Gallery Whispers Page 7

  in human resources; an inelegant term for what people used to call

  personnel management. She was very good on team-building and

  motivation, and I thought she could add a cutting edge to our new

  business presentations. I must admit that at first I thought her methods

  were a bit silly, but they worked very well. The Agency's billings have

  44

  grown in each of the years she's been helping us.'

  'Your relationship went beyond the office, though, didn't it?'

  Futcher did not meet her gaze as he nodded.

  'Since when?'

  'That started a few months after she came to work for us, and it's

  been going on ever since.'

  'How often did you see each other?'

  'Hard to say, really,' the ad-man replied. 'We'd get together whenever

  we could arrange it.'

  'Would you describe it as an intense relationship?'

  'Hell, no! The opposite, in fact: it was a very relaxed thing. We

  liked each other a great deal, and we had sex on occasion, but we

  weren't in love with each other.' Futcher took a breath. 'Look,

  Inspector, I play around. Okay? I mean it's the sort of bloke I am. As

  for Gay, she came out of a marriage a few years back principally to

  make her own space and live her own life. Our arrangement didn't

  threaten that, and it didn't threaten my own marriage.

  'That's as frank as I can be with you.'

  'You couldn't have put it more clearly,' said Rose. 'Tell me, did

  Mrs Weston have any other, er, arrangements, to use your term?'

  'Was she seeing anyone else, you mean? Not that I know of; she

  certainly never gave me any hint of that. But to be honest I wouldn't

  have known if she was. I never visited Gay without checking that it

  was okay with her. That was the way she wanted it; all part of her

  having that space of hers . . .' Futcher broke off, sinking deeper into

  his chair, gazing at the ceiling.

  'When did you find out about Mrs Weston's death, sir?' Steele

  asked him, quietly.

  'This afternoon,' he replied, gathering himself. 'My secretary picked

  up a copy of the Evening News at lunch-time. There was a story about

  police being at the scene of the death of a single woman at Oldbams

  steading. She showed it to me as soon as she saw it. As far as I know

  there are . .. were ... only two single women living out there. Gay

  and Joan Ball. I switched on Radio Forth; their two o'clock news

  bulletin gave out the name.'

  'Are you telling us that your secretary knew about Mrs Weston?'

  Futcher glanced at the young detective. 'Katie knows everything

  about me, sergeant. She's been with me since I founded The Futcher

  Agency twelve years ago.'

  'From your concern a few minutes ago, I guess your wife doesn't

  know about her though.'

  Futcher looked at Steele again, uncomfortably and with a touch of

  anger showing. 'No, she bloody doesn't,' he snapped.

  45

  'What did you do when you heard that Mrs Weston was dead?'

  asked Rose.

  'I went to Church, to the Cathedral at the end of York Place: to

  pray. I'm a practising Catholic.'

  You should practise a bit harder; at least until you get to the bit

  about the Commandments. The response was on the tip of the detective

  chief inspector's tongue, but she fought it back. 'All afternoon?' she

  asked instead.

  'Almost. I went back to the office just after five, and asked Katie

  to call a journalist friend others in the Herald's Edinburgh office, to

  see what he knew. He told her that the police were being cagey

  about it.

  'Is that right? Is there a problem? How did she die?'

  Rose ignored his questions. 'When was the last time you saw Mrs

  Weston?'

  Futcher stroked his beard. 'Just over a fortnight ago,' he replied.

  'Just before she went into hospital.'

  'She went into hospital?'

  'She told me she was going into a clinic for a minor operation. She

  didn't say what it was for, so I assumed it was some sort of women's

  thing.'

  'Have you spoken to her since?'

  'Several times, by telephone. She told me that the operation had

  been fine, that she was recuperating and that everything would be

  sorted out soon.'

  'Is that your phrase or hers?' asked Rose.

  The man looked at her, curiously, for a second. 'Hers, in fact. Her

  exact words; I remember her saying them; I remember it vividly.'

  'What did you take her to mean by that?'

  'I suppose I thought she meant that her plumbing would all be

  healed up, and we could ...' His voice tailed off.

  '... and you could resume a sexual relationship?' Steele offered.

  'That's right.'

  'Where were you in the early hours of this morning, Mr Futcher?'

  He looked round, eyes narrowing, at her sudden sharp question. Rose

  leaned forward on the leather settee, closer to him.

  'In bed,' he answered, quietly.

  'From when?'

  'From about eleven o'clock.'

  'You didn't go to Oldbams last night did you?'

  'No, I did not.'

  'You didn't help Gaynor Weston end her own life?'

  Futcher's face paled. 'Is that what happened?'

  46

  'You were nowhere near Oldbams at two o'clock this morning?

  You were in bed?'

  'No I wasn't,' he gasped. 'Yes I was.'

  Maggie Rose settled back into the comfortable old Chesterfield,

  and smiled gently at him. 'That's okay, then. I'm sorry to have been

  so direct, Mr Futcher. We have to ask these questions, you understand.'

  He sighed. 'Yes, of course.'

