by Alex Walters
It was Saturday, but she was planning to head into the office in any case. With this investigation expanding by the day – not to mention the impending investigation into the death of David Kirkland – time off was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
She organised a taxi to retrieve her car. There was no sign of life in McKay’s bungalow, and after a moment’s hesitation, she decided not to disturb him. There’d be time enough to face him later.
The traffic was light back into town. From the Kessock Bridge, it looked as if the world had been washed clean by the previous night’s rain, the waters of the firth sparkling in the morning sunshine. The car park at HQ was almost empty, and inside, most of the offices were deserted for the weekend. The Major Incident Room for the investigation was a different matter. Despite the constraints on overtime payments, several of the team had made a point of coming in. It tended to be this way with any major investigation, and this had made a bigger impact than most.
Grant took a walk around the team, checking what was going on, what progress was being made. She made a point of reminding them not to push things too far, to make sure they got some rest over the weekend. Commitment was fine, but exhaustion wouldn’t help anyone.
She returned to her own office and logged on to her computer, ready to face the stream of emails that would already have accumulated. Even putting aside the current investigation, she had a mountain of administration to catch up with.
She was barely seated at her desk before her mobile rang.
‘Helena. Jacquie Green.’
Grant shouldn’t have been surprised. Green was famous among her colleagues for her dedication and long hours. The mystery was how she managed to balance this with bringing up three very young children. But then, Grant thought, that wasn’t a question that would even have occurred to her if Green had been male. ‘Jacquie. Hard at work on a Saturday morning?’
‘I’m guessing you might be, too,’ Green said. ‘There’s a lot going on.’
‘Aye, too much.’
‘I came in partly because I heard about what happened at Ginny Horton’s house. I understand this body we’ve got is her stepfather?’
‘Well, almost,’ Grant said. ‘He never married Ginny’s mother, so there’s no legal relationship. Not much of any kind of relationship, in fact.’ She never minded speaking openly with Jacquie Green.
‘I thought you’d want me to look at him ASAP,’ Green said, ‘in the circumstances.’
‘Appreciate that, Jacquie. At the moment, anything that makes our lives easier is welcome.’
‘I’m not sure I’m going to make your life easier,’ Green said. ‘Wish I could.’
‘I had a feeling you were about to say that.’
‘I’ve not have chance to do more than take a preliminary look so far. But a couple of things,’ Green said. ‘First, the cause of death was asphyxiation. Strangulation. Pretty much identical to Graham and very similar to Crawford.’
‘So, it looks as if this is part of the same pattern,’ Grant acknowledged. ‘It turns out that Kirkland’s an ex-copper too. And was once attached to Galloway’s team. This just gets bigger and bigger.’ She paused. ‘You said a couple of things?’
‘Well, maybe more than a couple. Next thing is that Kirkland wasn’t killed where he was found. The body was moved after death.’
Grant was silent for a moment. ‘You’re saying someone went to the trouble of dumping his dead body in Ginny Horton’s house?’
‘That’s the size of it.’
‘But why the hell would anyone do that? And, before you say it, yes, I know it’s my job to find that out.’
‘The final thing is that, although asphyxiation was undoubtedly the cause of death, there were a number of other lesions and injuries to the body. All of which occurred before death.’ Green paused, as if taking a breath. ‘I’d say he suffered before he was killed. There are also lesions on his wrists and ankles that suggest he’d been tied up.’
‘Jesus.’ Grant was thinking back to what Pete Carrick had said the previous night about Ally Donald’s body. ‘Have you had chance to look at the other customer we brought in last night?’
‘You’re keeping us busy over here, aren’t you? But, yes, I have. That was going to be my last point.’
‘Same cause of death? Same type of injuries?’
‘You have been told that nobody likes a smart-arse?’
‘More times than I care to remember.’
‘You’re spot on. Pretty much identical.’
‘Pete Carrick used the word “torture.”’
There was another silence. Finally, Green said, ‘I don’t think that’s an unreasonable description.’
‘Christ, what are we dealing with here?’
‘A lunatic,’ Green said. ‘With a grudge.’
‘Hell of a grudge after twenty-odd years.’
‘Aye, I’d say so.’
Grant ended the call and stared at her computer screen as if it might offer her some answers. All she ever seemed to get were more questions and an increasingly heavy workload. And she still had to decide what to do about McKay.
That thought brought her back to the mysterious Peter Horton. She really needed to check the records, see if anyone of that name had ever been employed as an officer here. But the HR offices would be closed until Monday, and she wouldn’t be able to gain access to the old Northern Constabulary files without their help. After a moment’s thought, she picked up the phone and dialled a number.
‘Control Room.’
‘DCI Grant here. Don’t suppose Charlie Willock’s on duty today, by any chance?’
‘Sergeant Willock?’ the operator said pointedly. Willock was old school and allowed only more senior officers to use his forename. ‘Aye, he’s in today. Did you want to speak to him?’
It took a moment to transfer the call. ‘Willock.’
‘Charlie, it’s Helena Grant.’
