In Her Secret Fantasy Read online

  He’d been right to admire her spirit. She’d gone back to work and pigged it out in the teeth of those bastards. And now, even if she was no longer a parole officer, she’d risen above what must have been appalling trust issues, to look after the bunch of ex-cons up at the house. Brody’s protectiveness seemed suddenly much more understandable.

  He lowered the bottle. What if they were all healing together? The parole officer and the damaged criminals. What if he was barking up the wrong tree, just making things worse for all of them? He was damned sure Chrissy wasn’t involved in any drug deals, and he rather doubted Brody was either. They put a lot of effort into their co-operative, and one false move would get it shut down. It wasn’t as if they could avoid the scrutiny of their own parole officers, or the local cops.

  And Chrissy. Jesus…

  He took another pull from the bottle.

  Morning dragged him from heavy, whisky-soaked slumber. His phone was ringing. But at least he’d retained enough sense to keep it on the bedside table. He grabbed it, slid his finger across the screen without even opening his eyes. “’lo.”

  “Grieve?”

  His eyes flew open. Hastily, he clawed through the cobwebs of his mind. “Sir. Morning.”

  “Got a development for you. A body on the beach near Oban, shot through the head. Found first thing this morning.”

  “Who?” Aidan asked.

  “Gowan.”

  “Damn. He was our only link. Things must be moving.”

  “Possibly. We’ve managed to keep the lid on the murder for now, because of its connection to your investigation. How’s that going? Learned anything from the Ardknocken end?”

  “I’d say if there is a connection it’s not an organized one,” Aidan said carefully. “More likely to be a solo effort. But my mind’s still open. Maybe this body will tell us more.”

  “Well, you’d better get up there right away. They’re expecting you.”

  Although his parents’ bedroom door was still closed when he ran downstairs, he could hear the sounds of washing up from the kitchen. Louise was up and probably still grumpy with him. Part of him felt guilty for leaving her to deal with everything alone again, but if it encouraged her to think about what he’d said last night, it would, surely, be good for her in the long run.

  He left by the front door and walked round to spring his car from the row of garages behind the house.

  Two hours later, he was staring at the body of Henry Gowan. His face was familiar to Aidan—apart from the neat hole in his forehead.

  “Time of death?” Aidan asked.

  “Preliminary guess is some time yesterday late afternoon or evening,” the local CID man answered. His name was Davidson.

  “No other injuries?” Aidan asked.

  “No obvious ones.” Davidson shrugged with a hint of impatience. “We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  Aidan nodded. “What did he have on him? Weapons? Drugs of any kind?”

  Davidson shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just his wallet, some cash and credit cards. His clothes are with forensics.”

  Aidan turned away, heading for the door. He’d met Davidson here at the mortuary since that’s where the CID man had happened to be when Aidan had called in on arrival.

  “What else?” he asked. “Smoking gun?”

  “Oddly enough, yes. We found a pistol behind a rock, as if it had been thrown away without much effort to conceal. Seems likely to be the murder weapon—we don’t have a plague of shooting gangs up here.”

  “Gowan was known to carry a gun. It could be his.”

  “We’re tracing it and finger printing it,” Davidson said without much hope.

  Aidan nodded, dragging one hand through his hair. “Who found the body?”

  “Local uniform. Which is why we’re able to keep this quiet for a bit. No guarantee people won’t talk though, and if a journalist gets wind—”

  “The cat’s out of the bag, I get it. Let’s see what forensics come up with. If it opens no new lines, we might as well release it. How familiar is your team with the Ardknocken House project?”

  Davison shrugged. “We’ve got nothing to do with it. I believe they came up here in the autumn to play music, but there was no trouble. Some of the local worthies donate to the project.”

  “Can I show your guys some mug shots? See if they’ve seen any of them around the town?”

  “Sure,” Davidson said, reaching into his pocket in response to the ringing of his phone. “Excuse me. Davidson.”

