‘Listen, Neil. We’re going to swing by Archie English’s on our way back – not to arrest him!’ He emphasised. ‘We’ll have our own wee case review when we get back.’
‘Okay boss. It’s been a wee bit stressful havin’ those two on my back,’ Conroy replied, clutching at the olive branch.
‘Aye, well, maybe I should have stayed; we’ll talk about it later.’ It was as close to an apology as he was going to offer.
***
Archie English greeted them with warmth and enthusiasm; not what you might expect from a credible suspect with a police dragnet closing around him but, who knows what an Aspergers sufferer’s perception of normal looks like? He ushered them through into his tidy, sitting-room-cum-centre-of-operations. He had created a schematic of the site and pinned it to the wall. It included the location of the skull, the head and the old sheep pen where Wilson Farish’s head so dramatically reappeared. They were clearly marked as ‘of police interest only’, in other words, of no significance to him.
‘I do wish you’d solve this case, Chief Inspector Dunbar,’ he moaned, after studying it and taking his seat.
‘You haven’t been talking to my boss by any chance, have you?’
Archie seemed puzzled by the question. ‘No, but erm I will – if – if you think it might help.’ He offered sincerely. Tyler guffawed, Dunbar scowled but Archie looked even more perplexed.
‘No! Thanks but – it isn’t through lack of effort, Mr English.’
‘Yes, well, that’s all well and good but – I phoned Professor Geary and she says that she does not feel it appropriate to continue our dig until your enquiry is concluded.’
Dunbar noted the use of the words our dig, further self-affirmation that he sees himself as at the centre of things. ‘Do you know a man called Kenneth Edward Murray?’
‘Murray, Murray, Murray,’ he repeated, tapping his index finger on his lips as he thought about the question. ‘Moritreb.’ he eventually said.
‘No, Murray, Kenneth Edward.’
‘They’re not a Borders clan,’ he explained, shaking his head. ‘As usual, there is more than one school of thought regarding the origins of the name Murray. I favour the derivation of the Moritreb, a northern coastal Pictish tribe associated with what is now –’
‘Not interested in the origins of clan names, Mr English,’ Dunbar cut in impatiently.
‘Ahh, but it’s so relevant to this case, would ye no’ say?’ he replied.
‘We just want to know if you know him.’
‘They hail from the Moray Firth region,’ he continued, ignoring the question. ‘Moray – Murray. Like Humes is spelt a variety of ways – Inglis, also evolved into Ingles with an ‘e’ and of course, English, as in my case. The spellings may vary, the history never does.’
‘I don’t care!’ Dunbar snapped.
‘But you should! Everybody should. We are who we are, Chief Inspector.’ Dunbar groaned as Archie continued enthusiastically. ‘The name may also be derived from the Flemish nobleman, Freskin de Moravia – Mor-ray-via,’ he added, breaking it down into single syllables, ‘who gave his name to that region – which makes perfect sense. Is Murray a variation on Moray or a derivation of Moritreb? Either way, do you see how these things fall into place?’
‘That’s my problem, Archie, things aren’t falling into place.’
‘I was referring to –’
‘What’s in a name, Archie?’ Dunbar cut in.
‘Everything when we’re discussing the events at Braur Glen.’
‘Apparently not, seeing as how the Murrays seem to have bugger-all to do with it. Until, that is, Kenneth Edward’s head was unearthed by the professor’s team.’
‘That’s what makes it so fascinating,’ he said, eyes darting back and forth between the two detectives.
‘Fascinating?’ Dunbar repeated drily. ‘Did you know him?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘When was the last time you saw your mother?’
The question seemed to throw Archie completely. He searched the room as if expecting to see the answer written on the walls or as if trying to conjure it from the ether, but to no avail. He knew from the expressions on the two detectives’ faces that a specific reaction was expected, but as usual at such times, eluded him. The answer lay hidden somewhere in the jumble of sensations he experienced when confronted by talk of his mother, and Archie knew it for what it was, an emotional response, as for expressing that emotion, that was something he had wrestled with all his life but never mastered. Subsequently, he had long since given up trying.
