by Marion Todd
‘God bless the farmers,’ she muttered as she cleared the last of the snow at the entrance to her drive.
She drove along the newly ploughed road, thinking how beautiful the world was after a snowfall, the harsh edges smoothed out with a white blanket. Heading east she could see the sky beginning to grow light as sunrise approached and she was filled with a sudden longing for spring and for happier days.
With the roads newly cleared she was soon at the station. Someone had been out early, clearing a path to the front door again but the markings delineating the parking spaces were hidden. There were a few cars in the staff car park already and she lined hers up next to them. As she stepped out she saw the pink faux-fur coat approaching. Zoe was picking her way along Tom Morris Drive, an enormous pair of headphones clamped over her ears. She wore yellow fisherman’s wellies on her feet and was carrying a Tupperware container. Clare waited to walk in with her.
‘You’re certainly dressed for the weather,’ she said.
Zoe grinned. ‘I love these wellies. You can keep your fancy expensive ones – I’ve had these for years and they’re still going strong.’
‘Is that your lunch?’ Clare said, indicating the box.
Zoe laughed. ‘I’d be some size if this was my lunchbox. No, I made a chocolate cherry cake last night. Just a thank-you to everyone for being so nice.’
‘Oh Zoe! So much for my new year diet…’ She held open the station door for Zoe.
‘You don’t have to eat it,’ Zoe said, laughing again.
‘Yeah, right.’
As Clare headed for her office her phone began to ring. She glanced at the display. The DCI. She tucked it under her ear and opened the office door flicking on the lights. ‘Hi, Al. Happy new year.’
‘Oh, yes. Um, happy new year, Clare. Hope you had a good break?’
‘Yes, thanks. You?’ She was about to mention his skiing trip then thought better of it. She didn’t want him to think she was checking up on him.
‘Yeah, it was great. I was away for a week. Just back last night so playing catch-up.’ She thought she could hear a noise in the background, as if he was tapping at his keyboard while he spoke. ‘Listen, Clare,’ he went on, ‘I got your message. Is it important? I’ve a hell of a lot to wade through today.’
She sat down in her chair, faintly nettled at this. He ought to know she wouldn’t have called unless it was important. Or did he think it was a social call? ‘Well…’ She thought she heard him sigh. ‘Just forget it, Al. I’ll chat to Chris about it.’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ve got a couple of minutes.’
That’s big of you, she thought but didn’t say. Instead she related the events of the past twenty-four hours. ‘I’m not even sure the two deaths are linked though…’ she tailed off.
‘Do you have a cause of death for either of them?’
‘Nothing definite. I’m hoping to hear from Neil today.’ She realised how lame the whole thing must have sounded. ‘It’s just, I have an odd feeling about these deaths.’
‘Better to wait until you have something more concrete, Clare. Call me later if you want to chat again. Now, I really must go.’ And, with that, he ended the call.
She sat for a minute, contemplating his reaction. He’d been terse, impatient to get off the phone. Was he really that busy? Or did he think Clare had more than work on her mind? And, if so, was he trying to put her off? She could hardly blame, him. She’d had her chance with him and she’d blown it. She sat back in her chair, staring at the phone. The call couldn’t have been more than two minutes long.
Her office door opened and Chris looked in. ‘Morning, boss. How’s the snow out your way?’
She put the DCI to the back of her mind. ‘Oh, you know. Pretty deep.’ She indicated a chair. ‘Come in and sit down, Chris. I could do with a chat.’
‘Hold on…’ He disappeared for a minute. When he returned he was carrying two pieces of Zoe’s cake, wrapped in paper towels. ‘Plates all gone,’ he said, adding, ‘greedy bastards.’
Clare eyed the cake. It did look lovely but it wasn’t even nine o’clock. ‘I’ll save mine for later,’ she said, putting it over on the filing cabinet.
‘So, what’s on your mind?’ Chris said, breaking off a piece of cake and popping it in his mouth. He licked cherry jam off his fingers. ‘Oh my God, this cake’s amazing!’
