by Lynne McEwan
* * *
Ravi was waiting by the kerb, barrier tape already strung across the gateway to the old Carmine industrial unit. ‘Murdo’s inside,’ he said, lifting the tape for her to duck underneath. Behind the chain-link fence that separated the two lots, Nathan Jones stood with his hands in his pockets and his habitual hang-dog expression on his face. Once he’d seen Shona arrive, he turned and shuffled back to his caravan and closed the door.
‘Is the body in the warehouse?’ Shona asked.
Ravi nodded. ‘Jones heard a car pull up around four a.m., two nights ago. Dark blue or black BMW, no plate.’
‘Why not just report it? What made him so keen to talk to me?’
‘Guilty conscience, I think. He now admits he saw a girl matching Isla’s description.’
‘Why did he wait to report this car?’
‘He was waiting to see if it came back. Apparently, he watched Isla through binoculars while she had sex in the car with an unknown male. Jones was worried he’d be labelled a peeping tom and be implicated in her death. I think he’s more concerned for his own skin now. Cars turning up again at night, him on his own.’
‘I’ll give him something to worry about. If we’d known any of this earlier…’ She bit her lip. ‘Get a statement off him. Give him a good shake, see what drops out.’
‘Think he’s involved?’
‘I doubt it, but he withheld evidence, so feel free to put the fear of God into him.’
The light was fading. A keen breeze blew off the Solway as she crunched across the scuffed tarmac and broken glass. She caught the smell of salt mixed with diesel and decay and fished a pair of blue latex gloves from her pocket. Murdo was standing just inside the roller door, shoulders hunched against the cold and damp.
‘Confident on the ID?’ Shona said.
Murdo pursed his lips and nodded. He pointed to the far corner of the unit and handed her the torch. She tucked it beneath her arm as she pulled on the gloves. The body was on the ground behind a low wall of crushed cardboard boxes. In the pool of torch-light he lay on his side, hands tucked between his knees, like a sleeping child overcome by tiredness mid-game and resting for a moment in a makeshift den. She nodded to Murdo, her voice caught by the pathetic sight. She swallowed. ‘Yes, it’s Jamie Buckland.’
Murdo walked out to Ravi and instructed him to chase up forensics. Now, the wheels of justice, whatever that might be for Buckland, would be set in motion. Shona turned back to the body and ran the torch around the scene. There was very little blood and nothing obvious to indicate how he’d died. She leaned closer, taking care not to disturb anything. He was facing towards her and she could see he’d been dead for some time. She looked for stab or gunshot wounds but could find none. Murdo came to stand beside her.
Shona shone the torch on Buckland’s hands. ‘Is that a ligature? Are his hands bound?’
Murdo leaned in close to her. He narrowed his eyes and nodded. ‘Could be.’
Shona shifted the angle of the torch and looked again. ‘No, they’re not bound. It’s just one hand, his right hand. It’s not tied. It’s bandaged.’
She lowered the torch and they both stepped back. Outside Ravi was peering at them through the twilight, the glow from his phone lighting up one side of his face. He lifted his hand and signalled ‘two’ with his fingers. It would be two hours before forensics would get here. Shona prepared to keep company with Jamie Buckland’s body until they did. After a moment she took out her phone and dialled Dan Ridley’s number. Tonight, she’d give him the news that they’d found his missing bail absconder. Tomorrow, Dan would be making the drive north, not to interview him, but to attend his post-mortem.
Chapter 28
Dan was waiting by the entrance to Dumfries Royal Infirmary when Shona arrived just after nine a.m. She felt as if she’d hardly left the place in the last few days, that somehow it had acquired a gravity that was pulling her into a closer and closer orbit. She nodded hello to Dan and they went upstairs.
‘You won’t have met Slasher Sue before,’ Shona said, and then explained the origin of the pathologist’s nickname.
Dan’s face fell. ‘I told my boss I’d be here all morning.’ He was clearly in no rush to get back.
‘Thirty minutes, tops. You’ll still have time for a full Scottish breakfast in the cafe afterwards, if you feel like it.’ Shona smiled.
Dan put his hand on his stomach and made a face.
