“D.I. Russell, to whit do we owe this pleasure?” he asked with a broad smile.
“Ken, how are you? It’s good to see you,” Russell said with genuine warmth.
“Ah’m not too bad. Whit’s an important person like yirsel’ daein’ doon the dunny?”
“I’ve been temporarily reassigned.”
“Whit?”
“Special Branch are in town and I think I might have upset them a wee bit.”
“Say nae mair.” Harris tapped the side of his nose. “Spy stuff. Ye shouldnae upset they boys, ye know. Ye could end up disappearin’ aff the face o’ the Earth wi’ nae questions asked.” He laughed although he did seem sympathetic to Russell’s situation.
“Basically, I’m here to tell you that I’m here all day. If anybody comes looking for me, I’m off to lunch or in the lavvy. If you catch my drift.”
“And what will ye be up tae really?”
“I can’t tell you, Ken. Just in case they torture you.”
Harris chortled. “It’s aw right ah cin take it.”
“I’m going to do some real policing and work the case the way it should be getting worked.”
“The George Square thing.”
“That’s the one.”
“It’s that bastard again, isn’t it?”
“I think so and this time I want to make sure I nail him.”
“Good luck, Tom. It’s time that he wis caught and punished for whit he did. Particularly efter whit he did tae the wee lassie.”
“Look, I need a wee bit of help before I can get started. Can you possibly get me some information from the HOLMES database? I need access to the names, addresses and phone numbers for some of the people involved with this latest incident. I can’t log in myself or the spooks will get me booted out of the service.”
“Sure, nae problem. Whit dae ye need?”
Harris logged into the computer and navigated his way to the case notes. Russell told him what he required and then jotted down the information as Harris supplied it. When he had everything he needed he said, “Thanks for that, Ken. Look after yourself.”
“You too, Tom.”
***
Russell had to know if there was a direct connection between any of the victims and the killer. He had already dismissed Ahmad as being the link. Even if there was a possibility that the mystery man from the Middle East was involved, there was little point trying to pursue it, as Special Branch would be focusing all their efforts in that direction. That left the other two victims as possible links and of those, Martin Jenkinson seemed to be the more likely.
Mr and Mrs Jenkinson lived in the Jordanhill area of the city. Their home was in the middle of a Victorian terrace fronted by small gardens. It looked safe and secure; far from the terrors of life in a big city but even here violence could reach out a grasping hand and throw lives into chaos.
When Russell rang the doorbell, he was hoping that a Family Liaison Officer wouldn’t open it because he didn’t want his private investigations to get back to the ears of the people who were now in charge of the case. He waited a few seconds before ringing the bell once more. He could see a figure approaching through the ornately crafted, stained-glass window of the front door. It swung open and an attractive young woman dressed in a sea-blue jumper and black jeans stood in the doorway. Her eyes were filled with sorrow and her complexion was hauntingly pale. Russell reckoned that she would be in her early twenties, but her grief was weighing heavily on her and had robbed her of some of her youth.
“Detective Inspector Russell, I wonder if I could have a few words.”
“Come in. We thought you would be here sooner.”
“It’s been very busy, there were a lot of witnesses and they were the initial priority.”
She seemed to accept an excuse that sounded weak to Russell’s ears but it was the best he could come up with a short notice. As she stood to one side, Russell entered the house. The young woman directed him to a door on the left of the hall.
When he walked into the room he found a middle-aged woman and another woman who could only be her daughter, so striking was the similarity between them.
“Mum, this is a detective from the police.”
“Tom Russell.” he said before adding, “I’m sorry for your loss Mrs Jenkinson.”
“Thank you, inspector. This is my oldest daughter, Caroline and my youngest, Josephine.” She indicated the older sister as being the one who had opened the door to him. He shook the hands of the siblings and was invited to sit on a long sofa.
“I don’t suppose you’re here to tell us that you’ve caught the person that murdered my husband?” She seemed strangely calm and Russell wondered if she was receiving help from her doctor to cope with the adversity she was living through.
“I’m sorry, but no.”
“What have you been doing that it’s taken you this long to come and speak to my mother? I thought when I flew up that you would already have been here to speak to her,” Josephine said sharply.
“Jo,” her mother rebuked.
“That’s fine Mrs Jenkinson, I understand your daughter’s concerns. You should have been allocated a Family Liaison Officer. Has that not been arranged?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry about that. I’ll get it organised when we are finished here. To answer your question, this is a very complicated investigation. We have three separate victims, a huge number of potential witnesses and our resources are finite. As this appears to be a completely senseless attack we have had to concentrate those resources on gathering information of those who were at the scene. It’s not normal procedure but this is not a normal crime.”