  The CID man’s eyes widened. “That was quick… Okay, thanks. Good work.” He rang off and pocketed the phone, fixing Aidan with his gaze. “The gun’s unregistered. But we’ve got a print match.”

  This was much more than Aidan hoped for. “Who?” he demanded.

  “A rape victim called Christine Lennox.”

  “Sir?” Davidson said anxiously. “Are you all right?”

  The tilting world righted itself, and Aidan dragged his hand through his hair as if that could bring his stunned brain back to life. “Yes, fine. Just surprised.”

  “Her fingers were on file from her rape complaint, for elimination purposes. You know her case?”

  “Heard of it,” Aidan said shortly. He flung himself onto one of the hard benches lining the corridor.

  “Plus, you were right about the Ardknocken connection. She’s worked there since it opened.”

  Aidan nodded.

  “So how do you want to play this?” Davison asked impatiently. “Do we release it? Do you want us to speak to Lennox or will you?”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

  He drew in his breath. “Sit on it for now. Let me know as soon as you have anything else.”

  Abruptly, Aidan stood up and walked away, avoiding the uniformed cop coming in his direction. Behind him, he heard the uniform say, “What’s the matter with him?”

  “Fuck knows,” Davidson said with a trace of resentment. “Undercover cop—they’re notoriously unstable.”

  You have no idea. No fucking idea.

  When Chrissy walked into the silent library, Thierry was busy upgrading the computers there. Len sat at one of the lovelier antique desks, waiting patiently. Chrissy dumped a pile of ledgers and invoice boxes in front of him.

  “There you go,” she said cheerfully. “This year, you get to do the books, and I don’t want to know what I did wrong last year.”

  Len smiled at her. Curiously, it wasn’t much like his beach smile. She’d found herself warming to him, then. Now, he seemed to give her the creeps again, which felt so unfair that she lingered to ask, “You get to the village okay yesterday?”

  He blinked. “Er, yes. Thanks.”

  “Any shops open?”

  “Um…didn’t really notice. Are you all right, Chrissy?”

  “Fine.” She turned away. “Let me know if you’ve any questions. If I’m not in the office downstairs, I’ll be close by.”

  As she ran downstairs, she heard the sound of the Hoover and moving furniture in the dining room. It hadn’t been properly cleaned since New Year’s lunch, and Chrissy didn’t envy Izzy this task. She wondered if they’d need a new cleaner-stroke-housekeeper soon. Izzy was still doing it, but she had more of her own work coming in now, and Chrissy could hardly blame her for preferring it to cleaning up after this load of tykes.

  She walked into her office and pulled up short. Her stomach lurched. Aidan sat behind her desk, gazing at her.

  A slow curl of heat uncoiled in her belly, spreading outward. A smile began to tug at her lips.

  “Hello. I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “I don’t suppose you did. Close the door. Take a seat.”

  Her heart beat with excitement as she closed the door and walked forward towards the desk. But still, she lifted one quizzical eyebrow. “Are you going to offer me coffee too? I thought those were my lines.”

  “I need to ask you something,” he said expressionlessly.

  She
sat in the visitor’s chair, eyeing him with exaggerated attention. “Ask away.”

  “Do you own a gun, Chrissy?”

  It was so totally unexpected that her mouth fell open. She dragged it shut. “No.”

  “Do you possess a gun?”

  Her stomach twisted unpleasantly. “No. Why are you asking me this?”

  “Have you ever held a gun?”

  She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Maybe. Yes. Why?” Oh shit, they’d found it. Someone had found it…

  “Because your fingerprints were found on a murder weapon.”

  She stared at him. It almost struck her that he was joking before she let the half-formed idea die. His eyes were like flint. Right now, there didn’t seem much ex about this cop. She could imagine suspects coughing faster than they ever did on half-hour television dramas.

  “No,” she said. “That isn’t possible.”

  “I assure you it is. When did you last hold a gun?”

  “Ages ago,” she whispered. “Three months. More. Who’s been murdered?”

