‘I see,’ Knox said. ‘Did Mrs Fairbairn confirm her daughter was at the Quaich last night?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who with, did she say?’
‘A girl called Shona. Mrs Fairbairn doesn’t know her surname. They work together at the offices of Standard & Municipal Insurance at the West Port.’
‘This Shona, where does she live?’
‘Portobello. Mrs Fairbairn doesn’t know the address.’
‘Did they meet anyone at the Quaich?’
‘Yes, Connie told her mother a couple of lads had asked them to Bungo’s.’
‘Bungo’s?’
‘A club in the Cowgate.’
‘Ah,’ Knox said. ‘Okay, Yvonne. You and Mark stay put. I’ll get onto the pathologist and see if he’s completed the PM. If he has, I’ll get back to you and arrange for Mrs Fairbairn to identify her daughter.’
‘Okay, boss. We’ll hang on.’
Knox ended the call, then went to the whiteboard and picked up a marker. He scrawled Connie Fairbairn on the top left of the board, then said, ‘Okay, folks, it looks like we’ve got the name of our victim.’ He turned to the board again and wrote Shona alongside, then tapped the name with the pen and turned to the others. ‘And this is her friend who lives in Portobello. As yet we don’t know her surname.’
He paused for a moment and continued, ‘Ms Fairbairn and Shona work at the offices of a company called Standard & Municipal Insurance in the West Port. Both girls went to the Quaich pub in the Grassmarket last night after work. There they met two men who escorted them to a club called Bungo’s in the Cowgate.’
He nodded to Reilly. ‘Charlie, I want you to give the company a ring. I’m aware it’s a Saturday and you might get their security people. However, you should emphasise the urgency. You want someone in personnel to give us Shona’s surname and address without delay. When they do, I’d like you and Gary to go down and speak to her. I want to know who these men are.’
Knox turned to McCann. ‘Arlene, I’d like you to phone Bungo’s and see if they have CCTV.’
He motioned to Fulton and added, ‘Once they confirm, Bill, I’d like you and Arlene to go over there and take a look at last night’s recordings. Check out the Quaich, too, when you’re in the area.’
Knox took out his mobile then and flicked through the address book. ‘Meantime I’ll give our pathologist a ring,’ he said. ‘I’ve a feeling I’ll be heading to the Cowgate to witness Mrs Fairbairn ID her daughter.’
* * *
Hathaway took a packet of Haribos from the glovebox and proffered it to Mason, who shook her head. ‘No thanks,’ she said, then nodded towards Mrs Fairbairn’s front door. ‘She’s been with her a while now.’
‘Sergeant Cox, the officer from St Leonard’s?’
‘Mm-hmm.’
Hathaway popped one of the sweets in his mouth, began chewing, then shook his head. ‘Don’t envy her job. Can’t be easy dealing with folk who’ve just been given the worst kind of news.’
Mason nodded but said nothing.
‘So,’ Hathaway said, ‘the guy must’ve driven her out of town?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘She’d have gone willingly?’
‘If she fancied him, yes.’
‘No possibility of her being murdered elsewhere. Taken to Longniddry and dumped?’
Mason shrugged. ‘Not according to the pathologist.’
Her phone rang at that moment and she glanced at the screen and pressed accept. ‘Boss?’
‘Yvonne,’ Knox said. ‘You’re still at Mrs Fairbairn’s house?’
‘Yes,’ Mason replied. ‘I told Sergeant Cox’s colleague I was awaiting your call.’
‘Right,’ Knox replied. ‘I’ve just spoken to Mr Turley. He’s finished the autopsy. Will you ask Sergeant Cox to bring Mrs Fairbairn up to the Cowgate?’ There was a short pause, then he added, ‘Say two-thirty? Another half-hour?’
‘Okay, boss,’ Mason replied. ‘You want Mark and me to head back to the office?’
‘Yes, Yvonne, please. DCI Reilly and DS Herkiss, two of the Gartcosh crew, have just obtained Shona’s address. They’re on the way to Portobello to interview her now. Bill and DS Arlene McCann – another member of the head office team – have gone to the club. They’ll check CCTV images, see if they can identify the men.
