The First Cut (Terrence Reid Mystery Series Book 2)

by Mary Birk

Reid remembered hearing that Barbara Ramsey had a drinking problem, although needing a drink after receiving such news certainly didn’t do anything to confirm that. Reid could have used a drink himself.

  The young man hesitated just a moment, then got up.

  Barbara Ramsey’s soft sobs resumed, hiccuping through the room. She quieted only when her son returned and handed her a tall glass filled with vodka. She downed almost half of the glass’s contents before stopping for air.

  Bert’s face was somber. “I think I’d better call the doctor and let my mother rest. This has been a shock. Can the rest of this wait until tomorrow?”

  “I’ll come back tomorrow, but I have a few questions that can’t wait.”

  “What questions?” Bert’s voice was neither impatient nor particularly interested.

  Reid didn’t answer, but instead directed his first question to Barbara Ramsey. “When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Ramsey?”

  She looked at him blankly, then said, her voice quavering, “Last night.”

  “What time?”

  “I’m not sure, but it was at dinner. I wasn’t feeling well so I went up to bed right after the soup, I think?” Her eyes went to Bert as if for confirmation of her statement, and Reid realized she’d probably been many sheets to the proverbial winds and wasn’t sure of her movements.

  Her son nodded. “Actually, it was before the soup. Dad took her upstairs, then came back down to finish dinner.”

  “Did he mention to either of you that he was planning to go out later last night?”

  Bert shook his head, answering for them both. “No.”

  “When did you see your father last, Bert?”

  “I didn’t see him again at all after dinner. My girlfriend was here, and we went up to my apartments directly after we finished eating.”

  Reid directed his next question at both Bert and Barbara Ramsey. “And this morning? Were you surprised he wasn’t here?”

  Barbara Ramsey sniffled and gave her head a little shake.

  Bert gave more of an explanation. “He usually goes in to work early, even on the weekends. He and Mother have separate rooms, and she sleeps late, so he’s generally gone when she gets up. I usually go in to work early as well, but not on Sundays, though this morning I was up early to take Patty home.”

  “Did Mr. Ramsey mention to either of you that he was assisting the police in an investigation?”

  Bert frowned. “I don’t understand.” He looked at his mother for her answer. Her face tightened as if she were trying to comprehend what she’d heard, then she shook her head and tilted the glass to her lips, draining it.

  Reid rose to leave. “We can talk about that later.” He motioned to Allison to follow him. “I’ll call tomorrow morning to set up a time to come back.” He hesitated, then spoke, his tone deliberately nonthreatening, “Would you be agreeable to letting my people examine Mr. Ramsey’s office, and other parts of your home, for evidence?”

  “Evidence?” Barbara Ramsey turned confused eyes toward her son.

  Reid focused his attention on Bert, knowing it would be him from whom permission would come. “It’s routine in an unexplained death of this nature.” He blessed the power of bureaucratic double-speak when no one questioned this bouncer.

  Bert shrugged. “Go ahead, Mother, let them.”

  Barbara Ramsey looked into her empty glass as if trying to will it into refilling itself. “If Bert thinks we should.”

  Bert patted her hand, then took the glass from her. “I do, Mother.” Then to Reid, “Will it take long?”

  “No. They’re just outside. I’ll have them come in now.” Reid moved quickly toward the door so as not to give the family the opportunity to reconsider. A warrant would take time, but with permission there was no need to delay. And he wanted Ramsey’s computer before anyone else could get to it.

  Bert Ramsey put his mother’s empty glass on the table next to the sofa, then bent toward his mother and helped her to stand. He turned to Reid. “Will they need to go through her room? Father had his own room.”

  Going through anything other than the man’s office and bedroom would have been unusual in the event of a suicide, but Reid knew this was a murder, and he wanted everything he could get before anyone called in lawyers.

  “Yes, but why don’t I have them start in there, then she can go in as soon as they’re finished. It won’t take long. Then they can move on to the other rooms and she can rest.”

