Chapter 21
FIFE
Tuesday morning for Art and Cameron had been mostly paperwork relating to the cottage where the bones were found. Now, Art suggested they go and talk to Pat McRae, Alan’s ex. Cameron was just as eager to get out into the fresh air, away from the stale smell in the station.
Pat McRae’s car wasn’t in the driveway when Art pulled up.
‘Maybe she saw us coming and booted it off,’ Cameron said.
‘Not laughing at the idea of us driving around in an ice-cream truck now, are you?’ Cameron said. ‘We could have lured her out with a ninety-nine.’
‘Aye, you’re right. And if she asked for two, we would have known Drever was in there.’
‘With his boxers round his ankles.’
Art looked at him. ‘One step too far.’
Cameron grinned. ‘What? We already know she’s seeing him. I don’t suppose he comes round just for a Mr Whippy. Or maybe he does.’
‘Let’s just go and knock on her door before you turn her into the neighbourhood hoor.’ Art turned the engine off and they stepped out into the warmth. There were clouds in the sky but no immediate threat of rain.
Art walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Cameron stepped up and banged a fist on it a couple of times.
‘Easy, Christ,’ Art said. ‘We’re just here to see if she knows any more than she told us yesterday, not drag her out in handcuffs.’
‘Sorry. I just didn’t like the way she was lying to us yesterday.’
‘Maybe she had reason to,’ Art said, ringing the bell again.
He stood on his tiptoes and raised a hand to the glass in the door, peering through one of the five glass panels that formed a semicircle.
Flowers were shaped into the glass, distorting the view, but he focused on a plain piece and looked into the hallway.
‘She there?’ Cameron asked.
‘Aye, walking about naked.’ Art flattened his feet and turned to look at his friend. ‘No, she’s not there.’
‘You could have just said that,’ Cameron said. ‘Instead of voicing some fantasy—’
‘Go and look through the garage window,’ Art said, cutting him off. ‘See if her car’s in there.’
Cameron walked along the little pathway that ran in front of the house, a shortcut to the garage for times when they didn’t put the cars inside.
Although Art suspected that Pat always parked in the little side driveway that was next to the kitchen door.
Safer and quicker. He was looking over at the neighbour’s house when Cameron shouted, jerking him out of his thoughts.
‘Art! Fuck’s sake, get the door in! She’s in the garage.’
‘What?’ Art answered, confused.
Cameron ran back. ‘There’s a hose leading from the exhaust into the car.’
Art grabbed the door handle but the door was locked.
Cameron stepped back and kicked the door just at the lock. His foot bounced off the uPVC. ‘Fuck,’ he said, grabbing his knee.
‘Round the back!’ Art shouted, and took off running, followed by Cameron, who was running as best he could.
He saw Art round the corner of the house and disappear into the back garden.
When he got there, Art was holding up a fair-sized plant pot, about to throw it at the French doors.
‘You sure the hose is coming from the exhaust?’ Art asked.
‘I mean, she’s not washing her car or something? ’
‘Aye, I’m fucking sure!’ Cameron shouted, and Art launched the pot through the glass.
As it was going through the air, Art turned away and Cameron thought it was going to bounce off the double glazing, but no, the glass exploded into tiny pieces and then Art was through.
Cameron was ignoring the pain as he followed his boss through into the kitchen and then along the hallway towards the front door, when he stopped at another door that could have been a closet but was the door into the garage.
Inside, the fumes were thick but not thick enough that Art couldn’t see Pat sitting behind the wheel. He covered his mouth and ran over to the switch that activated the electric door opener and the garage door trundled up.
Cameron opened the car door and grabbed a hold of Pat, pulling her from the car as Art got on the phone, calling for an ambulance, turning the engine off.
Outside in the fresh air, they felt for a pulse and found nothing.
‘Christ, Pat, what have you done?’ Art said as Cameron went to work with the CPR.
The ambulance arrived a few minutes later and the paramedics took over. Then they got her onto a stretcher as a patrol car turned up. Along with Detective Superintendent Chris Breck.
‘Aw fuck,’ Art said, turning to face Cameron.
