“Is this normal?” Dani ventured.
“To be only six months pregnant but virtually incapacitated?” Alice replied dryly. “Sadly, yes. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with boyo. He’s as happy as Larry in there.”
“You’ve still got another couple of months until you go on maternity leave?”
Alice gulped down the painkillers. “I’m not always as bad as this. There are better days. I was just determined to see through this conference.”
Dani smiled. “Have you not discovered yet that the lecture notes are all available on the conference website? You can even view the slide shows.”
Alice shifted up in her seat, wincing at the sudden movement. “How do I get onto it?”
“I’ll give you my Pitt Street log-in code – but it remains strictly confidential, okay? I don’t want Andy getting hold of it, or I’ll never get him to attend a training conference again.”
Alice laughed. “That’s true enough!”
“Mind you, I’m convinced he’s persuaded one of his pals in some other division to give him the passcode. He was suspiciously jolly after returning from his last one, like he’d been on a sneaky mini-break with Carol and Amy instead.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me. Andy likes his secrets.” Alice looked thoughtful. “But the notes would never replace being there. It’s the chance to discuss cases with other officers and hear their perspectives on the evidence that make these conferences worthwhile.”
Dani scribbled some letters and digits on a card she retrieved from her handbag, sliding it across the coffee table. “Well, I’ll have to go back and listen to the rest of it, so if you want to bounce your ideas off someone, give me a call.”
“I’ll do that, ma’am.’
Dani stood. “I’ll let myself out.”
“Oh, and thank you,” Alice mumbled inadequately. “I really appreciate this.”
Dani gave a curt nod and left her friend in peace.
Chapter 2
The hotel foyer wasn’t as busy as it had been the previous day. Dani concluded that Alice wasn’t the only one who’d decided it wasn’t worth returning for the remaining lectures. The DCI couldn’t blame her colleagues. Detectives were in the job because it was varied and exciting, not to go back to sitting in rows like a child. Most of the older guard at Pitt Street would openly admit they’d hated school; they yearned to be out in the field, not tied to a desk.
But Dani was finding this conference more interesting than others she’d attended. The theme was a re-examination of Scotland’s most notorious unsolved crimes. At first hearing, it had sounded like the title of a salacious paperback you’d find on the shelves of a discount bookshop in the Barras Market.
In reality, the conference organisers had gathered together detectives and forensic experts from the original teams who worked the cases. These men and women presented the evidence they’d gathered in a series of lectures. Their insights were highly valuable, as they’d actually met the victims’ families. They’d worked amid the unbearable pressure of media scrutiny that surrounded each of the high-profile investigations.
Dani moved towards a trestle table upon which a coffee pot had been set. Alongside it were the lines of cream porcelain cups and saucers which were a trademark of such events. It was early enough to be confident the coffee was fresh and the pastries not yet dried out by the artificially conditioned air.
A broad shoulder brushed hers as she reached for the milk jug.
“DCI Bevan?”
Dani turned. The man beside her was familiar. His lustrous dark hair greying at the temples and an ample stomach filling his light green cotton shirt. His skin was a couple of shades darker than anyone else’s in the room. “DI Ravi Stevens?”
The man’s face creased in a sunburst of fine lines. “Well remembered, ma’am. We met only briefly and some years ago now.”
“Are you still working for Highlands and Islands?” Dani offered him the milk jug when she’d topped up her own cup.
“No, I recently moved down to Edinburgh. The most that ever happened in Cleland was the occasional mauled sheep. Plus, my wife got sick of us being the only Asians in the village.”
Dani smiled. “I can imagine.” She lifted the cup to her lips. “Something more dramatic than a few dead livestock did occur in the history of Cleland CID though. Were you on the force back then?”
“In 2003? Yep, and it’s the reason I’m here at the conference. I was a young detective constable on the McGill case. One of the first to arrive at the house that night.”
Dani shuddered. “I was listening to the chief forensic examiner describe the murder scene in yesterday’s lecture. It sounded like a mess.”
Ravi Stevens led them towards an empty table and pulled out a chair for his superior officer, before sitting down opposite her. “It was. The couple had converted a cottage in the valley of the Westall hills. A two-mile track led from the house to the main road. From there it was another eight miles into Cleland. They were in the middle of bloody nowhere. By the time we arrived, the wife had transferred the blood throughout most of the ground floor. She was borderline hysterical. The paramedics had to give her a sedative.”
“This was the husband’s blood?”
“Yes, Richard McGill was the only one injured. A gunshot wound to the chest at short range.”
“That’s right, the gun was retrieved from the skip the renovators had hired. It was a long-barrelled pistol that had been well used before the killing. No prints were left on it. A GSG 1912,” Dani added.
Stevens raised his eyebrows, appearing surprised at her knowledge.
“I read the online transcripts.”
“The handgun ban came in in 1997, but this gun was one of those that had been modified to get around the legislation. The barrel was lengthened and a counterweight rod added, so it fell into the category of rifle. Although to you or me, that bastard was definitely a handgun.”
