of the doggedness that had instigated his matching of Karen Pirie with the twenty-five-year-old murder of Rosemary Duff. With a few words of encouragement to Parhatka, Lawson set off for his own office on the third floor.
He settled himself behind his expansive desk and felt a niggle of worry that things might not work out as he had hoped in the cold case review. It would never be enough merely to say they'd done their best. They needed at least one result. He sipped his sweet, strong tea and reached for his in-tray. He scanned a couple of memos, ticking off his initials at the top of the pages and consigning them to the internal mail tray. The next item was a letter from a member of the public, addressed to him personally. That was unusual in itself. But its contents jerked James Lawson to attention in his chair.
12 Carlton Way
St. Monans
Fife
Assistant Chief Constable James Lawson
Fife Constabulary Headquarters
Detroit Road
Glenrothes
KY6 2RJ
8 November 2003
Dear ACC Lawson,
I read with interest a newspaper report that Fife Police have instigated a cold case review on unsolved murders. I presume that, among these cases, you will be looking again at the murder of Rosemary Duff. I would like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss this case. I have information which, while perhaps not directly relevant, may contribute to your understanding of the background.
Please do not dismiss this letter as the work of some crank. I have reason to believe that the police were not aware of this information at the time of the original investigation.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Yours sincerely,
Graham Macfadyen
Graham Macfadyen dressed carefully. He wanted to make the right impression on ACC Lawson. He'd been afraid the policeman would write off his letter as the work of some attention-seeking nutter. But to his surprise, he'd had a reply by return of post. What was even more surprising was that Lawson himself had written, asking him to call to arrange an appointment. He'd expected the ACC would pass his letter on to whichever of his minions was dealing with the case. It impressed him that the police were clearly taking the matter so seriously. When he'd rung, Lawson had suggested they meet at Macfadyen's home in St. Monans. "More informal than here at headquarters," he'd said. Macfadyen suspected that Lawson wanted to see him on his home turf, the better to make an assessment of his mental state. But he had been happy to accept the suggestion, not least because he always hated negotiating the labyrinth of roundabouts which Glenrothes seemed to consist of.
Macfadyen had spent the previous evening cleaning his living room. He always thought of himself as a relatively tidy man, and it invariably surprised him that there was so much to clear up on those occasions involving the presence of another in his home. Perhaps that was because he so seldom took the opportunity to extend his hospitality. He'd never seen the point of dating and, if he was honest, he didn't feel the lack of a woman in his life. Dealing with his colleagues seemed to use up all the energy he had for social interaction, and he seldom mixed with them out of working hours; just enough not to stand out. He'd learned as a child it was always better to be invisible than to be noticed. But no matter how much time he spent in software development, he never tired of working with the machines. Whether it was surfing the net, exchanging information in newsgroups or playing multi-user games online, Macfadyen was happiest when there was a barrier of silicon between him and the rest of the world. The computer never judged, never found him wanting. People thought computers were complicated and hard to understand, but they were wrong. Computers were predictable and safe. Computers did not let you down. You knew exactly where you were with a computer.
He studied himself in the mirror. He'd learned that blending in was the perfect way to avoid unwanted attention. Today he wanted to look relaxed, average, unthreatening. Not weird. He knew most people thought anyone who worked in IT was automatically weird, and he didn't want Lawson to jump to the same conclusion. He wasn't weird. Just different. But that was definitely something he didn't want Lawson to pick up on. Slip under their radar, that was the way to get what you wanted.
He'd settled on a pair of Levis and a Guinness polo shirt. Nothing there to