by Ed James
Yvonne nodded. “He saw you talking to another copper at Tesco. He spotted the same car outside Brian’s flat. Didn’t take an expert to work out what was going on.” She shrugged. “He just got out the back window. It was pretty easy.”
“He was supposed to be at the Speedway when Rachel and Paul were abducted?”
“He wasn’t there.” Yvonne shrugged.
“How did you get the cages delivered to Dryburgh?”
“We were squatting there. John knew the security guard’s pattern. It was easy to avoid him and plan around it.”
“Tell us about the car.”
“John’s had it for years. He bought it when he lived down south. He wasn’t happy when you put out a description on the TV news. Had to use Brian’s lock-up.”
“Brian’s lock-up?”
“Yes. He’s had it for years.”
“What does he keep in there?”
“I don’t know. Old computers. He was collecting them for a while, like one of those hoarders on the TV. His mum got him to put them in storage. That was the cheapest place they could find that did it long-term.”
“What about when you attacked me at the lock-up?”
Yvonne held up her hands. “That was John.”
“But you were there, right?”
Yvonne gave a slight nod. “I was. John heard you were going there to get the car. Mine’s still parked a couple of streets away.”
Vicky rubbed her forehead. “Where is John?”
“I honestly don’t know. It’s not like we were living together.”
“Were you an item?”
“No way.”
Vicky rested her head on her hand. “How were you supposed to meet up with John again?”
“He texts me.”
Vicky held up the disposable phone from the car, wrapped in an evidence bag. “On one of these?”
“Correct.”
Vicky put it down. “Where’s Calum Urquhart?”
Yvonne avoided her gaze. “I don’t know.”
“Really?”
“I swear.”
MacDonald took the offer back from them. “Tear this up if you’re lying.”
Yvonne’s gaze darted around the room. “John’s got a mate who lives in Fintry. He might’ve gone there.”
Vicky stared at the mirror and nodded.
Tears streaked down Yvonne’s cheeks. “I helped him abduct Calum. Maybe I can help get him back?”
MacDonald squinted at Yvonne. “How did you manage to pick him up in the middle of Dundee?”
Yvonne leaned forward. “I was off work all day. I just waited in John’s van and picked him up at the bus stop.”
“How?”
Yvonne nibbled a fingernail. “Said I’d show him my breasts. It was John’s idea. The kid was thirteen. His little eyes lit up.”
“You say was thirteen. Is he dead?”
“Is thirteen, Christ.” Yvonne shook her head. “I swear he’s alive. If he’s dead, John’s killed him since I last saw him.”
“Where was he keeping him?”
“He’s got a cottage near Forfar.”
“What’s he going to do with Calum?” Vicky held up a copy of the note from the Urquhart house. “We’re moving to clinical trials.”
“You know what they do at that company, right?”
“That’s still no excuse.”
Yvonne cupped her hands at the back of her head. “I don’t know what he’s planning.”
“Right.” MacDonald held up the sheet. “How do we get in touch with John Morton?”
“I swear, I don’t know. John gets in touch with me, not the other way round.”
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three
Vicky sat at her desk, head in her hands. “That’s good news, I suppose.”
“Could’ve sworn you’d made Brian have a heart attack. Dr Rankine reckons he was just putting it on.” MacDonald picked up a report and started looking through it.
Vicky looked around the room and frowned.
Andrew fiddled with a black box a couple of desks away, his forehead creased and his tongue sticking out.
“Welcome to the team, Andrew.”
“Aye. Cheers.”
Vicky squinted at the box. “Is that the Tetra scanner?”
“It is.”
MacDonald looked up from his report. “Taking forever and a day to get anything out of it.”
Andrew scowled at MacDonald as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m signed off on long-term sick.”
“Yet here you are. Can’t be that sick.”
“I’ve got ME, you twat.” Andrew got to his feet, tossing his screwdriver on the desk. “You know what? If this is all the thanks I’m getting then I’m going home.” He stormed off, tugging his black, waterproof jacket on.
Vicky went after him, catching him in the corridor. “Andrew, wait.”
He stabbed a finger in the direction of MacDonald. “Is that who you’re shagging?”
“No comment.”
“If it is then your taste in men’s getting worse, if that’s at all possible.”
“What’s he done?”
“That wanker keeps pushing my buttons. I’m going too slow. I’m not getting results.” Andrew shook his head. “I’ve got ME for Christ’s sake. I shouldn’t be here. I’m breaking my sick note.”
“That’s not as dodgy as selling pirate DVDs, though, is it?”
“Bye.” He marched off.
“Wait.” Vicky grabbed his arm. “How are you managing?”
“I feel like shit. I’ve had three coffees today just so I can look at that bloody box. I’ve not even opened it up yet.”
“What’s MacDonald after?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at her hand. “Going to let me go?”
“Tell me about the scanner.”
“What is there to tell? They’ve been listening in on our calls.”
