See Them Run

by See Them Run (epub)

  ‘On it, boss,’ Phil said.

  She looked around. ‘We’re up against it here, guys. I think we all know by now that there could be a fifth murder very soon. The professor was found with one of those cards bearing the number two. The killer is counting down to his final victim. We have to get there first.’

  ‘What about Fergus Bain’s employers?’ asked Chris.

  ‘Good point. I think we’ll go over and speak to them. They might know where he’s hiding out. Right. That’s all. Keep your radios handy. You may need to come back to speak to Elaine. And I want you all to report in every hour. We must make progress before darkness.’

  Connor, Steve and Phil left, photos in hand and Chris set about co-ordinating the search for Fergus and his vehicle. Jim was manning the desk and catching up on paperwork. It was quiet in the station and Clare sat down to sift through the evidence they had so far. She couldn’t afford any more mistakes. She was lost in thought when the door opened and Elaine walked in.

  ‘Clare.’ She came towards her, smiling broadly. ‘I’m very pleased to see you.’ She unwound a Hermes scarf from her neck and shrugged off her coat. ‘Now, where might I find DCI Gibson?’

  Clare indicated the door to her office and moved towards it, but Elaine waved her back.

  ‘I’ll call you in when I’m ready.’ She swept into Clare’s office without knocking, closing the door behind her.

  Ten minutes later the door opened and Elaine motioned to Clare to join them.

  In the office, DCI Gibson’s expression was mulish.

  ‘Now, Clare,’ Elaine began, ‘DCI Gibson and I have discussed what happened yesterday and he has agreed there is no need to interview your colleagues. He accepts your actions were out of character and, providing you give your word there will be no further drinking on duty, he is prepared to let the matter rest.’

  Clare glanced at the DCI and he nodded briefly.

  ‘In return, I have said that you and I will meet again for a chat, either within two weeks or once the current investigation is concluded, whichever is sooner. We do, after all, owe a duty of care to you.’

  Clare had to hand it to Elaine. Like the Mounties, she always got her man. On balance, having to meet with Elaine to discuss her welfare, was a small price to pay for remaining in charge of the investigation and avoiding a formal disciplinary. She reckoned she’d now made an enemy for life of DCI Gibson but, again, it was probably worth it.

  ‘Thank you, Elaine and… thank you, sir.’

  The DCI gave Clare a nod and she escaped, having promised to keep in touch with Elaine. She returned to scrutinising the evidence when Chris appeared.

  Clare raised an eyebrow. ‘Search all sorted?’

  ‘Yeah. And I’ve just heard from Connor. He and Steve found the professor’s correspondence, neatly filed, including letters to his solicitor. I’m on my way round to see the solicitor now. Office is on South Street.’

  ‘Anything else of note at the cottage?’

  ‘Steve has a computer in the boot of his car. And the professor’s mobile phone. I’ll try to get someone to rush them down to Tech Support this afternoon.’

  ‘That’s priority, Chris. See if Phil can do it when he’s back from the Path lab.’

  Clare’s phone rang. It was Gillian, one of the uniformed officers stationed at Fergus’s cottage.

  ‘Boss, there’s a secure cabinet upstairs at the cottage. It’s unlocked and empty. Looks like a gun cabinet.’

  ‘Okay, thanks Gillian. I was pretty sure he was armed but it’s good to know.’

  Clare hung up then turned to her computer screen to look up a phone number which she then punched into her phone. With her hand over the phone, she said, ‘Hold on for a minute, Chris. I need to check something.’

  When the call was answered she said, ‘Can you check for a shotgun holder, please? It’s DI Mackay at St Andrews.’

  Chris raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Name please?’ the voice in Clare’s ear said.

  ‘Fergus Bain. Address is between St Andrews and Strathkinness. He’s a worker on – hold on a sec…’

  She put her hand over her phone again. ‘Chris, what’s the name of the farm Fergus works at?’

  ‘Woodknowe Farm.’

  ‘Woodknowe Farm,’ Clare repeated into the phone.

  ‘Hold on please.’

  While she waited Clare told Chris about the empty gun cabinet. ‘It more or less confirms my suspicions that it was Fergus at that garage last night.’

