Jim was scribbling in his notebook and gave Clare a nod.
Clare continued. ‘Chris, I want you and the other lads on vehicles and farms. I’ll chase up SOCO for the paint and prints. Oh, and someone needs to have a last look round the Gilmartins’ house so we can get Mrs G back home.’
She looked around. A couple of the uniform lads raised their hands and she nodded her thanks. Her eye fell on Sara. ‘If you could take over checking casinos and betting shops for any of the three men visiting on Thursdays, particularly anyone spending, regularly?’
‘Will do,’ said Sara.
‘And have a look at their CCTV for the last two Thursdays. You never know.’ Clare looked round the room again. ‘Anyone free to cross-check mobile phone records for all three men? We’re looking for any numbers in common or evidence that they were in touch with each other.’
One of the uniformed cops raised a hand.
‘Right,’ Clare said. ‘I think that’s it. Let’s meet back here at… say, one o’clock and pool information. Okay, thanks everyone.’
There was a bark from the front office and Clare went out to find Vicky Gallagher standing uncertainly just inside the front door. ‘Vicky, what can I do for you?’
The girl hesitated. ‘It’s probably nothing…’
‘Come with me.’ Clare led her to an interview room and closed the door. The girl looked exhausted, dark circles round her eyes which were red-rimmed with crying. Her blonde hair that had looked so thick and glossy on Sunday now hung in lank strands. Clare thought how starkly she contrasted with Angela Robb, already busy clearing out Andy’s things. She pulled a chair out towards Vicky. ‘Sit down, please. You look…’
‘I know.’ Vicky attempted a smile. ‘I must look a mess. I just can’t believe what’s happened.’
‘You’re off work, I hope?’
‘Doctor signed me off for two weeks. Thing is, I’ve nothing to occupy me. I think I might go mad.’
‘It takes time. Did the doctor give you anything to help you cope?’
‘He did. But I don’t like taking those pills. They make me feel woozy. And I want to understand. What happened to Andy, I mean. I’ve been going over it and over it. Then I remembered what you said about Thursdays…’
Clare was alert. ‘Yes?’
‘Well, there was this one night, about a month ago, Andy was going out as usual. I was working a split shift so I was at home, having some tea, you know. Anyway, he phoned me. His car had broken down. Alternator, I think it was. So, I said did he want a lift…’
Clare tried not to show her excitement. ‘Go on, Vicky.’
‘But he said no, he didn’t want a lift because he knew I was working. He asked if he could borrow my car. I said I had plenty of time to drive him and get back for my shift but he said he didn’t want me rushing. He was lovely like that.’ She smiled at the memory.
Clare waited. An anxious feeling was developing in her stomach. Was this the break they so desperately needed?
Vicky went on. ‘He said if I could drive to where he was he would have a taxi waiting to take me back to St Andrews. And I said, why not just take a taxi yourself and he said it was too far and he might be back late. So I drove over there and met him with my car.’
‘Where was this? Where did he break down?’
‘Just before St Mike’s junction. Heading towards Dundee.’
Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘St Mike’s?’
‘Oh sorry. It’s a crossroads, five or six miles north of St Andrews. There’s a pub there called St Michael’s Inn. Everyone calls it St Mike’s. It’s on the road to Dundee, just after Leuchars.’
Clare took out her phone and opened up Google maps. She navigated to St Andrews then followed the road through Guardbridge, then Leuchars. She zoomed in then asked Vicky to point out where Andy had broken down. It was about a quarter of a mile before the junction where St Michael’s Inn sat.
‘Just next to the railway line and the golf course.’ Vicky indicated the spot. ‘He said he’d called a friend to tow his car to a garage and he would leave the keys on the front wheel. Anyway, when I got there, the taxi was waiting.’
‘Swilcan’s?’
She shook her head. ‘No, he said it was his night off and he didn’t want to see a Swilcan’s Taxi. I think it was Castle Cabs.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, that’s it, really. I got in the taxi and went back for my evening shift.’