‘Oh, and Alan Naismith, the DCI in charge, is still at Gayfield Square. I’d like you and Mark to introduce yourselves when you get back. Get onto the computer afterward and check the HOLMES 2 database. I want to see if there were any incidents reported that might have a bearing on the case.
‘By the way, if Mrs Fairbairn confirms the deceased is her daughter, I’ll be in touch with the media. I want you and Mark in the office if anything of interest comes in.’
Chapter Five
Knox drove through the traffic lights from Holyrood Road into the Cowgate, then slowed. The City Mortuary was situated a hundred yards along on the left; a two-storey block set back from the road.
He parked his car, walked up a short path to the entrance, and pressed the intercom. He was buzzed inside and greeted by Turley, who took him into an anteroom near the main post-mortem theatre.
The pathologist gestured to a chair. ‘Take the weight off for a minute, Jack, my assistant’s just gone to bring the body to the viewing room.’
‘Mrs Fairbairn’s arrived?’
Turley motioned to the partition wall. ‘She’s with Sergeant Cox and another police officer in the room next door.’
Knox nodded. ‘You were telling me on the phone you confirmed strangulation as the cause of death?’
Turley took a folder from a nearby desk, then opened it and glanced at the page. ‘Asphyxiation due to strangulation. Fractures of the laryngeal cartilage due to extreme pressure on her throat.’ He ran his finger down the page and added, ‘Further tests revealed no signs of sexual intercourse, but DI Murray took touch-DNA swabs at the scene. Her clothing has also been passed to Gartcosh forensics for DNA analysis.’ He paused, then said, ‘Oh, and a check of the underside of her fingernails proved negative for skin fragments.’
‘She doesn’t appear to have put up much of a struggle?’
‘Not to the extent of scratching her attacker, no.’
A telephone on the desk rang and Turley put down the folder and answered. ‘She’s in the viewing room?’ he said. ‘Okay. I’ll bring them along. Thanks.’
He replaced the receiver and glanced at Knox. ‘My assistant,’ he said, then pointed to the door. ‘We’d better go and fetch her mother.’
Knox followed Turley into the corridor, then the pathologist went to the door of the adjoining room and knocked gently.
A uniformed policewoman answered and Turley said, ‘She’s ready.’
The officer nodded and opened the door a little further. Knox saw a woman sitting beside an officer with three chevrons on her epaulettes, whom he took to be Cox. Mrs Fairbairn’s eyes were stained with tears and her cheeks streaked with mascara.
The sergeant placed a hand on her shoulder and said softly, ‘Okay, Grace? We can go now.’
Turley led the group along a short corridor and stopped beside a wide glass window set into the wall, which was curtained on the inside. The adjacent door had a sign marked Viewing Room, and halfway up the doorframe was a push-button labelled Attendant.
Sergeant Cox positioned Mrs Fairbairn next to the window, then nodded to her colleague, who thumbed the button. A moment later the curtains were pulled back and Knox saw the murder victim upon a trolley on the other side of the glass. A green sheet was drawn down at the top, revealing her head and shoulders. A dressing had been placed around her neck, covering the signs of strangulation.
The victim’s mother gave a wail of anguish, then Sergeant Cox placed an arm around her shoulder.
‘Oh, Connie… Connie,’ Mrs Fairbairn cried. ‘My poor, poor wee lassie. Why… in God’s name, why?’ Her shoulders began to heave, then she convulsed into a fit
of sobbing.
Cox inclined her head at her colleague, who pressed the button a second time, then the curtains drew to a close.
Knox went to the grief-stricken woman and said, ‘I’m sorry to intrude, Mrs Fairbairn, but my name’s Detective Inspector Knox.’
Mrs Fairbairn continued weeping, supported by the sergeant. A few moments passed, then between sobs she said, ‘Who?’
‘Detective Inspector Knox,’ he repeated. ‘The officer in charge of the investigation.’
Mrs Fairbairn dabbed her eyes with a tissue and nodded. ‘I see.’
‘I know it seems like a stupid question to ask in the circumstances, Mrs Fairbairn, but I have to – for our records.’ He gestured to the viewing room window, and went on, ‘Can you confirm the girl in there is your daughter?’
Mrs Fairbairn gave Knox a look of despair. ‘Yes, that’s my daughter,’ she replied, stifling another sob. ‘As I never thought to have seen her.’
