by Lynne McEwan
She clicked open the last file. There was the lifeboat arriving on scene, the searchlight illuminating the water, the terrified man clinging to the pier of the bridge. She could hear the Good Samaritan, the man in the scuffed leather jacket, reassuring him. Finally, he reached down and took hold of the jumper’s wrist. Shona paused the video, taking it step by step until she was sure.
She went to the office door and called Murdo. ‘Come and look at this.’
Next to the video, she pulled up the post-mortem pictures of the motorway victim’s clothes. Murdo’s eyes flicked between the moving image and the stills. ‘Clothes look the same, but is it the same guy?’
Shona froze the video at the moment the man was pulled to safety. ‘I think it is. Look at his hands. They looked odd at the time. I thought he was wearing fingerless gloves, but it’s bandages.’
‘The historic injury to the hands.’ Murdo nodded. ‘Was it another suicide attempt, him jumping from the van?’ he said, doubtfully.
‘I suppose we can’t rule it out but, I agree, there are simpler ways to kill yourself.’ Shona tapped the image on the screen with her finger. ‘The jumper made off before he could be detained. We need to speak to our Good Samaritan.’
Murdo sat down in Shona’s seat and played the video over a few times, peering at the screen. ‘That’s Tony Kirkwood. I’m sure of it.’
Shona leaned in, resting her hand on Murdo’s beefy shoulder, studying the man she’d seen through spray and darkness on the night of the rescue. His lean frame and deeply lined face said he might be a walker or climber. Shona put him in his fifties. ‘Do I know him? Who is he?’
‘Doubt you’ve met him. He’s not a fan of the police, was in bother a few times when he was younger. Ex squaddie. He runs Hobo, the homeless charity off Irish Road.’
‘Think he’ll talk to us?’
‘We can ask,’ Murdo replied.
Shona took her hand from his shoulder with a final pat. ‘Murdo, I swear there isn’t anyone you don’t know in Dumfries.’
Murdo frowned, considering the statement. ‘Bound to be one or two,’ he said, seriously.
‘Well, I’ve yet to meet them. Come on, get your coat.’
* * *
Hobo had a boarded-over shopfront painted in a livid shade of green gloss. It was streaked with a fine drizzle, the rain adding to its general air of misery. The door was locked but Shona could see a light on inside, spilling weakly through murky glass panels. She rattled the handle and Tony Kirkwood’s scowling face appeared behind the metal grill. He glanced at Murdo and his frown deepened. After a pause the door swung open. Shona and Murdo showed their badges as they crossed the threshold, but Kirkwood dismissed the IDs with a flick of his hand. ‘What do youse want?’
A single bare lightbulb hung suspended from the ceiling. Battered sofas huddled in corners, the wooden floor covered by an overlapping network of mismatched rugs. The smell of fried food and damp lingered. Kirkwood regarded them, thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets, a posture of sullen defiance he had been perfecting since an early age.
‘I was on the lifeboat called to Sark Bridge the other night. I saw you,’ said Shona.
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Waiting for you to fall in.’
A flicker of amusement crept across the harsh expression. ‘And you’d have hauled me out, would you?’ he said sceptically.
‘Well, it was before I’d met you,’ Shona replied casually.
Kirkwood’s lined face cracked into a grin. ‘Ballsy wee thing, aren’t you?’ He turned to Murdo. ‘Bet she keeps you on your toes.’ Crossing to a sofa, he motioned them to sit down. ‘I’ll say nothing about my clients, so don’t ask.’ He took a cigarette from a packet on the low table in front of him and put it in his mouth, checking his pockets for a light, all the while fixing them with an uncompromising look.
Shona sat down next to him. ‘The fella from the bridge. We think we’ve found his body.’
Kirkwood stared at her. ‘Aw, fuck. Sami?’ He threw the unlit cigarette back on the table and rubbed both hands across his shorn scalp. ‘How do you know it’s him?’
‘The clothes, the bandaged hands. Did you not see the news? The body recovered from the motorway.’
‘Didn’t make the connection. So, was it suicide?’
‘We’re keeping an open mind,’ Shona replied.
Kirkwood gave her a questioning look which she ignored.
