The Fifth Suspect

by Robert McNeil

  Fleming took a swig of his beer and waved the can at the whiteboard. ‘As you can see, we’re starting to build up a picture. But we’re making slow progress. We have potential suspects in Rainer and Potts. And there’s the as-yet-unknown assassin theory–’

  ‘You’ve now eliminated old DCI Hayden as a suspect, have you?’ a young detective called Kevin asked. ‘That wouldn’t be to do with the fact that Bill Watson told you to, would it? Or because the chief constable wasn’t happy with that line of enquiry?’

  Fleming ignored the inference that internal politics might have been involved. ‘No. Emma Hayden has admitted to having an affair with Nielson so her husband would have had a motive to kill him. But there’s no DNA match with the skin samples found under Nielson’s fingernails, there were no scratch marks on Hayden’s face, and his fingerprints were nowhere on Nielson’s boat.’

  ‘Okay,’ Kevin conceded, ‘but Nielson could have scratched someone other than his killer, and Hayden would know how to ensure he didn’t leave any fingerprints.’

  ‘Christ, Kevin, give it a rest!’ one of the older detectives exclaimed. ‘What’s this witch hunt against poor old Hayden all about, for fuck’s sake? Do you seriously think he did it, or are you just shit stirring?’

  Kevin was about to answer but Fleming held up a hand. ‘Let’s calm down, shall we? Kevin makes a valid point and we need to keep that in mind. I had thought of getting forensics round to Hayden’s house to check it out but decided against it when I found out there was no forensic evidence on Nielson’s boat to point to Hayden as the killer. Maybe I need to review that decision and get them to check if there’s any trace of Nielson’s blood on Hayden’s clothes.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Kevin’s detractor muttered. ‘Bill Watson and the chief constable are really going to love you!’

  ‘My problem,’ Fleming said.

  Kevin smirked behind his can of beer.

  Fleming pointed at the whiteboard again. ‘The assassin theory is a line of enquiry we need to investigate further, but at this stage it’s only a theory. We need to do a bit more digging into Nielson’s potential enemies, and particularly anyone connected to the drugs investigation involving Nielson and the murder in Reading eight years ago.’

  Fleming looked at Logan and Anderson. ‘Anything to add?’

  ‘Still no luck finding the murder weapon,’ Logan said. ‘And we’re waiting for a call from The Royal Anglian Regiment. They’re searching their records to see if they can put names to the people on the army photograph found in Nielson’s house.’

  ‘You got anything, Naomi?’ Fleming asked.

  ‘Yes. Eric Rainer claims he was at home on the night of the murder, but a neighbour saw him leave in his car around eight. She didn’t see him return.’

  Fleming thought for a second and pointed at Rainer’s name on the board. ‘There was no love lost between him and Nielson, Rainer has scratch marks on his face, and now he’s lying about where he was on the night Nielson was murdered. Naomi, can you check all the CCTV footage we have around Bourne End and the marina to see if Rainer’s car shows up anywhere.’

  ‘And we have our friend, Potts,’ Logan added. ‘Not long out of prison, he could have had a grudge against Nielson, and his alibi can’t be verified. I’m running a check on an Audi that picked Potts up from his flat to take him to Nielson’s club.’

  Fleming nodded. ‘How are we getting on with the list of Nielson’s business contacts, Naomi?’

  ‘Still ploughing through them, but so far nothing to suggest anyone had a motive to kill Nielson.’

  ‘Okay, keep at it. We need to make sure everyone who had any contact with Nielson is interviewed.’

  ‘And make sure you keep the overtime claims under control, Naomi,’ Logan joked.

  Anderson stuck her tongue out at him playfully. ‘Oh, by the way, we checked with Mrs Hayden’s friend. She confirms Mrs Hayden stayed with her in Bristol over the weekend that Nielson was found.’

  Fleming nodded. ‘All right everyone, I think that about wraps it up for tonight. Thanks for all your efforts. Keep up the good work. Harry, can I have a quick word?’

