Snared

by Ed James

  “Policewoman’s hunch.”

  Forrester stared at the window in his office. The blinds were drawn to block the mid-morning sun. “Get a team doing traces into them.”

  “That’s it?”

  “This Duncan boy’s threats aren’t something Raven’s taking lightly. Leech, of Gray and Leech fame, goes back a long way with the Chief.”

  Vicky leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. “So it’s an old boys’ network thing?”

  “We just need to be careful, Vicky, that’s all.”

  “I’ll get Considine speaking to her employers about this pro bono work.”

  “Fine.” Forrester got up to open the blinds. “What about this snare attack?”

  “Turns out they were on holiday in Riga, Latvia.”

  “You believe them?”

  “I doubt it like everything that comes out of their mouths. I’ll get Considine to check it out. We need solid evidence they weren’t in the country on the nineteenth of August.”

  MacDonald flipped his hands up. “Are you done now?”

  “Suppose so.” Forrester sat. “Go on, Mac.”

  MacDonald rubbed his hands together as his foot stopped tapping. “I had DC Reed’s boys interview those Fife schoolgirls to see if they were involved.”

  “I told you to interview them with his help.”

  “There were far too many for just me and DC Woods, sir.” MacDonald couldn’t stop himself grinning. “One of the schoolgirls reckons Marianne Smith tried to recruit her to some group.”

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Vicky waited with Forrester in the room adjacent to the interview suite, gaze flicking between the clock on the wall and the two-way mirror. “Are they just about done?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  DCI Raven and DI Greig sat opposite Marianne Smith and Kelly Nelson-Caird, whose voices came from speakers mounted above the view screen.

  Raven adjusted his tie. “Ms Smith, you really need to start co-operating with us. We’ve had two threats made now by your group relating to these birds. One crime’s already been committed. Does it have to be mass murder before you’ll help us?”

  Marianne glanced at Nelson-Caird. “No comment.”

  Vicky folded her arms and sat back. “They’re getting nothing out of her.”

  Forrester smirked. “Nice to see it’s not just us.”

  “Marianne’s become seasoned to this.”

  Forrester shook his head. “We’ll need to get her shifted to Cornton Vale soon.”

  Vicky watched Marianne Smith, who sat hunched and shrunken. She felt almost sick with guilt — she’d cautioned her and put her there. “I can’t help but sympathise with her, sir.”

  Forrester laughed. “And people say you’re a cold bitch.”

  “I thaw out occasionally.”

  “I take pity on your poor daughter.”

  “She gets the good side of me, believe me.”

  “If Marianne’s not involved in this, she knows who is. I’m happy to convict her for what we’ve got so far. Reckon we should ask her about the snares while we’re in there.”

  “Might be worth a shot.” She tapped the glass. “Those two haven’t.”

  They waited a few minutes for Raven to get to his feet. Greig leaned across the desk. “Interview paused at ten oh six. We’ll be back.”

  MacDonald opened the door and popped his head in. “That’s us.”

  Vicky followed Forrester into the corridor.

  Raven nodded at them before waiting on Greig to shut the door. “How do you think that went, David? Nice to see a master at work?”

  “About as well as could be expected, I suppose.”

  Raven clenched his fists. “I take it you’re not sitting eating popcorn in there, right?”

  “No, sir.” Forrester tilted his head towards the room. “We’ve just discovered she’s been trying to recruit schoolgirls for some group.”

  “Christ on a bike. Where?”

  “Fife.”

  “Bloody Fife.”

  “We’re also thinking the Edzell one was a trial run.”

  MacDonald held up a file. “Got a fair amount on Ms Smith from the NCA.”

  Raven stabbed a finger at the interview room. “On you go. We’ll observe through the glass.”

  “Fine.” Vicky went in and waited for MacDonald and Forrester. She got the tape machine going again. “Interview recommenced at ten eleven. DCI Raven and DI Greig have left the room, replaced by myself, DS Victoria Dodds, DI David Forrester and DS Euan MacDonald.” She tossed her ponytail to the side. “Ms Smith, we have a few supplementary questions to ask.”

  Nelson-Caird scribbled something in her pad. “Please ask them.”

  “Ms Smith, can you tell us your whereabouts on the nineteenth of August last year?”

  Marianne stayed looking at the table. “I don’t know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’d need to check.”

  “Are you acquainted with a Cameron Lethnot?”

  Marianne didn’t look up. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “On that date, Mr Lethnot had his leg caught in a snare trap just outside his house near Edzell. Do you have any opinions on snares?”

  “The law doesn’t go far enough. They still get away with murder.”

  “We’ve grounds to believe the same people who did this committed the other four crimes.”

  “It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

  Forrester stepped in front of the mirror, eyes locked on Marianne. “Ms Smith, we’re investigating your involvement in these crimes.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  MacDonald passed Nelson-Caird the statement Reed had obtained. “This is from a Gemma Platt of Cupar. Do you know Gemma, Ms Smith?”

  The remaining energy drained out of Marianne, whose eyes went dead and her skin turned pallid. She nodded. “I do. Nice girl.”