‘Was he a client?’ she continued, nodding to Murdo, who opened his notebook and sat down opposite them. ‘We’d like your help identifying him, so we can get in touch with his family.’
‘You’ll have a job. They’re back in Syria, if they’re still alive.’ Kirkwood picked up the cigarette packet, offering it round. Shona and Murdo declined. He took one himself and lit it, shaking his head sadly.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Shona. ‘This must be tough news to hear.’ Kirkwood seemed genuinely upset. He’d saved the man’s life, risking his own in the process, only to lose him again. Shona wondered how long you could work in a place like this before you became numb to the near daily doses of pain. ‘How did you first meet Sami?’
Tony Kirkwood drew in a lungful of smoke and watched her with narrowed eyes, considering how far she could be trusted. She returned his stare with a steady gaze. Eventually he exhaled. ‘His name’s Sami Raseem. Found him on the street a couple of weeks back. Terrified. Injured here.’ Kirkwood gestured to the backs of his own hands. ‘Wouldn’t go to hospital. It was an accident, he said, but it looked like someone had banjo’ed him. Black eye, the works. Patched him up. Fed him. Tried to get him to stay here, but he wouldn’t. Said they’d come for him.’
‘Who would come for him?’ Shona asked.
‘Too scared to tell me. My guess is the trafficking gang he was paying off. Said he couldn’t do what they wanted any more. I don’t know if that was because of his hands, he couldn’t work, or…’ Kirkwood shrugged, tapping the ash from his cigarette into a saucer on the table. ‘One of the other guys called me when he saw him climb over Sark Bridge. Sami thought that was his only way out. The gang probably said they’d hand him over to the authorities if he didn’t do what he was told, so he was just as frightened of the police as he was of the traffickers.’ He smiled ironically at Shona. ‘The gang had also threatened his family. I lost sight of him while the medics were checking him. They said the minute they turned their backs he legged it. Me and a couple of the guys had a look for him, but no luck.’
Shona sat forward. ‘Do you know who this gang is?’
‘If I knew who they were I’d be getting a few kicks in maeself.’
‘I’d rather you left them to me.’
‘Aye, mibbae,’ Tony said, doubtfully, his eyes hardening as he expelled a line of smoke. Shona didn’t doubt that he was capable of taking the law into his own hands.
So maybe Duncan Saltire had been right. Sami murdered by the gang who trafficked him. It wasn’t a comforting thought. Shona wondered, if you put Kirkland and Duncan Saltire in a room together, would they find common ground? Saltire’s political rhetoric feeding Kirkland’s sense of righteous indignation. Perhaps they’d tear each other apart. The idea that they wouldn’t was even more terrifying.
Kirkland shook his head. ‘Genuinely, I’d tell you if I knew. Traffickers. Modern slavers, they pick on people with learning difficulties, for fuck’s sake. They find them easier to control.’
‘Did Sami have learning difficulties?’ Shona said.
‘No, he was smart. English wisnae bad, spoke French and a bit of Greek too, all self-taught. I think I’d have persuaded him to turn the bastards in, given a wee bit of time. But he believed they could get to him anywhere. Looks like he was right.’
Shona thanked him. He promised to get in touch if he remembered anything else. ‘And I’ll give you a call, next time I fancy a swim.’ He winked at her.
She and Murdo went back out into the steady drizzle. ‘You were a hit with Tony-boy,’
said Murdo, turning up his coat collar. ‘Thought he’d show us the door.’
‘It’s my natural charm.’
‘Nearly always fatal, so I’ve heard.’
‘Less of your cheek, DS O’Halloran.’
‘What?’ he said, as she whacked him on the arm. ‘I’m joking, so I am.’ They walked to the end of the street where Shona’s Audi was parked.
‘Well, at least we have a name, poor fella,’ said Murdo when they were seated inside. ‘Isla Corr’s death. Do you think it’s linked?’
Shona pulled back the hood of her jacket. ‘I don’t know, Murdo.’ She adjusted the rear-view mirror and tried to smooth the strands of dark hair, rapidly curling in the damp atmosphere. Then she sat back, staring through the windscreen, the drizzle turning the street outside to a wash of blurred lines. ‘Two unexplained deaths. Whatever we have here, this isn’t suicide or an accident, is it? This is murder, I feel it in my bones.’