‘Not a fainter, are you?’ The tall figure of Professor Sue Kitchen came out of a side door and looked him up and down like a lab specimen. ‘If you feel funny, kindly stand by the wall or sit down. Haven’t got time to whip out the smelling salts.’
Once they were dressed in green scrubs, they followed Professor Kitchen into the autopsy theatre.
Buckland’s corpse lay fully dressed in a grey hooded sweatshirt, jeans and trainers. Professor Kitchen adjusted the round examination light, clicked on a digital recorder and quickly assessed her subject.
‘Well-nourished, adult male, approximately five foot, five inches and in his early twenties. Rigor has passed, and there are early signs of decomposition suggesting death occurred two to three days ago. There are a number of injuries to the body including the right hand, which is bandaged, the face, and the right side of the head.’ She glanced up momentarily. ‘Now this will be of interest to you, Shona.’
Professor Kitchen pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with one gloved knuckle then pointed to a purple discolouration along Buckland’s cheek.
Shona held her mask over her nose and mouth and leaned forward. ‘Is that bruising?’
‘There’s some lividity, the pooling of blood in the lowest parts of the body after the heart stops beating. However, this is secondary lividity, which means he was moved between approximately two and six hours after death. I’ll need to see the rest of him to tell you more. Right, kit off and let’s open him up.’ Professor Kitchen waved them back as her assistant began cutting and bagging up the victim’s clothes.
Shona turned to Dan. ‘You better get Carlisle to check Buckland didn’t go back to his home address. If the body was moved, that could be our primary crime scene.’ Dan pulled out his phone and took the opportunity to leave the room just as Professor Kitchen dug the scalpel into the skin below the subject’s breastbone.
Slasher Sue lived up to her name, and within twenty minutes Buckland’s internal organs had been removed and placed in containers for analysis. ‘You’re in luck.’ She directed Shona to a metal dish containing Buckland’s stomach contents. ‘Meal of noodles and vegetables. See these bright flecks?’ She teased out three small blue objects with the point of her scalpel and scrapped them into a clear plastic tube. ‘Partially digested pills.’
‘An overdose?’ Shona said studying the sample.
‘Hard to say. Toxicology will tell us more.’
When Dan returned Shona updated him on the partially digested pills already taken for testing.
Shona, Dan and Professor Kitchen stood looking down at the body. This close, a sour-sweet scent lingered beneath the masking disinfectant, and the marbled skin had a hard, smooth look.
‘So, what are you thinking, Sue?’ Shona said.
The pathologist tipped her head to one side, considering. ‘He was on his back when he died, then someone moved him into this foetal position.’ She curled her hands in front of her and turned to one side, demonstrating.
‘So, someone else was present at or near the time of death. Could he have been transported in the back of a car?’ Shona asked. ‘Curled up in the boot then left the same way at the final locus.’
‘That theory would not contradict my findings,’ Sue replied.
‘The pills,’ Dan said uncertainly. ‘Could it have been an overdose? Suicide?’
‘Someone moved the body after death,’ Shona reminded him.
‘His dealer panicked and dumped the body?’ Dan suggested.
‘Key questions would be, is he self-medicating fo
r depression or chronic pain?’ Professor Kitchen cut in. ‘He’s well nourished, if small. His teeth are okay, looks like he’s visited his dentist regularly. He’s physically well cared for. That’s not what I’d expect to find in a current user.’
Professor Kitchen shifted up a gear. ‘Two things.’ She lifted Buckland’s head and pointed to a wound in the short blond hair above his ear. ‘This blow to the head would be sufficient to render him unconscious.’ She moved swiftly in long strides around the table and lifted his arm. ‘Old track marks here too, but this one is fresh.’ She pointed to a small mark almost hidden among the freckled skin. ‘He was beaten prior to death. It’s possible he self-administered drugs for the pain, but it’s also possible he was injected while unconscious.’
‘And the bandaged right hand?’ Shona asked. She exchanged a look with Sue that showed they were both thinking the same thing. Was self-administration even possible with this hand injury? Shona pictured Jamie Buckland after their interview, at the custody desk signing for his possessions. ‘I’m pretty sure he was right-handed.’
