‘Because her aunt died under suspicious circumstances four years ago, and now whoever killed Janice has come after her niece.’ Duffy looked up at Brodie. ‘You’re finally seeing the connections, aren’t you? It’s not just The Embalmer murders from seven years ago. There’s been a pattern of deaths – people connected to the investigation dying in ways that look natural or accidental.’
Brodie pulled up a chair, sitting down so he was at Duffy’s eye level rather than looming over him. ‘Tell us about Janice Nisbet. How did you know her?’
Duffy was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. ‘We met through a mutual friend about seven years ago. She was a medical director at Ninewells, brilliant at her job, meticulous about detail. We became friends, used to meet up for drinks occasionally, talk about work and life and everything else. She told me to come along to the pub on a Friday when she went with her colleagues, but none of them liked me. But Janice didn’t care. We would still have a drink.’
‘Just friends?’ Lucy asked.
‘Mostly. There was one night…’ Duffy paused, seeming to decide how much to share. ‘We’d been out for drinks with a group from the hospital. I offered to drive her home because she’d had a bit too much wine. We got to talking in the car, ended up back at her place in Dundee, and…’ He shrugged. ‘We spent the night together. But it was just that one time. We were better as friends; we both knew it.’
‘You said Janice was brilliant at her job,’ Brodie continued. ‘Did she ever mention noticing anything unusual about cases she was working on? Any concerns about pathology findings or autopsy reports?’
Duffy nodded slowly. ‘About six months before she died, she started talking about anomalies she was seeing. Nothing dramatic, just small inconsistencies between what she observed in tissue samples and what ended up in final reports. She thought someone might be altering findings, but she couldn’t prove it.’
‘Did she say who she suspected?’
‘She never named anyone specifically. Said she didn’t want to make accusations without evidence. But she was worried enough that she started keeping her own notes, documenting everything she observed.’ Duffy’s voice grew harder. ‘Then she supposedly killed herself, and all those notes disappeared. Convenient, isn’t it?’
‘You don’t think her suicide was genuine,’ Lucy observed.
‘I know it wasn’t. Janice was one of the most stable, grounded people I’ve ever met. She wasn’t depressed, wasn’t struggling. She loved her work, loved her niece, had plans for the future. The idea that she’d hang herself is absurd.’ Duffy’s hands clenched into fists. ‘But I couldn’t prove it was murder. The suicide note on her computer seemed legitimate, the alcohol in her system suggested she’d been drinking. Everyone just accepted the official story because Janice liked a good drink.’
Lucy was watching Duffy carefully, and Brodie could see her analytical mind processing his responses. ‘Mr Duffy, when you spent the night with Janice Nisbet at her house in Dundee – wasthat the flat on the ground floor of a Victorian terrace in the West End?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Because that’s where Claire Nisbet was living. Above her aunt’s flat.’ Lucy’s voice was gentle but probing. ‘When was the last time you were at that address?’
Duffy seemed to realise where this was going. ‘About four years ago, just after Janice died. I went to the funeral, talked to Claire briefly, told her I was sorry for her loss. Haven’t been back since.’
Brodie studied Duffy’s face, looking for signs of deception. But the man seemed genuinely upset about Claire’s death, genuinely frustrated at being questioned again, genuinely exhausted by years of suspicion and accusation.
‘Tell us more about Janice,’ Art said, redirecting the conversation. ‘Was she getting any hassle from anybody that you know of?’
‘Not at all. She never mentioned anything to me. We stayed friends, and she was always nice to be around. I never once heard anything bad said about her.’ Duffy locked eyes with Brodie. ‘You think someone’s been systematically killing people? People connected to The Embalmer investigation?’
‘We’re exploring that possibility,’ Brodie replied carefully. ‘Mr Duffy, I need you to write down everything you remember about Janice Nisbet’s concerns about altered pathology findings. Every conversation, every detail she shared, everything that seemed unusual about her death. Can you do that?’
‘Yes. But it won’t be much – Janice was careful about what she said, didn’t want to accuse anyone without proof.’
‘Anything might be helpful.’ Brodie stood, Art and Lucy following his lead. ‘And Mr Duffy? Thank you for your cooperation.’
Duffy’s expression showed surprise at the courtesy. ‘Does this mean you finally believe I’m not The Embalmer?’
‘It means we’re investigating all possibilities with fresh eyes,’ Brodie said. ‘That’s all I can say right now. That, and be very careful. Be extra aware when you’re out and about. And trust nobody. Except us.’
‘I trusted you before and look where that got me,’ Duffy replied.
Once outside, Brodie opened the car door. ‘I want to know exactly where David Duffy was last night. Work records, CCTV, phone location data. Everything.’
‘You still think he might be involved?’ Art sounded sceptical.
‘I think we’ve been wrong about almost everything in this case, and I don’t want to make any more assumptions.’ Brodie started the car. ‘Duffy could be exactly what he claims – an innocent man who’s been trying to clear his name for seven years. Or he could be more involved than he’s letting on. Either way, we verify everything.’
26
The drive to Ninewells Hospital took them through the heart of Dundee, the city’s grey stone buildings giving way gradually to the sprawling medical complex on the western edge. Brodie sat in the passenger seat of the unmarked Volvo, his jaw tight, staring out at the passing traffic without really seeing it.
Lucy drove with her usual careful precision, while Art occupied the back seat, unusually quiet after their interview with David Duffy. The meeting had raised more questions than it had answered.
