Murmuring the Judges

48

‘You never know what’s going to happen in this job, do you?’ said Detective Sergeant Karen Neville. ‘One minute I was up before the Boss, thinking I might be put in charge of female traffic wardens in Newtongrange, or shoved into some other backwater, the next I’m in headquarters, working for the Head of CID.

‘Is Mr Skinner always as unpredictable as that?’

Maggie Rose, not given to spontaneous laughter, chuckled nonetheless. ‘The day the Big Man becomes easy to read, he’ll chuck it.You’ve only seen unpredictable so far: wait till you come across volatile.’

‘What, you mean he chucks telephones, that sort of thing?’

‘Hah, that’s small-time. If Big Bob was a chucker, he’d throw the switchboard, operator and all. No, but he does have a temper. Usually he blows up and that’s it. But you really know there’s trouble brewing when he goes quiet. There’s a look comes into his eyes then, and you don’t want to be on the end of it.

‘I’ve seen him interview a really hard case, and beat the guy to a pulp just with that stare of his.’

‘What about Mr Martin?’ asked Neville. ‘I met him when he was in uniform out in Haddington, but none of us really got to know him then.’

‘The DCS is the opposite of Mr Skinner in some ways. He’s very controlled, most of the time. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen him lose his temper. He’s the perfect foil for the Boss; they used to call them Batman and Robin, when they were both younger. He’s a really nice bloke, and you’ll enjoy working for him.’

‘Yes, that’s what Sammy Pye said. .’

‘You’ve told Sammy you’re joining the team?’

The sergeant shook her head. ‘No, not yet. He told me how good a boss he is a few months ago, one night when we were out for a meal.’

‘Indeed,’ said Rose, expressionless, but with her reaction in her voice.

It was Karen Neville’s turn to grin. ‘I am capable of discretion from time to time. Sammy’s a good friend. We see each other quite a lot but so far, apart from one brief fling, that’s it.’

‘So the story about you and the lad was true.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the story about you propositioning big Neil?’

‘Ah,’ said the sergeant, ‘but I was drunk at the time. I seem to have been risking life and limb there. From what the Boss said, his wife must be formidable.’

This time Maggie Rose did laugh. ‘Neil’s my husband’s best pal, so I know Olive. She keeps him in line, all right, but he builds up her legend. For all that he says, he loves her madly, and their kids.’

The sergeant fell silent for a time, as the two women, wearing light shirts, shorts and sandals in the pleasant August morning sun, trudged along the path. ‘Listen, ma’am,’ she said at last, ‘you won’t say anything to Sammy about young Keenan and his complaint, will you? It’s all been kept in-house up to now, but I’m afraid that if he found out. .’

‘He might think that there was fire, after all?’

‘No, that’s not what I meant. I’d be afraid that he might go out to Haddington and beat several colours of shit out of Keenan.’

‘What, quiet young Sammy?’

Sergeant Neville glanced at her senior colleague. ‘You don’t know him as well as you think.’

Rose chuckled. ‘I hope he keeps his temper, then, when he’s interviewing the twitcher families with our guest from Ghana.’

‘Sammy’s here?’

‘Yes. He volunteered, with Mr Ankrah. He said that after a week of staring at videos he was desperate for a day out. Bloody typical; they get to wait by the bridge, talking to the anoraks and the family outings, and we get to trudge out here, in search of the gays.’ She paused, with a quick, flashing grin. ‘Not that I’ve got anything against gays, you understand.’

‘Are we nearly there yet?’ asked Karen, looking ahead to a high sandy dune, overgrown with coarse marram grass.

‘I think we must be. I can hear the sound of the waves.’

Laboriously they climbed to the top of the great sand bank, although the path through the grass led round the foot of it. When they reached its summit, it levelled out, offering a panoramic view of a wide golden strand, gloriously inviting, yet almost deserted. Maggie looked around and spotted an open area, a clearing within the grass, and led the way towards it. She sat down gratefully, and slipped her arms out of the straps of the knapsack which she had been carrying on her back.

‘Let’s have a break, and work out how we’re going to tackle this,’ she said, producing a flask and two plastic cups, as Karen flopped on to the sand beside her, kicking off her sandals.

