Chapter 6
The Asda supermarket in Dunfermline looked like every other Asda in Scotland – fluorescent lights, wide aisles and the perpetual hum of refrigeration units. Brodie pushed through the automatic doors with Art and Cameron flanking him, scanning for their target.
The manager told them they could find David Duffy in aisle seven, stacking shelves. Duffy looked up as they approached, and his face went through a series of expressions – recognition, resignation, then something that suggested he had just stepped in something.
‘Shit,’ he said quietly, setting down the tin in his hand. ‘I was wondering when you’d show up.’ He looked at Brodie. ‘I know you. From the last time. You haven’t aged well, son.’
‘No offence taken,’ Brodie said. ‘We need to talk.’
Duffy glanced around the aisle. A few shoppers were pretending not to watch while obviously listening. ‘Here? Now?’
‘Somewhere private,’ Art said.
Duffy stripped off his Asda vest and led them towards the back of the store.
‘The manager wouldn’t be happy if I just stopped working, but I don’t suppose you’d care if I got fired from this job as well as my other one.
’ He stopped for a moment. ‘Except that was my career, not a job. I got fucked, last time, Bridie.’
‘Brodie.’
‘Police Scotland would have been just as well bringing in Inspector Gadget for all you did.’ He turned and started walking again.
‘The manager told us where we could find you. We can go back and tell him why we’re really here, instead of telling him we’re here to talk about a private family matter.’
Duffy tutted. ‘Like he’s going to believe three detectives came here because my cousin Willie got banged up in Thailand.’ He looked at them. ‘And before you ask, no, I don’t really have a cousin called Willie.’
‘We can stand here and talk to you, David. Or we can go somewhere quiet. The manager already said we can use his office.’
‘Let’s go then, before Linda in the bakery sees us. We’re going out on Friday and I don’t want her to think I’m a drug dealer or something.’
‘Or a serial killer,’ Art said.
‘You’re hilarious.’ Duffy paused at the staff door. ‘I suppose this is about the body they found?’
‘You know about that?’ Cameron asked.
‘It’s been on the news all morning, dafty. Young woman found on Pathhead Sands, circumstances similar to historical cases.’ Duffy’s voice was flat. ‘Doesn’t take a genius to work out why you’re here.’
Cameron exchanged a look with Art, wondering if there was a set of stairs close by that Duffy could accidentally fall down.
The manager’s office was cramped and cluttered, dominated by a desk covered in delivery schedules and staff rotas. Duffy sat heavily in the manager’s chair, suddenly looking every one of his fifty-three years.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this over with. You want to know where I was when she was killed.’
‘That would be helpful,’ Brodie said, nodding for Cameron to take out his notebook. ‘The last few days and nights.’
‘Here. Working the day shift. Seven a.m. to three p.m., restocking the shelves, cleaning the floors, all the glamorous stuff they don’t show in the adverts.’ Duffy’s tone was bitter. ‘Twenty-seven years on the force, and this is what I’m reduced to.’
‘Anyone verify that?’ Art asked.
‘What? That I was on the force for twenty-seven years?’
‘You can dick around if you like, but we have the right to arrest you on suspicion of being a killer and march you out of here in handcuffs,’ Brodie said. ‘Then we’ll let it slip that you’re allegedly a nonce.’
Duffy pursed his lips as if he were biting back the acidic response he felt was about to jump loose. ‘Security cameras. Shift supervisor. Other staff members.’ Duffy leaned back in the chair. ‘Though I suppose you’ll want to check all that yourselves.’
‘We will,’ Cameron confirmed, making notes. ‘What about last night? Say, between 6 and 10 p.m.?’
‘Home. Watching television. Eating a microwave curry.’ Duffy shrugged. ‘Exciting life I lead these days.’
‘I thought you said Linda from the bakery was going out with you on Friday?’ Brodie said.
‘On our first date. And I would be very happy if it wasn’t the last one.’
‘Anyone with you when you were at home?’ Art asked.
‘No. Divorced, remember? Kids won’t talk to me. Most of my old mates from the force act like I’ve got something contagious.’ He looked directly at Brodie. ‘You know how it is when you’re under suspicion. People start crossing the street to avoid you.’
Brodie felt the weight of that accusation. He remembered the interviews back in 2019, the way the investigation had narrowed its focus on to Duffy with increasing intensity. The man had never been charged, but his life had been destroyed anyway.
‘Mr Duffy,’ he said carefully, ‘we’re not here to re-litigate the past. We’re investigating a fresh murder that may be connected to The Embalmer case.’
‘May be?’ Duffy laughed harshly. ‘Inspector, if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. Someone’s playing The Embalmer’s greatest hits, and you need to decide whether it’s me having another go or someone else picking up where the original left off.’
