by Ed James
“Vicky, it’s Tommy Davies at the front desk here. I’ve got someone here for you.”
“Who?”
“A Robert Hamilton.”
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Vicky entered the Old Mill Café and looked for a table. One in the window, covered in junk. She made her way towards it. “You can’t just show up like this.”
Robert scratched at his temple. “Sorry, Vicky. I wanted to surprise you. I’ve got a few free periods today.”
“I’m coming to yours for dinner tonight.” She sat down, arms folded. “Sure you won’t get fed up of me?”
“No way. I’m looking forward to it.” Robert smiled. “How’s your head?”
“Needing something to eat.”
“What can I get you?”
She stared at the board above the counter. “Lentil soup, thanks.”
“Back in a sec.” Robert got up and went over to the counter. His black tracksuit was more casual than anything she’d seen him wear so far.
She put her head in her hands, catching her sleeve in a puddle of tea. What the hell was she getting herself into? The case had just gone mental and Bella was playing up.
Why had she slept with Robert? He was probably still grieving. Had she led him on? Was it her fault?
She piled up the empty plates on the table, pushed them to the side, the spoons chinking in the cups.
Where was the relationship heading? Nowhere, if her track record was anything to go by.
Robert carried the tray over — two cans of full-fat Coke alongside two bowls of soup with a large hunk of white bread on the side. He sat and passed her lunch across, leaving his on the tray. “This smells good.”
Vicky tried not to smile as she picked up her spoon and stirred. “Thanks.”
“It’s good seeing you.” Robert dunked his bread in the soup. “I enjoyed last night.”
“Me too.” Vicky slurped at the soup. It was just the right temperature to let her blast through it.
“You seem a bit distant, Vicky.”
“I get like this.”
“Is it something I’ve done?”
She reached across the table, touching his hand. “I like you, Robert. I really do.”
“This is an ‘it’s just’, isn’t it?”
“It’s just I’m really busy today.”
“I knew it was an ‘it’s just’.”
Vicky laughed. “I’m serious.” She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder. “Just bear with me, okay?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thanks.”
“So.” Robert leaned back. “Have you had a fun-filled morning?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Politics, mostly. Christ knows what’s happening with this case. Always feels like second fiddle when the big boys and girls get involved.”
“And here was me thinking the police wouldn’t have any politics.”
“Are you serious?”
“I thought you’d all be too busy catching baddies.”
Vicky laughed. “I wish.” Vicky pushed her empty bowl to the side just as her mobile buzzed in her bag. “Sorry, Robert.” She rummaged around and found it. Forrester. “DS Dodds.”
“Vicky, where did you go?”
“I’m meeting a friend for lunch.”
A pause. “Right.”
“What’s up, sir?”
“Some kid’s been abducted from school. We’re on our way there. Need you to go to the house and speak to his parents.”
“Think it’s another one?”
“Well, his father’s Gordon Urquhart. Owns uqTech.”
Vicky slapped a hand to her forehead. “The vivisectionists?”
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Considine parked just off Claypotts Road in Broughty Ferry. The Urquhart mansion was surrounded by ten-foot stone walls with jagged glass on the top. He led up the drive and rang the bell. “I heard the boy’s at Dundee High?”
Vicky nodded. “Only private school for miles around. That’s where Forrester’s gone just now.”
Considine scowled. “There’s a decent school just down the road from here, though.”
“The sort of people who live in a house with walls like that aren’t going to send their kids just anywhere, are they?”
A man answered the door, his eyes moist. Quiff sculpted from grey hair, black designer specs, grey suit trousers and matching waistcoat, dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves. “Can I help?”
Vicky frowned. “Gordon Urquhart?”
“Yes.”
She flashed her warrant card. “DS Dodds. This is DC Considine.”
“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Urquhart led them into the living room, a colossal space looking out to the front. Heavy antique furniture filled the place. A few tall pot plants sat in the window. “This is my wife, Heather.”
She sat on an armchair clutching a hankie, her face red with tears. Wide hips gave way to a narrow chest, spiky hair poked out at oblique angles. She got to her feet, letting the tissue fall to the floor. “Have you found Calum?”
Vicky shook her head as she sat. “Not yet. There’s a team in the centre of Dundee searching for him. We’re here to ask you a few questions.”
Heather nodded before perching on the arm of the chair. “Go on.”
“Is it possible Calum could’ve run away?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What makes you think he’s not just run away?”
Urquhart scowled before nodding. “Just a second.” He retrieved a sheet from a table at the back of the room. “Heather got this earlier this morning.”
Vicky read it. “We’ve got your chick. We’re moving to clinical trials.”
Heather pressed at her temples. “Does this mean he’s been kidnapped?”
“We don’t know yet.” Vicky got out her notebook. “Let’s start with the basics. How old is Calum?”
“How’s this supposed to be helping?”
“We need to understand the boy and his likely movements. How old is he?”
