by Ed James
“Oh, okay.” Considine frowned as he nodded before slouching off down the corridor.
Vicky leaned against the far wall, watching Marianne and Nelson-Caird whisper in each other’s ears as the PCSO hovered by them. “I take it you two watched that?”
“Aye.” Forrester creaked back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table, eyes on MacDonald. “I’m trying not to read too much into her having the same lawyer as Brian Morton.”
MacDonald frowned. “Think there’s something in that?”
“Maybe. Let’s keep an eye on it.” Forrester stopped the drumming, cracking his knuckles instead. “We’ve got her under prevention of terrorism powers so we’re not going to get caught in any thirty-six-hour nonsense with that lawyer of hers. Now she’s under arrest, we can search her property. I expect we’ll find sufficient evidence to convict.”
MacDonald frowned. “Think she’s the one emailing these journalists?”
“We’ll soon find out. The Media Office’s been working double time trying to stop anyone publishing it all over again.” Forrester looked over at Vicky. “I’m going to catch up with the NCA guys just now.”
MacDonald creased his brow. “Thought I was doing that, sir?”
“I need you focusing on operational matters, Mac. I’ve rustled up twenty officers to go round her house, even though half of them are Fifers.”
“I’ll forgive you.”
Forrester laughed. “Fine. I just hope we find something.”
Vicky raised a hand. “Do you need me in Cupar?”
“No. Off you scoot. My morning’s now going to be filled with a two-hour conference with Raven and people more important than us so I want you back here at eight tomorrow, fresh as a daisy.”
Wednesday
2nd April 2014
Chapter Sixty-Six
Coming up later on Good Morning Scotland, we’ll have a Scottish writer who moved to Australia fifteen years ago in search of his long-lost cousin. The time’s approaching five minutes to eight.”
Vicky snapped the radio off. Five minutes of chill time. She looked around the car park, the tarmac patchy with drying rain. The sky was clear, a dark orange to the south. Edinburgh. A thud in her neck.
MacDonald’s blue 1-Series pulled into its own reserved space. Quick work. MacDonald got out of the car, tearing off a pair of sunglasses, then headed away from the station. The café.
She let her seatbelt slide up, tempted to join him. Her phone rang. She checked the display. Didn’t recognise the number but answered it anyway. “Hello?”
“Is that DS Dodds?”
“It is.”
“Hi. It’s John Morton.”
“Good morning.”
“So, I’m just calling about my brother, Brian. I spoke to him like we discussed.”
“And?”
“I didn’t get anything from him. He refused to even speak to me.”
“Relax — we’ve got a suspect.”
“Oh. That’s good. Does that mean you’ll leave Brian alone?”
“If he keeps himself off the internet, yes.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“It’d be appreciated.” Vicky ended the call, stuffing her phone back in her handbag. She spotted MacDonald striding past, clutching a dark blue beaker of coffee.
Vicky waved as she got out of the car. “What’s wrong with Forrester’s machine?”
MacDonald stared at his cup. “Found out he reuses the coffee grounds. Gets pretty minging by the end of the day.”
She laughed. “You look tired.”
“I am tired. That’s the last time I volunteer for searching a house after a full day shift.”
“You volunteered? Thought Forrester asked you?”
He shrugged. “Volunteered just before last night’s briefing. Regret it now.”
“Did you get anything?”
“A couple of bits and pieces.” He checked his watch. “Come on, we’re late.”
“Don’t want people talking about us turning up together, do we?”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
MacDonald stopped outside their office space. “Warning you now — Forrester’s in a grump today. Two-hour meeting just became four, apparently.”
“Why?”
“Raven’s been having kittens about the case. DCS in charge of the MITs got wind of what was happening, gave our Super a doing. Pask, is it?”
“Aye, Pask.”
“Pask gave Raven a doing, so Raven gave Forrester a doing.”
“Great.”
Vicky led into the office.
