Chapter 15
FIFE
Art McKenzie and Cameron Reid sat in the rancid pool car, trying not to breath in through their noses.
Having the windows wound down had helped a little bit, but it also encouraged flies to have a go at breaking through the smell barrier, and even though they frequently picnicked on puke, the car was too much even for them.
‘Do you think if we set it on fire, they would replace it with a new one?’ Cameron asked.
‘Why don’t you try it and find out? What’s the worst that can happen? You get to sit and think about it every day when you’re in Saughton?’
‘Aye, you’re right. I’d get treated worse than the prisoners.’ He looked at Art. ‘I wouldn’t shower if I was in there. I’d just keep the same clothes on every day.’
Art shook his head. ‘Where the hell do you get your ideas from? I have never, in my entire life, ever heard of a prisoner who kept his clothes on all the time.’
‘First time for everything.’
They were sitting across the road from a short, dead-end street, keeping an eye on a one-storey bungalow in Glenrothes. It was a well-respected development, a place where Alan McRae’s ex-wife lived. Which was once the marital home.
The little driveway at the side of the house was empty.
So were the spaces in front of the double garage on the other side.
Art had contacted the station and got a hold of the landline number for Alan’s previous address.
It rang but nobody answered. Art didn’t know if that meant the number was still in use at the residence or whether it had been disconnected and issued to another address.
‘Maybe she’s renting it out,’ Cameron said, looking over his shoulder from the passenger seat into the back, trying to find the source of the smell.
‘Maybe she’s just away shopping.’
‘I bet you a tenner she’s done a runner,’ Cameron said.
‘Ten?’ Art looked at his younger colleague. ‘Why don’t we make it fifty?’
Cameron was still looking for any sign that something had died in the back. ‘Fifty? You’re on.’
Art started the engine, and Cameron turned to look out the windscreen, seeing the blue Volvo in the distance turn into the street.
‘You owe me fifty,’ Art said.
‘You saw the car coming when I was looking away. Bets are off when you’re a cheating bastard,’ Cameron said. ‘You’re meant to lead by example for younger colleagues and those in lower ranks. You have no morals.’
Art grinned. ‘I just want to see your wife’s reaction when I tell her you lost another bet.’
‘Aye, well, what the eye doesn’t see, the heart doesn’t grieve over. And you’re still missing the point. That one was voided simply because you resorted to smoke and mirrors.’
‘My arse. I was looking through the windscreen like you were supposed to be doing.’
Cameron buckled his seat belt. ‘I wish they would give us a decent motor, something with a nice tune that we could easily weave in and out of the schemes.’
‘You just described an ice-cream van.’
He drove a short distance and turned into the street, pulling up to the bungalow and parking outside the front door. They watched as Pat McRae walked into a side door with a bag of groceries in one hand.
‘Looks like she hasn’t left the country with Lord Lucan after all,’ Art said.
They stepped outside into a day that had been warm but was now deceiving them with a biting wind. Art kept his hair short, while Cameron did not, and the wind tousled Cameron’s hair as they walked to the front door. Art rang the doorbell.
‘Who is it?’ Pat asked from the safety of the other side.
‘Pat, it’s Art and Cameron.’
‘Oh, it’s you, Arthur.’
Fucking Pat and his mother were the only ones he knew who full-named him. And that annoying bastard, Don McCoy.
The door opened a crack with the chain on, like the little metal links would stop somebody with big boots and determination, and they could just see part of her face.
‘Do you want to come in?’ she said.
‘That would be wonderful.’
‘It’s just that I’m just out of the shower,’ she replied.
‘That’s the quickest I’ve ever seen somebody take a shower,’ Art said. ‘We just saw you come in the side door with a bag of groceries.’
‘Bugger,’ she whispered, stepping back and sliding the chain. The door opened, and Pat stood looking at them.
It had been a long time since Art had seen Alan’s ex-wife.
The last time was at the bowling club when she had one too many.
‘Just letting my hair down,’ she had said before puking in the rose bushes.
