by Tana Collins
The former rugby player burst into tears. Carruthers felt like crying himself. Instead, he covered the space between them and for the second time in as many days hugged the life out of his brother.
In the morning Carruthers got up and made breakfast for them both. His eyes felt hot and gritty and he had a headache. He’d hardly slept and no wonder. He was quiet as he rummaged around and found some eggs, a packet of bacon that was still in date and some mushrooms. He sniffed the mushrooms before he made his almost full Scottish breakfast. He rang McTavish and told her that a situation had arisen at home and that he’d be a wee bit late in that morning. She asked him if everything was okay.
Carruthers held his mobile with his left hand as he fried the bacon with his right. He could hear his brother in the shower. ‘I can’t really talk now, Sandra. Can I talk to you about it later?’
‘Do what you need to do, Jim,’ she’d said, ‘but don’t be longer than necessary. We need you at the station.’
‘Well, I need to be in by ten. I’ve got an interview set up with Rachel Abbie’s father later and I want to go through my notes first. He’s bringing the package and finger with him.’
‘Good. Just to let you know, I want to sit in on that one.’
He cut the call and turned to his brother, who had just emerged still wet from the bathroom, naked except for a towel tucked around his waist. Carruthers handed him a strong cup of coffee, taking in the unshaven face and dull eyes. ‘Why didn’t Mum tell me that she’d been diagnosed with lung cancer?’
Alan shrugged, accepted the coffee, took a sip and put the mug down. Still standing, he picked up a slice of toast and tore off a bit before popping it into his mouth. At last he looked up and spoke. ‘When did you last have a proper chat with Mum? And by that I mean give her more than five minutes of your time? I don’t mean that to sound like a criticism, Jim. I’m just being honest.’
Carruthers felt the heat rise into his face but he knew it was a fair point. He fixed his brother with his blue eyes, assessing him as he spoke. ‘I take it you and Mum had a row for you to end up on my doorstep then? Does she at least know where you are?’
Alan looked up from buttering another slice of toast and nodded. ‘I called her while you were at work. She thinks it’s good we’re having time together. Not that we’ve actually had any.’
Carruthers winced.
‘The thing is Jim, she didn’t want you to know about the cancer.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘She doesn’t want to have treatment. She’s too scared. That’s why we rowed. Well, that and the fact she didn’t want me to tell you.’ He put the butter knife down. He glanced over at the sink where Carruthers had dumped all the dirty glasses from the night before. ‘That’s why I landed on your doorstep. I thought you had a right to know about Mum and I didn’t feel it was news I could just give on the phone. By the way, I’m sorry about the state of your cottage. I’ll clean up while you’re at work.’
The last thing on Carruthers’ mind was the state of his cottage. He just couldn’t believe what his brother had told him about their mum. It dawned on him that while he was furthering his police career, real life was passing him by, and he was becoming absent from the lives of those who needed him most.
Chapter 25
Monday
Carruthers walked into the police station just after nine-thirty. He’d called his mother on the hands-free on his way into work. It had been an emotional call and his mother had broken down when she had talked about her cancer diagnosis. By the end of the call though, Carruthers had achieved the result he had wanted. His mother had promised him she would at least think about seeking treatment.
Fletcher spotted him and came over. ‘You missed the team brief. That’s not like you. Is everything okay?’
Carruthers looked up, alarmed ‘No, not really. Brief? What time was that?’ He opened the desk drawer and popped a couple of painkillers out of a blister pack into the palm of his hand. He threw them down the back of his throat. He accepted the bottle of water Fletcher was carrying and took a swig.
‘8:30am. McTavish asked me to fill you in. She said you had some business to take care of at home. Is this something to do with your mum and brother?’
Carruthers couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten about a team brief. McTavish hadn’t said anything on the phone about it. He handed the bottle of water back.
Fletcher looked at him reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. I said I’d fill you in.’
Carruthers didn’t know how Fletcher did it, but she was uncanny. But then again, she also knew Carruthers had no current love interest, more’s the pity, so it was a case of logical deduction. Who else did he have in his life?
