En route to Ronald Blake’s family home
Duddingston
Saturday
14.05
“Will all due respect, if you don’t give me some of my team back, I have no chance - none - of finding whoever the killer is before they carry out their threat. I need more people – now - not next week.”
There was a pause at the other end of the phone, while DCS Helen Wilkinson took a deep breath and tried to control her response. “Count-to-ten”, she was busy reminding herself. “In fact, best count-to-a-hundred.”
The conversation was already several minutes old, and McKenzie was not accepting the answers she’d given him so far. She’d made it clear that until the security level was reduced or Operation Crown was cancelled or terminated, every able-bodied officer was working full time on resolving the very real threat that had been made to the Queen.
“And while you think about it,” McKenzie went in for the kill, detecting a moment of weakness, and a moment of opportunity, “I want you to realise that if someone else dies in the next few days, then their blood will… ”
“One officer. That’s all,” she replied. “And I’d caution you about what you were just about to say Campbell. That’s was unfair and unjustified. You don’t go around saying things like that. You know my hands are tied.”
“Do I get to choose who?” McKenzie replied, already feeling bad. But it had worked. And one person – one good person – could make a massive difference.
“No.”
“Good, then I want DI Fraser Dean. Full of initiative. Works hard. Does the job of two people. Please send him straight over to the school and tell him to call me en route.”
McKenzie hesitated for a second, knowing he had been pushing it. Then rather meekly he added.
“Thank you, Guv,” and hung up.
For a few minutes they drove in silence, before Anderson broke the spell.
“I’m saying nothing, but, you were a little harsh on her, Guv.”
The phone rang before McKenzie could reply.
“DCI McKenzie? Hi, it’s DI Dean here. I’ve just been reassigned to you, and told you need to talk with me urgently?”
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As they made their way through the streets of Edinburgh to the house of Ronald Blake, McKenzie briefed Dean on what had just happened.
“There’s a number of things I need you to do. Get over to the address I’ll text you in a minute, and start chasing down any CCTV cameras in the area, public or official. Check anytime between one-fifteen and two o’clock this afternoon. Whoever placed the note on my windscreen is highly likely to be the killer, or at least know them. If we capture an image of them doing it, we hit the jackpot. It’s likely that whoever did it followed us from Portobello High School, so I want you also to look for CCTV cameras in the neighbourhood of the school. We left there just before 1pm. It’s going to be a long manual process of identifying traffic that’s seen both in the immediate vicinity of the school, and then again near Mr Weir’s flat, but once again, if you do it, you might just trace the car straight back to the killer. I don’t want to micro-manage you on this. You know what to do. Just do it please. If you get anything, you call me immediately, okay?”
“Yes, boss.” Dean replied. He’d worked with DCI McKenzie before so he knew the ropes and what to expect. “I’ll get right on to it.”
“Just do your best. That’s all I’m asking you. It might take weeks to analyse and cross-reference the footage if you get any, but the stakes are high, so it’s worth doing.”
Dean hung up.
Anderson waited a moment and then commented.
“It’s a long shot, but sometimes it’s the long shots that pay off.”
McKenzie nodded, without speaking. Anderson could see he was thinking.
“Okay,” McKenzie finally spoke. “There’s a slight change of plan. You’re going to drop me off at the Blake household, and then you’re going to drive straight down to Fettes Row, get hold of someone in Forensics and give them this note. It’s another long shot, but it could possibly have the DNA on it from the killer, or whoever placed the note on the car. Call me when you’re done, and either come and pick me up, or meet me back at the school. Also, take this phone bill and get the ball rolling on getting phone records and phone mast data from the phone company.”
McKenzie reached into his pocket, pulled out the phone bill he’d picked up in Weir’s flat and gave it to the Sergeant. “If I get anything from Blake’s house, I’ll text you the number to chase that one down too.”
Anderson had just turned the car into the road where Ronald Blake lived, and was pulling up in front of a semi-detached three-bedroom house in the middle of a cul-de-sac. It was an expensive area. An expensive house. A big achievement for a family only on a teacher’s salary.
McKenzie took a few mental notes, reminding himself to find out from Mrs Blake when they had moved in and what her job was. And how they could afford a place like this.
McKenzie climbed out the car, and nodded at Anderson who then drove off. Before walking up the garden path, McKenzie called McLeish.
“I’m just about to go into the Blake household, and I was wondering where you are with the list of former staff and teachers at Portobello High School?” McKenzie asked, before briefly explaining about the note.
McLeish understood immediately. McKenzie was worried that another teacher may about to be killed, and McLeish and Lynch needed to hurry up the process of calling around and checking that no one else was missing.
“We’ve got some of the list, and we’ve just started calling the people on it. We’ll have to wait for the rest of the names. We’ve been promised more later today. Unfortunately, regarding the details we’ve been given, we’ve mainly only got home numbers. There are very few mobile numbers. It’s Saturday afternoon. Most people are probably out just now anyway.”
