corporate black hole. He’d wanted to be out in the world, where life was. There had been lots of run-ins with his father then. He’d wanted his son to go into the family building firm but the idea horrified Brennan. His father had never got used to his son’s career choice; it had always smacked of rebellion, nose-thumbing to him. His father couldn’t understand that it went a lot deeper than that. Andy had known, his brother had understood, but then Andy had been an exceptional person; the thought burned Brennan again. It surprised him how fresh the wound remained at these times. It was something you never got over.
DC Stevie McGuire rose as the minister and his wife came into the foyer. They had been in the dining room but looked as if they might have just walked from a funeral service. Brennan eyed them cautiously; he could see what McGuire meant at once — they were queer fish. Their faces seemed expressionless, as though they spent their lives rationalising their every move. Even their clothes — deeply conservative brogues and tweeds — looked to be from another era. They unnerved Brennan. He stood up, approached them.
McGuire spoke first: ‘Hello, Minister, Mrs Donald.’ He nodded and extended a weak hand. Formalities over, he turned. ‘And this is Detective Inspector Brennan.’
‘Hello,’ he said.
The minister replied, ‘Hello, Inspector.’
‘I hope I’m not intruding, but I’d like to offer my respects.’
A nod; the slightest of turns showed on the minister’s mouth. ‘Thank you.’
Brennan continued, ‘If it’s convenient, I’d like to ask you one or two questions.’
The minister looked at his wife. She seemed horrified at the suggestion, her eyes moistening and several shades of colour draining from her cheeks. He replied, but seemed to be speaking to his wife: ‘Well, I suppose it’s quite necessary… In the situation.’
Brennan stayed quiet, watched them both for reactions, then, ‘It might be best to go to your room, if you don’t object.’
Mrs Donald walked away, headed for the lift. The minister spoke: ‘Yes. That would be fine.’ He watched his wife at the other side of the foyer, said, ‘You will have to excuse my wife, officers, I’m afraid she is in a state of some shock.’
‘I understand,’ said Brennan. He waved a hand towards the lift. The doors pinged and Mrs Donald walked in.
The room was surprisingly large. Part of the original building was Victorian and they had struck lucky with bay windows and high ceilings. The bed had already been made and stood at the far end of the room, tucked beside a writing desk decked out in hotel stationery and leaflets for all the usual Edinburgh tourist attractions — zoo, castle, palace.
Brennan watched the minister point to the chairs in the window. ‘Please, take a seat, gentlemen.’
As Brennan and McGuire sat themselves down in the window’s lee, the minister and his wife stationed themselves on the edge of the bed. The minister took his wife’s hand. They looked like a very old oil painting as they sat before the officers. Brennan glanced out the window as the pair shared a brief moment of reassurance; there was a dull sun breaking through the clouds.
‘I know this will be very difficult for you,’ said Brennan, ‘but I hope you understand we need to move as quickly as possible to build a picture of what happened to Carly.’
The couple seemed to grip each other tighter. ‘Yes, we understand,’ said the minister.
Brennan realised he had not heard a single word from the minister’s wife yet. ‘If I can begin by asking you a little bit about your daughter.’
The pair nodded.
‘Can you tell me when you became aware Carly had left home?’
‘It was a Sunday, the twenty-fourth,’ said the minister. ‘I remember because I was at the second morning service when Frieda alerted me.’
Brennan looked to the quiet woman. ‘You discovered she had gone?’
A nod; she deferred to her husband.
‘There was a note, of sorts. Her room was empty.’
‘Do you have the note?’ said McGuire.
‘I’m afraid not — it was very brief. No more than a goodbye really.’
‘And there was no subsequent contact with her, after the twenty-fourth?’
‘No, none.’
Brennan let the pair settle again, continued: ‘Did she give any indication as to why she was leaving, or where she was going?’
‘No.’
The information Brennan wanted was not forthcoming. ‘Why do you think she chose Edinburgh?’ he said.
‘I have no idea. She knows… knew… not a soul here.’
Mrs Donald seemed to be getting tired of the questions — she put down her husband’s hand and stood up beside the writing desk, resting a finger on top and staring out over their heads to the sky.
‘It would be best if I could get both your opinions,’ said Brennan.
‘Why would that be?’ said Mrs Donald. It was the first time Brennan had heard her speak and he was surprised by the calm in her voice. It was as if she’d decided the way forward was to block it all out. ‘Nothing’s going to bring her back now, is it? This is all pointless.’
Brennan stood up, indicated the edge of the bed where she had been sitting. ‘Please, Mrs Donald…’ He never got to finish his sentence — the minister turned and nodded and his wife returned to her seated position.
‘Was there any upset in the home, or school, at the time of Carly’s departure?’ said Brennan.
Head shakes in unison: ‘No, none.’
Brennan was tiring of the staccato answers. As he eyed the couple he tipped some grit in his voice: ‘Nothing at all?’
The minister answered brusquely, ‘Nothing.’
‘It seems very unusual that Carly would be so happy at home and then just leave, don’t you think?’
There was no answer from either of them. They held firm before the officers.
Brennan let the silence stretch out, watched their faces, then, ‘You don’t think that’s unusual, Minister?’
‘I thought that was a rhetorical question.’ He seemed to have grown irritable, his tone testy now.
‘I’d like an answer if you have one.’
‘Then no. I don’t think it was unusual.’ He blurted his words — his breath had shortened; he finished on a sigh.
‘Why would that be?’ Brennan watched Mrs Donald turn from her husband and raise a hand to her mouth.
‘She was a very headstrong child at times… She could be wilful when she wanted.’
‘In what ways?’
The minister rose from the bed. ‘Inspector, is this really necessary? I don’t see how this is helping us. My wife is very distressed.’
Brennan looked at Mrs Donald. She lowered her hand, placed it within her husband’s — he brushed it aside and sat down again. Brennan took this as his cue to continue: ‘Did your daughter… Had she made any enemies, had a row at school or something of that nature?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘So it’s possible?’
‘I suppose so, yes… I didn’t follow her around every minute of the day.’
The minister’s abruptness lit a fuse in Brennan. He had reached the limit of his patience and thought it was time to reveal the fact. He turned to McGuire, shook his head, then rose and made for the door. As he looked back he spoke: ‘I’m going to need a full list of everyone that Carly had contact with in the weeks and months leading up to her death — friends, family, teachers, boyfriends. Everyone. I’d like you to compile that before you leave the city.’
The minister and his wife followed Brennan’s actions as he buttoned his jacket.
The detective continued, ‘I’ll also need full access to Carly’s personal effects, her room, diaries, computer, everything.’ He paused. ‘I am conducting a murder investigation here… I don’t want to have to go through this with the parents of another child any time soon.’
