Murder at Flood Tide

by Robert McNeill

  ‘And?’

  ‘I asked if we could speak to her at Wardie Park View after she landed. She said she’d prefer to come into the office. I’ve arranged to see her at four o’clock.’

  ‘Okay,’ Knox said. ‘We’ll talk to her then.’ He turned back to Naismith. ‘I think the description Shona gave of Masters is a close match to Lorimer’s attacker.’ He paused for a moment, and added, ‘However, I received an interesting call from DI Murray, our forensics officer. Makes me pretty much a hundred per cent sure he’s our man.’

  Naismith nodded. ‘Really, Jack?’ he said. ‘Why?’

  ‘Murray photographed a fresh set of tyre prints where Connie’s body was found – from the vehicle most likely to have been the killer’s. The treads identify a Czech firm who make tyres exclusively for light vans.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ Naismith said, giving a slow nod. ‘Connie’s killer and Lorimer’s attacker – a van was at the scene on both occasions.’

  Naismith flexed his shoulders and checked his watch. ‘Okay, folks,’ he said. ‘It’s almost six. If you’d like to wrap for the night, I’m happy.’ He turned to Knox and added, ‘We can speak to this Joe fella and Evie Lorimer tomorrow.’

  * * *

  Knox asked Hathaway if he was willing to remain in the office to check the club recording to the finish. ‘Sure, boss,’ the young DC replied. ‘The mother-in-law is coming tonight anyway.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Visiting her new grandson. They won’t worry about me being late.’

  ‘Thanks, Mark,’ Knox said. ‘You can have a long lie-in to compensate. You don’t need to come in until noon tomorrow.’

  Naismith left soon afterward, followed by Herkiss and McCann. A second or two later, Reilly went to his desk to fetch his briefcase. He turned just as Mason was saying goodnight to Knox.

  What particularly piqued his attention was a long moment of eye contact between the two; an almost imperceptible hint that something deeper existed there.

  Reilly followed, reaching the street in time to see her get into a dark-green Mini. He watched as she turned right at the roundabout, heading up Leith Street.

  The entrance door opened behind him and he turned and saw Knox.

  ‘Off then, Charlie?’ Knox said. ‘DCI Naismith told me you’re staying at the Crowne Plaza on Royal Terrace?’

  ‘Yes,’ Reilly replied coldly. Knox waited to see if he was about to add anything, but the DI remained silent.

  Knox activated the remote locking, his VW Passat beeped, and its indicators flashed. ‘Righto then,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  Fulton left the building in time to see Reilly standing on the pavement watching Knox’s car turn into Leith Street. ‘Okay, boss?’ he said.

  The Gartcosh detective turned and gave him a supercilious smile. ‘Aye, Bill, fine,’ he replied. He nodded to his BMW in the official car park. ‘I was just wondering whether to leave the car here. It’s only a short walk to Royal Terrace.’

  ‘All four of you billeted at the same hotel?’ Fulton asked.

  ‘Yes. Beats driving to Rutherglen.’

  Fulton fished in his pocket and found his car keys. ‘Aye, I suppose it does.’ He motioned to his Astra which was parked across the street. ‘Ah, well. Better be off. There’s a replay of the Newcastle United v Tottenham Hotspur match on Sky tonight. They tell me it wasn’t a bad game. I don’t want to miss it.’

  ‘I see,’ Reilly said. ‘Bill – can I ask you something?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Your boss and DC Mason. There’s something between them?’

  Fulton stopped and turned to face Reilly. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  ‘Jack and Yvonne. They’re in a relationship?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s any of my business,’ Fulton said. He stabbed a finger at the DI and added, ‘And, with respect, boss, I don’t think it’s yours either.’

  * * *

  ‘That Reilly,’ Mason said. ‘He makes my skin crawl.’ She and Knox were in the sitting room of Knox’s flat, having recently finished a tikka masala takeaway. Knox stood at the drinks cabinet and poured himself a Macallan single malt. He put back the whisky, took a bottle of Absolut, and splashed a generous measure into a second tumbler. ‘Doesn’t go out of his way to win any popularity stakes, does he? Bill told me Arlene doesn’t like him either.’

  ‘She actually said that?’