  The others had all drifted out, leaving Fleming alone with Logan. Fleming was stuffing some papers into his briefcase as he spoke. ‘I need to go up to Edinburgh for the weekend, Harry. I have some business to attend to there. You’re in charge until I get back.’

  Logan looked puzzled. ‘Sure, no problem, boss. When do you think you’ll be back?’

  Fleming heard Freya’s voice in his head. Do you ever feel you’d like to take that anger out on the man who killed your mother?

  Fleming shrugged. ‘I’m not sure.’

  31

  The plane dropped below dark grey clouds and banked steeply to the left over the River Forth on its flight path to Edinburgh Airport. Fleming looked through his window and saw the rail and road bridges below. It was raining heavily and the plane shuddered as it hit pockets of turbulence. A storm was closing in fast.

  The landing was bumpy and there were a few sighs of relief as the plane taxied to a halt. Fleming had used the seventy-minute flight from Luton to reflect on the phone call from Gordon Aitken. Fleming hadn’t slept well for two nights since. He’d relived the night Jimmy Calder murdered his mother. The anger returned and he wanted to kill him. He didn’t have a plan, but he had just known that he had to come to Edinburgh.

  Fleming had travelled light with only hold baggage and was soon at the car hire office where he picked up a BMW X5. He took the A8 into the city centre, along Princes Street, then into the car park at Waverley Station where parking was available for guests staying at The Scotsman Hotel.

  It was only a short walk to the hotel. Fleming checked in and took a shower before making his way down to the lounge where he’d arranged to meet Aitken. Fleming spoke briefly to the man behind the reception desk who wore a badge saying his name was Bruce. He confirmed he could serve coffee in the lounge when Fleming’s friend arrived.

  Aitken arrived twenty minutes later with a big smile. He was a well-built man, about the same age as Fleming. They’d met as students at Edinburgh University and had stayed in touch ever since. Fleming had always made a point of looking him up when he was in Edinburgh, though his visits had been less frequent recently.

  Aitken strode across the room and gave Fleming a big hug. ‘Alex, great to see you again. God, how long since you were last here?’

  Fleming smiled. ‘Too long, Gordon.’

  The two men sat and reminisced briefly about their old student days. Aitken had stayed on in Edinburgh and joined the police. Fleming had worked in a solicitor’s office for two years after getting his law degree, but soon decided civil law was not for him. He wanted to catch criminals and joined the Met.

  ‘So how are you keeping?’ Aitken asked. He looked awkward. ‘I mean… you know. It must have brought things back to you when you found out that Calder was out of prison.’

  Fleming shrugged. His friend didn’t know he was still seeing a counsellor. ‘Oh, I’m fine, really.’ He changed the subject. ‘Not long transferred from the Met on promotion. I’m now with the Major Crime Unit in Thames Valley Police.’

  ‘Always knew you’d rise through the ranks quickly,’ Aitken observed then hesitated. ‘You’re not only here because Jimmy Calder’s out of prison, are you?’

  Fleming knew he couldn’t fool Aitken. ‘It’s great to see you, Gordon, but I must admit something made me come here when you told me about Calder. I don’t suppose you know where he’s living?’

  Aitken looked dubious. ‘Alex, you’re not going to do anything stupid.’

  ‘Of course not. Thought I might just pay him a visit. Let him know he might have served his time, but that he hasn’t been forgotten. I thought if I confronted him it might help put things to bed for good–’

  ‘I hope by that you don’t mean what I think you mean.’

  ‘Relax, Gordon. Haven’t you heard of the restorative justice process? You know�
�� victims meet offenders. I get a chance to tell Calder what the impact of his crime was on me. He gets a chance to apologise and be held to account for what he did.’

  ‘I’m not so sure I like that last bit,’ Aitken said. ‘Hasn’t he already been held to account for his crime by serving over twenty years?’

  ‘By the legal system maybe… but not by me.’

  Aitken looked concerned. ‘And how do you propose to hold him to account?’

  ‘Like I said, he needs to show some regret for what he did, some remorse.’