‘I had a phone call yesterday afternoon – not long before I went home.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Neil Grant.’
‘That was quick.’
‘No, it wasn’t Alison Reid. Another sudden death – came in when I was on leave. Woman in her thirties, again – Ingrid McKinnie. Did you attend?’
Chris shook his head. ‘Nope. I was off from Christmas Eve. Did Dundee not deal with it?’
‘Yes they did. But Neil thinks it might be suspicious. Admittedly, she’d been drinking and was found in the Kinness Burn so it could have been a drunken accident. But the odd thing is there was Rohypnol in her system and no sign of sexual assault.’
‘Washed away in the burn?’
‘Neil doesn’t think so. She wasn’t fully submerged. And there were no trauma injuries.’
‘Alcohol, though…’
‘Yes, that’s true.’
‘And the Rohypnol would prevent her struggling so the absence of injuries doesn’t mean she wasn’t assaulted.’
‘I suppose.’
‘But you’re not convinced?’ Chris broke off another bit of cake. ‘Oh, Clare,’ he said, licking his lips, ‘You really need to try this.’
‘Maybe… I’m not sure.’ She sat forward in her chair. ‘Chris you remember the marks on Alison Reid’s neck?’
‘Yeah…’
‘Well, according to Neil, there were marks on Ingrid McKinnie’s neck too.’
‘So, someone’s picked her up in the pub, slipped her a tablet – walked her down to the burn meaning to assault her. Maybe had his hands round her neck then he’s been disturbed – party-goers wandering past – he’s left her and she’s tumbled into the water.’
Clare considered this. ‘Could be. But… if he’d been disturbed, would he have had time to strangle her?’
‘You think she was strangled?’
‘That’s just it. I don’t know. Neil was a bit reluctant to give me a cause of death. He’s going to phone back today – ideally with Alison’s results as well.’
‘You’re thinking they’re linked?’
Clare shrugged. ‘I’m just not sure.’
‘No point in second-guessing it Clare. Wait till you’ve heard from Neil.’ He rose, picking up the remains of his cake, and made to leave.
Clare’s phone began to ring again. She glanced at the display. Diane Wallace from Tech Support. ‘Hold on, Chris, it’s Diane.’
After the exchange of new year greetings which Clare was starting to find tedious, Diane got straight to the point.
‘We’re swamped here, Clare, so I’ll keep it short. The laptop wasn’t password protected so I’ve downloaded all the data. It’s in a folder on the network.’
‘Brilliant. Thanks so much, Diane. Anything else on the laptop we should know about?’
‘Nah. The usual social media apps. She wasn’t logged in though and I’ve not got into them yet but I’ve got Craig, my boy wonder, running password crackers. Hopefully it won’t take too long.’
‘Okay, Diane. Let me know when you’ve got anything else, and let’s catch up soon, yeah?’
She ended the call and turned to Chris. ‘Alison’s laptop. Diane’s put the data on the network.’ She picked up her mouse and navigated to the drive where Diane had uploaded the folder. She began with Alison’s emails, sorting the messages by recipient. Then she glanced at Chris. ‘Put that cake down and take a look at this.’
Chapter 13
‘So, she was corresponding back and forth with Miles Sharp during December,’ Chris said, sitting back in his seat.
‘Looks like it. The question i
s why?’
‘No idea. The earlier messages are all full of We need to meet and Time we talked but nothing concrete,’ Chris said. ‘And look at this one…’
Clare zoomed in to read the email Chris indicated. The subject was:
Think about it!
The message below the subject was simple:
Miles, it’s a seriously bad idea.
Sorry, I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.
Alison
‘What do you make of that?’ Chris said.
‘I’d say it’s something neither of them wanted to be explicit about. And that makes me suspicious.’
‘I wonder… do you think he might still have feelings for Alison?’
Clare shrugged. ‘Goodness knows. Either way, they were both very careful about how they worded these emails. There’s definitely something going on and it wouldn’t surprise me if the lovely Cheryl knew nothing about it.’
‘Want to pull him in for a chat?’
