by Tana Collins
She shook her head. ‘Two men, similar age, both with stab wounds. Got to be a connection. Too much of a coincidence otherwise.’
‘Have you received any calls since your community council meeting?’Carruthers asked.
Shaking her head she said, ‘Not a single one.’ She took a few steps back. Surveyed the scene.
‘Assuming it’s the same person who’s killed both men, why dump a couple of bodies in a nature reserve full of runners and dog walkers? No attempt at burial. It just doesn’t make any sense,’ said Fletcher.
‘Let’s try not to make any assumptions until we get the results of the PM.’ Carruthers turned to Fletcher, ‘Don’t forget, Fraser was killed here. Not dumped. But I take your point about the dog walkers and runners.’
‘He was found quickly enough though and let’s face it, dogs are always rooting around,’ she said. He called to a nearby SOCO.
‘Who found him? Was it a member of the public?’
‘One of the university groundsmen, sir.’ She jerked her head in the man’s direction. ‘Over there talking on his mobile.’
Carruthers and Fletcher looked across at a man in his mid- to late-fifties clad in a dark blue boiler suit. He had long greying hair and the ruddy complexion that comes with working outdoors.
Carruthers nodded his head in greeting as a second SOCO walked by. He glanced over at the groundsman again who’d just finished his call. ‘Andie, take his statement.’
‘Right, boss. Will do.’
‘Also, phone the station and let them know what’s going on. And get a briefing set up, will you? Sometime later this afternoon. While you’re at it, get Colin Jones over. We’ll need a sketch to go to press.’
Striding back in the direction of Dr Mackie, who was busy getting a thermometer out of his bag, Carruthers shivered. The old saying came to mind that somebody had just walked over his grave. ‘How fast can you do the post mortem?’ he asked.
‘I’ll get it fast-tracked, laddie. We’ll get it done this afternoon.’
‘OK, unlikely I’ll make it. Ring me with any findings as soon as you have them, will you?’
Dr Mackie saluted.
‘Jim, have you got a wee moment?’ asked DS Watson. She was carrying her jacket over her arm. Carruthers turned round.
‘Coming in or going out?’ he asked.
‘In.’
‘Good. Be quick. Brief’s in five minutes.’ Watson nodded. Carruthers jerked his head towards her. ‘Walk with me whilst I get a coffee. Bloody freezing out there. Need something to get the circulation going again,’ he said, striding towards the canteen rubbing his hands. Watson fell in to step with him. She referred to her notebook as she walked.
‘We’ve found two people who knew Ruiridh Fraser. John Cameron, a regular from the Ship Inn, and a Mrs Gordon from Antigua Street in Cellardyke. According to Mrs Gordon, Fraser’s been married. Long-time divorced but he’s got a son.’
Carruthers stopped and faced her. ‘Yes, I know. Give me something else.’
‘According to Mrs Gordon the two had a falling out. A big one. The son moved out well over twenty years ago.’
‘Now that’s interesting. Do we know what the falling out was about?’
‘No, but Mrs Gordon said the son was never seen again after that.’
‘How would Mrs Gordon know all this if she lives in Antigua Street?’
‘Her sister used to live in Bridge Street. Anyway, as far as Mrs Gordon knows, father and son didn’t remain in contact, so whatever it was, must have been big.’
Carruthers scratched his nose. ‘Good work. Did you get any sense from speaking to either of the two people who knew him that Fraser was into young girls?’
‘None whatsoever.’
Carruthers drew in a deep breath. ‘Pity. Exactly what Andie said.’
Watson looked at him aghast.
He held his hands up. ‘Not saying I want a paedophile on our hands but it would have given Hunter Senior a strong motive for murder.’ He started walking again, opening the door to the canteen for Watson. ‘Anything else?’He held the door open whilst a couple of uniforms walked out.
‘Not a huge amount. Cameron only knew Fraser since he’d been retired. Said they didn’t tend to talk about the past. Fraser wasn’t forthcoming talking about himself. That’s borne out by what the neighbours say about him.’