Forrester was already perched by the whiteboard, tapping a pen against his hand and staring into space.
MacDonald went over to the window, leaned against the frame a few feet from the whiteboard. Took a sip of coffee through the lid.
Vicky sat on the edge of a desk, the corner needling her thigh through her skirt.
Karen joined her, smirking. “Interesting you two entering at the same time.”
“Don’t.” Vicky shifted her gaze from MacDonald. “How’s Cameron?”
“He’s fine. Bloody nursery sending kids home is the bane of my life. Half of my bloody pay goes to them as it is.”
“Good morning all.” Forrester clapped his hands together. “Okay, let’s get stuck into it. As you all know, I’m briefing Pask and Raven straight after this. Be thankful it’s not you.” He took a breath. “First, the good news. We have a suspect. Marianne Smith. The bad news is she’s not talking and she’s got two accomplices. DC Reed in Glenrothes put her photo in front of Irene Henderson. She couldn’t say either way.” He nodded at MacDonald then at Vicky. “Can you pair interview her again this morning?”
Vicky nodded, eyes locked on MacDonald. “Will do, sir.”
Forrester grimaced. “I spoke to the NCA guys this morning on my way in. They’ve got Smith on record as an animal rights activist, active since the mid-nineties. Seems to have never committed a crime or been suspected of any.”
He folded his arms. “The bad news. A very helpful news website decided to publish the notes and the messages from the videos in full. The Police Scotland Media Office’s been trying to keep them out of the papers, but we’ve failed.” He tilted his chin down as he held up the morning’s Scotsman. “The cat’s out of the bag, if you’ll excuse the joke. Whatever message they’re trying to spread, well, it’s being spread.” He waved a hand at MacDonald. “Mac, do you want to go over the search of her house?”
“Sure. First, found paper matching all five notes. Smith doesn’t appear to own a printer, though.” MacDonald took a drink of coffee. “Next, found books on domestic terror in the US. Anti-abortion lobbyists, animal rights groups. Real nasty stuff about modus operandi and methodology.”
Forrester nodded at Vicky. “We might be able to charge her under section six of the Terror Act as well. Those books are tantamount to ‘Training for terrorism’.”
Vicky made a note. “I’ll get Tommy Davies to add it to the charge sheet, sir.”
MacDonald held up a blue folder. “Starting to acquire a wealth of evidence against her.”
“It feels very circumstantial, though.” Vicky folded her arms. “Have you proved her links to the user name on that forum?”
MacDonald narrowed his eyes at Zoë. “You’re looking at her computer, right?”
“Not had a chance to look into it much, sir, but I did connect the dots. It proved what I’d been doing with the Met guys.” She blushed. “I’ll do a full check later on.”
Forrester wiped the whiteboard clean. “Let’s start again from scratch and do some work here.” He wrote three crimes on the board — Dog Breeder, Battery Hens and Cat Bin. “What are the links between them?”
MacDonald tilted his cup towards the whiteboard. “Notes, for starters.”
“Right. The notes are definitely a keeper. All five crime scenes so far have a note.” Forrester added connections to Note. “What else?”
Vicky held up a hand. “The car was spotted at all three.”
“Good.” Forrester wrote up Car, drawing lines between them all. “Vicky, take us through everything we know about all three cases.”
Vicky nodded. “Okay. First, on the fifteenth of November last year, three people abducted Irene Henderson and put her in a bin. Unbeknownst to the investigating officers at the time, our guys left a note, which we’ve subsequently matched to the others.”
Forrester added three stick figures at the top. “What descriptions have we got?”
“One male, between five ten and six foot. One female, no description, and another person of indeterminate gender.”
Forrester added notes to the board. “Okay, next?”
“Next, last Wednesday, Rachel Hay was abducted in Invergowrie. Her brother, Paul Joyce, had already been abducted in Dundee at the Dryburgh Industrial Estate. They were locked in a cage there and an attempt was made to coerce them into having sex. It failed. We found them on Thursday. Another note was left behind. The loose descriptions we have are of a man and another individual.”
