by Mary Birk
She rang Lawrence again, first on his mobile, then on the telephone at his flat. Where the hell could he be? Darby suspected he was pouting that she hadn’t invited him to go with her. He’d hinted, but she’d acted like she didn’t understand. She certainly wasn’t going to bring a dolt like Mark Lawrence to the MacTavish party. He was an idiot, but he was her assignment, and if he was up to something, she was going to find out what it was. She got out of the taxi in front of DI Lawrence’s building. After asking the driver to wait, she opened the outer door and went upstairs to his flat. She knocked but got no answer, and knocked again. No answer.
Darby called out. “Lawrence, you prick, open the door.”
Still no answer.
She reached out and tried the door. It wasn’t locked. Some policeman. Leaves the bloody door unlocked. Well, then, she’d just go in; he would hardly complain. He’d been trying to get her in his flat since she came here. She’d have a drink and wait for him.
As soon as she opened the door, she knew something was terribly wrong. It was the smell. She instinctively knew what it was, although this was the first time she’d ever experienced it—the awful smell of death released when the body relaxed for the last time. She automatically looked for the body that had to be there.
She did not have far to look. DI Mark Lawrence lay sprawled out face down on the carpet near the front door. His hands were handcuffed behind him and he was unmistakably dead. A wire tight around his neck told all she needed to know right then. A sob escaped her. She wanted to vomit but forced herself to remain calm. She reached for her mobile and called Terrence.
Chapter 50
FOR IT BEING EASTER NIGHT, the fish shop next to Reid’s High Street offices was surprisingly busy. There were no tablecloths here, just battered linoleum topped tables with a condiment holder as the only table decoration, but no one seemed to mind. The smell of fried food and ale was heartening, and there was an easy neighborhood kind of atmosphere: loud and cheerful.
“We missed you at MacTavish’s earlier.” Stirling surveyed his fish supper platter: golden slabs of cod, bright green peas, and chips. “You were with Anne?”
“Mmm.” Reid paused between bites. He had to set his features to avoid smiling. “It’s our anniversary.”
“Good reason, then.”
“Two years.”
“Much better than an Easter buffet.” Stirling took a drink of his ale. “I’m surprised you’re not still with her.”
“Her big project gets fully underway tomorrow morning. She needs to get some rest. I collected her Friday night, so we had the weekend.”
“You actually took the weekend off. She’s good for you.” Stirling sprinkled vinegar on his chips.
“She is, indeed.” This time Reid couldn’t conceal his smile. He took the bottle of vinegar Stirling passed him, then doused his own chips.
“Not a coincidence that Von Zandt hired her firm, is it, though?” Stirling showered salt liberally on his food, then passed the shaker to Reid.
“I don’t think so, although if it hadn’t been Von Zandt doing the hiring, it would have made sense. This garden is apparently some particular type that Anne’s boss has a great deal of experience with—and Anne worked with him on a similar project for friends of Elisa Von Zandt. But knowing Anne is my wife should have counted against him hiring them.”
“That was my thought as well. Does she know that he’s the target of your investigation?”
“Aye, I’ve told her. No details, though, just that his financial dealings are under investigation.”
Stirling picked up a chip and popped it in his mouth. “So what’s to be done now?”
“You’re keeping one of your men nearby. That makes me feel better.”
“Aye. But he can’t get too close unless you let her know, Terrence.”
“I will soon. I’m just not sure how she’ll take it. Meanwhile, I feel better having someone right there in case we need him. And I’ve asked her to be careful, not to trust Von Zandt, and not to let herself get into a situation where she’s alone with him.” Reid shook his head. “Truth be told, I asked her not to do the job, but she’s an unbelievably stubborn lass.”
Stirling started to laugh so hard he choked and his eyes teared up. Sputtering, he pounded on his chest, still not able to talk.
Reid glared at him and motioned to the proprietor to bring another round, then continued to eat, pretending to ignore his friend’s ongoing paroxysms of laughter.
Stirling finally recovering, said, “I’m sorry, Terrence, but the thought of anyone being more stubborn than you just about undid me.” The gleam of amusement twinkling in Stirling’s eyes told Reid his friend wasn’t truly repentant.
“I didn’t say she was more stubborn than me. Just that she was stubborn. She has this plan for her career and she just won’t budge.”
“As do you, although you’d probably not admit it.” He pointed to the mushy greens on his platter. “You’re peas in a pod, you two.”
Reid grunted. “You might be right. Not to change the subject, although that’s exactly what I intend to do, weren’t we meeting because you found something new?”
“Right.” Stirling pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. “I’ve some more information for you I gleaned from the coded communications your people intercepted in the last twenty-four hours—a list of offshore institutions that seem to be popular with these blokes.” He handed Reid the list.
Reid studied the names Stirling had written down. “I’ll get this information to my team and to MacTavish. Either he or Schilling may have contacts that can get us to the next level. If we can tie any of these to Von Zandt or the Nigerian faction, we’ll be a lot closer to locating the accounts, even without the actual account numbers.”
