by Ed James
“You don’t have a key?”
“Not since I left home.”
“So entry was forced?”
“It was, aye. Lucky we did.” Alec waved at Dickson on the sofa. “Me and the constable there checked a few rooms on the ground floor. No sign of him. We went upstairs and the door to the gym was open.” He took a few seconds to himself, eyes filling with tears. “Dad was lying on the treadmill. Well, just off it, like he’d fallen over. It was still running. We checked to see if he’d just knocked himself out.” He shut his eyes. “He was dead.”
“Was there anything unusual about how you found him?”
“He’d been handcuffed to the treadmill. Isn’t that unusual enough?”
“Did your father possess any?”
Alec’s eyes widened. “Not that I know of.”
“Was your father into exercise?”
“Aye. He used to play for Dundee in the eighties. Played with Gordon Strachan and Bobby Connor, you know? Opened up his knee playing Rangers so he had to give it up. Took up greyhound training. Couldn’t play topflight football again but he kept in at the running, tried to keep in shape, not like some of these old pros you see on the telly.”
Vicky turned the page in her notebook. “Can you think of anyone who’d have cause to harm your father?”
Alec shook his head, almost too quickly. “No.”
“What about your mother?”
Alec bit a fingernail. “She died when I was ten. Cancer. Dad didn’t remarry.”
“Any other family in the area? Brothers or sisters?”
“My sister emigrated to Australia a few years ago. My uncle Bobby — Dad’s brother — died of a heart attack two years back.”
“Does he have many friends in the area?”
“None that spring to mind.”
“Did your father drink in town?”
“He was teetotal.”
“No other family?”
“He loved my wee boy, Michael.”
Vicky noted it down. “Is he at school?”
“Aye, he is. We’re supposed to be going to a caravan up by Grantown-on-Spey next week when the schools are off for Easter. That’s not going to happen now.”
“Is that with your wife?”
Alec shook his head. “Julie didn’t like it up here. She moved back to Carlisle a couple of years ago.”
“How was her relationship with your father?”
“They didn’t see eye to eye. Dad used to spoil Michael something rotten.”
“Why didn’t she take custody of your son?”
“She didn’t want him. I did.” Alec shrugged. “Simple.”
“What about professionally? Were there any people in the greyhound business your father had any run-ins with?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Are you sure?”
Alec let out a held breath. “There were a couple of guys in the Newcastle area he’d had a few arguments with.”
“What about?”
“Race fees, prize money, stuff like that.”
“You don’t know who?”
“I try to keep away from the business side. I like working with the dogs and I like to keep a distance from the gangsters who run the meets.”
“Do you have any names of people in the Newcastle area?”
“I don’t, sorry.”
Considine’s mobile rang. He walked off to take the call, stopping by the door.
Vicky made a note to get a search done for contact books and 0191 numbers in particular. “We’re looking into this case in conjunction with a few others we’re investigating.”
“I thought I recognised you. You were on the telly the other day, right?”
“Correct.”
“You think someone’s killed my old boy because he raced dogs?”
Vicky folded her arms. “Do you think it’s likely?”
“It’s possible.”
“Were there ever any protestors at his house or any hate mail, anything like that?”
“Never.”
Vicky checked her notebook, lifting out a tattered photocopy of the first note. “When you found your father, did you also find a note like this?”
Alec scowled at the page. “No.”
“Would it be possible his newspaper lay on top of it, maybe?”
“Dad doesn’t get a paper. Gets all his news on his iPad these days.”
Considine returned, tapping his mobile against his hand. Leaning in close, he whispered in Vicky’s ear. “That was Mac. Raven wants us back in Dundee for a briefing.”
Chapter Seventy-Two
Forrester stood outside the incident room, thumbs prodding his BlackBerry, the keys clicking. “Bloody hell.”
Vicky stopped next to him, waiting for the corridor to quieten down. “Why are we in there?”
Forrester sighed. “Raven’s booked it. Largest bloody room in West Bell Street.”
“Is it just for a briefing or an incident room?”
“No idea.” Forrester held the door open for her. “Come on.”
They were the last in. Vicky leaned against the far wall, Forrester next to her.
Raven’s gaze swept over the assembled officers as he waited for silence to fall. “We’ve now got a murder to deal with. Michael Scott was handcuffed to a treadmill in his home gym. We’ve no reason to believe he was in possession of any handcuffs and we don’t believe he handcuffed himself to the treadmill. The machine was still running and the safety cord hadn’t been tugged.”
He crossed his arms, his suit jacket riding up. “We have a potential connection to David Forrester’s three cases, all seemingly involving vigilante action against animal cruelty. The Super has appointed me as SIO for both of DI Forrester’s cases and for this new murder. I want three plans of attack. First, David, I want you and your team to continue investigating these as if they were separate because we didn’t find a note at this crime scene. I want this greyhound case kept completely separate from your three.”
“Are you sure?”
Raven nodded. “Of course I’m sure. Next, I’ve asked DI Keith Greig and his team to focus solely on the murder of Mr Scott.”
