by Lynne McEwan
‘I’ll tell you what happened.’ Saltire leaned forward, stabbing the images on the table with his index finger. ‘It’s obvious. An illegal immigrant falls out with a criminal gang. Maybe he didn’t pay them enough, so they dumped him, leaving the taxpayers to clear up the mess. This is nothing to do with my organisation. Why are the police wasting time and resources on this?’
‘Do you mean this interview or this crime?’ Shona snapped back. ‘Are you saying that a falling-out of thieves is no crime, particularly if the thieves are foreigners? Just let them cancel each other out? You and I have very different ideas of the right thing. It’s my job to uphold the law. Justice is blind, it doesn’t discriminate by the colour of your skin.’
‘I’m saying, my party are saying, this is exactly why we need to keep these people out,’ Saltire replied. ‘Now if there’s nothing else…’
‘There is something else,’ Shona said. ‘You claim not to know this man?’ Saltire nodded. Shona continued, ‘Ever see him in the company of Isla?’
Saltire stared at her. ‘What has this to do with Isla?’
‘Their deaths share certain features. Would you know if they were friends? Lovers perhaps? That would be a powerful motive to someone with your views, wouldn’t it? Quite a humiliation, your ex, former drug addict, alleged mother of your child,’ she carefully emphasised. ‘Taking up with an immigrant, illegal or otherwise. The media and your political opponents would love that.’
Saltire reddened, balling his fists.
‘Where were you the night before last?’ Shona continued. She’d seen Saltire had a temper at their first encounter. Getting him rattled was their agreed strategy. Dan turned a page in his notebook, a list of supplementary questions ready.
The solicitor began to intervene, but Saltire held up his hand to stop him. ‘Let me make one thing clear, DI Oliver.’ He smiled tightly, quickly recovering his composure. A useful skill for a politician, or a criminal. Shona watched the red tinge of ire fade from his pale skin. ‘Times are changing. Scotland is changing,’ he continued. ‘The Sons of Scotia have enough public support to press our message through legitimate means, through social media campaigning and the mainstream political process. We don’t need to go around killing people to get what we want.’ In his confident smile she saw the sickening truth of his statement. ‘As for Isla Corr, she made her own decisions. She was a former friend I tried to help. That help was rejected.’
‘You haven’t answered my question. Can you account for your movements around midnight the night before last?’
Slipping his phone from his pocket her gave her a pitying look. ‘Oh Shona, don’t you read the news?’ Scrolling through, he held up a BBC Scotland website story detailing a speech Saltire had made at a business dinner in Glasgow that evening. The list of attendees included a former Lord Provost of Glasgow, a member of the Scottish Parliament and Shona’s favourite celebrity businessman Kenny Hanlon. ‘It started at eight p.m. and I was there until around one a.m. I stayed at Ross’s flat.’ He indicated his solicitor next to him, who nodded. ‘We had a brunch appointment in the city next morning and I caught the train home afterwards.’
‘How did we not know this?’ Shona fumed as they left the interview. Dan followed her into the stairwell where she threw her notebook onto the window ledge and stood staring out at the traffic moving silently along the relief road. Below she saw Saltire patting his solicitor on the back as they got into their car.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dan stammered. ‘I should have checked. If you want me off the case…’
Shona shook her head. ‘No, don’t be daft. It’s just as much my fault as yours.’ She sighed. ‘You know, Duncan Saltire is, without doubt, a rancid bawbag of a man, but I hate to admit it, I don’t think he’s our killer.’
‘A rancid bawbag…’
‘It’s a technical term we use in Scotland for…’
‘It’s okay, I get the picture. Very appropriate.’ Dan grinned. ‘But why do you think he’s not involved?’
‘Apart from the alibi?’ She shook her head. ‘He’s just too… fastidious. He’s all about control, and these deaths are messy, unpredictable. If these are vigilante killings by the Sons of Scotia, Isla is too close to Saltire, we were bound to make the connection. I can see the rationale for targeting an ethnic group. Asylum seekers, people who are already demonised by the right-wing media. But why kill a young mother, even if she was an addict? Big risk of a public backlash.’
