Lamb to the Slaughter (30 page)

Fleming was startled. ‘Dead sheep? Oh, of course. I’d forgotten the dead sheep.’

‘So had I, to be honest, until—’ Macdonald stopped.

‘Until?’ Fleming prompted.

‘Until – until I – er, remembered,’ he finished lamely.

She gave him a look of exasperation. What was wrong with them all? Was lying contagious? ‘Anyway, the dead sheep. We don’t know, of course, how it was shot – or that it definitely had been shot, even. But in the peculiar circumstances of finding it dumped in the Craft Centre ... You’d have to say it doesn’t sound like run-of-the-mill animal cruelty for kicks.

‘So what are we to make of that – someone shooting a sheep, an elderly man and a young tearaway? What’s the connection between those three?’ She looked round them questioningly.

There was a moment’s silence, then Campbell said, ‘Could be random. You know, a sniper, like they get in America.’

Fleming looked at him in horror. ‘Don’t say that!’ she begged. ‘Don’t even think that, outside this room! Can you imagine the effect on the public, if they think someone’s wandering around, ready to pick them off when they go out to the shops for their messages?’

‘You’d have to say there’s something in that,’ Wilson said thoughtfully. ‘There’s a weird feeling about this whole thing. Especially the sheep.’

‘Let’s leave the sheep out of it for the moment,’ Fleming said desperately. ‘Focus on Carmichael and the boy. Someone wanted rid of them both. Is it about the first murder – the boy, say, witnessing something incriminating? Is there something we don’t know about that unites them? Or has someone killed two people who separately have given him reason to want them dead? Let’s have some focused thinking here.’

Macdonald sat up. ‘Pete Spencer – he’s done a runner. He lives with Romy Kyle, but she doesn’t know where he is or what’s happened – she was in her workshop last night and he was gone when she got home. He wouldn’t open the door when our lads went round there to break the news, and the neighbour says he left with suitcases in the middle of the night.’

Suddenly everyone was sitting up. Fleming’s heart lifted. ‘So he had a very direct connection with the boy—’

‘And Colonel Carmichael had found out about a financial scam he’d been running. He’d form, had served time for it – he might have been prepared to take drastic action to stop that happening again.’

They were all excited now. Kerr said, ‘And Gordon Gloag said that Barney really hated Pete – went on about it. And—’

Wilson interrupted eagerly. ‘If there was aggro with the boy, once he’d had to bump off Carmichael, he might have thought he was as well to be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb.’

‘A dead sheep,’ Macdonald quipped.

Only Campbell didn’t smile. ‘I don’t see why he’d want to kill the sheep, though. It was sort of like a warning, you’d say.’

‘Right,’ Kerr said. ‘So it was a warning. Carmichael owned the Craft Centre, so this was him saying, “Don’t shop me, or else.”’

Campbell was dogged. ‘But why wouldn’t he put it in the garden at Fauldburn House instead? The Colonel might never see it at the Craft Centre.’

An uneasy feeling stirred in Fleming. Why, indeed? And how could you be sure that Carmichael’s immediate reaction after a threat like that wouldn’t be to come straight to the police with the story? But the man had fled, after all...

She fought down her misgivings. ‘We’ll get out an All Points Bulletin. He may be gone already, but it’s the best we can do. Will, you look after that. Tansy, get the number of his car and run it past the ferry companies. Ewan, find someone to swear out a warrant for Mrs Kyle’s house and whenever it comes through I want you and Andy to go over there. Best contact Victim Support to be on hand as well, though – don’t forget that Mrs Kyle’s just lost her son, and this is going to make things very much worse. And there’s the CCTV footage too – Tansy, once you’ve got the registration number, get that organised to see if it tells us anything about Spencer’s movements at the significant time.

‘And, it goes without saying, any brilliant initiative you come up with yourselves.’ She smiled. ‘OK, that’s it.’

They got up to go, and Fleming was activating her computer when the thought struck her. ‘Andy,’ she called after him, ‘where did this information about Spencer’s scam come from?’

He came back with obvious reluctance and Fleming could see his Adam’s apple moving up and down. ‘Er – a tip-off.’

