Geoffrey Dark occupied a temporary office in the old Duncan of Jordanstone Art College, now part of the university. Clare gave her name at reception and was directed to his office on the second floor. She struggled to hide her surprise when he opened the door. Instead of the crusty academic she had expected, she was faced with a tall, lean man in his late thirties, casually dressed in black jeans and a blue Oxford shirt. She was momentarily disarmed and suddenly quite nervous.
He smiled. A warm smile that lit up his face. He extended his hand. ‘Inspector Mackay?’
Clare smiled back. It was impossible not to. She cleared her throat. ‘Call me Clare.’
‘Clare, then,’ he said, adding ‘and you must call me Geoffrey.’ He stood back to admit her to his office and she moved past him into the room. Looking round, she thought it lacked the personal touch. There was a small pile of books on the desk beside a computer. A china mug stood on a coaster and next to it a Moleskine notebook with two very sharp pencils. A rather worn-looking brown leather briefcase stood to the side of his desk. Geoffrey Dark indicated a chair and Clare sat, her eye immediately caught by a painting on the wall opposite.
‘Morrocco,’ Geoffrey said, following her eye. ‘He was Head of School here, you know.’ He looked at it for a few moments. ‘Wonderful use of colour, don’t you think?’
Clare looked at it. ‘I’m afraid I know nothing about art, Mr Dark – sorry Geoffrey.’
He laughed. ‘But I’m sure you know what you like, and what you dislike. That’s a good place to start. The reasons for what you feel can be taught. But your innate taste is part of you. Never apologise for that.’
Clare hadn’t ever had a conversation like this. She recalled the artwork that had adorned the walls of her flat in Glasgow and blushed at the thought of them. Some were from IKEA, for God’s sake. She looked again at the painting and thought she would like to know more about it.
‘There’s an exhibition on next month. In Edinburgh,’ he said. ‘If you wanted to see more…’
‘Oh, I’m not sure,’ Clare said, quickly. She immediately regretted it. She must remember now that she was no longer part of a couple. And there was something about this man, the warmth in his eyes, his easy manner. She tried to rescue the situation. ‘Maybe, when work’s a bit calmer.’
He laughed. ‘I wasn’t offering – but I would be happy to take you; if you’d like to go, that is. I’ll give you my card.’ He reached into the hip pocket of his jeans and withdrew a wallet. ‘I must say, Inspector,’ he said, fishing out a small business card and handing it to her, ‘I am intrigued. I don’t think I’ve met a real detective before.’
Clare was relieved at the change of topic. ‘I don’t think I’ve met a real art expert before,’ she countered with a smile, taking the card and tucking it into her pocket. ‘It’s an unusual job, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘I was a cabinetmaker by trade, originally, then I took a degree in fine art and ended up specialising in sculpture which, of course, includes intricate woodwork,’ he explained.
Clare thought that, in different circumstances, she would very much like to hear him lecture, and perhaps more. But time was against her so she withdrew the photographs from the document wallet and spread them out on the table in front of him.
He scanned each photo closely. Then he rose and indicated for her to follow him. He led Clare down a corridor and into a room where a large magnifying panel sat on a desk. He flicked a switch and the panel lit up. He took a pair of tortoiseshell spectacles from his shirt pocket and perched them on his nose, bending down to peer at the photos.
‘It’s old,’ he said.
‘How old?’
‘Seventeenth or eighteenth century, I’d say. But I’ll have to check to be sure.’
He continued looking at the images then moved closer to examine the corner of one. ‘Aha!’
‘What?’
He lifted a pencil from a nearby table and pointed. ‘See this?’
Clare looked at part of an ornate wood panel. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘That little thing on the corner. It’s a peapod carved into the wood. You see how the pod is open and the peas are inside?’
Clare moved closer. ‘Oh yes. How clever. Is it unusual?’
