See Them Run

by See Them Run (epub)

  ‘Do you know the name of her employer? The professor?’

  ‘Yeah. Professor Slater. House in Wardlaw Gardens.’

  Clare noted this down then looked back at Gil. He was twisting his hands.

  ‘Gil, where were you on Saturday night?’

  ‘Here. Working.’

  ‘Which car?’

  ‘The seven-seater. It’s all recorded.’

  ‘What time did you finish?’

  The slab was quite loose now, and he rocked it back and forth with his foot. ‘’Bout two.’

  ‘Two o’clock on Sunday morning?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Can you remember where you were about midnight, Gil?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Driving a couple back to a farmhouse. Just off the A915.’

  It took all Clare’s self-control not to react. The A915, she now knew, ran parallel to the A917. A short detour across a side road would have taken Gil right to the Kenlybank Hotel. And a taxi driver would know this too.

  Gil turned to meet her eye for the first time. ‘I know how it looks,’ he said, ‘Andy told us he was going to a hotel out that end of town. His sister’s wedding, he said. But I didn’t go near the place and I didn’t kill him. I might have wanted to, but the truth is I don’t have the guts.’

  Clare looked at him. He was the picture of misery.

  ‘I didn’t kill him,’ he said again.

  Gil was near to tears now. Clare wondered how many more lives Andy Robb’s womanising had ruined. ‘Okay, Gil,’ she said, giving his arm a pat. ‘We’ll leave it there for now.’

  She lingered on the wall, lost in thought after Gil had gone back into the office. A minute or two later Jakki came out, looking for her.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she began, ‘but that lad wouldn’t hurt a fly. Andy was rotten to him, with his girlfriend and all that, but the lad wouldn’t do something like that.’

  Clare smiled. ‘Noted.’

  Jakki hesitated. ‘There’s something else, though. About Andy. The boss, Martin… well, he’s not here today. But they had words. Last week. I heard them arguing.’

  ‘Any idea what it was about?’

  She shook her head. ‘Sorry. I started to listen then the phone went.’

  ‘Did they often fall out?’

  ‘Andy could cause a row in an empty house. And not just with Martin either. Martin’s a good boss but Andy – well, he could be difficult.’

  ‘Is Martin at home today?’

  ‘No, but he’ll be back tonight. I’ll give you his mobile number.’

  Clare took the card with Martin’s name and number and tucked it into her pocket. ‘One more thing – did Andy ever work on a Thursday night?’

  ‘Oh no. I can tell you that for sure. He would only ever do a day shift on a Thursday.’

  Clare thanked her and headed back to the station. The list of people Andy had upset was growing. She’d have to pull Jim and Sara in to help with the interviews and maybe some of the others, too. As she started the engine and pulled away she wondered where the hell Andy had gone on Thursday evenings and whether it had any bearing on his murder.

  Chapter 5

  Back at the station, Clare called Chris, Jim, Sara and a handful of uniformed cops into the incident room to pool information.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘We have Andy at the Kenlybank Hotel as a wedding guest last night and for some reason he heads off down the drive around midnight. Any update on his phone records, Chris?’

  ‘Yep. We have his contacts and we’re working our way through them. Checked his calls too. No calls on Saturday but he receives a text at 11:50 p.m. from an unidentified number. Probably pay-as-you-go. He replies, and a bit of flirting goes on between them. Looks like the texter was inviting him outside for a liaison.

  ‘Can you get a printout of the conversation, Chris?’

  Chris nodded. ‘There’s a final message, about twenty minutes later from Mrs Robb, asking where the fuck he is.’

  ‘That it?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So, let’s assume the texter is our driver – the murderer. Now, Andy’s known for shagging around. The driver sends suggestive texts to entice him out and, when he’s far enough down the drive, runs him over.’

  ‘How did the driver get Andy’s number?’

  ‘Good point, Chris. Is it someone who knows him? Does Andy have his number visible on Facebook? Could it be one of his existing contacts, using a different phone?’

  Clare turned to the whiteboard and wrote 11:50 p.m. – text exchange between victim and murderer.

