by Tana Collins
Watson shook her head. ‘There’s no way Paul Fraser would have been able to travel over from Iceland to commit the murders.’
Carruthers turned to Fletcher. ‘That leaves us with Malcolm Hunter. Gayle, chase up Hunter’s alibi, will you? Oh, and what are Dougie and Willie doing now?’
‘Organising the tracking down of all former care home workers and boys at Braidwood. Boss, we’ve discovered that over a ten-year period, Braidwood housed approximately 120 boys. At any one time they had beds for twenty boys. It’s going to be a huge effort to try to find a list of all their names, let alone trace what’s become of them all.’
‘I’ll talk to Bingham about drafting in more support staff,’ said Carruthers. Christ, he thought, good luck with that one. It was hard enough to get him to agree to pay for a psychologist for an hour.
‘Aye aye, boss.’ With a sharp salute and her trademark grin she was gone.
‘How are things between you two?’ Carruthers asked turning to Fletcher.
‘Fine, much better. I’ve realised that we don’t have to be fighting all the time.’
‘Good. Like I said, there’s room for both of you. Any more problems with Mark?’
‘No, thank goodness.’
Fletcher put her coffee down. ‘Jim, can you give me two seconds? I just want to talk to Gayle.’ Fletcher followed Watson out of the door running to catch her up.
‘Gayle, look I was wrong about you. I just wanted to say sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m not trying to take your place, Andie.’
‘No, I know that now. Like I said, I just wanted to apologise. Best get back,’ she said, returning to the office where she’d left Carruthers.
She found him draining his coffee. ‘Right, grab your coat,’ he said.
‘Where we going?’
‘To interview Agnes Noble again. Tell her what was discovered on her husband’s computer. Reckon she’s going to be in for a nasty shock.’
‘I still can’t believe Agnes Noble knew nothing of her husband’s activities,’ said Fletcher after their interview with her. She and Carruthers were back at the station in Carruthers’ office poring over some more indecent photographs. ‘What did she think he was doing on the internet all that time? Playing patience? He must have spent hours on it, if the number of photographs the IT guys found were anything to go by.’
‘His computer was in his study,’ said Carruthers. ‘Did you notice it was very much a man’s room? He could have shut the door and kept her out. Couples need their own space. Remember they’re of a generation where men and women had much clearer roles. A lot of men of his generation and my dad’s can’t cook. Perhaps he never ventured in to the kitchen. Maybe the study was his domain, the kitchen hers.’
‘Maybe. I still can’t believe she didn’t have an inkling, though,’ said Fletcher.
There was a tap at the door. Watson’s head popped round. Carruthers glanced at her, photo in hand.
‘C’mon in. Got some news, Gayle?’
‘Aye, some very interesting news,’ said Gayle still standing at the door. She seemed reluctant to enter. ‘You know how Malcolm Hunter claimed to have been away with work during both murders?’
‘Claimed to be?’
‘He lied. I called his work. Moncrieff Pharmaceuticals.’
‘And?’
‘Made redundant just before Christmas.’
‘Was he now?’ said Carruthers, putting the photograph he’d been holding down on his desk.
‘He hasn’t been in work for the last month.’
‘Perhaps he’s managed to pick up another job?’ said Fletcher.
Watson shook her head. ‘I’ve already checked. No, he’s still out of work.’
‘OK, I want you to invite him in,’ said Carruthers. ‘Now. We’ll use interview room two.’
‘Right boss.’
‘Hunter’s got motive and opportunity,’ said Carruthers to Fletcher after Watson had left. ‘This isn’t looking good for him.’
‘True, but we don’t have any evidence he’s committed a crime.’ Fletcher was still riffling through the latest photographs.
‘Yet. Looks like we’ve got another man with secrets. I’d also like to know where he was when you got assaulted.’
Her hand lay motionless on a photograph as she turned to her boss. ‘You don’t seriously think he was the one who did it, do you?’
‘Well, it was done by someone who’s desperate for us not to see any incriminating photographs.’
‘That’s not going to be Malcolm Hunter, then. Christ, maybe you’re right. Maybe there are two murderers.’
