by Helen Fields
‘Cocky little bastard,’ Ava said.
‘You mean DI Callanach, ma’am?’ a voice said from the doorway.
‘Bad timing for jokes, DS Lively,’ Ava said. ‘The man we’ve been calling Jeremy Dolour made his intentions very clear when he filled in his application form to volunteer at Cordelia Muir’s charity. Tripp’s convinced it’s the same man who left Lily Eustis to die. What does your gut say?’
‘Tripp’s a pain in the arse, ma’am. He’s the kid in class who knows the answer to every question. He’ll volunteer to clean out the paint tray, and he won’t even dirty his jumper in the process. He doesn’t fit in, to be honest, and he’s going to struggle to lead because the rest of the team perceive him as weak. The truth is though that if Tripp is certain it’s the same killer, then it probably is. The boy has good instincts. Doesn’t miss a trick. Worst taste in music I’ve ever been subjected to in a moving vehicle, but otherwise he’s as good an officer as any I’ve worked with.’
‘I think so too,’ Ava said. ‘Which means that moving on from Lily, where the killer wore gloves, left no DNA, kept his relationship with her secret from everybody, in one leap he inserted himself into a working situation with Cordelia Muir. That’s not a normal escalation pattern, even for a psychopath.’
‘He scored a victory. Lily Eustis’ body was, forensically speaking, an almost unprovable murder. If he hadn’t left the zip mark on her skin, we’d never have suspected anything. He’s good, and once he’d worked that out, he was able to move on to something much more risky,’ Lively said.
‘Perhaps,’ Ava said. ‘Or maybe he needed a bigger thrill. Maybe he needed more contact with the world, more of a buzz. Which means that whatever he’s moving onto next will be—’
‘Worse,’ Lively finished for her. ‘There’s still nothing linking the two murders, though. That’s what we need if we’re going to find him.’
‘I got distracted when I left the Eustis’ house,’ Ava said. ‘It was Mrs Eustis who told me what the word dolour meant, but Lily’s sister Mina was there. I went upstairs to check on her. She saw the artist’s impression of Jeremy and she said something strange. I can’t quite remember the words she used.’
‘What question did you ask her?’ Lively said.
‘I asked her if she recognised him,’ Ava said. ‘That’s it. She responded with, “Why him?” I didn’t think about it at the time. I assumed she meant why did we suspect that one particular person, but that wasn’t it. It was more like she was asking herself. When I tried to engage her to talk about him, she said she felt ill. She even offered the information that she’d been drinking.’
‘Do you want me to go back there? We can pick the sister up and bring her here if it’ll help focus her mind. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk around her parents,’ Lively said.
‘No, don’t do that. She’s broken. Really, deeply grieving, still in shock I think. I need someone she’ll open up to.’
‘How about your wee officer you’ve brought in from Dimitri’s team? She’s the size of a church mouse and maybe the pregnancy thing will work in our favour,’ Lively suggested.
‘That’s not a bad idea. PC Monroe is working with DI Callanach at the moment, but I’ll explain that we need to borrow her. Could you brief her and drive her over there. Keep the parents talking while Monroe works with Mina.’ Lively stood up. ‘And DS Lively, it’s generally considered sexist to call a woman constable “a wee officer”. Best not repeat that one.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Lively said.
‘Also don’t call DC Tripp a pain in the arse to me again or I’ll promote him over your head, understand?’ Ava said.
‘Do I at least have your permission to continue being disrespectful to DI Callanach, ma’am? Only without that I can’t see the point of continuing to work in MIT?’
‘Get out, Lively,’ Ava said, turning her attention back to her laptop. Her phone began to ring as he closed the door. ‘Turner,’ Ava said.
‘DCI Turner, this is the Governor from Glenochil prison. I thought you should know there was an attempt on Dylan McGill’s life earlier today.’
Ava put down the coffee that had been halfway to her mouth. The milk in it suddenly smelled sour.
‘What state is he in?’ Ava asked.
‘Alive and being cared for in our hospital wing currently although I’ve put a transfer to a different prison in progress. There’s been a substantial amount of disturbance here since it happened. I thought I should notify you.’