  ‘Any chance it could have been an accident, Clare? Hit-and-run – driver panicked and drove off?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Doubtful. The car drove right over him then backed over him again on the way out. If it had been an accident the driver would probably have hit the brakes as soon as he collided with Andy.’

  ‘It could have been a taxi arriving to take someone home?’ Jim persisted.

  ‘Fair point. Check with local taxi companies to see if they took a call for a pick-up around midnight. Don’t forget the hotel staff, either. Someone might have asked them to phone for a cab.’

  Chris raised his hand. ‘What about that numbered card, boss?’

  ‘What indeed. Any theories, guys?’

  Heads shook and Clare pressed on.

  ‘Tyre tracks – Sara, any progress?’

  ‘Yep. Spoke to a couple of tyre fitters and both said the same thing. These tyres are generally fitted only to Land Rovers or Range Rovers.’

  ‘Couldn’t be a Qashqai?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘Any news on stolen cars, Jim?’

  ‘Narrowing it down. Forty-plus in total over the three counties, but I’ll see how many are Land Rovers or Range Rovers and let you know.’

  Clare looked round the room. ‘Who’s going through the ANPR footage?’

  A uniformed cop raised her hand. ‘Me, boss.’

  ‘Okay, Gillian, I want the reg numbers for any Land Rovers or Range Rovers picked up between eleven p.m. and one in the morning. Time, direction, owners, stolen or not.’

  Gillian scribbled in her notebook and Clare carried on.

  ‘Now that we have the make narrowed down we need to speak to owners of Land Rovers and Range Rovers – not just the stolen ones. Let’s start with a ten-mile radius of St Andrews and see what that throws up. If the owners are close by, interview them in person, otherwise, by phone. Jim, can you get onto that?’

  Jim nodded.

  Clare continued. ‘Chris, I’d like you to concentrate on stolen cars, in case it was joy-riders. I suspect not, but we have to check.’

  She looked round at them. ‘There’s a fair few folk need interviewing. Martin Simms, the owner of Swilcan Taxis. Prioritise him. He and Andy had a difficult relationship. Then Andy’s current girlfriend, Vicky – we need her parents spoken to. Did the dad have a problem with his daughter seeing a married man? Billy Dodds’ background needs checking too. He’s Angela’s boyfriend. Delivery driver for the hospital. Drives a Qashqai which doesn’t have the right tyres but we can’t rule him out yet. I’ve a couple of ex-girlfriends to check which I’ll do shortly. Chris and Jim, when you’re done with cars and phone contacts, can you look into Billy, please? Plus Andy’s phone records for calls received in the last month.’ She looked around. ‘Anything else?’

  Chris raised his hand again. ‘Thursday nights. Should we be looking into where he went?’

  ‘Good call. You carry on as planned and I’ll do that. Let’s put in a couple more hours, then call it a night. Back here for eight tomorrow morning.’

  Clare found Professor Slater’s phone number with little difficulty and sat down to call him. He confirmed that Marta Mieszko was their au pair and that, to the best of his knowledge, she had returned to Poland almost a year ago.

  ‘My wife drove her to Edinburgh airport to catch her flight.’

  ‘And have you heard from Marta since
then? Is she still in Poland?’

  ‘I believe my wife’s still in touch with her. On Facebook, I think. I can ask her if you like.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Clare put down the phone and drew a line through Marta’s name in her notebook. It was worth checking if she had boarded a flight to Poland a year or so ago but it was almost certainly a dead end. Time to see if Kayleigh the barmaid could throw any light on Andy’s murder.

  * * *

  The Thistle was quieter than at lunchtime. A young, dark-haired girl with lips the colour of claret was polishing glasses behind the bar. Clare flashed her warrant card and asked for Kayleigh.

  ‘I’m Kayleigh,’ the girl said. ‘Len told me to expect you.’

  Clare thought Kayleigh looked more curious than upset. It looked as if Len hadn’t been tempted to tell her about Andy. ‘Maybe we could sit down for a few minutes?’ she said.

  Kayleigh led Clare to a table at a window, one eye on the bar. ‘You were asking about Andy?’

  ‘You were his girlfriend, I gather?’