‘Still a man of mystery, then?’ said Carruthers joining the queue.
‘Aye, seems that way.’
‘Do we know how long he lived at his current address?’
‘Mrs Gordonhas stayed in Cellardyke for twenty years. Says Ruiridh Fraser was already living there. There is one thing though, and it might be important.’
‘What?’
‘Fraser knew Braidwood.’
Carruthers stopped in his tracks. ‘Did he? How well?’
‘Apparently over a drink he and John Cameron started talking about new developments in Fife. Fraser knew that the university had sold Braidwood to property developers. Apparently, there’s a contested area of land called the orchard that the developers want to build new homes on—’
‘Get to the point, Gayle.’ Carruthers looked at his watch, and then at the tray of doughnuts behind the counter that seemed to be rapidly disappearing. ‘I don’t have time for a lesson in local planning issues right now.’
‘My point, is Fraser told Cameron he remembered the orchard when it was a meadow before the university took over the buildings.’
The queue shuffled forward. There was one doughnut left. Carruthers licked his lips.
‘And that would have been mid-1990s,’said Carruthers.
‘Aye, but Cameron got the impression Fraser had fairly detailed knowledge of the site earlier than that.’ Watson referred to her notes. ‘University bought the site in 1995.’
‘And before that? Who owned the site?’
‘It was a drug rehab centre in the eighties, a children’s home before that.’
Both fell silent. Carruthers let the pause stretch whilst he took in the latest bit of news.
‘What would you like, hen?’ This from the middle-aged dinner lady behind the counter.
Carruthers turned to Watson. ‘So Fraser knew the site well in the past. Don’t suppose we know whether he was in the habit of taking walks up at Braidwood since it became a nature reserve?’
Watson shook her head. ‘No idea. And we don’t know how Ruiridh Fraser felt about the proposed development, either.’
‘Pity. From what Andie tells me it’s definitely an angle worth exploring.’
The dinner lady cleared her throat. ‘There is a queue.’
Carruthers looked at Watson who shook her head. ‘Nothing for me, ta.’ She patted her stomach. ‘On a diet.’
‘Coffee, black, and a doughnut, please,’ said Carruthers.
‘Coming right up.’
Carruthers chewed his lip, paid and cupped his coffee tightly as they left the queue. He turned to Watson. ‘Did you interview anyone who had any knowledge of the proposed Braidwood development? According to Andie, local opposition’s huge. Just wondered if what’s going on at Braidwood had filtered to areas further away in Fife.’
‘We had a slow start with the interviewing but did speak to a couple of locals in Cellardyke who knew about the development. One man in particular. Nature lover. Told me the Friends of Braidwood are a very determined campaigning group –a real thorn in the side of the developers. They’ve got a petition with 5,000 signatures on it. He’s signed it. Knew all about it ’cos his sister lives near Braidwood and had sent him the petition online. According to his sister, there’s a lot of tension between this group and the developers. He certainly didn’t want the development to go ahead. Apparently, it’s got pretty nasty between the two groups. There’s been threats made.’
‘Threats?’
‘Letters from lawyers telling the protestors to back off. Threatening them with court action. That sort of thing.’
He took a sip of the
scalding coffee, tasting the richness of the beans, his mind wondering just how far either group would go to get what they wanted. ‘OK, good work, Gayle. I’ll see you at the brief.’
There was a heightened air of expectancy as officers gathered in the incident room. A hush descended as Carruthers strode in. He was greeted by the smell of coffee and sweat. In the background he could hear a ringing phone. In silence he pointed to a photograph of the dead man on the incident board and turned to face his colleagues.
‘As most of you know a second body’s been found over at Braidwood,’ said Carruthers. ‘Post mortem’s being done at the moment so we’re still awaiting cause of death.’
‘Are we dealing with a serial killer?’ asked Brown smoothing his thin and rather puny looking moustache. His hair, like his ’tache, was thin and he had the rather unfortunate habit of combing it over his near-bald head like Bobby Charlton.
