‘Got her?’ Clare asked when he had finished the call.
‘Yup.’
A cheer went up around the room and the pizza man took a bow. Clare handed him her credit card and he produced his card reader. She tapped in her number then checked her watch. ‘I doubt they’ll be here much before half seven,’ she said. ‘Let’s eat and relax for a bit. We’ll need our wits about us when she arrives.’
The atmosphere in the station had lifted. Chris sat, chatting to Sara, doubtless enjoying the fact that Clare had sent the Edinburgh lads home. Clare watched them for a few minutes. Chris was laying the charm on thickly and Sara didn’t seem to mind. She wondered if she was watching the start of something. Benjy had been driven crazy by the aroma of pizza. Clare asked Gillian to go out and buy him some dried dog food while she gathered her thoughts. It was going to be a long night.
She carried the remains of her pizza into one of the interview rooms and closed the door. She’d have to be well prepared for Jennifer Gilmartin’s interview. Clare knew now that she had the DCI’s full backing but she was still oddly nervous about it. Perhaps it was the closeness they had shared in Jennifer’s kitchen. That time when she had said to Clare she doubted they would meet again. Had she been planning to do a runner, even then? Realising what was happening to the five men, she must have known the police would find their way back to her door, eventually. Or was it the text message from Edward Collinson that had tipped her off? It didn’t much matter now but Clare knew she’d have to have her wits about her.
* * *
Jennifer Gilmartin arrived at the station shortly after her solicitor. From the set of her jaw, Clare could see that Jennifer had no intention of co-operating. She showed the pair into an interview room and left them to speak for a few minutes. The DCI, she noticed, was keeping well out of the way and she had asked him to keep Benjy in her office.
‘I don’t want any distractions,’ she said, handing over the lead and he agreed. After consulting with Jennifer, the solicitor told Clare her client would exercise her right to silence. Clare nodded at this and began by cautioning Jennifer under the Sexual Offences Act.
Jennifer made no reply, staring at the wall above Clare’s head. Clare went on.
‘I understand you have been involved with children in residential homes,’ she said, ‘and that you’ve taken them on outings. In a minibus.’
Jennifer said nothing.
‘Mrs Gilmartin, we have a witness who will testify that you took ten children out in a minibus each Thursday evening. Initially, these outings were to gyms and swimming pools. Is that correct?’
Jennifer shrugged and began examining her manicured nails. Clare carried on.
‘We have another witness who has given us a signed statement asserting that these outings changed at some point; that, instead of visiting sports centres, you drove the children to Mortaine Castle, near Tayport. Is that correct?’
‘A witness?’ Jennifer said, suddenly, her eyes burning. ‘You mean one of those kids? You’ve dragged me here, all the way from Glasgow airport on the word of some kids from a sink-estate?’ She laughed, and leaned across the table, her face close to Clare’s. ‘Oh Clare – you’ll have to do an awful lot better than that.’
Clare caught a whiff of her perfume. Not one she recognised. She held Jennifer’s gaze. ‘Do you deny it?’
‘Absolutely. If you think for one minute a court would believe the likes of Jasmine Greene…’
‘You admit you know Jasmine, then?’
Jennifer’s sat back in her seat. ‘Of course I know her. And I know what she is. What they all are. Little whores. Do anything for a packet of fags, that lot. Well, whatever they’ve told you, it’s a pack of lies.’
Jennifer’s solicitor laid a hand on her arm and she sat back again.
‘What sort of thing might they do for a packet of fags?’ Clare asked.
Jennifer shrugged.
‘You called them,’ Clare hesitated, ‘little whores.’ She looked directly at Jennifer. ‘Why did you use that term?’
‘What would you call them?’ she snapped.
‘I’d call them children.’
‘That just shows how little you know,’ she said. ‘My father, in case you are unaware, was a high court judge. Saw all sorts. Many a good man brought down by lying, scheming little tarts. Boys and girls. Do you think for a minute I had to force any of these kids? That they didn’t do it willingly?’
Again the solicitor put his hand on Jennifer’s arm but she shrugged it off. Something had snapped within her and she was past reason now.