She knew that Willock really wanted to call her “ma’am,” but was smart enough to recognise it wouldn’t be welcome. His compromise was usually to avoid calling her anything at all. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Just want to pick your brains.’
‘Pick away, if you can find them.’
Willock was one of the oldest serving officers in the region, less than a year away from retirement, with a reputation for an encyclopaedic knowledge of the force and its employees. ‘Does the name Peter Horton ring any bells with you?’
‘Horton? As in your DS Horton?’
‘Same spelling, yes.’ Grant said. ‘With the force maybe twenty years ago.’
‘Officer or staff?’
‘Officer, as far as I know. Based in Inverness.’
‘No. Rings no bells at all. Pretty sure we’ve never had an officer of that name. Not in my time.’ He made it sound as if this period encompassed most of recorded history.
‘Staff member, then?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose. I couldn’t claim to know everyone who’s ever worked here. But I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone of that name. Where did you get it from?’
‘Just came up in conversation. Somebody reckoned he’d died in service.’
‘Ach, no, that’s nonsense.’
‘No, that’s what I thought. I wondered whether they’d got their wires crossed somehow.’
‘Completely crossed, I’d say.’
‘Aye, well. Thanks for the input, Charlie. You’ve confirmed what I thought.’
Whoever Peter Horton might have been, then, he’d never been an officer up here. The question was how much more of the story, if any, was actually true. Had Peter Horton existed? If he had, who had he been? And had he really died in a hit and run collision?
She dialled McKay’s number. ‘Alec? Helena. Recovered from the whisky yet?’
McKay sounded as if he’d only just woken up, but he often sounded like that, even in the middle of the day. ‘Aye, just about. How are you? I see you got your car.’
&nbs
p; ‘Aye. Thought it best not to disturb you.’
‘I wasn’t thinking straight last night. I shouldn’t have let you go home alone.’
‘Aye, well, let’s not go there, eh? We’d both had a dram or two too many.’
‘Long as you made it back safely.’
‘I’ve just been talking to Charlie Willock,’ she said.
‘Lucky you. That man can bore for Scotland.’
‘But he knows the Force. I was picking his brains about Peter Horton.’
‘And?’
‘He’s pretty sure that Horton was never an officer here. Couldn’t swear there wasn’t someone of that name employed in a staff role, but he’s no recollection of it. And the hit and run story sounds like complete bollocks.’
There was silence at the other end of the line. Then, McKay said, ‘Shit. I've just had a thought.’
‘First time for everything, Alec. Go on.’
‘You know I said I’d spoken to Craig Fairlie? I asked him what he remembered about Jackie Galloway as well.’
‘Oh, aye. This was you being discreet, wasn’t it, Alec? And?’
‘Well, maybe nothing. But it was when you mentioned the hit and run. With all last night’s excitement, I’d forgotten about it.’
‘Go on.’
‘Fairlie reckoned that in Galloway’s last few months in the force he got himself unduly worked up about the death of one Patrick O’Riordan. Hit and run death in the centre of Inverness.’
‘At about the time we’re talking about.’
‘Exactly. It’s another interesting coincidence.’
‘Why would Galloway be interested?’
‘Fairlie reckoned that Galloway was worried O’Riordan might be connected.’
‘Connected?’
‘Organised crime connections. Not local ones – that wouldn’t trouble Galloway. But something bigger.’
‘But why should that trouble Galloway, unless he’d been responsible for O’Riordan’s death?’
‘Good question.’
‘Was there any evidence that O’Riordan was connected?’
‘Well, presumably Galloway had nothing more than suspicions. Fairlie reckoned he found nothing. And Fairlie usually has the nose and sources to dig out anything if there’s anything to be dug. So, I’d say not. Except that there’s also the interesting fact that O’Riordan was Northern Irish.’
‘Ah.’
‘Again, may mean nothing. Lots of people are Northern Irish. Some of them are electrical fitters.’ McKay was silent for a moment, and Grant could almost hear him thinking. ‘One other thing,’ he said. ‘It just occurred to me. Fairlie said O’Riordan had a young daughter.’
‘And lots of people have young daughters.’
‘Aye. But not many get themselves killed in hit and run incidents.’
‘Fair point.’
‘Ach, it’s probably all nonsense. But strikes me as enough to justify some digging.’
‘Even if there’s something to be found, are we likely to be any more successful than Galloway and Fairlie were twenty years ago? It’s a long time ago.’
‘Sometimes, you just strike lucky.’
‘That’s the best you can offer, is it? That we might strike lucky.’
‘You never know,’ McKay said. ‘Like you say, there’s a first time for everything.’
50
In the end, Ginny Horton slept longer than she’d intended. She’d fallen asleep only as dawn was showing through the curtains, and she’d slept fitfully even after that. But she’d been physically and emotionally exhausted – it had been a long week even before the previous night’s events – and she’d finally fallen into a deeper sleep, waking only when her mobile buzzed loudly on the bedside table.
She thumbed the call button without even bothering to check the number. ‘Horton.’
‘Ginny. It’s Isla. Just letting you know I’m back in the land of the living.’
‘Oh, God. Sorry. I meant to call first thing. But I couldn’t sleep and then I overslept –’ In a mix of guilt and relief, she hardly knew what she was saying.
