by James Oswald
There had to be a connection between all three men. His gut told him there was. He just needed to look at them all the right way. Or maybe get a fresh pair of eyes to look at them for him.
Gathering up the two reports, McLean left his office and went in search of a spare detective. There was no sign of either DI Ritchie or Detective Superintendent McIntyre, which probably meant they were both in important meetings somewhere. DC Stringer and DS Gregg were both on their phones when he stuck his head into the Cecily Slater incident room, so he ducked out again before either of them noticed. He briefly considered going across to the offices of the Sexual Crimes Unit and speaking to DCI Dexter, but this wasn’t really connected to her line of work, and Vice was usually even more busy than Specialist Crime. He could see if anyone was in the Cold Case Unit down in the basement, but he’d leaned on them too much already.
In the end, McLean’s feet took him to the CID room and its mess of desks assigned to the detective constables and sergeants in his own division. For a long time the room had felt like a classroom the day after term’s ended, but now it was beginning to fill up again. There weren’t any actual detectives there; that would have been too much to hope for. But the once-empty desks now bore evidence of occupation. Elmwood had promised them new DCs, and McLean had even met a couple of them. They were too new to be any use to him right now, though. He needed someone with a few miles under their belt.
‘You looking for anyone in particular, sir?’
Hidden away at the back of the room, her body obscured by a large flat-screen computer monitor, McLean hadn’t noticed DS Harrison until she stood up. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been looking for her in particular, but there weren’t any other officers who knew all the cases. And he needed to warn her about the chief superintendent’s threat, of course.
‘Actually, yes. It was something you said before we were interrupted earlier.’ McLean glanced around the empty CID room. Tempting though it was to speak in there, it was almost inevitable they would be interrupted. Likewise heading down to the canteen. And if he took Harrison up to his office, who knew what the gossips would make of it. Damn, but he hated how things like that got in the way of doing the job. ‘You busy right now?’
Harrison looked at him like he was mad or something. ‘Are you kidding, sir? I’m always busy. Nothing that can’t wait a while though.’
‘Well see if you can’t find us a pool car and meet me downstairs in ten minutes. I’ve got to go and speak to Mrs Galloway about her husband. You can tell me all about Isobel DeVilliers on the way there.’
‘Izzy?’ Harrison’s voice hitched up a half-octave. ‘What do you—?’
‘Not here, Janie. Sort out a car and meet me downstairs. I need to go and see Grumpy Bob first.’
37
The temperature rarely changed down in the basement where the CCU hid its offices, and in the height of summer it was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat of the glass-walled offices upstairs. Now that autumn was on the turn, the cool seemed somehow chilly, seeping into McLean’s bones. It must have been seeping into Grumpy Bob’s bones too, as the ex-detective sergeant sat at his desk with a small heater blowing away underneath. When he noticed McLean at the door, he rubbed his hands together and blew on them theatrically.
‘You should’ve retired to Florida if you wanted to keep warm in your old age, Bob.’ He stepped fully into the room, noticing as he did that there was no sign of Ex-Detective Superintendent Duguid.
‘Florida? Aye, I went there once with Mrs Bob. Before she decided she’d had enough of me. Too much sun for a man of my delicate complexion.’ Grumpy Bob closed the folder he’d been reading, took off his spectacles and slid them into the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘Heard you were getting sweet-talked by our new chief superintendent. You want to be careful there. She’s trouble if you ask me.’
‘Funny you should mention that, Bob. I was coming to much the same conclusion myself.’ McLean crossed the room, pulled up a chair and sat opposite the detective sergeant. ‘She’s manipulative and doesn’t like being told no. Which is fine when she’s going up against the politicians for an increase in our budgets, less so when she wants me to follow her around wherever she goes, like a wee spaniel or something.’
‘You’ve tried, I take it? Telling her no.’
‘Just this very morning.’ McLean recounted the events, starting with his rude awakening before dawn, and ending with the chief superintendent’s veiled threat to his team. Grumpy Bob listened carefully, as was his way. When McLean had finished, the ex-detective sergeant got up slowly, walked across the room to where a coffee machine sat on top of a short filing cabinet, and poured out a single mug.
‘I’d offer you one, but I get the feeling you’re only here to ask a favour.’
‘You know me too well.’
Grumpy Bob returned to his desk, sat down. ‘So what are you going to do about her?’
McLean considered for a moment before answering. ‘That depends very much on what she’s trying to hide.’
‘And I suppose you want me to find out what that is, aye?’
‘To be honest, Bob, I’m surprised you don’t know already. There’s not much happens in this station behind your back.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, even though I’m not sure it is one. But I have to admit I’ve not found out much about our new leader as yet. No one’s got a bad word to say about her so far, but that’s probably because she’s not been here long enough to put too many folks’ backs up. And she’s shaken some more money out of the budgets, which goes a long way to gaining an officer’s deep and abiding loyalty, in my experience.’
McLean slumped in his seat. ‘Maybe it’s just me she’s got her eyes on, then. I could do without the attention, mind.’
‘That bad?’
