Buried Secrets (DCI MacBain Scottish Crimes Book 1)

by Oliver Davies

  Who used the word nefarious? “Do you think we’d be asking if they weren’t?” I said.

  That slick smile faltered, knocked off balance, but he pasted it back on a second later, letting out a strained chuckle. “I’m terribly sorry. Please, give me just one second to check our files.”

  He shooed his son away from the computer and settling himself onto the stool, tapping a couple of buttons to wake the old dinosaur up. I leaned my elbow against the counter as I waited. The device was from the nineties and took an age and a day to boot up. When the screen finally burst to life, Johnson Sr rooted around for his records file. Clearly, he wasn’t overly adept with technology. He used two fingers to type the licence plate numbers into the search bar while his son looked on unhelpfully. I wanted to reach across the counter and rip the keyboard away from him.

  “Alright, here we go,” Johnson Sr drawled. “Looks like both vehicles were rented by the same account a week apart.”

  “What’s the name on the account?” I asked, perking up. Finally, we were getting somewhere.

  He clicked the mouse a couple of times. “Let’s see… Allraise Ventures.”

  The name meant nothing to me, and Fletcher shook her head when I glanced at her. “Do you remember who came in to make the reservation?” I asked.

  “Why would I be able to do that? That was the beginning of the month. I don’t remember the customer who was in here this morning.”

  I could feel a headache brewing behind my left eye. “What about CCTV footage?”

  “Nope.”

  I waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, I dug my fingernails into my palm and took a deep breath. “What do you mean, nope?”

  “We don’t have CCTV footage,” Johnson Sr elaborated rather reluctantly, I thought.

  “Why not?” Fletcher asked. “Aren’t you worried about theft?”

  Johnson Sr shrugged. “Not really.”

  That seemed like all the information we were going to drag out of him on that account, so I switched topics. “We’ll need all the information you have on file for Allraise Ventures.”

  “Sure. Sure. I can do that.” Johnson Sr’s thick eyebrows folded downwards as he fought to remember how to print the information on the screen. He glanced at his son, but the younger man was too busy looking at his phone to be of any help. He found the correct button, and the equally ancient printer in the corner dragged itself to life. It coughed, sounding about ready to shake itself to pieces, and spat out a couple of papers that Johnson Sr gathered, taking his sweet time passing it over the counter to me.

  “Thanks,” I said and gave him my card in exchange. “Call if these people come to rent anything else.”

  Johnson Sr nodded that he would, bid us a cheery goodbye, and disappeared back in his office. His son replaced him on the stool before the computer, though he couldn’t be bothered to look up at as.

  Fletcher and I retreated to her car to look over the papers. The address was in Edinburgh, though Fletcher didn’t recognize the company from her time living there. There was a phone number but no registered names, which I thought was odd because that was usually necessary for insurance purposes.

  I dialled the number, but it rang and rang and rang without anyone answering it or even going to voicemail. I frowned as I hung up. Maybe Haruto had heard of it. “We should get back to the station,” I said. “Maybe we can dig something up on this Allraise Ventures.” I was willing to bet it was some kind of shell company, but if we could figure out what pies they had their fingers in, maybe we could figure out what they wanted with Haruto.

  Eleven

  My phone rang as we drove back to the station, and I quickly pulled it from my pocket, hopeful that it would be Allraise Ventures calling me back, as unlikely as that was.

  “MacBain,” I said by way of greeting.

  “DCI MacBain? It’s Lena Taggert.”

  My pulse jumped at the sound of her voice. I cleared my throat and tried to force the fatigue from my words as I replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “This morning, when I spoke to you, you had a man in custody. He had red hair; the constable said something about him being a thief?”

  “I remember.” I was pretty sure he was a new hire, with the department for less than a year.

  “Well, there was something familiar about the man. I didn’t realize what it was until just now. I think he’s the one I saw trying to speak with Finn.”

  Instantly, all my aches and pains disappeared, fire racing through my veins at Lena’s words. I sat straight up and quickly put the phone on speaker, holding it up between Fletcher and myself. “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “He was far away and wearing a hat, but I’m pretty sure it’s him. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.” Lena’s voice drooped over the phone, and I rushed to comfort her.

  “No, that’s okay. You did well to remember at all. Thank you. That’s really helpful.” I hesitated, then continued. “I’m sorry if this is out of line, but is everything okay with your ex?” Fletcher made a faintly judgemental face in the mirror.

  There was silence on the other line for a beat. “He’s, ah, he’s called me twice already today, but I just let it go to voicemail. I appreciate your concern, DCI MacBain.”

  “Callum,” I said before I could stop myself. “And if you ever need help with him, please let me know.”

  “I will. Thank you, Callum.” I heard the hint of a smile in her voice before she said goodbye and hung up.

  “Flirt on your own time,” Fletcher said, grinning. “She really thinks she recognized Finn’s father?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Step on it.”

  Fletcher put her hand on her chest and gave me a mock aghast look. “How dare you? I would never speed.

  “You’ve been going ten over since we left the station,” I reminded her, and she shrugged shamelessly.