‘Thank you,’ Ava said. ‘How badly is he injured?’
‘He’s received a total of forty-four stitches across his face. It’s a nasty wound. The doctor says the nerves were likely cut. He won’t be able to move certain muscles in the future. Speech therapy will be required.’
‘I see,’ Ava said quietly. ‘Did you catch the man responsible?’
‘The man we believe is responsible was found dead on the floor of the shower block less than ten minutes later. It appears someone ordered the hit on Mr McGill then decided to silence the attacker to prevent him from talking. Given that you were Mr McGill’s most recent visitor, and that you seemed to have some intuition that his life might be in danger, I was wondering if you could shed any light on why Mr McGill suddenly found himself a target,’ the Governor said.
‘As far as the attempt on his life went, that was just a hunch. I’m afraid I can’t give you any names. Believe me, if I could, I would. I was interviewing him about the recent death of a man called Louis Jones. He was a known associate of McGill’s before his conviction. There are court records if you’d like to take a look,’ Ava said.
‘I see,’ the Governor replied. ‘Well, perhaps Mr McGill will be able to tell us more if he ever regains his speech.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Ava murmured. She put down the phone, doubled over, and forced her stomach to disobey the desire it felt to empty itself into her waste bin, wondering how she was going to live with what she’d done.
Chapter Forty-Six
PC Janet Monroe was sharp. Callanach realised that within five minutes of discussing the Louis Jones murder with her. The last time he’d been responsible for a pregnant officer, though, she’d ended up losing her baby, and nearly losing her own life too. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for not taking better care of her.
‘So there’s no doubt that Louis Jones’ car was hit by another vehicle,’ Monroe was saying. ‘There was recent damage to the rear of Jones’ car, and forensics removed paint flecks while I was at the scene that were sent to the lab for processing.’
‘I still haven’t seen those results,’ Callanach said. ‘Presumably they will at least give us a colour, possibly even the make of vehicle involved.’
‘If it’s the original paint. Some manufacturers have very specific chemical footprints that we can trace,’ Monroe said. ‘I’m waiting for a call back from the lab to find out what stage they’re at.’
Callanach looked at his phone. Lance had texted through details about Knuckles, Perry and a licence plate from an Audi with recent repairs to its front passenger headlight area. The plate had come back as registered to a Joseph Trescoe, the address was The Maz. All he needed now was to tie the paint from Jones’ car to the Audi and he’d have a credible motive for researching all the relevant cars in the area. It was thin, but it was enough to start an investigation.
Ava knocked his door as he was responding to Lance’s text. Monroe was on the phone so Callanach stepped into the corridor to talk.
‘There’s been an attempt on Dylan McGill’s life in Glenochil prison,’ Ava said. ‘The timing is such that Trescoe must have ordered the attack. It was soon after I’d visited McGill.’
‘You think Trescoe put two and two together and came up with more than four?’ Callanach asked.
‘I made sure he did,’ Ava said. ‘Knuckles and Perry realised I was no ordinary member of the public the first time I tangled with them, then a female officer visited McGill in prison. They must have assu
med McGill gave me information in return for favourable treatment inside and they’ll have my name from the prison visitors log by now. I’m certain Ramon Trescoe is responsible for both Begbie’s and Jones’ deaths. You’re going to have to come up with something fast.’
‘If I can tie Joe Trescoe’s car to the Louis Jones accident, we can tail the vehicle until either Knuckles or Perry is driving it, then bring them in for questioning,’ Callanach said. ‘Hopefully we can play them off against one another.’
‘They’ll never spill who ordered the hit,’ Ava said.
‘They used Joe Trescoe’s car so at the very least we can work on a conspiracy charge,’ Callanach said.
‘Sir’ – Janet Monroe opened the office door – ‘I’ve just heard from the forensics lab. There was a mix-up with the paint samples sent by the road traffic investigator. The evidence log shows that paint flecks were identified and bagged but between the crime scene and the lab they were misplaced or mixed-up. They can’t be located.’