“Are there more of these things?”
“Aye. Looks like they’ve been manufacturing them.”
“How?”
Andrew raised his shoulders. “That one in your team with the Subaru who fancies himself, what’s his name?”
“Considine?”
“Aye. He was up at the fat boy’s flat and found a load of kit in his bedroom. He’s been making Tetra scanners that can decrypt our security.”
“Okay.” Vicky nodded. “You can go home if you want.”
Andrew took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Vicks. I don’t want to let that wanker win.”
“You won’t. Don’t worry.” Vicky patted his shoulder and went back inside.
Considine was chatting with Zoë. “So, anyway it turns out this Brian Morton boy was renting that lock-up. It was full of about fifty old PCs.”
Vicky nodded at him. “Did they find anything else there?”
Considine smirked. “A load of tinfoil and a ham radio lab. Looks like he was a classic tinfoil hat nutter. Until he couldn’t leave the house, that is.”
“Were you at his flat?”
Considine nodded. “I was. After I interviewed the guy who —”
“Stephen, my brother said you found the capability to make other Tetra scanners. Is that right?”
“You’re asking the wrong man. I found some components, a soldering iron and a load of wires. It was your brother who reckoned they could build something to hack an Airwave.”
Vicky stared at MacDonald. “You know what this means, right?”
“Enlighten me.”
“They’ve got more than one Airwave scanner out there. Brian’s been building them.”
“Right.”
Considine held up a hand. “Your brother reckoned it was just the one, Sarge.”
Vicky nodded. “Do we know where John is yet?”
“No idea.” MacDonald shrugged. “Half the team are out looking for him. Kirk went to his mate’s flat — that Speedway alibi was a load of shite.”
“Bloody hell. Have you been to his house?”
“Cottage by Forfar, aye. Boy’s a terrorist, that’s for sure. Got the same paper as Marianne Smith, same printer too. Looks like it was him who was making the notes. Terror books, God knows what else.”
“Christ.” Vicky slumped in her chair. “He can’t have just disappeared.”
“He can.”
“Ma’am.” Zoë tapped her on the arm. “Brian’s been sending emails to Marianne Smith.”
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four
Do you know an Alison McFarlane?” MacDonald arched an eyebrow.
Marianne Smith sat back, hugging her arms around herself. “No comment.”
Vicky stared at her notebook, trying to focus — this was their only chance. John was out there and he had Calum. Nobody knew where he was.
MacDonald cleared his throat. “Ms Smith, I’m pleading with you. John Morton is perpetrating these attacks. With or without your assistance, we’ll find out. Calum Urquhart has been abducted by John. He’s thirteen. We’re fearful for his safety.”
The corner of Marianne’s lip turned up. “Mr Urquhart and his family have caused untold suffering to pigs and primates. He’s clearly given a chance to stop it but he hasn’t taken it.”
“What chance was this?”
“A note went to his work, didn’t it? Do you really think I care about his son given what he does to animals?”
“You know about the note, then?” MacDonald leaned forward. “Are you admitting your involvement?”
“What I’m saying is, can you really blame whoever’s doing this? Gordon Urquhart isn’t the good guy in this. Who cares what happens to his son?”
“We’ve not mentioned his name. You do know that?”
Marianne looked away. “Mr Urquhart’s atrocities are public record.”
MacDonald narrowed his eyes. “Ms Smith, what if that was your son out there?”
“I made a conscious decision in my twenties to never have children. There are far too many people on the planet as it is. Just because our genes or our parents or politicians tell us to breed doesn’t mean we should. The planet’s collapsing under its own weight. If whoever has Mr Stewart’s son kills him, is that going to be much of a loss? There’ll be hundreds born today to replace him.”
MacDonald slammed his hand on the table. “Where’s John?”
Marianne held up the print-out. “I’ll admit to knowing a Brian Morton. John?” She shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
MacDonald lifted his hand again, fist clenched.
Vicky grabbed it. “Come on, Euan.” She leaned over the microphone. “Interview paused at sixteen oh nine.” She followed him out of the room, leaving Marianne with her lawyer and the PCSO.
MacDonald paced around in the corridor. “We’re almost there. Why did you stop that?”
“We’re getting nowhere with her.” Vicky folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “She’s involved in this and we’ll prove it, given time. What we need to focus on is finding Calum Urquhart.”
“What are you saying?”
“Let me get this straight — at the crime scenes, John was the man, Marianne was the woman and Yvonne was the androgynous one. Right?”
“Certainly looks that way. Yvonne’s still involved, whereas Marianne dropped out after the first two.” He folded his arms. “So?”
“I don’t know.” Vicky shrugged.
“Your brother’s a piece of work.”
“Sure it’s not you?”
“Just trying to get him to do his job, Vicky.”
“Right.” Vicky stared at the floor, frowning — John still had an Airwave scanner. She stared at MacDonald. “I’ve got a plan.”
