I turned back to study the lot and spotted a dark-silver, not quite the colour Murray described, but like he said, his memory had been faulty. I crouched at the front wheels and held my breath.
There wasn’t a single scratch on the body paint or so much as a dent in the fender. I tried not to be too disappointed. Grant would need to be very dumb to drive the murder weapon back to his place of work, after all. I could organise a search of the woods, or maybe just threatening Grant with that course of action would be enough to cause him to panic and confess something.
I sighed, my breath misty in the air, and went back inside. It really was no warmer inside than out, and I wondered how the mechanics coped. We hadn’t even reached the middle of winter.
Grant leaned against a large, red machine in the middle of the room. His arms were folded cockily.
“Where were you today, Grant?” I heard Harding ask.
“Here,” he replied and gestured his arms out wide.
“All day?” she asked.
“Ask anyone,” Grant mumbled in response.
“We will,” I said, and the young man jumped at my voice.
“Don’t be sneaking up on me,” he complained.
Harding eyed me, and I nodded at her to continue.
“Have you been following the news recently?” she asked him.
“I’ve read about the shootings in America,” Gibson replied.
“Okay…” Harding said and raised an eyebrow. “Anything a bit closer to home?”
“Nope,” he smiled as though proud of the confession.
I stood next to him, and he lurched away. We’d backed him into a corner. I stepped closer, and he looked around in a panic, but there was nowhere for him to go.
“So you don’t know that two police officers have been murdered…” Harding started to say, then pretended to think. “Hang on, it’s three dead now, isn’t that right, DCI Thorne?”
“Three is right,” I said with my eyes fixed on Gibson’s face.
“I don’t know anything about that,” he protested.
His breath smelled of meaty onions, and I noticed a pastry wrapper in the bin nearby.
“It’s pretty hard to miss,” Harding scoffed. “It’s all over the papers.”
Grant unfolded his arms and then crossed them again. His thumbs rubbed against his forearms in a self-soothing gesture. He was uncomfortable, though it was hard to tell what the trigger was.
“I don’t read the papers,” he said again. “That’s not illegal. And I’ve got nothing to do with any dead cops. I’ve got no problems with the police.”
“You don’t seem to like us very much,” the Brit pointed out.
“That’s just you, love,” Gibson sniped.
My partner stiffened. That time, Gibson caught it, too. I watched him latch onto her discomfort.
“You better hope my mates don’t come back in,” he went on.
“I don’t think they’re your friends,” Harding pointed out. “They left you.”
“I don’t mean those guys,” Gibson jeered. “I mean my other mates, who won’t appreciate you trying to fit me up.”
Harding cocked a sceptical eyebrow, but I saw the fear flash in her eyes. We were all on edge after the deaths of three officers, and here we were talking to a prime suspect. I couldn’t fault Harding, but she shook it off and stared pointedly at the one-time ginger.
“Nobody is trying to fit you up, Grant,” she said. “We want to know where you were on the morning of Sunday the 3rd of October, and the evening of Monday the 4th.”
“At home,” Grant replied with a shrug. “With my parents.”
“The whole time?” she asked.
“Yep,” he sneered. “The whole time.”
“They’ll be able to verify that, will they?” she asked.
“Course, they will,” he replied. “And I’ve been here all day, too, so don’t get any ideas.”
Harding glanced at me in uncertainty. It wasn’t the answer she expected, and so she didn’t know where to take the questioning next.
“What time did you get to work?” I asked him.
“8:30,” he replied in an instant.
“And what time did you take your lunch break?” I asked.
“I always get to the van at twelve before the lunch rush,” Gibson replied with a smug smile.
“What did you eat?” I quizzed.
“What’s that got to do with anyone?” he challenged.
“Just answer the question, please, Mr. Gibson,” I replied.
“Sausage roll,” the baby-faced man huffed.
“Nice?” I asked.
“It’s meat in pastry,” he shrugged. “Can’t complain.”
“And what were you doing at 2 p.m. this afternoon?” I asked again.
“Cleaning out Mrs. Mason’s car,” he answered. “We do a monthly service for her.”
“And then afterwards?” I asked.
“I started on that bike there,” Gibson replied as he pointed to the vehicle we’d seen him cleaning on the way in. “I’ve almost finished rebuilding it.”
“You?” I asked in disbelief.
“They’ve almost finished it,” he corrected himself with a dark expression.
“What time did you start on the bike?” I asked.
“About half an hour or so ago, before you interrupted,” Gibson complained. “I’ll be behind now.”
“Right,” I finished. “Can you repeat all that, but begin with the bike and go backwards.”
Gibson’s eyes widened.
“Why?” he demanded.
“It’s just for the record,” I replied.
“Erm,” he floundered. “Okay, I started with the paint job, then I had lunch, no. I cleaned the Mason car after lunch, so--”
“Is there a problem?” I wondered with a smile.