  Aitken shrugged and fished into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a folded newspaper cutting and passed it to Fleming. ‘That was the story carried in the Edinburgh Evening News when he was released.’

  Fleming unfolded the cutting. The headline read, MURDERER RELEASED ON LIFE LICENCE. He read the story quickly and felt his anger rise. ‘Do you know where I can find him?’

  Aitken reluctantly pulled the news cutting towards him, fished a pen out of his jacket pocket and scribbled above the headline.

  Bruce arrived with the coffee. He glanced at the newspaper headline, but Aitken quickly folded the cutting and passed it back to Fleming.

  Fleming waited until Bruce poured the coffee and had left before flicking the paper open to see the name and address of the hostel Aitken had scribbled down for him. ‘Very grateful, Gordon, thanks.’

  ‘You realise I could get into serious trouble over this, Alex.’

  ‘Don’t worry. No one will ever know you told me about Calder’s release or where he’s living.’

  ‘Let’s make sure it stays that way,’ Aitken said. ‘Listen, I’m afraid I’m on duty tonight; catch up for a pint tomorrow night?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll look forward to that.’

  Later, in his room, Fleming was listening to the news on the radio. Leo Miller had resigned as chancellor. Fleming switched the radio off and went to close the window as a gust of cold air swept into the room. Lightning flashed over the city. Thunder rumbled and the first heavy drops of rain lashed onto the glass. He thought back to his last session with Freya. Revenge wasn’t intended in the restorative justice process. But it was supposed to allow victims to decide what should be done to repair the harm, wasn’t it? Though what he had in mind was hardly to be recommended. The following day he would pay a visit to the hostel.

  Bruce couldn’t believe his luck as he picked up the phone and dialled the number for Davy Purvis. He had an arrangement with the journalist to help supplement his income. He would let him know if anyone important checked into the hotel and would tip him off if he had any information that might lead to a good story. In return, Purvis would give him a few quid. The size of the payment depended on the story.

  After a few rings, the familiar voice answered. ‘Purvis.’

  ‘Davy, it’s me, Bruce. I’ve got something big for you.’ He went on to explain what he’d seen and that Alex Fleming had checked into the hotel.

  ‘Alex Fleming, the man whose mother was killed by Jimmy Calder?’

  ‘That’s him,’ Bruce confirmed.

  ‘Thanks, Bruce. Be in touch.’ He rang off.

  Purvis smiled. He saw the perfect opportunity to manufacture a story.

  32

  Davy Purvis watched Jimmy Calder leave the hostel off Ferry Road in Leith. Purvis recognised him straight away from the photograph in the paper. He couldn’t mistake the scrawny stooped frame of the man who was probably in his sixties, straggly grey hair, thinning, and a creased face that wore a haunted vacant look.

  Purvis left his car and followed Calder on foot.

  After a ten-minute walk, Calder entered a dingy-looking pub near the Water of Leith. Purvis followed him into the bar after a couple of minutes. It was busy and noisy with loud chatter and bouts of raucous laughter. Purvis spotted Calder’s old faded leather jacket and pushed his way to the bar beside him.

  The barman was handing Calder a pint.

  ‘Here, let me get that for you,’ Purvis said. ‘And the same for me,’ he told the barman.

  Calder looked at Purvis through dark cold eyes. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he growled in a thick gravelly voice.

  Purvis smiled. Now he was close to the man, he noticed the heavy bags under Calder’s eyes, his thin unsmiling lips and his bulbous red nose. ‘Thought I recognised you… Jimmy Calder, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’ Calder demanded.

  ‘A man who can do you a favour.’

  Calder looked wary as he grasped his pint with a rough hand. His fingernails were chewed and dirty. ‘Oh yeah, and how’s that then? And how come you know my name?’

  ‘Saw you in the paper a couple of weeks ago. I happen to have been on the wrong side of the law myself and heard something that should be of interest to you.’ Purvis took his pint and nodded towards the front of the bar where there was a table and bench under a grimy window. ‘Let’s have a seat over there, shall we?’

  Calder looked dubious, but he was clearly intrigued. He shrugged and made his way to the bench. Purvis eased his way in beside him.