‘And which way did Andy go? In your car, I mean?’
‘I didn’t see. He waited until I was away. Waved me off. And he asked me to text him to let him know I was back safely. He was so caring like that.’
Clare thought it more likely that he didn’t want Vicky to see which way he was heading.
‘Vicky, can you remember the date? Exactly?’
Vicky nodded. ‘I thought you might want to know so I looked back in my diary. It was the 18th of April.’
Clare noted this down. ‘And your car registration please, Vicky?’
‘I’ll write it down for you.’
Clare watched as Vicky wrote down the number on a Post-it note. Both her middle fingers were intact, which ruled her out of any involvement with the numbered cards. Clare thanked her for her help and urged her to think about taking the medication the doctor had provided. The girl nodded and left. Clare went to find Chris.
‘Got a minute?’
He followed her into the incident room and Clare related Vicky’s tale. ‘He was clearly heading off to one of those Thursday night meetings, or whatever they are, and didn’t want Vicky to know where he was going.’
‘So, just before the junction? He could have been heading anywhere. Left to Balmullo, right to Tayport or pretty much anywhere if he went straight on.’
‘At least we know it’s not in St Andrews. And not south of the town.’
‘I suppose it’s a start. Not sure where it gets us, though.’
‘Well…’ Clare was thinking. ‘If he went north into Dundee he’d have crossed the Tay Road Bridge and the car number would be caught on an ANPR camera. The bridge is covered, if I remember correctly.’
‘True.’
‘Can you give the Traffic Control Centre a buzz? See if he crossed the bridge that night. If not, we can still narrow down our search a fair bit.’
She stood and moved to a large map of north-east Fife on the wall. ‘If he was heading for Cupar, or even further west, I think he’d have turned left at Guardbridge, before he reached St Mike’s. So I reckon his destination would be no more than a radius of five or six miles from St Mike’s.’
‘If he didn’t cross the bridge…’
‘Yes, if he didn’t cross the bridge. Let’s hope not.’
‘Still a pretty big area, boss.’
‘Yeah, I know but we’re chipping away at it.’
‘You do know tomorrow’s Thursday?’
It hadn’t slipped Clare’s mind. In fact, she was torn between wanting to apprehend the hit-and-run driver before he killed someone else and finding out what the other two possible targets were up to on Thursday nights. She checked her watch. It was almost ten o’clock. ‘You get back to tracing the cars, Chris. I’m going to take a run out to Hepburn Gardens. Just in case we missed anything last night.’
* * *
Clare started the engine but didn’t pull out straight away. She was trying to come to a decision. ‘Oh, what the hell.’ She pulled out of the car park and headed for the Kenlybank Hotel.
At the reception desk, Pawel Nowicki was again on duty. Clare wondered if he ever went home. She asked him to call Jennifer Gilmartin and, after a few minutes, he handed her the phone.
‘Mrs Gilmartin? I wonder if you could spare me five minutes.’
Jennifer Gilmartin sounded tired. ‘I suppose so, Inspector. You know my room?’
Clare thanked her and handed the phone back to Pawel.
Jennifer was waiting at the door when Clare emerged from the lift. She greeted Clare and led her into the room. The b
ed was unmade and bore witness to a sleepless night but otherwise the room was tidy. She had unpacked very little.
‘Is my house ready? Can I go home?’
‘Hopefully in an hour or two.’
‘And Benjy?’
‘Back at the station being fussed over. I thought you might appreciate a few hours on your own to unpack and so on, then we could bring him over a bit later.’
‘That would be a help. Thank you. You’re very kind, Inspector.’
Clare took a deep breath and ploughed on. ‘I wanted to speak to you, just the two of us, to ask something.’
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’
‘Did Mr Gilmartin go out on Thursday evenings?’
‘He did, yes. That was his charity night.’
‘Would you happen to know which charity?’
She shook her head. ‘He did a lot of charity work, but I didn’t really know the details.’
‘Was it every Thursday?’
‘Pretty much. It suited us both. I often went out myself.’