‘Oh yes. It’s the trademark of a sculptor called Grinling Gibbons. He worked mainly in England. Windsor Castle, Hampton Court Palace. Now, it was his habit to include a carving of a peapod somewhere in his work. It was said that if the peapod was open, he’d been paid for the work and if it was closed he hadn’t. It’s quite clear here. There’s an open peapod. This is almost certainly Gibbons’ work.’
‘Does that make it possible to identify the building? Or at least narrow it down?’
‘It helps, yes. He died in 1721 so the building will pre-date that. There won’t be many around here of that age. But I’ll have to do a bit of research to find them.’
‘Will it take long? I’m trying to catch a murderer who, I am sure, will strike again very soon, possibly tonight.’
He looked at his watch. ‘I should be finished up here by four. I can do some reading then. Gibbons took only a few commissions in Scotland, so it should be possible to narrow it down to a small number of buildings. It would certainly be an old building and the owners at the time would have been wealthy. Gibbons’ work was highly regarded, for obvious reasons.’
‘Is there any chance of coming back to me by early evening?’
He removed his spectacles and smiled at her again. ‘I’ll do what I can.’
Having ascertained that he would lock the photos away securely, Clare took her leave of Geoffrey Dark, humming to herself as she left.
Outside she checked the map on her phone and saw she was only a couple of miles from Ninewells Hospital. She wondered if there was any sign of Nat Dryden waking up and called Sara who was stationed at the hospital, keeping an eye on him.
‘His sedation’s been reduced,’ Sara told her. ‘They’re trying to take him off the ventilator now.’
‘Is he responding?’
‘Coming and going, in and out of consciousness.’
Clare sighed. ‘No chance of interviewing him then?’
‘It doesn’t look like it.’
‘Okay, thanks, Sara. You need someone to relieve you?’
‘It’s fine, boss. The staff have been really kind, making me tea and toast and I have some food in my bag. Teresa will be along to take over in a couple of hours. Soon as he’s lucid one of us will be on the phone.’
Chapter 21
Half an hour later, Clare drew into the station car park. She was prepared for the press pack this time, pushing her way through them and into the station. Chris had also returned and was on the phone.
‘Clare’s just back, Diane. I’ll fill her in and she’ll call you if need be,’ he was saying.
Clare waited until he had finished. ‘So?’
‘Not much, really. Diane’s still looking at Fergus’s laptop but she has managed to get into his mobile. Only one number on it, though, and it’s untraceable. Probably a pay-as-you-go. He must have another mobile.’
‘Hm. Just the one number.’ Clare said. ‘Have you tried calling it?’
‘No. I wasn’t sure how you wanted to play it.’
Clare took out her phone and dialled the number and put the call on loudspeaker so Chris could hear. It went straight to voicemail. Clare left a message saying she had found this phone and wondered if the person she was calling could help her return it to its owner. Then she ended the call.
‘Not surprising, really,’ she said. ‘It looks as if Fergus has an accomplice.’
‘The person with the missing fingertip?’
‘Yes, I think so. Let’s recap the murders. Come through to the board.’
Chris followed Clare into the incident room where she indicated the photo of the first victim, Andy Robb. ‘Fergus has an alibi for Andy Robb’s murder. But the tyre tracks do indicate a Land Rover.’
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br /> ‘And we have one set of prints on the number five card. The prints with the missing finger.’
‘Don’t forget the footprint on his shirt. SOCO thought it was a woman’s shoe.’
Chris frowned. ‘And while the accomplice is running Andy Robb down, Fergus is safely in the hotel with a hundred wedding guests for an alibi.’
‘Exactly. Now, let’s assume for the moment that he has a female accomplice.’
‘I’m not sure where that gets us, though,’ Chris said.
‘Nor me, but let’s go with it. Then we have Bruce Gilmartin. Now Fergus could have committed that murder, and that would make sense because the number four card showed a different set of prints.’
‘Fergus’s?’
‘Could be.’
‘Want his laptop sent to SOCO? Bound to be prints on that.’
Clare considered. ‘On balance, I’d rather see what Diane can find, first. I’m pretty sure he is involved. Prints can be done once we have him in custody.’