  ‘That’s right. For a while anyway, till he met that au pair girl.’ She looked tearful. ‘He said he loved me. But he didn’t really. Just wanted… well, you know.’

  ‘You mean sex? He was just after sex? Sorry to be so direct, Kayleigh, but I’m trying to build up a picture of Andy.’

  Kayleigh nodded. ‘Yes, that’s about it. Once he’d got what he wanted – well, he lost interest.’

  Clare gave what she hoped was a sympathetic smile then went on. ‘Kayleigh, can you tell me where you were last night?’

  Kayleigh’s eyes widened. ‘Here. Working. Why? Has Andy done something?’

  ‘I’m afraid Andy met with an accident last night and we’re asking anyone who knew him to tell us where they were.’

  ‘Is he all right? Is he in hospital?’

  ‘I’m afraid he died.’

  Kayleigh said nothing, for a minute. Her eyes were bright but Clare could see she was making an effort to remain composed. ‘He died?’ Her voice was a whisper.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you think I had something to do with it?’

  Clare looked at the girl. A more unlikely murderer it would be difficult to imagine. But she knew from experience not to make assumptions. ‘We need to check everyone who had a connection with Andy. That’s all. So, last night?’

  ‘As I said, I was here. Behind the bar. Ask Len. He’ll tell you.’

  ‘What time did you finish?’

  ‘Midnight, officially, but Len opened a bottle and we all had a drink after closing. I left about quarter to one.’

  Clare noted this down and hoped Len would confirm Kayleigh’s story. The more she learned about Andy the less she wanted any of these young girls to have been involved. He’d caused enough heartache already.

  Kayleigh’s eyes strayed to the bar. A customer was standing, wallet in hand. ‘I’ll have to serve this customer. Was there anything else?’

  ‘Only if you can think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Andy.’

  ‘Harm him?’ Kayleigh said. ‘Oh no, Inspector. He treated me badly, but I wouldn’t go that far. He’s not worth it.’

  She went off to serve the customer and Clare pressed a bell on the end of the bar. Len, the manager, appeared from the kitchen. When he saw Clare, his face fell momentarily then he forced a smile. ‘Inspector. I hope Kayleigh’s okay? Not upset too much?’

  ‘She’ll be fine. Just one more question, if you don’t mind. What time did your staff leave last night?’

  He hesitated. ‘I hope you don’t think I’ve been serving after hours.’

  Clare shook her head. ‘Not at all. I just need to know.’

  ‘The last few punters left shortly after midnight. I said to the girls to leave the clearing up for the morning and I opened a bottle. It was a long day and I thought they deserved a drink on the house.’

  ‘How long did they stay?’

  He considered this. ‘Probably till about quarter to one, something like that.’

  This chimed with Kayleigh’s story. Either they were in it together or they were telling the truth. Somehow, she couldn’t see them as co-conspirators in the murder of Andy Robb, particularly so long after he had dumped Kayleigh. She thanked Len for his time and returned to the station to help with the phone calls.

  * * *

  It was almost eleven when Clare shut up shop and headed home. They now had names and addresses for three people who had reported either a Range Rover or a Land Rover stolen in the St Andrews area. Martin Simms had been interviewed by Chris and Jim, as had Vicky’s parents and the consensus was, while they weren’t Andy’s biggest fans, they probably didn’t dislike him enough to run him over. Clare’s research into Thursday night clubs had been equally unsuccessful. She had tried gyms and sports clubs, pubs with quiz nights, cinema clubs, even bridge clubs. None of them had Andy as a member. She could ask Sara to trawl through traffic cam footage on Thursday nights to check for Andy’s car but, at present, she didn’t have the manpower. That was something else. She’d have to request a Major Investigation Team to help and they’d probably send a DCI. She sent up a silent prayer that it wouldn’t be Tony McAvettie. No one who had been there just before Easter could forget the day that Chris, a newly promoted DS, discovered Tony had been sleeping with his girlfriend. Chris had almost broken Tony’s nose. It was only thanks to them all closing ranks and insisting Tony had slipped and fallen that Chris had escaped the consequences. But Tony wouldn’t have forgotten.

