A Wife Worth Dying For

by Wilson Smillie

  Walking into the interview room, Carter immediately locked eyes with Tommy McGregor sitting beside Justin Greig.

  Garcia sat down, but Carter pulled her arm. ‘This interview can’t proceed.’

  Carter returned to the observation room while Garcia interrupted Mason.

  ‘Conflict of interest,’ Carter said once Mason came back in the room.

  ‘Tommy McGregor is Justin Greig’s solicitor. McGregor is also handling a personal case for me.’

  Mason nodded to Garcia. ‘Get us another coffee, Charli. This is going to be a long night.’ After she’d gone, Mason held Carter in a firm stare. ‘Jesus Christ, Leccy, why didn’t you tell me?’

  Carter gazed at his senior officer in defiance, but he knew he wouldn’t get away with a right to silence on this point. ‘Everybody thinks I’m caring for Nathaniel, but I’m not. It’s a long story, a private one, and one I won’t go into right now. I have to step back from questioning Greig, or McGregor will need to recuse himself. I’m betting he won’t.’

  ‘Let’s get both briefs in another room, see what we can do,’ Mason sighed.

  ‘Mitch is my partner,’ said McGregor, once they’d all sat down. ‘There’s just two of us. We have paralegals but no one else with court experience. We’ve represented Mr Logan in business deals, and I can tell you he will not agree to us stepping back.’

  ‘Have you asked him?’ said Mason.

  ‘What do you think?’ said McGregor with a tight smile. ‘I wasn’t aware Police Scotland had so few detectives they couldn’t allocate another. You could release my clients, and we sort it out tomorrow?’

  Mason grimaced, the muscles in his jaw betraying his anger. ‘Back in,’ he said to the two lawyers. ‘I’ll fix it.’

  Mason ran his fingers through his hair once they were alone again. ‘We go with the plan. Garcia replaces you. The duty DC will handle the equipment. I’ll take Logan on his own. He’s not being charged with anything, but we’ll video it as usual.’

  Mason left as Charli Garcia arrived with coffee. Carter sipped the full-strength sheep’s pish from his cup. Charli had some experience interviewing suspects, but did she have the nous to run on the edge and know when to take a chance?

  63

  Stretched Loyalties

  Charli Garcia walked into the interview nervously, knowing what Carter wanted from Greig, but not sure she could get it.

  ‘Start with Dodds,’ Carter had said to her, briefing her on the best approach to take before the interview began. ‘You’re familiar with the scene in Dodds’ flat. Greig might be the man who saw Jacky run across the road. If he was, take a break, and we’ll reset the interview. I’ll be here in the observation room.’

  ‘You tell me to remember too much, I’ll forget everything.’

  ‘No worries, just two things: if Greig was on North Bridge, that means he’s the prime suspect for Dodds death. The other is Alice.’

  The duty DC flicked the switches, ran the tapes and briefly squeezed Garcia’s hand under the table. After introductions, Charli opened the folder in front of her and got straight to business.

  ‘Where were you yesterday at five-twenty-five in the evening?’

  Greig sat back and folded his arms. ‘I was in the Blue Thistle pub in Hunter Square all afternoon.’

  The duty DC leaned in and whispered in Garcia’s ear.

  ‘Mr Greig, what is your relationship with Jimmy Logan?’ Garcia asked, her face blank.

  ‘I’m an employee.’

  ‘Is the Blue Thistle one of Mr Logan’s pubs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What is your job?’

  ‘Head of Operations,’ he grinned. ‘I hire and fire, do deals, buy stock and allow him to concentrate on strategy.’

  ‘Jacky Dodds. He is an employee?’

  ‘You’re kiddin’, right?’ Greig sneered. ‘He’s a punter.’

  ‘You have known him a long time, yes?’

  Greig sniggered and held out his hands. ‘What is this? A fuckin’ history test?’

  Tommy McGregor intervened, ‘Please be specific, constable, we haven’t got all night.’

  Garcia felt herself redden, but she recovered quickly. Addressing Greig, she rephrased the question. ‘You knew him from school?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘You met Jacky Dodds yesterday on North Bridge, didn’t you? You scared him so much he ran across the road to get away from you. He was killed by a bus. That’s murder by proxy. We have CCTV of a man of your description pushing him under the wheels.’

