Dark is the Day

by Tana Collins

  Carruthers turned to the female SOCO who had given him the paper overalls. ‘Who found the body?’

  One of the younger SOCOs answered. Carruthers vaguely recognised her as well. ‘An elderly couple walking their dog. They’ve given their statements already.’

  Carruthers stood facing McTavish. A look of deep concern was in the eyes of the DCI who had her arms folded. She shivered. Carruthers couldn’t tell if it was with the cold or adrenaline. And when she spoke it was obvious that the same thought had crossed both their minds. ‘It can’t be John Campbell. He’s still in police custody.’

  ‘Could it be a copycat?’ He didn’t take his eyes off the victim as he spoke.

  ‘Perhaps, but if it was, how would they know about the severing of the finger?’ McTavish wiped away the last of her lipstick and put the soiled handkerchief back in her handbag. ‘Can’t think of any other way. The information must already be in the public domain. These things have a habit of getting out despite our best efforts. Someone must have leaked it.’

  ‘Not someone from the station, surely?’ Even saying it, Carruthers felt a tightening of stomach muscles.

  ‘Let’s hope not, otherwise they’ll find themselves on a serious disciplinary.’

  Carruthers went red. The mention of a disciplinary brought back bad memories, but now wasn’t the time to think of his own previous shortcomings.

  ‘The other option,’ continued McTavish, ‘is that Rachel Abbie’s murderer isn’t John Campbell. We have to face the fact we might have the wrong man in custody.’

  McTavish retrieved her mobile from her black shoulder bag. ‘Well, I want him to stay in the cells overnight. I’m not releasing him till morning. We can’t get him for what’s happened tonight, but he’s still a person of interest for the Rachel Abbie murder, if for no other reason than the harassment we found on her phone and the fact he’s clearly a stalker. And, to be honest, he doesn’t have much of an alibi.’ She looked at her phone, then put it away again. ‘Let him stew it out at the station. Talking of the station, let’s get back. There’s nothing we can do here. Get on the phone and get the rest of CID in. We’ll have a brief in an hour. Jim, we need to handle this extremely sensitively.’

  She turned to the nearest SOCO. ‘I want a finger-tip search of the area. We’re looking for a sharp knife or blade of some description, the girl’s shoes and a severed finger.’

  One of the SOCOS exploded with laughter. ‘Fingertip search when you’re looking for a severed finger. Very good, that one.’

  Carruthers felt a moment of irritation listening to this inappropriate banter, but he had to remind himself that humour was a coping mechanism for a lot of people in this line of work. He remembered their very own Dr Mackie once commenting on how he was looking forward to having a nice bit of roast beef for lunch when seeing the body of an elderly man who had been nibbled by animals. It had turned his stomach but then he’d never had a strong constitution.

  ‘Just get on with it, will you,’ snapped McTavish. Clearly the DCI didn’t have much of a sense of humour at the scene either.

  Carruthers nodded. He was already punching in Fletcher’s mobile number.

  ‘We also need someone to inform the parents of Sarah Torr and get a formal ID done.’

  Carruthers nodded. When a tired-sounding Fletcher answered her phone he was aware he was barking out his instructions.

  Liu had finished taking photographs and was packing his equipment away. He was still silent. Carruthers knew nothing of Liu’s private life. Perhaps he had a teenage daughter of his own. He realised how little he knew about him. He didn’t even know if the man was married.

  ‘Are you okay to drive, Sandra?’ Carruthers noticed his DCI was still holding her earrings, which were now clenched in her white-knuckled hand. Her face had gone even paler.

  ‘My daughter’s fifteen,’ she said. ‘This girl’s not much older.’ Now Carruthers understood why it had affected her so much. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose a child in such a terrible way.

  His new boss looked distracted but then seemed to pull herself together. ‘I’ve been drinking, Jim. I came by taxi. I’ll need you to drive me to the station.’

  ‘No problem.’ He wondered how much she’d had. There was a glazed look in her eyes, and now her colour was back, her cheeks were ruddy. Or maybe it was just the shock. And the cold.