  Bert considered, then nodded. “I’ll keep her in here until they’re through.”

  “Thank you. I have to leave now, but Detective Constable Muirhead will stay here.”

  Barbara Ramsey retrieved the glass her son had taken from her, and whispered something in his ear. Bert shook his head, and she frowned and said something Reid could not hear. Bert shook his head again and reached to take the glass from her. She waved him back with an unmistakable leave-me-alone gesture, marching over to the drinks table by herself.

  Reid moved away and motioned to Allison to come closer so they could talk without being overheard. He kept his voice low. “I’m leaving you in charge. I’ll be on my mobile if you need me. One of the search team can give you a ride back when you’re finished.”

  Allison nodded and beckoned the waiting officers to start the search.

  Reid went back over to where Bert was watching his mother fill her glass almost to the rim with vodka, his expression resigned.

  “Bert, I’ll need to speak to Moira also. Would you like me to call her and tell her about Mr. Ramsey, or would you prefer to do so yourself?”

  The young man rubbed his temple. “I’ll do it. If you’d gotten here just a little earlier, you could have talked to her yourself.”

  “She was here this morning?” Reid’s scalp prickled.

  “She didn’t have classes today, so she came to work on Dad’s computer. He was having some problems, and Moira’s good with computers.”

  Reid’s chest burned with the acidic knowledge that he’d arrived too late. Richard Ramsey’s computer would have been wiped clean.

  Moira was not just Richard Ramsey’s stepdaughter.

  She was also Walter Von Zandt’s mistress.

  Chapter 7

  REID MANAGED to make the last Mass for Palm Sunday at St. Andrew’s Cathedral, and had even arrived in time to go to Confession. He’d taken a place in the back of the church, away from other worshippers. He’d not wanted to meet anyone’s eyes, not wanted to have to shake their hands, or to mouth wishes for peace to be with them.

  Back at High Street, Reid nodded in acknowledgement at Frank’s news that there was still no word from DC Parsons, then closed his door and began reviewing last week’s surveillance reports. He needed to figure out what Ramsey had been doing last night that had gotten him killed. Reid doubted the man had been kidnapped from his home and taken to the railroad tracks in his own car. He had to have been meeting someone.

  Reid’s mobile rang, startling him out of his concentration. His heart leapt as it had with every call he’d gotten since last week, when he’d begun expecting Anne’s call. He glanced at the screen expectantly, but when he saw what the caller i.d. said, or rather what it did not say, disappointment swamped him once again. He hit the talk button and forced a lightheartedness he did not feel into his voice. “Hello, brat.”

  “Big brother.”

  Despite his ennui, he smiled at the sound of his sister’s voice. “Ah, Darby. That was quick.” He checked his watch. His younger sister, these past two years an operative for Interpol, had wasted no time in calling after Reid sent the request to Interpol headquarters in Lyon, France.

  “I’ve just been given the assignment to work with your team. Finally, it’s paid off for me to have a brother in the same line of business. Did you really ask for me?”

  Reid closed the file he’d been reviewing. “I may have mentioned that I’d prefer if it was you they sent to work with us. Better the devil you know and all that. Apparently you’v
e been angling to get in on anything related to the Heidelberg bombing.” His stomach growled and he realized he’d missed lunch. Breakfast as well. He’d just finished his morning run when he got the call about Ramsey’s body being found. He’d been planning on going to the first morning Mass, so he’d waited to eat so he could take communion, then with one thing and the other, he’d never gotten around to eating. He could have ducked into his flat after Mass this evening to get something to eat as he lived directly next to the Cathedral, but his flat was devoid of food. Maybe he’d get a takeout curry on his way home.

  “I was, yes.”

  “Great. Darby, just so you know, I asked for you specifically because I want to make sure that we get the right kind of help. This isn’t Interpol’s investigation, it’s ours, and Interpol is only assisting.”