‘Worse. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation, three more suspicious deaths on top of that, and she drags me over to Gartcosh with her so she’s not lonely in the car. And that Safe Streets Committee event. That was a bloody joke. If I’d been home like I was meant to be, my car wouldn’t have been in the station car park to get nicked, either.’
‘Aye, shame about that car. It was a bit flash, but much more comfortable than the old one.’
‘Maybe it’s nothing,’ McLean continued. ‘Like you say, she’s new in the job, still finding her feet. And she’s more pleasing on the eye than Call-me-Stevie. He never put his hand on my knee, though.’
Grumpy Bob almost spat out his coffee as he tried and failed to suppress a laugh. ‘Oh dear. She’s really not got any idea, has she?’ He turned serious again. ‘But that’s a problem I can see blowing up out of all proportion. Needs nipping in the bud, right enough.’
McLean stood up and returned the chair to the desk he’d found it under. ‘Have a chat with that infamous network of old retired detectives I’ve heard so much about, eh? There must be something the chief superintendent would rather wasn’t common knowledge. Not that I’d ever go public with anything, but she doesn’t need to know that.’
‘About earlier, sir. I’m sorry. I was out of line. I should have told you the moment Izzy came to me.’
DS Harrison had entirely failed to secure a pool car for the journey, and now she sat in the passenger seat of Emma’s little Renault ZOE. They’d driven in silence for about five minutes before she’d broken. Not that McLean had been trying to sweat her out; more he couldn’t work out how to begin.
‘Why didn’t you?’ It was the question that had been bothering him since he’d found out.
‘It’s . . . complicated?’
‘Well we’ve got at least ten minutes.’ He waved a hand at the windscreen, beyond which traffic choked the road in an unmoving smog of exhaust fumes. ‘Try me.’
‘You know how I said Izzy was one of the protesters at Tommy Fielding’s conference?’
McLean
nodded, fairly sure he already knew where this was going.
‘Well, she was actually one of the half dozen who broke into the hotel and got themselves arrested.’
McLean hadn’t been involved in that, but he’d read the daily station briefing email. ‘I thought there were only five of them. And they were let go with a caution.’
‘Exactly. I found out Izzy was in a holding cell and sort of persuaded Tam to forget she’d ever been in there?’
‘Persuaded?’ McLean knew the custody sergeant of old. Not exactly one to give out favours, unless he’d mellowed as he approached retirement. ‘No, I don’t think I want to know.’
‘It’s nothing like that, sir. Honestly.’ Harrison shook her head. ‘I could have told him what Izzy had been through, but I thought she’d rather not have that mentioned. You know about that, aye? Her step-father, Roger DeVilliers?’
‘Not the full details. She was abused, though, I know that much.’
‘He sexually assaulted her from the age of six, sir. He shared her with his sick friends, and when she tried to run away he used his money and influence to track her down. It’s amazing she’s not a total gibbering wreck. I don’t think I’d have survived if something like that had happened to me.’
McLean risked a sideways glance at the detective sergeant. There was an anger in her voice he wasn’t used to hearing, even if it was entirely justified.
‘That would explain how she was able to defend herself. How she managed to inflict quite so much damage on her attackers.’
‘Actually I think she learned that at her posh boarding school. Wish they’d taught us that sort of thing at Broxburn Academy.’
‘All the same. What you did was wrong, you know?’ McLean pre-empted the inevitable, interrupting Harrison before she could answer him. ‘And yes, I do get that it’s a bit rich coming from me of all people. But someone’s got to point it out. Helping a friend’s sister out with the duty sergeant is one thing, but tracking down her attackers? Taking a detective constable with you to interview one of them? Who sanctioned that? Nobody, because there wasn’t a complaint filed, no official investigation, no paper trail. And now one of those attackers is dead, circumstances as yet unexplained. This could all come back to bite you big time, Janie.’
‘I . . .’ Harrison started to say, then fell silent.
‘Look, I know why you did it. I’d most likely have done exactly the same myself. This isn’t a formal warning or a dressing-down. It’s a be careful. If what you’ve found out about Galloway proves useful to any of our ongoing investigations, there won’t be any problems. I can see to that. But you need to be aware that the chief superintendent is very interested in him, and as yet I’ve no idea why.’
‘The chief superintendent?’ Harrison’s voice went up a squeaky octave in surprise. ‘But how would she even know about him?’
‘That’s a mystery I’d very much like to get to the bottom of. And trust me, I’m working on it. There’s something else that’s been bothering me, though. What you said about Galloway and the other man.’
‘Christopher Allan?’
‘Aye, him. You said they’d been sent by Tommy Fielding to shut the DeVilliers girl up. What was it you called them? His goons? Are you sure it was him?’
‘Why else would they do that?’
McLean glanced at the Sat-Nav, unhelpfully suggesting he take a turn down a street currently closed for roadworks. ‘Young women get attacked all the time, Janie. You know that as well as I do. It seems a bit . . . far-fetched? I know Fielding’s not a nice person, but getting people to beat up a young woman? He’s one of the city’s top lawyers, you know. You start throwing around accusations and he’ll end your career before you can even log off your shift.’
‘So what? You think they were just trying to rape her, then? Nothing else?’ Harrison’s tone was a warning.
