‘What’s he done?’
That hit Vicky with a frown. ‘He was arrested earlier this evening. Your husband was—’
Jane shot off into the house. ‘GARY!’
Vicky glanced at Karen, then followed Jane inside.
The place was beige. Everywhere. Everything. A beige rug over pale floorboards in the hall. Beige pictures on the beige painted walls. Beige carpet in the living room, with beige wallpaper.
Mike Wilkie sat in the living room on a beige leather couch, in front of American wrestling, big muscular guys with long hair throwing each other around. He looked over at them, gave a nod, then went back to his wrestling, sipping whisky from a glass.
‘YOU SHOULD’VE TOLD ME!’
Vicky followed the din through the house to a large kitchen, a room that had taken all of the colour from the house and put it on display. Bright-red units, a baby-blue Aga, mid-orange carpet and deep-purple dining table with matching deep-purple chairs.
Gary Wilkie was standing by the stainless-steel American fridge, the only thing in the room that had no colour. He was clutching a bowl, spooning cereal into his mouth. Milk dribbled down his chin. Probably the first food he’d managed since decorating his shoes in the interview room. ‘Didn’t Dad tell you?’
Jane stood way too close to him, fists on hips, looking like she was going to punch a Wilkie, but hadn’t decided which one. ‘So you were arrested?’
‘Aye.’ Gary looked over at Vicky, then hid behind his cereal bowl. ‘They did it. Those two arrested me, Mum.’
Jane focused her anger on Vicky. ‘What happened?’
‘We had reason to believe that your son was involved in the murder of Carly Johnston.’
‘Carly?’ Jane dipped her head. ‘She’s dead?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I used to babysit for her when she was wee. Sorry, I didn’t know. I was out at a friend’s for a catch-up. Why did you think Gary did it?’
‘We thought he’d killed her because he ran away from us at a party. And couldn’t explain his movements.’
‘But?’
‘His assistance, and that of your husband, led us to another suspect, Carly’s boyfriend.’
‘That taxi driver?’
‘Correct. You’ve seen him?’
She sighed and her fists slipped from her hips. ‘Aye, I’ve seen him. The taxi driver, aye?’
‘The reason we’re here, Mrs Wilkie, is that we believe that her boyfriend’s last fare before he lost his mobile phone was to this address.’
Gary tossed his bowl in the sink with a clatter. Milk sprayed up, cereal lumps sticking to the splashback tiles and sliding down. ‘Why does everyone think it was me?’
Vicky approached him, slowly and carefully, mindful of his tendency to run. And to vomit. ‘When we spoke to you earlier, you told us you were at a work night out last night. The video game company?’
Jane got between them, mama bear protecting her cub. ‘That’s true. He was out.’ She wagged a finger at Vicky. ‘But he’s too young to drink.’
Aye, right. Vicky focused on the mother. ‘Did Gary get a taxi home after it?’
Gary shook his head.
‘Mrs Wilkie, did you pick him up?’
Jane shook her head now. ‘I didn’t, no.’
‘And your husband?’
‘He was out himself.’
Nailed. Vicky focused on Gary. ‘When you took the taxi last night, did you steal his phone?’
‘Whose phone?’
‘Carly’s boyfriend.’
‘No!’
‘You sure about that?’
But Gary wouldn’t answer.
‘Here’s what we know happened. You caught a cab home with—’
‘I didn’t!’
‘You did. We know you did. A pick-up in the city centre, driven here. You told us you were at the Indignity party, which we know was at the Malmaison in the centre.’
Gary looked defeated now, his head slumped on his chest.
‘You stole his phone, arranged to meet Carly, then you stole a car, kidnapped Teresa.’ Vicky held his gaze. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘Son, right now, you really need an alibi for this evening.’
‘I didn’t kill Carly!’
‘Oh, so who did? One of Santa’s elves?’
‘How dare you talk to my son like that!’
‘Mrs Wilkie, we know your son was in a relationship with Miss Johnston for—’
‘Bullshit!’ Gary lurched forward and launched his fist at Vicky’s head.
She caught it and twisted his arm around his back, then forced him over the kitchen table.
‘This is bullshit!’ Gary was shooting his head either side to get at Vicky, but she had him pinned down good and proper. ‘Carly is a witch!’
‘A witch, right.’
‘You don’t know what I’ve been through!’ Gary went limp, collapsing against the counter, his body rocking with tears. ‘What she put me through…’
Vicky snapped out the handcuffs and rolled them around his wrists. He stayed there, sobbing against the worktop. ‘What did she put you through, Gary?’
‘Hell.’ He turned around, glaring at her. ‘Carly and Teri, they made my life hell!’
Jane stood there, her anger dissipated to frost.
Karen stepped forward and got in the kid’s face. ‘Gary Wilkie, I’m arresting you for—’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘—the crime of murder.’
‘It wasn’t me!’ Gary slapped her hands away. ‘I wasn’t there. It wasn’t me in that taxi.’
‘Gary, you need to stop lying to us.’
‘I was here at home, playing games.’
‘But you told us you were inv—’
‘I wasn’t.’ Gary stood up and looked over at her, his hand spraying greasy hair back over his head. ‘I’m just a part-timer. And I’m underage. They didn’t invite me to the party.’
‘So that stuff about you becoming a big shot?’
‘It was…’ He sighed. ‘I’ve never spoken to anyone except my manager.’
‘Gary, this all seems a bit far-fetched. Like you’re trying to wriggle out of a murder charge.’
‘I’m stressed, okay?’
‘Stress is a very common experience with people who have killed, especially in cold blood. Especially when—’
‘No.’ Jane moved back, getting between them, but she was defending her son this time. ‘You don’t understand. Gary’s been off school with stress. Last night, I drove him to see his therapist down in the Ferry.’
‘It’s also common for parents to lie to protect their children.’
‘I’m not lying.’ Jane was crying now. ‘Gary’s been off school for a month now. He just went back two weeks ago. But the stress was a lot to handle, so he needed to speak to his therapist again.’