Clare said, ‘Mrs Gilmartin, what would you say if I told you that the man who murdered your husband had himself been systematically abused as a child? That he lived daily with the physical and psychological consequences of what he had endured? What is your reaction to that?’
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’d say, Clare, that it was a trendy excuse these days. All this bloody Me Too, crap. It’s complete rubbish. Face it. Everyone likes sex. You like it – I like it! If we didn’t, mankind would have died out long ago.’
Clare shook her head. ‘This wasn’t sex. It was abuse. How could you allow your husband – your own husband – to participate in these acts? How could you share your life – share your bed – with a man like that? Dammit, you drove the children there yourself!’
Jennifer laughed. ‘Oh Clare. Don’t be so high-minded. Bruce had his appetites. I had mine.’
‘You had affairs?’
Jennifer sat back and crossed her legs. ‘Of course. Mine happened to be with consenting adults. But Bruce – well his tastes were different, shall we say.’
‘And you didn’t mind? You didn’t mind helping him to abuse minors?’
‘My goodness, Clare. You’ve a lot to learn about men.’
Clare made an effort to control her voice. ‘Why don’t you educate me.’
In a further attempt to quiet his client the solicitor interjected ‘Mrs Gilmartin, I must advise—’
Jennifer’s hand came up to silence him and a smile crossed her face. ‘Clare, It’s like this. Bruce, you know, was a good businessman. He knew about brewing and he knew how to make it pay. That meant we had a nice life.’ She fingered a diamond engagement ring, as if to prove the point. ‘You’ve seen the house. Holidays too. Money for the finer things, you know.’ She brushed a speck of dust from her jacket. ‘We had standing. When we went places. On Bruce’s arm, I was someone.’
‘And?’
‘And – he liked young girls.’ She stopped for a moment, then went on. ‘He was rather stupid about it. There was an incident, you see. In a public lavatory.’ She shook her head.
‘You didn’t think of leaving him?’ Clare asked.
Jennifer looked surprised. ‘Certainly not. I had far too much invested in my marriage. I wasn’t about to throw it all away because Bruce couldn’t keep his hands off a few young girls.’
‘And so?’
Jennifer met Clare’s eyes. ‘And so, I decided to manage it for him.’
Clare stared. ‘Manage it?’
‘Indeed. I knew about the place in Cupar. I started taking the youngsters out on Thursdays. The gym, swimming, bowling sometimes.’
‘A hell of a risk, surely,’ Chris said. ‘What if one of them had told the staff?’
Jennifer laughed. ‘Oh sergeant. Have you forgotten what it’s like to be a teenager? Kids love the idea of sex. Talking about it, boasting about it, even if they’ve no experience. I just casually mentioned STDs one night and that got them talking. Full of it, they were. Once I dangled the idea they didn’t take much persuading. Amazing what they’ll do for a pizza and a few quid.’
Clare shook her head. ‘So, you are saying that you arranged these evenings to satisfy your husband’s appetite for sex with minors? To keep him from being caught elsewhere?’
Jennifer shrugged. ‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘And the other men?’
‘That was Bruce�
��s idea. It made sense too. They paid. I gave the kids a few quid to keep them quiet and tucked the rest away for a rainy day.’ She smiled again. ‘Win win, really.’
Clare could feel anger rising and she fought to control her voice. ‘And that website – the Playroom?’
‘Oh it’s good, isn’t it? I was so pleased with how it turned out. Amazing what you can learn online.’
Clare could hold back no longer. ‘You’re – despicable. Utterly contemptible.’
Jennifer’s face darkened and she leaned across the table. ‘Well, at least I haven’t shot anyone, Clare!’
Clare started towards her but Chris held her back. ‘She’s not worth it, boss.’
Clare scraped back her chair, her face scarlet. ‘Interview terminated at—’ she glanced at the wall clock, ‘—eight thirty pm.’ She switched off the machine and turned to leave, Chris at her back.
As they reached the door, Jennifer called, ‘I suppose a decent cup of tea’s out of the question? This stuff’s like dishwater.’
* * *
‘She’s been charged and she’ll be up in court on Monday, along with the others,’ Clare told the DCI after Jennifer had left the station.