“Thirteen. He’s at Dundee High.” Heather kneaded her forehead with her left hand. “He’s supposed to be going to the dentist up at Panmuirefield village this afternoon. He was coming home for lunch. I was going to drive him up before taking him back to school. He didn’t turn up.”
“What time did he leave?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve exactly?”
“The school said he left the main building two minutes before, by their clock.”
“How far would he have to walk for the nearest bus stop?”
“There’s one just across the road.”
“When should he have got here?”
“About half twelve?”
Vicky checked her watch. “That’s over an hour ago. I take it nobody at the school has seen him since he left?”
“No.”
“Thanks.” Vicky nodded at Considine, making sure he noted it down. “No answer on his mobile?”
“None.”
“What bus would he be getting?”
“A twelve or a seventy-three, I think. He should get off just at the end of the road.”
Considine nodded before leaving the room. “I’ll get on it.”
“Is there anyone you can think of who would have taken Calum as a way of getting at either of you?”
Urquhart took a deep breath. “No, there’s not.”
Vicky held his gaze, waiting for him to look away. “I know what you do for a living.”
Urquhart let out a deep breath. “I run uqTech, yes. We’re a biosciences business with strong links to Dundee University and St Andrews. Nothing sinister.”
Vicky squinted at him. “Not vivisection?”
“We do not do vivisectio
n.”
“So what do you do?”
“We’re leading the way in a whole new world of transplants.”
“And you don’t perform animal experiments?”
“We . . . may do.”
“Does anyone have any grievances against you?”
“No.”
“No ex-employees who left under a cloud?”
“No.”
“No animal rights groups sending you packages?”
Urquhart let out a deep breath. “We’ve had our fair share of aggro from those freaks over the years but, believe me, nobody who would have done this.”
“I need you to think carefully.”
“I’ve told you, there’s nobody.”
“Please. Think about it, sir.”
“I’ve told you, there’s nobody.”
Vicky noted it down.
Considine reappeared. “Just spoke to the bus company, Sarge. They checked the cameras on the bus for me. There’s a five he could have got on as well but the roadworks on Ward Road are slowing down the buses getting up there. Only one stopped within ten minutes of when Calum was supposed to have’ been waiting there. He didn’t get on.”
Heather got to her feet. “So someone’s taken him?”
“Maybe.” Vicky held up the note. “Have you seen anything like this before?”
Urquhart stared at his wife, then looked away.
Vicky inched forward in her seat. “Have you?”
Urquhart nodded. “I got one yesterday.”
“Where is it?”
“I threw it away.”
Vicky exhaled. “You should’ve called us. Did you see the news?”
Heather tugged at Urquhart’s waistcoat. “Gordon, is this like that farmer without the nose?”
“It can’t be.”
Vicky sighed. “We believe it is.”
“Oh my God.” Heather clasped a hand to her mouth, eyes clamped shut.
“What did it say?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Did it warn you?”
“It said something like, ‘What you do is wrong. Stop it or we’ll see what happens.’”
“And you ignored it?”
“Of course I bloody did.”
There was a knock at the front door. Urquhart clenched his jaw as he headed off to answer it.
Heather collapsed into the chair, letting the arm slowly regain its shape. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I can understand.”
Urquhart appeared, leading Forrester towards them. “Is that so? My son’s been abducted and you’ve got officers here standing around chatting? I expect you to have all of your officers out searching for him!”
“Mr Urquhart, I’ve got over twenty officers on the case.” Forrester folded his arms, his thick winter coat puckering at the sleeves. “We believe we’ll find him.”
Urquhart stabbed his finger in the middle of Forrester’s chest. “I sincerely hope you’re trying to figure out what you can charge Willis Stewart with.”
Forrester pushed his hand away. “What’s Mr Stewart got to do with this?”
“This is all his fault.”
“That’s a fairly serious accusation.”
“Look, I know Willis from the Chamber of Commerce.” Urquhart scowled at Vicky. “I believe he received a note warning of reprisals if he didn’t remove a display at one of his stores.”
“How the hell did you find that out?”
“I know people, David. This is all his fault. Willis wilfully ignored the note and this is what happened. It’s his fault my boy’s been taken!”
“Mr Urquhart, if you cou —”
Vicky muscled in between them. “Mr Urquhart, you just told me you received a note yesterday.”
Urquhart flared his nostrils. “I want Willis charged with something.”
“You both received notes. If we charge him, we’ll have to charge you. You understand that, right?”
“Do you want me to phone Helen Queensberry? I believe she’s the Assistant Chief Constable? We go back a long way.”
“I’m not sure I understand your threat, sir.” Vicky licked her lips. “Neither I nor DI Forrester report to her.”
“I’ll bloody do it, I’m warning you.”
“Phoning her isn’t going to find your son, Mr Urquhart. I suggest you try to think of someone who could’ve done this. Someone who maybe disliked you cutting up animals.”
“I’m not a vivisectionist!” Urquhart glowered at her as he folded his arms. “I suggest you focus your efforts on finding Calum and not on insulting me!”