  “I refer you to the statement she gave to our colleagues in Glenrothes earlier this morning. ‘I like Marianne. She’s really cool. She tried to include me in her group.’ When asked what group, she replied, ‘It was something to do with animal welfare. She didn’t say the name.’ She was asked if she joined, to which she replied, ‘No. I didn’t want to get into any trouble. Marianne’s cool but I’ve got my Highers coming up.’ ” MacDonald put his copy down on the table. “What group’s this?”

  “I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ve absolutely no idea.”

  “Sounds like you tried to recruit her into an animal rights group.”

  “You know what children are like. They get fantasies in their heads.”

  MacDonald rubbed his hands together. “Fantasies about marrying that bloke from One Direction? Maybe.” He scowled. “Fantasies about being recruited to terrorist groups in Fife? Bit more difficult to make up.”

  “I swear. She’s making it up. It’s not true.”

  “There’s a terrorist group perpetrating acts against known animal welfare abusers. Wouldn’t be the same group, would it?”

  “No comment.”

  “You’re under caution. This is your chance to clear yourself. Gone are the days when silence showed innocence.”

  “Do you know what I’m going through? I’m still detained without charge.”

  “You’ve been cautioned.”

  “With some spurious charges relating to some books you found in my house. You’ll be lucky to get a fine for those.”

  “Wouldn’t be so sure about that. Those books, well, not the sort you can buy with One-Click on Amazon, are they?”

  Marianne lowered her gaze. “I’ve spoken to Gemma at numerous events in Cupar. She’s a lovely girl but I swear I n
ever tried to recruit her.”

  “Meaning you’ve tried to recruit other people?”

  “No! There’s no group!”

  MacDonald leaned back in his chair. “Not sure of that. We’ve got five, maybe six occasions when related crimes have been committed against people with public record of animal cruelty. August and November last year, three people were involved. The three in the last nine days, down to two. You’ve been in here for most of that time. Bit of a coincidence the group went from three to two with you being in custody, isn’t it?”

  “I wasn’t in custody last Wednesday or on Sunday.” Marianne snorted. “I know nothing of this group. You’re clutching at straws.”

  “This possible sixth crime involved a fatality.”

  Nelson-Caird leaned across the desk. “I suggest you alter your line of inquiry, Sergeant.”

  MacDonald opened the file in front of him, casually flicking through the pages. “You involved in any groups at all?”

  “No.”

  “Think you might be.” MacDonald pushed a sheet across the table. “From the file held on you by our colleagues in the NCA. It’s heavily redacted, of course, but it clearly shows your membership in several groups.”

  “It’s not a crime, is it?”

  “Not exclusively, no.” MacDonald dropped the file on the table. “You wouldn’t be trying to recruit for these groups, would you?”

  “No!”

  “What about the group making threats against Fixit DIY stores?”

  Marianne frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “Same group as did the others has threatened the Fixit DIY store on the Kingsway. You recruiting for them?”

  Nelson-Caird put a hand over the microphone. “Your superiors were just asking about this.”

  “I know.” MacDonald pushed her hand away and showed a copy of the poison pen letter from that morning. “What does ‘You’ve got till lunchtime’ mean?”

  Marianne shook her head. “No idea.”

  Vicky cleared her throat. “This is a serious crime, Ms Smith. You’re in over your head, aren’t you?”

  Marianne smacked her fist on the table. “I’ve got no sympathy with any of the victims. I stand by my comments on the message board.”

  Vicky grinned. “You denied making them the other day.”

  Marianne’s eyes bulged.

  “So it was you, Ms Smith?”

  Marianne glanced at Nelson-Caird. “No comment.”

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  Forrester leaned against the back of Vicky’s chair, now vacant. “Good result back there, Vicky. More charges we can level at her.”

  Vicky, standing behind him, nodded. “Still not that much further forward, though.”

  MacDonald perched against Vicky’s desk. “Need a bad cop with inexperienced people like her. Poor thing’s way out of her depth.” He shook his head. “Honestly think she’s close to confessing.”

  Vicky nodded. “She looks like shit.”

  “You have sympathy for her?”

  “I’ve got a certain amount.”

  “Didn’t seem like that in there.”

  “So I’m a cold bitch.” Vicky shrugged.

  MacDonald laughed as he held up his file from the NCA. “This has got the known MOs of each group she’s a member of, none of which matches ours.”

  Forrester tightened his fingers around Vicky’s chair. “What about the press side of things? Can we link them using that?”

  “What, how they seem to have picked their targets from newspapers?”

  “Aye.”

  “Don’t know.”

  Considine looked round. “Sorry, sir, I couldn’t help but overhear. I just got the media search back. Turns out the SSPCA took out a court action against a company called Red Mountain Racing.”

  Vicky nodded. “Montrose. Monte Rose. Red Mountain, right?”

  “French. Get you.”

  “It’s Italian, Stephen. Rose is pink in French. I take it Micky Scott owned the company?”

  “He did, aye. Supposed to be getting his retired dogs put down instead of rehoming them.”

  “Oh, good Christ.”

  “Micky Scott isn’t mentioned in the news reports. But if you do a quick Google . . .” Considine nudged Zoë.