‘Mrs Gilmartin, I have a difficult question to put to you…’
Jennifer’s lips tightened and she drew herself up. ‘Difficult? How so, Inspector?’
‘Forgive me, but did you ever have any concerns that your husband might be engaged in… activities which were not strictly legal?’ Clare watched her carefully for any reaction.
‘Not strictly legal?’ Jennifer’s tone was icy. ‘I’m not sure what you mean, Inspector.’
Clare swallowed. ‘Your husband’s laptop had a piece of software installed to allow him to browse parts of the internet that are hidden from other web browsers.’
Jennifer Gilmartin folded her arms. ‘You are speaking, no doubt, of Tor?’
Clare was surprised. ‘You know it?’
‘A perfectly legal piece of software, used by millions of people worldwide.’
‘Indeed but—’
‘But nothing. You think because my husband – a man with an extremely high profile in case you hadn’t realised – because he uses an internet browser which maximises privacy, he must necessarily be engaged in nefarious activity?’
‘Mrs Gilmartin, I have reason to believe the browser may be significant. I can’t say more at this stage but it is something we have to look into. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you but I can’t ignore it.’
Jennifer was striding about the room now. She turned to face Clare again. ‘Offended, Inspector, doesn’t begin to describe it. My husband has been killed by some mad driver, I’m kicked out of my house, and you come here accusing him of criminal activity? How dare you!’ Her eyes flashed with anger. She moved to open the door. ‘This interview is at an end. And if you wish to speak to me in the future, my solicitor will be present.’
Clare had no option but to leave. The door slammed behind her. Out in the corridor she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. The only decision she now had to make was whether to tell the DCI of her visit or wait for Jennifer Gilmartin to do it. She decided she might as well wait. There was plenty to do in the meantime.
Chapter 14
Clare turned the car back towards town and made for Hepburn Gardens, the site of last night’s hit-and-run. There was little evidence of the accident now, other than a dark stain on the pavement and the damaged lamp post. She stopped for a minute to see if it made any more sense in daylight than it had last night. Then she pulled away and continued along, passing the roundabout where she had turned off to Nat Dryden’s house. She realised now that she had joined the same road Chris had taken on Monday on their way to Fergus Bain’s cottage.
‘I’ll get the hang of this place yet,’ she muttered, slowing down as she neared the cottages. There was no sign of life and she carried on, passing rich farmland peppered with areas dense with trees. It was an attractive road and, in spite of the horrors of the current investigation, she thought how lucky she was to have found this little corner of Fife. If only she knew what the Lord Advocate’s decision would be, she could start to make plans. Find a house she could call home.
Further along the road she noticed a large marquee erected in a field just off the road. A billboard reminded her that the Fife Beer Bonanza was taking place this coming weekend.
‘Not much chance of going to that, now,’ she said. But, as she passed the end of the field, another sign caught her eye. It read:
24-hour security – Cameras in Use.
Clare glanced in the rear-view mirror. A car was on her tail and there was a bend up ahead, making it difficult for her to pull in. She decided to turn round at the first opportunity and go back to the Beer Bonanza field. And then, as she rounded the bend, she saw a For Sale sign. It had been erected at the roadside near a gap in the trees and, as she passed, she saw a short drive leading to a property. She was on a straight stretch of the road now. With a glance in the rear-view mirror, she indicated and pulled in, allowing the car behind to pass her. Then she reversed back along until she came to the estate agent’s board and turned the car into the drive. There was no sign of life and she wondered if the house might be empty. She parked in front of the door which was sheltered by a pretty wooden portico painted in a soft green. The windows looked to be new but in sympathy with the 1930s red brick walls. Clare stepped out of the car and walked to a window. She peered in, trying to see if there was any furniture. It was a bright day which made it hard to see inside but she thought it looked empty. As her eyes adjusted to the light inside the cottage she saw a fireplace and French doors, leading into another room which she thought might be a dining room. The land fell as she walked round the house making it difficult to reach the other windows. A high wooden gate leading to the back garden was locked and she decided against trying to open it. A stone trough stood beside it, bearing some late-flowering tulips, their heads just beginning to droop. It seemed substantial enough so Clare hoisted herself up onto it, clinging to the side gate to help her balance. Over the top of the gate she saw a grass lawn, bordered on one side by mature shrubs. On the other side, a path of flagstones led to a garden shed, painted in the same soft green as the gate and the portico. Clare jumped down and walked back round, past the front door to the other side of the property where a single garage stood. It had also been built in red brick, but was clearly a newer addition.
