Chapter 32
FIFE
The nursing home was in Townhill, just outside of Dunfermline. It looked relatively new and well maintained. They made small talk on the way down, Brodie trying to keep the talk light.
‘Tell me more about DCI McRae,’ he said to Art as they walked across the car park to the main entrance.
‘He’s a good guy. Firm but fair. Everybody likes him.’
‘Is this unusual for him to take off like this?’
‘It is. I’ve worked with him for years and he’s never done anything like this.’
‘You checked out his family?’
‘We did. He lives with his sister after his divorce. They were joined at the hip, but Alan was starting to get out a bit more. You know, singles nights at the bowling club we go to in Windygates.’
They went inside, where the temperature seemed just as high inside as it was outside.
‘I’m fucking sweating,’ Cameron complained to Art as Brodie walked forward to the reception desk.
‘You shouldn’t have put your woolly long johns on then,’ Art said.
Cameron elbowed him. ‘You going to tell his nibs about Pat dying in her car?’
‘If the moment presents itself. One step at a time, Cam. We don’t know this bloke. He hasn’t earned our trust yet.’
Brodie turned back towards them. ‘Room 302. Lifts are over here.’
They followed Brodie. Upstairs, there was the universal smell again. Brodie hated it with a passion. Life and death mixed into one.
A nurse stopped them. ‘Can I help you?’
The three detectives had their warrant cards out and showed them to the woman who looked like she might be in her thirties but had enough miles under her belt to not take any guff.
‘Mrs Margaret Wallace, room 302,’ Brodie said.
‘Down that hallway to the left, second room on the right.’ She walked away, efficient and in control.
They stopped at the doorway to the old woman’s room and looked in. The first person Brodie saw was a woman who looked to be in her fifties. Not Margaret Wallace then.
He knocked on the open door. The woman looked at them.
‘Help you?’ she said, her eyes bright and fierce. Her hair had blonde streaks, but was mostly mousey brown, turning grey. Although well kept, it wasn’t stylish. She wore a dress that was fashionable last year.
‘DCI Brodie. I was hoping to have a word with Margaret Wallace. You are?’
‘Laura Forrest. I’m her daughter. She’s unfortunately about to get down for a nap.’
‘I’m old, Laura, but don’t treat me like I’m demented,’ a voice said from out of sight. ‘Let him in.’
‘There are three of them,’ Laura said.
‘The more the merrier.’
Brodie didn’t hesitate and entered the room fully, followed by Art and Cameron.
‘Mrs Wallace?’ Brodie said. ‘I’m DCI Brodie. These are my colleagues, DI McKenzie and DS Reid.’
‘Three fine young men come to visit me. How exciting. And call me Margaret. You do have first names, I assume?’
Brodie smiled. ‘Liam. Art and Cameron.’
‘Well, there’s only one seat but you’re welcome to stand.’ Margaret looked at Laura. ‘Can you get us some coffee and tea?’
‘You’re not supposed to have tea in the afternoon, Mum. It makes you pee.’
‘Language, Laura.’
‘It’s only pee.’
‘There you go again. Perhaps young Cameron wouldn’t mind going with you to the vending machine?
Tea or coffee, gentlemen?’ Margaret said, smiling at them.
She was sitting up in her bed, pillows behind her back.
She was a slight woman with grey hair and wrinkled skin, just like any other eighty-five-year-old might look.
But there was still a spark in her eyes, and a smile played on her lips.
Brodie turned to look at Cameron.
‘No problem, sir.’
‘I’ll have a coffee,’ Brodie said.
‘Tea for me, Cameron,’ Art said. ‘Milk.’
‘I don’t think it’s actually milk that comes out of the machine,’ Laura said, making a face.
‘What is it, then?’ Cameron asked.
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Laura said, leaving the room.
Brodie looked at Margaret, momentarily turned away from the other two men.
For fuck’s sake, Cameron mouthed to Art, who gave a slight grin, before straightening his face and looking away, then Cameron left to catch up with the sour-faced daughter.
‘Now that Laura is away, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’ Margaret said. ‘I might be old, but I’m not ready to be put in a straitjacket just yet.’
Brodie smiled. He imagined the old woman would have been a formidable mental opponent, back in the day.
‘It’s about your house. In Arncrouch.’
‘I only have one house.’
‘Well, it’s about that one.’
She locked eyes with him. ‘What about it?’
‘I believe you’re going to put it up for sale and wanted it refurbished before that happened.’
‘That’s right. Is everything okay with it? There hasn’t been a fire or anything?’
‘No, no, nothing like that,’ Brodie said. He looked at Art to jump in.
‘The contractors knocked a chimney over,’ Art said, looking at the old woman. ‘It went right through your roof, through the floorboards and into your crawl space.’
Margaret put a hand on her chest, and Art wondered for a moment if her heart was going to give out.
‘Is there a lot of damage?’ she asked.
‘Yes, there is, I’m sorry to say.’
She looked at each of them in turn. ‘They wouldn’t send three police officers to tell me a chimney fell. Was somebody killed?’
Brodie shook his head. ‘No. It was rather something that was found.’
‘Found in the crawl space?’
‘Yes. We found a body,’ Art said.
Margaret gasped, and Brodie stood silently for a moment, watching her, just in case he needed to shout for help, but then she stared at him.
‘Do you know who it was?’ she asked.
‘We were hoping you could tell us,’ Art said. ‘It’s the body of a young boy.’
Margaret screamed.