‘No worries. I thought you’d be worn out. You must have had a hell of an evening.’
‘How are you feeling?’
‘A bit sore-headed. But otherwise okay. Consultant’s just been round. He reckons everything’s fine. No concussion. No serious damage. So, I’m free to go, whenever you can pick me up.’
‘In that case, I’m on my way. Well, I’ll need time to dress.’
‘I think we’d all be grateful for that.’ Isla hesitated. ‘What’s the story, Ginny? What happened last night? No one here seems very keen to enlighten me.’
‘I’ll tell you when I get there,’ Horton said.
‘I’ve got no memory of anything. Just walking in the house, going in the kitchen and then – nothing. Were we burgled?’
‘It’s a long story,’ Horton said. ‘But, no. Nothing’s damaged or missing.’ Nothing physical at least, she added to herself. ‘I’ll get straight over there, and then, I can tell you all about it.’
She showered and dressed hurriedly, then jogged down the stairs two at a time, eager to get going. More than anything, she just wanted to put all this behind them.
Outside, the weather was glorious. There were buds breaking through on the bushes around the house, and spring was finally arriving. All of that felt like a harbinger of better things to come.
It was as she was locking the front door that Horton sensed the presence behind her. She couldn’t have said what alerted her – a scent, a sound, the movement of a shadow across her vision – but she suddenly knew she wasn’t alone. She moved to turn, already raising her hands, jutting keys clutched in her fist, preparing to defend herself.
But she was too late. Before she could move, the gloved hands closed around her neck and began to tighten.
51
Kelly had almost decided not to turn in to work. She was still disturbed by the previous night’s events – the conversation with Maggie, the even odder exchange with Callum in the car park. Now she didn’t know what to think.
Whatever the truth, it was their business. Kelly had no desire to get involved, not even to find herself the confidante of one or other of them. So, her first thought had been just to walk out after all. She was only a casual bar worker, and she’d be gone anyway in a couple of weeks.
But then she asked herself why she should do that. Why should she forego a job she enjoyed and the extra money it gave her, just because the Donnellys made her feel awkward? She wasn’t a quitter. She’d walked out from this place the previous year, but that had been unavoidable. She didn’t want to make it a habit. That way, she’d begin to believe it showed some flaw in her own character.
So, in the end, she turned up, punctual as ever. At least until the tourist season was properly underway, the place still tended to be relatively quiet at this time of day. For the moment, there were just three regulars sitting having a blether around the log fire at the far end of the bar. Maggie Donnelly was standing behind the bar, watching them.
‘Wasn’t sure whether you’d be back,’ she said as Kelly approached. It was impossible to read either her tone or her expression.
‘I don’t walk out on anything, unless I’ve a good reason to,’ Kelly said.
‘Maybe you’ve a good reason to.’ Maggie Donnelly was silent for a moment. ‘He spoke to you again last night, didn’t he? Outside.’
‘I –’
‘I know. You told him not to. You told him to go away.’
‘I did.’ Kelly was damned if she was going to apologise. Callum had approached her. She’d done her best to tell him not to. There was nothing else she could have done.
‘What did he tell you? That I get things out of proportion? That I’m jealous and paranoid about his behaviour?’
‘Something like that.’ Kelly could see no reason to deny it. It wasn’t her job to protect Callum Donnelly. ‘He said he hadn’t done anything. Which he hasn’t.�
��
‘Yet.’
‘Look, I’ve done nothing except try to do my job here. I’m not responsible for anything that Callum might or might not have done, here or anywhere else. For the record, he’s not behaved inappropriately with me. If he’s done things before – well, that’s none of my business.’ It was probably the longest speech she’d made to Maggie Donnelly. ‘But if you don’t want me working here – well, fine. I’ll go.’
Maggie Donnelly was watching her intently. ‘I think, in the circumstances, that might be best. Not because you’ve done anything wrong. But because of Callum. Because of what he’s capable of. When is it you go back to university?’
Kelly was momentarily thrown by the non-sequitur. ‘A couple of weeks. Why?’
‘If I pay you two weeks’ wages, does that sound fair?’
‘You don’t need to –’
‘None of this is your fault. If anything, it’s my fault. I thought Callum was – well, I thought he might have changed. But he hasn’t. He’s still the same. He still can’t be trusted. So, it’s better if you go. For your own sake. I’ll get the wages sorted and send you a cheque. We’ve got your address, haven’t we?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘That’ll be for the best. I’m sorry about this, Kelly. Like I say, not your fault. But you’re better off out of this.’
‘Well, I won’t argue. The money’s always welcome. Thanks again.’ She hesitated, looking past Maggie Donnelly towards the door into the kitchen. ‘Should I say goodbye to Callum? I feel a bit bad just leaving.’
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’ She gave what was presumably intended to be a smile, but there was no obvious warmth in it.
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ Kelly said. ‘I hope it all works out for you both.’
‘I’ve been with him a long time, Kelly. I know what he’s like. What he does. What he’s capable of. He needs keeping under control. I don’t think there’s anyone but me can do it.’