“No,” he argued as his nostrils flared. “I don’t have a great memory, okay? That’s not a crime.”
I waited, and Grant folded his arms churlishly and furrowed his brow as he tried to remember what he had said.
“I’ve been here all day, right?” he pressed. “Ask anyone.”
The stink of oil and exhaust fumes flared in my nostrils and gave me a headache. I wanted to massage my forehead, but I also didn't want to give Gibson the upper hand. I guessed this conversation wasn’t going to get us anywhere. Gibson’s shoulders were hunched forwards, his arms crossed tighter. His body language told me he’d shut down.
“Don’t leave town,” I said. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Whatever,” he sneered.
I glanced over my shoulder as we walked away. He stared after us, but he no longer looked triumphant or cocky. His green eyes were wide, and it was obvious he was frightened. We re-emerged into the late afternoon sunlight, and the cold air slithered down my back like a snake.
“What was that?” Harding asked me.
“Suspects usually rehearse a story, but they can only remember it chronologically,” I explained. “It’s harder to repeat your lies in reverse.”
“So, do you think he was lying?” the brunette asked.
“I don’t want to jump to any conclusions about his innocence until his alibis are verified,” I replied.
Privately, I wasn’t so sure. It could be that Gibson was telling the truth, and he did have a poor memory. Stupid, yes, but that didn’t necessarily point to criminal behaviour. It would be easy to confirm his work alibi at least.
I looked over my shoulder to check nobody was in earshot before I got out my phone. I scrolled through my contacts. There weren’t many because I didn’t like to clog up the phone with unnecessary people. Most of the names were initialized only, or under an alias in case my phone ever fell into the wrong hands. I clicked on ‘S.T.’
He answered on the second ring, and I always liked that about him.
“Scott?” I said. “It’s me.”
“I know,” he replied in his thick Edinburgh accent. “What’s up?”
Harding stopped her examination of a protest rally poster and turned to me. Scott? she mouthed, but I didn’t respond.
“I need a favour,” I told Scott.
“You always need favours,” he joked.
“This is a big one,” I said. “An illegal one.”
Harding’s eyebrows shot up, and I turned so that I wasn’t facing her, but that couldn’t keep the conversation private.
“I need you to tap two phones,” I explained. “Except I don’t know the numbers, and I don’t have a warrant.”
“Christ, Thorne,” Scott protested. “You don’t ask for much.”
“I know, sorry,” I conceded. “I’ll owe you one.”
“You do already owe me one,” he reminded me.
“Stick it on my tab,” I laughed.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Scott said. “I’m already in your debt after you helped my brother out.”
Scott’s brother was a property developer, and one of his apartments had been robbed a few months previous. They’d cleared the place out and left nothing but the floorboards and fixed furniture. Not only had I caught the guys, but I’d helped out on the insurance claim. Scott’s brother had kitted out the apartment with nicer furniture and sold it at a higher cost.
“Have you got names?” he asked.
“Grant Gilbert and Andrew Cooper,” I said. “I’ll email through their files, it’ll help you narrow it down.”
“Better not, Thorne,” Scott said. “We don’t want a paper trail. I’ll find them.”
“You’re a lifesaver, thanks,” I praised. “Any luck with the CCTV?”
“I’m thinking of hacking into the security company,” he deadpanned.
“Okay, don’t tell me,” I said. “One illegal activity at a time.”
“I’ll keep you updated,” Scott said.
“Thanks, buddy,” I replied. “Hey, how’s the family--”
But Scott had already hung up, and I smiled to myself. It was another reason I liked the guy. He had no time for small talk when there was work to be done.
I pocketed the phone, unlocked the car, and took a last look at the garage. I wondered what Grant was doing inside. Was he worried? Trying to work out his story? If he was plotting with someone, I’d soon find out.
I slid into the seat and then waited for Harding to climb in, too. When she didn’t climb in right away, I rolled down the window and gave her an inquisitive look that she ignored.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
“I can’t believe you,” my partner replied and shook her head.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“You can’t just tap people’s phones!” she protested.
“The whole government is at it,” I said and rolled my eyes. “Companies are, too.”
“But we’re supposed to be better than corporations,” she complained. “We’re the police.”
“Yes, and there’s a killer after us,” I pointed out. “Do you really think anyone is going to care about the method once we catch the guy?”
Harding stood quietly for a minute, hands in her pockets, and a gust of wind blew her hair back.
“That’s not the point,” she muttered.
“Look, when you’re in charge one day, you can make the calls,” I said. “But I guarantee you’ll think differently once you’re leading a case like this.”
The brunette sighed and got into the passenger’s seat.
“What if it’s not Grant, though?” she asked. “He does have an alibi.”
“Alibis can be faked,” I reminded her. “And we haven’t checked his out yet. Also, don’t you remember that Kennedy pretended he’d been with his parents at first? I don’t think of parents as unbiased witnesses. Also, just because he’s been at work all day doesn’t mean he’s not involved. We still don’t know that the car crash is linked.”
