Mark of the Devil

by Tana Collins

  ‘No.’ Carruthers could feel his pulse quicken as he held his breath. ‘So the tattoo is familiar to you?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. We have seen this tattoo many times recently.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Carruthers. He had picked up a pen and motioned for Fletcher to find him something to write on.

  ‘It’s the mark of the Haravere gang in Tallinn. They’re a particularly vicious gang of pimps. Brand their prostitutes like cattle. The eye and tear drop is a symbol of Lucifer. The leaders of the gang are brothers, Aleks and Marek Voller. The older, Marek, calls himself, Kurat – the devil.’

  ‘Can you give me a positive ID on the girl?’ asked Carruthers.

  ‘Looks similar to the girl reported missing. It may be Marika Paju,’ said Lepp.

  ‘We need to get in touch with her parents,’ continued Carruthers, feeling excitement mounting. At last. A breakthrough. ‘See if they can fly over to identify her.’ If it is her. ‘Can you give me any other information on the Vollers and their gang?’

  ‘They don’t just run high-class prostitutes. They are involved in people trafficking. Very nasty. Also drugs.’

  Carruthers swallowed hard. People traffickers. And they’d arrived in Scotland. Or at least one of their victims had. Carruthers glanced at his watch. After a short exchange of conversation Carruthers thanked Lepp, who promised to stay in touch. Bypassing the coffee machine he made a beeline for Harris.

  ‘No joy, boss,’ said Harris. ‘Computer systems are down. It’ll have to wait til morning.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Carruthers. ‘Bring back the good old days, eh. We could have found that information out by now. First thing tomorrow, Dougie. Hear me?’

  ‘I’m only as good as the computer systems, boss,’ Harris said in an aggrieved voice.

  Which is fucking useless, thought Carruthers. Harris was, in fact, even more useless than a temperamental computer. Finally though, he felt, they were starting to get somewhere in the investigation. He’d left Olev Lepp and the Tallinn Police to contact Marika Paju’s parents so that was one monkey off his back.

  He did three more hours of work. Feeling tired, he shut his computer down. His stomach growled. He should get some supper. He looked at his watch. Knowing she often ate late, he picked up the phone and called Gill McLaren.

  Carruthers brought the pint up to his lips. Took a deep drink of it. It left a foaming moustache above his top lip, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. He was sitting in his new favourite chair in a corner of the Waterfront. There was a live folk band playing. He had only meant to go in for one but ended up having three. He remembered the night he’d taken Jodie Pettigrew, the pathology assistant, to the Dreel Tavern for a meal. A wave of sadness came over him. That hadn’t ended well. Much like all the other relationships he’d had.

  The front door of the pub opened. Carruthers looked up. In walked Gill McLaren.

  ‘Glad you could make it,’ Carruthers shouted over the noise of the band.

  ‘I got delayed,’ she mouthed. ‘Forth Road Bridge again. It was a bit hairy coming over in this wind.’

  ‘It’s still blowy.’

  She nodded taking a seat. ‘See you’ve made a start without me,’ she said glancing at his pint.

  The song came to an end to generous applause and the band announced they were taking a break. ‘So tell me about this conference you’re attending tomorrow, then,’ said Carruthers.

  ‘It’s a seed science conference in Castletown. I’m deputising for a colleague who’s fallen ill. Thought I’d make a weekend of it. I’m in a B&B here in Anstruther.’ She picked up a menu. ‘How are you getting on in the investigation?’

  Carruthers pulled a face.

  ‘Oh dear. As well as that? That why you on the booze?’

  Carruthers grimaced. Putting his pint once more to his lips he asked, ‘No more news on the meat laced with poison, I suppose? Sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Diet coke, please.’

  Carruthers fought his way to the bar, bought the diet coke then walked back to their table, handing the drink to Gill, who smiled her thanks.

  ‘You were just about to tell me about the poison?’ said Carruthers.

  ‘It’s a common enough toxin,’ said Gill. ‘Meat was fresh so had only been out there a day or so. I’ve found something of interest for you, though.’

  ‘Oh yes, what’s that?’

