Windsor Place

by Russell Robertson

  Chapter 29

  As he entered the upstairs office in the station DS Cropley noticed that PC McDonald had been at it again. This time there was a festive poster advertising the up and coming Portobello Police Xmas Party and neatly scrawled underneath was ‘HR will be glad to sort out any personal issues on Monday morning.’

  “Does anyone know where PC Blackie is?” He called out to anyone who was listening.

  A voice from the back of the office yelled out, “She’s in the canteen getting her morning fix.”

  He acknowledged the voice with a nod of his head and proceeded to his office passing PC McDonald, who was casually leaning against the copying machine with a coffee in hand and a grin on his face as wide as an Edinburgh hard man.

  “See you've been using your artistic skills again, Paul,” he commented as he pointed towards the poster.

  Paul smiled and raised his eyebrows. “You got any evidence, sir?”

  “Don’t need any, it’s got your wicked sense of humour written all over it.”

  PC Blackie like most of the employees in the station had no time for DS Cropley. He almost always was sexist, racist and anything else you could think of and for the next few days she had to work with him. If that meant that she would be in contact with Andy Darling, then she would put up with him.

  Cropley was busy reading through some paperwork when she entered his office, coffee in hand. “Good morning, sir. Looking forward to working with you for the next couple of days.”

  He knew that was a lie but would enjoy watching her sexy swagger and big tits bounce up and down and he might even tell her that. He knew women liked that sort of talk and he might also win her over.

  “Likewise, PC Blackie. Not the most exciting task we have been given but you have to take the good with the bad in this job.”

  She had no idea that his reference to the good was aimed at her.

  “Okay, today we will deal with the businesses first. They generally pay more attention to what’s going on around them than the general public does. Luckily, it’s a nice day for a shit task.”

  “Sir, are we looking for any specific information?”

  “It would be helpful if anyone clocked an unusual vehicle or persons in the area on the day of the crime. Anything odd in Portobello generally doesn’t often go unnoticed, so I’m pretty hopeful of receiving some leads. Remember the sky has no ceiling. Anyways I think we should have a decent coffee and something to eat before we hit the track.”

  “Would you like me to go to the canteen, sir?”

  “No, I was thinking some better quality than that load of shite down there. Let’s start with the Beach Cafe at the bottom of Bath Street then we can work our way up to Windsor Place.”

  After coffee and visiting all the businesses in Bath Street there were no leads. Some employees were off today and that would mean revisiting those businesses tomorrow. Then they could strike Bath Street of their list.

  The smaller streets contained a few businesses and they would work methodically through them tomorrow and hopefully bring some leads from the houses near the crime.

  They then made their way to Windsor Place which was only a couple minutes’ walk from the top of Bath Street.

  “Now PC Blackie, I’ll do all the talking, you take notes and observe, that way we’ll make a good team.” He said as they approached the first house.

  PC Blackie agreed. “Sir, will do.” Inwardly she was fuming.

  One hour went past trudging the street and interviewing mainly housewives and unemployed men before they struck gold.

  The person in residence at number seventeen opened the door after the second knock.

  “Good afternoon sir, DC Cropley and PC Blackie. We are visiting homes in the street about the incident the other day at number sixty-six.”

  As they showed their passes the gentleman introduced himself. “Gerry McGoldrick’s the name, would you like to come in?”

  “Yes, that would be appreciated?”

  Inside the house was neat and tidy with minimal furniture and neutral colours everywhere. The large modern smart TV was totally out of place with the antique furniture as was the Surface Pro laptop sitting on the dining table. Clinical and minimal would be the best way to describe the decor.

  The two police officers were offered the two-seater sofa which they accepted and the owner sat on the only other chair in the room, his beady eyes assessing the situation and the legs of PC Blackie.

  “I’d offer you a cup of tea but I’m sure you don’t have time for that. How can I help? Terrible thing the other day, you don’t think that sort of thing will ever happen in your street.”