“It could have belonged to someone legally with a licence. But you never tracked down an owner?”
He shook his head. “It may have been legal once, but by 2003 it had entered the world of organised crime. We got no leads from it.”
Dani glanced at her watch and stood. “The first lecture is about to start.”
Stevens nodded. “It was good to see you again, ma’am. We only worked together briefly on the Ronnie Sheldon murder, but I learnt a lot.”
“You’ll do well in Edinburgh, I’m sure.”
Stevens glanced about at the half empty room, a few stragglers were dragging out their coffees to delay the inevitable return to the programme of the day. “This seems an ignominious way for the McGill case to have ended. It was front page news for weeks. My chief was hung out to dry by the press. We lived and breathed the investigation for months. It sucked us in, body and soul.”
“Time has a way of blunting even the most traumatic of episodes.”
His pained expression suggested no such softening of the events had taken place for him. “I’d like to hear more of your opinion on the details, DCI Bevan.” He raked a hand through his thick fringe. “Once you’ve read through the rest of the evidence, would you be willing to discuss it with me again?”
Dani eyed the man carefully. He was well-groomed and his demeanour exuded professionalism, but there was a hint of desperation to the tone of his request.
“Of course, Ravi. Take my card and we can talk again next week.”
The muscles in his face visibly relaxed. He took the card and slid it into his wallet as carefully as if he’d been given a fifty-pound note.
Dani strode towards the lecture theatre. Glancing backward she saw that Ravi Stevens was still standing at the table they’d occupied, with his arms lying limply by his side. The detective displayed no indication he was about to follow her in.
Before she realised what was happening, Dani was swiftly ushered to an empty seat near the back of the hall and the doors pulled firmly shut behind her.
*
The hallway was dark as he entered. Although his partner often worked late he’d assumed she’d be back before him on this occasion. She was attending a conference just south of the river, closer to their new flat than the Pitt Street Headquarters.
Fergus placed his briefcase on the hall table. He moved towards the sitting room, where a low light spilled from one of the table lamps.
Alice was lying asleep on the sofa, her body propped up with cushions and a tablet computer balanced precariously on her lap. Fergus leant over and scooped it up, laying his other hand on her shoulder.
“Alice, are you okay?” He murmured.
Her eyes flickered open. “Oh, hi. I was just reading through the lecture notes from today. I must have dropped off. Bevan brought me home early, my back was killing me.”
Fergus perched on the arm of the sofa. “How are you feeling now?”
She levered herself up. “Much better, thanks. It was those hard, plastic chairs that did for me. They may as well have metal spikes incorporated into the back rests.”
Fergus chuckled. “Seriously though Alice, I’m not sure if you’ll be able to keep travelling in for these next two months. The DCS might have to assign you some paperwork to do at home.”
She sighed heavily. “It would feel like a defeat. Rosemary in Vice carried on until a week before her due date and she’s like a decade older than me.”
Fergus laughed. “It’s not a competition! That’s pregnancy for you, some have it rough and a few have it even rougher.” He massaged her shoulder. “You’ve got to take care of yourself and the baby. You’ll be back at work soon enough.”
Alice nodded. She knew he was right. But it wasn’t him having to hit the pause button on his career. ‘How’s the trial?”
His posture slumped. “The prosecution team are killing us. The Judge has allowed them to reveal to the jury that Edmunds received a banning order from Hibs FC in 2015.”
“I thought you argued it wasn’t relevant to the current case?”
“I tried, but the Right Honourable Charles Dundas disagreed. Because the brawl took place in a pub by the Leith docks, on the day that most establishments were showing a big Hibs match, he thinks the fight could have been an offshoot of some type of football hooliganism.”
Alice frowned. “It’s a stretch. I’m amazed the judge has so much knowledge of Edinburgh’s footie culture to be honest.”
Fergus raised his dark eyebrows. “I’m sure he doesn’t, but the prosecuting counsel explained the possible connection to him in painstaking detail.”
“I suppose if Edmunds has a history of violence and affray, the jury ought to know about it. It makes the fight which left another man dead from his injuries seem less of an unfortunate case of alcohol fuelled high-jinks and more like a cold-blooded attack.”
“Exactly. Our chances of reducing the plea to manslaughter are diminishing by the hour.”
Alice decided to change the subject. She had precious little sympathy for Billy Edmunds. “I’ve spent the afternoon reading about the McGill case.”
Fergus narrowed his dark eyes in concentration. “Should I remember it?”
“We would have still been at school when it happened. It was the case of the corporate lawyer shot dead on his doorstep at a remote cottage in the Highlands in 2003.”
Fergus nodded in recognition. “Ah, yes. I saw the widow being interviewed on the news a few years ago for the tenth anniversary of the killing. She was trying to encourage witnesses to come forward with information, trying to jog some memories. It was desperately sad, really.”