Chapter 17
In Dumfries CID room, the two unidentified victims on the whiteboard now had names. Isla Corr and Sami Raseem. But how were they connected? For a long time, Shona stood before the photographs and scraps of information searching for links, but nothing fitted.
Murdo and Ravi had gone to tap their local contacts. Kate was putting in calls to the Police Scotland National Human Trafficking Unit and the Home Office and had even begged a favour from an old university pal, now with the Modern Slavery Helpline. She’d also demonstrated the value of her geography degree, talking Shona through the potential trafficking routes and points of entry. Shona called one of the specialist officers with the UK Border Agency operation at Stranraer Port to check if he had any leads. He promised to get back to them. Shona could only wait and pray all this effort would lead somewhere quickly. The time they could operate under Baird’s radar was limited. Going over his head to Mars Bar Munroe wasn’t an option. This close to retirement, her chief super wouldn’t rock the boat with his favoured successor. Kate appeared at her side. It was late. She was off home, maybe Shona should go too.
Arriving back at High Pines she found a furious Rob sitting at the kitchen table, glaring at his phone. ‘Didn’t you get my texts?’ he demanded.
‘Yes, but I was already on my way. I wasn’t going to stop to answer them.’ She pulled open the fridge door, hoping for a meal to reheat, but found nothing. Rob often texted her with stuff that was sorted by the time she arrived home. God, she was sick of bread, but it would have to be another sandwich. ‘What’s the problem?’ She took a packet of ham and dropped it onto the countertop.
‘Becca’s been excluded from school for a week.’
‘You’re kidding.’ She turned to Rob, indignant. ‘What do the school think that will achieve? She had nothing to do with the drugs. We’ve already grounded her. And when did excluding someone from an education improve anything?’
‘It’s not the drugs. She was fighting. Had some lass up against a wall, choking her apparently.’
‘What?’ Shona gapped at him. ‘Jesus. At this rate I’ll have to ASBO my own daughter. Where is she?’
‘In her room.’
Shona tore up the stairs, hunger forgotten. She threw open the door to find Becca on the bed, her pale defiant face lit only by her phone screen.
‘Right, I’ll have that for a start.’ Shona grabbed the phone from her. To her surprise, Becca didn’t protest.
‘You may as well, everyone’s slagging me off anyway.’ She glared at her mother.
‘I’m not surprised if you go around assaulting people,’ Shona replied.
‘Oh, that’s right, judge me,’ Becca yelled back. ‘They called Ellie and me names. Racist and homophobic abuse. They started kicking Ellie, taking her stuff.’ She pointed a finger at her mother. ‘You, you of all people shouldn’t condemn me for defending someone and standing up for what’s right.’
With stab of guilt Shona saw herself at the hospital, protecting Isla, beating Gringo to the ground. She winced at the unconscious bullseye her daughter had scored. ‘I’m not judging you, but violence is never the answer.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘You were right to protect Ellie from these bullies, but look where your action’s got you. Excluded and a black mark on your record. You should have reported this to the school, let them deal with it.’
Becca scoffed. ‘Mum, you’ve no idea. They just ignore it, couldn’t care less. Ellie came here with her family from Poland when she was three years old. She’s white, so the school can’t see the problem.’ She leant forward, meeting her mother’s gaze. ‘This isn’t like London. They haven’t a single black or ethnic teacher. You just don’t get it.’
‘I do get it. I’ve had Ravi give the dedicated campus police officers a talk on just this issue. It’s a first step and will help.’
Becca gave a weak smile. ‘Yeah, Ravi’s cool. If we had teachers like him, maybe things would change.’
‘They will change, with more pupils like you.’ Shona was surprised to feel tears of pride forming at the back of her eyes. She swallowed them down. ‘Be patient, you’ll get there.’ Becca’s motives might have been instinctive and sound but putting herself in the firing line was something she mustn’t repeat. Shona knew the penalties of that approach. She hoped her daughter would learn this lesson and spare herself the inevitable consequences.
‘About tomorrow? Am I still grounded?’ Becca asked, tossing back her long dark hair in nervous gesture that Shona recognised from her younger self.