  'Good, that's good.' She glanced round, at Steele. 'That's us almost

  finished, Stevie.'

  'Yes Ma'am. Just one other thing to do, really.'

  'That's right.' The chief inspector, still smiling, looked back across

  at Futcher. 'If you'd ask your wife to join us, sir. Just to confirm

  formally that you were here in bed at two o'clock this morning.'

  The last vestige of the bronzed look vanished from the man's face.

  'No!' he cried out. 'Leave Penny out of this.'

  'I'm sorry, sir,' said Rose, trying to sound as if she really meant it.

  'I know it's difficult for you, but we need corroboration of your story,

  for the Fiscal.'

  Terry Futcher thrust himself out of his armchair, took a pace towards

  the room's small window, then turned abruptly, to face the two police

  officers once more. 'Then don't ask Penny,' he snarled at them. 'I was

  in bed all right, you bastards, but I never said I was here.

  'I was with Katie, my secretary.'

  47

  13

  'Here, take this. You look as though you need it.'.Bob handed his wife

  a huge vodka and tonic, ice and lemon fighting to break the bubbling

  surface near the brim of the crystal tumbler.

  'Oh I do, my love. How do I need it.' Barefoot, she leaned back

  against the kitchen work-surface, and took a mouthful of the strong

  mixture. 'Are the boys asleep?'

  'Jazz is. Mark's reading.' He took a deep breath, reading her silence.

  'Bad, is it?' he asked at last.

  She nodded, and sipped again at her drink. 'It's bad, all right. P
oor

  Olive. Poor Neil. Poor kids. Olive has lung cancer, with at least one

  secondary, in her lymph glands. They'll give her a scan at the Oncology

  Clinic to determine whether it's spread any further than that.

  'Honey,' she said, bitterly, 'it's at times like this I feel thankful that

  I work in pathology. I don't think I could cope if I had to hand down

  death sentences on a daily basis.'

  He threw back his head, exhaling a great gasp of air. 'Oh dear

  Christ,' he exclaimed, filling up with blind, helpless anger. 'Olive and

  Neil Mcllhenney are as nice a couple as you'll meet in a day's march.

  They adore each other, and those kids of theirs are a pair of wee gems.

  What the fuck have they done to deserve this?

  'Does she have any hope?' he asked.

  'Depends on what the scan shows. If there are no other metastases,

  then clearly her chances will be better. I'm no expert on current

  treatments, but I do know the stats. They show that the great majority

  of people with this type of cancer, at this stage of development, die

  within a couple of years.

  'However, being as positive as I can, the available figures only

  show the position as it was about five years ago. That's how long it takes for the statistical picture to emerge. Against that, the oncologists,

  the drug companies and the clinical researchers are re-writing the

  book on cancer every day. I dare say I could connect to the Internet

  right now and find a whole list of treatments for lung cancer that I've

  never heard of before.'

  Bob turned down the heat on the rice and on the marinera sauce,

  48

  crossed to the fridge and poured himself a drink as big as the one he

  had mixed for his wife. As an afterthought, he topped up her glass

  with vodka.

  'Is there anything we can do to help them?' he asked.

  'You can give Neil tomorrow afternoon off, for openers, so that he

  can go to the clinic.'

  'Jesus, I'll send him on compassionate leave as of this minute.'

  'No,' said Sarah quickly. 'He must be the judge of that. Olive's

  teaching career will be on hold for a long time, at the very best, but

  it's important for them both, from a morale point of view, that he

  continues to work as normally as he can. Neil picked that up right

  away.

  'One thing did occur to me, though. Do you know what the

  grandparent situation is?'

  His forehead furrowed, characteristically, as he thought. 'Neil's

  father's dead. His mother has pretty bad arthritis. She lives in a

  sheltered flat. Olive's mother isn't around any more. She went off to

  England with another bloke years ago. Her dad's a civil servant;

  works in the Benefits Agency up in Aberdeen.

  'Brothers and sisters?'

  'Olive has a brother; he's a soldier, based in Aldershot. Neil has a

  brother called Charlie and a sister called Mavis. He's in Australia and

  she's in Canada.'

  'Right. In those circumstances, the most helpful thing that we

  could do for them is to look after Lauren and Spencer as the need

  arises. If this disease is treatable, it'll be done mostly on an outpatient

  basis, and Olive could be pretty sick for a day or two after each

  session. It'd be best if the kids didn't see that. So if there are no handy

  relatives, why don't we offer to put them up?'

  'Absolutely.' He turned back towards the hob, and their supper.

  'Life can be a bitch, Sarah, can it not,' he said quietly as she came

  to stand beside him. 'Until ten minutes ago, I was getting quietly

  worked up about my daughter putting her career before her relationship

  with Andy.

  'Something like this puts that well in perspective. It makes me feel

  guilty, too, about how lucky I am. If everyone got what they deserve,

  then how would my life have panned out, and Neil's ...'

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  14

  He lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to his wife breathing

  beside him, waiting for his emotions to define themselves.