  The smugness vanished from Greig’s face.

  McGregor informed his client, ‘When a deliberate killing is caused by indirect actions of the murderer. Or a third party orders the murderer to kill. Are you charging my client with proxy murder, constable?’

  ‘Witnesses have provided statements. Mr Dodds was distressed.’ She opened a Manila folder, extracted a clear cellophane pouch with an evidence tag on it and pushed it across the table. ‘One paper lifted from Mr Dodds’ home. We collected many more. Your name is there, Justin, many times. As you see, your name is more than others. On this drawing?’ she pointed to an image of a man slicing another’s testicles off. ‘You cut Jacky Dodds and saw prison. You hated him, didn’t you? You tortured and assaulted him, and since then, you have forced him into crimes for your boss, Mr Jimmy Logan. Is this how you treat your customers?’

  ‘But I never left the Blue Thistle until after closing,’ Greig pleaded.

  ‘This is impressive, but it’s all circumstantial,’ McGregor filled in before Greig, who was now looking anxious. ‘Do you have any evidence that my client actually killed Jacky Dodds on instructions from Mr Logan? That’s where you’re going with this, isn’t it?’

  ‘The spin goes many ways, Justin, but you have admitted being a proxy for Mr Logan.’ Garcia kept directing her comments to Greig. ‘Allegations are being made to Mr Logan next door. Do you think he’ll clear you from blame when he hears you are here singing a canary?’

  Her confidence was growing. ‘Charges are not made at this time, Mr McGregor, but Justin is a suspect. It would be in his interest to cooperate. However, I have undeniable evidence on other matters and would like Justin’s statement on them.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Greig, not waiting for McGregor’s intervention.

  Garcia picked up a photograph from her folder and showed it to Greig. ‘On the night of thirteenth of January, Alice Deacon was in the Reverend bar, owned and run by Mr Logan. You too were present.’

  Greig looked at the picture and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t remember everyone who comes through the door.’

  ‘Before leaving the Reverend, photographs were made of her.’

  Greig smiled at DC Garcia and glanced arrogantly at Tommy McGregor.

  ‘You got me,’ he said immediately.

  ‘I want those photographs. Mr Logan was there also that night, yes?’

  Greig looked at McGregor, who shrugged. ‘It’s a reasonable question.’

  It took a while for Greig to consider, and as time went on, it became even more evident what a crucial question it was. ‘Yes, he was.’

  64

  A Friendly Chat

  Looking on from the observation room, Carter was pleased. Garcia had snookered Justin Greig, and he hadn’t seen it coming. Things were going less well for Nick Mason. Logan was an auld heid and didn’t roll over easily; he denied knowledge of Jacky Dodds’ death. When asked if he was in the Reverend bar the night Alice was there, he said he wasn’t, but couldn’t recall his whereabouts.

  While Carter had been watching both interviews, Murray McCormack had called back. He hadn’t seen Logan on thirteenth January and, before that, hadn’t seen him since thirteenth December 2018.

  Carter turned to the constable in the room. ‘Interrupt DI Mason, please, then ask Tam Watson to check the meeting schedule for Scottish Police Authority meetings from last year and get me a list of the members.’

  Nick Mason appe
ared a minute later. ‘Not having much luck, Leccy, he’s a hard bastard to crack.’

  ‘Greig has confirmed a photo was taken of Alice in the Reverend and we’re to get it tonight. Greig also said Logan was in the bar and we already know his phone was, so he likely has multiple phones. Ask him for a list of his numbers. Murray McCormack, the MSP, was one of the guys in the snug, and he’s confirmed Logan wasn’t with him the night Alice was raped, so Logan is still a suspect.’

  ‘You going to release Greig now?’

  ‘Yes. Charli will follow him; he’s not getting a lift home, like McCormack. She’ll call Cheryl once she knows where he’s heading, then they’ll pick him up for a wee chat off the record. I’ll bet Cheryl’s ready to tear his fucking head off.’

