Hold Hands in the Dark Read Free Page A

at the company. In the current climate, we need to investigate this death like any other on our books.’
                  ‘So we may be looking at an incidence of corporate manslaughter?’ DI Phil Boag suggested. ‘In which case, we need to dig back into the shipyard’s safety records, their employee accident and health reports, that kind of thing.’
                  ‘Aye, Phil. Can you and Andy make a start on that?’
                  Dani turned her head. ‘Alice, I’d like you and DC Clifton to interview the wife. But make sure you’re diplomatic about it. She needs to be confident that we’re taking her allegations deadly seriously.’ 
     

Chapter 3
     
     
    D C Dan Clifton drove along the north bank of the River Clyde into the busy centre of Partick. They followed the Dumbarton Road until the grand villas had fallen away to be replaced by the tattier post-war housing that Dan associated with this area.
                  The terraced property they stopped outside was more neatly kept than most on its street. Alice climbed out of the squad car first and approached the front door.
                  A woman in her early fifties answered.
                  She wasn’t as the detectives had expected. Nancy MacRae was tall and slender, her wavy chestnut brown hair reaching her shoulders and her face lightly made-up and attractive.
                  ‘You’d better come away in,’ the woman suggested, in a thick Glaswegian accent. 
                  The officers were led into a bright kitchen extension at the rear. The vaulted ceiling let in a stream of natural light. Nancy moved towards a fancy looking kettle and flicked the switch.
                  They introduced themselves.
                  Alice asked, ‘are you on your own?’ She made the enquiry warily, not sure what kind of reception they were going to receive.
                  ‘I was offered family liaison, if that’s what you’re driving at, but I refused. The very last thing I want right now is a stranger in my house.’
                  ‘Aye, I can understand that. But a relative or a friend can often be a good companion to have during the first few days of a bereavement.’
                  Nancy’s face creased into a tolerant smile. ‘I’m certain you mean well, Detective Sergeant. But I’m not a great one for ‘tea and sympathy’, not when there’s work to be done. I’ve been in this situation before. I won’t do what my mother did.’
                  Dan crinkled his brow. ‘How do you mean, Mrs MacRae?’
                  Nancy brought three mugs out of a cupboard. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t discovered who I am yet? And you people call yourselves detectives?’ The woman chuckled humourlessly.
                  ‘You’d better enlighten us then,’ Alice replied, equally dryly.
                  ‘My maiden name is Duff. My father was Alec Duff.’
                  This meant absolutely nothing to Alice Mann. Her expression remained blank. But Dan had recognised the name. He was searching around in his brain for the context.
                  Nancy filled a cafétiere with coffee. ‘There was a time when my father’s name would have been on the lips of every member of the polis in this city.’
                  Dan suddenly nodded his head in recognition. ‘Alexander Duff, the General Secretary of the MWSD. My pa was a member, when he worked down at the docks for a wee while. Your father was a hero to him.’
                  Alice nudged his elbow, not liking to be left in the dark.
                  Dan turned towards his superior in rank. ‘The Marine Workers, Shipbuilding and Designers Union. Mr Duff led the organisation during the seventies. He’d started out as a welder by