“Account numbers are beyond my powers, I’m afraid. No one transmits those, even in code.”
“You’ve done more than enough. Thanks, John.” Reid felt his mobile vibrate, and tried to suppress the goofy grin that was determined to spread itself across his face. “Just a moment. This will be Anne, I expect.”
Stirling rolled his eyes in good natured mockery but Reid just shrugged, happy to have a wife back in his life to interrupt him with her calls. He moved outside the shop to answer so that he would be better able to hear her. When he heard Darby’s voice instead of Anne’s, he frowned.
Chapter 51
REID BOLTED UP THE STAIRS to Lawrence’s flat two at a time. Darby was in the hall waiting for him outside of the flat’s slightly ajar door. Another woman might have wanted comfort, but he knew his sister would think any such offer implied that he thought she was weak, so he simply met her eyes and nodded. “Rough?”
“I’m all right.”
“The SOCO van just pulled up behind me. They’ll process the scene. Tell me what you know, then you can leave.”
“I’m fine.” She swallowed, then spoke with considerable self-control. “We were to meet for a pub supper tonight, but he didn’t call, and I couldn’t reach him. I was aggravated as I didn’t really want to have to babysit him, but as we were going to meet near here, I thought I might as well drop by his flat and see what was going on. The door was unlocked, and well—I found him. Garroted, it appears to me. No one else was here. I rang you and waited. End of story.”
“Hard scene to walk in on.”
“I’m fine.”
“Of course you are.” He nodded toward Lawrence’s flat. “Did you touch anything?”
“The door handle when I let myself in. Nothing else.”
“Did you check the rest of the flat to see if anyone else was there?”
“I don’t think whoever killed him went to take a kip in the bedroom. So, no, I didn’t. I didn’t want to contaminate the scene.”
Reid had been thinking more of the possibility of another victim or of the killer exiting out of a window or another door. But Darby was Interpol, not regular police, nor had she ever had that kind of experience. At least she hadn’t interfe
red with the crime scene. And she’d called him.
“Good thinking.”
Darby said, “Ta so much.” Her voice was arrogant, but he knew she was upset, so he ignored it.
He got the times of her call and her arrival and the rest of the few details she knew.
“That’s good for now, Darby. You don’t have to stay.”
She nodded, but made no move to leave.
He tried to determine how much she wanted or needed from him. “Anne’s not at the flat. She’ll be gone until the weekend. Do you want to stay there for a few nights?”
No one else would have seen it, that faint quiver of her lip as she hesitated.
He pressed her. “Come to the flat. Keep me company, why don’t you?”
“Maybe. Just for tonight.” Her tone had been grudging, but he could tell she was relieved not to have to be alone.
“Good. I’ll see you back there. Go on with you, now.” When she hesitated, he put his hand on her arm and pulled her into a quick hug. He heard her gulp back what he knew must be tears, then she pushed away from him.
When he saw her disappear down the stairs, he nudged the door open with an elbow and surveyed the grisly scene. He’d never liked DI Lawrence, but he’d never wished him dead, either. Especially not like this.
He turned, hearing the SOCO team coming up the stairs. Tilting his head to indicate the open door, he said, “In there, laddies.” Recognizing two smaller figures in the pack, he amended, “and lassies.”
Reid’s thoughts went to DC Parsons and a chill skittered up his spine. What were the odds that Ramsey, Parsons, and Lawrence had been killed by different people? Reid answered his own question. Not good. Had Lawrence been the leak? If so, it was permanently plugged now. If he hadn’t, what did that mean? Two cops working the same investigation had been killed. No, not just killed. Murdered. He’d warned his own team to be careful after DC Parsons had been killed, but Lawrence had been warned as well, and that hadn’t seemed to do any good.
If Von Zandt was behind these murders, it showed how completely ruthless the man was. To kill a cop was asking for trouble. To kill two cops was asking for war.
Reid doubted the man would blink an eye over killing a cop’s wife.
MONDAY, APRIL 13
Chapter 52
REID SENT two uniforms to pick up Shelley Crichton and bring her to the interview room at Glasgow City Center station where Harry and he were waiting. She’d been at home, having understandably called off work that day. Everyone she worked with knew she’d been seeing DI Lawrence—apparently she’d made sure of that—and the news of his murder was all over town already, at least in the law enforcement community.
Harry had finished going through Lawrence’s finances, and as Reid had suspected, the man had a great deal of unaccounted-for income. Reid didn’t think it was coincidental that Lawrence’s finances had soared astronomically since he’d been appointed to the task force. There’d been extra money coming in regularly before that, but not to the same degree. Reid would turn the information over to the unit responsible for internal inquiries, to do with whatever they wanted. Investigating a dirty cop who’d been murdered was a tricky business, and Reid was glad it wasn’t his job. All he needed to know was how it impacted his investigation. He’d had Harry take a peek at DC Parson’s finances, as well, but the most scandalous thing he’d found was a subscription to an online leadership course.