‘That can’t be right,’ Ava said. ‘Did you check with the road traffic investigator?’
‘I did,’ Monroe said. ‘I’ve worked with him on several cases before and he’s usually very thorough. He recalls taking the paint flecks. Proper procedures were followed to ensure non-contamination with other evidence. It’s all in his statement.’
‘So now we have literally no way of proving what type of vehicle was involved in that crash. When the hell are we going to get a break?’ DS Lively headed up the corridor towards them. ‘I’m sorry, Luc,’ Ava murmured. ‘I need to borrow PC Monroe for a couple of hours, to go with DS Lively and talk to Lily Eustis’ sister. I know it’s bad timing.’
‘That’s fine,’ Callanach said. ‘Looks like I’m starting all over again with Louis Jones. I’ll be at Jones’ business premises if you need me.’
Louis Jones’ car lot-cum-home/office had yet to be cleaned up or claimed by a family member, not that anyone was likely to take it on as a going concern. Callanach forced his way into the office, leaving the door open. The lights weren’t working, presumably as a result of an overdue electricity bill. The place was a mess. He played the scenario in his head. Jones knew he was on borrowed time. He’d have taken a few clothes and his wallet. Knuckles and Perry must have turned up soon after Jones fled, leaving wreckage in their wake as they searched for their boss’ missing money. Ava had arrived next, not for long, but she too had trodden across the strewn debris. Dimitri’s squad after that, checking for signs of Jones after the car crash. Then Callanach had sent the forensics team in when Jones’ body had been found. Right now it resembled a war zone more than a business, and still no one had found anything that could help solve Jones’ murder. The difference was that Callanach knew who was responsible. What he had to do was draw a line from A to B that was provable in a court of law.
He picked up the chair that had been tipped onto its side and set it behind the desk, sitting down and facing the door. One barred window looked into the car lot, the other smaller one had a view into the street. Callanach thought back to his first meeting with Jones. He was undoubtedly a man used to dealing with the tougher end of society. In his younger days he’d run with one of Scotland’s most notorious organised crime gangs. It beggared belief that he wasn’t ready to put up a fight when necessary. Callanach searched the desk drawers but they’d been scoured before, and it was too obvious a hiding place anyway. He ran his hands under the desk, checking for a strap or the remnants of tape. Still nothing. The floor was concrete, the ceiling missing the sort of panels that would have allowed Jones to hide anything there.
He pushed the chair back and stood up, turning slowly around. The skirting board was scuffed, the paintwork heavily worn just behind the chair. Callanach squatted down to look. The wall above the skirting had boot marks running down it. Standing up again, he set his back against the wall and ran his heel hard down onto the skirting. A long section fell away, leaving a dark cavity beyond. Callanach put his hand in, reaching his fingers around a bundle of cloth inside and pulling. Drawing on gloves, he unwrapped the bundle on Jones’ desk, just as Jones himself must have done on more than a few occasions. Inside was a Glock combat pistol, modern but definitely used, and still loaded with spare ammunition alongside it. There was also a wad of notes, a mixture of tens and twenties, totalling close to one thousand pounds.
Something had made Jones leave in a hurry. So fast, in fact, that he hadn’t even stopped to pick up a weapon or his stash of emergency cash. Why bother packing clothes when the gun would have been so much more useful in his predicament? And he’d found the time to feed his birds, albeit carelessly. Callanach put the gun, ammunition and cash in evidence bags then photographed the loose skirting board section and returned to his car. Nothing Jones had done made any sense. He was a man used to defending himself. He wouldn’t have been scared to pull the trigger if he’d been in a corner, especially given what he knew about the men who were coming for him. There was no innocent explanation, Callanach knew that. The case was about as dirty as they got, and Ava Turner had put herself squarely in the firing line.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Mina was home alone. Mr Eustis had driven his wife to pick up a repeat prescription from a twenty-four-hour chemist. Judging by the amount of empty bottles in the kitchen, Lively thought they might also be stopping to reload on a different kind of tranquilliser. He didn’t blame them. Lively had lost enough colleagues and friends over the years that the concept of losing a child was a horror he couldn’t bear to imagine. He’d let Janet Monroe go upstairs to speak with Mina in her bedroom where she’d said she would feel most comfortable, but only after he’d checked the place out. Mina had gone through the motions of making them a cup of tea in the kitchen whilst Lively had slid his hands under her pillow and duvet, checking her drawers and under the bed for concealed weapons. Desperate times turned people wild, that was what he knew. Six months earlier DC Salter lay bleeding in his arms, the baby inside her already dead. He wasn’t going to leave another officer to the same fate. PC Janet Monroe was an interesting one. She hadn’t bothered to make conversation during the drive, taking on board only the information needed to conduct the interview. Lively liked that. Leaving Mina and Monroe to settle in one another’s company for a few minutes, he crept up the stairs to sit where he could hear the conversation.
