Murder at Flood Tide

by Robert McNeill

  The men filled their cups, added milk and sugar, then Smeaton said, ‘The officer who phoned said a Bluebird van might be involved in the murder at Longniddry?’

  Herkiss swallowed a mouthful of tea, then replaced his cup on the saucer. ‘We think so, yes.’

  ‘You’ll be wanting to know where I was at the time?’

  Herkiss had just bitten into a biscuit, so Hathaway answered, ‘Yes. If you could tell us where you were between 9pm on Friday and 2am on Saturday, that would be helpful.’

  Smeaton nodded. ‘My van packed in on Friday,’ he said. ‘Fuel pump. I called Jackson’s Garage but they couldn’t send anyone out until Saturday morning.’

  ‘Where was the van during that time?’ Hathaway said.

  ‘Parked at the Lanark Road where it broke down,’ Smeaton said. ‘Luckily, I’d delivered my last parcel at Redhall and was on my way home.’

  ‘I see,’ Herkiss said. ‘How did you get back here?’

  ‘I phoned a taxi,’ Smeaton replied. ‘I checked Jackson’s in the morning and they told me a mechanic was on his way. I phoned another taxi and went to meet him.’

  ‘What time did you arrive home?’ Hathaway asked.

  ‘Just after 4pm, I think. I didn’t go out again until I met Jackson’s mechanic on Saturday.’

  ‘It was just you and your wife at home on Friday night?’ Hathaway said.

  ‘Yes,’ Smeaton replied. ‘And Caoimhe, of course.’

  ‘Kay–?’

  ‘My baby daughter, Caoimhe. C-A-O-I-M-H-E. It’s Irish. Pronounced Kay-vuh.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Hathaway said.

  Herkiss cleared his throat. ‘The reason my colleague is asking,’ he said, ‘is to see if anyone can corroborate the fact that you were at home.’

  Smeaton thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Only my wife.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Herkiss said. ‘One final question. Did you ever serve in the army?’

  ‘Yes, I was in the Paras for seven years – 2007 until 2014. Why? Does the killer have a military connection?’

  ‘To be honest, we’re not sure. He may have, but it’s equally possible he may not.’

  Smeaton nodded but said nothing.

  Herkiss drained his cup and placed it back on the saucer. ‘Well, Ryan, I think that only leaves us to request a sample of your DNA.’ He took a kit from his pocket. ‘We’re asking all Russell’s couriers, you understand?’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Smeaton said. ‘I’m happy to oblige.’

  * * *

  Soon after they re-joined the M8, Hathaway shook his head. ‘He hasn’t an alibi, has he?’ he said.

  ‘No, he hasn’t,’ Herkiss replied. ‘The only one who can vouch for Smeaton is his wife.’ He shrugged. ‘His van might have broken down, but then again it might not. Nothing to prove the fuel pump had gone. If he knows anything about engines, he could’ve disabled it before Jackson’s guy arrived.’

  ‘His phone call to the garage on Friday afternoon? He would have to have known they wouldn’t come out until Saturday.’

  ‘But what if he was aware of that? Or didn’t make the call?’

  Hathaway glanced at his rear-view mirror and indicated to overtake a lorry. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘We’ll need to check with Jackson’s.’

  * * *

  Knox and Fulton returned to the office after their interview with Mackenzie, then telephoned the three low-priority couriers. The first was Shafiq Khan, who he discovered had attended a fortieth wedding anniversary dinner at the Grosvenor Hotel for his mother and father, who’d flown over from Pakistan to share the celebration with their extended family. Khan had finished his deliveries at noon on Friday and was at the hotel with his relatives until early Saturday morning.

  Fulton phoned Maureen Somerville, who told him she was keen on amateur dramatics and music. He discovered she’d also been out on Friday evening, taking part in a rehearsal of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado at the Little Theatre in the Pleasance, which had lasted until 1am.

  Which only left Deborah Horsefall who, it turned out, hadn’t been in Edinburgh at all. She’d completed her last batch of deliveries on Thursday, catching an early train on Friday to visit her parents in Macclesfield.

  Knox had only finished speaking to Horsefall when Naismith exited his office and walked briskly to his desk. ‘Just off the phone with DCS Ross Miller at Gartcosh,’ he told Knox. ‘One of the partners of Broxburn van dealership was found dead this afternoon. Shot in the head. When the details were entered into HOLMES 2, it flagged up the Fairbairn case.’