“It’s going to be a long process, but it’s one that’s got to be done. I also want you to talk to whoever was the Headmaster at the time they were both teaching at the school. The fact that they were killed together in the school surely means there’s a link between them and the school and something that happened there. Something that was a good enough reason for someone to kill them.”
McKenzie thanked McLeish and hung up.
Usually calm and collect, McKenzie was beginning to feel the pressure.
Someone somewhere knew what this was all about. They had to find them soon, before others started to die.
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It took several minutes for Mrs Blake to answer the door.
McKenzie held up his badge and was about to introduce himself when the woman interrupted him.
“I’m a neighbour, Detective, not Mrs Blake. She’s in bed. She didn’t get up today, and she’s very upset. I don’t know if she will speak with you, but if you come in, I’ll have a word with her.”
“Thank you, Mrs… ?” McKenzie queried.
“Mrs Duff. From number thirty-six over the road. We’re good friends.”
Mrs Duff showed McKenzie into Mrs Blake’s lounge, smiled at him and then backed out of the room.
McKenzie could hear the sound of the women speaking together, a few tears, and then a few minutes later, Mrs Blake appeared in the doorway, wrapped up warmly in a dressing gown despite the nice day outside.
Her eyes were red, and she looked terrible. McKenzie felt a pang of guilt, almost as if he was intruding. It had been years since he’d done this.
“Mrs Blake. I’m Detective Chief Inspector McKenzie. I’m heading up the investigation into the murder of your husband. I’m sorry for your loss. I just wanted to come around to speak with you personally, and to see how you are?”
McKenzie noticed the spark of recognition in her eyes as she picked up on his rank.
“Chief Inspector?” she half-smiled, nodded to herself, and then took a few steps closer, reaching out to the side of a chair, before easing herself in.
“Yes, we’re all very shaken by what has happened to your husband, and we are absolutely determined to find out what happened and who is to blame for his death.”
She looked out of the window, and without turning to face him, she asked.
“Helen’s going to make us both some tea. Or would you prefer coffee, Detective McKenzie?”
“Tea please, Mrs Blake.”
“If you’re a DCI, I reckon you’d better be calling me after my first name. Please call me Ruth. I’ve got the feeling we’re going to be speaking quite a lot over the coming days.”
She turned to him and looked him straight in his eyes.
Her eyes were a bright blue. But cold. Without warmth.
Which was understandable given the circumstances.
“I knew something was wrong. I felt it. And that’s why I reported him missing. As soon as I felt it.”
There was something about the way she spoke her words that caught McKenzie’s attention.
“You and your husband were very close?”
“Yes. We were.”
She began to cry.
“He normally calls me. Wherever he is. Just to check I’m okay. And to say he’s okay. Even if he’s really drunk. He never wants me to worry.”
“Can you remember when was the last time you spoke with him?”
“Thursday afternoon. Just a normal conversation. I asked him what he wanted for dinner. But then he didn’t come home. I waited up for him until about 10 p.m. and then went to bed. It wasn’t the first time that he ended up in the pub after work in Leith and then didn’t come home till very late. I was getting used to it.”
“Mrs Blake, may I ask, did he know David Weir? Did Mr Blake go out drinking with Mr Weir?”
“No. Not him. They used to be friends but a few years back they stopped talking. And then Ronald decided he didn’t want to work at Portobello High School anymore and he started looking for a new job. That’s when he got the job in Leith Academy.”
“So, your husband was a friend of David Weir?”
“Yes. Years ago, they used to be very close. Then something happened between them, I don’t know what, and he stopped coming round to visit, and they stopped going out for drinks together. They still talked together at the school, I think, but they weren’t as close as before.”
“Any idea what it was that happened between them?” McKenzie probed, but looked up and nodded at Mrs Duff as she came into the room and offered him a cup of tea.
“No. I think I once asked, but he didn’t want to talk about it. And Ronald had lots of other friends, so it wasn’t a big thing.”
“There’s a reason I was asking. I don’t know if you know or not, but unfortunately David Weir’s body was also found yesterday afternoon. He fell from the roof of the school. We have reason to believe that the fall was not a simple accident.”
The expression of sadness and shock that appeared on Mrs Blake’s face answered any questions McKenzie may have had about whether she already knew of his death.
“Oh, the poor man… ” she half-whispered, then looked down and stared into the cup of tea which Mrs Duff had handed her.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of the bad news. I’ve just come from Mr Weir’s house, where I met with his widow.”
McKenzie said nothing for a few moments. He sipped his tea and smiled weakly at Mrs Duff. She shook her head a little and looked down at the carpet.
“Mrs Blake, can you remember if there were any other teachers or friends that your husband used to spend time with around the same period he was good friends with Mr Weir?”