‘What about a breakaway group?’ Dan asked.
‘I’ve checked the intel on any current alt-right terror campaign in Scotland and there’s nothing. I think if Saltire knew of anything, he’d be pointing us in that direction, hoping we’d take out his competition.’
‘So, you don’t think the deaths are connected?’
‘Oh, I do think they’re connected, I just can’t put my finger on why,’ she said, frustrated. ‘Let’s think about motive. No evidence that it’s sexual. Neither victim was wealthy, so not robbery or ransom. So, if it’s not sex, money, ethnic background, what is the connection? That’s what we need to find.’ She paused, turning the question over in her mind. ‘How did you get on with Jamie Buckland?’
Dan let out a long breath. ‘He admitted he knew Isla, that they’d been friends, but denied they had much contact now beyond the odd accidental meeting in a bar. My PCSOs have her photo and we’ve done the neighbours, but nobody wanted to speak to us. It’s that kind of area.’
‘We still don’t know what she was doing with her time,’ said Shona. ‘Kate couldn’t find any social media for her. Isla Corr was claiming benefits, but gave her old address and beyond fortnightly job seeker interviews she doesn’t pop up anywhere.’
Dan was flipping through the pages of his notebook. ‘Neither of our victims were reported missing. They’re both from vulnerable groups, easy targets. Maybe that’s the connection?’
‘Go on.’
‘We’re looking for at least two people. What if they’re a killing team? The dominant partner could be the individual in the back of the van, and the submissive partner the facilitator, the driver.’
‘If you’re thinking serial killers, you need at least three incidences to pursue that line,’ she reminded him.
‘What if there are more? Killings with body depositions on the border? There’s a lot of rural areas…’
She held up her hand to stop him. ‘Let’s work with what we’ve got. We’ve already run it through HOLMES and other Home Office systems nationally, nothing’s come up.’
‘There’s no link we can see between the victims, but what if the killers were mission-orientated, picking people they thought didn’t deserve to live? Or hedonistic or control-driven, killing for pleasure or feelings of power? That fits for a duo.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve checked with Murdo. We don’t get that many unexplained deaths here, so he’d know. I can’t guarantee there are no unrecovered victims out in the hills, but what we need now is evidence.’ Shona closed her notebook and leaned forward on the window sill, rubbing her face with her hands and shaking her head.
‘What is it?’ asked Ridley.
‘I’m just thinking of Isla. Her father, Gringo, Saltire. Her killer or killers. How can a woman collect so many complete bastards in one life? You’d think the odds were against it. Poor wee girl.’
* * *
Murdo met Shona and Dan as they climbed the stairs back to the CID office. His face was set hard.
‘Baird’s been on the blower,’ he said without preamble. ‘That little shit Saltire has been mouthing off on social media about police harassment and general incompetence. Our local MP and MSP have both been complaining about the lack of arrests on the baby milk case and the media want to know if the motorway victim is a Nazi contract killing. It’s not been the best of mornings.’
‘Get the team together, Murdo,’ Shona ordered, hurrying up the remaining steps. ‘I’ll have a word with Baird later.’ She reached the door on the land
ing and turned to see Dan standing halfway up, unsure of his next move. ‘Well, are you coming, or not?’
He took the stairs two at a time and followed Murdo in the CID office where Kate and Ravi were both sitting glumly at their desks.
Shona swept into her office. The Skype alert flashed on her laptop screen with DCI Gavin Baird’s tag. She considered declining it, but if he’d already been onto Murdo he must have been looking for her. She checked her phone, which she’d switched to silent for the Saltire interview. A line of missed calls and texts showed up. Shit. She hurriedly shut the door, dragged her chair to the desk, smoothed her hair and blouse, and took a deep breath. She pressed the green phone icon and Baird’s disgruntled face appeared.
‘Shona,’ he growled, ‘what’s been going on down there?’
‘I’m sorry, I was in interview and couldn’t take your calls, sir,’ she said calmly. An image of when she’d last seen him, leaning over her in the hotel corridor, swam up in her mind. He couldn’t have forgotten what happened. He didn’t even have the decency to look shame-faced. She clenched her jaw.
