Windsor Place

by Russell Robertson

  “Carole and I were an item and we met secretly at her home every weekend.”

  “How long had this been happening?”

  “Around twelve months.”

  “Please can you be more precise?”

  “We started dating in early November last year. We met during a prison visit, she was visiting her partner and I was visiting an old friend, Bryson Kidd.”

  DI Spencer joined in the interview. “Mr. Cram, were you aware who she was married to?”

  “Yes.”

  “And for the record Mr. Cram, who would that be?”

  “Alf Hunter.”

  “And Mr. Cram, are you aware of Mr. Hunter’s current place of residence and his background?”

  “Yes, I’m aware he is in prison and due to my work as a journalist I am also aware of his background.”

  “Is Mr. Hunter aware of your association with his wife?”

  “Definitely not. Otherwise, I don’t think I would be sitting here in front of you people today.”

  “When was the last time you saw her alive?”

  “The previous Saturday evening, but we chatted on Skype last Wednesday.”

  “That was the last contact you had?”

  With sadness in his eyes Harry dropped his head towards the floor. “Yes.”

  “Mr. Cram, were there any issues between yourself and Carole Hunter?”

  “What do you mean, issues?”

  “Were there any financial problems?”

  “No.”

  “Were there any arguments or disagreements of late?”

  “No, we were very happy. What are you getting at? You think I was involved in her murder?”

  “We didn’t say that.”

  “No, but that’s what you are suggesting.”

  “No. We are only asking appropriate questions.”

  “Then maybe it is appropriate that I call my solicitor.”

  The detectives decided that at this stage they didn’t need to ask any further questions. They both got up from their seats as DCI Scully spoke. “Mr. Cram, thank you for your time and we will be in touch, you are free to leave now.”

  Harry took their cue and stood up. “What happens from here?”

  “As I said we will be in touch. DI Spencer will show you out.”

  “I meant what happens with the investigation?”

  “We will keep you informed. Please follow DI Spencer, he will show you the way out.”

  Chapter 10

  You can’t report something when you have nothing.

  It was Harry’s catch cry to all his reporters at the newspaper where he worked previously in Brisbane. A sub-tropical city with a deep north attitude where the locals practiced with daily diligence their favourite motto, “She’ll be right mate. Do it tomorrow.”

  Harry could never get used to it. It meant things took at least twice as long to do as normal. He was convinced that this attitude had been transported with the convicts over a hundred years ago. They were not used to the hot weather and had to slow down or suffer the consequences of fatigue and dehydration. Some of the reporters were the world’s most successful failures. They threw up a lot in the air during their investigations but nothing ever landed. They drank too much, partied too often and smoked their way to an early grave but they were a loveable bunch and Harry had made some really good friends amongst them.

  The internet allowed him to freelance anywhere in the world and the contacts he had made in the industry would be able to assist him in his current situation.

  Although his journalistic career would have to be put on hold.

  Alex Stone and Blair Edwards turned up on time for the planned meeting at his apartment which was unusual for Blair as he was inevitably always late.

  Alex had arrived in Edinburgh five years ago after spending ten years in the Birmingham Police Force and had quickly made a name for herself as a sort of go to person in the serious crimes section where she had risen quickly to Detective Inspector and was recently married to a retired policeman, Curtis Stone, who she had worked with previously in the force.

  Harry pointed towards the second bedroom. “Let’s all go in here. It’s all set up nicely for a meeting.” He led the way, unlocked the door, switched on the light and waited for the response.

  Blair just scanned the room in silence, while Alex let out a little excited groan and whispered. “Christ, it’s like a war room! Harry, I had no idea you were so organised.”

  They all took their designated places at the small desk accompanied by four chairs, a laptop and a large screen. Each setting had a notepad and a pen.

  A large electronic whiteboard took up most of the space on one wall, two others were blank. The remaining wall was littered with photographs, notes and flow charts. There was also a three-drawer filing cabinet located in the far corner and a small table with a desk lamp near the door.

  CID would have been proud of the set up.

  “This is what all good investigative journalists have set up in their own home?.” Alex questioned.

  “I take it, this is for our eyes only?” Blair asked.

  “For our eyes only,” Harry answered. “It’s how I work, it’s where I carry out most of my research. I spend a lot of time in here. It also doubles as my private sanctuary. I call it my CAOS room, where I Contemplate … Assess … Organise ... and get Solutions. At the moment, it feels quite strange as you are the only people other than me who have ever been in this room.”

  Harry kicked off the meeting. “I think it would be good if I brought everyone up-to-date on the situation and at the end of the meeting we can allocate tasks to the appropriate people. That way we can move forward quickly without wasting valuable time.”

  Harry summed up the facts with the assistance of the notes and flow charts on the wall. Carole Hunter and her two children were murdered. The police currently had no solid leads.

  “This has all the hallmarks of Alf Hunter being involved and that makes it extremely dangerous to everyone here if you become involved. If you think that is the case then maybe you should perhaps consider whether you continue to be involved. Not only for your own safety but that of your families.”