  ‘I’m not drunk if that’s what you are wondering. I’ve just had a few glasses of red,’ she finished. ‘Takes a hell of a lot more than that. But I wouldn’t chance driving even on one. We all know the drink drive laws here in Scotland. It’s just not worth it.’

  Carruthers knew Superintendent Bingham kept a bottle of whisky in his office at the station. He’d often wondered if the super had ever driven himself home over the limit. Since DCI Sandra McTavish had come into the station at Castletown he’d had less to do with Bingham. He’d heard on the grapevine the man had finally split up from his wife, Irene. He hadn’t felt the need to go and console him.

  Chapter 19

  There were about a dozen officers all crammed into the incident room back at the station. Tension hung heavy in the air and a feeling of uneasiness pervaded.

  ‘Dougie’s still at the hospital with his wife. He’ll be here soon,’ volunteered Brown.

  McTavish gazed round the room as she spoke. ‘Other than Dougie then we have a full complement of staff.’ She sipped from a plastic cup of water. Her eyes still looked a little bit glazed. Carruthers wondered just how much she really had drunk. Even Bingham was back at work, albeit sitting at the back, letting McTavish do her job as senior investigating officer.

  McTavish addressed the room. ‘What we need to know is what this nutter’s motivation is and how he selects the girls he chooses to attack. We also need for someone to officially ID the body, although we think the victim’s Sarah Torr.’

  Fletcher lifted a hand. ‘I’ll get onto that.’

  McTavish nodded. ‘Her parents have already been informed.’

  ‘How confident are we the perpetrator’s a man?’ asked Brown. Carruthers glanced over at him. He could smell the cloying cigarette smoke from where he was sitting. As far as Carruthers knew Willie Brown was single. He wondered if he’d been out with friends. More likely he’d been nursing a few pints on his own down at his local over a copy of the Scottish Sun.

  The door opened and in walked Dougie Harris. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he mumbled. Carruthers hadn’t seen much of him recently and he was shocked at how he looked. Pale of face, eyes bloodshot, stubble on the chin. But then, sitting at the hospital bedside of your very ill partner could do that.

  ‘How’s your wife, Dougie?’ asked one of the DSs.

  Harris just mumbled an answer. He looked as miserable as hell. Not good then, thought Carruthers.

  ‘I’d like to bring a profiler in,’ said McTavish. She glanced towards Bingham when she said this, who was still standing at the back of the room. She tugged at the hem of her clingy dress, which had risen above her knee. Carruthers wondered if she felt uncomfortable. He waited for Dougie Harris to start arguing with McTavish about why they should need a profiler, but the man was ominously quiet. He knew she’d struggle to get Bingham to agree to it. No doubt he’d cite the station budget.

  ‘You know the budget won’t stretch to a profiler, Sandra.’ This from Bingham.

  How predictable, thought Carruthers. But then, to a large extent, even Bingham’s hands were tied. The recent cutbacks affecting the police had been brutal.

  Carruthers watched McTavish take a deep breath and draw herself to her full height. ‘I think it would be useful.’

  Fletcher raised a tentative hand. ‘I think there’s some merit in bringing in a profiler. We’ve done it before.’

  Harris snorted. ‘Waste of time.’

  However irritating it was to hear Harris say that, it was almost a relief that he was acting more like his old self. Carruthers glanced at the reddening Fletcher. She clearly did
n’t feel the same way. From the very first moment he had arrived at the station these two had been having a constant go at each other. Occasionally it was amusing. Most of the time it was just irritating. He hoped she would cut Harris some slack now he had an ill wife to look after.

  Fletcher whipped round to face Harris, her anger rising. ‘Okay, so how would you go about catching him, then?’ She ignored the warning look Carruthers threw her.

  Harris rubbed his nose. ‘Plain clothes police officers. And we set a decoy. That was good enough for us back in the day.’

  ‘It’s bloody dangerous as well,’ said McTavish. ‘I’m not prepared to put any of my officers at risk.’

  Bingham cleared his throat. ‘The budget won’t stretch to bringing in a profiler, Sandra, we’ve got bugger all money in the kitty.’