Greig sucked in his gut as he looked around at Laing and the rest of his team, a hand reaching up to scratch his moustache, almost as grey as his thick hair. “Thank you, boss.”
“Lastly, I want David’s team to also focus on the links between the crimes. You’ll have full access to all case files but I want a Chinese Wall around these, okay? No cross-contamination of evidence. I want clear audit trails in all cases. If they’re one and the same — and I seriously hope they aren’t — then we’ll get together and review integrating them. From bitter experience, I know it’s easier to merge than to split. Is that clear?”
Forrester stared at Greig for a few seconds before nodding, Greig following his lead.
“Right. David, Keith, in the event this is escalating, I want us to get on the front foot, okay? I’ve scheduled a meeting with the NCA later. Dismissed.”
MacDonald wandered over, sucking at the lid of a coffee cup. “What do you make of that, sir?”
Forrester scowled at Greig as he led his team to the opposite corner. “Right, you pair. Let’s get a coffee.”
“In your office?”
“No, Mac. Across the road. I want to get out of this bloody place.”
Chapter Seventy-Three
Vicky sat in the window seat of the Old Mill Café, looking at the spring rain as she waited for them.
MacDonald screeched a chair across the floor and sat. Forrester was still at the counter. “Feels like we’ve lost something.”
“Didn’t know we were fighting.”
Forrester dumped the full tray on the table, handing her a Diet Coke and sliding off two coffees
. “There you are.” He chucked some pre-packed sandwiches and bags of crisps on the table before leaning the tray against the leg. “Might not get another chance to eat today.” He tore open a sachet of brown sugar and poured the contents into his mug, stabbing a knife at the dark liquid. “Right. Thoughts?”
Vicky poured her Diet Coke in the glass, watching the bubbles burst inches above the surface. “I can’t fault Raven’s logic in keeping the two investigations separate but I’m just not sure about the personnel being asked to lead the murder inquiry.”
“In what way?”
“Laing? Seriously?”
“Noted.” Forrester blew on his coffee. “Mac?”
MacDonald blew on his coffee. “Honestly?”
“Shoot. Both barrels.”
“I’m pissed off, sir.”
“Why?”
“We can do this better than them.”
Forrester took a sip of coffee, eyes narrowing as he inspected MacDonald over the rim of the mug. “What makes you think that?”
“How many murders has Greig investigated?”
“Medals on the table time, is it?”
“I did twenty murders in a year in Strathclyde. Raven’s got it the wrong way round. We should be leading on the greyhound case, not Greig.”
“I’ve worked with Keith for years. He’s a decent officer.”
“Decent, maybe, but not great. Unless the SOCOs play a blinder, we’re relying on him to solve the case.”
“I need to know now if you’ve got previous with him.”
“Before today, sir, I’d never even heard of him.” MacDonald opened one of the sandwich packs, resting half on the lid.
“So you’re basing his inadequacy on one meeting?”
“Just saying, sir. I know we can solve this. Don’t know DI Greig from Adam but I know I can do this.”
Forrester finished stirring his coffee and laid his spoon on the table, the metal clanking. “Remember why you’re here, Sergeant.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re here as my second DS, not as another DI.” Forrester took a drink. “Besides, it’s not definitely the same case as ours.”
“Probably is, though. Greyhound trainer killed in mysterious circumstances. Doesn’t seem like a coincidence, does it?” MacDonald waved across the table at Vicky. “DS Dodds did the initial interview with the victim’s son. We should’ve been given time to investigate, sir.”
“John Raven likes to move quickly and decisively.”
“So I see.” MacDonald shook his head. “John Raven’s Newsround.”
“More like Countryfile.” Grinning, Forrester took another gulp of coffee. “Vicky, you’ve been quiet.”
She tugged at the ring pull on her can. “I’m with Euan, sir. I don’t think this is the best use of resources. By all means, give us more DCs, but let us investigate, not them.”
“Listen to the pair of you.” Forrester opened a sandwich packet and took a bite. “There’s going to have to be a street team out in bloody Montrose. Are either of you raising your hands to manage that along with the one we’ve still got in Dundee and whatever else we need to do in Fife?”
Vicky took a drink. “No, sir.”
“Didn’t think so.” Forrester finished his coffee. A tall trail of grounds stuck to the inside of the cup. “Right. Let’s get our heads together, assuming your egos are now sufficiently repaired?”
Vicky gripped her can, dimpling the sides. “It’s not mine that was damaged.”
MacDonald grimaced. “Let’s just get on with it.”
Vicky raised an eyebrow — sense of humour bypass.
“I’m not sure how I want to divvy this up.” Forrester chewed at another bite. “What have we got open just now, Mac?”
“Looks like Raven has taken the NCA liaison from me.”
“Certainly looks that way.”
MacDonald took a drink of his coffee. “Other than the street team in Dryburgh, I’ve got nothing, then.”
“Vicky?”
“The Cupar stuff’s dead. We’ve both been looking at the Muirheads and Marianne Smith. There’s a few things I need to catch up on with them but that’s pretty much it.”