‘What happened here, Arthur?’ Breck said, walking up to them.
Cameron nodded and said a quick, ‘Sir.’
Breck nodded back.
Art turned to face the big boss. Big in rank, big in stature. Breck was six-five and looked like he ate dumbbells for breakfast. Hair cut short, mirroring his years in the Royal Marines.
‘We were coming back to have a word with Alan’s ex-wife, Patricia,’ Art said. ‘There was no answer, so I asked Cameron to have a look through the glass in the garage door and he saw the hosepipe there running into the car with the engine running.’
‘Jesus. That’s never a good sign,’ Breck said, and Art didn’t know if the boss was being sarcastic or what. ‘What then? You managed to get the door open?’
‘We ran round the back and tanned the French doors in,’ Cameron said. ‘Then we got into the house and found the garage door and got inside.’
‘Cameron got her out of the car while I got the garage door open and we got her outside and tried CPR while we waited for the ambulance that I’d called,’ Art said.
‘I don’t think she’s going to make it,’ Breck said. ‘One of the paramedics looked at me and shook his head. But that’s for a man in a white coat to decide, one who’ll get a big bonus for calling the time of death.’
‘By the amount of exhaust fumes that were in there, I’d say she was in there for a wee while.’
Breck turned to the Uniforms who were standing a few feet away. ‘You two, keep any onlookers from getting closer. Tell them fuck all.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the female said. The other one looked around as if expecting to see a horde of villagers with pitchforks, but saw only an old couple at the end of the road standing gawping, holding a carrier bag of shopping each.
‘Just keep your eyes peeled,’ Breck said. He turned back to Art and Cameron. ‘Let’s go and have a look inside.’ They walked towards the open garage door. ‘Why didn’t you try kicking the front door in?’ Breck asked.
Art gave a quick sideways glance at Cameron before answering. ‘These uPVC doors have hooks that grab the frame when you lock them, so we thought it was quicker to run round the back.’
‘Thanks for giving me a lesson on how a uPVC door works, Arthur. Like I’m a big, dumb ox or something.’
‘Time was of the essence, sir,’ Cameron said.
‘Besides, we might have broken a leg, the strength of these doors,’ Art said.
‘Christ, don’t talk like that. We’re short enough with Alan being fuck-knows-where. He better have a good fucking excuse when he comes back.’
Art was pleased that Breck thought this was a temporary thing with McRae, just like he did. Unlike Cameron, who thought McRae was getting ready to be fitted with a wooden overcoat.
Breck walked towards the open garage door, and stood looking at the little Volvo. ‘What would make her take her own life?’ He looked at both men.
‘I have no idea,’ Art answered. ‘She and Alan were still friends. It’s not as if he was bothering her.’
‘That you know of. What goes on behind closed doors, and all that. Maybe it was friends with benefits,’ Breck said.
‘It wasn’t like that, sir. Alan would have told me over a pint. But he liked to play the field. Besides, Pat was seeing the bar manager at the bowling club where Alan and I had a drink.’
‘Was she now?’ Breck nodded as he walked inside, careful not to touch anything. The hose was on the floor but it had been inside the passenger window. ‘Did you notice anything in the house, when you were busy ransacking the place?’
‘Hardly ransacking, sir,’ Cameron said.
‘I was just being facetious, sergeant. I meant did you notice any suicide note?’
‘We were busy running through the house to get to here,’ Art said. His tone implied the dumb fuck but the words weren’t spoken.
‘Right, then, let’s get in and see if we can find one,’ Breck said, leading the way with his hands in his trouser pockets.
Art and Cameron walked behind, touching nothing. When they got to the living room, Art stopped at one of the chairs.
‘I think she was murdered,’ he said.
‘Explain,’ Breck said.
‘The curtains are drawn. There’s a lamp on and a cup of tea, half finished.
There’s a magazine open but placed on the chair, like she got up to answer the door.
Alan told me once that every evening, when he wasn’t out for a pint at the weekend, he and Pat would sit and have a cup of tea.
They would watch TV together. What with the lamp being on, it looks like she might have kept the tradition on, even though they weren’t married any more.
’ He dipped his small finger in the tea. ‘Cold.’