  This felt good. This felt like we finally had something tangible to hold on to, a lead that we could act upon, information we could pass along to Ainslee so she would know that we weren’t just spinning our wheels.

  Fletcher parked a little haphazardly but didn’t bother to correct it since we both wanted to jump on this as quickly as we could. I climbed from the car, Lena’s tip giving fresh life to my limbs, and led Fletcher into the station, eyes seeking out the constable who’d brought in the red-haired man. I spotted him at the desk he shared with another, off-duty constable and made my way over to him, trying not to break into a jog in my excitement.

  “Owens, isn’t it?” I said, reading the name off the badge pinned to his uniform.

  Startled, Owens glanced up, eyes widening even further when he saw two DIs standing over his desk. “Uh, yessir,” he stammered.

  “The thief you were questioning this morning, what’s his name?”

  “Alec MacGowan. Why?”

  “What did you bring him in for?”

  “He was caught breaking into a townhouse on Crown Drive.”

  “What did he take?”

  “A few jewels, a deed to some old castle. Vince thinks he might be linked to some other thefts in town.”

  “I just got a tip that he might be connected to my missing persons case. Do you mind if we speak to him?”

  Owens rightfully looked worried that we might take his collar away from him, but he swallowed and nodded. “He’s still back in holding. Do you want to bring him out for you?”

  “That would be great,” I said. “Just don’t tell him what it’s about.”

  Owens handed me the case file then disappeared to do my bidding while Fletcher and I went to wait behind the glass in the interrogation room. I wanted to take a look at MacGowan, Smith, or whatever his name was before we sat down to talk to him. I glanced into Dunnel’s office as I passed, but Haruto vanished, hopefully to somewhere safe. We would have to check in with him about Allraise Ventures as quickly as we could.

  “You really think Finn’s father was under our noses the whole time?”
Fletcher asked, folding her arms and leaning up against the wall beside the mirror.

  “It would be a wild coincidence,” I said

  “If he’s a criminal, it would explain why he bailed, why Ainslee hasn’t seen him in so long, why he might be connected to those thugs that attacked us.”

  It would, and I wondered if it was a little too neat.

  Owens didn’t keep us waiting long. Just a few minutes later, he pushed MacGowan into the interrogation room and sat him down in the metal chair, leaving the man’s handcuffs on. Owens gave us a small nod through the mirror and then left.

  I crossed my arms and studied Alec MacGowan. He was slender, on the shorter side, and his red hair certainly matched Finn’s, though it was cut short, hiding any evidence of curls. His eyes were calm, maybe a little bored, so he had either done this before, or he was very good at masking his emotions. I flipped through his file. He’d been arrested two days after Finn’s disappearance, the morning before the case dropped on my desk. He had no registered address or known contacts, no fingerprints on file before today. He was the perfect picture of a ghost, just like our Richard Smith.

  “How do you want to do this?” Fletcher asked. MacGowan’s eyes were locked on the two-way mirror as if he knew we were watching him.

  “Directly,” I said. If MacGowan had really nabbed his own kid, why would he risk getting caught for a simple burglary the same week? And if he were that dumb, what kind of trouble was Finn in now with no one around to take care of him? We had to move quickly.

  I entered the room with a cold expression on my face, dropping the file to the table with enough force that it hit with an audible thwap. Fletcher shut and locked the door behind us and then leaned against the mirror while I settled into the chair across from MacGowan, staring at him flatly for a long while just to see if he would squirm. He simply looked back at me, sprawled out as languidly in his chair as he could be with his hands cuffed to the table.

  “So,” I said finally, “do you prefer Alec MacGowan or Richard Smith?”

  That got a reaction out of him. He couldn’t stop his surprise from flitting across his face as he sat up straighter in his chair.

  “I’m sorry?” he said, trying to play it cool, but I had already seen through him.

  “It’s a simple question. Do you prefer Alec MacGowan or Richard Smith?” I repeated. I smiled at him just to show a smidge of teeth.

  “My name is Alec MacGowan. I don’t know who--”

  I cut him off. “So you’re not the Richard Smith who was once married to Ainslee Wair? You don’t have a son named Finn?”

  “No, of course not.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, and his eyes cut away from mine.

  “Why, of course not?”

  “I have no idea who those people are.”

  “You’re not a very good liar for a thief,” Fletcher said from behind me.

  “Why d'you do it, MacGowan?” I asked. “Did you finally get fed up that custody didn’t go your way? Did you want leverage over your ex-wife?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Did you decide you were the better parent? Did you figure it was time to indoctrinate your kid into your criminal ways? Or had stealing inanimate objects simply grown boring, and you thought you’d try your hand at a live one?” I watched MacGowan’s face as I spoke, watched it twitch and jump as he warred to keep his emotions in check, eyebrows furrowing, mouth turned down, fists clenched upon the table.

  “I would never,” he ground out, abandoning his pretence.

  “Why did you call Finn’s homeroom teacher last year?” I demanded.

  Surprise flashed through his eyes as he glanced over at me. “It was a moment of weakness,” he admitted. “I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

  “Because you suddenly decided you wanted custody?”