  Zoë pulled headphones out of her ear. “What is it?”

  MacDonald tapped her laptop. “Google Red Mountain Racing for me.”

  Zoë’s hands were a blur on the keyboard and the trackpad. “There you go.”

  Her screen showed an amateur-looking page, the left side filled with an aggressive shot of a muzzled greyhound mid-race, the right with a panting dog being walked around on a lead by a small boy.

  Considine tapped at the bottom of the screen. “Name and address there, see?”

  Zoë’s phone rang. She looked at it before answering it.

  MacDonald exhaled. “What does that tell us?”

  Considine scratched at his scalp. “They haven’t broken the MO? They’re still targeting people from the press. The sighting by Montrose was of a woman on foot. As I pointed out yesterday, us going public with the car sighting means they’ve stopped using it. That’s why we’ve had no more sightings of it.”

  “I’ll check it now.” Zoë ended her call. One hand toyed with her headphones, while the other fiddled with her laptop. “You guys might want to look at this.” She dragged a window from her laptop screen to the monitor on her desk.

  Vicky wheeled her chair over, snatching it from Forrester’s reach, and sat down. “What’s this?”

  Zoë clicked play on a video file. “My guy in the Met’s been monitoring the account that posted the earlier video. It’s just posted this.”

  The screen lightened, revealing a figure running on a treadmill. A man, thin and athletic, his gait crooked on the left.

  Vicky looked at Forrester. Half of the team was now crowded around Zoë’s machine. “Is that Micky Scott?”

  MacDonald nodded. “Looks like it.”

  A male voice called out from behind the camera, deep and distorted. “Go faster!”

  Scott didn’t, just kept to the same slow pace.

  A spark of light flashed in front of the camera before something reached over to Scott. He ran faster, trying to put distance between himself and the device. “Come on — faster, boy, faster!”

  Vicky tapped at the screen. “That’s a Taser.”

  The act was repeated three further times — slow down, buzz with the Taser, speed up. The final time, Scott fell to his knees, clutching his chest. The running machine pushed him off the back. His left hand stayed stuck in place by the handcuffs as the belt kept turning round.

  “Come on, you prick. Get up!” The hand reached over and pressed the Taser into Scott’s back. No reaction. Held it against him for almost a minute. “Shit, I think we killed him.”

  Another arm crept into view. “This is going too —”

  The sound cut and the camera moved to Scott’s body lying prostrate on the floor. The image froze and text bounced in.

  Dog Racing Is Murder.

  Officially, 9,000 greyhounds a year retire from racing.

  Unofficially, 40,000 are drowned, shot or beaten to death when they don’t make the grade.

  Forrester smacked his fist off the back of Vicky’s chair. “So these cases are bloody connected.”

  Chapter Ninety-Seven

  Raven leaned back against one of the posts at the front of the incident room, Greig’s and Forrester’s teams scattered around him. “Let me be clear — these cases are now combined.” He thumbed at the screen behind him, the video locked on the final message. “This video is proof of the relationship. Whoever killed Michael Scott is involved in the abductions of Irene Henderson, Rachel Hay and Paul Joyce and the barbaric crime they perpetrated on Graeme
Hunter and his family, namely Rhona, Amelie and Grace.” He gestured at MacDonald. “DS MacDonald was central to establishing the relationships among the many cases we have under investigation. Solid work, Sergeant.”

  MacDonald nodded. “Thanks.”

  Zoë raised her eyebrows at Vicky then stared at her fingernails.

  “As of now, DI Greig’s in charge of the inquiry teams, supported by DI Forrester. Can I ask David’s team to move everything pertaining to this investigation into the incident room and report directly to my Office Manager, DS Kelly, for actions?”

  He straightened his tie. “We’re actively investigating the use of a Taser as an MO. Anyone in the UK who’s ever used one in anger’s going to get brought in over the next couple of days to explain their actions and the current whereabouts of their weapon. Any questions?”

  MacDonald raised a hand. “Already got a suspect in custody, sir. Marianne Smith.”

  “And?”

  “Ms Smith can’t have committed the last four crimes. Had sightings of three people in the first two cases but only two in the Hay and Hunter cases.”

  “Okay. I want her kept in. We’re still well within our rights to keep her here given what she’s done, regardless of whether she’s involved. She might lead us to the others.” Raven looked around the room. “Right, dismissed.”

  Vicky grinned at MacDonald as he turned to leave. “That you rocking the boat a bit there?”

  “Made a valid point.” He shrugged. “John told me he likes officers who express an opinion.”

  “That the case?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ll catch you later.” Vicky walked off, stopping in the middle of the room to speak to Laing. “Looks like we’re working together again, Johnny.”

  Laing sniffed. “We’ll all be working for Big Time Charlie soon enough.”

  “You reckon?”

  “Fiver says he’s a DI by Christmas.”

  Vicky nodded in Raven’s direction. “Any idea what Kelly’s got me down for?”

  “Leading six DCs is what I’ve heard, Vicky. Street teams out in Montrose.”

  “Bloody hell.” Vicky’s phone rang. Unknown caller. “Better take this.”