‘I dinnae know if I ever did,’ he eventually replied, eyeing them in turn, hoping he had got away with it.
‘Ever?’ Tyler asked.
‘Well – when I was born and put to her breast obviously, I must have seen her then, but I have no recollection of her. Funny though, isn’t it. Here we are, an advanced life form, lacking that capacity. And yet, the new born of just about any animal can instantly recognise its parent, even amongst a vast herd.’
‘That’s a survival thing,’ Tyler offered helpfully.
‘Yes, – like migrating wildebeest for instance – the calf can find its mother and the mother its calf. I’ve seen it on the telly. But put a new born human baby in that situation or even just in a room of a few people and it would not know which one was its mother.’ He eyed them expecting a response that did not come. Archie shrugged. ‘Well, I have survived without mine, so I suppose that makes me even more superior,’ he answered smugly, adding bluntly, ‘she left before my first birthday.’
‘Does that not strike you as strange? She had a baby and just walked away,’ Dunbar asked.
Again he looked troubled by the question and eyed each of them in turn. ‘God, not man, plants his seed and woman propagates them.’
‘A convenient pearl o’ – something. One o’ grandpa’s?’ Dunbar asked, already sure of the answer. Archie nodded. ‘Did either of your grandparents ever explain why she left?’
‘Morag was a slut,’ he answered curtly. It was a learned response.
‘Isn’t her first name Mary?’ Tyler cut in.
‘Yes, but I always think of her as Morag, wicked like the witch.’
‘Did they ever discuss with you why it was they considered her a slut?’ Tyler asked in a gentler tone, sensing her boss was still sore about Molineux and Watt’s interference and Archie habit of digressing.
‘She liked men and sex. She didnae like me or she would have stayed. She liked men and sex better. Grandpa told me that women who have sex with lots of men are sluts and grandma agreed. Even so, she was sad about it, but grandpa wasn’t.’
‘How old were you when they discussed your mother’s sex life with you?’
‘Seven or eight – I asked why I had grandparents but no parents like other children at school and in the village. They said my mother had sex with a man that didn’t want to be my father and that she didn’t want to be a mother. She just wanted to have sex, not babies.’
‘That must have hurt,’ Tyler said.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to be a father either. I suppose some people do, some don’t, but I’ve never had sex with a woman and I won’t – so I can’t.’
‘Just Wilson Farish,’ Dunbar said.
Archie looked at him. ‘That wasn’t baby-making sex. That was just a silly game, just for fun, playtime, that’s Wilson called it, and he liked to play it a lot.’
‘Maybe that’s all your mum was doing, Archie – playing silly little sex games.’
Archie frowned. DCI Dunbar’s observation was one he had never considered and something that had certainly never been proposed before. Eventually he shook his head dismissively, grandpa would have told him.
‘No, grandpa wouldn’t have minded if that’s all it was,’ he explained.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because he didn’t mind what we did.’
&n
bsp; Tyler gasped and snapped around to stare at her boss. ‘He knew?’ she asked, turning back to Archie. Archie nodded. ‘Did your grandma?’
‘No. Grandpa said – you’d better not let her catch you doing that, and we didn’t.’
‘Did Grandpa ever touch you like Wilson did, or get you to –’
‘Nooo,’ he cut in with an embarrassed smile. ‘Grandpa said that grandpas’ didn’t cuddle boys because boys had to grow up to be men, but it was okay for them to cuddle girls. Until my mother started to be naughty, grandpa said he used to like to cuddle her.’
‘I bet,’ Dunbar responded. They could see that he was confused by this line of questioning but no more than that. Interpersonal relationships, whether family or sexually predatory, had seemingly had little or no impact upon him. Dunbar met his slightly confused expression impassively, so Archie turned back to look at Tyler quizzically.
‘Do you want babies, Detective Inspector Tyler?’
Tyler almost gagged. ‘I – I haven’t really, erm, no, probably not, I –’
‘Oh! Do you like to have sex with lots of men too?’
Dunbar grunted as he choked down a belly-laugh.