  ‘Who exactly are you, and why would you want to do me a favour?’ Calder asked.

  ‘Like I said, I’ve been on the wrong side of the law myself. Police – hate the bastards. People like you and me, they’re always harassing us.’

  Calder knew what he meant. ‘What’s this big favour then?’

  Purvis leaned closer and whispered in Calder’s ear. ‘The woman you killed… Fleming was her name, wasn’t it?’

  Calder ignored the question and sipped at his pint. He frowned and glared at Purvis as he thumped his glass down on the table. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  ‘Thing is, she had a son, didn’t she? Alex Fl–’

  ‘So what?’ Calder interrupted. ‘What the fuck has that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Friend of mine, he works at The Scotsman Hotel. Guess who’s checked in?’

  Calder was getting impatient. ‘Who?’

  ‘Alex Fleming.’

  Calder froze.

  ‘He was talking to some guy – police, my friend reckoned. He was showing Fleming a cutting of the newspaper article that covered your release.’

  ‘That so?’ Calder whispered through clenched teeth.

  ‘That’s not all. He’d scribbled the address of your hostel on the paper.’

  Purvis downed the rest of his pint and got up to go. ‘Just thought I’d let you know, mate. He’s obviously here to find you.’

  Calder stared after Purvis as he left the pub. ‘Fuck!’ he cursed under his breath. He finished his pint and left the bar quickly.

  Fleming had risen early. He’d gone for a run before breakfast. Afterwards he drove down to Leith and found the hostel where Jimmy Calder was staying. He parked down the street where he could keep an eye on the entrance. He daren’t show his face in the hostel. To go inside looking for Calder would be asking for trouble. He decided to wait and keep an eye on the place, hoping to catch a sight of Calder.

  A couple of hours passed but there was no sign of him. Either he’d gone out before Fleming arrived, or Calder was in for the day. Eventually Fleming took a chance and phoned the hostel from a payphone on the end of the street. The girl he spoke to wasn’t much help. She’d only just come on duty and said Calder wasn’t in his room. Fleming cursed. He’d missed him. He couldn’t stay here all day and he was meeting Aitken for a drink later. Maybe he’d stay on for another day and try again.

  He went back to his hotel room and felt troubled. Dark thoughts swirled round his head. I’m a police officer, he thought. Why am I doing this? I could lose everything. He suddenly felt the need to talk to Freya. His hands were shaking as he picked up the phone and dialled her number.

  ‘Hello,’ said the familiar voice.

  ‘Freya?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s me, Alex Fleming.’

  ‘Oh, hi Alex, how are you doing?’

  There was a long pause before Fleming spoke. ‘I’m in Edi
nburgh. Jimmy Calder’s here. He’s out of prison.’

  ‘Alex, what are you doing there?’

  ‘I’m… I’m not really sure.’

  Freya hesitated, as if she sensed Fleming was in danger of doing something stupid. ‘I think you should come home. Come and see me, promise?’

  There was another long pause.

  Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to phone after all, Fleming thought.

  ‘Alex?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said and rang off.

  Later that evening, Fleming met Aitken in the hotel bar. He looked tense.

  ‘You look like you need a drink, Gordon,’ Fleming said.

  ‘Too bloody right I do!’

  Fleming ordered two pints and took them over to the seat Aitken had found well out of earshot of anyone else. ‘Bad day at the office?’ Fleming joked.

  Aitken stared hard at Fleming. ‘Where have you been all day?’

  Fleming sensed something was wrong. He couldn’t lie to Aitken. He’d see through it straight away. ‘I went to the hostel to see if I could see Calder. Waste of time. He was out. Seems I missed him.’

  ‘Christ, Alex, what do you think you’re doing? Are you mad?’

  ‘It’s okay, I didn’t go in. I watched outside but there was no sign of him.’

  ‘You absolutely sure you didn’t see him, Alex?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Why? What’s wrong?’

  ‘We could both be in deep shit, that’s what’s wrong. Calder’s disappeared.’

  33