a liar. ‘We won’t know for sure until after the post mortem, but yes, it looks that way.’
Duff smashed his fist into the dashboard. ‘Bastard,’ he roared. As the car fishtailed up the hill towards Strathkinness, he turned in his seat. ‘Whoever did this, he better fucking hope you catch him before I do. I swear to God, I’ll kill him.’
The house felt violated, Alex thought as he opened the door into the self-contained unit the Laddies fi’ Kirkcaldy had turned into their personal fiefdom. Cavendish and Greenhalgh, the two English former public schoolboys they shared the house with, spent as little time there as possible, an arrangement that suited everyone perfectly. They’d already gone home for the holidays, but today the braying accents that sounded so stridently posh to Alex would have been far more welcome than the police presence that seemed to dominate the very air he breathed.
Maclennan at his heels, Alex ran upstairs to the room where he slept. ‘Don’t forget, we want everything you’re wearing. That includes underwear,’ Maclennan reminded him as Alex pushed the door open. The detective stood on the threshold, looking mildly puzzled at the sight of two beds in the tiny room that had clearly been designed for only one. ‘Who do you share with?’ he demanded.
Before Alex could reply, Ziggy’s cool tones cut through the atmosphere. ‘He thinks we’re all queer for each other,’ he said sarcastically. ‘And that of course is why we murdered Rosie. Never mind the complete absence of logic, that’s what’s going on in his mind. Actually, Mr Maclennan, the explanation is far more mundane.’ Ziggy gestured over his shoulder at the closed door across the landing. ‘Take a look,’ he said.
Curious, Maclennan seized Ziggy’s invitation. Alex took the opportunity of his turned back to strip himself hastily, grabbing at his dressing gown to cover his embarrassment. He followed the other two across the landing and couldn’t help a smug smile when he saw Maclennan’s bemused expression.
‘You see?’ Ziggy said. ‘There’s simply no room for a full drum kit, a Farfisa organ, two guitars and a bed in one of these rabbit hutches. So Weird and Gilly drew the short straws and ended up sharing.’
‘You boys are in a group, then?’ Maclennan sounded like his father, Alex thought with a pang of affection that surprised him.
‘We’ve been making music together for about five years,’ Ziggy said.
‘What? You’re going to be the next Beatles?’ Maclennan couldn’t let it go.
Ziggy cast his eyes heavenwards. ‘There are two reasons why we’re not going to be the next Beatles. For one thing, we play purely for our own pleasure. Unlike the Rezillos, we have no desire to be on Top of the Pops. The second reason is talent. We’re perfectly competent musicians, but we haven’t got an original musical thought between us. We used to call ourselves Muse until we realized we didn’t have one to call our own. Now we call ourselves the Combine.’
‘The Combine?’ Maclennan echoed faintly, taken aback by Ziggy’s sudden access of confidentiality.
‘Again, two reasons. Combine harvesters gather in everybody else’s crop. Like us. And because of the Jam track of the same name. We just don’t stand out from the crowd.’
Maclennan turned away, shaking his head. ‘We’ll have to search in there as well, you know.’
Ziggy snorted. ‘The only lawbreaking you’ll find evidence of in there is breach of copyright,’ he said. ‘Look, we’ve all co-operated with you and your officers. When are you going to leave us in peace?’
‘Just as soon as we’ve bagged all your clothes. We’d also like any diaries, appointment books, address books.’
‘Alex, give the man what he wants. We’ve all handed our stuff over. The sooner we get our space back, the sooner we can get our heads straight.’ Ziggy turned back to Maclennan. ‘You see, what you and your minions seem to have taken no notice of is the fact that we have had a terrible experience. We stumbled on the bleeding, dying body of a young woman that we actually knew, however slightly.’ His voice cracked, revealing the fragility of his cool surface. ‘If we seem odd to you, Mr Maclennan, you should bear in mind that it might have something to do with the fact that we’ve had our heads royally fucked up tonight.’
Ziggy pushed past the policeman and took the stairs at a run, wheeling into the kitchen and slamming the door behind him. Maclennan’s narrow face took on a pinched look around the mouth.
‘He’s right,’ Alex said mildly.
‘There’s a family up in Strathkinness who’ve had a far worse night than you, son. And it’s my job to find some answers for them. If that means treading on your tender corns, that’s just tough. Now, let’s have your clothes. And the other stuff.’
He stood on the threshold while Alex piled his filthy clothes into a bin liner. ‘You need my shoes as well?’ Alex said, holding them up, his face worried.
‘Everything,’ Maclennan said, making a mental note to tell forensics to take special care with Gilbey’s footwear.
‘Only, I’ve not got another decent pair. Just baseball boots, and they’re neither use nor ornament in weather like this.’
‘My heart bleeds. In the bag, son.’
Alex threw his shoes on top of the clothes. ‘You’re wasting your time here, you know. Every minute you spend concentrating on us is a minute lost. We’ve got nothing to hide. We didn’t kill Rosie.’
‘As far as I’m aware, nobody has said you did. But the way you guys keep going on about it is starting to make me wonder.’ Maclennan grabbed the bag from Alex and took the battered university diary he proffered. ‘We’ll be back, Mr Gilbey. Don’t go anywhere.’
‘We’re supposed to be going home today,’ Alex protested.
Maclennan stopped two steps down the stairs. ‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ he said suspiciously.
‘I don’t suppose you asked. We’re due to get the bus this afternoon. We’ve all got holiday jobs starting tomorrow. Well, all except Ziggy.’ His mouth twitched in a sardonic smile. ‘His dad believes students need to work on their books in the school holidays, not stacking shelves in Safeway.’
Maclennan considered. Suspicions based mostly on his gut didn’t justify demanding that they remained in St Andrews. It wasn’t as if they were about to flee the jurisdiction. Kirkcaldy was only a short drive away, after all. ‘You can go home,’ he said finally. ‘Just as long as you don’t mind me and my team turning up on your parents’ doorsteps.’
Alex watched him leave, dismay dragging him further into depression. Just what he needed to make the festive season go with a swing.
The events of the night had caught up with Weird at least. When Alex went upstairs after a glum cup of coffee with Ziggy, Weird was in his usual position. Flat on his back, his gangling legs and arms thrown out from under the bedclothes, he shattered the relative peace of the morning with grumbling snores that mutated every now and again into a high-pitched whistle. Normally, Alex had no trouble sleeping to the strident soundtrack. His bedroom at home backed on to the railway tracks, so he’d never been accustomed to night silence.