  “Whose gun were you holding?”

  “I don’t know. Aidan, you’ve no right to question me.”

  “Maybe not. But for everyone’s sake, you need to start talking to me. Why did you come here, Chrissy?”

  She blinked at the change of tack. “To Ardknocken? Because Glenn asked me to help run things.”

  “Does it pay well?”

  She scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows on her desk. “Then why leave a respected, permanent job for this?”

  Hurt and disappointment battered at her. “You know why.”

  “Your attack? But you went back to work.”

  She closed her eyes, unsure whether she was trying to blot out the memories or Aidan’s pitiless face. “Yes, I went back to work. And then Glenn came to see me and asked me to help get this place on its feet.”

  “So you took a huge pay cut in order to work and live with a house full of ex-convicts?”

  She opened her eyes with defiance. “Yes. That’s what I did. What, are you still imagining some scam? You think I did it for the proceeds of secret crime, which I’ve hidden under my bedroom floorboards? Not quite sure what crimes we could commit up here in the middle of nowhere, but I’m sure you’ve got that worked out too.”

  She drew in a breath that shuddered with anger and bitterness. “You want chapter and verse, ex-cop? I went back to work at my old job because I wouldn’t let the bastard who raped me win. But the truth was, he’d already won. He and his lawyer did a great hatchet job on my reputation. He went down, but some of his mud stuck to me. I got the looks from my colleagues, the knowing sniggers and disrespectful, if not downright filthy, remarks from my clients. I put up with that day in, day out, for months. Until Glenn offered me a way out. Never once, by word or gesture, did he even mention what had happened to me, but he must have known. So yes, I grabbed it as a lifeline. I’d been offered a job. I didn’t have to admit I’d been driven to look for one, so it felt like my choice to go. Not his. Glenn promised me respect, and I got it. If I hadn’t, I’d have walked, because that would have been my choice too.”

  Curiously, she thought his face had whitened, but she was far too churned up to care.

  “So where were you when you ‘held’ this gun?” His voice wasn’t rough or aggressive, but Chrissy had had enough. She was shaking. All the warmth of their last encounter had vanished into hurt and fear.

  “Glasgow,” she said desperately.

  “You’re lying. Where did you go yesterday after I met you on the beach?”

  His clear suspicion was like physical pain. And he was right. She was lying, and it didn’t matter. She’d talked so far to try to drive suspicion away from Ardknocken House, but the injustice of this, of Aidan, of all people, imagining he had the right to treat her like a criminal, had gone too far.

  She sprang to her feet. “I don’t need to tell you my movements. I don’t need to tell you anything. Unless you’re going to tell me what’s going on, you can get the hell out. Now.”

  “Does the name Henry Gowan mean anything to you?”

  “Nothing,” she said with relief.

  “Don’t you want to think about that?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to change your answers about the gun?”

  “No. I want to know by what authority you imagine you can interrogate me in my own office.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Glenn’s most dangerous voice said from the doorway. “I want you to tell me.”

  Chrissy closed her eyes. Now, surely, it was as bad as it could be.

  Closer, Glenn said, “Izzy was looking for you.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind,” Chrissy snapped, opening her eyes to see Aidan’s gaze flitting from her to Glenn and back. “This is nothing to do with you, Glenn. Go away.”

  She turned to glare at him, but over her head, he seemed to have locked his gaze to Aidan’s. Some annoying, male communication must have passed silently between them because Aidan uncrossed his legs and stood up.

  “All right,” Aidan said. “Lead on.” And before her eyes, they both walked out of the room.

  She stared after them. “What the…?”

  Glenn Brody led him straight out the front door. Aidan almost expected the ex-con to jump him, and curled his fists ready to defend himself. In truth, he wanted to hit someone—mostly himself—because of what he’d done to Chrissy. But Brody just kept walking, striding out over the mud towards the hill.

  Aidan kept pace with him. And went with instinctive honesty. “Is the gun yours?”

  Brody shook his head.