‘Mars Bar Munroe’s been bending my ear. What’s this about a Nazi killing gang patrolling the border picking off immigrants?’
It had Saltire’s dabs all over it. He’d obviously been briefing the press as a result of this morning’s interview. By showing his outrage Saltire was effectively protecting himself from criticism of his more extreme fascist views and positioning himself as a representative of all concerned citizens. She’d thought his connection to Isla would curb his tongue, but she’d been wrong.
‘That’s not our line, sir,’ Shona replied. ‘A suspicious death involving a man of Middle-Eastern appearance…’
‘I know what it’s about, what I want to know is what you’re doing to wrap it up.’
‘Sorry, sir?’
‘I’ve seen the PM details. Fractured skull after falling from a moving vehicle. I’ve spoken to the fiscal, we agree that this is currently a road traffic accident until proven otherwise.’
‘We think he was pushed from the van.’
‘You think? Thinking isn’t good enough,’ Baird snapped.
‘The driver didn’t stop,’ Shona countered. ‘The van was recovered burnt out.’
‘Then the driver is guilty of failing to stop at the scene of an accident. When you find him, or her, you can charge them with that offence. Understand?’
‘Yes, sir, I understand completely.’
Baird cut the call. For a moment Shona stared at the empty screen. Then she slammed her hands repeatedly on the desk. This sleekit, sanctimonious bastard excuse for a DCI. All he cared about was his solve-rate, his budgets and his own career. When she was finished, she lifted her head, straightened her shoulders and went to do her job.
Chapter 16
DC Kate Irving pulled off her headphones and flopped back in her chair. In the far corner of the office Murdo was reviewing motorway CCTV footage with Dan Ridley. Ravi sat opposite her, beating out a rhythm with his pen on the desk. She caught his eye.
‘What?’ He smirked and resumed his tapping. But for once Ravi was not the target of her ire.
She leaned forward and hissed, ‘What’s he doing here again?’ She jerked her head towards Dan.
Ravi dismissed her question with a shrug. ‘Don’t know what your problem is with him.’
‘Suppose you fancy him too.’ Kate pouted.
Ravi looked up at her, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. ‘He is quite cute. What’s the matter, girlfriend? Can’t take the competition?’ When Kate coloured, he knew he’d hit the mark and chuckled to himself. He was about to continue baiting her when the boss’s door flew open.
‘Murdo, Kate, Ravi. In here now.’
‘Brace yourselves,’ said Murdo under his breath. Dan slid into Murdo’s now vacant seat and kept his head down.
Shona stood, palms flat on her desk. ‘Updates?’ She looked at each of them in turn, her gaze finally resting on Kate.
‘I’ve collated the witness statements from the baby milk case,’ Kate began. ‘The CCTV from Cumbria is a match for two of our suspects but no reports of further thefts there. I’m still waiting for more image enhancement. Posters have gone out to the stores. Hannah and Ed are following up the calls. I pulled the mugshots of previous shoplifters. The witnesses couldn’t give us a positive ID, but I’ve conducted three interviews and eliminated the individuals concerned.’
‘So, as of now, we have nothing,’ said Shona curtly. ‘Ravi, can you do any better? Anything from Isla’s family?’ Kate, her face scarlet, dipped her head to her notebook and drew a line so heavy that the end of her pencil snapped.
‘Do you want Dan in on this?’ Ravi queried.
‘I’ll deal with DC Ridley in a minute. Get on with it,’ Shona snapped.
‘Okay,’ said Ravi calmly. ‘Isla’s mother can’t confirm Saltire as Ryan’s father, but she isn’t offering up any alternatives either. Isla was absent for six weeks before her estimated time of death. She contacted her mother only twice during that period to ask about Ryan. Said she was staying with a friend.’
‘Any cell siting info on the phone?’
‘Both calls made by Isla were from the Gretna area. Pay-as-you-go phone. Those masts cover a wide area. We’ve no associated address for Isla in the town.’ Ravi closed his notebook.
‘Okay. What are the family saying?’
