In the same handwriting, but in pencil this time so it could be erased if ever called into evidence, she read, Duff likes a fight when he’s had a drink. Handy with his fists, handy at keeping out of the frame. Bit of a bully. Not dishonest, just a handful.

‘Not the sort of guy you’d want mixing it with your sensitive student boyfriend,’ Janice commented as she took the second file card from Shaw. Brian Stuart Duff. DoB 27/5/57 LKA Caberfeidh Cottage, Strathkinness. Employed at Guardbridge paper mill as warehouseman. 6/75 Assault, fined £50. 5/76 Assault, three months, served at Perth. 3/78 Breach of the peace, bound over. Known associates: Colin James Duff, brother. Donald Angus Thomson. When she flipped it over, she read, Duff junior is a lout who thinks he’s a hard man. Record would be a lot longer if big brother didn’t drag him away before the trouble really gets going. He started early – John Stobie’s broken ribs and arm in 1975 likely down to him, Stobie refused to give a statement, said he’d had an accident on his bike. Duff suspected of involvement in unsolved break-in at the off-licence at West Port 8/78. One day he’s going to go away for a long time. Janice always appreciated the personal notes their local record-keeper appended to the official record. It helped when you were going out on an arrest to know if things were likely to turn ugly. And by the looks of it, the Duff boys could turn very ugly indeed. A pity really, she thought. Now she looked back, Colin Duff was rather hunky.

‘What do you think?’ Shaw asked, surprising her both because of her train of thought but also because she wasn’t used to CID expecting her to be capable of joined-up thinking.

‘I think Rosie was keeping quiet about who she was seeing because she knew it would provoke her brothers. They seem like a close family. So maybe she was protecting them as much as her boyfriend.’

Shaw frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

‘She didn’t want them getting into more trouble. With Brian’s record especially, another serious assault would get them both jail time. So she kept her mouth shut.’ Janice put the cards back in the file.

‘Good thinking. Look, I’m going up to the CID room to write up the report. You go down to the mortuary and see about arranging a viewing for the family. The day shift can take the Duffs down, but it would be helpful if they know when that’s likely to happen.’

Janice pulled a face. ‘How come I get all the good jobs?’

Shaw raised his eyebrows. ‘You need to ask?’

Janice said nothing. She left Shaw in the intelligence office and headed for the women’s locker room, yawning as she went. They had a kettle in there that the guys knew nothing about. Her body craved a hit of caffeine and if she was going to the mortuary, she deserved a treat. After all, Rosie Duff wasn’t going anywhere.

Alex was on his fifth cigarette and wondering if the packet was going to last him when the door to his interview room finally opened. He recognized the thin-faced detective he’d seen up on Hallow Hill. The man looked a lot fresher than Alex felt. Hardly surprising, since it was getting on for breakfast time for most people. And Alex doubted very much if the detective was experiencing the dull ache of a fledgling hangover at the base of his skull. He crossed to the chair opposite, never taking his eyes off Alex’s face. Alex forced himself to hold the policeman’s gaze, determined not to let exhaustion make him look shifty.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Maclennan,’ the man said, his voice clipped and brisk.

Alex wondered what the etiquette was here. ‘I’m Alex Gilbey,’ he tried.

‘I know that, son. I also know you’re the one that fancied Rosie Duff.’

Alex felt a blush rising across his cheeks. ‘That’s not a crime,’ he said. Pointless to deny what Maclennan seemed so certain of. He speculated which of his friends had betrayed his interest in the dead barmaid. Mondo, almost certainly. He’d sell his granny under pressure, then convince himself it was the best possible outcome for the old woman.

‘No, it’s not. But what happened to her tonight was the worst kind of crime. And it’s my job to find out who did it. So far, the only person connected to the dead girl and also connected to the discovery of her body is you, Mr Gilbey. Now, you’re obviously a smart boy. So I don’t have to spell it out for you, do I?’

Alex tapped nervously on his cigarette although there was no ash to dislodge. ‘Coincidences happen.’

‘Less often than you might think.’

‘Well, this is one.’ Maclennan’s gaze felt like insects crawling under Alex’s skin. ‘I just got unlucky, finding Rosie like that.’

‘So you say. But if I’d left Rosie Duff for dead on a freezing cold hillside and I was worried I’d maybe got some blood on me, and I was a smart boy, I’d engineer it so that I was the one who found her. That way, I’ve got the perfect excuse for being covered in her blood.’ Maclennan gestured at Alex’s shirt, smeared with the dirty rust of dried blood.