‘It might explain the clumsy injection. We’ll do X-rays and we’ve fast-tracked the toxicology and bloods,’ said Professor Kitchen, pulling off her gloves. ‘It shouldn’t be long.’
Shona and Dan had paced the corridor, exhausted their small talk and finished a cup of indifferent machine coffee when they were called back in. Professor Kitchen pulled up the results on the computer screen.
‘Your man died of heroin overdose. The pills are benzodiazepines and a small amount of alcohol is also present.’
‘Could the benzos be Quinox? It’s mostly available in the Far East.’
Professor Kitchen spent a few moments tapping on the keyboard. ‘The recovered sample and Quinox are both 2-keto compounds, so it’s possible. I can’t tell you if the heroin was self-administered. It’s a clumsy job but he could have done it himself. Now, Shona.’ She replaced the lines of numbers and figures with X-ray images of Buckland’s bandaged right hand.
Shona leaned closer. ‘Is it the same as Sami Raseem?’
‘Partially healed fractures to the metacarpals.’ A second image appeared on the screen, side by side with the first. ‘And, yes, the injuries are almost identical to your road victim, who also showed small traces of benzodiazepines in his blood.’ The pathologist swivelled in her seat to look keenly at Shona.
Shona turned to Dan. ‘You said Isla Corr had broken bones in her hand?’ Dan nodded and Shona continued, ‘Did you ever see the toxicology report?’ It was the detail that had been nagging at her, the question at the top of her newly written list pinned to the front of Isla’s case file.
Dan looked apologetic. ‘I tried. I did what you said, went over there, but I just got the run-around. I had a case in court the next day, paperwork to finish, so…’
Professor Kitchen pushed her chair back from the desk and looked at Dan over her glasses with the kind of withering pity her students would immediately recognise. ‘Leave this with me,’ she said curtly, and left the room.
Shona perched on the edge of the desk and bit her thumb. Dan was still smarting from the exchange and sat down at the desk opposite, picking silently at the elastic band around his notebook.
‘I’ve seen something like this before, a long time ago,’ said Shona eventually, indicating the black and white pictures on the screen. ‘London gangs used to punish thieves by breaking their hands. The victim was given a time limit to repay four or five times the value of what was stolen, or they’d get a return visit. A visit that usually proved fatal.’
Before Dan could respond, Professor Kitchen came back through the door. ‘I called Carlisle. No drugs found in her system except small traces of 2-keto benzodiazepines, so potentially your Quinox. There were similar injuries to the metacarpals, but these were sustained peri-mortem, with no time to heal.’
‘Wazir confirmed Buckland, Isla Corr and Sami Raseem knew each other. Now it looks like their deaths have a physical connection. Thanks, Sue, I’m really grateful for your help.’ Shona got up and motioned to Dan. ‘We’ll let you get finished now.’ They all shook hands.
At the end of the pathology corridor Shona stopped by a row of plastic chairs. ‘What if they’d all been caught skimming from the same boss and had been trying to pay off the debt?’ she began. ‘What if they couldn’t source enough baby milk? Wazir said they didn’t get what they thought they could for it. Wazir doesn’t have the same injuries – could he have been the one doling out these beatings? Doesn’t strike me as the enforcer type,’ Shona said. ‘But could he be the boss behind this?’
‘He’s smart,’ Dan agreed.
‘Maybe, but he doesn’t fit for Buckland’s death. He’s inside.’ Shona began chewing her thumb nail again. ‘Dan, get onto his solicitor. Wazir’s in protective custody in Glasgow, see if we can set up a meeting. We need another chat with him. You’re right. I’m not convinced he’s told us everything he knows about Sami’s death. I’ll give Murdo a call, update him on the PM.’
Dan got out his phone and walked to the other end of the corridor but a few minutes later he returned grim faced.
‘No joy?’ Shona asked.
‘It’s worse than that. Wazir was found this morning hanged in his room,’ Dan replied. ‘The doctor’s been in. They’re saying suicide, no question. Tore up his shirt to make a ligature. No one thought him at risk, so there were no extra checks.’
‘They can get to you anywhere,’ Shona murmured. ‘That’s what Wazir said Sami told him.’
‘You think someone got to him?’