Breck nodded. ‘Like maybe somebody rang the doorbell and she got up to see who was there.’ He looked at Art. ‘Maybe she thought it was Alan, or her boyfriend.’
‘Exactly. She answered the door and let her killer in.’
‘If she doesn’t make it, and I would bet my pension on her not making it, then we’ll make sure a post-mortem is done. Maybe it will reveal something.’
‘Like she was coerced into the car,’ Cameron said.
‘We’re not going to jump to conclusions. Have a look around,’ Breck said. ‘We have probable cause to search, so don’t let anybody give you any grief about this. If they have a beef, get them to call me.’
Art and Cameron split up to have a look around. The shattered glass in the kitchen from the French doors notwithstanding, the house was neat. A few bills sitting in a letter holder on the counter near the kettle.
He knew how Pat must have felt, being divorced and on her own.
His wife had died and now Art lived alone.
He felt loneliness grip him hard at times, but every time he thought about finding somebody else to start a new life with, the guilt kicked in.
He enjoyed women’s company, even a couple of the single ones in the bowling club, but just the thought of dating again put his head into a tailspin.
Obviously that was why Pat had felt desperate enough to start dating Dick Drever.
He made a mental note to have the Uniforms get a joiner out to board up the French doors after forensics had been through the place.
He went into the bathroom and looked for any signs that Drever stayed over: razor, men’s deodorant, an extra toothbrush.
One towel hanging on a towel heater. A range of women’s cosmetics and hair mousse.
A hairbrush with blonde hair in it. Pat’s colour.
The bathroom smelled like somebody had showered here recently, a damp smell.
But there was no sign that Drever stopped the night.
Next, into Pat’s bedroom. Her bed had been turned down for the night, ready for her to slip into. A digital clock sat on the bedside cabinet next to a lamp. In the space underneath the top was a pile of magazines, a paperback sitting on top. Art crouched down so far but felt his knees creak.
There was a little drawer above the magazines. He pulled on a glove and opened it. Inside was the usual disarray that a woman might have in there: tweezers, nail file, mints, a roll of antacids, a pair of reading glasses.
A quick look through a set of drawers and the wardrobe with nothing jumping out at him.
‘Find anything?’ Cameron said, coming into the room.
Art looked at him. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary.’ He shook his head. ‘What the fuck, Cam? There was no indication of her wanting to top herself. What would make her do it if it wasn’t murder?’
‘We need to talk to Drever, see where he was last night.’
Cameron nodded in agreement.
They heard Breck talking and they found him in the living room with his phone.
‘Right. We’re going to the mortuary in Kirkcaldy.
That was Sherlock Holmes on the phone. About the skeleton that was found under the floorboards.
He’s ruling it a homicide. And I just called Accident and Emergency.
They just pronounced Pat McRae dead a few minutes ago.
Now we have to pull our finger out and find out if she was helped on her way, and from what we saw in the living room, the light and stuff, it could go either way.
The procurator fiscal’s going to need more.
Pat might just have decided to do it there and then. ’
‘The death can surely be ruled as suspicious,’ Art said.
‘You know better than that, Arthur; what suspicions do we have right now? Unless you come back and tell me her boyfriend confessed, then there’s nothing really to go on.’
Art knew the boss was talking sense, but felt there was more to it. ‘At least we can go and talk to Drever tonight.’
‘Don’t go pointing any fingers. For all we know, McRae had a breakdown, came here and killed his ex.’
Art let that set in for a moment. ‘You’re right, boss.’
As Breck led the way out into the sunshine, Art kept his mouth shut until he and Cameron were in the car.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ he asked Cameron.
‘That Alan McRae is a fucking lunatic and how did we miss the warning signs?’ Cameron said.
‘Clearly not,’ Art said, tutting. ‘Remember, Alan was seen getting into Pat’s car up at the trail. She told us he was scared of something. What if he got himself into some sort of shite that he couldn’t get out of? And dragged Pat into it?’
‘I wonder what kind of trouble?’ Cameron said.
‘Let’s hope we find him and he can tell us.’ Art thought that if Pat was murdered, then they might never get the chance to question Alan.