Chapter 20 #2
In the interrogation room, Irving sits between DI Jerdan and DS Maver as Jason and I take seats in the chairs facing them. Irving proceeds to ask me old questions I answered twenty years ago.
“Where were you at 3:20 in the afternoon on the fifth of June, two thousand four?”
I cross my legs. “At Liùsaidh Ormiston’s house, spending time with her cat and fish.”
“Where was she?”
“On a trip visiting her sister Peigi in Ayr.”
“How long were you to watch the pets?”
“Until she returned, on the seventh.”
“When did you first discover your guardian had been attacked?”
“When I came back home.”
“What time was that?”
“About 4:30.”
“How did you ken what time it was?”
“There was a clock in the front hall, where the phone was.”
“Did your guardian sexually abuse you?”
I remain silent.
He slides some photos across the desk. “Did he give you these bruises?”
I take a cursory look at the pictures but keep mum.
“Why did you leave for Argentina as soon as the case was dismissed?”
I flick up a brow. “I wanted to learn Spanish.”
“Did you kill Wylie Annand?” He fastens me with an expectant look.
“No.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
I school my features so as not to give anything away. “No.”
He tries to do that interrogator’s trick of narrowing his eyes, letting the answer simmer in the air, and making the suspect squirm. Only with Irving it looks like he’s suffering from a particularly severe bout of constipation.
I sigh and glance at my watch.
“Are we boring you, Mr. Cargill?” Irving rubs his nose with the back of his hand.
“On the contrary. I couldn’t be more riveted to the subject at hand,” I deadpan.
Irving tilts his head. “Did you know that Liùsaidh Ormiston died this past January?”
I did, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Did she?”
Irving shifts tack. “How much did you inherit from your parents after Annand died?”
I chuckle. “Nice try, Irving. There’s zero correlation between Annand’s death and my inheritance.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he huffs.
“My parents left me four point three million,” I state matter-of-factly.
“Is it true Annand wouldn’t buy you a bike?”
I chuff a laugh. “I didn’t want a bike.”
And so it goes for another interminable hour. I remain silent for the more damning questions, lie on a few, and answer simply on the rest. If I were Irving, I’d be frustrated beyond belief.
At last they let me go, and Jason and I emerge from the station. Without a word we walk to a nearby bar called The Staff and Mitre, where we’ve often convened.
Tucking into a booth, we catch the waitress’s eye. She sashays over, puckering her lips.
I look across at Jason, who nods. “We’ll take a couple of pints of the Jammy Bastard IPA.”
“Coming right up.” She flicks her hair behind her shoulder and spins on her heel, flouncing off.
When she’s gone, I lean in, lowering my voice, even though AC/DC’s Thunderstruck is blaring over the speakers. “What did you find out from Peigi Ormiston, Liùsaidh’s sister, in Ayr?”
Jason paid her a visit yesterday, at my behest.
Jason rolls up a sleeve. “A lot. I’ll make sure she testifies. Liùsaidh apparently left Peigi’s house a day and a half early, saying she was going to drive along the coast for a day or so before heading home.”
“Really? Did anyone see her along the coast?”
“Peigi said when Liùsaidh called her the following day, she could hear heavy traffic in the background. It didn’t sound as if she’d gone home, but it seemed unlikely she was in a coastal town.
” Jason smiles at our waitress, who sets down our beers.
When she’s left, he continues. “Liùsaidh was expecting to take in her nephew, whose parents had died in May of that year.”
“How old was he?”
“Ten.” Jason holds his drink up, we clink glasses, and he takes a long pull on his.
“Thinking of the neighbor who complained that Annand exposed himself before her eight-year-old son, I probed a bit more deeply. I asked if Liùsaidh had ever personally experienced sexual abuse. Peigi broke down in tears and said her younger sister had been put in their grandmother’s care when she was twelve because her father touched her repeatedly. ”
The back of my neck prickles. “So Liùsaidh had two major motives for killing Annand. She wanted to rid the neighborhood of sexual predators before she brought her nephew to bide with her, and she had traumas of her own.”
“Aye. And she has no known alibi. Our main problem in constructing this narrative is that Liùsaidh herself is now deceased. So we can only sow doubt in the jury’s minds by painting an alternative picture that diverts them from thinking of Leith Cargill as the murderer.”
I turn my glass around. “You’d need to make sure Peigi is willing to sacrifice her late sister’s reputation—or at least strong enough to hold up under Irving’s questions.”
“Leave it to me, Leith.” A hungry gleam sparks in his eyes. “I’ll find every last shred of evidence for this case we’re building. By the time we’re done, the jury will wish they could resurrect Liùsaidh to try her for murder.”
* * *
Iona sits on the sofa in my home office, tapping away on her laptop, while I narrow down my search for MacGilson. I haven’t told her, but I sent a captain and two soldiers to New Brunswick yesterday to look into a few isolated cabins. They have orders to bring MacGilson here safe and sound.
I stand and stretch, ambling over to where she bends over her keyboard. She looks up, smiling, and I trace her delicate throat. “I’m going to put a collar around you, Scheherazade.”
A swallow rolls down her throat, and her pulse visibly picks up. “A choker?”
My lips tilt up, and I wrap my fingers around her throat. “A collar I can fasten to a lead when we’re in private. It will let everyone know you’re mine.”
Her pupils dilate with desire. “Aye, sir.”
My dick stirs in my trousers as I run my thumb under her jaw. “Diran likes you. He’s requested your presence at our lunch tomorrow.”
She blinks, tensing slightly. “Och, alright.”
“Dinnae fash,?3 wee wife. I’ll be there too.”
She relaxes, but I note she balls a hand into a fist before releasing it.
1?lives
2?coward
3?Don’t worry