by Zach Abrams
Although Sanjay Guptar was about ages with Sandra, he joined the police force two years later, having first worked in his family's restaurant business, before convincing his father that his aptitudes would be better served elsewhere. He was clever and resourceful, and with his experience through his family's business, he had sound commercial understanding. Although marginally taller than Sandra, no one would have guessed as her wedge heels made up the difference. Besides, he always carried his shoulders in a slight slouch, his arms bent inwards and his head low and looking down. He had a pleasant round face with dark brown, smiling eyes hidden behind thick-framed spectacles and he had short cropped jet black hair.
Sandra's arrangement was to meet Shirley McCann at six o'clock at her flat in the Collegelands building. It was situated on Bell Street, a period listed property, converted from a warehouse at an early stage of the city's regeneration. In preparation for the interview, Sandra met Sanjay at Glasgow Cross fifteen minutes before the appointment with the councillor. From where they were standing, they could see the last of the Sunday shoppers wandering along Trongate, making their way out of town or returning along Gallowgate from the Barras market. Although dark and cold, they found a bench to sit on in the small grassy square just across High Street from the clock tower, so Sandra could bring Sanjay up to date on the investigation before the interview was due to start.
They walked around the corner and keyed in her door number on the security entry intercom. McCann buzzed them in and told them to make their way to the second floor. She came out to the stairway to meet them and after checking their IDs, they shook hands. Shirley McCann was attractive, confident and welcoming. She was of medium height and had a slim figure, with blonde shoulder length hair. She had piercing, sapphire-blue eyes that seemed never to blink and the steady, unemotional stare associated with poker players, ideal for a career in politics. She led them along a broad corridor which had very high ceilings, past an internal security door, and into her flat. Once inside they walked through a small hallway and into a spacious lounge. The room felt warm and comfortable, and all the more so after the cold and damp from sitting outside. A thick, Persian carpet partly covered a polished oak floor and the walls were adorned with rich, flock wallpaper interrupted by a series of framed photographs showing McCann in the company of senior politicians or celebrities. A deep window ledge held a number of small, silver-framed photographs, one showing her wedding and others accompanied by the same man and with young children. Two large couches, positioned in an 'L' shape took up most of the bottom half of the room, with a low level coffee table completing a square.
“Take a seat and tell me what this is all about. You were very secretive on the phone. The only thing you said was that it was urgent you spoke to me soon and that it was a very private matter.”
They sat and Sanjay lifted a notebook and pen from his pocket.
“That's right,” Sandra replied." Are we alone?"
“Yes, my husband is with some friends and I don't expect him home until late and the children are having a sleepover at my sister's house.”
Sanjay held a small portable recording device. “We'd like to tape this conversation for our records”
“Is that really necessary?”
“We're investigating the murder of Scott Stevenson and it would be better if we can have a complete record of this conversation,” Sandra began.
“The name doesn't mean anything to me, should it?” McCann replied abruptly.
“Maybe this picture will help,” Sandra continued. “We're fairly certain that you know this man.”
As McCann picked up the photo, her hands began to tremble and the colour drained from her face. “He's dead, you say?”
“He was murdered in his shop on Thursday. Didn't you see it on the news?”
“I've not had time to watch any television recently. No, I didn't know.” Tears were welling in her eyes and Sandra suspected it wasn't out of sympathy for the bereaved.
“Please tell us how you came to know him?” Sandra asked.
“How much do you know?”
“I think we've pieced most of it together, but if you don't mind we will ask the questions. Start from the beginning and don't leave anything out. You should know that we have the photographs so there's no point trying to hold anything back.”
“Oh my God,” was all McCann could reply and the tears now rolled down her cheeks. She placed Stevenson's photo on the table and clenched her hands together sitting upright and tried to compose herself. With a final flurry of determination she blurted out, “Why should I tell you anything? Particularly if you think you already know it all? I don't need to talk to you at all without a solicitor.”
“You're right of course, you don't need to talk to us now, but do you really think that will help? We know you're qualified as a lawyer yourself and you are entitled to wait so you can have your solicitor present. But we can insist on interviewing you at the station, and that could end up a lot more public. We think it would be much simpler and quicker if we could talk now. We know Stevenson was behind a blackmail ring and we believe you may have been a victim. Our main objective, at the moment, is to tie up the loose ends and to solve the murder.”
There was silence for a few seconds which was only interrupted by McCann's deep intakes of breath as she considered her options. “Okay, I'll tell you what I know,” she whispered.
McCann started a monologue which required very little help or encouragement to extract the information they needed. She started very quietly and slowly, speaking only a few words at a time before pausing. But gradually she regained her strength and was able to tell her story.