  MacGowan’s fists flexed, and he struggled to relax them. “No, of course not. I love my son. I just wanted to check in on him. Is that a crime?”

  “No, but kidnapping is.”

  “Why did you leave if you love him so much?” Fletcher asked before I could tick off MacGowan any more than I already had.

  “To protect him,” MacGowan said.

  “Good job with that then.” That was cruel, and I knew it, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them as my mind threw me back to university and another man who’d been unwilling to stay.

  The handcuffs prevented MacGowan from leaping across the table to strangle me, but he certainly looked like he wanted to, despite my greater height and muscle mass. His face had turned red to match his hair, and his hands trembled atop the table. “What the hell do you know?” he yelled. “Do you think leaving was easy for me? I regret it every day! But that doesn’t mean I would kidnap him!” His voice became quieter and quieter, strength bleeding out of him with every word. “I didn’t kidnap my son,” he promised in a whisper.

  Fletcher left her position at the back wall and came to sit beside me. “But you knew he’d been taken.”

  MacGowan looked between us, the anger dropping from his face and replaced by fear and grief. “I can’t tell you anything,” he whispered. His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to collapse in on himself, his already diminutive frame shrinking even further.

  “Why not?” Following Fletcher’s lead, I pitched my voice low and soft.

  “I can’t. They’ll--” He stopped himself and shook his head, glancing away from us. He moved as if to fold his arms across his chest, but the motion was aborted by the cuffs holding his wrists in place.

  “We’re trying to find your son, Alec.” I used his first name in the hopes that would somehow help him open up to me. “We want to bring him home safe. We can’t do that if you clam up on us.”

  MacGowan shifted in his seat, restless anxiety overtaking his earlier forced calm. “If they find out I talked to you, they’ll hurt him.”

  “And I promise I won’t let that happen,” I said, and I meant it more than I had ever meant another statement. “But I need to know the truth. If you really want to protect Finn, this is how you do it. Do you know who kidnapped your son?”

  MacGowan took a deep breath. “Yes.

  Fletcher flipped open her notebook and nodded to me that she was ready.

  “Tell me.”

  Twelve

  Three days ago

  Three men cornered Alec by the River Ness Tuesday evening. He had received his usual summons for a job a few hours previous. It was anonymous, typed on plain, white paper, and left in the flowers by a tumbled grave at the Old High Church, asking to meet at sundown. There was no mention of what the job might be, but that was normal since no one wanted a record of a crime just lying around, waiting for someone to find it. Alec read it in an alley around the corner from the church and then destroyed it, setting it alight with the lighter he kept in his pocket for that reason.

  Then, just before the appointed time, he went down to his usual bench by the riverside, dressed in his black rain slicker. He watched the sunset while he waited, though the clouds which had lingered all day heavily muted the colours. Pale fingers of red and orange reached through the cover to caress the dark waters of the River Ness before they tucked themselves away for the night.

  Alec sensed the men’s approach but didn’t move, allowing them to come to him. Two of them sat down on either side of him with the last lingered at his back, raising the hairs on his neck. Alarm bells rang around his head. The men were far too close for a casual conversation. He tensed, ready to bolt, but the man to his left opened his jacket slightly, revealing the grip of the gun tucked inside.

  Alec swallowed and leaned back on the bench, trying to pretend as if he were totally at ease and in control of the situation. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  “We’ve a job for you,” the man with the gun spoke, his voice low and gruff.

  Alec cut his eyes to the side to get a look at him, but most of his face was cast into shadow by the rim of his tweed
cap and the upturned collar of his coat. Alec decided not to mention the gun and his unease. These seemed the kind of men to snap at any provocation.

  “I figured. Are you aware of my terms and standard fee?”

  “Oh, we won’t be paying you,” the man sneered.

  Alec snapped his head around to look at the man fully, his shock overriding his caution. “Are you kidding me? I don’t do jobs for free. Take your business elsewhere.”

  He began to stand, furious that his time had been wasted, but a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, pushing him to the bench while the man in the hat took his phone from his pocket. Alec glanced back, and a man with a squashed nose glared down at him, daring him to resist.

  “Come now, I think we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement,” the leader said as he began a video call. It only rang three times before a woman with a black, braided crown picked up. Her face filled the screen so that Alec could see nothing beyond her.

  “You have a skill that we need,” the man continued, “and we’ve got something that you want. I propose a trade.”

  He nodded to the woman, and she flipped her phone’s camera so that Alec could see what sat in front of her.

  Alec’s heart stopped. It dropped right out of his chest and into his boots, crushed beneath his suddenly sweating feet. His son sat at the centre of a dim, concrete room, bound to a wooden chair by a length of coarse rope. There was dried blood under his nose, stark against his pale skin, and his red curls lay matted against his forehead, just long enough to dangle in his large, frightened eyes. He couldn’t see Alec, probably wouldn’t even recognize him if he did, but he stared up at the camera silently as his lip trembled.

  “What have you done?” Alec growled as fury lanced through him, burning away the shock and fear that had paralyzed him. He tried to lunge towards the man and the phone, but the hand on his shoulder was a vice, locking him painfully into place.