The Courier & Advertiser (Angus and Dundee)
Maggie swayed on her feet. She’d come so close. Taken such risks…
Maggie twisted her wedding ring on her finger. Get to the point, man. “So…”
Why was he always so tonguetied around this woman, Allan Chisolm wondered? It wasn’t as if she was a stunner: some pneumatic blonde or legs up to her armpits.
He recalled the day he’d first come into contact with Maggie Laird. He’d thought her a funny wee thing: striking enough, he supposed, with that flaming red hair. No, not red. Chestnut, maybe?
Chisolm wasn’t great at that sort of thing. And those quirky eyes, there was something about them: so sleepy, sometimes, they seemed to draw you in. Other times they could cut right through you. The Laird woman had a temper on her too.
“I want to offer my sincere apologies.” “Thank you.”
Maggie looked into the inspector’s face. She took in the dark hair. The straight nose. The square jaw. The slight dimple in the chin. And those deep blue eyes. Perhaps they weren’t as dead as she’d first thought.
“Perhaps you would let me explain?” Chisolm exhaled slowly, as if a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest. “You’ve been instrumental…in helping us resolve a number of matters.”
She raised a questioning eyebrow. “A case of fraud.”
Sardonic
“Oh, that?” She threw the inspector a sardonic smile. “The drugs problem in Seaton.” She tilted her head in acknowledgement.
“Those young boys… Their involvement in that. And in the tragic death of Lucy Simmons. But I won’t pretend that I’m happy to see a private investigator get involved in what is properly police business, far less a major investigation.
“I’m sure you’ll know from your late husband that we detectives guard our own cases somewhat…” the DI deliberated for a moment, “…obsessively.”
She pursed her lips, determined not to smile. “Nevertheless,” Chisolm cleared his throat, “your intervention has helped us progress a rather moribund police inquiry.”
Moribund. The word made Maggie think suddenly of George. She turned her head away.
“That lad, Meston. He’s a hard nut to crack, even at his young age. Happily, the other lads have been able to answer a number of outstanding questions for us.” “I’m glad.”
Chisolm grimaced. “The circumstances were rather bizarre.” “So I understand.”
“But if you hadn’t taken your duty of care to those children so seriously, who knows how much longer it would have taken to get to the truth of the matter.” Maggie assumed this was meant as a compliment. “Please believe me, Mrs Laird, I do have great sympathy for the predicament you’ve found yourself in, through no fault of your own.”
She stiffened. Was she to take criticism of George as implicit? “I should never have questioned your business acumen,” Chisolm went on. “Your ability to carry on your husband’s business. Far less your relationship with DS Burnett.”
Once again, Maggie felt herself colour. She’d taken advantage of Brian Burnett. Sailed close to the wind, the very thing she’d pilloried Jimmy Craigmyle for. She wondered for a moment how much Brian had told his superior officer, how much the inspector really knew.
Dubious
Chisolm paused. He held her gaze. “I wanted to express, in person, my appreciation of your efforts in helping North East Division resolve these matters. That’s why I’ve come here today.” He flashed a smile. “Now I’ve got that out of the way, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Just one thing, really.” The inspector cocked his head. “My husband… You’ll have heard about the trial?”
“It would be hard not to.”
“The informant, Brannigan – he committed perjury, you know. Said my husband and his partner had…” Chisolm held up a hand. “Let me stop you there. If you’re going to tell me about a tape obtained under, shall we say, dubious circumstances…”
“So,” Maggie bristled, “Brian told you about that?” She wished now she hadn’t confided in Brian Burnett.
Chisolm sprang to his sergeant’s defence.
“DS Burnett only did so in the light of recent developments.”
“And they are?”
“The drug dealer we have in custody: lad who goes by the name of Fatboy. But of course, I’m forgetting you were present when he was apprehended.” “You mean Christopher Gilruth?”
The inspector’s eyes widened. “He told you his name?” “No,” she glowed with satisfaction, “I found that out for myself.”
“Mrs Laird, you never cease to surprise me. I’d caution you, still, against dabbling in the affairs of James Gilruth.” She threw the man a sharp look.
“I say this for your own sake,” the inspector added softly. Those blue eyes again. “The recent developments you alluded to?” Maggie enquired. “They involve Gilruth.”
“In what way?”
“I tell you this in the strictest confidence.” “Naturally.”
“The drugs this Fatboy was supplying, it seems they came by a roundabout route from one of Gilruth’s clubs.”
“Oh.” Her jaw dropped. So Jimmy Craigmyle was right enough?
“So circuitous, in fact,” Chisolm added, “that his own son was completely in the dark. But to answer the question I think you were about to put to me earlier – the tape. The one that somebody went to such lengths to obtain would not stand up in a court of law since it was obtained, as I understand it, under duress.
“It would require a substantial body of new evidence to persuade the powers that be to reopen your husband’s case, and…”
Contemplative
She cut him short. “What about justice?” “Ah.” The inspector looked contemplative all of a sudden. “Justice.” Maggie swayed on her feet. She’d come so close. Taken such risks…
“Mrs Laird, are you all right?” “Yes.” Her eyelids fluttered. “Go on.”
“As I was saying, the tape on its own would not stand up. However, taken together with the information we’ve already ascertained from Gilruth junior…” Pull yourself together! “So you think there’s a chance…”
“Of getting the case reopened? There may well be. I understand from DS Burnett that your husband’s former partner is willing to testify to turning off the interview recording.”
“And would you be prepared,” she fixed Allan Chisolm with pleading eyes, “to go upstairs with that?” He smiled. “I would.”
You’ve done it! Maggie’s chest felt so tight she thought she’d pass out on the spot. She’d pulled it off! Well, almost.
“What about Fatboy? I mean Christopher. I’ve been worrying, you see, about those wee boys.”
“I’m afraid,” Chisolm looked down at her, his expression grave, “you’ll have to trust me on that one.”
Maggie gazed into those sharp blue eyes. Beneath the veneer of rectitude there was an honourable man. “Trust you?” she said in a soft voice. “Oh, yes, I do.”
More on Monday.