Blood Lines. Grace Monroe

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      ‘Can’t you at least come in and say your piece?’ I fought the tears.

      ‘Get your shoes, Brodie.’ He’d given up looking at me when he spoke.

      ‘Duncan – can’t you be reasonable?’

      ‘I’ll come in – while you get your shoes.’

      Detective Inspector Duncan Bancho stood silent and stony-faced whilst I put my bike boots back on.

      ‘It’s a few years since I’ve been here, Brodie, but this place has gone downhill,’ he said. I got ready and walked down the stairs with Bancho. I sat like an automaton in the back of the police car, mercifully unaware during the journey to St Leonard’s.

      Sergeant Munro was on the front desk. Did that man ever go home? He was restrained and businesslike as he took my details. I even saw a spark of pity in the his eyes. Then I knew I was in trouble. I couldn’t afford to lie down and let DI Bancho kick me.

      ‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’ I asked, as I sat down on a hard plastic chair in the interview room.

      Duncan nodded curtly at his colleague. ‘Detective Constable Margaret Malone will be assisting me today,’ Bancho informed the tape machine.

      DC Malone smiled across at me. She looked as if she must have put weight on recently; either that or she had shrunk her shirt in the wash, because the buttons were straining fit to burst. Her wispy blonde hair was in a bun at the nape of her neck, and she looked more like an air hostess for a budget airline than WPC Plod.

      ‘Call me Peggy,’ she said as she reached over and shook my hand.

      Peggy responded to Bancho’s unspoken put-down.

      ‘What? It’s not as if she’s your average criminal. She’s entitled to be treated with a bit of civility.’

      Duncan’s eyes flickered with anger, but interestingly he said nothing. Peggy, on the other hand, lifted her chin and looked up into his eyes. It was obvious that she had just put him back in his place and I couldn’t help but smile.

      Peggy Malone bent over the table, her tight black skirt clinging to her. Duncan Bancho stared at her, entranced, probably hypnotised by the hip–waist ratio of the creature in front of him who was fiddling with his recording device. I gratefully watched this domestic tableau, because it meant that he was ignoring me.

      Bancho walked up and down, towering over me. He left for five minutes but it seemed like an eternity.

      ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Peggy broke the silence and smiled at me.

      ‘She’s getting nothing at the moment,’ said Bancho, walking back in.

      ‘Are you two playing good cop, bad cop with me?’ I asked.

      Peggy smiled again.

      ‘Do you want us to inform anyone that you are here?’ Her voice was quite posh, obviously well-educated – probably from a good girls’ school. What had made her join the police?

      Normally, this was the stage when I got a call from my clients.

      ‘No. No one.’

      I was too ashamed.

      ‘Well, everyone probably knows already – you know what the jungle drums are like when they get a piece of news as tasty as this one.’

      Duncan spoke this time, glad to stick the boot in. Peggy looked as if he had personally slapped her. Either she was really excellent in her role as the good cop or she was in the wrong profession.

      ‘If they’re talking about me they’re leaving some other poor sod alone.’ I feigned a bravado I wasn’t feeling; even I could hear the crack in my voice.

      Bancho sat down opposite me. After explaining who was present and the date and time, he threw a newspaper at me, an updated version of the story that Kailash had read out.

      ‘So? Cattanach is missing. What’s that got to do with me?’

      ‘Jesus, Brodie – I thought you were supposed to be bright? Cattanach was investigating you in particular – in fact everyone at the Law Society is saying that you were the piles in Cattanach’s arse.’

      ‘Cattanach had it in for me because of Bridget Nicholson – everyone knows she hates me.’

      Peggy watched me intently; maybe they were a good team after all.

      ‘Cattanach’s a professional – you’re kidding yourself if you expect anyone to believe that you were being investigated for no other reason than Cattanach’s girlfriend doesn’t like you.’

      It did sound petty and unlikely, even to my ears.

      ‘Where were you on the fourth of August?’

      Strangely enough, I knew the answer to that question.

      A smug smile broke out on my face.

      ‘I was at the MacPherson Clan gathering in Newtonmore, with my grandad and another three thousand people.’

      ‘Your grandfather? What was a MacGregor doing at the MacPherson show?’

      ‘He’s friendly with the clan chief.’

      ‘Oh, as he would be – well, don’t expect me to be influenced by your high-ranking relatives. He’s no better than you.’

      Obviously, Duncan Bancho was angry at my cast-iron alibi. I stared him out and leaned back in my chair. He would have to release me soon, unless he was simply being a bastard.

      ‘Switch that damned thing off and go and get us some tea,’ Bancho shouted at Peggy, who clearly responded to him when he was masterful.

      The door clicked behind her. Duncan and I were left facing each other. The ghost of my ex-flatmate, Fishy, hung between us. Duncan was wearing well. Expensive haircut, the right amount of product in his light brown hair, and a carefully sculpted beard that screamed too desperately ‘I’m an individual’.

      ‘Still biting your fingers, I see.’

      The skin around my nails was broken and raw. Mechanically, I pulled them back and hid them under the table. I was annoyed at giving him the upper hand. We were at war – psyching one another out.

      ‘You’ve got a dick and a brain, Duncan, but only enough blood to run one at a time. What do your superiors say about you and Miss Moneypenny?’

      ‘It’s none of their fucking business and it’s certainly none of yours. You never change.’

      ‘You’re right, I haven’t changed – when did your beard go grey?’

      ‘Piss off. It’s a goatee.’

      ‘Bit sensitive about your facial hair there, Duncan.’

      He leaned over the cheap table and spoke into my face. Little flecks of spit landed СКАЧАТЬ