  Chris looked doubtful. ‘I get that, Clare, but what about the attacks on Andy Robb and Nat Dryden? Fergus couldn’t have done them.’

  ‘He must have an accomplice.’

  The voice in her ear interrupted their conversation.

  ‘Yes, I’m still here,’ Clare said. ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Fergus Bain,’ the voice began, ‘Number One, Woodknowe Cottages, Woodknowe Farm, St Andrews.’

  ‘That’s him,’ Clare said. ‘Is his licence current?’

  There was a pause and then the voice spoke again. ‘Expires at the end of next year.’

  ‘And the gun?’

  ‘Shotgun. Remington 870.’

  Despite the seriousness of her situation, Clare allowed herself a smile. She had been right about the gun. ‘Can you email me over a photo of Mr Bain please? And a copy of the licence?’

  ‘Of course, Inspector. Is it urgent or can you wait?’

  ‘Urgent, I’m afraid. He’s a murder suspect.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll email it to you now. Give me ten minutes.’

  Clare hung up the call. ‘Change of plan, Chris. Get Phil to call in on the solicitor for you, then ask him to head down to Tech Support after that. You are I are going to Woodknowe Farm.’

  She walked over to the desk where Jim’s head was still bent over a pile of papers.

  ‘Jim, can you alert all the cops out hunting Fergus that he is carrying a Remington 870 shotgun and should be treated as potentially dangerous? Update the DCI and make sure the message goes out to other stations too. At this stage, I’d say Fergus has nothing to lose.’

  Chapter 20

  Clare and Chris were met at the door of Woodknowe farmhouse by a large man dressed in a checked shirt, cargo trousers and stout boots. Clare introduced herself and Chris. The man held out a calloused hand.

  ‘Sam Walker.’

  They shook hands then followed him into the farmhouse kitchen. A kettle sat to the side of a range cooker. ‘Cup of something?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Clare said. ‘We won’t keep you long.’

  ‘Take a pew then.’ Sam indicated a bench seat in front of a dressed-pine table. A cream metal jug with some cut lilacs stood in the centre of the table, their scent filing the room. To the side was a laptop, its cable trailing across the floor to a wall socket. Next to it stood a large wicker trug full of long stalks of rhubarb. Sam moved the laptop and the flowers to the side and put the trug down on the floor, sweeping the table beneath it with his hand. Clare’s mouth began to water as she recalled her mother’s rhubarb crumble.

  They stepped over the bench and sat. ‘We’re hoping you might be able to give us a bit of background on Fergus Bain, Mr Walker. I understand he does some work for you?’

  ‘Call me Sam, Inspector. He’s not in trouble, is he, Fergus? He didn’t turn up this morning. It’s not like him. Matter of fact, he was going to look at this laptop for me. It’s been playing up and I need to update the farm accounts. I hope there’s nothing wrong.’

  Clare didn’t reply to this directly but said, ‘We’re keen to get in touch with him. Would you know if he has any friends or family he might be staying with?’

  ‘Not really. He’s always been a bit of a loner, Fergus. Brought up in a home, you know.’

  ‘A care home?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Don’t suppose you know which one?’

  ‘Somewhere down near Edinburgh I think. Not sure.’

  ‘No matter. Are his paren
ts still alive? Do you know why he was in the home?’

  ‘He never said. There’s an aunty, though. Well, I say aunty… more like one of those women you call aunty.’

  ‘So not a relative?’

  ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. Fergus used to say he was going to visit his aunty. Once I asked him was it on his mother or his father’s side. He just said it wasn’t like that. She wasn’t a real aunty. Friend of his gran, I think.’

  ‘So as far as you know, he doesn’t have any real family? Just this woman he calls aunty?’

  ‘Think so.’

  ‘Would you know where she lives?’

  ‘No, but it’s local. One day he said he was nipping round to hers to have a look at her washing machine. Leaking, he said. He went in his lunch break so I know it wasn’t far.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you remember which direction he went in? St Andrews or Strathkinness?’

  ‘Sorry, no.’

  ‘No problem. What about girlfriends? Or has he been married?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I’ve not seen him with girls. He’s out a lot, with the ceilidh band, you know. That tends to get in the way of a social life. Out most Saturday nights.’