  “But she’s covering for you, isn’t she?”

  Brody nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because firearms on the premises will get us shut down. Might even land some of us back inside. Where did you find it?”

  “The gun? On a beach beside the murdered body of one Glasgow gangster. Henry Gowan by name. Know it?”

  Brody shook his head. “I’m out of the loop. I don’t know the new neds in town.”

  It might have been a lie. Brody had been lying to the police since childhood. He was probably extremely good at it.

  Brody turned his head and met Aidan’s gaze. “She didn’t kill him. She isn’t capable of it.”

  “You don’t know that. No one ever knows that. Where was she yesterday?”

  “Here. Mostly.”

  “Did you see her yesterday evening?”

  “No, but everyone else will have. They all had dinner together in the dining room.”

  Alibi. Aidan let his breath out in a rush.

  Brody said, “You’re still a cop, aren’t you?”

  Aidan’s lips twisted. It didn’t feel like a smile, broken or otherwise. “Not for much longer. I suppose it’s too much to ask you to keep it to yourself.”

  “You mean I’m not your prime suspect?”

  “You’re not stupid enough to leave a gun implicating Chrissy.” Aidan glanced at him. “I need to know about the gun.”

  “She got rid of it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she realized the dangers.”

  “Then you knew about it?”

  Brody hesitated, then nodded. “I found out. We had a…situation. About three months ago, Izzy’s ex turned up.” Brody groaned. “Fuck, do you know who Izzy’s ex is?”

  Aidan blinked. “No.”

  “Raymond Kemp.”

  Aidan couldn’t help it. He laughed. Raymond Kemp, respected financier recently revealed as one of Britain’s biggest bosses of organized crime. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough.

  “He wasn’t interested in the project, or any of us. He just wanted to get control back over Izzy who knew too much. But he threatened Chrissy, who pulled her gun on him. Considering what she’d been through, wouldn’t you? But there were no shootings, no deaths. And Chrissy agreed to get rid of t
he gun.”

  “How did she do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Brody said, with so much frustration that Aidan believed him.

  “I need to know where all your guys were yesterday afternoon and evening.”

  “Oh shite, don’t ask me that,” Brody said. “None of them are killers. I wouldn’t have them here if I didn’t trust them not to get us shut down.”

  “Good citizens help the police.”

  “You’re not the police, remember?”

  “Then no one’ll mind you helping me out.”

  A breath of something like laughter issued from Brody. “What’s it to do with? Why did this guy die?”

  “Drugs,” Aidan said. “Contaminated drugs. Three people have died in Glasgow, two in Dundee, and we’ve no idea how the stuff’s coming in or who’s behind it. Gowan was our only suspect, and he was a small fish.”

  “And you thought he was connected with us.”

  Aidan didn’t deny it. There was no point. Whether or not Brody was involved in this—and increasingly Aidan thought not—he’d have worked this much out for himself before long.

  Brody strode along beside him, swiped at a low-hanging tree branch. “I wish you’d come to me rather than Chrissy.”

  Aidan looked up at the sky. It was beginning to get dark again. “They’re her fingerprints, not yours. I wanted to talk to her first.”

  Glenn’s head snapped round. “You were warning her…”

  “There are always excuses,” Aidan said vaguely, “for what people do.”

  Brody said, “You’re the oddest polis I ever met.”

  Aidan turned back towards the house. “I’m the worst polis you ever met.”

  Chapter Six She put music on in the office so that she wouldn’t listen for Aidan coming back. She hoped Glenn wouldn’t hit him… But then, he looked pretty capable of looking after himself. She refused to think beyond that, but staring at Thierry’s costings for new computer equipment just didn’t hold her attention. Words and letters danced in front of her eyes.

  Then, abruptly, Glenn appeared in the chair opposite, and reluctantly, she took off her earphones.

  “He’s not after us for illegal firearms. He’ll let it go. But you need to tell him what you did with it, because some bastard used it to kill a bam he was after.”