  ‘The RSPB organises walks around Pinetum Park dunes on the lookout for sea eagles. They’ve been hugely successful. They usually see at least one sea eagle. That’s not all though. These sea eagles or white-tailed eagles, as they’re also known, are fitted with transmitters. Sometimes you can see them actually being released into the wild.’

  ‘So it’s more than likely they were after sea eagles?’

  ‘Indeed. Beautiful birds. We got one into the SASA lab once. A few years ago, now. That was a case of poisoning. The wingspan is simply enormous. It caused quite a stir. I think everyone who was in the building that day came to take a look. Even the on-site massage therapist. Anyway, as much as we both love birds, you don’t want to talk sea eagles all evening. Have there been any developments in the body on the beach case?’

  Carruthers thought back to when the body on the beach had been found.

  ‘There has been one development,’ he said.

  ‘Oh yes?’

  He stared into Gill’s blue eyes. ‘We’ve been making enquiries at the nearby Ardgarren Estate. It’s a shooting estate so an obvious starting point. We reckon whoever laid the meat may have left the binoculars and called in the body. Anonymously. It’s a theory anyway and at the moment we don’t have much else to go on. We interviewed the two gamekeepers of Cuthbert’s.’

  ‘Sounds sensible,’ said Gill. ‘So what’s the development?’

  ‘One of them, the young lad, has disappeared.’

  Gill whistled. ‘Foul play?’

  ‘Let’s hope not. We already have one body to deal with. Don’t want two.’

  The waitress came over. A thin girl with dyed pink hair Carruthers hadn’t seen before. ‘We’re just taking last orders for food,’ she lisped. He noticed she had her tongue pierced. Wondered if the piercing had been recent. He had heard that the tongue swelled when pierced and could imagine it might cause a temporary lisp. He wondered if it hurt. After studying the menus for a few moments they ordered their meals. Gill plumped for scampi and chips. Carruthers went for a favourite dish of his – steak and ale pie.

  ‘So what is the latest on the body on the beach?’ Gill prompted.

  Carruthers unravelled his knife and fork from its red paper serviette and placed the serviette on his lap.

  ‘You’re keen,’ said Gill with a laugh. ‘Are those pot noodles really that bad?’

  Carruthers smiled then looked serious. ‘We may have identified the girl. She’s possibly Estonian.’ He didn’t tell Gill that Marika, if it was the same girl, had been known to the Estonian police, was in the early stages of pregnancy or that her presumably heartbroken family were flying over from Estonia to try to identify her.

  ‘Did the tattoo help identify her?’

  ‘Yes, in a manner of speaking, it did.’ Again, he didn’t want to impart too much information, even to a friend. ‘We still don’t know what the link is between the cases yet…’ Perhaps they didn’t know the link, he thought, but having spoken to the Estonian police they’d found out the meaning of the tattoo. It had been the tattoo that had given them their breakthrough. And it had meant something. It had been a mark of ownership.

  ‘You really think there is one?’

  Carruthers laughed. ‘We don’t believe in coincidence in the police. But we do believe in cause and effect.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow you.’

  ‘Sorry. Just ignore me. Thinking aloud. I’m not sure I know what I’m talking about myself.’ He laughed. But as he said that he was thinking about the disappearance of young Joe McGuigan. He was sure the
boy hadn’t gone on a bender. Was convinced something more sinister had happened to him. Perhaps because of something he’d seen. There it was. Cause and effect.

  The steaming plates of food arrived. Carruthers could feel the saliva building in his mouth. He was seriously hungry. As he speared a piece of meat, the band took their positions once more on the stage, making further conversation impossible. Instead they shared a smile and ate in companionable silence.

  Once the band had finished their final set, Carruthers fell into easy conversation with Gill. They chatted like old friends. Carruthers watched her as she talked, so bubbly and full of life. He liked the way her cheeks shone with a rosy glow in the warmth of the pub and loved the way her blue eyes sparkled. He was surprised to find he was still thinking of her long after they’d called it a night and he had gone to bed.

  The following day Carruthers was at his desk by 8am again. By 8:30am he was leading the team brief. That morning he’d put on the lightest shirt he could find, short-sleeved white cotton. It was already sticking to his back. Despite it being overcast the weather was still humid and if it kept up like this he knew he’d need another shower by lunchtime.