Shirley met her husband, John, while they were both at university. Both of them were law students and both had a passion for politics as well as for each other. He was a sports star and represented the university, both for swimming and middle distance running, reaching national competitive level. She was the star of the debating society. They were a golden couple and they were both active members of the university's Labour Party society. They graduated with honours, Shirley achieving a double first while John scraped through with a pass.
After graduating, they married while undertaking their legal training. Shirley was given a place in a prestigious commercial practice and John in a small firm specialising in conveyancing. In addition to keeping house and progressing at work, she gave birth to two daughters within the first three years of their marriage.
Her interest in politics and debating continued and Shirley was highly rated in the local Labour party where she was given a safe Council seat to contend and quickly became a highly influential and respected member on the Glasgow City Council, with many predicting bigger and better opportunities. Sadly, John's sporting career was brought to a premature end as a result of a hamstring injury.
At first John enjoyed his role at Shirley's side as she became more popular and successful, but gradually he became disenchanted and resentful and he sought solace in alcohol, sometimes at functions where he was accompanying her. Their relationship became increasingly strained, but they were still just about hanging on, partly because of the threat that a divorce might stifle her political ambitions but also as a result of Shirley's strict Catholic upbringing where a divorce could not be contemplated. In spite of all her political success, and arguably because of it, Shirley had become very lonely, as well as being sexually frustrated. Innocently seeking company, she had come across the website and she'd been drawn in. As the grooming progressed, the attraction of sexual encounters in private and with no commitment proved too much of a lure for her. She had gone to the Glasgow Harbour flat on three separate occasions before being confronted by Stevenson and she'd been devastated by his demands. This was worsened as she had no one in whom she could confide. She daren't tell anyone within the Party and she'd long ago lost the ability to take comfort from her religion. In addition, she'd not wanted to confess her infidelity to John as he could no longer be trusted or relied on to stay
silent once he'd had a drink.
Sandra was particularly sympathetic realising there were some parallels with her own failed relationship and she was grateful that she'd had the strength to end hers when she did. Sandra felt that she would never have allowed herself to be caught up in the way Shirley had, but also recognised her circumstances were different and she couldn't really judge how she might have reacted in the same position.
Shirley had a sound alibi for the time when Stevenson was killed as she'd been in session in the Council with countless witnesses
Chapter 10
Music was playing very loudly and he had the feeling of being at the centre of a hive with countless people swarming around him like bees, no, less benign, more like demented wasps. Then Alex was standing in the open air and the sun was shining brightly, the aroma of diesel and hot burning sugar in the air. The noise still continued and intensified as the music was accompanied by screeches and loud bangs. He held his hands over his ears to try to block out the cacophony of sound. It was so loud and so bright and everywhere there was movement, it was difficult to focus. Gradually there was more clarity. Small car-like vehicles were moving in front of him in a very erratic way. They were open-topped and held only one or two people in each one. With further clarity, Alex realised he was standing at an open-air fun fair watching the dodgems. There, in front of him were Craig and Andrew being chased and bashed by a car driven by two pretty young girls. They might have been the ones from the swimming pool. They reached a corner and the cars turned and now it was Craig chasing the girls and Andrew had disappeared. Another car came into view and Helen was driving with Andrew beside her. How did he manage to change cars? Helen was chasing Craig and shouting when suddenly she flew sideways as the car was struck broadside at full force by Sandra's Ford Mondeo. There was a sudden splash of blood and away in the distance Alex could see Stevenson standing, a large bloody patch on his chest. A loud ringing replaced the music and the vehicles all slowed down. It must be the end of their turn. All the other noises faded away leaving only the loud ringing. The fairground faded away as well. Still not fully awake, Alex reached out for the telephone.
Alex thought he must still be dreaming as the voice from the other side of the phone reported in a broad Scottish accent, “There's been a murder,” as if play acting a scene from Taggart. As his eyes caught a glimpse of his bedside radio alarm, he interpreted the numbers to read five forty-five in the morning.
“Is this some sort of joke?” Alex enquired, now awakened and his mind becoming sharper by the second.
“This is Strathclyde Police control centre. I'd like to speak to DCI Warren?”
“This is Warren. What's this all about?”
“I'm sorry, sir, and sorry to call you at this hour. I've been asked to phone and tell you that two bodies have been found in a tenement flat at the West End. There are circumstances which indicate they've been murdered.”
“Did you really start off this call saying 'There's been a murder'?”
“Yes, sir. I'm really sorry, sir. I shouldn't have done that. I'm a civilian admin assistant and I've been drafted into the control centre on a temporary basis to help out as they're short staffed. I've always wanted to be able to say that, and when I got the chance of it happening for real, I couldn't help myself. It was really stupid, but I was just doing it for a laugh.”
“The first thing you have to learn is that murder is no laughing matter, and unless you can understand that then your job will be very temporary.” By now Alex was struggling to keep a straight face.
“Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again.”