‘I don’t know. That’s the whole problem. But Galloway’s dead, his death is unusual, and someone brought it to the attention of our new chief superintendent. She got me to take over the investigation so that she can keep an eye on things, keep it under control. I need to know why, and who tipped her off. Throwing Tommy Fielding into the mix just makes things more complicated than they already are.’
They fell silent for a few minutes, the unnerving quiet of the car only adding to McLean’s unease. There was too much going on, too many half-connections and coincidences. And all the while it was distracting him from the investigation into Cecily Slater’s murder, her killers slipping ever further out of reach.
‘What if Fielding knows her, sir?’ Harrison said out of nowhere. ‘The chief super, that is. What if he was the one tipped her off about Galloway? Asked her to keep it quiet so nothing comes back to him?’
McLean shook his head slowly. He could see their destination a hundred metres up the road now, checked his mirror, indicated and began to slow. ‘You’ll be telling me he killed Cecily Slater next. Let’s stop speculating and start trying to find out some actual facts, eh?’
38
Brian Galloway’s former house was not as big as McLean’s own home on the other side of the city, but it was still a sizeable mansion by anyone’s reckoning. Late Victorian, if his scant knowledge of architecture was anything to go by, it was well maintained, but had a gaudiness about it that jarred. By the time he’d parked and he and Harrison had climbed out of the car and taken all this in, the front door was open and a woman stood on the step. Tall and thin, her long blond hair snaked in an elegant braid over one shoulder and down almost to her hip. She wore a zip-up hoodie over a plain white T-shirt and those jeans that look like they’re ancient and frayed but most likely came out of the wrapping like that. She stared at him almost frowning as she approached, but she’d let him in the security gate so he assumed that she was short-sighted and had lost her spectacles.
‘Detective Inspector McLean?’ Her voice had a slight American drawl to it, but the intonation was pure Edinburgh. As she spoke, her gaze slid past him to the car, and she broke into a smile. ‘Oh, you drive a ZOE. Snap!’
‘It’s my partner’s, actually. I’m only borrowing it. Yes, I’m DI McLean. My colleague DS Harrison.’ He pulled out his warrant card and held it up, but the woman didn’t bother looking at it. ‘You’re Elizabeth Carter? Mr Galloway’s ex-wife?’
The smile scrunched into a frown at the mention of the name, but it was short-lived. ‘Lizzie. Yes. Brian was my husband. And as the father of my children I should probably be a bit more sad that he’s dead.’ She paused a moment, rubbed at her arms as if only then realising how cold it was. ‘Why don’t you both come in, then? Brian’s mum’s here with the kids. I’ll put the kettle on.’
They followed Lizzie Carter into the house, through a large hallway and out to a spacious and modern kitchen at the rear. Through a set of folding glass doors, a large glass structure covered a swimming pool, with a tidy patio area at the nearest end. The noise of splashing and excited childish shouting echoed through the doorway, bringing with it a sharp tang of chlorinated water.
‘So then. What do you want to talk to me about?’ Carter had her back to them as she talked. She worked her way methodically through various cupboards, bringing out teapot, tea, milk, biscuits and setting them all out before turning.
‘When was the last time you spoke to Mr Galloway?’
Carter tilted her head to one side, her long plait of hair dangling further to the floor like Rapunzel. ‘Let me see. Couple of weeks ago? Could be a month, actually. He wanted to see the boys.’ She nodded her head towards the open door and the pool beyond.
‘And did he? See them, that is?’ Harrison asked.
‘Christ, no. Wouldn’t let that bastard anywhere near them after what he did.’
The kettle clicked, and Carter turned away to deal with the making of tea. McLean let the silence grow as she went through the motions. There was no need to rush,
and so far she was being unusually helpful. He’d not eaten in a while either, and didn’t want to jeopardise his chances with a substantial plate of biscuits. After a protracted ritual, Carter put everything on to a tray and lifted it up.
‘Come on. Let’s take this out to the poolside. Irene’s watching the boys, but after . . . this morning, she could probably do with a bit more adult company.’
They stepped from the dry warmth of the kitchen into the steam of the pool house. McLean didn’t want to think how much it cost to keep that pool heated, but it was clearly a source of great enjoyment to the two young boys dive-bombing into the far end before scrambling out and doing it again.
‘Detective Inspector, we meet again.’ Old Mrs Galloway sat at a cast-iron table far enough from the pool to avoid getting accidentally splashed, but close enough that she could keep an eye on her grandsons at play. She half rose, but McLean indicated she should stay seated before introducing Harrison.
‘I have to admit I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Mrs Galloway. I hope the family liaison officer was able to help.’
‘Oh yes, thank you. Nice young lady. Took me home in a panda car and then brought me here. I don’t think what happened this morning’s sunk in yet, if I’m being honest. I expect the shock will hit eventually. Helps to have the boys here. And Lizzie, of course.’
‘How old are they?’ Harrison nodded towards the dive-bombing. Carter answered as she poured tea.
‘Jamie’s eight and his brother Edward’s ten. We’ve not told them about their father yet, but they’ve never really asked about him since the divorce.’
‘He didn’t get visiting rights?’