‘Good idea, ma’am,’ she said. ‘Senior officers should show initiative.’ She reached into her shoulder bag. ‘I took the easy option. I brought the KitKats.’

They sat on their lofty perch, sipping hot coffee and nibbling chocolate biscuits, and looked along the expanse of the golden beach below them. The tide was on the ebb, but still high, and a few people were walking along the water’s edge. Neville pointed at two of them, a man and a woman, who were walking dogs. They were thirty yards apart, but approaching the two officers’ vantage point. ‘We should talk to them,’ she said. ‘Maybe they come here every week.’

‘Okay,’ Rose agreed. ‘We’ll go down once they get closer.’

She finished her coffee, wiped the inside of the cup with a tissue then replaced it, with Karen’s, in the knapsack. She was fastening the plastic catches when the voice sounded from behind them.

‘Good day, ladies.’

The policewomen turned simultaneously, looking over their shoulders and upwards. It was a friendly voice, a plummy voice, with a kindly ring to it. Karen was reminded at once of a bachelor uncle who had died when she was a child.

He looked to be in his early forties, slightly younger than Uncle Alfred must have been at the end, she realised. He was of medium height, as he stood amid the grass just above them, dressed in fawn cotton slacks and a rather garish checked shirt, predominantly yellow in colour. His greying hair was swept back from his forehead, and his tanned skin shone with health.

‘Enjoying the morning, are we?’ the man went on. ‘It’s shaping up to be another lovely day, is it not.’

‘Looks like it,’ said Maggie Rose. As she spoke a second man appeared on the crest of the dune. Unlike his companion he was out of breath, despite the fact that he was around fifteen years younger. He was very attractive, with chestnut hair which caught and reflected the sun, and wearing a T-shirt and shorts which seemed to cling tightly to the curves and muscles of his body. He was also carrying a large blue nylon bag.

The older man looked over his shoulder and grinned. ‘You’re out of condition, Donovan,’ he pronounced, with mock-severity in his rolling tones.

‘I am carrying the bloody gear, David!’

He glanced down once more at the two women. ‘They don’t look after themselves, these young people, do they.’

‘Oh yes we do,’ said Karen, grinning.

‘Oh, but I didn’t mean to offend,’ the man responded, with a show of mock-contrition. ‘What brings you here?’ he went on quickly. ‘Let me guess; you’re sun-worshippers like us. You must be, since you’ve found our private place. D’you think we might join you? There should be room for us all.’

Rose nodded, smiling up at him. ‘We didn’t see any towels on sun-beds, so we didn’t know it was private. But sure, be our guests.’

David turned to Donovan, who dropped the bag in the clearing, unzipped it and produced two rush mats and two towels. ‘I have two spare mats,’ he said, in a voice much less cultured than that of his companion. ‘Would you like them?’

‘Thanks,’ said Karen, looking into his eyes and flashing him a smile. The young man produced two more rolled, red-trimmed strips and handed them across, but his gaze avoided hers.

‘I think I’ll swim now, David.’

‘Of course, my boy. I shall talk to the ladies.’

Donovan peeled off his cherry-red T-shirt, picked up one of the towels and plunged off down the dune. The three sat on their mats, watching him as he ran across the beach towards the water’s edge. He stopped just short of the hard, wet sand, dropped the towel, stepped out of his shorts, turned back towards them with a smile and a wave, then ran, naked, into the sea.

David made a tutting noise. ‘Frightful exhibitionist, the boy. I tell him time and time again not to do that, especially at weekends when it’s busy. That’s the sort of behaviour that brings the police out here.’

‘Only if someone complains to them,’ said Karen.

David eyed her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘That’s right,’ he agreed. ‘And you ladies wouldn’t, would you.’

‘No,’ said Rose, quietly. ‘But then we are the police.’

The man’s mouth fell open in surprise, but quickly his expression changed to one of anger. ‘Oh really,’ he burst out. ‘This persecution is just too much; I thought it was over, but apparently not. We don’t do any harm to anyone out here. Why can’t you leave us alone?’

‘David,’ Neville broke in, soothingly, ‘we’re not here to persecute anyone. . although — ’ she nodded her head towards the sea, and grinned ‘- if someone persists in flashing his impressive tackle in a public place we might have to prosecute him.