‘Yeah, fair point. So, we have two killers and they’re taking it in turns?’
‘I think so. And I’m betting whoever isn’t driving the Land Rover makes damn sure they have an alibi for the time of the murder.’
‘Right then. We have the female – if it is a female – doing the first murder and Fergus the second. What about Nat Dryden?’
‘Fergus has an alibi for that, so we’re back to the female. And last night, of course, Fergus went AWOL.’
‘By that reckoning, it’s the female’s turn for the next one,’ Chris suggested.
‘I’m not so sure. Things have gone a bit wrong for them, with Nat surviving the accident. Fergus went out the back, remember, so he must have known his house was being watched. I don’t know how much he saw at the garage last night but he might have recognised me. If he did, he’ll know we’re on to him. Things are starting to go wrong and that’s when mistakes are made. Also, we have no idea who this female accomplice might be.’
‘What about the ceilidh band? They might know.’
‘Good thinking. I have the number of the band leader. Hamish. If I dig it out, would you mind giving him a call? See what he knows?’
‘Yep, no problem.’
Left alone in the incident room, Clare took out her own mobile phone to check for messages. Her sister had sent a video of baby James and she was smiling over this when the door opened and Drew Walsh came in.
‘Hi, Clare. Taking five?’
‘Yes, just a wee lull in proceedings. I’m waiting for a call back that might help place the building where the photos were taken. Sorry to keep your guys hanging around.’
He smiled. ‘It’s fine. Nice to have a bit of a breather.’ He hesitated, as though he was going to speak.
Clare fixed him with her eye. ‘Something on your mind, Drew?’
‘Aye.’ He paced up and down then took a seat next to Clare. ‘Obviously, I’ve heard, you know, about the Ritchie family wanting a private prosecution.’
‘Yes, so?’
‘Well, hopefully it won’t come to anything. And if it does, then I just wanted you to know that I’ll be in that witness box, backing you to the hilt.’
She looked at him. ‘Why do I feel a but hanging in the air?’
‘Thing is, there’s one of the squad who was there that day… The Ritchies are saying they’re going to call her as a witness for the prosecution. I just thought you should know.’ He struggled to meet Clare’s eye.
She was silent for a moment. ‘For the prosecution? Who? Who is it?’
‘It’s Pam.’
‘Pam Cassidy?’
‘Yes.’
‘But Pam and I started together. We were at police college at the same time. We’ve been pals for years. Why would she testify against me?’
He spread his hands. ‘It makes no sense to me. Something about you and her being torch bearers for armed female officers, and you shooting that lad has set the cause back years. I think she wants to show that females can be trusted with guns.’
‘She’s not here? Not in your team today?’
He hesitated. ‘Sorry, Clare. I’d no choice. I’ve three off sick and two abroad on holiday. But I’ll keep her out of your way. She’s in the van just now.’
Clare’s knuckles were white. She tried to remember her counselling sessions and relaxed her hands, taking a breath or two before she spoke. ‘So, a colleague – an officer I worked closely with, someone I thought of as a friend – she’s saying now that I can’t be trusted with a gun.’
‘I think that’s what she means, yes.’
‘And what about you? Were you relieved when I resigned from armed duties?’
‘Absolutely not. Had that lad Ritchie’s gun been real he could have killed us all. And there was no way of knowing. I’d have done the same as you.’
She looked at him. ‘Would you, though, Drew? Would you really?’
He couldn’t meet her eye. ‘Clare, you have to know I’m one hundred per cent behind you.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’ She scraped back her chair noisily and walked from the room.
Chris was bent over his desk as Clare approached. She felt her face burning. She stopped at the water cooler and poured herself a cup of cold water which she gulped down.
Chris looked up. ‘Boss, are you all right?’
‘Absolutely fine. Just finding out who my real friends are.’ She took a couple of deep breaths and went on. ‘Any luck with that ceilidh band leader?’
