Pirie,’ he said, opening the outside door. ‘And DC Murray. Come away in. Sorry about the doorbell, the wife’s a big opera fan.’ He thrust a hand out and shook with each of them as they crowded into the porch. ‘I’m Andrew Diuguid. Call me Andrew.’ Even in those few words, it was clear he was a Glaswegian who had not let time or rank knock any of the edges off his accent.
He ushered them into a wide hallway whose walls gleamed a white that was almost luminous. Laminate wood floor, bright rugs from, Karen guessed, IKEA. ‘In to your right there,’ he said.
Karen and Jason obeyed, walking into a living room with a picture window that ran the length of one wall. A spectacularvista of sea and sky and the distant island of Arran dominated the room. It was a few seconds before Karen took in anything else – furniture chosen for comfort rather than elegance; a couple of bookcases, one packed with biographies and military history, the other with historical fiction; a big flat-screen TV dwarfed to insignificance by the view; the faint vanilla smell of air freshener.
‘Sit down, make yourselves at home. My wife’s just putting the kettle on. Tea or coffee?’
He took the drinks orders and retreated briefly. When he returned, Karen and Jason were arranged so that he couldn’t keep them both in his eyeline at once. It was a way of keeping the interviewee off balance she’d learned over the years. And off balance meant less guarded. She had no idea whether Andrew Diuguid had anything to hide, but it was safer to work on the assumption that everybody did.
He settled himself in a generous armchair and placed his hands palm down on his thighs. He looked comfortable and in control. Karen wondered how hard it would be to put him off balance. ‘So, Tina McDonald. They’re always the ones that stay with you,’ he said. ‘The ones that got away. The ones where we never got the answer.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Karen said. ‘They drift through your dreams when you least expect it.’
‘Aye, but you’re lucky. You get to be the one that closes the cases we couldn’t manage. You get to tell folk what really happened to the ones they love.’ His mouth gave a rueful twist. ‘So, how can I help you, Chief Inspector?’
Karen was about to respond when the door swung open, propelled by a generous denim-clad hip. Mrs Diuguid’s hands were occupied by a large tray containing three oversized pottery mugs and a plate piled with scones, butter and jam oozing out at the sides. Karen eyed the scones with desire, but she wasn’t about to give any hostages to fortune. Jasonjumped up to help Mrs Duiguid but she tutted him aside and put the plate on a side table. She handed round the drinks with a cheery smile, as if the presence of two strange detectives in her living room was a treat. ‘Help yourselves to scones,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘I’ll get out of your way.’
‘Delia made those mugs herself,’ Diuguid said proudly, raising the clumsy terracotta object in a toast. And her lumpy jumper too, Karen would have bet.
‘It’s good to have a hobby,’ Jason said, reaching for a scone.
Already wearying of small talk, Karen weighed in with, ‘So, I’ve taken a pass through the investigation reports and, on the face of it, your team dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s.’
‘Thank you. I like to think I ran a tight ship. But before we get into the nitty-gritty, are you in a position to tell me what your new evidence is? DC Murray here said you were conducting a cold case review on Tina. But I know how these things go. It takes a pretty solid piece of new evidence to get you to dust off a twenty-year-old murder.’
Clearly Diuguid hadn’t lost his edge in retirement. ‘We’ve got a familial DNA hit,’ she said. ‘But it’s not entirely straightforward. I can’t tell you more than that, I’m sorry.’
‘I thought it must be something like that. Either that or a death-bed
He ushered them into a wide hallway whose walls gleamed a white that was almost luminous. Laminate wood floor, bright rugs from, Karen guessed, IKEA. ‘In to your right there,’ he said.
Karen and Jason obeyed, walking into a living room with a picture window that ran the length of one wall. A spectacularvista of sea and sky and the distant island of Arran dominated the room. It was a few seconds before Karen took in anything else – furniture chosen for comfort rather than elegance; a couple of bookcases, one packed with biographies and military history, the other with historical fiction; a big flat-screen TV dwarfed to insignificance by the view; the faint vanilla smell of air freshener.
‘Sit down, make yourselves at home. My wife’s just putting the kettle on. Tea or coffee?’
He took the drinks orders and retreated briefly. When he returned, Karen and Jason were arranged so that he couldn’t keep them both in his eyeline at once. It was a way of keeping the interviewee off balance she’d learned over the years. And off balance meant less guarded. She had no idea whether Andrew Diuguid had anything to hide, but it was safer to work on the assumption that everybody did.
He settled himself in a generous armchair and placed his hands palm down on his thighs. He looked comfortable and in control. Karen wondered how hard it would be to put him off balance. ‘So, Tina McDonald. They’re always the ones that stay with you,’ he said. ‘The ones that got away. The ones where we never got the answer.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Karen said. ‘They drift through your dreams when you least expect it.’
‘Aye, but you’re lucky. You get to be the one that closes the cases we couldn’t manage. You get to tell folk what really happened to the ones they love.’ His mouth gave a rueful twist. ‘So, how can I help you, Chief Inspector?’
Karen was about to respond when the door swung open, propelled by a generous denim-clad hip. Mrs Diuguid’s hands were occupied by a large tray containing three oversized pottery mugs and a plate piled with scones, butter and jam oozing out at the sides. Karen eyed the scones with desire, but she wasn’t about to give any hostages to fortune. Jasonjumped up to help Mrs Duiguid but she tutted him aside and put the plate on a side table. She handed round the drinks with a cheery smile, as if the presence of two strange detectives in her living room was a treat. ‘Help yourselves to scones,’ she said, heading for the door. ‘I’ll get out of your way.’
‘Delia made those mugs herself,’ Diuguid said proudly, raising the clumsy terracotta object in a toast. And her lumpy jumper too, Karen would have bet.
‘It’s good to have a hobby,’ Jason said, reaching for a scone.
Already wearying of small talk, Karen weighed in with, ‘So, I’ve taken a pass through the investigation reports and, on the face of it, your team dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s.’
‘Thank you. I like to think I ran a tight ship. But before we get into the nitty-gritty, are you in a position to tell me what your new evidence is? DC Murray here said you were conducting a cold case review on Tina. But I know how these things go. It takes a pretty solid piece of new evidence to get you to dust off a twenty-year-old murder.’
Clearly Diuguid hadn’t lost his edge in retirement. ‘We’ve got a familial DNA hit,’ she said. ‘But it’s not entirely straightforward. I can’t tell you more than that, I’m sorry.’
‘I thought it must be something like that. Either that or a death-bed
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