Clare considered this. ‘Not yet, I think. Let’s wait and see what Neil says about the cause of death.’
‘Try a search for Cheryl.’
Clare began searching through the emails again but she couldn’t see any between Alison and Cheryl or even any that mentioned Cheryl’s name. ‘Nothing.’ She checked her watch. ‘Let’s give it till early afternoon and if Neil’s not phoned, I’ll call him. Then we can talk again. Meantime, we need to look into Ingrid McKinnie’s background. Find out where she lived, who she lived with, next of kin – the usual. Can you get onto that please?’
Chris put the last of the chocolate cake into his mouth and wiped his fingers on the paper towel. ‘Yeah,’ he said through a mouthful of cake crumbs. ‘I’ll just get a coffee to wash this down, first.’
While Chris went to check up on Ingrid McKinnie, Clare called the press officer. Clare had worked with Suzi Bishop when she’d been stationed in Glasgow. By coincidence they had both moved east around the same time, Suzi to the large Bell Street office in Dundee and Clare to the smaller St Andrews station.
‘So, what can I do for you, Clare?’ Suzi asked, after initial pleasantries.
‘I had a sudden death, over Christmas, Suzi. Woman in her thirties – Rohypnol in her system. Still waiting for a definite cause of death but there’s no mistaking the drug. And then another body yesterday. I don’t know yet if this one had been drugged – and there may be no connection – but I wondered if you could put something out on social media? You know the usual stuff – covering your drink, asking a friend to keep an eye on it – and if anyone thinks they’ve been the victim of this kind of thing…’
‘Yeah, no problem. We did run a campaign before the party season began so it’ll be easy enough to pull something out.’
‘Thanks, Suzi. I appreciate it.’
‘I’d suggest getting round the pubs to encourage them to use lids on their glasses.’
‘I can try,’ Clare said. ‘But the punters don’t like the paper straws so bars have stopped using the lids.’
‘All the same…’
Clare ended the call with the usual We must catch up soon, reflecting that she’d been saying that rather a lot recently. Maybe she’d have a party at Daisy Cottage. A kind of January’s miserable so let’s party sort of thing. And then she remembered Chris and Sara’s engagement ceilidh – the one Sara didn’t know about. Maybe Chris would invite Diane and Suzi, and Clare could catch up with them both at the same time. She probably should make an effort to arrange something herself but it was freezing just now and it felt like a lot of bother. ‘Oh for goodness sake, Clare,’ she muttered. ‘You’re turning into an old woman!’
‘I didn’t like to say…’ Chris said from the door, earning himself a look in return.
She glared at him. ‘Did you actually want something?’
‘Calm down, grandma. I just came to fill you in about Ingrid McKinnie.’ He glanced at the filing cabinet. ‘You going to eat that cake or what?’
Clare sighed. ‘Go and make me a coffee and we’ll share it.’
* * *
Over coffee and the cake, which Clare had to admit was delicious, Chris explained that Ingrid worked in an outdoor equipment shop.
‘It’s called Tradgear – on one of the lanes off South Street.’
Clare nodded. ‘I know it. Some nice stuff.’
‘According to the manager,’ Chris went on, ‘Ingrid was a keen climber. But she kept her private life to herself. He thought maybe she’d broken up with a boyfriend a while back but he didn’t like to ask. She hadn’t gone on the last two climbing wall outings with the rest of the staff.’
‘Did he do anything about it?’
Chris shook his head. ‘Said she was still a hard worker, good with customers and that’s what mattered. And, as a climber, she knew her way round the equipment.’
‘Fair enough.’ Clare scooped up the last of the cake before Chris could beat her to it. ‘How old was she?’
He checked his notebook. ‘Thirty-three.’
Clare shook her mouse and scrolled to the report on Alison Reid. ‘Same age as Alison.’
‘You reckon they knew each other?’
‘Maybe. If the PM comes back linking the two deaths I’ll check with the Education Department. See if they were at school together. Who’s the next of kin?’
‘Parents are in Cupar. No siblings, though.’
‘Who spoke to them?’