  Clare yawned. It had been a long day and the prospect of going home to make food didn’t appeal. She decided to drive home via Spice Palace. It would give her the chance to check Billy Dodds’ takeaway on Saturday night. The shop on Market Street was quiet and, having given her order, she sat down on a plastic chair to wait. And then she remembered Billy Dodds. Struggling to her feet, she asked the girl at the counter to check their records. And sure enough, a delivery had been made to a Mr Dodds in Cupar on Saturday night.

  ‘Oh that’s Billy,’ the girl said, ‘I remember now. About eight thirty it was. Supposed to be eight but we were busy.’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a regular. Gets on well with Arjun, the owner.’

  Clare thanked her, paid for her order, and took the bag containing her lamb bhuna out to the car. Market Street was one-way, and she drove over the cobbles until she saw Cromars, where she and Chris had stopped for chips one night after a late shift. She turned left, past the university’s Buchanan Building then left again into North Street. She passed the gothic St Salvator’s Chapel with its arched entrance to the university quadrangle. The street was deserted now and, despite her weariness, Clare slowed the car and sat for some moments taking in the ancient building, quiet now in the absence of tourists and red-gowned students. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard, saw it would soon be midnight and pulled away again, past the small cinema advertising the Elton John biopic, Rocketman.

  Tom liked Elton John. He would want to see the film.

  And, not for the first time, Clare wondered if she had done the right thing, ending her relationship with Tom and moving to St Andrews. Away from the comfort blanket that had been her life in Glasgow. Tears pricked her eyes as she turned onto City Road towards the house which was beginning to feel less and less like home.

  Chapter 6

  Monday, 20th May

  Clare sat perusing Andy’s bank statements. There was a clear pattern. Every Thursday night he withdrew one hundred pounds at a cashpoint, usually in St Andrews town centre. But then he would frequently withdraw more money on Fridays or Saturdays. He was going somewhere on Thursday nights and spending a hundred quid. Casinos? Clare scribbled this down and turned to her computer to search online for the nearest casinos. Betting shops too. Better check them. The worst-case scenario was a private gambling arrangement. They’d never find that.

  Chris popped his head round her office door. ‘Funny thing, bos
s…’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘One of the stolen vehicles, a Land Rover, was reported stolen by one of the band from Saturday’s wedding.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yep. Fergus Bain. Plays the accordion. Reported stolen just over a month ago.’

  ‘Well, we can certainly rule him out. A hundred guests danced to his playing while Andy was being run over.’

  ‘It’s a bit of a coincidence, though.’

  ‘Agreed. Let’s pay him a visit and see what he has to say for himself. Is he local?’

  ‘Farm cottage, just outside town, on the road to Strathkinness.

  ‘Strath what?’

  Chris picked up the car keys. ‘I’ll drive.’

  As they reached the top of Largo Road he pointed out the community hospital. ‘Where Angela and Billy work.’

  The A915 lay ahead but Chris turned right, away from the hospital and into a housing estate. ‘This is Bogward.’

  Clare nodded. ‘I’ve been here before,’ she said. ‘Couple of weeks ago. Sudden death in a house, next on the right. So, where’s Strathkinness from here?’

  ‘I’m taking the back road,’ Chris said. ‘It’s a small village a few miles west of St Andrews. If I’m right, I reckon our accordionist’s cottage will be this side of the village, about a mile along this road.’

  Chris drove on as the housing estate gave way to fields, gaudy with yellow oilseed rape. After a few minutes, Chris indicated right and pulled into the side of the road beside two single-storey cottages. They were low, stone-built dwellings with orange pan-tiled roofs. To the side of one was a garage with wooden doors, secured by a bolt which looked as if it had seen better days.

  ‘I think that’s our man’s,’ Chris said, indicating the cottage next to the garage.

  There was no answer to their knock, but a woman, dressed in overalls, her hands smeared with oil, appeared round the side of the other cottage.

  ‘He’ll be out on the fields,’ she told them, wiping her hands on a rag. ‘Does a bit of work for the farmer. Busy time of year.’