‘Well, yes and no. I managed to get hold of him but he didn’t have much to offer. He’s never known Fergus to have a girlfriend or any other kind of friend for that matter. Says he’s more likely to spend his nights playing computer games. To be honest, he seemed more bothered because he can’t get a hold of him and they have a gig on Saturday night. He muttered something about finding another accordion player, permanently.’
Clare’s phone rang and she snatched it up.
It was Diane Wallace. ‘Hi, Clare. Not good news, I’m afraid. Fergus Bain’s laptop – the hard disc is encrypted.’
‘Oh. Does that mean it’ll take longer to get into it?’
‘Till the end of time, I’m afraid. Unless someone builds a quantum computer in the meantime.’
‘So, we can’t get anything off it?’
‘Afraid not.’
Clare swore under her breath. ‘No matter, Diane. We’ll get him somehow. Thanks for trying.’ She hung up. ‘No go with Fergus Bain’s laptop. Diane can’t get into it.’
‘Not surprising, really,’ Chris said. ‘If he’s managed to find these men on the dark web then he clearly knows his way round a computer.’
‘Suppose.’ Clare fell silent. She was running out of options. At this rate, the killer would claim victim number five and then disappear from trace. Her phone began to ring again.
‘Clare? It’s Geoffrey Dark. I managed to wrap my lecture up early, as you said it was urgent.’
‘I appreciate that, Geoffrey. Any luck identifying the building in the photos?’
‘I’ve managed to narrow it down. There are three buildings within a forty-mile radius of St Andrews. One south, towards the East Neuk, one to the west, and the other to the north. There are others in Edinburgh of course, but I had the impression that would be too far for your purposes.’
‘I think so,’ Clare said, motioning to Chris to pass her a pen. ‘But I may come back to you on that. If you could just give me the details…’ She began scribbling down the names of the three properties on her notepad.
‘And…’
‘Yes?’
‘That Morrocco exhibition. If you do fancy it – well, I’d love to take you.’
Clare took a breath. ‘I’d like that very much.’
‘Good,’ he said, easily. ‘It’s a date. And now, I’ll leave you to your enquiries. It’s been a real pleasure, Clare. Hope to hear from you soon.’
She clicked to end the call, suppressing a smile. Chris raised an ey
ebrow.
‘Geoffrey, is it?’
‘Shut up, you. Get hold of Drew. We need to see the DCI now.’
The four of them squeezed into Clare’s office and she began to explain. ‘The photos of the so-called Playroom show intricately carved wood panelling. I’ve spoken to an expert in sculpture who has identified the carving as the work of a late seventeenth-century woodcarver called Grinling Gibbons.’
‘How sure is he?’ asked DCI Gibson.
‘Very. Apparently, Gibbons always carved a little peapod somewhere in his work and, as luck would have it, the photos show a peapod carved into the wood panelling in the room. Now Gibbons worked mainly in England and took on only a few commissions in Scotland. Long story short, he’s given me the names of three properties within forty miles of here that Gibbons worked on.’
‘Three?’
‘Yes, but I think we can discount one of them. It’s eight miles south of St Andrews. If you remember, Vicky Gallagher told us Andy broke down one Thursday night and wanted her car. She met him near a crossroads north of the town So, I’m pretty sure it won’t be that one.’
‘And the other two?’
‘The first is Gundor Lodge. I think that’s the one to the west.’
DCI Gibson typed the name into the search engine and a map appeared. ‘It’s near Newburgh.’
‘Would Andy Robb go to that crossroads if he was heading for Newburgh?’ Chris asked.
‘He might, if he was trying to avoid ANPR cameras,’ Clare said. ‘But it’s certainly not the quickest way.’
‘And the second one?’ DCI Gibson asked.
‘Mortaine Castle. That’s T-A-I-N-E, sir.’
The DCI typed this into the search engine. ‘Out towards Tentsmuir Forest,’ he said.
‘Which is close to the crossroads at St Mike’s, I think,’ Chris said. ‘I’d say that one was more likely.’
‘Possibly,’ Clare said, ‘but we can’t take a chance on it.’
‘Can you divide your men between the two?’ the DCI asked Drew.
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