  Knox placed Mason’s drink on a table next to the settee and sat down beside her. ‘Yes. Apparently, he’s got himself a bit of a reputation at Gartcosh.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  ‘Bill said Reilly wasn’t happy when Naismith appointed you to lead the case.’

  Knox nodded. ‘It was only after the DCI pointed out the advantages on the ground – local knowledge and the like – that he agreed.’

  ‘But he wasn’t happy?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Knox raised his eyes in a moment of reflection. ‘I tried to engage him in conversation on the way home tonight, but he remained unresponsive.’

  Mason added some bitter lemon to her glass and took a sip, then said, ‘Strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Office politics – Gartcosh. We’re lucky here, I suppose. You, me, Bill, and Mark. Warburton, too. Work well as a team. No infighting or anything like that.’

  Knox shrugged. ‘That’s the trouble when you swim with big fish.’ He reached over and mock-punched her chin. ‘Fair number of sharks in the pool.’

  ‘Exactly why I turned down Warburton’s offer to put me up for sergeant last year.’

  ‘You should’ve gone for it,’ Knox said. ‘You’d have sailed the selection interviews.’

  ‘Maybe. To what end, though? I’d very likely have been sent to another station. Hell, I might even have been posted to Gartcosh.’ Mason shook her head. ‘No, I’m happy as I am, thank you.’

  ‘Things change, Yvonne. You might not always feel that way,’ Knox said.

  She gave him a searching look. ‘What does that mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, you’re young. I don’t feel the same way about things now as I did at twenty-nine.’

  Mason’s face took on a sardonic look. ‘Really, Jack? You were happily married at that age, remember? Then along came promotion… and divorce.’

  Knox downed a mouthful of whisky, then sighed. ‘Guess I asked for that one.’

  Mason sat forward and placed her drink on the table, then turned and put her arm around his shoulder. ‘Sorry, Jack, I didn’t mean to…’

  He waved a hand dismissively. ‘No, Yvonne, you’re right. I’m not qualified to give advice on that topic.’

  Mason gave him a hug. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘Things change and sometimes there’s nothing we can do about it. None of us can say hand on heart that we’re masters of our own destiny.’

  They sat in silence for a long moment, then she said, ‘How’s Susan? You visited at Christmas?’

  Knox gave a wistful smile. ‘You know, I think she’s never been happier. Got a wee flat of her own now, ten minutes’ drive from Jamie’s place.’

  Soon after their divorce in 2007, his ex-wife, Susan, had followed her son, Jamie, and his wife, Anne, and their baby daughter, Lily, to Australia. Jamie, who had qualified as a dentist before leaving Scotland, found a job in Moreton Bay, a suburb of Brisbane, and in the last year had been made a partner in the practice.

  ‘And Lily?’ she said. ‘She had a birthday recently?’

  Knox nodded. ‘She’s four. Just started attending pre-school classes. Jamie rang me last week. Told me she’s delighted to have so many other kids to play with.’

  He leaned over and kissed Mason’s cheek. ‘By the way, I told Jamie about us. He mentioned it to Susan. Last time he phoned, he told me she sends you her regards.’

  Mason stared at Knox, open mouthed. ‘You told her about us? Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed
him. ‘We must be getting pretty serious, eh?’

  Knox smiled. ‘Pretty much.’

  Mason grinned, then nodded to the hallway leading to the bedroom. ‘Okay. Why don’t we do something about it?’

  Chapter Eight

  When Knox arrived, Naismith was already in the building. Reilly and Herkiss were at their desks, too, as was Mason, who had departed the flat ten minutes before him.

  By nine, McCann and Fulton had also arrived, and a minute later the DCI exited his office and addressed the team: ‘I took a call from the Chief Constable first thing this morning,’ he told them. ‘A press conference has been arranged for 2pm. I’d like to make progress before then to enable me to present as optimistic a picture as possible. With that in mind, I’d like to ask Jack to bring us up to speed. If anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to chip in.’ He motioned to Knox and said, ‘Jack?’

  Knox glanced at his notes. ‘Thanks, Alan,’ he said. ‘I asked Mark Hathaway to work late last night in order to study the entire recording from the club; from just before 11pm on Friday until just after 2am on Saturday.

