Thirty-One
It was an exclusive complex of serviced apartments in a refurbished three-storey Victorian building just minutes from the seafront, halfway between the central and south piers.
There was secure underground parking, state-of-the-art CCTV -monitoring and a twenty-four-hour concierge service.
There were landscaped Japanese gardens and private hot tubs.
It was, Miller thought, a sizeable step-up from the roughest part of Aberdeen. Or even some of the fancy parts, come to that.
He rang the buzzer and leaned close to the video intercom.
He waited.
Yes, it was perhaps a trifle late to be calling on anyone unexpectedly, let alone the prime suspect in a murder case.
That said, Miller doubted very much that the man he was dropping by to visit was the type to retire to his bed early with a good book and a hot milky drink.
Not unless the book had a lot of pictures and his cocoa was laced with an expensive single malt.
‘Ach, Christ on a crumpet … are you serious?’
‘We can pretend I’m a Jehovah’s Witness if you’d prefer that.’
‘What I’d prefer is for you to piss off and let me get back to Gogglebox.’
Miller leaned even closer to the camera and grinned.
It wasn’t as if he’d expected that Malky McDougall would be overly thrilled to see him, but he was genuinely delighted at just how annoyed the Aberdonian enforcer sounded.
‘Come on, buzz us up, will you, Google? It’s getting bloody nippy out here. ’
Stepping out of the lift on the first floor, Miller found the door to McDougall’s apartment left open.
Having closed it behind him, he stood for a few moments, listening to what sounded like opera coming from speakers mounted in the ceiling and taking in the expensive and surprisingly tasteful décor.
He was thinking that whoever said crime doesn’t pay couldn’t have been awfully good at it when a man who – up to now, at least – had clearly been brilliant at it appeared in the doorway of his kitchen holding a wine bottle and two glasses.
‘You want a drink, Miller?’
‘Well, it’s a conundrum,’ Miller said. ‘Because I’m theore-tically off duty, but I’m also sort of on it. So … maybe just a small one.’
McDougall led the way into the living room. He sat down on a squishy leather sofa and invited Miller to take the matching armchair. There was a view of the Tower from one window and views of the sea rather more expansive than the ones Miller had from another.
‘You certainly don’t look like you’re on duty.’ McDougall pointed at the cobbled together heavy metal get-up Miller was still wearing. ‘What’s that outfit about? You lose a bet or something?’
Miller smiled, raised his glass and took a drink. ‘Funnily enough, Malky, it was fashion I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘Well, if it’s advice you’re after, I’ll just come straight out and tell you that double denim is not your look.’
‘I’ll take that on board, but it’s just a simple question really.’
‘Fire away,’ McDougall said.
‘If I was in need of such a thing, where would I go to buy a balaclava?’
Having been interviewed by police countless times, on the receiving end of a great many questions even more pointed than this one, it was no great surprise that McDougall just stared, as if the question meant nothing to him.
Like Miller had asked him for directions, or which of the town’s many chip shops did the best pies. He said, ‘What are you asking me for?’
‘Just thought you might have an inkling,’ Miller said.
‘Not really. One of those outdoorsy shops that does camping stuff maybe?’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘Online might be your best bet.’
‘Where did you get yours?’ Miller asked.
Once again, McDougall showed nothing. He downed what was left of his wine and said, ‘This isn’t a bad drop, actually.’
‘It’s very nice,’ Miller said.
‘Now I think about it, I did use to have one when I was a wee boy,’ McDougall said. ‘Sort of thing your mum made you wear in the winter, you know? A balaclava and mittens. Haven’t had one for a long time, though.’
‘Have you not?’
‘People don’t really wear them as much as they used to, do they?’
‘No, it’s mostly just rapists and terrorists these days,’ Miller said.
McDougall nodded. ‘Aye, I’m guessing that’s why they aren’t quite as popular as they once were. The whole public image thing.’
‘Still some folk knocking around in them.’ Miller stood up and took out his phone. He scrolled through until he found the CCTV images he was looking for and leaned down to show McDougall. ‘Here you go.’
McDougall sat up and looked at Miller’s phone. ‘Oh yeah …’
‘So, what would you say that fella’s up to, then?’ Miller nodded down at the still image of an individual he knew very well was the man whose wine he was currently drinking. ‘Just out for an evening stroll, you reckon?’
‘Or maybe he’s a member of a local paramilitary organisation.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as the … Blackpool Revolutionary Army.’
It was only momentary, but Miller could not help but be amused at the thought of a paramilitary group whose initials were brA. ‘OK, let’s presume he isn’t a local freedom fighter. It wasn’t remotely cold that night, so what’s he need the balaclava for?’
‘Search me,’ McDougall said.
‘Which prompts a thought,’ Miller said. ‘Let’s say I was to pop off right now and get a search warrant for this place …’
‘We doing this whole “theoretically” thing again, are we?’
‘I enjoy it, what can I tell you? So, if I was to come back here with a search warrant, you’re saying, categorically, that I wouldn’t find a balaclava like’ – Miller pointed at the screen – ‘that one.’
‘Well, let’s go completely mad and suppose that I had once been in possession of that very balaclava.’
‘Yeah, let’s.’
‘Chances are it would have gone the same way that stolen Audi did.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘But if for some bizarre reason it didn’t, and it was actually still here, maybe, I don’t know … sitting in a box at the bottom of my wardrobe …’
‘Now that’s an exciting possibility.’
‘Yes, but it would very definitely have vanished by the time you got back here with your nice shiny search warrant.’
‘So, I’d be wasting my time,’ Miller said. ‘That’s what you’re saying.’
‘Oh, you’d very definitely be wasting everybody’s time.’ McDougall stood up and showed Miller his empty glass. ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m having another one.’
‘I’d best not, I’m driving.’
‘Fair enough,’ McDougall said. ‘Well, thanks for stopping by. I quite enjoyed that wee bit of cut and thrust. Oh … I must remember to dig that box out from the bottom of the wardrobe when you’ve gone.’
McDougall laughed and Miller didn’t and they looked at each other for a long few moments.
‘When I arrest you for murder,’ Miller said, ‘and I should stress that I’m not talking theoretically any more …’
‘Understood, officer.’
‘ … will you take Jacqui down with you?’ Miller tried to meet McDougall’s eye, but now the Scotsman wouldn’t look at him, staring above Miller’s head through the picture window at the illuminated Tower.
‘It’s a serious question, because I’ve got to presume you were working for her when you killed Darren Grant.
Even if he wasn’t the intended target. My guess is that once you’re looking at life inside you’ll be desperate to make a deal.
To tell us where the bodies are buried. So to speak. ’
McDougall said nothing.
‘Loyal to the very end then, Malky, is that it?’ Miller turned and walked towards the door.
He picked up his crash helmet and looked back at McDougall, who was still staring out of the window.
‘I suggest you give that some careful thought, mate, because judging by how quickly Jacqui Cutler turned on her old man, I don’t think she’ll think twice about dropping you in it when the time comes.
I mean, however important you think you are to her, however indispensable, you’re only the hired help at the end of the day. ’
Unsurprisingly, Google McDougall had no response, but even from the other side of the room, Miller could see his Adam’s apple moving, like he was struggling to swallow something hard and sour.