Susan pulled her shoulders up. ‘Mortimer’s offered me a promotion: partnership in the firm. Comes with a thirty percent pay rise, profit share, and eight weeks’ holiday.’
‘Going to take it?’
She made a little humming noise. ‘Haven’t decided. It’s a bribe to keep me quiet, obviously, but it’s a great opportunity too.’ Her shoulder bumped into Roberta’s. ‘The important thing is: what doyouwant to do?’
‘Pff...’ Another big lungful of cherry. Holding it in. ‘None of the buggers in there are going to admit what really happened, are they? They’ve got strength in numbers – what’ve I got?’
‘The truth?’
Hard not to laugh at that. ‘With no evidence? It’s just conjecture and supposition. Sergeant Buggering Moore’s compromised all the forensics – the Procurator Fiscal won’ttouch this one with a stick. You know what PFs are like: “Too difficult to prove criminal conspiracy,” she’ll say. “Why didn’t you just pick someone and beat a confession out of them?”’ Roberta plucked a wee nugget of gravel from between her feet and hurled it out into the rain. ‘Or they’ll just want to pin it on Albert Nairn, and everyone else gets off scot-free.’
The door creaked open again, and there he was: man of the sodding hour.
Sergeant Moore cleared his throat. ‘Thought I’d find you here.’
Bet he did.
She took another swig. ‘Go away.’
He closed the door behind him and stepped out under the portico. Turned to face her. Standing there with his hands behind his back, like he was reporting for duty and expecting a bollocking.
Roberta pulled on the most disgusted face she could manage. ‘So, you got away with murder, then?’
‘Honestly, I swear on my kids’ lives, I hadnothingto do with it, OK? Scout’s honour.’ He did the little salute. ‘Cross my heart and hope to get a terrible dose of piles.’ He licked his lips in the ensuing silence. Shifted his feet on the gravel. Cleared his throat again. ‘Itwasn’tme, and that’s the God’s honest truth! I didnotkill Sir Reginald Bradbury-Scott.’
Like that mattered.
‘If it wasn’t you, it was your recently widowed girlfriend, and you helped her cover it up. Even if his death was an accident, you’re both guilty: perverting the course of justice, eight years apiece.’
Sergeant Moore clasped a hand over his heart. ‘I had nothing to do with it and neither did Jocasta. We really were together all Friday night. And last night too.’ Frown. ‘Well, most of it anyway.’
‘What I don’t get is: why put the body on display like that? Why no’ just throw him down the stairs and have done with it? Just making work for yourselves.’
‘We’ve been seeing each other since Philippa left me. And before you ask: no, it wasn’t a revenge affair. Philippa wasn’t shagging Sir Reginald.’ Deep breath. ‘The butcher she was sleeping with was a woman. So was the lady who ran the mobile library, the receptionist at our local vet’s, and a dental hygienist called Ursula.’
Lucky old Philippa.
Roberta squinted at him, tilting her head to one side. ‘Or did you stick him up there because: why wouldn’t you? Whole hotel’s clarted with dead things. Surprised you didn’t have him stuffed and mounted. Albert Nairn would’ve given you special mates’ rates. Then, maybe, you wouldn’t have had to kill him too?’
Moore sagged. ‘Please, I’m baring my soul here!’
‘But, see doing all this when you know there’s a police officer here? Arealpolice officer, no’ a corrupt parochial bunnet like you and that idiot, McKinnon. How arrogant would you have to be?’ She took a deep swig of whisky, then handed the bottle to Susan. Making eye contact with Sergeant Moore the whole time, so he’d know he was being snubbed.
Susan frowned at the bottle. ‘Why does the label have, “Welcome to Skirivour Castle Hotel” on it?’ When she didn’t get an answer, she shrugged and knocked back a glug. Squooshing it through her teeth like it was a fine wine before swallowing. ‘Not bad.’
‘And if that’s not enough:’ he stuck both hands out, shaking his left wrist and shoogling the cheap-looking watch dangling on it. Wiggling the fingers on his right hand, showing off the inky marks from making all those notes over the last two days. ‘I’m right-handed, see?’ He dropped his arms and leanedback against the nearest pillar. Staring out into the rain. ‘Far as I can make out, they’ve been planning it for a while. Don’t know if it was the Russian mobster whoactuallykilled him, or one of the Tory tosspots... or maybe they just paid Nairn to do it? You heard Lord Fitzroy-Galbraith: “don’t get to be an MP without knifing people in the back, burying the bodies, then pinning the blame on someone else”. Andhe’smade it all the way to the House of Lords.’ A shrug. ‘Whoever did it, the rest of them have closed ranks faster than you can say “dismantling the welfare state”.’
Susan handed the bottle back. ‘So they’re going to get away with it?’
‘Oh aye.’ Roberta took another swig of smoky fire. ‘Welcome to the wonderful world of law enforcement.’ She frowned at the bottle. Bit the inside of her lip. Then held the Glenfeòrag out to Sergeant Moore. Sighed. ‘Go on, then.’
He hesitated for a moment, then accepted the peace offering. Still wiped the neck before taking a hefty scoof, though. Cheeky sod. Likehewas going to get cooties fromthem.
Soon as he swallowed, Sergeant Moore launched into a bout of coughing, wheezing, and spluttering. ‘God, they give the visitors proper rotgut, don’t they? Wouldn’t clean my brushes with that.’ He dug into his back pocket and came out with a pewter hipflask. ‘Try a nip of the decent stuff.’
Roberta did. Making a point of wipinghiscooties off first.
It went down like liquid angels.