‘No I bloody don’t!’ she snapped indignantly. Archie nodded his approval.
‘So, grandpa was pleased to see the back of your mum, but grandma wasn’t. Is that how it was?’ Dunbar asked.
‘Yes. They would argue about it sometimes. I would hear them.’
‘Did that not upset you?’ Tyler asked.
‘No, they weren’t shouting at me. I was only wee, it wasn’t my fault.’
‘They shouted – and argued about your mother?’ she pressed.
‘Grandma used to say that he should not have sent her away.’
‘He sent her – she didn’t run away then?’ Dunbar asked.
‘He said run away, grandma said sent – either way she went.’ Archie obviously did not, or could not differentiate. ‘I didn’t care, I was only –’
‘Wee, yeah you said,’ Dunbar cut in, looking at Tyler.
It was a conversation that was not really getting them anywhere, and it was becoming increasingly clear that, should he make a telling revelation, the lack of an appropriate adult or social worker’s presence would render any evidence inadmissible. They both got up to leave.
‘Have you discussed any of this with Ruth Linklater from the Edinburgh Herald?’ Archie shook his head. ‘But she has asked?’ Dunbar pressed.
‘Yes, it got quite irritating actually.’
‘We’re not doing it to irritate you, Archie,’ Tyler soothed.
‘No, I know – I used to watch Taggart with grandma, remember. They did it all the time – asked about people’s families when they were investigating crimes.’
‘That’s right,’ Dunbar reassured him. ‘Why have you not told Ruth though?’
‘I don’t want her to write about my family – I want her to write about me and my search for Obag’s Holm, and the Professor’s work of course. So I told her mammy’s name was Morag, wicked like the witch, and that she changed her surname too when she married that salesman and moved doon south.’ He grinned mischievously.
‘Okay! Maybe you should stick to that.’
Archie nodded. ‘Yes, anyway, I’ve asked her not to come here anymore, just to phone me if she wants to talk about my discovery. She has bad breath,’ he added, wrinkling up his nose and wafting the air demonstratively. ‘Smoking – disgusting – yeuch!’
Back in the car the two detectives quietly mulled over yet another strange encounter with Archie English. Dunbar started the car and pulled away.
“God plants his seed not man,” Dunbar eventually said, quoting Fraser English.
‘Absolving himself from getting his daughter pregnant, the dirty bastard,’ Tyler hissed. ‘Why didn’t he stop Farish abusing Archie though?’
‘Because Farish had the dirt on him,’ Dunbar suggested.
She nodded her agreement. ‘We should throw his corpse on the council tip with the other garbage and filth when we’re done. One thing’s for sure, if we put Archie on tape – he has to have an appropriate adult in the room. That is one seriously troubled individual.’
‘Troubled? I’m not even sure he has any real sense of just how fucked up his childhood was. But you’re right. So! Do you still think we should lock him up?’
‘It’s not him,’ she said, for the first time.
‘Tell that to Molineux – he might listen to you.’
‘Do you think Fraser English did away with his daughter?’
‘Starting to look like it, wouldn’t you say?’
Tyler nodded. ‘By the way, have we got a positive ID on Kenneth Edward Murray?’
‘Nope! But I don’t even want to think about it not being him. Remind me to check in with Donnie Salkeld when we get back.’
Tyler checked her watch. ‘Will he still be there?’
‘If he isn’t, I’ll ring the bugger at home.’
***
They assembled in the briefing room, the whole team, bar the civilian data-input clerks. The detectives’ shift had ended an hour earlier but Dunbar decided that if Detective Chief Superintendent Molineux wanted to play games, he would keep them on the meter a while longer.
‘Back to first principles, what have we got? What do we need? And what connects the late Fraser English, Kenneth Edward Murray and Wilson Farish? Apart from losing their heads that is, because something must. Happily, thanks to Mr Murray, the much feared resurrection of the ancient blood feud is looking less likely, so what are the alternatives?’ Dunbar asked. He turned to the face the white board. ‘Focus on the incident tree. There has to be a common denominator.’