* * *
Reilly had little knowledge of Edinburgh and registered Shona’s address with the sat nav as soon as he got into his crimson-red BMW 335d. As Herkiss took his place in the passenger seat, he saw his colleague enter the details into the device. ‘Used to be my grannie and granddad’s favourite,’ he said.
‘What was?’ Reilly said.
‘Portobello. Spent a week there almost every Glasgow Fair fortnight during the seventies and early eighties. I’m in a photo with them taken on the beach in 1982.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t remember it, really. I was three at the time.’
The disembodied voice of the sat nav cut in then, directing Reilly to turn left into London Road. After he complied, he gave Herkiss a sidelong glance. ‘What do you think of Naismith’s decision?’
‘Not sure what you mean, Charlie,’ Herkiss said.
‘Making Knox lead officer.’ Reilly harrumphed and continued, ‘What’s the point of assigning Gartcosh detectives to an important case, then turning it over to a local plod?’
Herkiss shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. DI Knox seems capable enough.’
Reilly was silent for a long moment, then gave Herkiss a pointed look. ‘Incidentally, sergeant, I’d prefer if you addressed me either as DI Reilly or boss. I know Naismith talked about informality, but I disagree with his views. I think respect for rank is an important element in detective work. A discipline essential to the success of an investigation.’
Herkiss said nothing in reply, then both men lapsed into silence.
Fifteen minutes later, the sat nav announced that they were nearing their destination. As Reilly drove along Portobello High Street, the voice said, ‘In one hundred yards, turn left into Pipe Street and take the third opening on your right. You’ve arrived at Seaview Court.’
Reilly drove down Pipe Street and turned right into a short roadway giving access to five three-storey blocks of flats. They sat parallel to Portobello promenade and had an uninterrupted view of the Firth of Forth and the Fife coast beyond. Number six was the third block from the junction.
The detectives exited the car and went to the entrance, next to which was an intercom and a list of occupants. Reilly ran his finger over the names, found the one he was looking for, then thumbed the buzzer. A few moments later, a woman’s voice answered, ‘Yes?’
‘DI Reilly and DS Herkiss. We’d like to speak to Ms Shona Kirkbride.’
‘What’s it about?’
Reilly ignored the question. ‘Are you Shona?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’re police officers. We’d like to have a word with you.’
‘Yes, I heard you – what about?’
Reilly cleared his throat impatiently. ‘I’ll be in a better position to tell you if you’ll let us in.’
There was a short silence, then the woman said, ‘Okay, I’m on the first floor.’
The buzzer sounded, then the detectives entered and ascended a flight of steps to the first-floor landing.
Shona Kirkbride stood at a door on the left, and was wearing a pale pink dressing gown and no make-up. They showed her their warrant cards, then she gestured to a short hallway behind her. ‘I’ll talk to you in the kitchen,’ she said, ‘it’s at the top of the hall. I’m afraid the living room’s a bit of a mess.’
Reilly nodded and said, ‘Okay.’
They went to the kitchen, where Shona pointed to three chairs arranged around a Formica-topped table. ‘Please,’ she said,’ take a seat.’
Reilly fished out a notebook and placed it on the table. ‘In answer to your question, Ms Kirkbride, we’re here in connection with a young woman called Connie Fairbairn.’
Kirkbride looked at him in surprise. ‘Connie?’ she said. ‘Really? What about her?’
‘Her body was found on a beach at Longniddry this morning. She was murdered.’
Shona’s face crumpled. ‘Murdered?’ she said in a tremulous voice.
‘You were with her last night at the Quaich pub in the Grassmarket – where you met two men?’ Reilly said.
Shona said nothing. It was obvious she was having difficulty accepting what she’d been told.
‘Did you meet two men at the Quaich pub last night?’ Reilly repeated.
Shona nodded.
‘What time did you get there?’
‘We were working late, until seven. Had something to eat at a café in Bread Street first. It would’ve been sometime after eight,’ Shona said.
‘You’d arranged to meet the men there?’
‘No, we were on our own when we arrived.’
‘How long–’
Shona interrupted, shaking her head. ‘Look, you’re sure the woman is Connie? Isn’t it possible you’ve made a mistake?’