  “Whatever. I understand. You’re in charge.” Her exasperation bled through her excitement. Darby was the youngest in his family, and had been indulged perhaps a little too much. She was bright but had a tendency to be arrogant and headstrong. Reid had never had the same kind of issues with her that his parents or siblings had, though. She’d put him on a pedestal of sorts, and had always been fiercely loyal and protective of him. However, he had a feeling that it was just a matter of time before Darby’s strongly competitive tendencies outweighed any youthful hero worship.

  “Just so.”

  “You do seem to have a great deal of influence with my agency, Terrence. My stock went up immediately when people realized you were my brother. I didn’t know you were so connected.”

  Of his family, only their father, the Earl, knew the extent of Reid’s involvement in the intelligence community. “I’ve had occasional dealings with Interpol over the years. I’ve quite a few years on you.”

  “Ten, to be exact. You’re practically an old man.”

  “Thanks so much.” Reid felt old. Old and tired. Not like a thirty-six-year-old man should feel. Looking around his office, he thought, if this were a crime scene, no one would be able to discern anything about him from his surroundings. No family photographs, no diplomas or certificates, no art work, not even a personal mug. He’d had a photograph of Anne on his desk right after they got married, but when things between them went south, he’d taken it back to his flat. No need to invite unwanted comments or speculation.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “Just so you know, it will be hard work and long hours. I expect it from everyone on my team, and you’ll be no exception.”

  “Of course.” She brushed off his words. “Hopefully we’ll be busy past Easter. Mum’s been on me to come home, and I’ve been putting her off. I’m guessing she’s been on you as well. She says you haven’t been back since Christmas, and not much before then.”

  Reid took a deep breath before answering. He’d avoided going to Dunbaryn since he and Anne had separated, though he’d always made a brief appearance for the major holidays. Last Christmas had been a nightmare with the lies he’d had to tell to explain Anne’s absence for yet another holiday. He hadn’t wanted to share his failure at marriage with his family. Of course, they all knew now.

  “I don’t expect either one of us will be able to get away for Easter.”

  “Good, gives me an excuse to give it a miss. You’ll be wanting that as well, I’ll bet. I don’t envy you having to explain why you didn’t tell them about being separated so long. Did you know Anne had a lover before it was in the news?”

  “Darby, I’m not going to discuss this with you.”

  She ignored him. “I miss a lot being in France, but Pippa says the tabloids were putting it out that you two are back together. I told her she was bonkers if she thought you’d take the slag back. You won’t, will you?”

  “Darby.” Reid knew his voice was harsh, but didn’t care. “I’d better never hear you use that word about Anne again. What is between my wife and me is none of your business.”

  An exasperated sigh came from the other end of the line.

  “All right. Keep your secrets; you always do. It’s not like we’re family or anything.” A resentful tone in Darby’s voice hinted that there was something more than simple sarcasm to her comment, but Reid didn’t have the stomach to pursue it at the moment.

  “Darby, do you want to talk about the case or not? I haven’t got all night to chat.”

  “I do. So, did Ramsey really commit suicide?”

  Reid wondered how that rumor had gotten to Interpol. “Doubtful. I’m still waiting for a report on the post mortem examination, but I suspect someone helped Ramsey on the way to hell and that the body was thrown on the railroad tracks to hide the fact that it was a murder.”

  “No kidding? Murdered?”

  “Aye. There’s no report from the medical examiner yet, but that’s what I expect to hear.”

  She whistled in appreciative anticipation. “Brilliant.” She stretched out the word triumphantly. “Much more exciting to have it be a murder.”

  “God, you’re young.”

  “Stuff it.”

  He laughed. “Are you still in Paris?”

  “Aye, but I’ll be in Glasgow by tomorrow. You have a room I can stay in for a couple of days till I find a place of my own, don’t you?”

  He hesitated. “You want to stay with me?”

  “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

  “It’s not that.” He didn’t know quite what to say.

