See Them Run

by See Them Run (epub)

  ‘A taxi driver, name of Andy Robb. Lives in the town. He was at a wedding – hotel a mile or so out of town. We believe he received a text message to meet someone outside. He went down the hotel drive and was run over.’

  ‘Not an accident? One of the guests driving over the limit?’

  ‘Normally, that would be my first thought. But we can’t ignore those numbered cards.’

  ‘It’s odd, certainly,’ the DCI agreed. ‘Anyone in the frame?’

  ‘Not yet, sir. We’re working our way through the contacts for the first victim and gathering information about the second.’

  ‘Fair enough, but I’d like to see some progress. And soon, Inspector.’

  Clare’s phone began to ring and she snatched it up. SOCO.

  ‘Inspector – we’ve recovered a USB stick from the first victim’s car. Tiny little thing, taped to the underside of the glove box.’

  Clare thought this might be the break she needed. ‘I’ll send someone over for it now.’

  She dialled Chris’s number and turned to DCI Gibson as she waited. ‘Any chance of a few more bodies, sir? We’re running two murder enquiries on a shoestring here.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll have another three detectives over in the morning. Could do a uniform or two as well if necessary.’

  ‘It’s okay. The team here can do overtime for now. And Cupar station will help out. I might come back to you though if we don’t make headway.’

  Chris’s voice said, ‘Yes, boss?’ in her ear.

  ‘Chris, I need you to get over to SOCO please. They’ve found a memory stick in Andy Robb’s car.’

  ‘Anything on it?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out.’

  There was a tap at the door and Sara poked her head in. ‘Boss, there’s a man here looking for you. Said you were investigating his stolen car? Fergus someone.’

  The accordionist from the wedding.

  Clare remembered Fergus Bain from Saturday night. He’d had little to say then, other than confirming Andy had headed outside while the other guests were dancing Strip the Willow. His statement had told them nothing they didn’t already know, and she’d let him go after a few minutes.

  But now there was his Land Rover. Stolen a couple of weeks ago, according to the neighbour. Could it be the vehicle used in the two attacks? If so, he might have information that would help them find it. She looked at him now with renewed interest. He was stocky with a weather-beaten face, doubtless earned through years of outdoor farm work. He seemed uncomfortable in his surroundings, his shoulders hunched, hands plunged deep into his pockets.

  ‘I hear you were askin’ about ma car.’ His accent, Clare thought, was broader than those she had become used to hearing in St Andrews. More west Fife, perhaps.

  ‘That’s right. If you’ll follow me…’ Clare opened the door to a small interview room. Fergus hesitated then walked into the room. Clare followed and offered him a chair. He sat slowly on the edge of the seat, as if ready to bolt. Clare sat opposite and took out her notebook.

  ‘So, Mr Bain, your car was a…?’

  ‘Land Rover Defender.’

  ‘Ah yes… We have the details on our system. And it was stolen on…?’

  ‘Third o’ May.’

  ‘From the North Haugh car park?’

  ‘Yeah. Have you found it?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. But we are looking for a Land Rover or Range Rover in connection with the death at the Kenlybank Hotel on Saturday night. Now I know we spoke to you then, but have you remembered anything else about that night? Anything at all?’

  His dark eyes were expressionless. ‘Like I said. I was on stage all night, ’cept for a break about ten. But the guy was killed later, wasn’t he?’

  Clare didn’t answer this. ‘Going back to the day your car was stolen, can you recall seeing anyone acting suspiciously? Or is there anyone you suspect might have taken it? It is important, Mr Bain.’

  He shook his head. ‘It wasnae even that new. Cannae think why someb’dy would want it.’

  ‘Can you recall what the tread on the tyres was like?’

  ‘Pretty good. Has to be to get a grip in the fields, like.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you have a photo of it?’

  ‘Naw. Not ma style. Cannae be doing with folk always taking photos of stuff. ’Specially cars. Cannae see the point.’

  Clare rose. ‘Well, thanks for coming in, Mr Bain. I’m sorry we don’t have any news of your car yet, but we’ll keep in touch. Meanwhile if you do see it or hear anything about it you will let us know, won’t you?’