‘How was she?’
Clare’s jaw was clenched. ‘If you’ll pardon me, sir, she’s a fucking psycho. All grace and charm on the surface but she’s organised a paedophile ring to keep her marriage together. To begin with she wasn’t even going to say anything. Then she completely flipped. Went off on a rant about these kids being whores and how the Me Too movement was a lot of crap. It’s the most bizarre interview I’ve ever done.’
‘Think she should see a psychologist?’ the DCI asked.
Clare spread her hands. ‘I’m no expert. But if I was her defence solicitor I’d probably have her examined. She sounded quite unbalanced in there.’
‘I agree,’ Chris said. ‘But I think she’s more than aware of what she’s done. She’s just not sorry.’
The DCI sat back in his seat. ‘You think you know someone…’
Clare didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, she said, ‘We’ll have to go through the charges with a fine-toothed comb. I’d bet both Collinson and Jennifer Gilmartin will hire the best legal teams money can buy.’
The DCI nodded. ‘Any news on Fergus Bain’s accomplice?’
‘Not so far. Connor, Steve and Phil were chasing up all the girls who were at Garthley House at the same time as Fergus, even for a few weeks, but it’s a long job. I’ve sent them home now anyway. Get a fresh start in the morning.’
The DCI looked at Chris. ‘You get off home too, son. I just need a word with the Inspector.’
Chris smiled. ‘Thanks, sir. Just a couple of things to finish up then I’ll get away. See you in the morning, Clare.’
When he had closed the door, the DCI said, ‘You look tired, Clare. Last night catching up with you?’
He had called her Clare. Miracles did happen.
‘I’m okay, sir. Just been a busy few days. And, to be honest, I’m angry with myself. Angry that I didn’t suss Jennifer out when I spoke to her before. I’ve always trusted my instincts but they let me down this time. Maybe I’m losing my touch…’
DCI Gibson shook his head. ‘Clare, she pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. The social worker, me – for God’s sake! I’ve known the woman twenty years and I had no idea.’
‘Suppose. I’m just annoyed with myself.’
‘Stop that now,’ he said. ‘You’ve done a bloody good job here. I admit I had my doubts but you’ve proved me wrong. I’d be happy to work with you any time.’
It really was Miracle Season, Clare thought. ‘Thanks, sir.’
‘Ach, call me Al. Everyone else does. Anyway, you’ve broken the back of this case,’ he went on. ‘And a paedophile ring, to boot. It’s getting late now. I think you should go home and get some sleep. We’ll sort the paperwork out tomorrow, Sunday at worst. And, after Sunday, I’ll be back in Edinburgh. Give you your office back.’
This was possibly the best news she’d heard all day. She headed for the door, stopping only to pick up Benjy’s lead.
‘Night all,’ she called and stepped out into cool May evening. The sun had gone behind clouds and it looked as if there might be rain overnight. She smiled at an elderly woman making her way across the car park as she unlocked her car.
She opened the door for Benjy. He climbed in and onto the passenger seat where he sat looking out of the window. And she very nearly made it. She nearly managed to drive out of the car park and go home for a relaxing evening. But, as she inserted the key and started the engine, the door of the station opened and Chris motioned to her to come back inside.
Chapter 27
‘I’ve put her in Interview Room Two,’ Chris said. ‘The DCI wants to sit in.’
Clare waved Benjy back towards the counter and he jumped up, taking his usual place. ‘Do we know who she is?’ she asked Chris.
‘Name’s Rena Bishop. Says she’s Fergus Bain’s aunt.’
‘The friend of his gran’s? The one who isn’t a real aunt?’
‘Think so.’
‘Then I’d better see her.’
Chris put a hand on her arm, to stop her. ‘There’s something else though.’
‘What?’
‘She’s missing the tip of the middle finger on one hand.’
Clare, DCI Gibson and Chris squeezed into the interview room and sat in front of the desk. On the other side sat the elderly woman Clare had seen crossing the car park as she left the station a few minutes earlier. Clare glanced at the woman’s short, middle finger. After all their legwork, Chris, the Edinburgh lads – even some of the Vice cops – poring over Social Work records for hours, all that work, then this. The owner of the fingerprints simply walks into the station and presents herself. It beggared belief.