Tomorrow was Wednesday. Rob was off to the train station with B&B guests. Dental appointment? Other random family stuff? ‘What about tomorrow?’
‘Glasgow Uni open day. You were gonna take me?’ Becca’s eyes widened. ‘Oh my God. You forgot!’ Her accusation was tinged with glee at catching her mother out.
‘I didn’t,’ Shona lied, quickly weighing up the pros and cons. She’d already cleared her schedule of meetings. Murdo could update her on leads. ‘Okay, we will go to Glasgow. But Becca,’ she took her daughter’s hand and squeezed it, ‘I want you to think seriously about what you’ve done. You need to understand your actions have consequences. You could jeopardise your future. No more smacking folk.’
‘I won’t, Mum. I promise.’ Becca nodded seriously.
Shona returned to the kitchen and sat down heavily at the table. Rob gave her a questioning look. ‘Sorted?’
‘I think so. I’m taking her to Glasgow tomorrow for the uni open day, give you some peace. She needs focus and direction. Get her cleaning the B&B bathrooms when we get back. I want her to realise that will be her life if she doesn’t stay out of trouble and get some qualifications.’ Shona massaged her tired eyes with her fingers and shook her head. ‘I understand why she did it, but…’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘God. It’s like looking in a mirror sometimes.’
Rob raised an eyebrow. ‘You can say that again.’ He got up and kissed the top of her head, then placed the ham sandwich he’d made while she was upstairs on the table. ‘Have some pity for me, darlin’. I get it in stereo.’
* * *
DCI Gavin Baird and Kenny Hanlon were finishing a bottle of chilled Louis Latour in the upstairs bar of a fashionable restaurant in Glasgow’s Ashton Lane. They looked the part: a respectable Wednesday business lunch. Hanlon was soberly dressed in dark jeans and a sports jacket. If any fellow patrons recognised his celebrity status, they were cool enough to ignore him.
Baird was preparing to leave when Evan Campbell, one of Hanlon’s trusted associates, pulled up a chair and joined them. At the STAC launch, Baird had watched Campbell tour the room like a heat-seeking missile, homing in on any information he could exploit. He had a reputation for clearing obstacles, making problems go away. His targets, initially uncertain, quickly recognised a top predator. These flaccid businessmen saw how they stood to benefit from a kill, if only they could avoid being devoured themselves.
Today Campbell was charming, groomed and fashionably dressed in a grey flannel three-piece suit. Smiling, he loo
ked harmless, but in repose the skull-like face was chilling. It was like meeting death in Armani. Baird loathed him but, like the businessmen, he knew how much he could gain from this man.
Evan clutched Hanlon’s offered hand in both his own, greeting him with the reverence of a Medici pope. Baird wouldn’t have been surprised if Campbell had leaned forward and kissed his ring. Hanlon made a sad face. ‘Gav is just leaving, what a shame. I’m sure he’d loved an update on the STAC issues we were discussing. Shall we order another bottle?’
The bar was filling up. Parents and teenagers from the Glasgow University open day had filed down the hill to the bars and cafes of the West End in search of refreshment. Baird shook his head and tapped his watch. ‘Nicola has plans.’
Campbell nodded his understanding. ‘Can’t stop either, Mr Hanlon. Just popped over to say hello.’ He tapped Baird’s shoulder. ‘Nice to see you too, Gavin. Here, I’ll walk you out.’
Baird led the way. The stairs down to the street were narrow and dimly lit, with a sharp right-hand turn. They were halfway down when Campbell lunged forward, pushing Baird from behind. Baird tumbled down the remaining stairs, his face slamming against the tiled floor of the lobby. Stars bloomed before his eyes. The vignetting of his vision suggested a direct hit on the bridge of his nose.
‘You going soft on us?’ Campbell dragged him upright, growling in his ear. ‘The Big Man willnae like it if you are. We’ve all got too much invested in the proper outcome to see it go tits up now. Solve the problem or I’ll do it for you.’
He dusted Baird off as two teenage girls came down the stairs. ‘Watch your step there, fella.’ He gave the girls a charming smile, rolling his eyes at the pal who couldn’t hold his drink. They giggled, squeezing past. Campbell pulled a still groggy Baird outside and propped him up in the shadow of the bar’s awning.