A woman police constable brought the tearful Shelley in when she finally arrived. Her acne-scarred face was studded by red-rimmed little eyes. When she realized who would be interviewing her, Reid saw her face turn from sodden grief to wariness. The wariness of someone who has something to hide. So she knew. This had been no inadvertent spilling of information from her desk to her boyfriend. She knew he’d been selling the information, and that it had to do with Reid’s investigation.
Reid met Harry’s eyes, gave a slight nod. Harry, getting the message that he was to take lead, motioned for the woman to sit down opposite him, while Reid remained standing against the wall.
“Couldn’t you have come to my house? I’m in mourning, you know. Mark and I were practically engaged.” Anger masking fear, Reid thought.
Harry shook his head. “We thought official would be better, considering the circumstances, luv.”
“The circumstances? I know it’s usual to talk to the family, but not like this unless . . .” She narrowed her eyes, and her tongue darted in and out of her mouth. “I’m not a suspect, am I?”
“If you know it’s usual, then you’ll know those closest to the victim are always suspects. But you’ve an alibi, I understand.”
“Yes, I do.” Her voice was indignant. “I was with my family all day. You can ask them. And Mark would have been with me, only he,” here she pointed to Reid, “made him work. On Easter.”
“We’ve checked on where you were, and we know about you being with your family all day.”
“Then why am I here?”
“We thought, luv, that we could talk to you about a few other things. I’m going to turn on the recorder and caution you. Routine, you know.”
Harry made the preliminary statements for the recording. Shelley’s eyes kept flitting over to Reid, who stayed silent but kept his gaze on her.
“Shelley, as Chief Superintendent Steynton’s admin, you see the things that go across his desk, don’t you?”
“I guess.”
“Including the ones marked confidential?”
She examined ragged fingernails, bit one, pulling a piece of it off with her teeth. “He likes me to open everything for him.”
“And you’ve seen the confidential memos come through from the investigation into the financing of the university bombing plot, and the work Superintendent Reid’s team has been doing.”
“I guess.” Shelley folded her arms across her wide chest. “What’s this got to do with my Mark being murdered?” She squeezed her fat face together, and a few tears travelled down her cheek.
“You knew DI Lawrence was interested in those memos.”
“I never told him anything.”
“You knew he was interested.”
“Of course, he would be. He should have been leading that task force. He would have been if it weren’t for . . . politics.” She glanced uneasily at Reid.
“You wanted to help him, didn’t you?” Harry’s voice was understanding.
“I never did anything wrong.”
“But you talked with him about what you saw and heard?”
“We talked about work a little, of course we did. We were going to be married.”
“He asked you to share what you knew with him.” Harry kept his voice nonjudgmental.
“No.”
“Come on, Shelley. That’s natural between people as close as you two were.”
“Well, maybe a little. There’s no harm in that, is there? He’s on the task force, too. Just because some were jealous of him, and tried to keep him in the dark, that doesn’t make it right, does it?” She glared at Reid. “He should have been told in the first place.”
“So you made sure he knew what was going on. From what you saw come across Chief Superintendent Steynton’s desk.”
She eyed Harry suspiciously, then looked over at Reid. “Sometimes, maybe. Just like you said, it was natural for us to talk about work.”
“But you did more than that, didn’t you? You copied memos and gave them to him.”
“Why are you asking me this? What difference does it make? He’s dead. You should be out there finding out who killed him, instead of slagging me off in my hour of grief.” She sniffled.
“Shelley, luv, we think whoever DI Lawrence was giving the information to—the information he got from you—killed him.”
Her mouth dropped open, revealing crooked rows of stained teeth. “Oh, God, no.”
“And we think you might be in danger as well.” Harry threw a sidelong glance at Reid, who nodded. “We’re thinking we’ll need to
set up protection for you, but we need you to tell us what you know. What happened, what you told or gave Mark, so we can make sure we get the right people.”
Her eyes opened wide. “They killed him?”
‘Yes, luv. It was a horrible death. Did you hear how he died? We’ve kept that detail quiet, but it was ugly.” Harry clucked his tongue. “Garroted, he was.” He motioned with his hands. “A thin wire around the neck, twisted tight till his eyes almost popped out. Cut deep into his throat as well.”
She swallowed visibly, then glowered at Reid, resentment seething from her pores. “It’s your fault. You and your money and your title. That should have been his job. You got him killed.”
Reid stayed silent.
Harry took her hand. “Shelley, luv, we’ve gone through his bank accounts. Someone was paying him for the information you were giving him. You knew that, didn’t you?”
She started to shake her head, then began to cry. “It was the money for us to get married, he said. He wanted to have enough so we could have a house and all. Babies.”
“Who was it paying him?”
She spoke through her sobs. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me that. He said there was no harm done, just sharing information with some that was happy to pay for it.”
“Think, Shelley. We need to know who was paying him.”
“I don’t know.”
“When did it begin? It looks like the money started coming in about eight months ago.”
“Eight months ago? But that’s when we started going out.” She suddenly looked stricken. “Oh, God. You think that’s why he went out with me, don’t you? That I’m too ugly for him to have loved me. But he did. He was going to marry me.”