She carefully moved one particular photograph out of the way to see the one underneath. ‘There’s a lot of different kids here, Jim.’ She picked up the next. ‘Surely it’s more likely to be one of the paedophiles that bashed me rather than the murderer? I don’t really think I’d recognise an adult now from the photo of a child, would you?’
‘You’re forgetting we don’t know what he or she was after. You’re still assuming our murderer was an abused child.’
‘Well, it’s most likely, isn’t it? I mean the link is obviously Braidwood. Why else would two former care workers, who’ve been implicated in a paedophile ring, be murdered?’Her stomach rumbled, and she felt her cheeks redden.
‘Why indeed?’ said Carruthers. He stood up. Fletcher followed suit. ‘Get yourself another coffee and a sandwich,’ he said. ‘It could be a long day. No more doughnuts, though. Don’t want you to end up looking like Dougie.’
Fletcher snorted. They left the office together. Fletcher headed for the canteen, Carruthers to the coffee machine. Carruthers fixed himself another coffee and took it back to his office. He sat down at his desk thinking, as he took a sip, that he was drinking far too much of the stuff. He couldn’t remember if caffeine had a negative effect on the heart. He resolved to find out when Harris appeared at the door. His oversized frame was straining against his taut white shirt. Two of his buttons looked like they were about to pop and Carruthers had an unappealing view of his hairy white belly.
‘Boss,’ he said.
‘For Christ’s sake, Dougie. Smarten yourself up a bit, man. Get your wife to buy you some bigger shirts. Staring at your hairy belly is putting me off my chocolate digestive.’
‘Nothing wrong with my shirts except they shrank in the wash.’
‘Aye, that would be shining bright,’ said Carruthers.
Harris sniffed. Still lurking at the door he said, ‘We’ve tracked down the cop who interviewed Paul Fraser. He’s still alive and living in Glenrothes.’
‘Good work. You got an address for him?’
‘Fourteen, Etive Drive. It’s on the north side of toon.’
‘OK, I want you and Andie to go over there and interview him. You’ll find her in the canteen. We’ll also pull in Malcolm Hunter. Myself and Gayle will interview Hunter.’ Harris turned and left. A couple of minutes later there was a further tap on the door. ‘Christ, it’s like Piccadilly Circus in here today.’ This time it was the IT guy. ‘What you got for us, John?’
The young man pushed his glasses back from the bridge of his nose and handed Carruthers a large packet. ‘Thought you might want to see these. Most recent pics on the computer. These were scanned in about six months ago.’
As Harris pulled up in a convenient space, Fletcher looked skywards towards the post-war flats on the opposite side.
Etive Drive was in the north side of Glenrothes, about ten minutes’ drive from the city centre.
‘D’you reckon he’ll be at home this time of day?’ asked Harris.
‘Only one way to find out,’ said Fletcher.
They locked the car and crossed the road, weaving between the traffic slowing for the red light at the cross roads.
‘I think I’ve seen movement in a window of a second floor flat,’ said Fletcher. ‘C’mon.’
Fletcher reached the main door first and buzzed McBride’s flat. There was no answer
. She tried each buzzer in turn until the second to last buzzer and within seconds the main door opened.
‘C’mon. We’re in.’ They climbed the stairs without speaking. By the second flight Harris was panting like a long-haired dog in a heat wave.
‘Christ, you’re unfit,’ said Fletcher taking two stairs at a time. She reached the door and knocked on it. There was no answer. She knocked again.
She crouched down and peered through the letterbox. She narrowed her eyes so she could focus on the dim interior of an unlit hall. Just as she was about to stand upright again and let the letterbox ping back she saw a flash of black jeans and white shirt as a shadow flitted past. She turned to Harris. ‘He’s in. I’ve just seen him.’ She banged on the door and called through the letterbox.
‘Mr McBride. Police. Open up, please. We know you’re inside. We just need to ask you a few questions with regard to a couple of incidents.’
The door inched open. ‘What’s this about?’ asked Lenny McBride, hand on doorframe.