“I won't report you on this occasion but you'd better watch your step. Now you'd better give me all the information you have on this incident.”
“The original report came from a top floor flat in White Street, just off Byres Road. The call came from a Mr Singh regarding his neighbour a Mr Kerr, David Kerr. Kerr was working a night shift and finished at five. When he arrived home he found his wife lying dead in the entranceway of his front door. He didn't go in fortunately, but he just broke down wailing and cradling his wife's body. The neighbours woke up wondering what was going on and they found him like that. They phoned into emergency services and persuaded Mr Kerr to come into their house to comfort him. We sent a squad car out and they found the wife as described but also found his son dead in the bedroom. Sergeant Guptar was on duty and went straight out there and asked me to call you.”
“Okay fine, give me the address and then call Guptar and tell him I'm on my way. Another thing, wait until seven-thirty and then call Sergeant McKinnon and inform her where I am and that I won't be able to see her as arranged. Another thing, ask her to arrange for someone else to see to the bank.”
Alex quickly shaved and showered before leaving the flat. He was surprised, even at this early hour, to find a moderate flow of traffic heading towards the city, but was nevertheless outside the crime scene within fifteen minutes. It took him almost as long to find a parking space. Much of the housing in this area had been built in Victorian times with narrow and twisting roadways and no anticipation of the parking requirements of the twenty-first century. After circling the block twice, he eventually chose to leave his car parked on a double yellow line on Byres Road and then walk back. As he approached the building, he could see it was similar in construction to his own flat. It was one of the traditional terraces of flats, so common in Glasgow, built over a century ago using thick blocks of red sandstone which had been locally quarried. In nearly all of the flats in this terrace, the large sash windows had been replaced by modern and energy efficient uPVC double glazed units. There was a solid timber entry door and a security entry keypad to the side. The system had been deactivated as the door had been left propped open.
Guptar met him as he started walking up the stairs towards the entrance then led him out to the privacy of the back court to brief him.
“Hi, Alex, I don't see you out at this time very often. I hope you didn't mind me calling you, but I thought you'd want to see this one while it was still fresh.”
“That's okay, Sanjay, you did the right thing. Now fill me in.”
“It happened in flat 3/2, up at the top. It's a big flat, three bedrooms, lounge and dining kitchen, owned by the Kerr family. They've stayed here for about ten years, I believe.
“Mr Kerr came home from his nightshift and found his wife, Agnes, lying half way through the doorway. She's been stabbed through the heart and must have died almost immediately. Inside, nothing much looks disturbed until you get to the second bedroom. That's a bloody mess, quite literally. The room's been turned over and the son's body is lying face down on the bed. His name was David, same as his father. He's had his throat cut and must have bled to death. Everything's covered. Not only that, but the body's been mutilated. There's an instrument, looks like a pallet knife and it's been driven up his bum.”
“What, you mean it's been a sexual assault?”
“I didn't say that. We don't know yet what actually happened. We'll need to see what the scene of crime boys have to say, but the indications are that it was done after he was killed, to leave some sort of message so to speak. The lad was fully clothed but his trousers were slashed and the knife has been forced in him through his anus.”
“Sounds a strange sort of weapon, not very sharp.”
“The boy was a student at the art school so there are a lot of canvasses and paint brushes and the likes all around the room. I guess it was just convenient.”
“Christ that's all we need, a ritualistic killer. That'll bring the press out in force if they get wind of it.”
“So far, no one knows, just our people and they know better than to say anything. Obviously the M.E. will find out but the same rule applies. The father and the neighbours never saw the body as far as we can tell. The father wanted to come in when he heard, but he was already in shock and we arranged for his GP to come round and sedate him. He's still in with the neighbour. I had a w
ord with him before, but you'll not get any sense from him for the time being.”
“Was there any sign that either of the bodies were interfered with?”
“Other than what I already told you, no. Kerr had cradled his wife's body and was covered in her blood but she seemed to be untouched in any other way, all her clothes were intact. The boy was in a worse state, but as far as we could tell, nobody else had been in the room. Steve Vickers, the lad from the squad car, told me he opened the door, realised what was there and closed it again and radioed in. He's a bright lad that one. There are some bloody footprints on the floor of the bedroom, a line of them coming out the door but nothing beyond so he must have taken his shoes off.”
“If so, we're unlikely to find any prints but might pick up some other trace evidence.”
“We hope so.”
“Scene of crime are in there now. I've got protective gear you can put on if you want a look round.”
“It's not what I want but I'd better have a look. What about the neighbours? Have you checked out the close?”
“We've been to every door. Woken up the whole close, so we weren't too popular. Nobody saw or heard a thing.”
Halfway up the stairs, Sanjay and Alex caught up with the wheezing, elderly figure of Dr Duffie, struggling to make it up the three flights.
“Can I get you a drink of water, Doctor?”