“The murder team at Cleland did everything they could. But the leads were limited. The gun was the only piece of solid evidence they ever found. It had been wiped clean of prints. The killer never entered the house. No one caught sight of him or her except the victim.”
“I recall the widow saying they were going to install CCTV once they’d finished refurbishing the property. They hadn’t got around to it when the murder happened.”
“You could hardly blame them. The Highlands is a safe place. Before the tragedy, there hadn’t been a man murdered in Cleland since the clan battles of the 18th Century.”
Fergus got to his feet. “You and I have been in this business long enough to know that the motive was probably something domestic. I got the impression that maybe the ex-wife paid for a hit. Those guys know how to cover their tracks.”
Alice nodded but she didn’t reply. The investigating team had followed up that line of enquiry at the time. It hadn’t led anywhere. She suddenly became aware of a growling hunger in the pit of her stomach. “I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I’m starving.”
“I’ll fix us something to eat. No wonder the baby’s giving you a kick in the backside. He’s hungry.”
Alice smiled, smoothing her hand across the soft material stretching over the bump.
“After dinner, I’ll make a start on unpacking those boxes. We don’t want our new houseguest arriving before we’re properly ready.”
Chapter 3
November 2003
Morning light was creating a pinkish outline to the rugged slopes of the Westall hills. Detective Inspector Tony Shorter looked at his watch. It was nearly 5am. He would have expected to have finished-up with the forensics by now. But the scene was chaotic when they arrived.
Holly McGill had been in hysterics. She’d smeared her husband’s blood all over the ground floor of the property and onto the clothing of the other witnesses. The techies were still finding rogue smudges on door frames and skirting boards four hours after starting their examination.
Shorter dropped the butt of his cigarette and ground it into the gravel of the driveway. He turned back towards the house. At least the body had been photographed and bagged up to go to the lab in Fort William. He took a deep breath, this was the part he wasn’t relishing.
Mrs McGill was wrapped in a blanket and seated at the kitchen dining table, where the remains of the previous night’s meal were still evident. Half empty wine glasses and discarded napkins dotted its surface. The paramedics had given the widow a sedative.
The two dinner guests were standing by the sink, their pale features slack with shock. The dark-haired man had dried blood streaked down his shirt front.
Shorter dipped his head towards DS Colin Bell, who asked the couple to wait in the sitting room until they were called. The officers pulled out the chairs opposite the wife and sat down.
“Mrs McGill,” Shorter began gently, briefly picturing his own wife at home in their semi-detached cottage in Cleland. “We need to ask you a few questions before we can leave you to get some rest.”
She lifted her head slowly, as if it weighed a ton and eyed him blankly. “What is there to say?”
“Did you get a look at the person who shot your husband?”
“No. The doorbell rang when we were about to eat dessert. It was nearly midnight and Richard went to answer it.”
“Nobody went with him?”
She shook her shoulder-length brown hair, now matted with blood, mucus and tears. “He went alone. We thought it might be someone lost along the track.”
“How long was it before you heard the shot?”
She scrunched her face in concentration, her mind fighting the dulling effects of the sleeping pill. “He came back in again first.”
The officers glanced at one another.
“He went to the dresser.” She lifted her arm under the blanket and indicated the piece of Victorian furniture behind the door, one of its drawers still partially open. “Richard said, ‘he wants a bloody torch’, or words to that effect. He found one in the drawer. Then my husband went back into the hallway.” She shuddered. “The shot came only seconds later”.
Shorter murmured something to his colleague who s
lipped out of the room. “It was definitely ‘he’?”
Holly fixed him with a stare. “What? You think a woman could have done this?”
“Not really,” he replied flatly. “But we mustn’t rule anything out.”
“We’ve only just moved here. We don’t know anyone in the area. Who could have done this?”
“You’ve got a skip outside in the driveway. Have you had work done on the property recently?”
“Yes, the whole place has been renovated. We bought it from the estate of an old lady who passed away, it’d gone to rack and ruin. We used Mike Ross, he’s based in the village.”
“I know him. This is a very small community. When were Ross and his team last here?”
“On Thursday. We’ve just completed the first stage. The men were taking a break until starting on the guest extension next week.” She gazed off into the distance, as if the concept of this was overwhelming.
“And there’d been no argument between Ross and your husband? A disagreement over money, for example?” Shorter asked the question only half-heartedly. He’d known Mike Ross since school, he wasn’t a killer.
“No, there were some heated discussions over the timescale. My husband wanted the process completed as soon as possible, but nothing you could describe as a disagreement. They were drinking beer together on Thursday afternoon, to celebrate the end of stage one.”
Shorter leant his weight on the table, placing his palms out flat. “Was there anyone in Mr McGill’s life who could have wanted to do him harm? Any enemies you knew of?”
Tears were threatening to escape onto Holly’s cheeks again. Her voice was wobbly. “Richard and I only married six months ago. He has an ex-wife and two children in Bearsden. The divorce was very bitter. He’d been seeing me for a long while beforehand, you see.”
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