  After twenty more minutes, Logan was a bit less assured. Nick Mason was a skilled questioner and changed his angle of attack regularly. Mitch-the-Brief kept trying to intervene, claiming Mason was fishing. Still, Logan had a reason for the multiple phones and finally gave a location for the night, an Indian restaurant on Nicholson Street, along with remembering the names of a string of people who’d corroborate his alibi.

  A constable entered the observation room and handed Carter a list. Before Christmas, the last Scottish Police Authority meeting was held on thirteenth December in Pacific Quay, Glasgow, discussing Complaints and Conduct. None of the SPA Board members were politicians.

  He’d hand it off to DCI McKinlay, who’d decide the next course of action.

  There was that damned ping again. The pulsing red dot invited him to open the message. The interviews were over anyway.

  [2019-01-22:2259] She told me about you so blame her for it. Didn’t take me long to piece it together, after that. You were a screamer, Carter, you just wouldn’t stop howling. J.

  A red light blinked on the observation room’s internal phone: Tam Watson at the front desk.

  ‘Leccy, we’ve got the photos you wanted. Charli wouldn’t return Mr Greig’s phone until he showed us your suspect. Might be able to reduce the crime rate in town if we had that phone, eh?’

  Moments later, the three policemen were huddled around the printer as the paper came out. Charli had already submitted the photos as evidence into Alice Deacon’s file.

  ‘Who is it, Leccy?’ asked Tam.

  Carter studied the image intently. Alice was on the left of the shot, her face a doll-like mask. Drinks sat on the table in front of them – a tall slim glass with ice and lemon in a dark liquid, probably vodka coke, and a half-consumed pint of IPA. The man beside Alice dominated the border of the picture. Broad-shouldered, a powerful chest, his legs open in a virile display of manspreading, hands on his knees. He looked like he’d punched weights in the past, but not so many now. He wore a dark suit over an open-necked white shirt and displayed aggression in his manner, in the way he sat forward, like a puma in a tree ready to pounce.

  Carter shuddered, the feeling racing up his spine as he stared at the man who was threatening to kill him and who might have raped his wife. The gaze coming back at him was face-on, looking straight to camera, knowing full well he was being photographed and caring not. Like a sniper taking aim, the half-sneer, half-smile targeted Carter, as if he knew precisely who would receive his .50-caliber bullet.

  ‘It’s Joe Moore,’ Carter replied to Tam Watson. ‘Looking a bit older than his passport photo.’

  A flashback from the drunken conversation he’d had with J last night came to mind.

  ‘I’m coming for you, Carter. Don’t waste my time.’

  65

  Game of Numbers

  Carter arrived home just before midnight, totally shattered. It had been a long day. Joe Moore’s arrogant face had seared itself in his mind and left an ugly feeling in his gut.

  He’d married Moore’s ex-girlfriend: so what? We’re all someone’s needs and dreams, aren’t we? But it didn’t add up either. Every ex- isn’t a psycho. He didn’t need Dr Flowers to tell him that Moore’s justifications were a psychopathic response; excuses to himself to validate violence. Thugs like Justin Greig weren’t much different. They were mouthy but didn’t go to the extremes that Moore would. Violence wasn’t Carter’s choice of debate either. His warrant was mightier than their sword.

  Moore was a different league – as it was plain to see in his face and body language. He had the arrogance of someone who’d killed for fun. Why would Kelsa be drawn to him? Would Alice swoon for the same reason? That was definitely Dr Flowers’ turf. Regardless of deeper motive, Moore had Carter in his sights. Many of J’s texts hinted at reason without coming right out and saying it. But what was it?

  Carter slumped on the sofa with a midnight beer since Moore had finished his whisky. If Kelsa really had known Moore, he knew where to start looking. Kelsa’s iPhone and MacBook were charged and ready. He switched the iPhone on and, while he waited for it to boot, grabbed another beer and retrieved the envelope with the printed codes.

  8 2 6 4 2 8 9 5

  Licence to thrill, M

  Zip up a dress, Joe

  He was sure the numbers were the passcode for her phone, and maybe a password for the computer accounted for the second clue. But what about the third?