She continued with her probing. ‘I’m right, aren’t I? It is to do with your mum and brother. That was my first guess.’
‘What was going to be your second?’ Need he ask?
‘Your ex-wife.’
Carruthers pulled a face. He wondered what Fletcher would say if she knew what McTavish had asked him to do – to become close to his ex-wife. He wasn’t about to confide in her. The more he told her the more questions she’d ask. After all, he hadn’t said much to her about his brother landing on his doorstep, but he knew he’d have to tell her something to get her off his back.
‘There’s some stuff going on with my brother.’ He looked at her inquisitive face. ‘We’re working on it.’ He couldn’t face telling her that his mother had been diagnosed with lung cancer.
‘Okay, well, I can see you don’t really want to talk about it, so do you want me to fill you in on the brief?’
He suddenly remembered the conversation he’d had with McTavish about John Campbell’s father. ‘Before you fill me in, I need to talk to you.’ Brown looked up and cast them both a quizzical look.
‘In private.’ He grabbed her arm. ‘Let’s find a quiet spot in the canteen. This can’t wait. It’s important.’
‘Okay.’ She stood up, and, looking confused, grabbed her purse and followed him out of the office. As soon as they were out of earshot of Brown, Carruthers whispered, ‘Has Sandra spoken to you this morning about John Campbell’s father?’
She looked alarmed. ‘No. I told you she’s not in yet. What’s going on?’
‘I know why Bingham let John Campbell go. His father is a serving police officer. A Superintendent Len Campbell, no less.’
‘Shit.’
He stopped and faced Fletcher. ‘Why didn’t we know about this, Andie? This is basic police work. McTavish practically accused me of deliberately keeping this information from her in order to undermine her in Bingham’s eyes.’
Fletcher kept her eyes downcast. ‘Bugger. I gave Dougie Harris the job. I knew I should have done it myself.’
‘Yes, you should have done. It’s not like you, Andie.’
‘Did you tell Sandra that it had been my responsibility?’
‘I couldn’t lie for you and, to be honest, I don’t want to take the flak for someone else’s mistake.’ But as soon as he said that he wondered whether he was being unfair. After all, Fletcher was a DS and he was a DI. In the end he still felt the responsibility stopped with him. He wondered whether McTavish would see it that way.
What on earth had she been thinking? Harris wasn’t known for his meticulous attention to detail at the best of times, and what with his wife so ill his mind clearly wasn’t on the job. Thinking of Harris’s ill wife got Carruthers thinking about his mother and her dreadful news. He was going to have to give a lot more support to his mother and brother despite the police work. Perhaps it was just as well he had been demoted and consequently had less responsibility. And of course, as lonely as it was, it helped having no partner. Nobody else to worry about.
‘Look, let’s talk about the case,’ he urged.
Fletcher nodded. ‘Do you mind if I get some breakfast? I haven’t eaten anything yet.’
‘No, carry on. Don’t want you fading away on me.’ For once, he’d had
a proper breakfast, but he wouldn’t have minded another black coffee.
They stood in the queue until they got served. Carruthers carried his steaming coffee to a table at the far corner of the canteen and waited for Fletcher, who was grabbing a knife and fork. She placed her tray opposite him and sat down. Carruthers glanced up at her. Her shoulders were slumped and she was staring miserably at her food. He knew she’d be feeling really bad and he felt for her. After all, they all made mistakes.
Silently, Fletcher forked a piece of bacon and popped it into her mouth. She chewed it thoughtfully, but said nothing.
Carruthers took a sip of his coffee. ‘I take it we still haven’t managed to establish a link between Serena Davis and Rachel Abbie?’
Fletcher looked up before shaking her head. ‘No,’ is all she said. She shrugged. ‘At least it’s been established that Sarah Torr was murdered at approximately 9pm but then you already knew that. What are you going to do now?’
‘I need to have a quick word with Sandra, then I need to go out and speak to my ex-wife again. And, of course, we’ve got the meeting with Rachel Abbie’s father later.’