  ‘Aye. No’ getting my hopes up though. It’ll probably turn up burnt out somewhere. Wee scumbags.’

  Clare thought he was probably right and went back to her office to update the DCI.

  * * *

  Chris appeared half an hour later with the memory stick in an evidence bag. ‘They’ve gone over it for prints so we’re okay to have a look,’ he said. ‘I can have a go, but it might need to go down to Tech Support in Glenrothes if I can’t find anything.’

  ‘Supposing there’s something to find,’ the DCI said.

  ‘He must have hidden it for a reason,’ Clare pointed out. ‘See what you can do, Chris. We don’t have time for a forty-mile round trip.’

  The DCI ignored this. ‘Let’s have a look at it, then.’

  Chris inserted the stick into a computer and waited while the security software scanned it. ‘Of course, if it’s password protected or the file’s encrypted, we’ll have to send it to Tech Support.’ The drive appeared. ‘Our lucky day. No encryption.’

  ‘Now why would someone who went to the trouble of concealing it in the furthest corner of the glove compartment leave the contents unprotected?’ the DCI wanted to know.

  Chris navigated various empty folders on the drive. ‘I would guess because there’s bugger all on it. It looks like one Word document and a folder with around sixty megabytes of files.’

  ‘Can you open them?’ Clare asked.

  He clicked the Word document and immediately was prompted for a password. ‘No luck with this,’ he said. ‘Password protected.’

  ‘You can’t bypass the password?’

  ‘Nope. I mean Tech Support probably can. They’ll have cracker software. Might take a few days though.’ Chris moved to the folder and double-clicked.

  ‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ Clare said, as the folder opened to reveal an array of files.

  ‘Sorry, Clare. Afraid not.’ Chris jabbed the screen with his finger. ‘See the file names? Look at the extensions…’

  Clare looked. ‘.gpg – I’ve never heard of that. What kind of file is it?’

  ‘Can’t tell the type of file. But the extension is the giveaway. They’re all encrypted. Gnu Privacy Guard.’

  ‘Which is?’ The DCI’s tone was becoming testy.

  ‘Encryption software. Free to download. Quite commonly used.’

  ‘So we can’t open them?’

  Chris shook his head. ‘Not without the keys.’ He saw Clare’s expression. ‘Like passwords.’

  ‘But Tech Support have software to crack passwords, you said.’

  ‘Not this kind of password. Even if you had GPG installed you would need whoever encrypted the files to give you the keys to decrypt them. Encryption keys are far harder to crack than normal passwords. It can sometimes be done but it would likely take years.’ He looked up at them. ‘Sorry.’

  Clare stood silent for a few minutes, mulling this over. Then she said, ‘Do you suppose it could be anything to do with Andy’s Thursday nights out?’

  ‘What’s this?’ The DCI was becoming impatient.

  ‘The first victim. He went out every Thursday but no one – not his wife, work colleagues, girlfriend – no one knows where he went. He withdrew a hundred pounds from a cashpoint in town every Thursday around teatime then often took out more money over the next few days.’

  ‘Have you checked local casinos?’ the DCI aske
d. ‘Best place I know to lose money.’

  ‘It was on my list. Then we took the call about Mr Gilmartin.’

  ‘Get it checked. Pound to a penny that’s where he was going.’

  Chris was still browsing the contents of the memory stick. ‘Tell you what, though,’ he said, ‘this is interesting.’

  ‘What?’ Clare leaned over to look.

  ‘He’s installed Tor.’

  The DCI frowned. ‘What the hell’s Tor?’

  ‘It’s an internet browser. It lets the user communicate anonymously.’

  ‘You mean send an email and no one knows who it’s come from?’

  ‘Kind of. But more often it’s used for visiting websites you might not want anyone else to know about. Porn, that sort of thing. Used by criminals, money launderers, drug dealers, as well as more legitimate stuff like journalists protecting sources, whistle-blowers… And some folk just like using it.’

  ‘Get it down to Tech Support,’ the DCI said. ‘They’ll see what he’s been up to.’

  ‘With respect, sir, I doubt it. That’s why the criminal classes use Tor. It’s pretty much impossible to breach.’