  Blair quickly replied, “Valid point, Harry, but I am not walking away from a friend in their hour of need. If Alex wishes to pull out then speak up now.”

  There was silence in the room for a few seconds.

  They both looked at Alex. “Where you guys go, I go,” she stated firmly.

  “Good onya. It’s times like these that true friends are greatly appreciated.” Harry thanked them.

  Alex posed the first question “We are all aware that there might be a mole in the station, anyone got any ideas on who that may be?”

  “No concrete evidence, but my money is on Cropley,” offered Blair

  “If you have no evidence, what makes you think that?” asked Alex.

  “Ah dinnae ken, call it gut feel, call it experience, I just don’t trust that eejit.”

  “Nobody does, but that doesn’t mean he is a mole.”

  “Maybe, but my money is still on him.”

  “What do you think Harry?”

  “Same as Blair, I wouldn’t trust him with a ten-foot barge pole.”

  “Okay, we all agree that he could be a big problem. So, we make sure that nobody discusses anything with him or any of his associates.”

  “What about James Scully?” asked Alex.

  Harry responded, “He may be lifelong friend but he is a policeman first, which I respect.”

  Alex re-entered the discussion “So, he should be treated in the same way as Cropley?”

  “Yes,” Harry replied.

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “I have been instructed to attend another interview next week and suggest that we meet again after that. Make it look like it’s a dinner party so not to arouse any suspicion and by then we should have more information to allow us to form a proper strategy and allocate tasks. At this time, we are not abl
e to do so.”

  They all agreed. As Alex was leaving, Harry asked Blair if he would stay behind and join him in a wee dram. Blair never needed to be asked twice when it came to drinking whisky with his friend. Alex left smiling.

  After a couple of smooth fifteen-year-old Edradour drams with a dash of ice and some small talk, Blair asked Harry, “Who else knows that Sixty-Six Windsor Place used to be your family home?”

  “My old friend, James Scully. And I guess now all of the staff involved in the investigation at the police station at Portobello.”

  “I think it would be wise to tell Alex at the next meeting. If not before. Remember our strength is our unity.”

  “Yeah, you are right. I will, I’ll call her later. One for the road?”

  “If you insist.”

  Chapter 11

  Journalists are an optimistic lot always looking for the next Watergate. Just like any Scotsman dreaming of coming on as a substitute in the last five minutes in the World Cup soccer final and heading the winner in the last minute against England, the auld enemy. Probably a fantasy rather than a dream.

  Some people referred to it as ‘Scottishillusion.’ However, we all need dreams otherwise life would be as black as the inside of a cow.

  Harry had worked for the Fairfax Corporation in Australia and had been successful in his investigative career uncovering a couple of major scandals in corruption in the Queensland Police Force and the New South Wales Parliament. The internet allowed him to freelance anywhere in the world and the contacts he had made in the industry were of great benefit. His career would have to be put on hold. Today, he needed to visit Bryson Kidd’s son.

  The Craigmillar high-rise flats consisted of two grim grey concrete fourteen-story towers.

  One of the towers had recently been extensively refurbished while the remaining tower was still overrun by squatters and druggies. Harry was wary as he approached the entrance to the building and was confronted by a disoriented man, obviously distressed, unclean and badly under the influence of drink or drugs.

  “Got some change for a bus fare pal?” The man mumbled. He sounded a bit loose in the top paddock.

  Harry realised that if he wanted information he needed to meet with his demand.

  “Sure, no problem, but I need to know where to find Tony Kidd.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  Harry handed him a ten-pound note.

  “Tony Kidd? Now I remember, cool dude on the ninth floor.”

  Harry handed him another ten-pound note. “Go buy yourself some food.”

  The character grabbed the note with the speed of a lizard’s tongue. “Aye, right. By the way, I made a mistake. It’s the fifth floor. Door with a grill on it. Go left out of the lift.”

  The entrance to the building was littered with used needles, cigarette packets and discarded fish suppers. The smell was atrocious. Harry took a deep breath and passed through the entrance to the door leading to the stairs. No need trying the lifts, they would be inactive. Another obnoxious smell hit his nostrils as he opened the door and commenced his climb to his destination. Christ, how could anyone live in this hell hole?

  The stairs were strewn with all sorts of rubbish and a couple of bodies obviously sleeping off their intake from late last night. The landing on the fifth floor was in no better condition, just more obnoxious smells.

  The greed of the wealthy made the poor people poorer. It was the way of life in Scotland. Maybe it was time to exit Europe and get back to basics and help these poor souls.

  There was no bell. He knocked on the door. His third knock stirred some movement and he could hear someone approaching the door. The door opened and he was greeted by a pathetic-looking human specimen, who looked more like a ghost. Her teeth were missing, she had scabs on her face, hair unwashed, eyes dilated and the smell was something you couldn’t describe.

  The young girl muttered unintelligibly, “Who is it and what do you want?”

  “I’m here to see Tony, is he here?”

  “Are you the Polis?”