Art had helped Alan get her inside and then left his friend to deal with the aftermath.
‘Stay and have a drink,’ Alan had said, and Art had all but told him to fuck off.
He didn’t mind helping get the drunk wife into the house, but that was where their friendship cut off.
Pat’s face had more lines than Art remembered. More crow’s feet at the side of her eyes, with bags underneath. Her skin looked saggy and pale.
She stepped back and opened the door wide.
‘Cameron,’ she said, nodding to him.
‘Mrs McRae.’
They trooped in, and Art had a fleeting memory of coming to a New Year’s party at this house years ago. He had no recollection of leaving.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Pat asked.
Art gave Cameron a swift sideways look before telling her that a soft drink would be acceptable.
They followed her into the kitchen, where she grabbed a couple of cans of Coke from the fridge and handed them over. They popped them open and sat at the little table in the corner.
‘You must be wondering if I have a man in my life,’ she said, sitting down.
The question caught Art off guard momentarily before he quickly composed his answer. ‘Nothing to do with us, Pat,’ he replied. He thought she could have a platoon of the Scots Guards in here, and it would have nothing to do with him.
‘Have you ever… you know… after…’ she said, which, to the uninitiated, could raise so many questions. Have you ever thought about writing to the adult movie star again after you got out of prison? was one.
‘After my wife died? No. There have been some dates, you know, but nothing serious,’ he said. Was she stalling for time? He wasn’t going to let her, especially since she hadn’t asked them what they were there for. Because she knew. ‘You know why we’re here, Pat.’
She looked down at her hands which were sitting in her lap, twiddling. Then she made eye contact with him. ‘Yes. I’d heard Alan was missing. Daisy called me to ask if I’d seen him.’
‘And you told her…?’
‘I told her the truth. I haven’t.’
‘That’s not quite true, is it, Mrs McRae?’ Cameron said.
She looked at him, almost as if she had forgotten he was there. ‘I haven’t. She told me he’s missing, and I’m sorry and all that, but we’re divorced. I’m not Alan’s keeper. He might have run off with a stripper for all I know.’
‘What about the car park up at the trail?’ Art asked.
‘What about it?’ Looking back at him now.
This was how it was going to be, Art thought. Like pulling fucking teeth.
‘You were seen talking to Alan in your car, before he went off on holiday.’
‘No, I wasn’t.’
Flat-out denial. That was how a lot of interviews started out. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see anything. It doesn’t make you go blind.
Art didn’t mind. It was to be expected. The guilty always started off that way, but Art had been opposite hundreds of people saying the same thing, which had only served to hone his skills in seeing right through them.
Sweating, fidgeting, making a funny face without realising it, and eye movements that made them look like they had a mild form of Tourette’s.
Now that his question was out there, Pat had begun displaying all the symptoms. Alan would have been all over her like a rash.
‘What was it you talked about?’ Cameron said.
‘Even if we did meet up, I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ Pat said, her cheeks starting to flush.
‘So you did meet up then?’ Art said.
Anger and the face changing colour. Art knew she was lying to them, but why?
Because they were divorced, and she couldn’t care less if he was missing?
He desperately wanted to have a look around the house now, but without consent or a search warrant, that wasn’t going to be possible.
And he doubted that she would fall for the Can I use your bathroom?
excuse, where the copper would pretend to go for a piss and then start raking about in her knicker drawer.
She had been married to a copper, after all.
‘If something’s happened to him, we need to try and find him, Pat,’ Art said, an edge to his voice now.
Her lip began to tremble. ‘I know. I truly don’t know where he is. I promise you, Arthur. We did meet up there, at the trail. But he left and got back into his own car, and I drove away before he left. I haven’t seen him since.’
Art grimaced inside; he hoped the wee bastard sitting next to him wouldn’t start full-naming him, or else he’d have to slap him one.
‘Obviously, I can’t make you tell us what you were discussing up at the trail and why you would need to meet up there,’ Art said, ‘but it might help.’