‘Far too early to jump to that conclusion, although I would agree there’s very similar MO. Both male; similar age; both sustained stab wounds.’
‘And both found in the same nature reserve,’ said Fletcher.
‘We’re still no closer to establishing why Ruiridh Fraser was killed. We now know he’s been married and has a son. What we don’t know is where the ex-wife and son are. Apparently, there was some sort of falling-out and it’s possible they lost or cut contact with him. Could this be relevant? We need to discover whether there’s anything in his background that’s led to his murder. And we need to locate his family.’
‘Could it no’ be possible that these are just the random killings by a deranged madman?’ asked Brown, picking up his mug of steaming black coffee.
‘Possible but unlikely. You and I both know that most murder victims are killed by someone they know, often someone close to them. Let’s just say we haven’t ruled it out. In fact, we haven’t ruled anything out yet. In the meantime, we need to find out who this second man is. Is he local? Did he know Ruiridh Fraser? What were they both doing at Braidwood? Fraser wasn’t known to the locals near the site. We don’t think he was in the habit of taking a stroll there; however, he does seem to have had intimate knowledge of the site in the past. Is this significant? According to his neighbours in Cellardyke, he was reclusive, hardly ever leaving his house. So what was he doing at Braidwood eight miles away? How did he get there? It wasn’t by car. At least not his own. Had he arranged to meet someone? And if so, who and why?’
Carruthers picked up his coffee cup and drained it. ‘We’ve now got a second suspicious death within days. You know what I’m going to say next. I’m afraid all leave is cancelled.’
There were a few groans from around the room. The loudest from Brown who’d been looking forward to a cheap holiday in Tenerife the following week. ‘We also need to deal with this sensitively. With two dead bodies, the press will have a field day. We don’t want to alarm the public. Right,’ Carruthers grabbed his coat and shrugged it on. ‘I’ve decided to head over to see Dr Mackie after all. See if I can chivvy him up. I’ll be on my mobile.’ He called over to Fletcher, ‘I’ll see you later,’ said under his breath, ‘I want you and Gayle to play nicely together. Get it?’
Fletcher was sitting at her desk flicking through Fraser’s diary, which she’d retrieved from under a pile of Watson’s paperwork. She fingered the rough edge of the stub of the ripped-out page. There were a number of reasons it could have been ripped out but being a copper she had developed a suspicious nature. Her first thought was that there was something written on it that he didn’t want other people to see. Ridiculous given that he lived alone and didn’t know he was about to be murdered. The more likely case was that it had a name or address on it. The page after it was blank. Holding it to her desk light she could just make out faint indentations. She reached forward to her penholder and grabbed a pencil. Lying it flat she started shading the paper. Worth a try. Held it up to the light but the indentations were too faint to make the letters legible.
‘DS Fletcher? Ma’am?’
Fletcher looked up to see a young blonde woman in front of her desk.
‘Thought you’d want to see this. It was almost missed. Wedged right at the bottom of the box. Knew you’d have our guts for garters if it wasn’t brought to you right away.’
‘What is it? And how could you miss a blue file that size?’
‘Not the file, ma’am. What’s in it.’
The girl, whose name was Glenys or Gladys, slipped her hand in to the file and brought out a smaller envelope.
‘I’ve kept them all together in this envelope.’
‘Them?’
‘The photographs and newspaper cuttings.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’
Fletcher opened the envelope and took out the first photograph.
‘Retrieved from Ruiridh Fraser’s home, ma’am.’
It was an old photograph showing four figures, two men and two boys standing close together in front of an imposing Victorian building. She didn’t recognise any of the people in the photograph but she did recognise the building. The second photograph was of the two men and a boy. One of the men had been in the first photograph but this was a different boy to the two in the first picture. She then unfolded the newspaper article. There was no doubt that it was an article that was linked to the photographs. Her eyes widened in disbelief when she read the disturbing headline. She picked up her phone and made the call.
As Carruthers entered the mortuary his mobile started ringing. It was Watson.