  He tapped in the numbers and got immediate access to her phone. Quickly, he changed her security details to his own. InterMide was the mobile operator, the same as for Alice’s phone. But that was no coincidence now. He thought about her riddles. Things important to them but to no one else? He was sure that was the track. But they’d have to wait.

  He scanned her contacts: no Joe Moore under M or J. He scrolled past names he knew, friends and family, and many people he didn’t know, but one name made him sit up.

  Nathan Butler.

  Filed under N instead of B. There was no phone number, no email address and no other detail. Carter picked up his own phone and logged in to ICRS. Butler had a green flag set on his record, meaning his home address and phone number had been corroborated. The evidence was a bill from InterMide, but it wasn’t for the number of the phone that Jacky Dodds allegedly stole.

  InterMide.

  Carter became animated. He got up from the sofa and paced the room, punching the air.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ he shouted to no one. This was the break he needed: InterMide. He searched for the identification documents Charli Garcia had collected on Joe Moore, found his mobile bill and opened the document. InterMide. Next, he returned to the Excel mobile analysis. He filtered it to show only InterMide numbers, getting hits on fifteen names out of the twenty-eight.

  Of the fifteen: Moore, Butler, Alice, Greig and Logan had InterMide accounts. On a whim, he changed the filter to give him all the InterMide accounts in the analysis, even if they’d been discounted earlier. It threw up some surprises.

  Kelsa’s rugby-playing ex-boyfriend was caught in the net along with another ‘weel kent face’. But the analysis put them in orbit of the Reverend a week before Alice’s rape. On the night Kelsa died in hospital. Coincidence? He thought not. Carter immediately dialled Mortimer’s number. France was one hour ahead. It went to voicemail.

  He grabbed another beer. The alcohol sharpened his thinking. He opened and played the InterMide video again and watched Kelsa walk through the shot. This time he looked at the people she stopped and spoke to. One man on the edge of the frame might have been Moore, but the video resolution was too fuzzy. He checked the other three InterMide videos and was left clutching at straws.

  He picked up Kelsa’s iPhone, rechecking her contacts. No entry for Mortimer under H or M. Could Gavin Roy discover when Butler’s contact record was added to Kelsa’s phone? There were no calls or texts associated with it.

  Kelsa had WhatsApp on her phone, mostly for family. There were messages from her mother Judith, her brothers, aunties and friends. His own WhatsApp messages appeared too, but none resolved to Butler or Moore.

  He scanned the other apps on her phone and recognised the icon for the SMS nano-app. This was a breakthrough. He opened the app
. The newest message was dated on the day Kelsa died, 4 January 2019.

  [2018-12-09:1509] So, it’s a boy.

  [2018-12-15:2154] Nathaniel. A good name.

  [2018-12-21:2205] You will do the right thing now.

  [2018-12-29:2108] You know how important this is.

  [2019-01-02:2231] Not long now, you will do it.

  [2019-01-03:2302] You can’t do it without me.

  [2019-01-04:0215] I’m here. Soon be over.

  Carter had expected to find messages as part of Moore’s sick plan, but these didn’t make sense. He read them and re-read them. What was it that was important? What could she not do without him?

  Carter had last seen his wife on the night of 3rd January, in a private room, and she had resembled a corpse. There was nothing more the doctors could do, they said; it was down to her desire to live or die. The skin on her face had sunk into her skull. Her body was concealed by blankets, and he could barely look at her. She was not the woman he’d known and loved, she’d become something else entirely, and he’d left the room as soon as he could, tears streaming down his face. Yet Moore seemed to have been in the hospital on the night Kelsa died.

  Kelsa could not have responded to Moore’s messages. Carter didn’t even know where her phone had been kept during that time. Her personal effects were handed over days later.

  Scrolling through the groups of texts, he was struck by the significant time gaps between them. Was there no reason to communicate at those times, or had Moore deliberately preserved only the messages he wanted Carter to read? It was a virtual desert before she’d been admitted to hospital in October 2018, when there was a flurry of disinterested texts from him and, apparently, no replies from her. Scrolling back further, Carter hoped to discover how she had fallen into Moore’s clutches.