Clare regarded her with some interest. She looked to be in her seventies and had the bearing of an elderly schoolmistress. Her silver hair was lightly permed and her face, while lined with age, was alert. She was spare, as if her bones would snap with the slightest touch. She sat, ramrod-straight in her chair, her hands folded in front of her.
Clare cleared her throat and began.
‘Mrs Bishop, I am Detective Inspector Clare Mackay. This is Detective Chief Inspector Gibson and this gentleman is Detective Sergeant Chris West. I understand you wish to make a statement.’
‘First of all, Inspector, it is Miss Bishop. Miss Rena Bishop.’
‘My apologies, Miss Bishop. Perhaps you could tell us what you would like to say?’
‘I wish to confess to three murders and to one attempted murder.’
Clare looked at Chris and the DCI but before she could speak Miss Bishop spoke again.
‘I killed all of them,’ she went on. ‘The chap at the wedding, then that brewery man…’
Clare interrupted her. ‘Miss Bishop, before we go any further, I need to caution you formally and I strongly suggest you have a solicitor present.’
‘I assure you, Detective Inspector, I have no need of a solicitor.’
‘Nevertheless, I would like you to have the duty solicitor at least, if you don’t have one of your own.’
She unfolded her hands and began twisting a ring on her finger. ‘Very well. If you insist, I’ll write down my solicitor’s details. But please note I do not intend to contradict anything I have just said.’
Rena Bishop’s solicitor arrived half an hour later. Clare asked Chris and DCI Gibson to stay and emphasised that if Rena felt unwell at any time the interview could be suspended.
‘I am perfectly well, Detective Inspector,’ she snapped. ‘I simply wish to have this over and done with.’
Clare nodded. She went through the usual preamble for the tape, then cautioned Rena who replied that she understood the caution. Clare then asked what she was confessing to and Rena reeled off the murders of Andy Robb, Bruce Gilmartin, Bertram Harris and the attempted murder of Nat Dryden. She was precise
about dates and times, locations, the numbered cards placed on the victims’ chests; in fact, she was accurate in everything she said.
‘Miss Bishop,’ Chris began with a smile, ‘we found some footprints at the murder sites. Would I be correct in guessing you take a size four or five in a shoe? You have quite a slim foot, I think.’
The first flicker of doubt passed across her eyes. Brief and then it was gone. But it didn’t escape their notice.
‘Sometimes it gets muddy,’ she said, ‘and I have larger boots you see. Men’s boots. Keep them in the Land Rover.’
‘And did you use these boots at any of the crime scenes?’
Her gaze was once again steely. ‘I may have done.’
‘Can you recall which?’ Chris persisted.
‘The brewery one. The chap Gilmartin.’
‘So, after running Mr Gilmartin over, you climbed down from the vehicle, wearing the larger boots.’
‘That is correct.’
Chris paused for a moment. ‘The thing is, Miss Bishop, that the Gilmartins’ drive was gravel. And there was no rain the night Mr Gilmartin was run over, or the day before. So, the drive would not have been muddy and there would have been no need for the large boots. We didn’t actually find any footprints that night. Furthermore, we already have a suspect in custody who has confessed to the murders of Bruce Gilmartin and Bertram Harris. So I’m afraid your statement is untrue.’
‘Fergus did none of them,’ she said. ‘He’s trying to protect me.’
‘I didn’t mention any names,’ Clare said, watching Rena carefully.
They waited for a response. Rena Bishop pursed her lips and her solicitor leaned forward. ‘I think, officers, I should like to consult privately with my client.’
The three of them rose and left Rena and her solicitor to speak.
‘What do you make of that?’ Clare asked the DCI.
‘At a rough guess I’d say she wants to spare Fergus prison. She knows what he’s been through and wants to take the blame.’
‘But she must know he wouldn’t let her do that. He wouldn’t tell us anything about his accomplice. I’m not even sure I believe her.’
See Them Run Page 27