Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(60)

‘Now hang on a minute.’

‘No, you hang on, Mr Fallon. Now the question is, do you recognise the Garry Keirns that your predecessor Andy Lucas seemed so very fond of?’

‘No.’ He dipped his chin. ‘I don’t recognise him. It looks like the kind of reference that would be written with a distinct purpose in mind.’

‘Such as?’

‘I don’t know, to help a planning application or something. It’s glowing so much it’s incandescent. How could it represent anyone accurately?’

Valentine picked up the reference and returned it to the folder. ‘Thank you, Mr Fallon.’ The two men appraised each other over the table for a moment. ‘Why do you think Andy Lucas would put his name to lies about Garry Keirns?’

‘Oh come on.’

‘You’ve said yourself the reference is inaccurate.’

‘Yes but lies? He’s dead now, you know.’

‘Suicide, wasn’t it?’

‘I believe so.’

‘You don’t sound so sure. Created quite a job opportunity for you, Mr Lucas’s death, didn’t it?’

Fallon shook his head and let his gaze rest on the floor. ‘This really is the most ridiculous . . .’

‘You must have been very grateful to Andrew Lucas. He handed you the largest majority in the country when he died.’

‘You’ll be saying he was responsible for my holding the seat for all those years next.’

Valentine leaned forward. ‘Not at all, Mr Fallon. I’m quite sure it takes a particularly skilled kind of individual to hold political office for that length of time.’

Fallon stood up. ‘I’m not staying here to be insulted, even by insinuation. Either charge me with whatever trumped-up piece of jaywalking legislation you have on me, or release me now.’

DS McCormack rose. ‘Please sit down, Mr Fallon.’

‘No. This is ludicrous. I’ve had enough. What the hell does any of this have to do with the death of two boys thirty-odd years ago?’

Valentine raised his voice. ‘I was just coming to that. Now sit down please.’

Fallon drew back his seat again. ‘This better be good.’

‘You were a patron of Columba House for Boys in Cumnock I believe?’

‘Yes. But I wasn’t alone.’

‘No, that’s true. Two of the people we’ve been discussing already – Garry Keirns and Andrew Lucas – were also patrons.’

‘What of it?’

‘You’ll be aware of the tawdry demise that met Columba House.’

‘I could hardly ignore it, being as it was in my constituency.’

‘True. And given that you have already demonstrated your willingness to extend services above and beyond the call of duty to your constituents, perhaps you’d like to tell me what favours were asked of you at the time of the abuse scandal?’

‘Absolutely none.’ He tapped his index finger on the tabletop. ‘And I say that categorically.’

‘And what about Andy Lucas?’

‘What about him?’

‘He committed suicide soon after the investigation that closed Columba House.’

‘I don’t follow your tangent, Detective.’

‘No. Well, let me explain it for you. There were twenty-nine Columba boys abused by – we’re led to believe – four men. I think that’s an imbalance. Maybe some got away.’

Fallon cleared all expression from his face. His cheekbones sat firm and prominent above an unmoving mouth.

‘I suppose what I’d like to ask you now, Mr Fallon, is about Garry Keirns. Does he always come to you with his problems?’

Fallon shook his head.

Valentine opened the file again and removed the photograph of the boy and his abuser taken from beneath the floorboards in Keirns’s former home. The DI stared at the picture for a few seconds before handing it over to Fallon.

‘Do you recognise the man in this photograph, Mr Fallon?’





39

Fallon bent over the picture, bunching his brows. He stared solidly and dispassionately before picking up his glasses once more and drawing the picture towards him. He reviewed the scene closely, his broad forehead creasing as his gaze roved.

Valentine recorded his reaction, waiting for any telling signs that might betray Fallon. His breathing was steady, his pallor unchanged, but as he removed his glasses and pushed away the picture his voice trailed into a dull monotone.

‘I’d like to – I mean, can we have an interval?’ said Fallon.

‘Why?’

‘I need time to . . .’ He smoothed the edges of his lips with his finger and thumb.

Valentine reached for the photograph. He held it up. ‘Has something here jogged your memory, Mr Fallon?’

‘No, that’s not it.’

‘Don’t tell me it’s your conscience?’

Fallon looked away, sinking into his chair. He appeared shrunken before the officers; his ferocity diminished.

Valentine slapped down the picture. ‘You know who this is – don’t you?’

The DI rose from his chair and went to stand next to Fallon. The former MP raised a dismissive hand, but the gesture said more about how his energy had been sapped. He became twitchy, scratching the corner of his nose then touching the seam of his jumper before staring at his hands like he didn’t know what to do next with them.