“Okay. Mac, can you pick up the links between the cases? I want you to assume they’re linked. Prove they’re the same case. Do some digging into this boy. Be a dick about it, okay?”
MacDonald raised his eyebrows. “Sure I can manage that, sir.”
“Vicky, you assume they’re separate, okay?”
“Am I to be a fanny about it?”
Forrester laughed. “If Marianne Smith’s behind this, she’s clearly not working alone. Can you get in a room with her and ask about this greyhound stuff?”
“Will do, sir.”
Forrester put the tray on the table and started piling it up with their cups and Vicky’s can.
Vicky took the last sandwich from the table. “Tuna? Some pair of gentlemen you are.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
Vicky paid for her cheese and tomato sandwich, slapping the change on her tray. Tuna. She looked around the canteen, hoping for a seat on her own. Was that Andrew?
She walked over with a smirk on her face and gripped his shoulder with her free hand. “Andrew Dodds, come with me.”
He pulled his hands up to his chest, letting go of his tablet. The device clattered off the table. He looked around and let out a deep breath. “Jesus, Vicks.”
“Should’ve seen your face.” She looked at the pile of stuff next to him — a plastic sandwich tub, folded-up crisp packet, squashed can of Red Bull. “Mind if I join you?”
“No, that’s cool.” He pushed his stuff to the side. “Mum made my lunch.”
Vicky sat opposite, tearing open her sandwich wrapper. “Classic. Even packs Red Bull for you.”
“Keep quiet about that.”
“Maybe.” Vicky pointed at the shirt and tie he was wearing. “You been in court today or something?”
“No. I’m working. This Tetra scanner stuff.”
“Right. Seems to have gone all quiet at our end.”
“Not at mine.”
“You look tired.”
“I am tired. I’ve forgotten half of what I knew about it.”
Vicky took a bite and chewed. “Lucky I saw you. Wanted to ask you about something.”
“I’m shattered, Vicks, and I need a break.”
“Just a little thing?”
“Fine. What?”
“You know this Zoë girl, right?”
“Aye, I spoke to her today. She was up with the team for once. You’ve really got her under lock and key downstairs, haven’t you?”
“Did she say that?”
Andrew chuckled. “Hardly, but I know you.”
“Right.” Vicky swallowed down her mouthful. “She reckons she’s traced these users back to IP addresses.”
“I know. I showed her how to do it.”
“Did you?”
“Aye.”
“So, how accurate is it?”
“These days? Close to a hundred per cent. The stuff she’s been doing, that’s nailed down. I can get you twenty experts in a room if you need it validated.”
“So the work’s solid?”
“Almost as good as if she had the originating machine in front of her.”
“Almost? So it’s not totally solid?”
“Christ, Vicky, everything’s got to be perfect for you, hasn’t it?”
“You know how it is. I’m the one who has to stand up in court with this or deal with the Procurator Fiscal’s office.” Vicky started on the second half of the sandwich. “Your name came up this morning.”
“What have I done now?”
“Andy Salewicz?”
“Un
dercover guy, right?”
“Aye.” Vicky laughed. “He better watch out — he’s not going to be undercover for long at this rate.”
Andrew grinned. “He was asking me about the Tetra scanner. Reckons this commune up in the glens are using it.”
“And are they?”
“Don’t think so. I’ve managed to get a ping back from rogue devices in the area. There’re two at most and they’ve both been inside Dundee for the last few days.”
“Where?”
“It’s not that accurate. These guys just don’t want to be found.”
“How are they doing it?”
Andrew shrugged. “Bent coppers selling their codes? Don’t know.”
“Should I take him at his word?”
“There aren’t many men you’ll trust, sis, but Salewicz seems like he’s on the level.”
“Thanks.” Vicky tapped at the Red Bull can. “You know what Mum’ll say, don’t you?”
“Yeah, ‘You’ll be back to square one, Andrew Dodds, just you mark my words,’ or something like that.”
Vicky grinned. “Glad she can focus on someone else’s failings.”
“You get off pretty lightly.”
“Not sure about that.” Vicky took another bite. “How’re you coping?”
“Like I said, I’m absolutely knackered, Vicks, but it’s good to be working again.”
“I can imagine. We should get lunch one day.”
“This is lunch.”
“No, a proper lunch. With forks and knives and stuff.”
“Right. Aye, let’s do that.”
Vicky finished her sandwich and checked the clock on the wall. “Got to dash.”
Chapter Seventy-Five
Kelly Nelson-Caird gripped the edge of the table. “I’ve told you to stop asking the same questions repeatedly. My client has answered to the best of her knowledge. I shouldn’t be the one telling you this but this will look fairly poor for your side in court if they constantly see the same questions being asked of my client in the interview transcripts. I’ll be forced to point it out.”
“Forced to?” Vicky held Nelson-Caird’s gaze for a few seconds, glancing at MacDonald. “Can I just point out we haven’t actually asked the question yet?”