‘A CHIS?’ She gave him a hard stare. She didn’t think for a minute it had come from what was now known as a Covert Human Intelligence Source, and she could see him squirming.

‘Umm – you could say.’

Tam MacNee, no doubt. But she let it go. There are some things it is simply better not to know.

‘Fine. Thanks, Andy.’

‘What happens now, boss – to Christina Munro, I mean?’

Fleming pulled a face. ‘The timing’s up to the fiscal. The complaint will be reduced to culpable and reckless discharge of a firearm, so it’ll be heard in the Sheriff Court instead of the High Court and it’s a summary offence so there won’t even be a jury. She’ll probably plead guilty, and if the Sheriff’s in a benevolent mood, given an early plea, the background and the fact that she had a night on remand, she’ll only get a slap on the wrist.’

‘To be honest, I’m glad about that,’ Macdonald said. ‘Oh, you can’t have old ladies loosing off guns when they feel like it, but the neds have it all their own way these days.’

‘This one didn’t,’ Fleming said soberly. Then, prompted by a niggling doubt, she went on, ‘Andy, what’s your feeling about Spencer?’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t know the man, boss.’

‘I’ll tell you what makes me uncomfortable. Three things, actually. One – OK, making a run for it is suspicious, but it’s also seriously dumb. It’s like fixing up a great neon sign saying “Guilty” and pointing it at your head.’

‘See what you mean. Conmen aren’t usually stupid. You’d think he’d have brazened it out.’

‘Right. And two – why would the police coming to the door have spooked him? He’d have known they’d be coming to break the news to Romy. It’s more the reaction of someone who thinks they’re at the door because the game’s up.’

Macdonald was much struck by this. ‘That’s right! I didn’t think of it that way.’

It was a little like having a conversation with herself. Andy Mac was sound enough, with his own strengths as a detective, but he’d never have the flair for picking up connections and discrepancies that had made Tam invaluable on occasions like this.

She realised Macdonald was looking at her and she said hastily, ‘Sorry, thanks, Andy, that’s all.’

‘You said there was a third thing?’

‘Oh – oh yes.’ She didn’t like thinking about this one. ‘It was Ewan’s comment. As you said, he’s got a knack of putting his finger on the problem. Why the dead sheep? You don’t think we really do have a sniper, do you?’

Macdonald laughed. ‘No, I don’t. This is Kirkluce, not the American Mid-West. And Spencer may just have gone because he reckoned he could get clean away, and was scared that once the investigation started we’d finger him and he’d be trapped.’

‘It’s a good thought. Thanks, Andy.’

He left, and she went back to the computer to work out a press statement. She’d have to discuss with Bailey how much she told them. It was tempting to give them the usual line about on-going enquiries, at least until the homicide charge against Munro was officially dropped, but once you put out an APB it could easily leak. It could leak from within, too; she was painfully aware that there was an officer – or more than one, even – who had in the past done a line in tip-offs to the press.

She could only hope they’d pick up Spencer soon. It wasn’t as easy as you’d think to disappear. If you weren’t to leave a money trail, you needed to get your hands on cash and it sounded as if he’d left on the spur of the moment. He’d have a credit card, most likely, and if he used it they’d catch up with him before long.

‘Cheers!’ Pete Spencer lifted a pint of Guinness to his lips. ‘You’ve got a bargain there. Goes like a bird.’ He reached over to an adjoining bar stool and opened a bulging briefcase which was lying on it. ‘Here you are – log book, MOT, insurance...’

The cheerful, round-faced Irishman sitting on his other side raised his glass too. ‘Good deal for the both of us, so it is.’ He handed over a thick wad of notes.

‘Thanks. Gives me a bit of spending money!’

‘Where are you off to?’

‘North Africa. Taking Ryanair this afternoon.’ Spencer looked at his watch. ‘In fact, I’d better not hang about. Just finish this, then away to the sun.’

‘Some boys have all the luck.’ The Irishman looked out of the pub window. ‘It’s come on to rain again.’

‘Is this not just what you call “a fine soft day”?’ Spencer suggested, then drained his glass and held out his hand. ‘Pleasure meeting you. Good luck.’

The Irishman took it. ‘And the same to yourself, now. Happy landings.’