‘If it’s somebody else, who do you think it could be?’ Art asked.
‘There’s no if. It’s not me, so you better be focusing on the real killer or else you’ll drop the ball and he’ll get away with even more murders.
’ Duffy was quiet for a moment, considering.
‘I think whoever killed that woman wants you to think about The Embalmer case again. Question is, why now? What’s changed? ’
It was a good question. Brodie had been wondering the same thing himself.
Cameron’s phone rang and he excused himself and stepped out of the office.
‘You mentioned Thomas Mitchell the last time, pointing the finger,’ Brodie said. ‘Still think he’s involved?’
‘I know he’s involved. Just not sure how.’ Duffy took out a pack of cigarettes, then seemed to remember where he was and put them back. ‘You interviewed him yet?’
‘We’re planning to.’
‘Good. Ask him how come he got to do three of the funerals.’
‘The first three victims all lived in the same town, if you remember?’ Brodie said. ‘They were left in different towns, but they all came from Kirkcaldy.’
Duffy shrugged. ‘Still. He’s a crooked bastard.’
‘You can see why you were a suspect at the time,’ Brodie said. ‘You had the technical means to alter a crime scene, because you were all over the fucking crime scene with your camera and all the other doodads.’
Cameron came back into the office.
Duffy put a hand to his chin, index finger and thumb extended like he was trying to bring an emoji to life.
‘Hmm. Let’s see, shall we?’ He looked directly at Brodie.
‘I don’t know how to drain somebody’s blood out and put some bleach in.
But guess who does? Thomas Mitchell and his daft laddie, Barry.
Why?’ He leaned forward now, locking eyes with Brodie.
‘Because he’s a fucking undertaker.’ He sat back in the chair.
‘There are a lot of undertakers,’ Art said.
Duffy looked at him. ‘Not all of them got the contract for the funerals. He got the first three, and in case you didn’t notice him at the time, Inspector Brodie, he was creeping about the fourth crime scene.
Chatting with what’s his name.’ Duffy snapped his fingers.
‘The pathologist at the time. Fred Hart. Maybe the old bastard was trying to get more work. Or maybe he was creating more work.’
‘I didn’t see him at the time.’
‘We’re trained to look all around the crime scene. More intricately than a copper.’
As they prepared to leave, Duffy called after them.
‘Inspector Brodie? I know you don’t trust me. I know you think I’m just trying to muddy the waters. But ask yourself this – if I were The Embalmer, would I really be stupid enough to start killing again while working in a place with security cameras covering every inch?’
Outside in the car park, Cameron filled them in on the phone call. ‘That was the station. They’ve identified our victim.’
‘Who was she?’ Brodie asked.
‘Emma Richardson, twenty-nine, solicitor from Dalgety Bay. Reported missing by her flatmate yesterday when she didn’t come home from work last Friday night.’
‘Any connection to Duffy?’
Cameron consulted his notes. ‘She had a loyalty card for that Asda. Used it regularly, including last Friday afternoon.’
Brodie felt his stomach tighten. ‘So she shopped where Duffy works.’
‘Gets better,’ Cameron continued. ‘According to the transaction records, she was in the store last Friday around 3 p.m. Duffy would have been starting his shift, helping with the afternoon restocking.’
Art swore under his breath. ‘So he could have been in the store when she was there.’
‘Maybe he spotted her and took a fancy to her,’ Cameron said.
‘Maybe he takes a fancy to a lot of women in the store,’ Brodie said.
‘Right,’ Art said. ‘And how many of them end up dead on beaches three days later?’
They drove back to Glenrothes in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The connection between Emma Richardson and David Duffy was circumstantial but troubling. Combined with his lack of alibi for the crucial hours before her murder, it painted a picture that was hard to ignore.
Duffy was still convinced that Mitchell the funeral undertaker was involved. They would have to swing by the funeral parlour again.
‘We need to verify everything,’ Art said as they pulled into the station car park. ‘Duffy’s alibi, the hours he worked.’
‘He doesn’t have one, remember?’ Brodie said. ‘An alibi. Maybe his neighbours will have seen him going in and out. Get some Uniforms to knock on doors.’
‘And if it all checks out?’ Cameron asked.
‘Then we start looking at who else might have had access to information about Emma Richardson’s shopping habits,’ Brodie replied. ‘Because either we’ve got a very unlucky coincidence, or someone’s been watching her for a while.’
As they approached the station entrance, Brodie couldn’t shake the feeling they were overlooking something crucial. The Embalmer case had always been about precision, planning and staying one step ahead of the investigation.
Now it felt like someone was playing the same game all over again. Picking up where he had left off. And he was only getting started.