  ‘He left me his report,’ Knox continued, ‘but I’m sorry to say there’s no clear image of Masters. The dance floor is almost entirely obscured throughout.’ He turned to Fulton. ‘Bungo’s assistant manager said something about that, Bill?’

  ‘Aye, boss. It’s a dry ice machine. Works in tandem with flashing lights, throws a smoke-like fog over the floor. Duttine told us the CCTV would only pick up those nearest the camera,’ Fulton said.

  Knox glanced at his notes and nodded. ‘Which is exactly what happened when Mark scanned the tape. Only twice does the video give a sighting of Masters, on both occasions with his back to the lens.’

  Naismith shrugged. ‘The two interviews today, Jack, you’re confident they’ll yield something?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Knox said. ‘We’re going to see Turner at Meadowbank this morning and Lorimer’s coming in at four. She’s our strongest lead so far – gave a good description of her attacker.’ He waved in Reilly’s direction. ‘Which tallies with what Charlie got from Kirkbride.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Naismith said. ‘I gave that a wee bit of thought, Jack. And I’ve been in touch with DS Bob Lightfoot at Gartcosh. He’s our facial composite specialist – photofit in other words. I asked him to come through this afternoon. After we interview Lorimer, he’ll talk to her, work up a likeness we can release to the media.’

  Knox acknowledged this with a dip of his head and went to the whiteboard, which had been updated with the names of Masters, Turner, Lorimer and Kirkbride. He took a marker and added Van, a dash, then Byrona tyres.

  ‘We know from DI Murray’s photo images that a van was used to transport Connie to Longniddry Bents.’ He went on, then capped the marker and tapped on Lorimer’s name. ‘And the man who attacked Evie drove a van, too. In Connie’s case, the tyres were a Czech brand called Byrona. Which begs two further questions. One: what’s the business of our killer if he drives a van regularly, and two: who in east central Scotland stocks Byrona tyres?’

  ‘A wide range of professions use light vans: builders, painter-decorators, joiners, glazers – any number of trades,’ Reilly said.

  Knox nodded. ‘You’re right, Charlie. But we might be able to narrow it further.’ He paused for a long moment and added, ‘In Evie Lorimer’s case, the van was unlettered.’

  ‘He’s self-employed,’ McCann said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Knox replied. ‘And if he doesn’t need to advertise the service he provides, the question is why?’

  Herkiss shrugged. ‘He could be contracted to the firms he works for. Deliveries, maybe?’

  ‘A lot of delivery companies operate liveried vans: DHL, UPS, FedEx,’ Reilly said.

  ‘Aye, but many don’t,’ Fulton offered. ‘A lot of online businesses use one-man operators.’

  ‘Yeah, and a lot of the stuff I buy on eBay is delivered by courier vans which are not signwritten,’ Mason said.

  Knox nodded. ‘Okay, we’re agreed it’s a possibility. Now, tyres. We need to check first with the main distributor of Byrona in the UK; then concentrate on who stocks them in the Lothian area. Next, parcel delivery companies. Find out who uses independent operators; make a list. I realise it’s Sunday and you may not get through to everyone. But the more we work the phones today, the less we’ll have to tackle tomorrow.’

  He gestured to Fulton. ‘Right. Bill and I will head down to Meadowbank and speak to Turner. Later, I’d like Arlene and Yvonne to interview Lorimer. I’ve a hunch she’ll respond better to female officers.’

  Reilly gave Knox a disgruntled look, then turned to Naismith. ‘Shouldn’t I be the one to interview Turner, Alan?’ he said. ‘It was my lead after all.’

  Naismith shook his head. ‘No, Charlie, I don’t think so. We’re working as a team, remember? I appreciate your interview with Kirkbride got us off to a good start.’ He nodded to Knox. ‘But I think we’ll let Jack and Bill handle this one.’

  Naismith addressed the others. ‘Righto,’ he said. ‘I suggest you commence ringing around: Arlene and Yvonne – see if you can track down the UK Byrona distributor. Failing that, have a word with tyre fitters – they’ll no doubt give you a lead. Charlie and Gary – do as Jack recommends, discover which courier companies use drivers operating a single vehicle.’