‘We’re conducting an investigation in to a double murder over at Braidwood,’ said Fletcher, taking in the stocky appearance and florid complexion.
‘What’s this got to do with me?’
‘Look, can we come in please?’ asked Fletcher.
Reluctantly McBride opened the door wider and they followed him through the hall in to his study.
‘I believe you used to work for the Fife Constabulary? Ever been to Braidwood?’ asked Fletcher.
‘Not that I recall,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘Look, like I said, what’s this about? I’m busy.’
‘So I can see,’ said Fletcher, looking over McBride’s shoulder to the online poker game on his laptop.
He shut the lid. ‘Look, aye, I used to work for the Fife Police, but I’ve long been retired.’
‘Look, dinnae take the piss with us,’ said Harris. ‘You ken how things work on the job. We ken in the mid-1970s you interviewed kids over at Braidwood about alleged child abuse.’
‘Jesus, that was over forty years ago. You don’t expect me to remember every interview I conducted?’
‘Not every interview,’ agreed Fletcher. ‘But you’d probably remember conducting interviews with kids about alleged child abuse that centred on a children’s home. We know there was a paedophile ring in operation, Lenny. We know it was widespread. We also know your boss, Superintendent Bob Marshall, was involved.’
‘That’s shite. And you shouldn’t talk ill of the dead. Yer both scum. You internal complaints?’ He sniffed.
‘No. Like I said, we’re currently investigating the murder of two men at Braidwood Campus,’ said Fletcher.
‘And like I said, what’s that got to do with me? Look, Superintendent Marshall was a great boss. And from what I remember, there wasn’t a case to be made. Those kids were attention-seekers and troublemakers. No point in following it up. Christ, they were in care. Couldn’t believe a word they said.’
After staring at his now shut laptop, Fletcher said, ‘we’ve got evidence Superintendent Marshall was involved, Lenny. But now, after talking to you, we’re wondering what part you played in all this.’
Fletcher noticed McBride’s eyes narrowing. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Were you part of the ring? Taking boys to hotels? Buggering them for your own sadistic pleasure? Wrecking their childhoods? Ruining their futures?’ she said.
Lenny McBride turned paler than a waxing moon but resolutely said nothing.
‘I demand to know why you’ve brought me to the station. I need to go back into work. I just came home to collect some papers.’
‘You’re free to go any time. You haven’t been arrested.’ Malcolm Hunter made to move towards the door of the interview room but Carruthers put his arm out, barring his path. He shook his head. ‘I don’t think you’ll want to go home just yet.’
‘What do you mean?’ Hunter’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Carruthers to Watson.
‘I need to ask you if you want a solicitor present? We can arrange for one to be here with you,’ asked Carruthers.
‘I don’t need one. I haven’t done anything wrong,’ said Hunter.
‘OK, if you’re sure, we’ll begin the interview then. He leant over and pressed play on the recorder. After introducing everyone in the room he said, ‘I don’t think you went home to collect some papers, Malcolm,’ said Carruthers. ‘Do you DS Watson?’
‘No, I don’t.’
Hunter reddened. ‘Now look here—’
‘No, you look here,’ said Carruthers leaning forward. ‘We know for a fact you didn’t go home to collect some paperwork because you don’t happen have a job to go to, do you?’ There was a silence. ‘Well, do you? You were made redundant at the end of last year.’
‘I—’
‘We called your company, Malcolm. You might as well come clean. Why’ve you been lying?’
Hunter was silent.
‘Look, I can understand you lying to your family. After all, you’re the breadwinner. Your wife expects to live a particular lifestyle, which your money provides.’
Two red spots appeared in Hunter’s cheeks. ‘You leave my wife out of this.’
‘It’s humiliating, isn’t it? Being made redundant.’
Hunter looked away.
‘Embarrassing, even. You feel worthless. All those years at work. All the loyalty you’ve shown them … then wham! Suddenly you’re not wanted anymore. No, I can understand why you lied to your family because you didn’t want to lose face. There’s one problem though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You lied to us. You told us you were away with work when both murders were committed. You see the problem? We now know you weren’t, which means you have no alibi. Where were you, Malcolm?’