  ‘Or boyfriends?’

  Sam spread his hands. ‘I really have no idea. All I can say is I’ve never seen him with anyone of his own age, boy or girl.’

  ‘What about his mobile? Do you have his number?’

  ‘Aye, hold on…’ He reeled off a number which Chris noted down.

  ‘Thanks, Sam,’ Clare said. ‘And you will let us know immediately if Fergus gets in touch? No need to let him know you’ve called us, though.’

  Sam looked worried. ‘He’s a good worker. I really do hope he’s not in any bother…’

  Clare smiled. ‘Let’s hope not.’

  They walked back to the car and, when Clare was sure she wouldn’t be overheard by Sam, she spoke. ‘What do you think?’

  Chris shook his head. ‘I don’t think he’s hiding anything.’

  ‘Me neither. Interesting about the laptop, though.’

  ‘Yeah, I noticed that. Our Fergus is good with computers.’

  ‘I’m starting to regret not fingerprinting him when we had him,’ Clare said. ‘Come on. Let’s call into the cottage. Check on the cops.’

  It was a short drive to Fergus Bain’s cottage. Clare rapped on the door and announced herself. One of the cops came to the door.

  ‘Turned up anything?’ she asked.

  ‘This.’ The officer held up an evidence bag containing a laptop. ‘And this.’ He held up another bag which, to Clare’s dismay, held a mobile phone.

  Clare took out her own phone and punched in the number Sam Walker had given her. Seconds later the phone in the bag began to vibrate and ring.

  ‘Dammit. Either he’s out without a phone or he has another one. I bet it’s a pay-as-you-go. Bang goes our chance of tracking him through his mobile.’

  ‘We can still look at his call and text records,’ Chris pointed out. ‘It’s a start.’

  ‘Suppose so. Chris, can you get Phil on the phone, if he’s not already left? Tell him there’s something else for Tech Support. No sense in making two journeys. Tell him to ask for Diane, mention my name and say we need the whole lot turned round this afternoon, if possible.’

  * * *

  DCI Gibson phoned in a request for an Armed Response Unit and it arrived just after one thirty. As the ARU team were being briefed by Chris, the DCI took Clare into his office.

  ‘I need to know, Inspector, if you’re comfortable working with armed officers, given the incident with that lad Ritchie.’

  Clare had been thinking the same thing. But she knew she couldn’t go through the rest of her career avoiding firearms incidents; no way was she going to give the DCI an excuse to keep her in the office. And it wouldn’t be her finger on the trigger, if it came to it. She would do this and she would get through it.

  She looked him straight in the eye. ‘Absolutely, sir.’

  He raised an eyebrow but said no more on the subject. ‘Right then, ask the ARU commander to join us.’

  Inspector Drew Walsh entered the room and sat in the chair Clare offered. ‘Good to see you again, Clare. You’re looking well. How do you like it here?’

  ‘It’s a lovely place, Drew. It doesn’t have the buzz you get in Glasgow but you can have enough buzz.’

  ‘I’d say a serial killer armed with a shotgun’s enough of a buzz for most folk.’

  She smiled. ‘Good point.’

  ‘So, to business. If you could bring me up to speed?’

  Clare ran through the events of the past week, from Andy Robb’s murder up to the discovery that Fergus’s shotgun cabinet was empty.

  ‘And you’ve no idea where he is?’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ Clare said. ‘I’ve just spoken to his employer but he wasn’t able to help.’

  ‘I’m not keen to keep my officers hanging about on stand-by if he’s gone into hiding.’

  ‘We can be pretty sure that he has one more target in his sights. The men he’s been picking off appear in photos showing paedophile activity, and we believe he has one more to go.’

  ‘Do you have photos of his next target?’

  ‘No. We think he was the one taking the photos.’

  ‘EXIF data?’

  ‘Nope. Either the location has been removed or the camera didn’t have GPS. But we do know they were all taken on Thursday nights. From what we can gather, these men met and carried out their activities on Thursdays.’

  ‘So, tonight,’ Drew said.

  ‘That’s right. But as we believe all four men in the photos have now been killed, I’m not sure if anything will happen tonight. If I were the last man standing, I’d be keeping my head down.’