‘She was a nice kid, before the drugs. Smart. Good at maths. Her mother wanted her to be a bookkeeper. But the father, Paddy Corr,’ Ravi shook his head, ‘he’s a deeply destabilising influence on the whole family. Still keeps Marie under the thumb. Drove a wedge between her and Isla. Dotes on the grandson, in a mini-me kind of way. Paddy hasn’t got long. Probably a blessing.’
‘Do you think Paddy had a hand in Isla’s death?’
‘I can’t see any reason that he’d be involved. Isla was never there and she posed no threat to him.’
‘So, no real progress.’ Shona remained standing, glaring at her constables.
‘I really don’t think the family knew what she was up to, boss.’ Ravi shifted in his seat, his customary bounce temporarily flattened. ‘Marie’s sister, Margaret, reckons Isla was an addict and her death is good riddance. She blames Isla for her own daughter Siobhan getting hooked and pissing off, leaving her kid behind. Marie’s the only one upset about Isla, the rest of them couldn’t care less.’
‘Even more reason to get justice for her,’ Shona exclaimed. ‘One person, one agency after another, let this young woman down. I won’t have her death swept under the carpet like she didn’t matter.’
‘It’s okay, boss,’ Murdo cut in. ‘We want a result on this too.’
‘Well, where is her social worker’s input? Where’s the timeline of her movements? Kate, I asked you to check with the multi-agency hub. Have you done it?’
DC Irving stopped doodling and sat bolt upright. ‘I’ll chase that up.’
‘See that you do,’ Shona ordered. ‘All of you,’ she pointed a finger at each of them in turn, ‘want to keep the best cases from going to MITs? Then bring me something useful on Isla Corr, the baby milk thefts or the motorway victim by the end of the day, or Traffic will be gaining three new officers. Murdo, get Dan Ridley in here.’
They shuffled out, Murdo signalling to Dan that he was wanted. As Dan passed the subdued group Murdo whispered, ‘Wee Shona’s on the warpath. What do you English fellas use for protection? A cricket box is it?’ He squeezed Dan’s shoulder. ‘Better get yourself one quick.’
Shona was rubbing her temples as Dan tapped the office door and came in. ‘Anything I can do?’ She was about to give him a suitably short and pithy reply but the sight of his hopeful, boyish expression and anxious blue eyes stopped her. She sighed and pointed to the chair in front of her desk.
‘Isla’s family think she was using again,’ Shona said. ‘Where are we with the toxicology report?’
‘Still waiting.’
> ‘Do us all a favour, get down to Carlisle pathology. Make a nuisance of yourself until they hand it over. We’re losing momentum. If we don’t get a break soon, we may never know what happened to Isla.’
‘You think we should give up?’
She sighed again. Should she confide in him over and above her own team? He wasn’t even her officer, but pursuing this case, following her lead, might land him in hot water with his own boss. ‘Look, let’s just say my boss and your boss are of a mind on this. They want these cases filed and forgotten. I know you’re ambitious. You might want to think about your job prospects.’
‘I don’t need to think about that, boss,’ Dan said firmly. ‘Protect and serve, that’s why I joined up.’
She smiled at his youthful naivety. But why shouldn’t he mean it? She was just as resolved at his age and that hadn’t changed. Fairness, integrity, diligence. These were the values that mattered, not just clear-up rates and paper targets.
‘Off you go, let me know what you find. But Dan,’ she stopped him at the door, her warm dark eyes full of concern, ‘be careful.’
He nodded and was gone.
Shona returned to her desk. Craning her neck, she could see Murdo through the half glass panels of her office directing Kate, Ravi and two civilian assistants at the whiteboard, an action plan developing. On her screen, an email from Baird popped up requesting figures for a report. After his recent Skype performance, he could wait.
She scanned down through the heaving inbox. Among the internal memos, meeting reminders and inter-agency collaboration requests an email marked ‘BWV’ followed by Special Constable Johnstone’s collar number and the date caught her eye. Attached were the body-worn video files covering the incident with the suicidal individual at the bridge. She’d told Johnstone she would arrange for the man’s picture to be distributed, in case he made another attempt. It was a quick job, worth doing now. Besides, something about the incident, something half remembered, had been nagging at the back of her mind. Perhaps the video would show her what it was.