Chapter 25
Duffy answered the door wearing work clothes – dark trousers and a shirt with an Asda logo embroidered on the pocket. His expression shifted from surprise to resignation to barely controlled anger in the space of a few seconds.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered. ‘You people again. What is it this time? Another body you want to pin on me?’
‘Can we come in, Mr Duffy?’ Brodie asked, his tone professional but not hostile.
‘Do I have a choice?’ Duffy stepped aside, letting them enter a small flat that was tidy but showed the signs of a man living alone without much interest in making the space comfortable. Functional furniture, minimal decoration, everything organised with military precision.
‘We just have a few more questions,’ Lucy said, taking in the details of the flat with her trained eye. ‘We’re not accusing you of anything.’
‘That’s what you said last time. And seven years ago when you lot decided I was The Embalmer despite having absolutely no evidence.’ Duffy remained standing, arms crossed defensively. ‘I’m supposed to be at work in twenty minutes, so whatever questions you have, make them quick.’
Brodie noted the defensive posture, the immediate assumption of accusation. It was the behaviour of someone who’d been treated as guilty for so long that he expected nothing else. ‘Where were you last night, Mr Duffy? Between midnight and 3 a.m.?’
‘Here. Alone. Watching television until about eleven, then went to bed.’ Duffy’s voice was flat.
‘No alibi, no witnesses, nothing that would satisfy you. There are a lot of people like me, you know: single, live on their own, go to bed every night without thinking about having an alibi in case the police come knocking next day.’
‘You heard about the body found this morning?’ Art asked.
‘Another woman found on a beach, positioned like all the others. I heard on the radio.’ Duffy’s expression was bitter.
‘And naturally, you’re here to see if I have an alibi, because obviously I’m still your favourite suspect despite the fact that you’ve never found a single piece of evidence connecting me to any of these murders. ’
‘We’re investigating all possibilities,’ Brodie said calmly. ‘The victim was Claire Nisbet, twenty-seven, from Dundee. Does that name mean anything to you?’
Something flickered across Duffy’s face – recognition, followed by what looked like genuine grief. ‘Claire? Christ, not Claire.’ He sat down heavily on the sofa, the defensive anger draining away. ‘She was Janice’s niece. I met her a few times when she was visiting her aunt.’
‘You knew Janice Nisbet,’ Lucy stated, pulling out her notebook.
‘I knew her, yes. We were friends.’ Duffy’s voice had lost its hostile edge. ‘When I heard Claire’s name just now… I should have realised she might be in danger.’
‘Why would Claire Nisbet be in danger?’ Art asked sharply.
‘Because her aunt died under suspicious circumstances four years ago, and now whoever killed Janice has come after her niece.’ Duffy looked up at Brodie.
‘You’re finally seeing the connections, aren’t you?
It’s not just The Embalmer murders from seven years ago.
There’s been a pattern of deaths – people connected to the investigation dying in ways that look natural or accidental. ’
Brodie pulled up a chair, sitting down so he was at Duffy’s eye level rather than looming over him. ‘Tell us about Janice Nisbet. How did you know her?’
Duffy was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts.
‘We met through a mutual friend about seven years ago. She was a medical director at Ninewells, brilliant at her job, meticulous about detail. We became friends, used to meet up for drinks occasionally, talk about work and life and everything else. She told me to come along to the pub on a Friday when she went with her colleagues, but none of them liked me. But Janice didn’t care. We would still have a drink.’
‘Just friends?’ Lucy asked.
‘Mostly. There was one night…’ Duffy paused, seeming to decide how much to share.
‘We’d been out for drinks with a group from the hospital.
I offered to drive her home because she’d had a bit too much wine.
We got to talking in the car, ended up back at her place in Dundee, and…
’ He shrugged. ‘We spent the night together. But it was just that one time. We were better as friends; we both knew it.’
‘You said Janice was brilliant at her job,’ Brodie continued. ‘Did she ever mention noticing anything unusual about cases she was working on? Any concerns about pathology findings or autopsy reports?’
Duffy nodded slowly. ‘About six months before she died, she started talking about anomalies she was seeing. Nothing dramatic, just small inconsistencies between what she observed in tissue samples and what ended up in final reports. She thought someone might be altering findings, but she couldn’t prove it. ’
‘Did she say who she suspected?’
‘She never named anyone specifically. Said she didn’t want to make accusations without evidence.
But she was worried enough that she started keeping her own notes, documenting everything she observed.
’ Duffy’s voice grew harder. ‘Then she supposedly killed herself, and all those notes disappeared. Convenient, isn’t it? ’
‘You don’t think her suicide was genuine,’ Lucy observed.
‘I know it wasn’t. Janice was one of the most stable, grounded people I’ve ever met.
She wasn’t depressed, wasn’t struggling.
She loved her work, loved her niece, had plans for the future.
The idea that she’d hang herself is absurd.
’ Duffy’s hands clenched into fists. ‘But I couldn’t prove it was murder.
The suicide note on her computer seemed legitimate, the alcohol in her system suggested she’d been drinking.
Everyone just accepted the official story because Janice liked a good drink. ’
Lucy was watching Duffy carefully, and Brodie could see her analytical mind processing his responses. ‘Mr Duffy, when you spent the night with Janice Nisbet at her house in Dundee – was that the flat on the ground floor of a Victorian terrace in the West End?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Because that’s where Claire Nisbet was living. Above her aunt’s flat.’ Lucy’s voice was gentle but probing. ‘When was the last time you were at that address?’
Duffy seemed to realise where this was going. ‘About four years ago, just after Janice died. I went to the funeral, talked to Claire briefly, told her I was sorry for her loss. Haven’t been back since.’
Brodie studied Duffy’s face, looking for signs of deception. But the man seemed genuinely upset about Claire’s death, genuinely frustrated at being questioned again, genuinely exhausted by years of suspicion and accusation.
‘Tell us more about Janice,’ Art said, redirecting the conversation. ‘Was she getting any hassle from anybody that you know of?’
‘Not at all. She never mentioned anything to me. We stayed friends, and she was always nice to be around. I never once heard anything bad said about her.’ Duffy locked eyes with Brodie. ‘You think someone’s been systematically killing people? People connected to The Embalmer investigation?’
‘We’re exploring that possibility,’ Brodie replied carefully. ‘Mr Duffy, I need you to write down everything you remember about Janice Nisbet’s concerns about altered pathology findings. Every conversation, every detail she shared, everything that seemed unusual about her death. Can you do that?’
‘Yes. But it won’t be much – Janice was careful about what she said, didn’t want to accuse anyone without proof.’
‘Anything might be helpful.’ Brodie stood, Art and Lucy following his lead. ‘And Mr Duffy? Thank you for your cooperation.’
Duffy’s expression showed surprise at the courtesy. ‘Does this mean you finally believe I’m not The Embalmer?’
‘It means we’re investigating all possibilities with fresh eyes,’ Brodie said. ‘That’s all I can say right now. That, and be very careful. Be extra aware when you’re out and about. And trust nobody. Except us.’
‘I trusted you before and look where that got me,’ Duffy replied.
Once outside, Brodie opened the car door. ‘I want to know exactly where David Duffy was last night. Work records, CCTV, phone location data. Everything.’
‘You still think he might be involved?’ Art sounded sceptical.
‘I think we’ve been wrong about almost everything in this case, and I don’t want to make any more assumptions.
’ Brodie started the car. ‘Duffy could be exactly what he claims – an innocent man who’s been trying to clear his name for seven years.
Or he could be more involved than he’s letting on. Either way, we verify everything.’