The Distant Echo. Val McDermid
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herded them towards a police van, calling over his shoulder to Lawson, ‘You better get the keys off Tam Watt.’
Lawson set off up the slope, leaving them with Mackenzie. ‘I wouldnae like to be in your shoes when the CID get off that hill,’ he said conversationally as he climbed in behind them. Alex shivered, though not from the cold. It was slowly dawning on him that the police were regarding him and his companions as potential suspects rather than witnesses. They’d been given no opportunity to confer, to get their ducks in a row. The four of them exchanged uneasy looks. Even Weird had straightened out enough to realize this wasn’t some daft game.
When Mackenzie hustled them into the van, there had been a few seconds when they’d been left alone. Just sufficient time for Ziggy to mutter loud enough for their ears, ‘For fuck’s sake, don’t mention the Land Rover.’ Instant comprehension had filled their eyes.
‘Christ, aye,’ Weird said, head jerking back in terrified realization. Mondo chewed the skin round his thumbnail, saying nothing. Alex merely nodded.
The police station hadn’t felt any more composed than the crime scene. The desk sergeant complained bitterly when the two uniformed officers arrived with four bodies who were supposed to be prevented from communicating with each other. It turned out there were insufficient interview rooms to keep them separate. Weird and Mondo were taken to wait in unlocked cells, while Alex and Ziggy were left to their own devices in the station’s two interview rooms.
The room Alex found himself in was claustrophobically small. It was barely three paces square, as he established within minutes of being shut in to kick his heels. There were no windows, and the low ceiling with its greying polystyrene tiles made it all the more oppressive. It contained a chipped wooden table and four unmatching wooden chairs that looked exactly as uncomfortable as they felt. Alex tried them all in turn, finally settling for one that didn’t dig into his thighs as much as the others.
He wondered if he was allowed to smoke. Judging by the smell of the stale air, he wouldn’t have been the first. But he was a well-brought-up lad, and the absence of an ashtray gave him pause. He searched his pockets and found the screwed-up silver paper from a packet of Polo mints. Carefully, he spread it out, folding the edges up to form a rough tray. Then he took out his packet of Bensons and flipped the top open. Nine left. That should see him through, he thought.
Alex lit his cigarette and allowed himself to think about his position for the first time since they’d arrived at the police station. It was obvious, now he thought about it. They’d found a body. They had to be suspects. Everybody knew that the prime candidates for arrest in a murder investigation were either the ones who last saw the victim alive or the ones who found the body. Well, that was them on both counts.
He shook his head. The body. He was starting to think like them. This wasn’t just a body, it was Rosie. Somebody he knew, however slightly. He supposed that made it all the more suspicious. But he didn’t want to consider that now. He wanted that horror far from his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes, flashbacks to the hill played like a movie. Beautiful, sexy Rosie broken and bleeding on the snow. ‘Think about something else,’ he said aloud.
He wondered how the others would react to questioning. Weird was off his head, that was for sure. He’d had more than drink tonight. Alex had seen him with a joint in his hand earlier, but with Weird, there was no telling what else he might have indulged in. There had been tabs of acid floating around. Alex had refused it himself a couple of times. He didn’t mind dope but he preferred not to fry his brains. But Weird was definitely in the market for anything that would allegedly expand his consciousness. Alex fervently hoped that whatever he’d swallowed, inhaled or snorted, it would have worn off before it was his turn to be interviewed. Otherwise, Weird was likely to piss the cops off very badly indeed. And any fool knew that was a bad idea in the middle of a murder investigation.
Mondo would be another kettle of fish. This would freak him out in a totally different way. Mondo was, when you got right down to it, too sensitive for his own good. He’d always been the one picked on at school, called a jessie partly because of the way he looked and partly because he never fought back. His hair hung in tight ringlets round his pixie face, his big sapphire eyes always wide like a mouse keeking out from a divot. The lassies liked it, that was for sure. Alex had once overheard a pair of them giggling that Davey Kerr looked just like Marc Bolan. But in a school like Kirkcaldy High, what won you favour with the lassies could equally earn you a kicking in the cloakroom. If Mondo hadn’t had the other three to back him up, he’d have had a pretty thin time of it. To his credit, he knew that, and he repaid their services with interest. Alex knew he’d never have got through Higher French without Mondo’s help.
But Mondo would be on his own with the police. Nobody to hide behind. Alex could picture him now, head hung low, tossing the odd glance out from under his brows, picking at the skin round his thumbnail or flicking the lid of his Zippo open and shut. They’d get frustrated with him, think he had something to hide. The thing they’d never suss, not in a million years, was that the big secret with Mondo was that ninety-nine times out of a hundred, there was no secret. There was no mystery wrapped in an enigma. There was just a guy who liked Pink Floyd, fish suppers with lashings of vinegar, Tennent’s lager and getting laid. And who, bizarrely, spoke French like he’d learned it at his mother’s knee.
Except of course tonight there was a secret. And if anybody was going to blow it, it would be Mondo. Please God, let him not give up the Land Rover, Alex thought. At the very least, they’d all be landed with the charge of taking and driving away without the owner’s consent. At the very worst, the cops would realize one or all of them had the perfect means to transport a dying girl’s body to a quiet hillside.
Weird wouldn’t tell; he had most to lose. He’d been the one who’d turned up at the Lammas grinning from ear to ear, dangling Henry Cavendish’s key-ring from his finger like the winner at a wife-swapping party.
Alex wouldn’t tell, he knew that. Keeping secrets was one of the things he did best. If the price of avoiding suspicion was to keep his mouth shut, he had no doubts he could manage it.
Ziggy wouldn’t tell either. It was always safety first with Ziggy. After all, he was the one who had sneaked away from the party to move the Land Rover once he’d realized how off his head Weird was getting. He’d taken Alex to one side and said, ‘I’ve taken the keys out of Weird’s coat pocket. I’m going to shift the Land Rover, put it out of temptation’s way. He’s already been taking people for a spin round the block, it’s time to put a stop to it before he kills himself or somebody else.’ Alex had no idea how long he’d been gone, but when he’d returned, Ziggy had told him the Land Rover was safely stowed up behind one of the industrial units off the Largo Road. ‘We can go and pick it up in the morning,’ he’d said.
Alex had grinned. ‘Or we could just leave it there. A nice wee puzzle for Hooray Henry when he comes back next term.’
‘I don’t think so. As soon as he realized his precious wheels weren’t parked where he left them, he’d go to the police and drop us right in it. And our fingerprints are all over it.’
He’d been right, Alex thought. There was no love lost between the Laddies fi’ Kirkcaldy and the two Englishmen who shared their six-room campus house. There was no way Henry would see the funny side of Weird helping himself to the Land Rover. Henry didn’t see the funny side of much that his house-mates did. So, Ziggy wouldn’t tell. That was for sure.
But Mondo just might. Alex hoped Ziggy’s warning had penetrated Mondo’s self-absorption enough for him to think through the consequences. Telling the cops about Weird helping himself to someone else’s car wouldn’t get Mondo off the hook. It would only put all four of them firmly on it. Besides, he’d been driving it himself, taking that lassie home to Guardbridge. For once in your life, think it through, Mondo.
Now, if it was a thinker you wanted, Ziggy was your man. Behind the apparent openness, the easy charm and the quick intellect, there was a lot more going on than anyone knew. Alex had been pals with Ziggy for nine and a half years, and he felt as though he’d only scratched the surface. Ziggy was the one who would surprise you with an