“Right,” Harding grumbled and rubbed her forehead. “I think I’m developing a headache from all these false leads.”
I reached into the back seat and found a water bottle.
“Sorry, it’s a little warm,” I said and passed it to her.
The Brit noisily sucked down half the bottle.
“Christ,” I complained. “You sound like a drain.”
“We’ve forgotten how to be human during this case,” she joked. “No sleep, no food, no water.”
“It’ll be over soon,” I reassured her.
She stared out of the window, the water bottle wedged between her knees.“Will it?” she asked in a quiet voice.
The drive from Empire Garage to The Caledonian was very short, and that worried me. It would be possible for either man to make the walk between the two businesses in twenty minutes. We drove around narrow side streets which butted up against sprawling industrial estates. A large group of men crowded around a chip van stared at my car as we passed them. I checked for CCTV’s as I drove along and wondered if we would find a shot of Grant or Andrew walking this same street and maybe stopping at the chip van.
I really wanted to know what was on their phones. Perhaps I wouldn’t find anything, but Grant hadn’t seemed smart enough to organise their conversations offline. Andrew might have had enough brain power to consider that possibility, but if he thought the police were clueless, he might have used the phone anyway. I gripped the steering wheel tightly and wished I had a hundred sets of eyes to watch over all of these criminals.
“Sir, how do you know all of these shortcuts?” my chestnut-haired partner asked. “I’ve never seen you check the map.”
“I’ve driven these streets a hundred times,” I remarked.
“For cases?” she asked.
“No,” I explained. “Just after I first moved to the city, I was chasing a perp on foot. When I radioed for backup, I gave the wrong street and was almost killed by the guy.”
I looked at Harding and saw she was listening quietly.
“So on the weekends, or whenever I had a day off, I drove everywhere, down the labyrinth of alleyways and shortcuts till I knew them like the back of my hand,” I explained.
“That’s a good lesson to learn,” she conceded.
“See?” I remarked. “It’s not all illegal surveillance.”
But then my phone buzzed, and I saw it was a text from Scott with one simple message. It’s on.
I heard Harding sigh mournfully.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“I keep messing it all up,” the British beauty complained.
“Well, that’s not true,” I protested.
“I’m rubbish at interviews,” she pressed. “I couldn’t get Mr. Madden to talk, and now I can add Grant to the list. If you weren’t here, nothing would get done.”
“I’ve got a bit of edge in that I’ve been doing this a lot longer,” I reassured her.
“How do you do it?” she asked in disbelief. “Sometimes I look at these guys, and all I see is the crime they might have committed, and my brain just empties.”
“You have to try and establish a rapport,” I suggested.
“But how do I do that with a killer?” Harding asked.
“Look, I know it’s not pleasant, but there are techniques that can be applied to any sort of criminal or interview,” I said.
“How?” my brunette partner asked. “What techniques?”
“You take your personal feelings out of the crime, and just present the facts as you know them,” I said.
“And then what?” Harding asked.
“Well, that part depends on the context,” I replied. “But you learn how to go along with it.”
“So, that’s how you do it?” she asked. “You just tell the person what you know about them?”
“As long as I’m sure it’s an indisputable fact,” I answered.
“And what if it’s not?” she asked.
“Well, I lie,” I said and shrugged. “But that part is a bit trickier to teach overnight.”
Harding pressed the back of her head to the seat and
sighed.
“You’ll get there,” I reassured her. “Do you want to practice on Andrew?”
“No, sir,” she protested. “I think it’ll be quicker if you go in as the lead.”
“Did you notice what Grant didn’t say at least?” I asked. “Back at the garage?”
“What didn’t he say?” she asked in reply.
“He didn’t ask why we were there,” I remarked “He didn’t want to know. What do you think that means?”
“He already knew,” Harding offered.
“Exactly,” I said and nodded.
“Or he’s dumb,” she snickered.
“That’s a strong possibility,” I conceded.
The Caledonian was a small, squat office, almost hidden behind a large gate. It was an old-fashioned building, built many years ago and hadn’t adapted to modern times. The windows were thin and narrow, and I guessed it was a hellish place to be during the winter months.
There were few cars parked up, so it seemed that Siobhan the receptionist hadn’t been lying when she claimed they were short staffed. The blue flag of Scotland waved from the roof. The Kennedys were probably pro-Scottish Independence. I tapped my fingers on the wheel while trying to think up our next move.
“Do we go in?” Harding asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”
“What’s that?” she asked as her face furrowed in worry.
“Dr. Liu was able to identify the type of newsprint found in the victims mouths,” I explained. “And it’s the type used by this newspaper.”
My partner’s eyes widened.
“Sir, we need to bring Andrew in,” she said. “We can’t have a casual conversation here. It needs to be official.”
“But there are also lots of other newspapers using that material, too,” I pointed out.
Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller Page 22