Fatal Last Words

Thirty-three

‘What did he say?’ asked Detective Sergeant Lisa McDermid, as Regan pocketed his phone. She stood close to him on a narrow path that led from a roadway down towards the beach.

‘Word for word? He said, “Thank you, George, you’ve just made my fucking day.” The investigation into that author murder is high-profile and using up more and more people. Our acting head of CID needed this like a rash on his face, as somebody said once.’

‘What author murder?’

‘Where have you been? It was all over the radio and telly yesterday, and this morning’s papers. You ever heard of Ainsley Glover, the crime writer?’

‘It was him? For a horrible moment I thought it might have been Fred Noble. I really like him, and so does my dad.’

‘So you’re not bothered that Glover’s dead?’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Noble’s my favourite, that’s all; that character of his is absolutely brilliant.’

‘Chief Inspector Ellroy? He reminds me too much of old Dan Pringle for me to take him seriously. I’m a Henry Mount fan myself; Petra Jecks, she’s a proper detective.’

‘We could do with them both here,’ McDermid muttered.

Regan looked at her as she tucked a few strands of streaked blonde hair out of sight, and decided that she was one of those women who could look good in anything, even a disposable crime-scene suit. He turned to the uniformed officer by his side. ‘How was he found, Sergeant Hope?’

‘When? About forty-five minutes ago, just after nine. If you want it exact, the time will be logged in at the communications centre.’

‘No,’ said Regan patiently. ‘How was he found, as in, has a member of the public trampled all over the crime scene before we got here?’

‘Not as far as I know. It was a rider found him. . as in, horse. There are quite a few in Gullane, and along at West Fenton. This lady had been on the beach and was heading home. This path’s a bit narrow and windy, but it’s used quite a bit by equestrians, more so than walkers, truth be told, because it tends to be covered in horse shit. She went to take it, but her animal refused. It just wouldn’t go, whatever she did. So she got off, took a look and found this guy. She didn’t have to get very close to see the blood on the back of his head and work out that he wasn’t asleep. She got straight on her mobile and called us. She’d just done that when the guy from that house up there,’ the sergeant pointed towards a wide, grey bungalow, ‘came out to walk his dog. She told him what she had found and he had the presence of mind to block the path at the top, in Erskine Road, to stop any civilians getting down before we got there. My neighbour PC Reid’s up there now, keeping guard.’

‘Did you speak to the householder?’

‘Soon as we got here. He saw nothing, heard nothing out of the ordinary; no shouts, screams, sounds of argument. It was him that told me about the tinker camp just along the way.’

‘Traveller camp, Sergeant Hope. “Tinker” isn’t an acceptable term any longer. Have you been to see them?’

‘Oh no! That’s a job for CID. Us uniforms have been told to stay away from there.’

‘Have you indeed?’ he murmured, wondering why. He turned round and looked across the field beside which the narrow path ran. Beyond it, he saw a golf course — Muirfield, he had been told — and at its furthest point a woman, holding a large grey horse as it grazed.

‘That’s the witness, yes?’

‘That’s right. I asked her to wait for you.’

‘Thanks.’ He turned to DS McDermid. ‘Peel off your paper suit, Lisa, and go and have a word with her. I’ll wait for the pathologist.’

‘You don’t have to. He’s here.’ The voice was soft, Irish. The DI turned to see a tall, youngish man, with a round face and distinctive brown hair; he, too, wore a crime-scene tunic and carried a small bag. ‘Inspector Regan?’ the newcomer asked. ‘I’m Dr Brown, Aidan Brown.’ The two shook hands. ‘Have you had a look?’

‘You mean have I touched anything?’

The pathologist smiled. ‘I was trying to be discreet, since this is our first meeting.’

‘That’s OK. If you’d been here first I’d have asked you the same thing. I verified that the man was dead, that’s all. I didn’t need to look for a pulse; he’s stone cold. You can tell us for sure, but I’m guessing he was killed during the hours of darkness.’

‘You say “killed”?’

‘Take a look at the back of his head. Either he was drunk enough to climb a tree and fall out, or someone bashed it in for him.’

‘Are the SOCOs on the way?’

‘Yes. Led by the self-proclaimed genius Arthur Dorward.’

‘I’d better get finished before they arrive in that case.’ Dr Brown headed up the path, approaching the body.

Regan followed, at a distance, and watched as he went to work on the little figure, pathetic in its dark trousers and dirty shirt; a sordid death, he thought. The pathologist was thorough; his examination took almost fifteen painstaking minutes as he peered at the body, using a torch on occasion even though the morning was bright and fair. Eventually he stood up and turned back to face the DI. ‘Yes, you can indeed forget suicide or accident. There isn’t a tree around here that’s high enough for him to have fallen out and done that. Subject to detailed examination, I’d put the time of death between eleven last night and midnight, with the deceased having been on the way home from the pub. He’s choked or vomited at some point and there is a strong smell of alcohol. It appears that he was attacked from behind. He has a couple of broken fingers in his right hand, and my supposition would be that after the first blow, he put it to his head in an instinctive but useless attempt to protect himself. He wasn’t struck that many times, but enough to do the job. The skull is intact, but I’ve no doubt about the cause of death. He wasn’t killed instantly, but the limited amount of bleeding indicates that he died quickly after he was attacked. I can feel indentations, and there’s a clear, circular bruise on the damaged hand, all of which lead me to conclude that he was killed with a heavy hammer.’ He paused. ‘I’m probably straying into your area here, but unless the people of Gullane are routinely tooled up, in the most literal sense, when they go out for an evening, this was not an accidental encounter. Someone followed this man, with intent to kill.’

The detective smiled. ‘That’s pretty comprehensive, Dr Brown. Any other pointers?’

‘None I’d take into the witness box, but. . his face is undamaged, and going purely by his facial features, I’d take a guess that he might not be British.’