  ‘Can you explain, Chris?’ Clare was intrigued. Andy’s death was starting to look like more than just an aggrieved ex-girlfriend.

  ‘Well, normally when you look up a web page you leave a trail. Anyone examining your computer can see you visited that website. With Tor you can hide your activity because it routes your request to visit a website through a series of other computers. Each computer knows where the request came from and where the next computer in the chain is, but no more than that. So A sends it to B. B knows it came from A and that it’s sending it to C. C knows about B but not A. D knows C sent it but…’

  ‘It’s like one of those logic puzzles,’ Clare muttered. ‘How do you know this stuff anyway?’

  He looked smug. ‘Remember that course you made me go on last month?’

  The DCI frowned. ‘So, we know that he’s up to something on his computer but not what?’

  Chris nodded. ‘I’ll check, but I doubt I’ll find the browsing history. Tor deletes it on exit. Cookies are deleted too.’

  ‘What about that document?’ Clare jabbed the screen with her finger. ‘Can you find out if Andy created it?’

  Chris navigated his way to the document properties and shook his head. ‘It only says Created by User and the date… about six months ago.’

  ‘And there’s nothing else?’

  ‘Don’t think so. I’ve had a look and there aren’t any hidden files either. Just that document, the encrypted files and the browser.’

  ‘So, he’s been browsing the net, probably for something illegal, but we have no way of knowing what?’

  ‘Nope. But…’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘The encrypted files – they’re quite large.’

  ‘So could be photos?’

  ‘Yeah, or files containing images.’

  ‘I can’t help thinking that Thursdays are significant,’ Clare said. ‘We’ve spoken to his wife, girlfriend, ex-girlfriend, colleagues – no one knows what he did on Thursdays. I’m guessing, whatever he was up to, he didn’t want anyone else knowing.’

  ‘Did the PM show any drugs in his system?’ DCI Gibson asked.

  Clare took the mouse from Chris and navigated her way to the PM report. ‘Lots of alcohol, but then we knew that. No drugs mentioned but we didn’t request a full tox report.’

  ‘Better get that done, then,’ the DCI advised. ‘And let’s get someone over to the brewery to see how things are there. Pick up Mr Gilmartin’s office computer. And get onto his accountant too. Find out if there were any financial worries. Get bank statements for the business and his personal accounts. And…’ he hesitated, ‘better check if he did anything on Thursday evenings. I’m not sure I want to know, mind you,’ he added.

  Clare hesitated. ‘We’ll have to look round the house, sir.’

  He waved this away. ‘Yes, of course. And pick up any devices you find in the house, too. Computers, laptops. See if he had this Tor thing installed. Better warn Tech Support. With two murders to investigate, we’ll need more than DS West and his computer course.’

  Chapter 8

  Gilmartin’s Brewery sat about a mile outside Cupar, on a large, flat site. It was a modern, unromantic building in grey brick, employing a fair number of staff, if the car park was anything to go by.

  ‘There’s money in beer,’ Chris observed, as they approached the entrance.

  Clare, glancing at him, noticed he had undone the bottom button on his waistcoat. Maybe he did listen sometimes, under that morose exterior.

  They pushed open the glass-fronted doors and found themselves in a bright reception area with comfortable seating and fresh flowers. Clare showed her warrant card to the receptionist. A few minutes later, a ruddy-faced man in his late thirties arrived to greet them.

  ‘Sandy Belshaw,’ he said, extending his hand, adding, ‘general manager. Terrible business.’ He shook his head but there was an energy about him that suggested he was tackling his new role as Acting MD with some enthusiasm.

  Clare shook his hand. ‘DI Clare Mackay and DS Chris West. Thank you for seeing us, Mr Belshaw.’ She glanced across at the receptionist who was pretending to shuffle some papers on her desk. ‘I wonder if we could talk in Mr Gilmartin’s office?’

  Sandy Belshaw followed her gaze. ‘Of course. I’ve been working in there this morning myself. It’s easier – everything to hand, you know.’

