Val McDermid - The Distant Echo

‘I’m sure you would. But I didn’t. I never left the party.’ Alex was starting to feel genuinely scared. He’d been half expecting some awkward moments in the conversation with the police, but he hadn’t expected Maclennan to go in so hard so soon. Clammy sweat coated his palms and he had to struggle against the impulse to wipe them on his jeans.

‘Can you provide witnesses to that?’

Alex squeezed his eyes shut, trying to quiet the pounding in his head enough to remember his movements at the party. ‘When we got there, I was talking to a woman on my course for a while. Penny Jamieson, her name is. She went off for a dance, and I hung around in the dining room, just picking at the food. Various people were in and out, I didn’t pay much attention. I was feeling a bit drunk. Later, I went into the back garden to clear my head.’

‘All by yourself?’ Maclennan leaned forward slightly.

Alex had a sudden flash of memory that brought a flicker of relief in its wake. ‘Yes. But you’ll probably be able to find the rose bush I was sick next to.’

‘You could have been sick any time,’ Maclennan pointed out. ‘If you’d just raped and stabbed someone and left her for dead, for example. That might make you sick.’

Alex’s moment of hope crashed and burned. ‘Maybe, but that’s not what I did,’ he said defiantly. ‘If I had blood all over me, don’t you think someone would have noticed when I went back into the party? I was feeling better after I’d thrown up. I went back inside and joined in the dancing in the living room. Any number of people must have seen me then.’

‘And we’ll be asking them. We’re going to need a list of everyone who was at that party. We’ll be speaking to the host. And to everybody else we can trace. And if Rosie Duff showed her face, even for a minute, you and me will be having a much less friendly conversation, Mr Gilbey.’

Alex felt his face betray him again and hurriedly looked away. Not soon enough, however. Maclennan pounced. ‘Was she there?’

Alex shook his head. ‘I never saw her after we left the Lammas Bar.’ He could see something dawning behind Maclennan’s steady gaze.

‘But you invited her to the party.’ The detective’s hands gripped the edge of the table as he leaned forward, so close Alex could smell the incongruous drift of shampoo from his hair.

Alex nodded, too riven with anxiety to deny it. ‘I gave her the address. When we were in the pub. But she never turned up. And I never expected her to.’ There was a sob in his voice now, his tenuous control slipping as he remembered Rosie behind the bar, animated, teasing, friendly. Tears welled up as he stared at the detective.

‘Did that make you angry? That she hadn’t turned up?’

Alex shook his head. ‘No. I never really expected she would. Look, I wish she wasn’t dead. I wish I hadn’t found her. But you’ve got to believe me. I had nothing to do with it.’

‘So you say, son. So you say.’ Maclennan held his position, inches from Alex’s face. All his instincts told him there was something lurking under the surface of these interviews. And one way or another, he was going to find out what it was.

WPC Janice Hogg glanced at her watch as she made for the front counter. Another hour and she’d be off duty, at least in theory. With a murder inquiry in full swing, the chances were she’d be stuck on overtime, particularly since women officers were thin on the ground in St Andrews. She pushed through the swing doors into the reception area just as the street door was barged open so hard it bounced against the wall.

The force behind the door was a young man with shoulders almost as wide as the doorframe. Snow clung to his dark wavy hair and his face was wet either with tears, sweat or melted flakes. He hurtled towards the front counter, rage a deep growl in his throat. The duty constable reared back in shock, almost toppling off his high stool. ‘Where are they bastards?’ the man roared.

To his credit, the PC managed to find some sang froid from the deepest recesses of his training. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked, moving out of reach of the fists that were pounding on the counter top. Janice hung back unnoticed. If this turned as nasty as it promised, she’d be best served by the element of surprise.

‘I want those fucking bastards that killed my sister,’ the man howled.

So, Janice thought. The news had reached Brian Duff.

‘Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ the PC said gently.

‘My sister. Rosie. She’s been murdered. And you’ve got them here. The bastards that did it.’ Duff looked as if he was about to clamber over the counter in his desperate desire for vengeance.

‘Sir, I think you’ve been misinformed.’

‘Don’t come it with me, you cunt,’ Duff screamed. ‘My sister’s lying dead, somebody’s going to pay.’

Janice chose her moment. ‘Mr Duff?’ she said quietly, stepping forward.

He whirled round and glared at her, wide-eyed, white spittle at the corners of his mouth. ‘Where are they?’ he snarled.

‘I’m very sorry about your sister. But nobody’s been arrested in connection with her death. We’re still in the early stages of our investigation, and we’re questioning witnesses. Not suspects. Witnesses.’ She put a cautious hand on his forearm. ‘You’d be better at home. Your mother needs her sons about her.’

Duff shook off her hand. ‘I was told you’d got them locked up. The bastards that did this.’

‘Whoever told you made a mistake. We’re all desperate to catch the person who did this terrible thing, and sometimes that makes people jump to the wrong conclusions. Trust me, Mr Duff. If we had a suspect in custody, I would tell you.’ Janice kept her eyes on his, praying that her calm, unemotional approach would work. Otherwise he could break her jaw with a single blow. ‘Your family will be the first to know when we make an arrest. I promise you that.’

Duff looked baffled and angry. Then suddenly, his eyes filled with tears and he slumped into one of the chairs in the waiting area. He wrapped his arms round his head and shook in a paroxysm of violent sobbing. Janice exchanged a helpless look with the PC behind the counter. He mimed the application of handcuffs but she shook her head and sat down next to him.

Gradually, Brian Duff regained his composure. His hands dropped like stones into his lap and he turned his tear-stained face to Janice. ‘You’ll get him, though? The bastard that’s done this?’

‘We’ll do our best, Mr Duff. Now, why don’t you let me drive you home? Your mum was worried about you earlier. She needs to be reassured that you’re all right.’ She got to her feet and looked down at him expectantly.

The rage had subsided for the moment. Meekly, Duff stood up and nodded. ‘Aye.’

Janice turned to the duty constable and said, ‘Tell DC Shaw I’m taking Mr Duff home. I’ll catch up with what I’m supposed to be doing when I get back.’ Nobody was going to give her a hard time for acting on her own initiative for once. Anything that could be discovered about Rosie Duff and her family was grist to the mill right now, and she was perfectly placed to catch Brian Duff with his defences down. ‘She was a lovely girl, Rosie,’ she said conversationally as she led Duff out of the front entrance and round the side to the car park.

‘You knew her?’

‘I drink in the Lammas sometimes.’ It was a small lie, expedient in the circumstances. Janice considered the Lammas Bar about as enticing as a bowl of cold porridge. A smoke-flavoured one at that.

‘I cannae take it in,’ Duff said. ‘This is the kind of thing you see on the telly. Not the kind of thing that happens to people like us.’