  ‘Right, we’re finally starting to move with the investigation into the body on the beach,’ he said. ‘The Estonian authorities have been in touch to say that twenty-six-year-old Marika Paju was reported missing on July 18th from a suburb just outside Tallinn. Her parents are flying over to ID the body.’

  ‘What was she doing in the UK?’ asked Harris. ‘Come to scrounge, like the rest of ’em?’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Dougie,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘It seems she was a prostitute,’ said Carruthers. ‘Being run by a bunch of human traffickers in the Tallinn area. Tallinn Police managed to speak with a couple of the girl’s friends. Seems she wanted to make a new life for herself in the UK. Had always wanted to live in Scotland. Felt we were more welcoming of immigrants than other parts of the UK.’

  That at least had the effect of shutting Harris up. Carruthers hadn’t been unaware of the glare Fletcher had given Harris.

  ‘This,’ said Carruthers, lifting up the photograph of the girl’s tattoo and tapping it, ‘has meaning.’ He’d got their attention. Even Harris seemed interested and had stopped glancing at his Racing Post, which he clearly thought Carruthers couldn’t see under his file. ‘The Estonian police identified it as being a tattoo that a particular group of pimps use to brand their prostitutes.’ Even as he said it he started to feel sick again. And sick that someone should have been subjected to that lifestyle. ‘Apparently one of her friends gave her money. Enough to get across from Estonia, at least. What happened between the time she left Estonia and when she ended up on a Fife beach, we don’t yet know.’

  There was a momentary quiet in the room as the officers considered the point.

  ‘We need to find out,’ Carruthers continued. ‘And we still don’t know whether it was an accident, suicide or something altogether more sinister. There is a chance her pimps might have tracked her down.’

  ‘All the way to Scotland?’ asked Harris. ‘Seems unlikely.’

  ‘Dougie is right,’ said Fletcher. ‘Unless she had information about them and they wanted her silenced.’

  ‘Gayle, I want you to speak with immigration,’ said Carruthers. ‘See if you can find any record of a Marika Paju coming into the country. Could be a flight or ferry. Anything. See what you can find.’

  ‘Do we know how long she’s likely to have been in Scotland?’ asked Watson.

  ‘Police think she may have left Tallinn in the middle of July, and her parents reported her missing earlier in the month, so not long.’ Carruthers looked around the room. ‘OK, I’m taking it nobody’s come forward locally to say they knew the girl?’

  There was a shaking of heads. ‘OK. Keep asking around. Once again, I’d like you to extend the area.’

  ‘Andie,’ said Carruthers, ‘I want you with me when I talk to Marika Paju’s parents.’ Fletcher nodded. ‘Right,’ he said, pulling open another notebook, ‘let’s move on to our art thefts. Andie, what did you find out about the airfields and flying schools?’

  Fletcher opened her black notebook and read from it. ‘I’ve spoken to Fife Flying Club, based in Glenrothes. There’s also a flying school here in Castletown. I’m getting a list of everyone who’s attended or who’s taken up a plane in the last twelve months. I’ve got to be honest. I’ve spoken to both managers and neither remember any unusual requests to circle particular areas or to take photographs. They’re asking all the trainers.’

  ‘OK.’ Carruthers squeezed the back of his neck. It felt tight and sore. Maybe he’d slept at a funny angle. ‘We seem to be drawing lots of blanks at the moment. Keep at it. How are we doing on the golf club membership?’

  ‘There might be something in that,’ said Fletcher. ‘All three victims were members of Carrockhall Golf Club.’

  Carruthers glanced at Harris and said, ‘Dougie, have you managed to run checks to see if anyone working at Carrockhall has a criminal record?’

  ‘Derek Sturrock’s got a criminal record for theft.’

  Carruthers looked questioningly at Harris, who had a broad smile.

  ‘Has he now?’ said Carruthers.

  ‘There’s more,’ said Harris.

  ‘Are you going to share it with the rest of us?’ asked Carruthers.