They did as instructed and before long ideas and opinions bounced around the room. Location was the first and obvious one.
‘It suggests the perpetrator has a connection to the area – or at least a good knowledge of it. Are they a local or merely a regular visitor?’ Falk offered.
‘Or was Archie’s website what drew them to Braur Glen?’ someone else proffered.
‘If that is the case, is it the mysterious bloggers, MI or MII or both?’ Tyler wondered, out loud, stepping up alongside Dunbar.
‘Another tenuous link seems to be paedophilia,’ Dunbar mused.
‘Unless Archie English’s makin’ it up, boss,’ Falk said.
A theory Dunbar and Tyler had discussed on their drive back from Archie’s house and dismissed. Both of them doubted whether Archie was capable of that level of creative thought, nor was there anything to gain. It could slow the enquiry down, and that seemed to be the last thing Archie would want.
‘Let’s assume he wasn’t, and that Wilson Farish was a paedophile,’ Tyler said. ‘The forensic and DNA evidence suggests that Fraser English engaged in an incestuous relationship with his daughter to the extent that he got her pregnant. What we’ll probably never know is at what age her father began to have sexual relations with her. Case studies support the likelihood that the abuse would have begun before puberty and that is also the opinion of the criminal psychologist who has reviewed the case.’
‘Was Kenneth Edward Murray also a paedophile?’ Conroy asked.
‘Another question we need to find the answer to,’ Dunbar answered. ‘From the evidence we have there is every indication that he was a sexual predator, and lost at least one job on account of it. But did he also seek out under-aged victims?’ Dunbar slapped his palm on the white board. ‘Where do their stories intersect?’ he asked, before drawing freehand lines from each victim to the other two. Having done so, he replaced the pen’s top and stabbed at the intersection with it. ‘That’s where we will find the killer.’ His case review was met with weary nods and murmurs of agreement. ‘Go home, get some sleep and tomorrow let’s try to find the answers to some, if not all of these questions.’
As they began to disperse Dunbar held Neil Conroy back. ‘Do you need somebody riding shotgun in here with you?’
Conroy forced a
weak smile and shook his head. ‘Nae, sir. Could have done wi’ a Taser though for those two. Well, Molly anyhow, Tell-ye-Watt was just goin’ along wi’ anything the boss said.’
Dunbar nodded his understanding. That was Terry Watt’s M-O. Unfortunately Neil Conroy, despite being just as capable as any DI that he might have appointed office manager, lacked the rank to lock horns with two detectives of Molineux and Watt’s ranks. From across the room Tyler noticed the brief exchange and warmth of the handshake as she slipped into her coat. Happily, they ended the day in the same way they had started it, as friends.
***
Donnie Salkeld was not at home. That left Dunbar in two minds as to whether to track him down or not. He decided he would. Better he began the next day armed with all the facts, as opposed to chasing some important ones down. Finding Donnie would be easy enough; extricating himself afterwards would be the tricky bit. The pathologist was at a function at the Roxburghe Hotel in Charlotte Square. Again, gate-crashing the function was not what troubled Dunbar; it was the fact it was an Edinburgh Northern RUFC Old Boys gathering. It would be a raucous and drink-sodden affair, and perhaps not the best place for a former Jed-Forest player to be. Dunbar could hear them from the concierge’s lectern in the foyer.
‘Are you with the party, sir?’
‘Not exactly,’ he replied, looking beyond the man and in the direction of the noise.
‘It’s a private function,’ the concierge explained, as he fiddled with a discarded napkin, scooped from one of the coffee tables when he breezed up to greet Dunbar.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘And I’m afraid I can’t grant access unless –’
‘Don’t worry, I’d probably need that if you did,’ he said, nodding at the napkin.
‘A napkin, sir?’ the confused young man asked.
‘A flag of truce.’ He flashed his ID. ‘Would you see if you can locate Professor Donald Salkeld and ask him to join me –’ Dunbar looked around – ‘here would be fine.’
The concierge nodded. ‘Can I have a waiter get you anything meanwhile?’
A Deviant Breed (DCI Alec Dunbar series) Page 26