Pat sighed. ‘Of course.’ She looked at them in turn before returning her gaze to Art.
‘Alan was scared.’ She held up a hand to ward off the next question.
‘I don’t know what he was scared of, but he was scared.
He mentioned something about getting in deeper than he intended.
His words, not mine. I’ve never seen him like that before.
He wanted to meet there to reduce the chance of us being seen.
He got into my car, and we sat and talked.
He told me he was going to Tenerife the following day and hoped things would have cooled down by the time he returned.
I swear that’s all he said. Then we discussed his work, my work, politics.
He left my car and got back into his own. ’
‘Can you tell me if you’re seeing somebody else?’ Art asked. ‘Somebody who might have found out and who got a bit jealous?’
‘I’ve been seeing somebody,’ she said.
‘Can you tell us who?’ Cameron asked. He’d put the burp-inducing can on the table. The last thing he wanted was to encourage a vurp.
Pat blew out a breath, signalling that she might not get approval when she revealed the name of her latest boyfriend. ‘Dick Drever.’
Cameron’s eyes went wide and Art could see the younger detective was about to blow out something like, ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’
Instead, he said, ‘I’ve met Dick.’
Art jumped in. ‘We talked to him at the club to see if he had seen Alan.’
‘And had he?’ Pat asked.
Art shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Did he find out that you had seen DCI McRae that Friday at the trail?’ Cameron asked.
‘If he did, he didn’t say anything. But you know Dick, not the sharpest pencil in the pencil case.’
‘Is this a serious or a casual relationship?’ Art asked.
‘Casual. I’m not moving in with him, or anything. It’s just company, you know? It gets lonely sometimes.’
Art knew exactly what that was like. His wife, Dee, had died of breast cancer two years ago. Surgery hadn’t helped as it had metastasised into other parts of her body. He had been with her every day in the hospice until she slipped away.
‘I understand,’ he said simply.
‘I wish Alan had told me what he was scared of, but I don’t know.’
‘He came back from holiday, we know that much. Border Force confirmed that to us. After he left the airport… he disappeared into thin air.’
‘Who would want to hurt him?’ she asked. ‘Was he being threatened at work? Was somebody out to get him?’
‘Not that we know of,’ Art said.
‘You know, even though we divorced, I didn’t harbour any grudge towards Alan. In fact, he would come round for a coffee and we’d chat and have a laugh. We got on better after the divorce than at the end of our marriage.’
‘That’s often the way,’ Art said as he stood up. Cameron did the same.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,’ Pat said, getting up and coming round the table to hug Art. She ignored Cameron.
‘If you can think of anything, Pat, anything at all that might help us locate Alan, please give me a call.’
‘I will.’
They went back out to the car and Art started it up. ‘Fucking hell,’ he said.
‘What?’ Cameron said.
‘You, manky bastard. I could smell that burp a mile away. If that’s how fizzy drinks affect you, maybe you should drink tap water.’
‘I should have. I will from now on. Fizzy drinks always make me do that.’
‘And yet you still took one.’
‘Lesson learned, boss.’
Art started the engine. Looked over at Cameron. ‘What did you make of Pat?’
‘I think she’s a lying cow.’
‘I said what do you think, not insult her. If Alan heard you say that, he’d shove a boot so far up your arse, your eyes would spin.’
‘No disrespect, but I learned to talk like that from you.’
‘No, you didn’t, ya wee bastard.’
‘See?’ Cameron had a smug look on his face.
‘However, disrespect aside, I agree with you. I think she’s hiding something.
Alan told her something, and she was sworn to secrecy.
And because they’re still friends, she’s protecting him.
But she might be putting him in danger by keeping quiet.
If it’s not already too late.’ He said the last words in a quiet voice, as if voicing them would make them come true.
As the car turned around and left, Pat stood behind the net curtains in the living room. When it had turned out of her street, she turned to the figure standing behind her.
‘They’ve gone,’ she said simply.