  ‘How does our man – what’s his name?’

  ‘Fergus Bain. He’s a farm worker and accordion player. Bit of a loner. Lives in a cottage out on the road to Strathkinness.’

  ‘How does he know where to find them? Who they are?’

  ‘We believe he hacked into a website on the dark web where these activities were arranged. We’ve recovered information from a couple of the victims’ laptops. There’s a search of Mr Bain’s house going on now. So far, we’ve recovered a mobile and a laptop. Both should be down at Tech Support in the next hour or so.’

  Drew Walsh rose. ‘Right, then. We’ll stick around here. I can put a few of my men out and about just now, keep an eye out, that sort of thing.’

  Clare frowned. ‘I’m not sure I want armed officers on the streets of a small town like St Andrews. It might cause unnecessary panic. I don’t believe he’s a threat to the general public.’

  Drew turned to DCI Gibson. ‘It’s your call, then.’

  The DCI looked at Drew. ‘It’s not ideal, either way.’ He turned to Clare again. ‘Am I right in thinking the doctors plan to try and wake Mr Dryden today?’

  ‘I think so, depending on how he is,’ Clare said.

  ‘And we might get the chance to interview him?’

  ‘Possibly, if we go in softly.’

  ‘Right. Hold off your men in the meantime, Drew. Let’s wait and see if the Inspector, here, can talk to Mr Dryden.’

  Drew nodded. ‘Fair enough. Could we meet again, say, at four o’clock? Five?’

  Clare checked her watch. ‘Let’s say five. The hospital’s forty minutes’ drive away and we don’t want to be rushed if they do allow us to speak to him.’

  Clare sent Chris out in a car to help with the search for Fergus and his Land Rover. When he had gone she went into the incident room, strangely quiet with almost everyone out searching. She angled the window blinds to allow some natural light in and sat down at a desk, firing up the computer. She navigated her way to the file of photographs taken from Andy Robb and Nat Dryden’s laptops and began swiping through them, moving to the folder she had called UK1 for the unknown man. From what she had seen last night, the hair was the same as Professor H
arris’s, and it seemed likely that he was the unidentified man from the photos. Clare found it hard to feel any sympathy for any of the four men, but she had to set that aside. There was a job to do and she would far rather the fifth man stayed alive long enough for them to prosecute him for his part in the paedophile ring.

  She clicked aimlessly through the photos again. She knew the images off by heart now; they were hard to forget. But was there anything else they could tell her? She began looking at the background detail. The furnishings, the lights, the walls – some of the walls were panelled in ornately carved wood, quite distinct in places. There were garlands of leaves and flowers, more detailed than Clare could ever recall seeing anywhere. Could that help them identify the location of this so-called Playroom?

  She began searching online for experts in historical wood panelling. The results were worldwide so she narrowed the search to Scotland and trawled through the pages which appeared.

  The same name kept coming up, a man called Geoffrey Dark. Might he be able to help? Clare searched for his contact details and found his website. He was based near Perth, but it looked as if he was a guest lecturer in Fine Arts at various universities in Scotland, including Dundee, just eleven miles away.

  She picked up the phone to call the university.

  Geoffrey Dark was giving a lecture in Dundee that afternoon but he said that if Clare could get over before one thirty he would be happy to look at the photos. She checked her watch. It was midday.

  She picked up the folder of photos and selected half a dozen with the youngsters cropped out.

  ‘Back in an hour or two,’ she called to Jim and emerged into the sunshine. It was warm now, a perfect spring day and she drove past verges planted with tulips and narcissi, incongruous with the grim events of the past few days. And the murders, of course, were only half the story. Who were the youngsters in the photos? How had they come to be there? And where were they now? Were they anticipating another Thursday night, somewhere in north-east Fife? Another night of being abused by men? But of course there was only one left now. One of the five. ‘Where are you, number one?’ she muttered to herself. ‘Where?’

  She drove on, joining the Tay Road Bridge which led into the centre of Dundee. The city, set on the slopes of an ancient volcano, loomed up as she neared the end of the bridge and took the left slip-road alongside the V&A Gallery and out towards the west end of the city, and the university.