‘There’s no mistake, Ms Kirkbride,’ Reilly said, rather harshly. ‘Your friend’s been identified.’
Shona’s eyes started brimming with tears. She took a tissue from the pocket of her dressing gown and began dabbing her eyes.
Herkiss spotted an electric kettle sitting on the worktop opposite. ‘What about a cup of tea, hen?’ he said. ‘There’s water in the kettle?’
Shona continued wiping her tears, then said, ‘I boiled it before you arrived.’
Herkiss rose and switched on the kettle, which came to the boil immediately. He glanced back at Shona. ‘Teabags?’
Shona motioned to a cabinet above the worktop. ‘In there with the mugs,’ she said, then leaned towards a cupboard at her shoulder and took out teaspoons and a bowl of sugar. She nodded to a refrigerator near the window and added, ‘There’s milk in the fridge.’
Herkiss retrieved three mugs and placed them on the table, then fetched the milk. Reilly glared at his colleague and pushed his mug away. ‘Not for me, sergeant,’ he said.
Herkiss shrugged, dropped teabags in the remaining two, then poured. He stirred in milk and sugar, and gave one to Shona. ‘There you go, hen,’ he said. ‘Make you feel better.’
Shona brightened. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘that’s very kind of you.’
‘I was about to ask, Ms Kirkbride,’ Reilly said impatiently, ‘how long you’d been in the Quaich when you met the two men?’
Shona sipped some tea. ‘About half an hour, I think. Joe arrived first, stood at the bar for fifteen minutes or so. John, the guy Connie fancied, came in ten minutes later.’
‘He stood at the bar, too?’
‘Uh-huh,’ Shona replied. ‘Connie smiled at him and he smiled back. A few minutes passed, then Joe started talking to him. They came over soon after that, introduced themselves, asked if they could join us.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘Movies, music, work. Things like that.’
Reilly scribbled in his notebook. ‘Did you have much to drink?’
‘Me?’ Shona asked.
‘No, I meant the four of you.’
Shona shook her head. ‘Neither Connie nor I are big drinkers. I had three vodka and tonics; Connie had the same number of daiquiris.’
‘And the men?’
/> ‘John didn’t drink much at all. Lager shandies, I think. Joe was drinking lager. He might’ve had three or four pints.’
‘And at eleven the four of you went to the club?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who suggested it?’
‘Joe.’
‘You were equally keen on the idea?’
‘You mean all of us?’
Reilly gave a confirmatory nod.
‘Yes.’
‘What happened after you arrived?’
‘It was very busy. We lost sight of John and Connie for a while.’
‘What happened then?’
Shona shrugged. ‘Not much, really. Around one o’clock, Joe asked me if I’d like to go for a curry. Connie found us then. She told me she and John were leaving, that he’d offered her a lift.’
‘He had a car?’
Shona shook her head. ‘I never saw it. But I think he must have.’
‘How did you get to the club, by taxi?’ Reilly asked.
Shona shook her head. ‘No, we walked. It’s only a short distance from the Grassmarket.’
Reilly made some notes, then Herkiss said, ‘This John fella, Shona – what did he look like?’
‘Quite handsome,’ Shona replied. ‘Dark-haired.’
‘Height?’ Reilly said.
Shona shook her head. ‘I’m not sure, exactly. Average, I think.’
Reilly stood and said, ‘I’m five foot nine. Taller… shorter?’
‘Not quite as tall. Five-seven, maybe.’
Reilly took his seat again and said, ‘How old would you say?’
‘Around the same age as Joe. Twenty-six, twenty-seven.’
‘Did he talk about himself? Where he worked, where he lived?’
‘No. The only thing he mentioned was his surname – Masters. He may have told Connie more later, but not while we were in the Quaich.’
Reilly nodded. ‘You’ve arranged to see Joe again?’
‘No.’ Shona shrugged. ‘He’s a nice enough guy, but…’
‘He did ask you, though? For another date, I mean?’ Herkiss said.
Shona nodded. ‘He gave me his number. Told me to phone him if I changed my mind.’
‘You still have it?’ Reilly asked.
‘Yes, in my handbag.’
Murder at Flood Tide Page 3