‘I think the fiscal should consider the possibility. He was in protective custody for a reason,’ Shona said firmly, then sighed. ‘Jamie Buckland, our best lead, is dead. Now Wazir’s gone too.’ She shook her head. Witnesses were disappearing, avenues of enquiry closing off. Shona searched back for any potential living source and landed on Tony Kirkland, the ex-soldier who ran the homeless support centre and who knew Sami. He was a second-hand witness at best and there was no guarantee Kirkland would talk to her again. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’ She pulled out her phone, took up Dan’s spot at the end of the corridor and dialled his number.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t the little mermaid.’ Kirkland’s sleekit tones, set against a background of a muffled radio and the clatter of plates, sounded uncomfortably intimate.
‘Mr Kirkland,’ Shona ignored the comment, ‘I’ve a couple of questions about Sami I think you could help me with.’
There was a pause. ‘Hang on a minute till I close the door.’ The background noise died away. ‘Okay, what is it?’ His voice dropped and acquired a harder and more cautious edge.
‘Couple of things, and I’d ask you not to repeat these matters to anyone.’
‘Fire away.’
‘Did you ever have contact with a friend of Sami’s, Imran Wazir?’
‘Nope, don’t think so.’
‘Okay. Was Sami caught up in the trafficking of children?’
‘Paedophile stuff? You kidding me? Think I’d have given him houseroom if he was?’
‘Okay, so one other thing. Drugs. Was Sami involved selling pills?’
This time the pause was longer. ‘I don’t tolerate dealers here. Nae sympathy for them. Parasites.’
‘Tony, I’ve got three young people dead. There’s a drugs link and both knew Sami. For Sami’s sake, and all those who come after him who deserve a second chance, tell me what you know. Help me shut these networks down.’
He sighed. ‘Yeah, Sami did mention something about selling pills. Said he’d got scared and stopped. I told him he’d done the right thing. He’d wind up in jail if he was caught. No chance of asylum or anything. Jail and deportation.’
‘How did he react?’
‘Seemed to hit home, promised he was done with that game.’
‘Did he tell you anything about the operation, who he was involved with?’
‘Not my job to ask, is it? Had enough to do keeping him here t
ill I could patch him up,’ he said indignantly.
‘Yes, I know, Tony. Thank you,’ Shona soothed. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Aye well, don’t bandy that about. I’ve got my reputation to think of.’
Shona smiled. ‘Of course. We are on the same side, you know.’
‘Not always obvious though, is it?’ he said, and hung up.
Shona walked back to where Dan was scrolling through his messages.
‘Kirkland just confirmed Sami was selling pills. Now we have three deaths with the same MO. Still think this is a serial killer?’ Shona quizzed Dan.
He nodded slowly. ‘In a sense. I think we’re looking for the same perpetrator or perpetrators in all three cases. This isn’t political. Or some ritual notion about the border, although I still think people like Duncan Saltire need locking up.’ Dan shook his head. ‘This is about revenge, or a turf war. That’s the more likely motive.’
‘Revenge for what, though? If it’s a turf war over drugs, then Op Fortress would have had more intelligence on Jamie. He was bycatch. Surveillance identified him but he wasn’t scheduled for arrest. We only rounded him up because he was at his mate’s house. He literally had a couple of Valium pills in his hand when we nicked him.’ Shona looked at him, her eyebrows lifting as an idea occurred to her. ‘Do you think he did that deliberately?’
‘How do you mean?’ Dan frowned. ‘You think he stuck his hand up for a Class C offence, knowing he’d walk, and we wouldn’t look too closely at him? Yeah, I’d buy that. If he’s gone under the radar, he’s either been exceptionally clever or very, very lucky.’
Shona nodded slowly. ‘Oh, I think he was much cleverer than we gave him credit for. And I think Isla, Sami, Buckland and Wazir are connected by more than baby milk. Dumping Buckland’s body at the Carmine warehouse can’t have been an accident. It was a warning to others. I think the pills, this Quinox, is the key. I think there’s a connection to the Sweet Life group here somewhere. I should have seen it sooner.’
‘How could you?’ Dan said. ‘Everything was passed to Op Fortress.’