  McTavish’s cheeks grew as red as her dress. ‘Profiling’s controversial, I grant you, but there are occasions when it’s been used very successfully in the US.’

  ‘Let’s stick to good old-fashioned police work,’ said Bingham. There was a mumble of agreement from Harris.

  ‘And when you mean good old-fashioned police work, I’m assuming you don’t mean set a decoy, like Detective Sergeant Harris suggested?’

  ‘Good lord, no. Far too dangerous.’

  Fletcher sat back and crossed her arms, smiling smugly at Harris, who just snorted again.

  ‘When I suggested profiling, I didn’t mean for it to replace traditional investigative police work.’ McTavish was clearly not to be outdone. Carruthers was beginning to admire her tenacity.

  Bingham remained silent. He looked round the room. ‘Any thoughts?’

  ‘I think Sandra’s idea is a good one,’ said Carruthers. ‘What about asking Dr Greg Ross?’ Fletcher nodded in agreement to Carruthers’ suggestion. They’d used him in one of their last high profile cases, trying to catch the killer, who had been targeting elderly men and killing them in a local nature reserve. Once again, Carruthers remembered the shocking discovery of the balls of cloth rammed to the back of the men’s throats. They’d found Dr Ross pretty useful and he was bound to have something to say on the subject of why the murderer was taking severed fingers.

  Carruthers looked at the DCI as he spoke. ‘His rates were reasonable, if I remember rightly.’

  ‘Well, if his rates are okay, we might just be able to find a small budget from somewhere.’ Bingham clearly realised he was in a minority. ‘Can I task you with giving him a call first thing tomorrow, Andrea – see if he’s free to pop in?’

  Fletcher nodded.

  ‘We need to get results. And quickly. This lunatic has targeted three women in almost a week,’ said Bingham.

  ‘I don’t need to be reminded of that fact,’ growled McTavish. ‘And he seems to be growing more and more violent. Damn. I had my money on it being Campbell.’ She looked at Bingham before she spoke. ‘I suppose we had better get him released, although I still want to lay charges on him for stalking and harassment, but we can’t keep him locked up indefinitely.’

  Bingham looked at his feet before he spoke. He gave an awkward cough. A number of officers looked round at the superintendent. ‘He’s already out, Sandra. I gave the order for him to be released earlier this evening.’

  There was a shocked silence in the incident room. Carruthers’ throat was dry as McTavish spoke. Her voice was low and angry. ‘What time earlier this evening?’

  ‘About 8pm.’

  McTavish was biting her lip. ‘So, he could have gone out and murdered again.’ She had fury in her eyes. Carruthers couldn’t imagine how she felt. Well, he could. He was feeling the same level of shock, disbelief and anger towards their superintendent for keeping them all in the dark.

  Bingham puffed his chest out. As far as Carruthers could see he was going to try to brazen it out. ‘We have no evidence he murdered Rachel Abbie and we had no reason to hold him overnight.’

  ‘He was and still is our leading suspect,’ snapped McTavish. ‘Why did you let him go?’

  Carruthers was all too aware that the DCI had been drinking earlier that evening and prayed she would be able to keep calm and not say something she might regret when sober. Suddenly, he realised he was rooting for McTavish, uniting with her in a common enemy in Bingham. He then reminded himself that there could be nothing more sobering than the awful sight of what they had witnessed that evening.

  McTavish once again managed to voice Carruthers’ thoughts. ‘With all due respect, John Campbell has no proper alibi for the time Rachel Abbie was killed, he’s clearly a stalker and he has previous form for assaulting women. He’s definitely a person of interest and I’m more than disappointed you let him go without consulting me.’

  Bingham’s voice was curt. ‘Sandra, we’ll continue this conversation in my office later. There were extenuating circumstances that you know nothing about.’

  McTavish shot back immediately. ‘What extenuating circumstances, precisely?’

  It was starting to dawn on Carruthers that DCI Sandra McTavish was much more similar to him than he had originally imagined. She was dogged, determined and clearly liked getting her own way. He couldn’t imagine that going down well with Bingham. The superintendent now had two awkward members of staff to deal with rather than just the one. He almost found himself smiling.