Forrester connected the male stick figure to the other crimes. “Do we know if it was the woman or the other one?”
“No.”
“Right. Go on.”
“On Saturday, a family were trapped in their battery hen farm in Barry. They were welded inside animal cages and the husband —” She swallowed hard before taking a deep breath. “The husband had part of his nose burnt off. They weren’t found until Monday morning. Another note was left at the scene. Descriptions from Mrs Hunter match the male and the third suspect.”
“So no female this time?”
“No.”
Forrester connected the lines. “What else have we got then, Vicky?”
“The Phorever Love group DS MacDonald got from the NCA have been linked to the battery farm. I’m waiting on a further update from the undercover contact.”
Forrester noted For. Love down. “Mac?”
“Proving difficult, sir, but I’ll keep on top of them.”
“Do it by the time I get back from my meeting, okay? What else have we got?”
“The kids in Fife posting on that board.” MacDonald took a drink. “Live in Cupar, seem motivated. Worthwhile checking to see if they know Marianne Smith.”
Forrester added it to the board. “Go on.”
“Marianne Smith and Rachel have previous history. Maybe knew her dog walking route.”
Forrester wrote Smith and linked it with the Dog Breeder box. “Is she the woman in the Cupar case?”
Considine scowled. “Could be, sir. Given what Zoë and DS MacDonald have said, there might be a link.”
Forrester tapped at the stick figures. “So, one of them could be Smith, right?”
“Right.” MacDonald rubbed his chin. “Could the Muirheads be the other two?”
Karen did her tongue thing. “They’ve got alibis, though.”
MacDonald set his cup down on the window sill. “People can lie.”
Forrester nodded. “Mac’s right. Do they fit the description?”
Vicky pointed to the Assumptions box. “Assuming the androgynous person is Polly Muirhead. She’s tall and not particularly curvy.”
“Or it could just be a rubbish description.” Forrester noted down their names. “Anyone else?”
“Brian Morton.” Vicky tugged her hair behind an ear. “His brother called me this morning. He said he’s not speaking to us.”
“Do we need to get him back in?”
“Not sure, sir. I’d suggest we prove his connection to the case before we get him back in. According to his surgeon, he’s a high heart attack risk. Plus he’s nothing like any of the three sightings we’ve got.”
“Christ, that’s all we need.” Forrester turned back to the board, writing Working Hypothesis in a box above Assumptions. “I’m going with Marianne and at least one accomplice. She’s got no alibis, right? It’s got to be her and, most likely, the Muirheads.”
Zoë held up a hand. “Sorry, sir. I’ve been speaking to some of my contacts in the Met. I’ve managed to get access to some private messages sent by Marianne Smith.”
“And?”
“Among many others, it looks like she received a message from Polly Muirhead on the twelfth of November last year.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, sir. It said ‘How is Cupar this time of year?’ ”
“Excellent.” Forrester clapped his hands. “Just around the time of the cat bin attack.” He made another section, titled Actions. “Right-o. Vicky, can you and MacDonald get in a room with Marianne Smith and ask her about these books, the paper and this message?”
“Will do, sir.”
“We need to do something about these bloody schoolkids. I think they’re just messing about, but you never know. I might just get some big Fifers to lean on them. Allan Reed in Glenrothes is big enough and ugly enough to frighten them.” Forrester wrote the last action below it. “Last, bring the Muirheads back in. Vicky, Mac — get on top of them.”
MacDonald picked up his coffee cup. “Absolutely, sir.”
Forrester looked around the rest of the room. “These are the core activities. DS Dodds and DS MacDonald are leading this until our two o’clock briefing today, okay? Take direction from them. Dismissed.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Marianne Smith cowered next to her lawyer, eyes red raw, deep bags underneath them. “When are you letting me go?”