  Clare wondered about this. Was the man being a bit hasty, moving into his boss’s office… or was he just being practical? She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. They followed him to Bruce Gilmartin’s office. He entered ahead of them and held the door open. Clare entered and looked round the office. A large iMac sat on a substantial oak desk with a leather-upholstered chair behind. Clearly the company was doing well, or wanted it to look that way. Sandy Belshaw indicated some easy chairs arranged round a low coffee table and invited them to sit.

  ‘Business good?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Booming. We’ve just launched a proposal to take over a rival brewery near Dundee.’

  ‘Welcome?’

  ‘Not so far. But they’ve not seen our offer yet.’

  ‘I’ll need details of that. And I’d like access to Mr Gilmartin’s email. I’m afraid we’ll have to take the iMac too.’

  Sandy’s face fell. ‘Oh, but I’ve been working here… I mean, do you have a warrant?’

  Clare sighed. ‘I can get one if necessary, but it will hold up our investigations and I’ll have to ask you to stop using this office anyway. We are dealing with a murder investigation, Mr Belshaw.’

  Sandy Belshaw stared. ‘Murder? But it was an accident, surely.’

  Clare watched him carefully. ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘But – I don’t understand. Who would want to kill Bruce? He – he was such a nice man.’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. So, in the circumstances, the iMac…’

  Sandy Belshaw had the grace to look abashed. ‘Well, yes. Of course. I wouldn’t want to be obstructive. Is there anything else you need?’

  ‘Can you tell us who will take over Mr Gilmartin’s role here?’

  ‘Good question, Inspector. I’ll have to call an emergency Board meeting and see what the Board members think. It’s up to the shareholders, ultimately, but they usually follow the Board’s recommendations. We could put forward someone from within the company or advertise for a new CEO. I really don’t know.’

  ‘Would you be a candidate, Mr Belshaw?’

  Sandy Belshaw’s face reddened slightly. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Inspector. Is it relevant? I really don’t think today’s the day to be thinking about it.’

  ‘Sadly, Mr Belshaw, we don’t have a choice.’

  His hand went to the back of his head, rubbing his hair. ‘I’m afraid I’ve not given it much thought. I mean there’s Jennifer too.’
Sandy Belshaw’s face clouded over at the mention of Jennifer Gilmartin. ‘She’ll want a say in things, I’m quite sure.’

  ‘Mrs Gilmartin?’ Clare said, watching him carefully.

  ‘Yes. She’s a shareholder and a director. She and Bruce were the majority shareholders and I’m guessing she’ll inherit his shares so…’

  ‘Did she take an active part in the business?’ Clare asked.

  Sandy hesitated. ‘Not as such. But she would attend Board meetings. I – erm – I think Bruce quite often took notice of what she said.’

  Clare glanced at Chris. Was there something here? Did Jennifer dominate her husband? Was that what their marriage was like? Jennifer was almost certainly in Amsterdam when her husband was killed but was it possible things weren’t entirely rosy between the couple? And, if so, could it have been bad enough for her to have him killed? It seemed far-fetched but someone had killed Bruce Gilmartin. The problem was that same person might also have killed Andy Robb. And, unless they could prove a link between the two men, it didn’t seem likely that Jennifer would have had a part in Andy’s death.

  ‘Was it a happy marriage?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Oh yes, I think so,’ Sandy said quickly. ‘I mean, as far as any couple is happy these days.’

  Clare asked a few more questions about the Gilmartins but Sandy could add little to what he had already said. He edged forward in his seat.

  ‘So, if there is anything else I can help with…’

  Clare put thoughts of Jennifer to the back of her mind – for now at least. ‘I’ll need a full staff list. Names, addresses, phone numbers. And can you give me contact details for your company accountant, please? Or do you have one on the staff?’

  ‘No, we use Osbornes in St Andrews. Jane Leslie handles our business.’

  Clare jotted this down. ‘I wonder if we could speak to the staff now, please? All together, if possible. Save us some time.’

  ‘Of course. It’ll just take me five minutes to round them up.’ He made to leave but Clare spoke again.

  ‘Just one more thing – can you tell me about Mr Gilmartin’s life outside the office? His social life, I mean. Did he go out regularly?’