  ‘The Gartcosh forensics team is there?’ Knox said.

  Naismith shook his head. ‘No. Only the Gartcosh Ballistics team. Because of the possible connection, I asked Miller to allow DI Murray and DS Beattie to do the forensics. I also asked for the body to be taken to the Cowgate for the post-mortem and for Mr Turley to attend the scene. He’s agreed.’

  ‘Did he say who the victim is?’

  ‘Aye, a William McGeevor. West Lothian Police have been in touch with his business partner, Scott Reynolds. They’ve arranged for him to meet us at the scene.’

  * * *

  Naismith, Knox and Fulton arrived at Broxburn forty minutes later. Knox texted the others en route, asking them to make sure the DNA specimens were picked up by the lab for immediate analysis.

  Fulton came to a halt near G&S Motors’ forecourt, then the officers exited, suited up in sterile gear, and walked the short distance to the crime scene. Naismith went over to the young PC on watch and flashed his warrant card. ‘Who’s the officer in charge, son?’ he said.

  The PC waved to the office. ‘Inspector Peter Quinn, sir. He’s inside with the forensics people. Pathologist’s there, too. He arrived a few minutes ago.’

  The officer raised the barrier tape and Naismith, Knox and Fulton ducked beneath and went to the portacabin. Naismith’s knock was answered by a man who was also wearing protective clothing.

  ‘Inspector Quinn?’

  ‘Yes?’

  The detectives showed their IDs, then Naismith made introductions. Knox glanced beyond Quinn and saw a group of people gathered around the door of a small office at the top left corner. Two spotlights illuminated the scene, their cables linked via a window fanlight to a generator outside.

  Knox was able to discern pathologist Alex Turley crouched over the body of a man who was lying prone. Also near the victim were DI Murray, DS Beattie and two other officers he assumed were ballistic specialists.

  ‘Who found him and when, Peter?’ Naismith was asking.

  ‘A man called Alistair MacLeod. Went to the office to inquire about a van just after two. The door was open, but he knocked anyway. When nobody answered, he entered and found McGeevor lying in a pool of blood.’

  ‘Anyone hear or see anything?’

  ‘So far we’ve only been able to talk to builders at the adjacent site,’ Quinn replied. ‘One of them heard a bang he assumed was a car backfiring. He reckons that was around ten past one. Nobody saw anyone.’

  ‘Does there appear to have been a motive?’

  ‘Yes. McGeevor was shot after opening his safe. There’s an empty cash box on the floor beside him.’

  Naismith nodded. ‘McGeevor’s partner, Scott Reynolds – he’s here yet?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Quinn motioned to the officer standing by the barrier tape. ‘I’ve asked PC Cullen to let me know when he arrives.’

  Naismith gestured to the forensic officers and the pathologist. ‘How long have they been with the body?’

  Quinn checked his watch. ‘The ballistics people were the first. They’ve been here around an hour. DI Murray and DS Beattie arrived a half hour ago. Mr Turley was just ahead of you.’

  Knox saw some movement in the corner, then the ballistics officers separated from the others and came to the door.

  ‘This is DI June Short and DI Brian Fraser,’ Quinn told Naismith. ‘Ballistic Forensics.’

  Naismith acknowledged the pair with a nod, then
looked at the victim. ‘Can you tell us anything yet?’

  ‘Nothing of any detail until we’ve completed a more in-depth examination, sir,’ Short said. ‘Other than to say he was shot at point-blank range. One or two metres.’

  Fraser indicated a car parked near the entrance. ‘We’re going to the Cowgate with Mr Turley,’ he said. ‘After the PM we’ll plot the trajectory of the round that killed him. Soon after that, we should be able to tell which calibre of bullet was used and the make of gun that fired it.’

  As Short and Fraser left, Turley spotted the detectives and waved them over.

  Close up, Knox saw McGeevor lying prostrate next to an open safe. A small empty cash box lay nearby.

  ‘Afternoon, Alex,’ Knox said. Then, motioning to the corpse, he added, ‘Not a pleasant sight.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, Jack,’ Turley said. ‘Shot at close range. The bullet entered just below the occipital region. Severed the upper vertebrae and internal carotid artery. Appears to be lodged in the laryngeal prominence – the Adam’s apple.’