“It’s not up to DS MacDonald or myself when you’ll be let go.” Vicky started the machine recording. “Interview commenced at nine oh three on Wednesday the second of April twenty-fourteen. Present are myself, DS Victoria Dodds, and DS Euan MacDonald. Also present are the suspect, Marianne Smith, and her lawyer, Kelly Nelson-Caird.” She caught her breath, eyes on Marianne. “Ms Smith, since your arrest yesterday, officers have completed a search of your house.”
“My house?” Marianne stared at her lawyer. “Can they do this?”
Nelson-Caird nodded. “They can. I’ll have to check their warrants are compliant.”
“They are.” MacDonald produced a ream of paper in a large evidence bag. “Found some interesting items in your residence.” He tapped the paper. “The paper stock matches that used on the notes found at each of the crime scenes we’re investigating.”
Marianne blinked. “But that’s just paper.”
MacDonald nodded. “Quite rare paper, though. Found just a single supplier in the Tayside area and it’s not available for general sale on the internet.”
Nelson-Caird wagged a finger at him. “This is inadmissible as direct evidence against my client unless you can demonstrate these notes came from her supply of paper.”
MacDonald produced a stack of books, all bound in evidence bags. “These textbooks all concern domestic terror. Care to explain?”
Marianne swallowed. “I did my thesis at university on domestic terror in Ireland, Spain and Germany in the seventies. I like to keep up to date on the topic.”
“Don’t look like anything to do with the IRA or Baader-Meinhof, though.” MacDonald picked up a book and inspected the cover. “These detail methods used in issue-specific terrorism, such as actions made against abortion clinics or vivisectionists in America. Completely unrelated to the nationalist or communist groups you say you did your thesis on.”
“No comment.”
MacDonald glanced at Vicky. “DS Dodds?”
Vicky pushed a sheet of paper across the table, the yellow indexing sticker at the top right. “This pertains to a private message sent via the xbeast forum.”
Nelson-Caird examined the sheet befor
e folding it in half. “How does this relate to my client?”
“Ms Smith received a message from Polly Muirhead, a fellow member of the forum. As you’ll see, the message read, ‘How is Cupar this time of year? ’”
“And?”
“The message was sent three days before Irene Henderson of Cupar was locked in an industrial bin in the town.”
Nelson-Caird folded her arms. “You do actually have evidence linking my client to this case, don’t you?”
“These all link your client to this case.”
“I beg to differ.”
Vicky gestured at the sheet in front of them. “Do you have anything you wish to say about this message?”
Marianne shrugged. “I don’t recall receiving it.”
“That’s very convenient. Do you know Mrs Polly Muirhead?”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Ms Smith, I will remind you of the fact you’re under police caution. This is admissible as evidence. We’ve obtained a number of messages being sent from Mrs Muirhead’s account to yours. If you know her, you should state so clearly.”
“No comment.”
“You’re on record as saying her name ‘doesn’t ring a bell’. Is that how you wish it to be noted?”
Marianne glanced at Nelson-Caird before nodding. “Yes.”
“Very well.”
MacDonald leaned forward, resting on his forearms. “Ms Smith, did you trap Ms Irene Henderson in an industrial bin on the fifteenth of November twenty-thirteen?”
Marianne shook her head. “No comment.”
“Did you use Mr Alexander Muirhead, known as Sandy, and Mrs Polly Muirhead as accomplices?”
“No comment.”
“Did you and Mr Muirhead abduct Mrs Rachel Hay from near your place of work and entrap her in a steel cage in a unit in the Dryburgh Industrial Estate in Dundee?”
“No comment.”
“Did you and Mr Muirhead abduct Mr Paul Joyce and entrap him in a steel cage in a unit in the Dryburgh Industrial Estate in Dundee?”
“No comment.”
“Did you and Mr Muirhead attempt to force Mrs Hay and Mr Joyce to have sexual intercourse while trapped in the cage?”