‘Boss, we’ve just had a phone call from a woman in Cupar. She’s reported her husband missing. He’s been missing since last night. He’s about the same age as the man we’ve found at Braidwood.’
‘OK, go and interview her, will you? And take Dougie with you. Get on the phone to Colin Jones and hurry him up for that sketch? Take it with you to show her. Keep me posted.’
‘Aye, boss. Jim.’
He put the mobile away to see Jodie hurrying towards him. She was in the process of taking her lab coat off. Since last he’d seen her she’d had her hair cut. Her straight dark fringe was short across her forehead accentuating her striking eyebrows even more. Her hair was tied back out of her face and she was wearing her glasses. Carruthers fought an urge to remove them from her face and kiss her.
‘Jim, Dr Mackie wants to speak with you. We’ve just finished the post mortem.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Just getting cleaned up. I need to tell you something.’
Carruthers looked at Jodie expectantly. He didn’t have a chance to find out what she wanted to say as Mackie appeared. ‘Jim, good timing. Come through to my office. We need to talk.’
Carruthers touched Jodie’s arm. ‘Will I see you later?’
She shook her head. ‘I doubt it.’
‘What did you want to tell me?’
‘It’ll keep.’
‘OK, well, keep in touch.’
‘Will do. You too.’ He gave her the lightest of kisses on her cheek.
Carruthers hurried down the corridor after Mackie. As soon as the door was shut Mackie got straight to the point. ‘He was killed by a single stab wound to the chest. Also by a left-hander. Either with the same knife or one very similar to that used to kill Ruiridh Fraser. In my professional opinion, I would say the same person’s killed both men.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘There’s something else.’ Dr Mackie produced a clear bag, which he passed to Carruthers. Carruthers frowned. It contained a ball of white cloth.
‘Extracted from the back of the victim’s throat. Inserted after death.’
‘Shit. Can I see the body?’
‘Come this way.’
At that moment Carruthers’ mobile rang. It was Fletcher. ‘Jim, how’s it going?’
‘I’m just about to view the body. Mackie’s convinced it’s the same killer. Exactly the same MO.’
‘OK, that doesn’t surprise me.’
‘Second victim was k
illed by a single stab wound to the chest by a left-hander, just like Ruiridh Fraser. The victim also had a piece of cloth shoved to the back of his throat.’
Fletcher whistled. ‘So do we have a serial killer?’
‘I honestly don’t know. It’s still too early to say. And we’ve only got two corpses.’
‘Two too many. Are you coming straight back to the station, Jim?’
‘I wasn’t planning to.’ He knew Jodie would most probably be having a cup of tea. He was hoping to join her for a quick break. ‘Why?’
‘There’s something I need you to see. One of the support staff found it in Fraser’s flat. An old photograph, and a newspaper clipping. I think they may be important.’
Carruthers grimaced, hope of a coffee with the lovely Jodie fading fast. ‘OK. I’ll see you shortly. I’ll leave as soon as I can.’
Pushing a stray tendril of dark brown hair out of her face, Fletcher said, ‘OK, this is what I want you to look at.’
The images were black and white, grainy. They showed a pale building surrounded by a wild flower meadow. There were more trees framing the building than the present day. To Fletcher the building itself was little changed. In front of it stood three figures –two men and a boy. The boy was about twelve years old wearing shorts and a T-shirt. One of the men, who looked about forty, had his arm round him. He was standing close.
Carruthers wondered if it was a relation. From the wide collars that the men wore and the longer hair Carruthers guessed that this photograph had been taken in the mid-1970s.
‘What am I looking at?’ he asked. ‘This is Braidwood, isn’t it?’
Fletcher nodded. ‘I’ve been doing some digging on its history since I was given this photograph. It was retrieved from Ruiridh Fraser’s home.’
‘That’s interesting. So in some way he must have a personal connection to the site if he’s kept photographs. And?’
‘The buildings on the site date back to the 1800s. Built as a private mental institution to house the wealthy of Fife.’