“No. Sorry. I don’t think so,” she replied after a moment of thinking. “Why, do you think it might be one of the other teachers that killed Ronnnie?” She was looking directly at McKenzie now, her eyes steady, but the pain she was feeling was evident in the warble in her voice as she spoke.
“I can’t say. The investigation has just begun. From experience though we can say that sometimes it’s just the small things that make the difference to an investigation. Small details that you might not think are relevant, but which suddenly become very important. So, may I request that if you remember anything which you think could be important, would you please let me know?”
McKenzie reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a card, and passed it over to her.
Mrs Weir nodded.
“Do you know if your husband had any enemies? Anyone who would wish him harm?” McKenzie moved on.
There were a few tears now.
“No. Ronnie didn’t have enemies.”
The fact that someone had very carefully planned Ronnie Blake’s death, clearly indicated the contrary, but McKenzie knew that now was not the right time to point this out.
Instead, he spent the next thirty minutes running through a long list of standard questions, gathering the basic facts, and hoping, just hoping, for a breakthrough.
None was forthcoming.
“Would you mind I were to have a quick look around the house or through his personal things? Does your husband have an office?”
With the help of her neighbour Mrs Duff, she slowly raised herself out of her seat, and made her way through the back of the bungalow and to a room on the left.
“Ronald’s private room. I hardly ever go in. It’s his domain… was his little den where he could lose himself from everyone else. I don’t know what went on in there. But, if you think it might help you, please take your time and have a look around. I don’t want to know what you find, but I hope you find something useful.”
Then Mrs Duff helped her carry on through to the kitchen, and McKenzie was left alone to sift through the remnants of another man’s life.
He turned the handle, pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Chapter 12
Ronald Blake’s Den
Duddingston
Saturday
15.10
Only a few days ago, all this had meaning. The notes on the man’s desk, the files on the bookshelves, full of records, receipts, letters, and plans. Photographs of distant and past relatives, most of whose identities were known only to Ronald, and would now be lost to future generations. Sadly, Mrs Blake had revealed that her husband and herself had not been able to have children, even though they had desperately wanted them. Ronald had one brother, but he had died a few years ago in a climbing accident in the Cairngorm mountains, and Mrs Blake was an only child.
Standing in the centre of the office, it dawned on McKenzie once again just how meaningless and sad some aspects of life were. All of this, everything that surrounded him had so much meaning to Ronald Blake. Much of it was probably the accumulation of thoughts, feelings and experiences which had taken decades to accumulate, and some of it may even be all that remained from previous generations of Blakes.
Perhaps, somewhere in the Blake’s attic, there would be other boxes full of even more photographs, or memorabilia: old plates, books, souvenirs from lives gone by which Ronald Blake had kept and felt too guilty about throwing out or taking to the local dump when older relatives had died, leaving Ronald to inherit the dust of their lives.
Now it was Ronald’s turn.
McKenzie could guess that after his funeral, Mrs Blake would perhaps never step foot in her husband’s office again, and it would remain like this until the day she died.
Until the day someone was asked to come into the house and clear it out.
Looking around, McKenzie knew that almost everything in the room would end up in boxes, packed into a little white van, and taken to a land-fill.
To be buried without respect, and with no formal recognition of everything which those boxes contained: hopes, tears, laughter, moments of extreme pleasure, and the depths of pain and sorrow.
Everything that makes up a life.
Dreams. Aspirations. Experiences.
Tossed in a box.
Then buried or burned.
“Detective McKenzie? Would you like another cup of tea?” the voice of Mrs Duff
caught him off-guard, dragging him back from his spiralling dark thoughts.
“Yes, please. That would nice,” McKenzie replied through the door.
Then he took a deep breath, switched on the light in the dimly lit room, and got to work.
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Ronald Blake’s Den
Duddingston
Saturday
16.30
An hour later, McKenzie left the office, carrying a small box full of a few items he wanted to examine back at the portacabin.
Mrs Blake was back in the front room, sitting on a seat closer to the window, staring out towards the distant view of the sea and the other side of the Firth of Forth.
“Thank you,” McKenzie said, interrupting her thoughts, whatever they were.
“Ah, Detective… ” she smiled meekly, turning slowly towards him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you, and Mrs Duff had to go home to cook dinner for her husband.” She paused. “Did you find what you needed? What you came for?”
“Not really,” McKenzie replied. “But if it’s alright with you, I have a few things here that I would like to take away and look at later. I promise that they will be returned to you as soon as possible.”
She nodded.
“One of them is a phone, which I found on his desk. It’s password protected. May I take it? And would you perhaps know what the password might be?”
“His phone? Oh, I forgot about that. I’ll have to cancel the contract now, won’t I?”
She began to cry.
McKenzie fought the urge to step forward, place an arm around her shoulder and cuddle her.
“Yes. I’m afraid you may have to do that, if you don’t want to keep the phone for your own use. But if it’s okay, I would like to have a look at the contacts he’s had recently, which means I need to let one of our specialists look at it once we can get through the password.”
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