  ‘Inspector Quinn says a builder at the site next door heard a shot just after one. Would you agree that was when he died?’

  Turley nodded. ‘Aye, all the indications are that was when stasis began.’

  Knox glanced over at Murray, who was taking blood spatter measurements together with his colleague. The forensics officer looked round and acknowledged the others. ‘We’ve done pretty much all we can do at the moment,’ he said. ‘Including photography and video.’

  ‘Not sure about DNA, though,’ Beattie said. ‘The only likely contact points are the portacabin door and its handle. Likely to be a lot of cross-contamination.’

  ‘What about the cash box?’ Naismith said.

  ‘I don’t think the killer touched it, sir,’ Murray said. ‘Looks like he forced McGeevor to open both safe and cash box.’ He waved to the victim. ‘Made him hand over the money first.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Naismith said. ‘So, it would appear the motive was robbery. Do you agree, Jack?’

  ‘I’m sure that’s what the killer would like us to think, Alan,’ Knox replied. He gestured to the empty cash box. ‘I don’t think there would have been much in the safe.’

  ‘Likely he paid the weekend’s takings into the bank deposit box after closing on Sunday?’

  ‘Probably,’ Knox said. ‘We’ve still to talk to his partner, Reynolds. But I’m sure he’ll verify.’

  ‘Which means cash wasn’t the motive?’

  ‘No,’ Knox said. ‘I’m thinking about the van connection.’

  ‘Then you think this is Masters’ work?’

  ‘Interesting that HOLMES 2 flagged it up.’ Knox waved towards the empty cash box. ‘And if money isn’t the motive, what is?’

  DI Quinn approached Turley at that moment and said, ‘PC Cullen tells me two of your men are here, sir.’

  Turley turned to Naismith. ‘We’ll be taking the deceased to the Cowgate, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘You’re done here?’ Naismith said.

  ‘Aye, I think so. The ballistics people will attend the PM to complete their examination. I’ll let them do some tests afterward and take possession of the bullet.’

  As Turley’s assistants entered, everyone departed the portacabin and left them to their task. Murray came over to Knox and said, ‘I’ll update you if we find any DNA, Jack. But there’s something I need to tell you first.’

  ‘Oh, what’s that?’

  ‘One of the items of Fairbairn’s clothing – a blouse. It’s gone astray somewhere in the system. I’m sure we’ll find it, but it may cause us a delay in getting further evidence.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  West Lothian Police had towed their Mobile Incident Unit onto G&S Motors’ forecourt just ahead of Scott Reynolds’ arrival. Reynolds, a short, bespectacled man in his early forties, exited a silver Audi A6 and approached PC Cullen, who pointed him towards the detectives standing beside Knox’s Passat.

  Reynolds walked over to Naismith and said, ‘You’re the Detective Superintendent in charge?’

  ‘Yes,’ Naismith replied. ‘I take it you’re Scott Reynolds, Mr McGeevor’s partner?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Naismith introduced the others. ‘Detective Inspector Knox and Detective Sergeant Fulton. I’m afraid your office is out of bounds at the moment, our forensic people are still in there.’ He nodded to the MIU. ‘We’ll speak to you in the trailer.’

  A few minutes later, Reynolds sat opposite Knox and Naismith at a table in the unit. Fulton brought coffees from the dispenser, then took a nearby seat as his colleagues began the interview.

  ‘It’s true then,’ Reynolds was saying, ‘Willie’s been shot dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ Naismith replied.

  ‘But why in God’s name would anyone want to kill him?’

  ‘We found the safe open and the cash box emptied,’ Knox said. ‘It appears the gunman forced Mr McGeevor to hand over whatever cash was inside.’

  Reynolds shook his head. ‘But the killer couldn’t have got away with much. Only whatever cash Willie took this morning.’

  Naismith nodded. ‘You banked your Sunday takings last night?’

  ‘The entire weekend’s takings,’ Reynolds said. ‘Saturday and Sunday. At the bank’s deposit machine in Main Street in Broxburn. I can’t understand why a thief would wait until today.’

  ‘Is Mr McGeevor always on his own at midday? You go home for lunch?’ Knox said.

  Reynolds shook his head. ‘No, I don’t work on a Monday. It’s the quietest day of the week.’