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five
Vicky held up the Airwave on the table in front of them. “Control to all units. Repeat, the suspect from Findale Place has been released without charge following an interview with Brian Morton. Morton has died of a heart attack in police custody and we still seek the whereabouts of his brother, John.”
MacDonald shook his head. “This is such a huge gamble.”
“I know.”
“Reckon Raven will go for it?”
Vicky shrugged. “Forrester’s approved it. The wheels are in motion now.” She looked across the table at Yvonne. “Are you still okay with this?”
Yvonne stared at the mobile on the table next to the Airwave. “If it rings.”
“It will.”
“If it rings, I’ll play along.”
“Remember, no funny business. I’m already pissed off at you for not bringing up Marianne Smith’s name. No code words here. Plain speak — yes/no as much as possible. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The Airwave repeated the message. “Control to all units. Repeat, Brian Morton has died of a fatal heart attack in custody and we still seek the whereabouts of his brother, John. The suspect from Findale Place has been released without charge.”
The phone lit up. A text message.
Vicky took a deep breath. “Okay. He’s texting. Is that normal?”
Yvonne shrugged.
“Yvonne, is it normal?”
“You tell me. You’ve got the phone records.”
Vicky turned to look at Considine, who was leaning against the door.
He flicked through some pages. “Usage is about sixty-forty texts to calls.”
“Let’s see what he’s saying.” Vicky picked up the phone. “‘Are you okay to talk?’ ” She focused back on Yvonne. “This is it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Vicky replied, her fingers struggling with the buttons on the phone through the evidence bag’s plastic. “Does ‘Walking up to Hilltown. Free to talk’ sound like something you’d say?”
“It does.”
Vicky sent the text then waited, eyes locked on Yvonne.
The phone rang.
Vicky answered it, putting it on speaker straight away. Quietly, she opened the top of the bag.
“Yvonne?”
“Hi, John.”
“Christ, are you okay?”
Yvonne smiled. “I’m fine. They just let me go, John.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. My lawyer said it was something to do with Brian. The police told me he died.”
“I’ve heard.” John sniffed down the line. “Where are you?”
“I’ve just left the police station.”
“Are they following you?”
“If they are, they’re really good. It’s really quiet here, John.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking of heading up to the Hilltown.”
“Why? They know about Brian’s flat.”
“I’m scared, John.” Yvonne bit her lip. “I don’t know what to do.”
A pause. Vicky dug her nails into the palms of her hands.
“Yvonne, I’ll pick you up.”
“Where?”
“Outside the old Dundee College Building on Constitution Road. I’ll be about fifteen minutes.”
Vicky glanced at MacDonald, whose head was nodding to a silent beat.
Yvonne leaned forward. “Have you still got Calum?”
“He’s with me. I’m just readying him now.” John laughed. “Still wants to see your tits.”
“Is this over?”
“It’s never over, Yvonne.”
“Okay. See you soon. Bye.”
Vicky killed the call and got to her feet. “You did well, Yvonne.”
MacD
onald was already out of the room.
Yvonne nodded slowly. “Thanks.”
“Why would he want to meet at Dundee College?”
“After school, John did a journalism course there.”
“It’s not a trap or anything?”
Yvonne shook her head. “Not to my knowledge.”
Vicky pointed a finger at her. “He said he was readying him, Yvonne. Do you know what for?”
“For surgery.” Yvonne shut her eyes. “He’s going to experiment on Calum.”
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six
Vicky stood shivering outside the old college building. Its seven concrete storeys were all boarded up ready for sale. The cloudless sky was darkening.
She looked down. Yvonne’s clothes didn’t quite fit her. She reached down and rolled the legs of the jeans up another notch. The hoodie was baggy in the wrong places, tight in others.
Her phone rang. MacDonald. “You set, Vicky?”
She glanced down the street to the end of the one-way system to where MacDonald’s team, in plain clothes, were hanging around. “Aye. Everything’s hanging off me. Feel like I’m trying on my dad’s police uniform again.”
“Probably too much information.”
“Just hope my hips and bum aren’t a giveaway.”
“Hard not to be distracted by them.”
Headlights came down the hill. The nerve in her neck throbbed, sending pulses of pain shooting up to her brain. She pocketed the phone and put the balaclava on the top of her head, rolled up like it was a hat, covering her hair.
The van pulled in on the other side of the road.
Vicky screwed up her eyes, trying to see if it was John.
The window wound down. The deep voice boomed out. “Get in, Yvonne.”
Vicky froze. Her nerve jangled hard.
The van began to drive off.
“Wait!”
It stopped.
Vicky jogged across the road and got in.
The vehicle shot off. John stared at the road as he drove. “Did anyone follow you?”
Vicky snapped out her baton. “John Morton, I’m arresting you —”
He smashed his elbow into her cheek, sending her rocking back in the seat. She clutched at the seatbelt, desperate fingers locking it.