  Since Sarah had broken the news, he had felt rage, pity and a

  terrible, terrible fear, all mixed together. He and Olive had eaten a

  quiet supper and then they had gone to bed. Her dignified, pale-faced

  silence had upset him more than anything else, but he had been afraid

  to break it, afraid that if he did he would say the wrong thing.

  At last she turned to him, and he took her in his strong arms,

  beneath the duvet. Her tears came then; great, heaving, frightened

  sobs. 'Why me?' she asked him. 'Why me?'

  'Because, my darling,' he said, softly, his deep voice quavering as

  she had never heard it before, 'there is in this world, no fairness, no

  justice and no righteousness. If there were, things like this just

  wouldn't happen.'

  He pressed a hand to her breast. 'Love, if I could take this thing from

  out of you and put it into me, you know that I would. I can't do that, but

  I will be at your side as you fight it, every step of the way. This is a team

  game; we're in it together, for you are what my life is about.

  'Let's agree two things. First, that whatever treatment they offer,

  we grab it, and second, that through it all the "D" word will never be

  mentioned. Okay?'

  He felt, rather than saw her nod.

  'I'm sorry to be so weak,' she whispered.

  'You! Weak?' He chuckled in spite of himself. 'You are about as

  weak as a large whisky and Im Bru. You are the strongest woman I've

  ever known. This bloody disease doesn't have a clue what it's letting

  itself in for, taking on Olive Mcllhenney. Just keep giving it that look

  of yours, It'll get the message and bugger off, sharpish.'

  'I wish it was that easy.'

  'Aye, but it is in a way. I know next to nothing about these things,

  but I do know that determination has a big part to play.'

  She kissed his chest. 'Okay, I'll do that. I'll give it The Silencer;

  and you can take it somewhere quiet and give it a kicking. We'll teach

  the bloody thing to try to come between us.'

  50

  15

  'He gets around, then, this Mr Futcher,' said the Head of CID, as he

  and Brian Mackie turned the corner into Crewe Road South. The

  Western General Hospital lies only a quarter of a mile from the police

  headquarters building in Fettes Avenue, and so the two detectives had

  decided to walk to their appointment with Professor Nolan Weston.

  The rain of the previous day had gone, but the afternoon was drab

  and cold. Martin seemed to wear its greyness like an overcoat, to

  match his mood. He and Alex had spent a silent night: the crisis

  between them remained unresolved.

  'So it seems,' Mackie answered. 'Maggie and Steele saw Katie

  Meams, the secretary bird, first thing this morning. She backed up his

  story, right enough. She told them that Futcher and she worked late

  the night before Mrs Weston died. When they were finished he took

  her for a steak, then ran her home. She invited him in for coffee and

  afters, as she sometimes does, she says, and he stayed until two in the

  morning.'

  'Did Maggie believe her?'

  'Yes, on balance she did.
So did Stevie. They gave her a moderately

  hard time; made her go over the story time and again. She never

  varied at all. Eventually she got annoyed and went into some very

  graphic detail about the size ofFutcher's tackle. Impressive, apparently.

  His line to the other ladies is that the wife can't take too much of it.'

  The superintendent paused. 'I was thinking of asking Maggie to go

  along and take a look at the evidence,' he added, with a sidelong

  smile. 'Unless you wanted to lend me Karen Neville, that is.'

  Martin chuckled, in spite of himself. 'Neville would love the job,

  I'm sure. But she's doing something else just now,' he said, as the two

  men turned into the hospital's entrance roadway.

  The Department of Clinical Oncology is a complex which includes

  some of the newest buildings within the Western General's sprawling

  grounds. Mackie led the way through the automatic glass doors and

  into the yellow brick reception area. 'Professor Weston, please,' he

  said to the nursing assistant seated behind its high wooden counter.

  'You're the gentlemen from the police?' she asked, quietly. Martin

  51

  nodded. 'Yes, he's expecting you. If you go round the corner through

  the double doors and up the first flight of stairs, then through another

  set of doors, you'll find his office third on the right. I'll buzz him and

  let him know that you're coming,'

  They followed her directions to the letter. As they pushed their way

  through the second set of doors, they found a tall man standing in the

  hall. He was shirt-sleeved in the warmth of the hospital, wearing the

  trousers of a brown suit. He was as bald as Brian Mackie, but his head

  seemed bigger and more pointed than the superintendent's gentle

  dome. 'Gentlemen,' he greeted them solemnly, 'I'm Nolan Weston.'

  'Hello, Professor,' said Martin accepting the proffered handshake

  as he introduced himself and his colleague. 'Glad you could see us so

  quickly. We'll try not to take up too much of your time.'

  Weston led them into a tiny room, so small that there was barely

  room for two chairs on the other side of his desk. 'This is about Gay,

  of course,' he began.

  'Of course,' said the Head ofCID. 'When did you last see your ex-

  wife, Professor?'

  'Three weeks ago,' the tall man answered, as he folded himself

  awkwardly into his swivel chair. 'She and I took Raymond, our son,

  up to Aberdeen, for his first term at University.'