He shook his head. ‘Nope.’
‘So what do you hope to find in here?’ she asked.
‘Somebody who’s capable of carrying a grudge for twenty years before getting even.’ He took the folder from her and laid it on his lap. Discarding the photographs, he picked up a typed document. ‘This is Mrs Gates’ original statement to the Tayside officers.’ With his wife looking over his shoulder he read his way through it.
‘That’s just an account of what I told you. The woman claims that she was a very heavy sleeper, and that she had been unaware of the intruder or the attack.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ Sarah conceded. ‘What’s next?’
‘Copies of all the police, medical and forensic witness statements.’
‘Let’s go through them, then.’
They read on together for almost an hour, studying the overwhelming evidence against Beatrice Gates, as it painted a picture of her certain guilt.
‘Down the road, isn’t she,’ said Bob. ‘No way could the jury acquit.’
‘Hmmph,’ his wife snorted. ‘I cannot believe that the defence was so incompetent that they didn’t uncover and introduce the multiple sclerosis possibility.’
‘You’ve just read the reason. After her arrest, Mrs Gates was examined by the police surgeon. He found that she was fit, and the defence accepted that. Two psychiatrists examined her as well, and neither of them commented.’
‘They were examining her mind, Bob. I suppose it’s possible,’ she conceded, ‘that the disease only started to motor towards the end of the trial. What’s next?’
He picked up the next document and looked at the heading. ‘This is a transcript of an interview with Mrs Pauline Collins, Mrs Gates’ sister, not by the police, but by Arnold Kilmarnock, the author of the book.’
They scanned the document, in which Mrs Collins described her surprise and concern at the depth of her sister’s sleep pattern. She said also that all through her life, Beatrice had been a gentle, friendly woman and that she and her husband had enjoyed a calm tranquil marriage, which, although it had not been blessed with children, had been very happy. Pinned to the back of the report was a photograph of the interviewee, a serious, plain- featured featured middle-aged woman.
‘This depth of sleep could well have had a medical cause,’ said Sarah. ‘Was there any professional evidence led by the defence?’
‘Not that I can see.’
‘Jesus! Why ever not?’
‘You’ve never met Richard Kilmarnock, have you?’ Bob remarked casually, as he picked up the next document. ‘This is an interview with Mrs Collins’ son, Charles.’
The transcript was brief and not entirely relevant to Mrs Gates’ defence, other than as a glowing testimonial to a loving aunt and a faithful and benevolent uncle. As with the notes on Mrs Collins, there was a photograph of the subject clipped to the back. Skinner gave it the briefest glance and was about to discard the document, when suddenly his whole body stiffened.
He stared at the photograph. ‘Good God,’ he whispered. ‘Good God Almighty.
‘I’ve seen this man’s face before. Dan Pringle’s met him, too, only he was dead at the time. This is Curly Collins, one of Andy’s armed robbery gang!’
75
‘Look, Mrs Collins,’ said Skinner, evenly. ‘Please don’t get aggressive with me. I appreciate that you’ve lost your husband in terrible circumstances, but that’s not my fault.’
He paused. ‘I think you should face the facts here. Last night, our search team found one hundred and seventy thousand pounds and a shotgun buried under your garden shed. Curly was a member of a particularly vicious gang, and he was almost certainly a murderer too.
‘Our laboratory has determined that the gun in his possession killed a man called Harry Riach during the bank robbery in Galashiels. The one we found hidden in his pal Rocky Saunders’ van was used to murder Police Constable Annie Brown outside the bank.’
His voice hardened. ‘If your old man hadn’t got himself shot, he’d have been locked away for the rest of his life, be in no doubt about that.’
‘But who shot him, though?’ Grace Collins shot back, running her fingers through her straggly, dyed-blonde hair, and drawing heavily on her cigarette. ‘I’ll bet it was your lot, with that policewoman being killed. That’s why you’re going on about this guy Hamburger, who probably doesn’t even exist.’
‘Oh, he does, lady, he does. And sooner or later we will find him, just as we’ll find Newton, Clark and McDonnell. Wherever they are, it isn’t far enough to be safe from us.’
He stood over her, his back to the fireplace in the compact living room of her semi-detached bungalow. ‘Anyway, that’s not what I want to talk to you about.’
‘Why are you here, then? Are you going to offer me a job as a traffic warden or something?’
The DCC grinned at her defiance. ‘I don’t think so, Mrs Collins. You’ve got too nice a nature. No, I want to ask you about Curly’s auntie. I’m taking a look at the case of Mrs Beatrice Gates, which has become relevant to another inquiry we’re involved in.’
For the first time since she had opened the front door, something other than hostility showed in the woman’s face. ‘Auntie Beattie? I thought that was all dead and buried, like her.’
Skinner nodded. ‘It was, but I’ve dug it up again. You speak as if you knew her. Did you?’
‘Yes, I did. Curly and I were going together before . . . before that thing happened.’
‘Did you like her?’
‘Well enough. She was round at Curly’s mum’s quite a lot. She never had much to say for herself though. Quiet woman, a bit starchy, stiff-knickered. Know what I mean?’
The policeman smiled and sat down. ‘I can guess. Let me ask you something. Do you think she did it?’
Grace Collins threw him a shrewd look. ‘If Curly was here, I’d have to say “No way”. He wouldn’t hear of it but the truth is, I reckon she did. She was a bit odd, Beattie, in the way she looked at folk. It was as if her expression was painted on. As for Uncle George, her husband, he was a slippery bastard. According to Curly’s mum, he couldn’t have kids, and that was why he was so free and easy. Beattie just smiled her way through life while he was out with his birds.
‘I reckon that the police were right. When yon girl turned up at her house and told her she was the new love of George’s life, I think she just went quietly mental, waited until he was asleep and knifed the swine.’
‘There’s some doubt that she could have done it, physically, with her disease.’
‘Hah!’ she said. ‘That was patchy. She’d complain about being helluva tired, sure, but other times she was okay. Curly and I went round to see his granny the week before it happened, and we found Auntie Beattie there chopping up logs for the fire.’
She pursed her lips. ‘That’s just my humble opinion, mind. Curly, and his mum, and his granny; they all defended her to the last. “No’ our Beattie”, they were always saying.’
‘Did Curly talk about the case much?’ Skinner asked.
‘At the start of it, he could talk about nothing else. It was a real obsession with him.’
‘Did it ever go away?’
‘No’ really. Every so often he would bring it up. Even although he was in the forces, another uniformed service, he had a real down on the police because of it. And the Courts too.’
‘Look, did he ever threaten over it?’
She frowned. ‘What’s this leading up to?’
‘Let’s wait and see. Did he?’
‘Not threaten as such. But every so often he’d come out with something like, “See those bloody judges. I’d like to put them away and see how they get on.” Now you’re telling me he shot someone. D’you think he’d have done them in too?’
‘Someone has, Mrs Collins,’ said the DCC quietly. ‘That’s the problem.’ She looked up at him in disbelief.
‘Do you have children?’ he asked.