  ‘Barry Cuthbert. Breaking and entering from when he was a teenager and a short stint inside when he was in his thirties. For burglary.’ Dougie Harris sat back, placing his hands above his head, looking pleased with himself.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said Carruthers. ‘We keep coming back to Mr Barry Cuthbert, don’t we? So our illustrious Barry “I-like-expensive-things” Cuthbert not only has a criminal record for theft, he is also a member of the same golf club as our three art theft victims, likes his expensive works of art and employs a gamekeeper who is currently missing. Not only that, but the senior gamekeeper has also got a criminal record for theft.’

  ‘Was there anything on the elusive estate manager, Pip McGuire?’

  ‘Nothing under that name.’

  ‘And nothing on Joe McGuigan?’

  ‘No. He’s clean.’

  ‘Back to Cuthbert’s, sir?’ asked Fletcher.

  ‘We’ve got nothing on him,’ said Carruthers. ‘But I want him watched closely. I want a tail put on him.’

  ‘We don’t have the manpower,’ said Harris. ‘Will Bingham give us more muscle?’

  ‘Leave Superintendent Bingham to me,’ said Carruthers.

  Suddenly Brown put his head round the door.

  ‘You’re developing a habit of interrupting team briefs. What is it this time, Willie? Had better be good.’

  ‘I just thought you’d want to know that Pip McGuire has arrived. I’ve put him in your office.’

  ‘Thank you, Willie.’

  Brown disappeared after he’d winked at Carruthers. Carruthers wondered what the wink was all about.

  Carruthers wrapped up the meeting and headed back to his office. He opened the door and found himself surprised and face to face with Barry Cuthbert’s estate manager.

  ‘Philippa McGuire.’ As she said her name the woman rose to her feet. ‘Everyone calls me Pip.’

  Carruthers tried not to stare but it was difficult. She was about five foot nine inches and wearing jodhpurs and a riding jacket. A smell of horse clung to the air. A partly drunk cup of tea sat on the edge of his desk, Carruthers wondered where on earth Brown had found a china cup in this station. But then Brown was a sucker for a pretty face. And he lived very close by. Carruthers wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Brown had dashed home just for the cup and saucer.

  ‘You’ve been very elusive, Ms McGuire. But thank you for coming to the station.’ Carruthers wanted to add the word ‘finally’ but resisted. ‘Please,’ he gestured for the woman to sit. ‘Take a seat.’

  As she sat down demurely, Carruthers assessed her. She looked only late twe
nties but surely she must have been older. Perhaps she had one of those ageless faces that some women were graced with. Yes, Carruthers decided, she must be early thirties. But even so, he found it an odd appointment. He couldn’t imagine her getting involved in anything or with anyone dodgy, and Barry Cuthbert had ‘fake’ written all over him.

  ‘Why did you want to see me?’ She broke the silence and his thoughts were that she had a cut-glass English accent. Carruthers got the impression this was a woman far from timid. He took in her manicured nails, blonde hair swept up in a ponytail and expensive looking diamond earrings. And she most certainly had what the upper classes called ‘breeding’.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Ms McGuire, how long have you been Barry Cuthbert’s estate manager?’

  Pip appeared amused by the question.

  ‘A little over a year.’

  Carruthers realised that they were each sizing the other up. He could tell that she had already worked out that he was surprised by her age and gender.

  ‘Ms McGuire, how much do you know about Barry Cuthbert?’

  ‘I have a very close working relationship with Barry but that’s as far as it goes. We’re not friends outside work.’

  Carruthers chose his next words with care. ‘I imagine you would need to have in order to manage the running of his estate.’ He noticed though that she hadn’t actually answered his question.

  She smiled at him but Carruthers could see that the smile was false. There was a coldness in her eyes. She was most certainly ambitious, thought Carruthers. Of course, nothing wrong with that. He wondered what salary she commanded in order to be able to buy herself the diamond ring and expensive earrings. It was of course also entirely conceivable that they were family heirlooms.

  ‘What are your duties?’ he asked.

  ‘I am sure you know what an estate manager does,’ she said. ‘My official title is CEO of Cuthbert Estates.’

  ‘I would assume you are responsible for hiring staff?’

  She nodded.

  ‘In that case did you hire Joe McGuigan?’

  ‘I did.’ Her face suddenly clouded. ‘I hear he’s gone missing. He’s expected back on duty tomorrow. I’ll have to find someone to replace him if he doesn’t turn up.’