‘Listen, Mina, we really need to speak with this man. It’s about a lady called Cordelia Muir. She died not long after Lily. You won’t have heard about it on the news because it looked like the death was accidental from consuming diet pills with a poisonous ingredient. But now it seems more suspicious and this man may be implicated.’ Monroe held up the poster of Jeremy, making sure Mina directed her eyes towards it.
‘The other police woman asked me earlier. I told her I don’t know him,’ Mina said.
‘I think DCI Turner left a copy of the poster with you. Do you have it?’ Monroe asked.
‘Yes,’ Mina said.
‘Could I see it?’ Monroe asked.
‘Why? You’ve got a copy in your hands. Won’t they be exactly the same?’ Mina didn’t move. Janet Monroe looked around the bedroom.
‘We’ve done a couple of different versions,’ Monroe lied. ‘I just want to make sure the one left with you earlier is the most recent, you know, in case you’re able to ask any of Lily’s friends about it.’
‘I’m not sure what I did with it,’ Mina said, her voice dropping a few tones, eyes darting nervously to the side.
‘I can help you look. My bedroom’s always messy. I have no idea how I’m going to cope with a baby.’ Monroe stood up and looked through the pile of papers and books on Mina’s desk, keeping her back to the girl but watching her in the mirror. Mina made a play of looking on her bedside table but the tell-tale side movement of her hips was a kicking action, no question about it. Monroe went to where Mina was standing, and lifted the bedcovers to check the floor. ‘There, found it. I knew it couldn’t have gone far.’ She
pulled the A4 sheet of paper from under the bed. ‘Let’s sit down again, shall we?’
‘Actually, I’m not feeling all that good,’ Mina said faintly.
‘So you told DCI Turner earlier. You really should think about trying to eat regularly, even though it’s the last thing you’ll feel like right now. Your body needs fuel. You can’t let yourself be destroyed by grief.’
‘Could you go now, please?’ Mina asked.
‘Very soon,’ Monroe said. ‘I just need to check this picture is the right one.’ She held it up, checking around the edges. Here and there the paper was shabby, and in places the ink was blurred. The grubby marks across it relayed a story Mina would never have been willing to tell voluntarily. ‘This has been handled, a lot. All that since DCI Turner left a couple of hours ago? Given that you don’t recognise the man, that’s a lot of interest in this picture.’
‘I don’t know him,’ Mina insisted.
‘What if your sister did?’ Monroe asked.
‘She didn’t. She couldn’t have,’ Mina said, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.
‘Why couldn’t she have known him, Mina? How can you be so sure, unless he’s someone you’ve had contact with?’ Monroe let the words sit. Mina’s tears became sobs, and the sobs became a howl. ‘When DCI Turner asked you about this man, you said, “Why him?” Is he important to you, Mina? Someone you think is special?’
‘He doesn’t wear glasses, so that’s not him. The other police woman said he had a stutter or a lisp or whatever. I know it’s not him. Why are you pushing me? I don’t want to do this. I don’t want you in the house anymore. My parents will be back in a minute and when they see me this upset, they’ll make a complaint, so you really should leave straight away!’ By the time Mina had finished, her voice was at shouting pitch. Lively went to stand in the doorway.