  “You’ve never minded before.” Her voice instantly turned suspicious, and she exhaled loudly. “Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t tell me it’s Anne? Don’t tell me she’s there? Terrence, are you daft?”

  Reid didn’t say anything, trying to decide how much he absolutely needed to share with his sister.

  “She is, isn’t she?”

  “No. And I don’t appreciate your language.”

  “Then why can’t I stay there?”

  “I may have to go to the States for a few days.”

  “The States? Oh, I suppose the FBI’s getting involved in the case. Don’t worry, I don’t mind staying at your flat by myself.”

  Reid wasn’t going to correct her assumption that the FBI’s interest in the Von Zandt investigation might necessitate his trip to the U.S. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell Darby that he’d promised to fly to California to help Anne with her move to Scotland. If she moved to Scotland. At this point, the possibility of him needing to go seemed unlikely.

  “Fine, then. You can stay with me for a couple of days.” Even if Anne did call, it would take him a few days to go to California, get her packed up, and bring her back to Scotland. By then, Darby would be in her own place.

  They discussed the case further, but right before the call ended, Darby’s voice took on a studiedly casual tone. “So, is John Stirling in town?”

  Reid smiled to himself. His old friend had long been a source of fascination for his hard-hearted sister, a fascination that was probably intensified by his friend’s refusal to take any serious notice of her.

  “Not that I know. Last time I spoke with him he was in Aberdeen. He’s giving us some assistance on this investigation, though, and should be coming to town soon. You looking to see him?”

  “Just asking. He’s always fun to be around, unlike some people I know.”

  “Thanks for nothing. He’s too old for you—and has a reputation where women are concerned.”

  “If I’m to mind my own business about your love life, perhaps you should mind your own about mine.”

  He had asked for that. “Deal.”

  “Besides, he’s the same age as you are, and I’m about the same age as your precious Anne, so I don’t see that you have any room to talk.”

  “Just so. I’ll take my own advice then, and mind my own business.” He’d seen no sign that Stirling was inclined to start taking notice of Darby, but she was right. It was none of his business. Through the glass on the top half of his office wall, Reid saw Harry directing placement of the electronic equipment that had presumably arr
ived from Ramsey’s home, and occasionally conferring with Oscar Browne, the other electronic expert on Reid’s team. He silently prayed they’d find something, but his expectations weren’t high. “Come to my flat when you get in. The guest room is yours until we find you somewhere where you won’t be bothered by your ancient brother.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Safe travels.” As Reid switched off his mobile, his office door opened and he heard the whirring of a wheelchair motor.

  Frank held up a folder. “SOCO’s report on the findings at the crime scene.”

  Chapter 8

  REID TOOK THE REPORT from Frank without much optimism. If Von Zandt was behind Ramsey’s murder, Reid doubted there would be anything much to find.

  “You’ve read it already?”

  “It only just came in while you were on the phone, but I looked it over while I waited for you to get off the phone.” Frank Butterworth reminded Reid of a centaur from Greek mythology. His upper body was overlarge, the muscles overdeveloped, but instead of the half horse component, Frank’s torso melded into the shiny metal wheelchair that seemed to be part of him. After his injury, Frank, not wanting to spend the rest of his life on disability, had returned to work at a desk at Strathclyde Police Headquarters in his wheelchair. When Reid was given the command of the task force, he asked that Frank be assigned to work with him, and immediately delegated responsibility for the day-to-day running of the office to the other man.

  “Anything interesting?”

  “Some strands of dark human hair—no follicles, so no probably no DNA for testing. And our man Ramsey was bald as a baby pig’s bum.”

  “From someone else, then.”

  “Actually, SOCO seems to think they’re likely from a wig or hairpiece. There are bends on the top of the strands from where they were woven onto the fabric.”

  “A toupee.”

  “The strands look too long for most toupees, and from all reports there was no sign of a hairpiece at the scene. I called Allison to tell her to have the search team look while they go through the Ramsey house to see if there’s any indication he used one.”