  The former DCI looked at McTavish and considered just how much pressure she was under. She’d be cut no slack for being new. She’d be only too aware of how badly swift results were needed. He suddenly felt sorry for her. By rights she was doing his job but it wasn’t her fault he’d fucked things up. He resolved to give her his full cooperation. He shook his head. He still couldn’t believe Bingham had let Campbell go without telling McTavish first. Talk about undermining her. If he had been McTavish, he would be seething. Suddenly, the new DCI’s mobile rang. ‘I need to take that,’ she said, with forced brightness. ‘Won’t be a moment.’

  Carruthers wondered if she was using the ringing phone as a way of calming down and taking a few moments out of a tense situation, but then he reminded himself that she had been receiving personal phone calls at the most inappropriate of times all through the investigation.

  McTavish walked out of the incident room and stood in the doorway. Carruthers glanced down at his mobile. No messages. He was grateful his brother hadn’t tried to call him. He suddenly realised he needed the toilet so he followed her out.

  ‘I’m in the middle of a bloody murder investigation. You know that,’ she hissed. ‘No, I won’t be returning to the party.’ She started when she saw Carruthers, and turned her shoulder on him. ‘I’ll be back when I’m back. You knew I was a police officer when you married me. Well, you’ll have to give them breakfast if I’m not back in time. For God’s sake do I have to do everything?’ She snapped her mobile shut. Carruthers hurried to the gents.

  A few moments later, Carruthers came out the gents and round the corner of the corridor to see McTavish gathering herself together. She took in a deep breath and headed back into the room. As did Carruthers.

  ‘As you all know the early stages of any investigation are crucial,’ McTavish said. ‘We have several investigations going on simultaneously. I don’t need to tell you all leave is cancelled until we catch this person. With three women now having been attacked every indication is that we are dealing with a serial killer.’ She looked round the room as she said this. ‘I’d like to get your thoughts.’

  ‘Are we sure the news about Rachel Abbie’s severed finger wasn’t leaked to the press and that rather than having a serial killer, what we actually have is a copycat killing?’ said Fletcher. ‘After all, the MOs aren’t the same. Rachel Abbie was strangled and slashed whereas Sarah Torr had her throat cut.’

  Sandra McTavish dismissed that claim almost immediately. ‘I have it on good authority that the press have not got hold of the information about the severed finger. And if it’s not been leaked by the press then realistically the only other option, unless leaked by the station
, is that the perpetrator who murdered Rachel Abbie also murdered Sarah Torr.’

  Carruthers’ thoughts strayed to Clare Stott, the rude family friend of the Davis’s. After all, she was a journalist. However, as far as Carruthers was aware, she didn’t know about the severed finger.

  The silence in the room was punctuated by the ring of another mobile. Fletcher dipped into her handbag and looked at the screen. ‘I need to take this. It’s Rachel Abbie’s father.’ McTavish nodded and Fletcher stood up and left the room.

  ‘What’s it gonna take to catch this wee bastard?’ Helen Lennox was munching her way through a bag of crisps when she spoke. She wiped her mouth, screwed up the crisp packet and pocketed it. ‘Sorry, didnae have time for supper.’

  ‘Media involvement will be crucial, as will the assistance of the public,’ said McTavish. ‘As you all know catching a serial killer can be a long process. We all need to double our efforts. I want nothing short of one hundred per cent. But we’ll also have to hope the bastard screws up and makes a mistake.’

  An ashen-faced Fletcher re-entered the incident room. ‘Rachel Abbie’s finger has just turned up.’ All eyes were on her. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘It’s been sent to her father in the post. He received it this morning.’

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘What sicko would do that?’

  The incident room exploded in shock and anger.

  Carruthers glanced at McTavish, who picked up a glass of water and took a sip. He noticed her hand was shaking slightly. She took a deep breath and her voice was steely as she spoke. ‘We need to step up this investigation and catch this madman. And what I want to know is what is the connection between the father of Rachel Abbie and the murderer? There has to be one. There just has to be.’

  Helen Lennox’s eyes were wide. ‘Does that mean Sarah Torr’s finger will be sent to her dad? Is this all part of extending his fantasy?’