  “No, I’m a friend of his father. Tell him Harry Cram needs to speak with him.”

  She looked at him through her opportunistic eyes. “I can give you a great fuck for only twenty quid before you see Tony.” She lifted her dress up revealing all. It was not a pretty sight.

  “I’ll take a rain-check on that if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay, fuck it. How about ten and you can do whatever you want.” She glanced back from where she had come from. “There is an empty bedroom back there.”

  “I don’t carry cash on me and I doubt you take credit cards. Now please can you get Tony.”

  “Fuck you, bastard.”

  She turned around and glided away as though she was on a cushion of air back to the black hole where she came from. Her legs didn’t seem to move on the uncarpeted floor. She part reminded him of what they would call in Australia a 1770. From the back, she looked 17 but from the front she looked 70.

  A few minutes went by then a slim tall young man approached the door. “Mr. Cram, long time no see. What can I do you for?”

  “Hi Tony, how about you meet me in five minutes in the park outside the building. I need some fresh air. I can’t stay here one minute longer.”

  “Aye, you get used to it after a few weeks. I’ll see you there in ten.”

  Fresh air had never felt as good as Harry stumbled out of the stairs and across the foyer into the welcoming smells of Edinburgh.

  Sitting on a bench that was on its last wobbly legs, he was aware of being eyeballed from wherever there was a window and he knew he needed to deal with Tony quickly and get back to the normal world before he was approached by trouble. Sitting here was as enjoyable as making love in the middle of winter at the top of Arthur Seat, which he was looking directly at.

  You have no idea how bad it becomes when you crave for a fix. Logic disappears, your mood becomes aggressive, selfishness becomes a priority and nobody, not even your family gets in the way. It creeps up and secretly possesses your desire and leaves you on the edge of darkness.

  Those were the words Harry vividly remembered as he sat on the stone sea wall at Portobello Beach last year listening to one of his best mates Geordie Fraser explaining his dark drug world. He died the following week from an overdose.

  It made him somewhat understand the difficult times that drug and alcohol users had to deal with on a daily issue. It also allowed him to show compassion to them when most others ignored them and classified them as losers and lost causes. Empathy was a strength not a weakness.

  Tony came wandering over to the bench. “Sorry about the surroundings. The locals as you can see, are not concerned with cleanliness or presentation.”

  “Tony, you've got to get yourself out of here. You are better than this.”

  “I know. I’ve spent the last year staring at the mirror trying to work out who I am and what am I doing. You know you need to experience anxiety to be free from it.”

  Harry studied the young man sitting on the bench. He was scruffily dressed, a bit unclean, unshaven but devoid of any drug signs.

  “All druggies are motivated by self-interest and dealers are no different. Why should I think that you are any different? You are a dealer.”

  He threw Harry a look of disdain. “Fair comment, but my long-term self-interest is to get out if this hole and help my dad. And by the way, I don’t appreciate your attitude. Remember, what knocks you down makes you stronger.”

  “From what I see, you are not within cooee of achieving that. Put your pride in the pantry man and sort yourself out.”

  “Fuck you, Mr. Cram, I’ll show you, just wait and see. Sure, I indulge in the pastime now and then, but it helps with the insanity of it all. You know the drugs don’t release you without a fight. .”

  “You haven’t been visiting your dad lately?”

  “Bit difficult for me under the circumstances. I know he misses my visits. But I want to clean myself up before h
e is due for release. Then we can have a proper father and son relationship. I have plans to help set dad and myself up in a small legit business.”

  “All sounds good Tony, but you should visit him. Give him something to look forward to when he finally gets out.”

  “Can’t do that. I don’t want to build up his hopes just to let him down. Tell him I’m getting myself sorted and when that’s done I will visit him again.”

  “Why do you do this, Tony?”

  “I do it for religious reasons.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I worship money,” he said with a sly grin.

  Harry ignored his wicked sense of humour. “You know retribution has an extended evil memory.”

  “If you’re talking about Alf Hunter. I can deal with him. I have to deal with this my way. I have a plan and a girlfriend who will help me come though this successfully. Just tell dad that I will get through this. Look, I have to get back. Give me your number and I will be in touch.”

  “Can I ask one more question, Tony?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop you.”

  “The girl who answered the door, she’s not the girlfriend is she?”

  “For fuck’s sake, no. My friend is clean and lives in the country. I don’t allow her to come here. She thinks I live in the other tower.”

  “All right, if I can help in anyway, please contact me.” He handed him a business card. “I owe it to your father. Remember, you’re a winner when you lose with dignity. Let’s hope for your father’s sake that you succeed.”

  “Sure, look after yourself and thanks for your advice. And I’m so sorry about what happened to your girlfriend.”

  Harry watched his godson leave and hoped for all concerned that together they could turn this around. He left the area feeling eyes penetrating his back.

  Chapter 12

  The car park out the front of Edinburgh’s Saughton Prison was only a short walk to the main office at the entry to the prison.

  DI Spencer and DC Darling never enjoyed visiting prisons. They were looked upon by the inmates as invaders and scum.