‘Oh, why are you meeting with your ex-wife again?’
‘I just need to go over a couple of things we’ve discussed,’ he said hurriedly.
As they walked back out of the canteen they saw DCI McTavish walking towards them. All was clearly not well. Her stride, purposeful and fast-paced, made her look like a ship in full sail. Her cheeks were flushed and her mouth was set like a steel trap.
‘Jim, I’ve been looking for you. I need you in my office. Immediately.’
Carruthers pulled up. ‘What’s happened?’
McTavish didn’t even bother to glance at Fletcher as she spoke. ‘The shit’s hit the fan. That’s what’s happened.’
The DI turned to an open-mouthed Fletcher. ‘I’ll see you later, Andie.’
Good luck, Fletcher mouthed to Carruthers.
Carruthers fell into line with McTavish. Impatiently, she brushed a lock of hair out of her face. ‘We don’t have much time, Jim. Superintendent Len Campbell is on his way up. All hell has broken loose. He wants to know on what grounds we’ve been interviewing his son and why he wasn’t informed about it.’
‘Oh Christ. Well, surely he’ll know his son isn’t squeaky clean from the previous incident at UEA.’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you, but that’s just it.’ They’d reached her office. She opened the door, ushering Carruthers inside and, following close on his heel, shut the door firmly behind her after glancing down the corridor. She didn’t offer him a seat, he noticed. There was clearly no time for pleasantries.
She stepped closer to him so that she was practically whispering in his ear. ‘I’ve been doing some digging, Jim. Called in a couple of favours, actually. What I’m going to tell you is completely off the record and in the strictest of confidence.’
‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘You can trust me.’
‘It’s about the previous assault charge that was made against the super’s son back in Norwich.’
‘Yes, my understanding is that it all got shut down pretty quickly. I had wondered why.’
‘Apparently it was the super who managed to get the case shut down. Rumour has it that it was Len Campbell who leant on the girl to change her story and retract the accusation of assault.’
‘Jesus Christ. Well, he’s given his son an alibi for the time of Sarah Torr’s murder. What’s the betting that he’s lied for him? What are we facing? A bent super?’
‘Well, if he is bent he has a lot of friends in high places. I’ve been warned off reinterviewing John Campbell – and not just by Bingham.’
‘But what if he’s our serial killer?’
‘For all our sakes, not least Superintendent Campbell’s, we’ll have to hope he isn’t.’
There was a knock on the door. McTavish opened it. Superintendent Bingham was standing at the threshold – with Superintendent Len Campbell.
Chapter 26
The slim-built Len Campbell looked straight at Carruthers. ‘DCI McTavish, I presume?’ He didn’t offer his hand.
Bingham cleared his throat and gestured at McTavish. ‘No Len, this is DCI McTavish, DCI Sandra McTavish.’ He then turned to Carruthers. ‘This is DI Jim Carruthers.’
‘Oh. You’re the DCI? I didn’t expect–’
McTavish looked at him, unsmiling. ‘A woman? Why not? Thank goodness, long gone are the days of our being chained to the sink. We actually manage to leave the house once in a while nowadays.’
‘What I was going to say is I didn’t expect to find someone who’d made DCI so young.’
‘Oh, right, sorry,’ mumbled McTavish.
Carruthers, shocked at McTavish’s blunt outburst, sized Len Campbell up. He didn’t like what he saw. About fiftyish, crew cut, with shrewd, assessing eyes that held deep suspicion. This man was trouble with a capital T. And he was clearly a misogynist. It had been pretty obvious what he was about to say, despite being cut off before he’d said it. He didn’t believe a word of the man’s response.
Bingham looked almost regretful when he spoke, glancing at McTavish before his gaze settled on Carruthers. ‘I’m afraid Superintendent Campbell wants you off the case, Jim, pending an investigation into your behaviour over his son.’
The look on Sandra McTavish’s face said it all. She was furious. ‘On whose authority? Jim’s a vital member of this team and we’re right in the middle of a multiple murder enquiry. I need him very much on the case.’