“Very well.” Vicky left the room and stomped down the hall to the front door before holding it open for Forrester.
Looking back the way they’d come, Forrester made a sucking sound with his teeth. “That’s a guilty man if ever I saw one.”
“Tell me about it. I bet that note said something a bit stronger.” Vicky followed him outside. “I take it there’s been no progress?”
“None. I’ve lost MacDonald to the street team. Last I heard, he was in the Wellgate asking questions like he’s selling satellite telly. I’ve got to head back. Raven’s leading another news conference at half three.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“The bird of prey guy might’ve disappeared from Fixit.”
“Kyle Ramsay?”
“Aye. Having the manager in hospital seems to have knackered the entire company. Ramsay didn’t show up there this morning.”
Chapter One Hundred
Considine tapped at the windscreen. “Which one’s Kyle Ramsay’s flat?”
“Let’s find out.” She got out onto Baldovan Terrace and looked down the long row of tenements pockmarked with satellite dishes, the parking bays now mostly filled with work vans. She crossed the road, running her finger down the list of flats in the first of the two possibilities. K. Ramsay. Bingo. “Here we go.”
She tried the flat buzzer. No answer.
“Do you hear that, Sarge?”
Vicky frowned. Bird noises, squawking and cooing. Muffled and distant. “Yeah, I do.” She cupped her hands round her eyes, peering into the window of the dark ground-floor flat. Just an unmade bed. The other window showed a settee. An Xbox lay on the floor in front of a TV. “Don’t think it’s coming from inside.”
“Where is it coming from?”
“No idea.” She took a step back and looked up and down the street. Didn’t spot any likely flats, couldn’t hear the noises any more clearly. She pressed the buzzer again and waited.
No answer.
She tried the buzzer next to it, G. Scrimgeour.
“Who’s that?”
“It’s the police.” Vicky leaned against the wall, tipping her head towards the microphone. “I’m looking for Kyle Ramsay.”
“Never heard of him.”
“He’s your neighbour. Can we have a word?”
The door buzzed open.
Vicky entered the stairwell, illuminated by shafts of light descending from a roof window.
“Gordon Scrimgeour.” A wiry, grey-haired man wearing a tracksuit and Dundee FC shirt stood across the corridor, arms folded, guarding his flat door. “I’ve not seen him today.”
“Okay. Did you hear anything this morning?”
Scrimgeour frowned. “If I remember rightly, there was a bit of a commotion at about eight o’clock. Got me out of my pit.”
“Did you see anything?”
“Not really.”
“But you heard something?”
“Well, aye. Actually, now you mentioned, might’ve been a van driving off.”
“What kind of van?”
Scrimgeour shrugged. “Dunno. I just heard it. Street’s dark that time of the morning, y
ou know? Could have been one of them cars the kids have buggered about with, I suppose. Loud exhaust on it, anyway.”
“Okay.”
“Mind you, Kyle’s birds have been going mental all morning.”
“Excuse me?”
Scrimgeour waved out to the street. “The laddie keeps them in his van overnight.”
Vicky clenched her jaw. “Show me.”
Scrimgeour shut his door and led out onto the street. A few spaces over from Vicky’s car was an unmarked white van, ventilation equipment sticking out of the back. “Lad keeps the birds in there overnight, I think.”
Vicky peered in the small back window. Rows of tiny cages inside, full of the birds from the display at Fixit DIY, the ones Bella wanted to see. She smiled at Scrimgeour. “Thanks for your time, sir.”
“Is he going to get into trouble, miss?”
“I seriously hope so.” She handed Scrimgeour her card. “Call me if he turns up.”
Scrimgeour wandered inside, scratching at his bottom through the tracksuit.
Considine tapped at the glass. “You see that in there?”
“It’s barbaric.”
“You know, I actually agree with you.”
“Good.” Vicky scowled. “See when we find Ramsay, I’m going to nail his arse to the wall for this.”
“Assuming he’s still alive, Sarge.”
Chapter One Hundred and One
Zoë pulled the headphones down to rest on her shoulder. The sun was just starting to appear through the window behind her. “I’m struggling to get this list of charity donors, ma’am. Sorry.”
Vicky clicked her tongue a few times. “I’ll sort it out.” She got out her mobile and the business card she’d taken, and dialled Alison McFarlane’s number.
“Tayside Animals! Alison speaking. How can I help?”
“Ms McFarlane, it’s DS Vicky Dodds here. We spoke the other day?”
A pause. “How can I help?”
“One of my colleagues has been tasked with obtaining a list of donors from you and she called you. We’ve requested it from all animal charities in Tayside. Yours is the only one we’ve still not received it from.”
“I can only apologise.”
“When can we expect it?”
“Our accountant’s on holiday just now. It’s not something we organise ourselves, I’m afraid. I’ve got Yvonne running off the copy we just received. It shouldn’t be too much longer. I’ll send it through once we’ve got it. Zoë Jones, is it?”