Hunter sniffed, leant back in his uncomfortable seat and put his hands behind his head.
‘I think I want a solicitor now.’
‘Where were you on the dates they were murdered?’ Carruthers stared Hunter down. ‘We’re waiting.’
Hunter put his hands on the table and sat over it hunched. He remained silent but was the first to look away.
‘I’m only saying this once more,’ said Carruthers. ‘Where were you?’
‘I said I want a solicitor.’
‘Legally I am obliged to get you a solicitor if you request one but we’ll have to stop the interview.’ Carruthers glanced at Watson and nodded. She passed a slim A4 envelope to him.
Carruthers held the envelope. He looked from the envelope to Hunter. ‘You may not want me to stop the interview until you’ve seen this.’
Hunter looked puzzled. ‘What is it?’
‘Take a look,’ said Carruthers.
The stalling tactic had worked. Hunter took the buff envelope from Carruthers and took out the contents. It was a series of photographs.
‘Take a look at them,’ urged Carruthers. Not yet understanding what he was looking at, frowning, Hunter glanced at the top one. When he saw its contents his hands bunched in to fists, scrunching the photographs up. The veins stood up and his knuckles went white.
‘Careful,’ said Carruthers.‘That’s evidence.’
Hunter looked first at Watson then at Carruthers. ‘Where did you get this?’
Carruthers answered with a question of his own. ‘Can you confirm these photos are of your son, Jordon?’
Malcolm thumped his fist on the table. ‘You know they are.’ He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over. ‘Where did you find these photographs?’
‘On the computer of the second murder victim, Henry Noble. We think the photos were taken by your neighbour, Ruiridh Fraser and that he passed them on to Noble. You’ve heard of paedophiles sharing photofiles?’
‘The bastard. The filthy bastard. If he wasn’t already dead I’d fucking kill him.’ He scrunched up the photos.
‘We have an admission by Fraser’s own son that his father used to abuse him. Fraser’s been implicated in a paedophile ring that centre
d upon Braidwood when it was a boys’ home. According to Paul Fraser some of the boys were bought back to his house or taken to a nearby hotel.’
Suddenly a roar escaped Hunter’s throat, low and primitive. He knocked all the photographs flying, picked up his chair and hurled it at the window. It bounced off and landed on its side on the floor. Carruthers stood, then calmly placed the chair upright in front of Hunter.
‘Sit down, Mr Hunter, said Carruthers. ‘I can understand your anger at your neighbour taking photos of your son in the shower, but you need to calm down. We need to continue this interview.’
‘If you weren’t at work when the two men were being murdered, where were you?’ said Watson.
‘I’m saying nothing until my lawyer gets here. You can’t keep me here.’
‘You’re not under arrest. You’re helping us with our enquiries. Now, I’m going to ask you one last time. For a start where were you between 6pm and 9pm on 15th January?’
Malcolm Hunter sat back and folded his arms. He stared at the wall behind Carruthers’s head.
Watson and Carruthers exchanged glances again.
Carruthers scratched his wrist. ‘How did you find out both Fraser and Noble were part of a paedophile ring in the seventies?’
Silence.
‘You just lost it, didn’t you, when Fraser started to look at Jordan,’ said Watson. ‘You already knew what he was, what he’d done, but when Fraser started to look at your son, you lost it. What we want to know is, how did you know what he was? And at what point did you decide to kill him?’
Silence.
Watson continued, ‘When did you find out Fraser was sharing photographs of your son with Noble?’
Hunter looked resolutely at the wall.
‘OK,’ said Carruthers, ‘we’re getting nowhere here. I’ve got another question for you. What was your childhood like?’
Hunter looked up puzzled. ‘What?’
‘Your childhood. What was it like?’
Hunter fidgeted in his seat. Not making eye contact with either officer he said, ‘Like any other.’
‘Where did you live?’ asked Carruthers.
‘Here in Fife.’
Picking up a pen and opening his notebook, Carruthers said, ‘Address?’