‘We’re looking for help.’

He looked at her doubtfully.

‘Really,’ said Maggie. ‘We are. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Rose and this is Detective Sergeant Neville. We’re engaged in a murder investigation. Didn’t you see our colleagues at the car park?’

‘No. We park in Gullane, then walk around the edge of the golf course.’

‘Well, don’t you read the newspapers?’

‘Never!’ said David vehemently. ‘I can’t stand newspapers: the way they assume the right to pry into everyone’s lives. Television’s just as bad these days. Donovan and I prefer just to run our little gallery and let the world get on with its own business.’

He looked across at Rose. ‘Where did this murder of yours take place?’

‘Here in the Nature Reserve, last Sunday.’ She pointed westwards, across the water. ‘A man was tied up in one of the old submarines out there, and left for the tide to come in.’

‘Oh, how awful! The poor chap, what it must have been like. Who was he?’

‘Have you ever heard of Lord Barnfather, the judge?’

David gave a gasp. ‘Oh no, surely not.’

‘You knew him?’ the DCI asked.

‘Yes. He was a customer of ours, at the gallery.’

‘Did you know he was gay?’

‘Of course I did, my dear. Oh, the poor old fellow!’

‘Were you here last Sunday by any chance, David?’ Karen Neville asked.

He nodded. ‘Yes. I only open the gallery from Monday to Friday during the Festival, for my business customers. We don’t go in for special exhibitions, so all the private buyers are usually elsewhere at weekends. The weather was fine last weekend, so we came down here on both days.’

‘Do you recall seeing Lord Barnfather here, on either day?’

David scratched his head. ‘One sees so many people here whom one knows. We saw His Lordship in the Reserve quite often.’

‘Do you mean on the beach?’ asked Rose.

‘Oh no,’ he replied, frowning. ‘He never came here with chums. He may have been an old queen, my dears, but he was also a serious bird-watcher.’

‘So, last weekend. Concentrate and think back. Did you see him?’

The man put his hands behind his head, fingers interlinked, and closed his eyes.

He sat there, motionless for almost a minute, until at last, his eyes opened. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘I’m certain that I did. It was last Sunday, late in the afternoon.’ He turned and stretched out a hand, pointing westwards. ‘Over there, almost at the point at which the beach bends into the bay.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘No. He was with a man. They were both wearing outdoor clothes as I recall, and they were walking close together.’

‘How near to you were they?’ asked Rose.

David shrugged his round shoulders. ‘They were thirty, perhaps forty yards away.’

‘Did Lord Barnfather see you?’

‘No, I’m sure he didn’t.’

‘Did you call out to him?’

‘No. They seemed engrossed in their conversation.’

‘When you say they were close together,’ asked Neville, ‘how close?’

‘Their arms could have been linked.’

‘Or Lord Barnfather could have been held by an arm?’

David looked at her. ‘I suppose he could.’

‘In which direction were you walking?’ the sergeant asked.

‘East. I had been stretching my legs and I had just turned to come back here.’

‘And them?’

‘Westward.’

‘Towards the submarines?’

‘If they went that far, yes.’

‘And the tide?’

‘It was almost fully out.’

Rose paused. ‘Can you describe the man with Lord Barnfather?’ she asked him.

‘He was in his early middle age. . perhaps about my own age, forty-two. . tallish, approaching six feet, with dark hair. I think he was clean-shaven.’

‘Was Donovan with you when you saw him?’

David laughed softly. ‘No, he was off waving his wand at the water for one last time, before we went home. We were having a supper party that evening.’

‘Was there anyone else nearby?’

‘Not that I can recall.’

The red-haired detective looked at him. ‘If we showed you some photographs, could you pick this man out?’

‘I won’t know until I try. . but I do have a good memory for faces.’

Rose reached into her knapsack and took out her business card. ‘In that case, I’d like you to call in at our headquarters at Fettes Avenue, tomorrow, at around twelve mid-day. Ask for the Head of CID’s Office, show them this and tell them I sent you. Detective Superintendent Mackie will be there will let you see some photographs. Maybe one will be the man you saw.’