Head Shot

73

The two detectives stood at the door of the secluded, detached house in the East Lothian vil age of Onniston. 'If we're wrong,' Mcl henney grunted, 'we're up to our armpits in shit… and when the tea-break's over we'l be back to standing on our heads.'

'We're not wrong,' Mario McGuire whispered. He flexed his shoulders to ensure that his pistol was loose and accessible in its holster. 'Your checking revealed that she's resigned her job. It turns out that George Rosewell's absence from work has never been reported to the council.

Walter Jaap more or less identified her from her staff mug-shot as the woman who paid for Magnus Essary's funeral.'

'Aye, only more or less; I like my witnesses to be definite.'

'She didn't tell me about the beard, Neil. She gave me Rosewell's photograph but she didn't tell me that he had a beard.' His smile gleamed in the moonlight. 'It was enough for the sheriff to give us a warrant; be content with that.'

'My life in your hands, pal.'

'It was ever thus.' McGuire glanced at his luminous watch, then at the light in the bedroom window upstairs. 'Just after eleven; if he's there, they'll be tucked up by now.'

He reached out and rang the doorbell, keeping his finger on the button for at least ten seconds, hearing the strident cal from inside the house.

Pat Dewberry came to the door, attractive in a long pink nightgown, even without make-up and with her hair ruffled from the pil ow. 'Don't tell me. You've forgotten your…' she exclaimed, stopping with a gasp as she saw the two figures on the doorstep. She gave McGuire a look of pure terror, and in that instant even Mcl henney was convinced that they had come to the right house. He drew his gun as McGuire pushed the woman into the house and closed the door behind them.

'You take her,' he said. 'I'll get Rosewell.'

'There's no one here,' Mrs Dewberry called out. 'There's no one here.'

'Nevertheless,' said the big inspector. He headed upstairs.

'How did you kil the priest?' McGuire asked, once he was gone.

She was deathly pale, and shaking violently, like a tree in a gale.

'What priest?' she wailed.

'Father Francis Donovan Green. The man you had cremated as Magnus Essary was a Catholic priest. Didn't he tel you that when you picked him up?'

The woman's eyes seemed to glaze over; she started to buckle at the knees, but the detective caught her by the arms and held her up. She seemed to crumple into herself as he looked at her.

'I didn't kil him,' she whispered. 'George did; he used an electric stun gun and then he suffocated him. It was horrible; I had no idea he was going to do that. He told me he just wanted to talk to him, that was all.'

'Don't make me laugh. Where did you pick up Father Green?'

'But it's true,' Pat Dewberry pleaded. 'We saw him at a pub cal ed the Last Drop, in the Grassmarket.'

'Appropriate. How long did you have to trawl there?'

'We didn't trawl there; at least not that I was aware of. It was just one of the places we used to go for a drink. We chose pubs well away from the school, where there was little or no chance of bumping into parents.

Then one night, George pointed out that man; he was on his own, and looking around. He told me that he was his brother, and that he hadn't seen him for years. He asked me to pick him up and bring him outside, so he could surprise him.'

'And you believed that?'

'Yes! They could have been brothers… twins, almost.'

'So you did what he asked.'

'Yes. It was easy, really; the man was only after one thing. In less than half an hour we were on our way. I took him across to the car, knowing that George would be hiding in the back. He got in and that was when George hit him with the stun-gun. That was when it al went crazy.'

'So why didn't you stop it? Why didn't you go to the police? Why didn't you tell me everything when I visited the school?'

'Because I was afraid by then,' she whispered.

'You didn't seem too scared when you opened the door just there.'

She looked at him, her eyes shifting around, as if she was searching for something in her mind. 'Listen,' she exclaimed in a voice that was suddenly stronger, as if she had glimpsed a ray of hope, 'I'l give evidence, I'l do anything you want.'

McGuire smiled at her, mocking her. 'I'm sure you will; but only if we let you,' said Mcllhenney, appearing downstairs with a shake of his head.

'How did you get into this?' he asked.

'It was all George's idea,' she answered at once, 'you have to believe that. I fell in love with him. We had an affair; it began not long after he came to the school. He's an extraordinary man, mesmerising, charismatic; I've never met anyone like him. But there's another side to him…'

'We know,' the inspector growled. 'And it's pure evil. Yet you went along with him, just the same.'

'I thought the wine company was real,' she protested. 'He told me that he knew a lot of good Portuguese wines that we could import into this company and sell to private customers.'

'Some janitor!'

'It was only a job to him; he told me it was just something to keep money coming in while he set up the business. Then he asked me to be his partner.'

'Using false names?' Mcllhenney exclaimed.

'He told me that he didn't want any hassle from the education authority; I thought that made sense, so I agreed. It's not il egal, after all.'

'What about the insurance policies?'

'George told me it was common business practice for partners to insure each other.'

'Why weren't there any policies on you?'

'He said we could do that later after the business was established.

First, he said we had to set it up properly. I believed him, really, and then that awful thing happened, with that man.'

'When George shot my uncle, were you there too?' McGuire demanded.

'Your uncle?'

'Beppe Viareggio.'

She shook her head, violently. 'I drove him there. I thought he was just going to talk to him about the lease. I didn't know about the murder until I read about it in the papers next day. George told me that it had to be done, that with him out of the way we were free and clear and able to go and join our money without anyone ever being any the wiser.'

'Okay,' McGuire snarled. 'So where is he now, this charismatic devil?

You were expecting him back, so where's he gone?'

'He said that he had one last thing to do, one last loose end to tie off.

He muttered something about someone who had crossed him a long time ago, and before he could go anywhere, he had to get even with her.'

Suddenly, it was the big superintendent who was trembling. 'Oh Christ,' he gasped. 'Oh Christ, Neil. He's gone after Maggie.'