A wide-eyed McGuire, his face flushed and glowing, stopped Brennan as he came through the door. ‘What’s this?’ He pointed to the bottle. ‘Prize for your favourite DC?’
Brennan nodded. ‘Yeah, something like that.’ He handed over the bottle. ‘Enjoy yourselves. Because tomorrow we start the paperwork!’
McGuire held up the Talisker, turned on his heels, then tucked it under his arm and made a show of cracking the seal. A voice in the corner of the office roared out, ‘Come on, three cheers for the boss.’
Brennan turned away, flagged them down. ‘No. Don’t…’ He headed for the door as the cheering started.
McGuire called after him, ‘You not staying for a drink, sir?’
‘No, I’ve got someone to see.’
‘Secret rendezvous, is it?’
A weak laugh. ‘Something like that, yeah.’
‘Don’t do anyone I wouldn’t do, sir.’
Brennan dug his hand in his pocket, waved with his other one. He was glad to see the team so pleased; they had done well. Despite everything, they had achieved something worth being proud of. For a moment he wanted to be part of it all, then he remembered who he was, and what position he occupied in the hierarchy. ‘Look, don’t stay up too late. Be a big day tomorrow.’
‘Listen to Dad,’ said McGuire.
Brennan headed for the door. He turned once, twice, as he was wished well, but when he was out he kept his head low and focused on each step he took. He needed to get away, to taste different air.
In the car park Brennan picked out the Passat, directed the key and unlocked it. He had a stop to make before going home; it was another one of those stops he didn’t want to make, but he knew that he had to do it. The case had demanded his attention, had drawn him away from everything, and everyone, else — but now it was time to shift focus back to the areas he had ignored.
As Brennan pulled out of the station car park the radio news was relaying the arrests in Calais. By tomorrow the case would be all over the front pages. The papers would call it a result. His superiors would be pleased. But Brennan just felt cold. At the outset a young girl had died and, along the way, more people had followed her. He knew that too many people had been hurt and damaged by the events that had sprung from Carly Donald’s disappearance, and all of it could have been avoided. He didn’t know who to blame or why things had turned out the way they had, but he felt some sense of relief that it was now over. The killing would stop, and Beth was safe.
The voice on the radio started to relay the details of the case from the start, when Carly Donald was found in a communal bin in Muirhouse. ‘ The grim find was made by schoolgirl Trish Brown, who said she would never be able to get the image out of her mind. ’
Brennan knew how she felt. He could still see the pale, mutilated figure abandoned in the rubbish, the life drained from her like a rag that had been wrung out.
‘ Father of the murder victim, the Reverend John Donald, earlier spoke of his joy upon hearing his granddaughter Beth had been found safe and well. A one-time contender for Scotland’s top church job, the minister confirmed he would no longer be considered for the Moderator’s role, as he would be concentrating his efforts on his family life. ’
Brennan cursed. ‘Jumped or pushed?’ He leaned forward and switched off the radio. ‘Arsehole.’
Chapter 51
As DI Rob Brennan arrived up outside Dr Lorraine Fuller’s home, he brought the car to an abrupt halt, turned the key in the ignition and listened to the engine coming to rest. It was a cool night and the breeze bit as he opened the door and walked up the path. He could see a light burning in the front room as he rang the bell. A curtain moved and Lorraine appeared at the window. She seemed flustered, not expecting to see him, but then she made for the door, rattled the chain and lock as she opened up.
‘What are you doing here?’ she said. ‘Our appointment’s not until tomorrow.’
Brennan didn’t bite. ‘Can I come in?’
She widened the door, motioned him inside with a flourish of her hand.
In the living room, Lorraine folded her arms. ‘So, is this a flying visit or should I offer you a drink?’
Brennan didn’t answer, removed his coat and sat down.
‘Wine okay?’
He nodded. Lorraine had never been one for small chat and he was grateful for that, but he knew they had things to say to each other.
The television was on but the sound had been turned to mute. Brennan watched a few seconds of Antiques Roadshow — an old man had brought along a collection of toby jugs and twitched every time the presenter picked one up. Brennan lasted nearly a full minute before he got out of his seat, briskly, and turned the television off.
Lorraine returned with the wine. ‘Make yourself at home.’
Brennan took the glass. ‘I want you to know this is the first chance I’ve had to see you since I took this case.’
She stared at the orange juice in her own glass, swirled it round the base. ‘I saw the news. It’s over, then?’
Brennan sighed. ‘ Really.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
He sipped the wine. ‘Nothing.’ He reached to place his glass on the table, retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair. He was about to remove the picture he’d been carrying around but something occurred to him. ‘Do you remember those sessions we had, ones where we talked about my brother?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘I got him… Andy’s killer.’
‘ What? I mean, how?’
Brennan fiddled with a button on his jacket; the words felt trapped in his throat. ‘It doesn’t really matter.’
Lorraine put down her glass, moved closer. ‘You still don’t like talking about this. You know, if you’ve found some kind of closure, then maybe now’s the time to tell me.’
Closure? What was that? Shrink-speak. Brennan looked at Lorraine. Her hair was up; she had no make-up on. He hardly recognised her. ‘Okay. What do you want to know?’
‘Whatever you’d like to tell me.’
Brennan stopped himself, let the last twenty-four hours’ events flood into his memory banks and mix with what he knew about Andy.
‘There was a man, Grady…’ he said.
‘Go on.’
Brennan took a breath, hesitated, then continued, ‘He was a businessman, one of those with fingers in several pies. I had seen his name mentioned a couple of times when… well… does it matter?’
Lorraine leaned forward, took his hand.
‘Andy had this job, a roughcasting, big payer but you need the weather for it so… Am I boring you?’
She shook her head.
‘He was telling me about it and it came out that it was for Grady.’ Brennan tightened his hold on Lorraine’s hand. ‘I told Andy not to take the job. I told him Grady was bad news, his name was coming up in investigations again and again. There were connections to Ulster and-’
‘Grady sounds serious.’
Brennan frowned. ‘Serious trouble. But Andy didn’t want to know. He took on the job and we rowed. I told him he had a family to think about and he shouldn’t do it… heavy stuff. He wouldn’t listen.’ Brennan could hear his voice growing weaker as the memory played. ‘We argued and argued and eventually I wore Andy’s patience down. He broke. It all came out: how he resented me for leaving home and making him give up his ambitions to paint in favour of the family firm; he said he had to do the job because I wouldn’t… He blamed me for everything. He’d never said any of this before.’