  ‘How long have you been in business?’ Naismith asked.

  Reynolds furrowed his brow. ‘Let me think. 2011… no, 2012. Six years.’

  ‘You started as a partnership?’

  ‘Yes. Willie and I have been in the motor trade for over fifteen years. He was with a main Ford van dealer in Edinburgh, I worked at a commercial vehicle garage in Leith. Both of us had built up good contacts in the motor trade, and decided it was time to pool our resources.’

  ‘So, you met McGeevor in the course of business?’ Naismith said.

  ‘Aye, we crossed paths two or three times a week. Got on well together.’ His face clouded. ‘I don’t see why anyone would want to murder him.’

  ‘Do you know if he’d made any enemies,’ Knox asked. ‘Deals that had gone wrong. Arguments he may’ve had with disgruntled customers, perhaps?’

  ‘No,’ Reynolds replied. ‘Nothing of that nature. As far as I’m aware, Willie had no enemies. Wasn’t that type of person; he was so easy to get along with.’

  Naismith nodded. ‘Your own relationship,’ he said. ‘It’s always been amicable?’

  Reynolds studied Naismith for a long moment, then said, ‘We never exchanged a harsh word in all the time I’ve known him. We trusted each other completely. You have to in this game.’

  ‘What about business transactions,’ Knox said. ‘You were privy to every deal he made?’

  ‘Not every deal, no,’ Reynolds replied. ‘Most of our stock we buy from main dealers who take the vehicles as trade-ins. Because we buy upwards of five vans at a time, we can negotiate a rate that allows us a fair resale margin. However, there are other occasions when we may buy privately from someone we know. In such cases, we’ll use our own money – not G&S Motors’ capital – to purchase a vehicle, and any profit from resale is our own. Willie and I had an agreement on that.’

  ‘So, there’s a possibility that McGeevor may have traded a van without it being registered as part of G&S Motors’ stock?’ Knox asked.

  ‘Uh-huh. Like I say, if he bought it from someone he knew and did the deal out of his own pocket.’

  ‘I’m thinking of one vehicle in particular, a Volkswagen Caddy,’ Knox said.

  Reynolds raised his eyebrows. ‘You know, now that you mention it, I think Willie did buy one about a month ago. White, was it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Knox replied. ‘You know what happened to it?’
>
  ‘Hmm,’ Reynolds said. ‘It was parked at the rear of the forecourt. But only for a few days.’

  ‘He sold it?’

  ‘Must have done. I only recall seeing it there in the early part of the week.’

  ‘He’d have kept a record of who he sold it to?’

  Reynolds shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. In his own files, maybe. Certainly not in G&S Motors’ official stock files.’

  Knox mulled over this for a moment. ‘Would he have taken it in part exchange for another vehicle?’

  ‘No,’ Reynolds said. ‘If he had, the sale would have been recorded in the company files. I think it must have been a straight cash transaction, definitely not a part exchange.’

  ‘If he had recorded the deal, where would that file be?’

  ‘Middle drawer of the filing cabinet nearest the desk at the top of the office.’ Reynolds shook his head. ‘But if it was a private sale, he may not have made a record.’ He tapped the side of his nose and added, ‘If you get my drift.’

  ‘It would’ve been off the books?’ Knox said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are there any vehicles which are not part of G&S stock for which McGeevor might have taken the Caddy in part exchange?’

  Reynolds nodded. ‘Possible. Willie often has the odd couple of vans in his yard at home. He could’ve done a deal that way. Particularly if he knew the buyer well enough.’

  ‘You’ve heard of Bluebird Parcel Services?’ Naismith said.

  ‘One of the courier firms, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’ve sold vehicles to them?’

  ‘As a company, no. We don’t do trade discounts, you see. But we do have a fair number of customers who are drivers doing contract delivery work.’

  ‘Do you know of any who were pally with McGeevor?’ Naismith asked.

  Reynolds shook his head. ‘Not really, no.’

  Naismith drained the remainder of his coffee, then said, ‘Have either you or McGeevor sold vehicles “off the books” to anyone working as a courier?’

  ‘No,’ Reynolds replied emphatically. ‘All transactions are dutifully recorded. I keep a kosher set of books, Detective Chief Inspector. And I go out of my way to keep my nose clean with Customs and Excise and the Inland Revenue.’