Mrs Jenkinson replied, “I understand. Now how can we help you?”
“This may seem a little strange but I need to know a little about when you first came to Scotland. Can I ask you when you first arrived in Glasgow?”
“What’s that got to do with who killed my father?” Josephine was on the attack again. Her mother’s calm was not mirrored in her raging daughter.
“If you can bear with me, I will explain,” Russell replied patiently.
After a short pause for thought, Mrs Jenkinson said, “Eh… we arrived in the January of eighty-three.”
“We have reason to believe that the killer is seeking revenge for something that happened in April of that year, to be precise on April Fool’s Day of that year. Can you think of anything that happened on that date that might be relevant to our inquiry? It may have seemed trivial at the time but it has significance for the killer.”
Josephine stood up angrily. “Oh this is ridiculous. How can my mother hope to remember something like that? It sounds like you don’t have a single idea why my father was killed and now you’re stumbling about in the ancient past trying to find something.”
“Jo, sit down and let mother think.” It was Caroline’s turn to try and rein in her sister’s misdirected grief.
“What is wrong with you? Can’t you see they’re incompetent and that they will never find out who killed Daddy?” She left the room abruptly.
“I apologise for my sister, inspector. She always was a bit of a drama queen.” Caroline’s statement unmasked a little of the family’s divisions.
“It’s quite understandable after all that has happened,” Russell conceded.
Mrs Jenkinson said, “I’ve been trying to think but I can’t remember anything. What kind of thing were you thinking of?”
“I don’t know. It could be an argument or a prank gone wrong.”
She paused for a few seconds before saying, “No, I honestly can’t think of anything like that. Martin wasn’t one for practical jokes and he was a very peaceable man. He wouldn’t get into a serious argument with anyone. He was a good man.” Her final sentence seemed to break the spell and for the first time she looked upset.
/>
“I’m sure he was, Mrs Jenkinson. It was a long shot, anyway.”
“Why did you want to know?” Caroline asked.
“Ten years ago there was a series of crimes that were directed at one person. The first of April 1983 was believed to be the date that had significance for the killer. I was wondering if there was any link between any of Tuesday’s victims and that date.”
“You think it’s the same killer?” she asked in surprise.
“We have reason to believe so, but I can’t give you any more details.”
“Is there anything else, inspector?”
“Not at the moment,” Russell said as he stood to leave.
Mrs Jenkinson felt the need to explain something before the detective left the house. “I was scared to come to Glasgow at first; the city has such a violent reputation but Martin persuaded me. I grew to love it and we made a good life here but it turns out my fears have been realised.”
“I know, Mrs Jenkinson and I will do everything in my power to ensure that there is some justice for your husband, I promise.”
“Thank you, inspector.”
Caroline escorted him to the front door. “I hope you keep your promise,” she said.
“I intend to. I’ll get that liaison officer organised. They should be in touch this afternoon.”
“Thank you.”
Russell walked back to his car, disappointed that a simple task like assigning the F.L.O. had not been done and irritated at himself for making excuses for the failings of an investigation which was heading in completely the wrong direction. When he had settled into the driver’s seat, he reached for his phone.
“Ellen, it’s me. Can you talk?”
“Just one moment, sir.” There was a pause and when she spoke again there was an echo. “I’m set.”
“Where are you?”
“In the stairwell. What do you want?” she said impatiently.
“Can you make sure that the Jenkinsons get an F.L.O. allocated to them as soon as possible, please?”
“Shit, has that not been done already?”
“No, they haven’t seen anyone. What’s going on?”
She spoke quietly as she answered, “The spooks have got us investigating every person from the Middle East that’s arrived in Britain in the past three months. They’ve already hauled in for questioning two poor Egyptian women and a journalist from Qatar. Stumbling about in the dark would be the best way to describe it.”
“It’s what they do. Why use a scalpel when you can use a chainsaw?”
“I take it you’ve been to see Mrs Jenkinson?”
“Yes and her daughters.”
“Anything useful?”
“No, it was a remote chance but it was worth the attempt. The younger daughter seems to blame us for her father’s death but that’s understandable.”
“Poor thing. Right I better get back. Where are you going next?”
“I’m going to track down the owner of the promotions company, if the attack wasn’t directed at one of the victims, it must have been directed towards him.”
“Good luck.”
The call over, Russell drove off in search of lunch before he would continue his own investigation.
Chapter 15
The company was called Gltz Events, Promotions and Marketing. Russell thought the dropping of the noun from the name was a bit pretentious and pretty stupid but he guessed that it was perfectly acceptable in the kind of circles the company would do business in. The offices were in West George Street, in an eighties structure of glass and steel. The lift door opened out onto a plush reception area where the company logo dominated the wall behind a very attractive young woman who beamed a false smile at Russell as he approached.
