Chapter 36
FIFE
Dr Ronald ‘Sherlock’ Holmes was doing paperwork in his office when Brodie entered with Art and Cameron after three o’clock.
‘DCI Brodie, this is Dr Holmes,’ Art said. ‘A legend in his own lunchtime.’
‘Thanks for that, Art,’ Sherlock said, standing up. Then to Brodie: ‘Everybody calls me Sherlock. Whether you do or not, that’s up to you.’
‘Sherlock it is. Liam.’ Brodie held out a hand for Sherlock to shake.
‘You’re new here,’ Sherlock said.
‘On secondment. I was here seven years ago too, but you weren’t the pathologist here at the time.’
‘I worked in Dundee seven years ago. I’ve only been here about six months.’ He smiled. ‘I hope I’m fitting in with the natives?’ He looked at Art and Cameron.
‘Absolutely, doc,’ Cameron said. ‘After old Angus, anybody is an improvement.’
‘Angus Kennedy?’ Brodie said. ‘I remember him. He seemed alright.’
‘He went off the rails a bit,’ Art said.
‘Started drinking a fair bit. The high heid yins were starting to get worried he’d make a mistake.
So he told me. They retired him, and he started drinking in earnest. He liked to drink in the bath, apparently.
He finished a bottle and slipped under the water and drowned. ’
‘Jesus. What a way to go,’ Brodie said.
‘You know what, though, sir?’ Art said. ‘I don’t think he would have had it any other way. He loved the drink, and he always said he would rather die happy than live to a hundred and be ill.’
‘How old was he?’
‘Sixty. He used to drink at our bowling club, with me and DCI McRae. He was a great guy.’
‘DCI McRae is still missing. I’m hoping it’s nothing serious,’ Sherlock said.
‘We’re still looking for him,’ Art said.
‘Maybe he went on some kind of bender,’ Brodie said. ‘It happens.’
‘Alan was a civilised drinker,’ Art said. ‘He liked a good drink, but he wasn’t an aggressive drunk. I don’t think somebody would have skelped him.’
‘It’s true,’ Sherlock said. ‘He was a happy drunk.’
‘He and his wife loved socialising,’ Art said.
‘And now his ex-wife was found dead of an apparent suicide,’ Sherlock said.
‘What’s this?’ Brodie asked.
Art shuffled his feet. ‘We went round to have another word with Alan’s ex and found her in her car in the garage with a hosepipe running from the exhaust into the car.’
‘Is that information something you were going to share with me?’ Brodie asked, his tone sharp.
‘It’s early days in the investigation. We were going to discuss it when we heard what Dr Holmes had to say about the post-mortem. Detective Superintendent Breck knows. He was there at the scene with us. Maybe you could ask him.’
Brodie looked at Sherlock. ‘Is the post-mortem done on this woman?’
‘Is is. We finished it last night. The toxicology report came back earlier.’
The three of them stood around, waiting for the magician to pull the rabbit out of the hat.
‘And?’ Brodie said. ‘Don’t keep us in suspense, doc.’
‘There was a high amount of sleeping pills in her system. Painkillers, too.’
‘Enough to kill her?’ Brodie asked.
Sherlock nodded his head. ‘There was enough in her system to make her feel woozy, and clumsy at first, then they would shut her body down. Looks like she was dead before the exhaust could kill her.’
‘Maybe she wanted to dull the pain before going out to the garage,’ Cameron said.
Art stepped forward. ‘Could somebody have forced her to take those drugs and then put her in the car?’
‘I suppose. They would have to have put a fair bit in a drink, for example, then she could have been manipulated. As she was impaired, her thinking would have been affected, and difficult – but not impossible – for her to get the hosepipe on the exhaust and into the car. It might have been meant to look like a suicide, or even a mistake, but there was no sign of carbon monoxide poisoning. Meaning she was dead by the time the fumes were noxious enough to kill her. Cause of death: overdose. Manner of death: undetermined.’
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Art said. ‘I’ve known Pat for a very long time. First Alan goes missing, now Pat is dead under mysterious circumstances. And that fucking Dick Drever doesn’t turn up for work.’
‘Who’s Drever?’ Brodie asked.
‘We went to talk to Pat, and she told us she was dating Drever, the bar manager at the bowling club that Alan and I are members of. We went to talk to him this morning but he hadn’t turned up for work. We know where he lives now. We got his address.’
‘You think he had anything to do with Mrs McRae’s death?’ Brodie said.
‘We won’t know until we can talk to him.’
‘When we spoke to Mrs McRae,’ Cameron said, then saw Art shake his head slightly, ‘she didn’t seem to have any concern with Drever.’
‘Check him out anyway,’ Brodie said. Then he spoke to Sherlock. ‘What about the skeletal remains of the boy that were found in the cottage?’
‘Let me show you.’ Sherlock went over to the fridge drawers and slid one out.
A white sheet covered the boy underneath.
He gently lifted it and pulled it back. ‘He was covered in clothes that had degraded but were most likely intact when he was wrapped in black plastic bags and taped. Any smell would have been minimal, but there are also air vent bricks in the foundation. When I first inspected him in situ, the chimney that had fallen through the roof was partially laying on him. I opened up the plastic and had a look and I could see a hole in his head.’
‘Blunt force trauma?’ Brodie asked.
‘That’s what I thought, but after a thorough exam on the table here, I could see old wounds that had healed. Fractured ribs, a broken collarbone and even a broken finger.’ Sherlock looked at the big detective. ‘It looks like the poor little boy was beaten regularly.’
‘Jesus,’ Brodie said. He thought about his own stepson Eric, and how he, Brodie, had brought him up with nothing but love and affection. ‘We need to go back and talk to Margaret Wallace, maybe tomorrow, and I don’t care how much she screams the place down.’
‘Have you any idea who might have done this?’ Sherlock asked Art.
‘We’re talking to the family just now.’
Brodie looked at Art as if waiting for something else to follow, but nothing did.
‘Thanks, Sherlock. I think we’ve got some busy times ahead,’ Brodie said.