  Naismith drew Knox aside then and added, ‘Get back to me when you’ve interviewed Turner, will you, Jack? I’d like to know if we’ve anything new.’

  * * *

  Knox and Fulton had just settled into the car for the short drive to Meadowbank when Fulton cleared his throat. ‘I’ve something to say to you, boss,’ he said. ‘And I’m afraid it’s a wee bit personal.’

  Knox gave his partner a look of curiosity. ‘Okay,’ he replied. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘About you and Yvonne.’

  ‘What about us?’

  Fulton looked uncomfortable. ‘Like I say, it’s a bit personal.’

  ‘About Yvonne and me being in a relationship, you mean?’

  ‘Well, I– I mean, Hathaway and me…’ Fulton paused, searching for the right words.

  ‘You’re telling me that you know about it?’

  Fulton nodded. ‘Aye.’

  ‘There are no secrets in the nick, right? Come on, Bill. I’m well aware that you, Mark and most likely everyone else in the station knows about us. And Yvonne’s aware of that, too. So, why’re you asking?’

  Fulton shook his head. ‘Reilly.’

  ‘Reilly?’

  ‘Aye. I was coming out of the station last night after you and Yvonne had gone. Reilly was on the pavement outside, watching you drive off.’

  ‘He said something to you?’

  Fulton nodded. ‘Asked if you and Yvonne were an item. I told him to mind his own business.’

  Knox shook his head in disbelief. ‘What a bloody wee sod.’

  ‘I wouldn’t treat it lightly, boss. Like I said yesterday, Arlene told me he’s gone out of his way to make trouble for others.’

  ‘I can’t see why he’s curious about me and Yvonne, though. It’s not as if a relationship between cops is something out of the ordinary,’ Knox said.

  Fulton pulled a face. ‘It isn’t,’ he said, ‘but he’s a devious bugger. Like this morning. Complaining to Naismith because you wanted to interview Turner.’

  Knox shrugged. ‘So much for being a team player, eh? Not to worry, Bill. I’ve crossed swords with those types before. Give them enough rope and they end up hanging themselves.’

  Knox was driving through Abbeyhill on the final stretch to Meadowbank. He passed a large stand set back off the road, then turned left into Meadowbank Grove, a row of terraced houses backing onto the Velodrome; part of the Meadowbank Stadium complex.

  12a was an upper flat accessed by an outside flight of steps. They climbed the stairs. At the top, Knox rang the bell. A moment later, the door was opened by a plump, middle-aged woman wearing a patterned pinafore.
<
br />   ‘Yes?’ she said brusquely.

  Knox showed her his warrant card. ‘May I speak to Joe Turner, please?’

  ‘You’re police?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘Are you Joe’s mother?’

  The woman nodded. ‘I am,’ she replied, folding her arms. ‘He’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘I never said he had, Mrs Turner. May I speak to him, please?’

  Mrs Turner gave a reluctant nod, then opened the door wider. ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

  Knox and Fulton followed her along an L-shaped hallway, then she waved to a room on the right. ‘You can take a seat in there,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to get him. He’s having a long lie-in.’

  The detectives entered a compact sitting room furnished with a beige three-piece suite, a coffee table, and a display cabinet. A flat screen television on the wall facing the settee was tuned to a cooking programme.

  Knox and Fulton heard muffled voices coming from another room, then moments later Mrs Turner reappeared with a man in his mid-twenties wearing a dark-green dressing gown over a pair of striped pyjamas. He was slightly built with a pock-marked face, and looked quite hungover.

  Mrs Turner took a remote from the table and muted the television, then gestured to the settee. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘take a seat.’ Then, to her son, she added, ‘These men want to talk to you, Joe. They’re detectives.’ She gave Knox and Fulton a thin smile and left the room.

  Her son indicated the settee and said, ‘Okay. I suppose you’d better do as my mum says and take a seat.’

  The three of them sat and Turner added, ‘Sorry I’m not dressed. I was at a mate’s stag do last night and had quite a bit to drink.’ He paused and gave the detectives a searching look. ‘What was it you wanted to see me about?’

  ‘A young woman called Connie Fairbairn,’ Knox replied. ‘I believe you met her and her friend at the Quaich pub on Friday night.’

  ‘That’s right – Shona. We went to Bungo’s afterward.’