Campbell spoke to McTavish. ‘My son says DI Carruthers has been harassing him and I believe him.’
‘I haven’t been harassing anyone, but what we do believe is that your son may be a danger to the public.’
‘What did you say?’ Superintendent Campbell gathered himself to his full height of five foot eight and rounded on Carruthers. He took a step closer to him, standing so close in fact, that the Glaswegian could smell mints on the man’s breath. He wondered if here was yet another cop with a drink problem. ‘Have you any idea who I am?’
Carruthers couldn’t believe the man had pulled rank like that. Before he had a chance to say anything, McTavish jumped in.
‘With all due respect, you’re a father who refuses to believe their son is anything less than perfect. I have kids. I accept that you want to see the best in them, but unfortunately, your son is at best a serial stalker of women. And more to the point, we have proof. We understand that you’re prepared to provide an alibi for your son at the time of Sarah Torr’s murder?’
Campbell unleashed his fury on McTavish. ‘I’m not “prepared to provide an alibi” as you put it. He was with me when that girl got killed.’ He looked McTavish up and down. ‘You were right. I’m not a big fan of women climbing the ranks and all this positive discrimination rubbish. Some good men have been left behind to fulfil these ridiculous quotas. Anyway, why should I listen to you? You don’t even know my son.’
At last Bingham found his voice. ‘Steady on Len. Sandra has climbed to her rank by hard work and hard work alone. Merit has got her to this position and I won’t have you undermine her like this. And I certainly don’t allow blatant sexism. This isn’t the 1970s.’
Len Campbell took a step closer to Bingham. ‘I would keep your mouth shut if I were you, Bingham. If it wasn’t for me, you would have long been retired. Just remember who it was who saved your neck over the Estonia affair.’
Bingham inhaled a deep breath and now it was his turn to draw himself up to his full height. Carruthers was fascinated to see how he would handle this odious man and he also wondered about Campbell’s sexist outburst. Here was a man who was very clearly on the edge.
‘I won’t dignify that with an answer, Len. But what I will say is this. I know your son got accused of assault at the University of East Anglia,’ said Bingham slowly, ‘and that the charges against him got dropped. And we all know why.’ Carruthers watched Len Campbell’s reaction carefully. The sneer had
evaporated to be replaced with, what exactly? Fear? Anxiety?
The nervous tic that Bingham sometimes displayed when under pressure was visible. Carruthers almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
‘I’ve seen the photos of the women he’s stalking on his bedroom walls here in Castletown,’ continued Bingham. ‘This gives me no pleasure to say this, Len, but your son is a very disturbed young man. He’s clearly an obsessive and he may well be psychologically unstable. Whether he is a serial killer, however, remains to be seen, but we’ve certainly got him on charges of harassment and stalking against two different women. And one of the women he has been stalking has ended up dead. The fact his father is a serving police officer will make no difference to how he gets treated, so don’t even try to pull rank.’
Superintendent Len Campbell opened his mouth, but before he even had a chance to respond, Bingham silenced him. ‘You’ve had your say. You’ve come into my station shouting the odds, insulting my staff. I’ve heard enough. I would like you to leave and I would be grateful if you didn’t impede the investigation in any way.’
Campbell turned on Bingham. Carruthers stepped forward to protect his super in case it turned ugly. Bingham put his hand up to restrain Carruthers.
‘This isn’t over yet, and if you think you’ll get away with framing him for murder, you’ve no idea of what I can do to all your careers,’ spat Campbell.
‘We don’t all work by your rules, Len,’ said Bingham softly. ‘Some of us are honest, law-upholding officers.’
Len Campbell, spittle at the corner of his mouth, turned on his heel and walked swiftly to the door, which he opened in fury.
‘And you’re right,’ called out Bingham. ‘It isn’t over. It’s not over until we catch the murderer of these innocent women. You’ll have to hope to God the perpetrator isn’t your son, but if he is, he will be treated like anyone else.’ Campbell, who’d hesitated by the door, walked through, then slammed it shut. The photographs on Sandra McTavish’s desk shook.