Warrant card in hand he said, “D.I. Tom Russell, I’m here to see Mr Hastings.”
Her smile faded a little. “I’m sorry, Mr Hastings isn’t in the office at the moment.”
“Can you tell me where he is? It’s very important that I speak to him.”
Russell could see her become flustered as she wondered what to tell him. “To be honest we’re not sure where he is. He was due back today from his trip to London but he hasn’t arrived and we can’t reach him on the phone. I thought maybe he had missed the last flight from Heathrow but the hotel he was staying at said he had checked out and not returned.”
“What airline was he flying with?”
“B.A.”
“And you’ve tried his phone?”
“Yes, but it goes straight to voicemail. It’s not like him, he likes to be in contact with the office at all times.”
“Does he live with anyone?”
“No, he was divorced from Mrs Hastings four years ago. There’s not been anyone since.” The wistful way she said it made Russell think that she was hoping that Hastings might cast his eye in her direction.
The detective’s thoughts were already turning to Deirdre Nichol’s body. The Harlequin may be following the same pattern by attacking Hastings’s company followed by killing the owner.
“Is there anyone who can tell me about the customer who requested the promotion in George Square?”
“One moment, please take a seat.”
Russell walked to a comfortable black leather chair while the receptionist picked up the phone. When the call was over she said to him, “Mr Davies will be with you in a moment.”
Five minutes later a harassed man in his early forties burst through a door and said with a distinct Welsh accent, “Detective Inspector Russell, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Bryn Davies. Please come through, we can have a chat in Gregor’s office.”
He was tall at well over six feet and his mass of long brown hair streamed behind him as his huge stride carried him down a corridor between the sectioned work areas. Each area had three or four desks that were separated from their fellows by brightly-coloured paneled screens. As he followed him, Russell could here the buzz of multiple conversations, phones ringing and keyboards clicking. Eventually at the far end of the larger workplace, Davies showed him into a smaller office that was behind a glass partition. When the door was closed, the noise suddenly disappeared. His host moved behind a very modern desk and invited the detective to sit. Russell settled into another comfortable chair and examined the man. He was dressed in a smart but casual grey shirt, a gold cross visible on the top of his breastbone between the open folds of the collar. The wrinkles around his eyes betrayed the fact that he was a little older than his hair and clothes suggested. He was tanned and looked to be healthy, the very picture of success.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Gregor’s got some nice malt whisky stashed away if you fancy something stronger than tea or coffee.” Davies said.
“No thank you, sir. Not when I’m on duty.”
“Of course, of course. I believe you’re looking for some information.”
“That’s correct, I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me a little about who commissioned the promotion on Monday.”
“I have the details here.” He flicked his hair away from his face as he lifted a piece of paper. “The company is called ‘Harlequin’s Tears’ and the promotion was a preview event for a new restaurant of the same name that is opening in July. The specification said that if it went well, we would be commissioned to organise three other similar stunts on the run up to the opening, as well as promoting the opening itself. I guess that won’t be happening,” he said with a sad smile.
“How were you paid?”
“Unusually, we were paid upfront by company cheque.”
“Did you meet anyone from Harlequin’s Tears?”
“No, it was all done over the phone and by e-mail.”
“Is that normal?”
“No, but it’s not unheard of. If people know us or have used us before they might just phone up and
book us again. There’s no need for the hard sell when people know what you can do.”
“How did you recruit the young people who took part in the event on Tuesday?”
“They were mainly drama students and some circus performers. The proposal said that we had to make it an engaging performance, so we sourced people with the necessary talents. The restaurant paid considerably more than we might have expected from that size of business, so we had to make sure that they got their money’s worth.”
“Did the contract specify the number of performers?”
“There had to be a minimum of sixteen people.”
“And it specified the costume?”
“The costumes were supplied and we received very specific instructions regarding the make-up.”
“And it had to be in George Square?”
Davies nodded. “Yes and at exactly that time. There was a huge penalty if we were late.”
Russell absorbed what he had been told. “Basically, you had to find the performers and make sure that they were in the right place at the right time. There was no real creative input from your team, is that correct?”
“Absolutely.”
“It seems strange to me that someone would pay you that amount of money for a relatively small amount of work. Didn’t you wonder about it?”
“To be honest, not really. When we’re working with large companies, they will often have a full plan in place that we have to act upon. When the sales team told me what had been offered and requested, I presumed that it was maybe a new chain of restaurants. I didn’t check the details I’m afraid, we’re in the fortunate position that we are very busy.”
The Harlequin Page 11