She couldn’t see much more than that but what she had seen intrigued her. The sun was glinting through nearby trees, warming the walls, and for a few moments she forgot about Andy Robb, Bruce Gilmartin and Nat Dryden. She forgot that Jennifer Gilmartin was probably on the phone to DCI Gibson right now, complaining about her; most of all, she forgot that the family of the late Francis Ritchie were attempting to pursue her through the courts with every ounce of strength they possessed.
‘I want to see more of you,’ she told the house and she took out her phone to photograph the estate agent’s board.
She returned to the car and reversed out onto the road, turning back towards St Andrews. Up ahead, a lorry bearing the name Gilmartin’s Brewery was easing its way into the field where the Beer Bonanza was to take place and Clare followed it in. She could see that McMillan’s Brewery also had a lorry there, the driver busy unloading kegs and crates. A Portakabin sat off to the side. Clare parked the car and knocked on the door. It was opened by a tall man wearing a security uniform. He stooped under the doorway which had clearly not been built for someone his size. He scrutinised Clare. ‘Aye?’
An ID badge swung from a clip on his shirt pocket. Clare read the name – Iain Beharrie. She introduced herself, showed him her warrant card and he ushered her in. He pulled out two grey plastic bucket chairs and invited Clare to sit.
‘You here about Mr Gilmartin?’ he asked. ‘Terrible business.’
Clare ignored the question. ‘I’m after some information, Mr Beharrie.’
‘Aye?’
‘Can I ask about your security? On the site here. Do you have camera footage from last night? Say between eleven and one in the morning?’
>
Iain Beharrie shook his head. ‘Sorry, no. The stock only started arriving last night so we’ve not switched the cameras on yet.’
Clare tried not to let her disappointment show. She tried again. ‘Would there have been anyone on duty last night?’
The man moved to a chart on the wall. He traced along the dates. ‘That would be Ralph. Ralph Paterson.’
‘Times?’
‘Started at ten and finished at eight this morning. He’ll be in again tonight, probably the back of nine.’
‘I could do with speaking to him sooner, if possible.’
The man moved to the computer and tapped a few keys. ‘Just along the road in Strathkinness. I’ll write the address down. He’ll be asleep, mind.’
Clare smiled. ‘I’ll leave him as long as I can. Thanks for your help.’
‘No problem. I hope you catch the driver. Good man, Mr Gilmartin.’
Clare thanked him and headed back to the station where she found the DCI had left to escort Jennifer Gilmartin back to her house. She could just imagine a furious Jennifer telling him about Clare’s visit but she put this to the back of her mind. Time enough for that when he came back. She ruffled Benjy’s neck and was rewarded with a lick. Chris was making himself a mug of coffee.
‘Good news on the card SOCO found last night. There’s a thumb print on the underside and it matches with the number five card. Nothing on the top though – the card was starting to disintegrate with the rain.’
‘That’s something,’ Clare said. ‘Paint?’
‘Still working on it. They think it’ll be an older model but that’s not confirmed.’
She nodded. ‘Anyone with missing fingertips or likely Land Rover drivers?’
‘Sorry, boss, nothing concrete.’
She pulled a chair over and sank down. ‘I’ve upset Jennifer Gilmartin.’
Chris gave a low whistle and sat beside her. ‘DCI’s going to love you. What have you done?’
‘I asked if her husband might be involved in criminal activity. She took exception to that.’
‘Straight in with both feet, then?’
See Them Run Page 13