‘Dundee Inspector. Can’t remember which one off hand, but I could check.’
Clare shook her head. ‘Leave it for now. At least until we have a cause of death.’
Chris rose from his seat. ‘Okay. Want me to carry on with the December crime stats?’
Clare scrutinised his face. It wasn’t like him to volunteer for such a tedious task. ‘What are you up to, sergeant?’
He assumed an injured look. ‘Nothing – just thought I’d lend a hand.’
‘Then that would be much appreciated,’ Clare said, turning back to her Inbox which was still bulging with unread emails.
‘Only…’
‘I knew there was a catch.’
‘Is it okay if I nip off early tonight? I’ve an appointment.’
Clare looked at him. ‘What sort of appointment?’
‘Just an appointment.’ He grinned and made for the door. ‘Thank you, Inspector!’ And he closed it behind him before Clare could interrogate him further.
* * *
Clare lifted her head from dealing with her Inbox and realised it was after midday. She emerged from her office, heading for the kitchen to retrieve her lunch from the fridge. Sara and Zoe were poring over a computer, Zoe with a doorstop of a sandwich in her hand. Clare wandered over and Sara immediately minimised the screen, guilt written all over her face.
‘PC Stapleton,’ Clare said, in a tone of mock horror, ‘what are you up to?’
Sara flushed. ‘Nothing, boss. Just a bit of fun.’
‘Go on then,’ Clare said. ‘I can’t have you calling me the station fun sponge.’
Sara glanced at Zoe who shrugged. ‘Promise you won’t laugh?’ she said to Clare.
‘Scout’s honour. Just show me!’
Sara clicked and a brightly coloured web page headed Attracto appeared. Clare looked at it. The name sounded familiar but she couldn’t place it.
‘Is it…’
‘It’s a dating site,’ Zoe said. ‘Obviously Sara’s fixed up but I’m fancy-free.’
And then Clare remembered. The dating site Alison Reid had signed up to. She thought immediately of the Rohypnol in Ingrid McKinnie’s system. It must have shown in her face.
‘Oh, you’re horrified,’ Sara said. ‘Sorry, boss…’
‘No,’ Clare said, ‘it’s not that. It’s just that… well, look, it’s not official yet but I have reason to believe someone in the town is spiking drinks.’
Zoe stared. ‘Date rape?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘Jeezo. Mind you,’ Zoe went on, ‘
only an eejit would leave their drink unattended.’
Was that what Ingrid McKinnie had done, Clare wondered. She really needed to speak to Neil Grant – sooner rather than later. She looked back at the computer. Might the dating site be significant? ‘Go on, then,’ she said to Zoe. ‘Show me.’
Zoe turned back to the computer and took the mouse. ‘So, this is me – up here – my photo…’
Clare looked but it seemed to be Zoe’s red curls from the back. ‘The back of your head?’ she said.
‘Yeah. You don’t have to do full face if you’re not comfortable. So you put up your photo, a few facts about yourself then you can choose the categories you’re interested in.’
‘Like what?’ This was a new experience for Clare.
‘Oh, if you’re outdoorsy, or if you like books, the gym and so on. Then it gives you a list of likely men.’
Clare pulled out a chair and sat down behind Zoe. ‘Then what?’
‘You can send a thumbs-up. That means you like them. They see that and they can ignore it or send you one back. It works the other way round, too. They can send you a thumbs-up and you can decide if you want to send one back – or not.’
Clare felt slightly sick at the thought of putting herself back out there again. Was this the only way to find someone these days? Surely she wouldn’t have to go through this rigmarole to have someone in her life? ‘And then what happens?’ she asked.
‘Well, if you both like each other you can send a private message or click to arrange a date. Then you get lots of advice about meeting in public, daytime better than night-time and all that. It’s really well-organised. Once you’ve met on a date you can exchange contact information.’
‘And what happens if you ask someone for a date and they don’t want to go?’
Zoe shrugged. ‘It’s no biggie. They just say no thanks and that’s it. You move onto the next one. Honestly, Clare, it’s a lot safer than picking up a stranger in a pub.’