15

‘Andy!’

DS Macdonald was heading for the CID room when Sergeant Jock Naismith hailed him. ‘I’ve been looking for you!’

‘Been with the boss. What’s the problem?’

‘Christina Munro’s kicking up stink. She’s out on bail and she’d been told the animal protection people were looking after her livestock, but when she got back the dog wasn’t there and they didn’t know anything about it. She’s in a fine state. You were up there last night, weren’t you? Do you know anything about it – one of these retired greyhounds?’

‘It’s OK, Jock. Tam MacNee took it home with him. I’ll call him and get him to take it back.’

‘Tam went up there last night? He’s a brave man.’ Naismith was impressed. ‘Big Marge’ll do her nut if she finds out.’

‘She knows already. He’d sort of an excuse, but he’ll be a bit more careful now about getting involved.’

Naismith gave him a cynical look. ‘Pull the other one, laddie – it plays “Flower of Scotland”,’ he said as he walked away.

Macdonald took out his mobile and speed-dialled MacNee’s. ‘Tam? Andy here. It’s about the dog. They’ve bailed Christina Munro and she’s wanting it back.’

There was, he thought, a disappointed silence. ‘I suppose she is,’ MacNee said at last. ‘Och well, I’ll take him up to her this afternoon. I’d got sort of used to the beast, though. Cut above the rubbish Bunty usually drags home.’

‘Maybe you should get a dog of your own,’ Macdonald suggested, tongue-in-cheek.

‘Me? You’re kidding. Bunty’s menagerie’s trouble enough, without going out looking for more.

‘Here, what’s been happening today? Any new developments?’

‘Look, Tam, the boss has told you, I’ve told you, you’re sitting this one out. Do you not think you’ve done enough damage?’

‘What harm would a wee chat over a pint do?’ MacNee coaxed. ‘We’re old mates, just happened to run into each other in the Cutty Sark, say, or the Salutation, whichever you prefer—’

‘No, Tam. That’s it. Get better quick, and then you can buy me all the drinks you like.’

‘Dream on!’ Then MacNee’s tone changed. ‘Well, Andy, it saddens me to have to do this, but I think I’m going to have to tell Big Marge about all the information you’ve been giving me. It’s my conscience, see – I don’t like to feel I’m deceiving her, and with you being her sergeant I think she should know how you’ve treated her instructions with contempt.’

‘For God’s sake! Blackmail, even!’ Macdonald gave an ­exasperated sigh. ‘Oh well – I suppose so. MacNee, you’re a bastard.’

He could hear the smile in the man’s voice. ‘Oh aye, right enough. But I’m a
cunning
bastard.’

Catriona Fleming let herself into the house, dragging her feet. She felt terribly tired, as if someone had attached lead weights to her hands and feet.

There had been a dreadful atmosphere in school today, with the teachers shocked and solemn and the girls in tears half the time. She’d had the embarrassment of having everyone looking at her when Will Wilson and Tansy Kerr were doing interviews because she knew them, and she’d been a bit rude when they were questioning her. She didn’t know anything, anyway.

Then there had been one of these awful form sessions where they were meant to give healthy expression to what they thought, which was, like, totally embarrassing. Eventually someone had gone, ‘But they were bullies, weren’t they? That’s really bad,’ and then there’d been, ‘Yeah, but she shouldn’t ...’ and, ‘Well, if they hadn’t ...’ until the bell went.

Cat had taken no part in it. It had reflected, all too clearly, the struggle she was having in her own mind. What they had done to the old lady was cruel and horrible, but they were her friends and she was by nature loyal. The teacher had noticed her silence and stopped her afterwards to say there were counsellors in school if she wanted to talk to somebody. She’d said no, she was fine – everyone knew counsellors were rubbish – but she felt awful inside.

She dumped her bag in the mud-room. She’d seen her father in the distance, out on the quad bike, and Cammie had a squad practice, so the house would be empty.

But when she opened the kitchen door, the warm, clean smell of laundered linen greeted her. Karolina was there, standing at the ironing board with a neat pile of ironed clothes on the table in front of her and a rather larger unironed pile in a basket at her feet.