  “Mr. McGoldring,” Cropley interrupted.

  “Actually, it’s McGoldrick.”

  “Sorry, Mr. McGoldrick. Were you at home during the day on Friday thirteenth of November?”

  “Yes, I only work a couple of days a week, play golf on Wednesdays and stay home on Fridays to catch up on the housework and study the form for Saturday’s races. Can’t beat the bookies if you don’t study the form.”

  “Did you notice any odd vehicles or any strangers hanging around that day?”

  “I thought you guys would be coming around so I sat and thought about it yesterday and I did recall a white vehicle sitting at the end of St. Marks Place. It is very difficult at any time to get a park anywhere round here so normally you see the usual cars. This one stuck in my mind as it had different looking license plates, different colour to the normal ones.”

  “What time was this, sir?”

  “Just after three o clock, I always take a saunter round the block at that time when I’m home, bit of a routine. I like routine.”

  “Did you see any strangers hanging around that day?”

  “Nope, that’s the only time I went out on Friday.”

  “Can you remember what kind of vehicle it was?”

  “Not very good with cars. Not really been interested in them but I think it was one of those white transit vans, you know the one that a plumber or electrician would use.”

  “Was it old or new?”

  “Looked pretty new to me.”

  “Did you notice anything different at all at number sixty-six?”

  “No, but I wasn’t really paying any attention to any home in particular.”

  “Did you notice if the van was still there on Saturday.”

  “It was gone when I went out to the newsagents to get my paper.”

  “And what time would that be?”

  “I go for the newspaper on Saturday mornings at seven.”

  “You sure about the time?”

  “Definitely. As I said, I like routine.”

  “You've been extremely helpful.” DS Cropley said as he handed Mr. McGoldrick his card. “Please ring me on this number if you think of anything else.”

  The remainder of the day produced no more leads but a couple of people remembered seeing the van parked in St. Marks Place. At least they had something solid to take to the next briefing.

  “Well, that was a long dry day. Feel like a couple of drinks down the pub, Sheena?”

  “Promised my brother I would cook dinner for him tonight,” Sheena lied. “Besides alcohol makes you see double and think single.”

  She would rather go out with Bible John than spend her valuable time drinking with this arsehole.

  “Aye, okay, I suppose I’ll have to please one of the other girls in the station and ask one of them.”

  Sheena smiled as she left the office. She knew he would have no luck there.

  Chapter 30

  It had just gone nine in the morning as Scully opened the next briefing for the team in the incident room.

  “We now have the forensic report on Reginald Buchanan. Royce Brownlie, would you be kind enough to inform the room of your findings to date?”

  Royce led the way. “Certainly. The victim, Reginald Buchanan, was shot at close range, the angle of the exit wound through the left jaw indicates a taller pe
rson than the victim and they were more likely to be right-handed.”

  “Royce, as Reginald Buchanan was six-feet four inches tall, that would make the assailant a giant?” queried Spencer.

  “Maybe. But what I am saying is that the gun was above the victims head. The victim could have been sitting or lying down. In this case, determination of range of fire is the most important aspect of the investigation. range of fire defines the distance between the end of the gun barrel and the decedent when the gun was fired, and can be divided into four main categories. A distant range of fire (greater than two-feet in this case) is defined by the absence of any gunshot materials around the gunshot wound on the skin and clothing. An intermediate range of fire is defined by gunpowder stippling (injury from gunshot particles on the skin) or distinct gunshot particles on the clothing, without gunpowder soot. A close range of fire is defined by the presence of both gunpowder soot and gunshot particles around the wound or on the clothing. Lastly, a contact range of fire is defined by extensive damage to the skin and/or clothing from heat, soot and searing when the gun is held in contact to the person when it is fired.

  “In this case, the range of fire appears to be either distant or at least at the far end of intermediate range, making it nearly impossible for the decedent to have shot himself.

  “The ballistics findings show that the weapon was fired from an intermediate range of about twenty-four inches (in this case) (twenty-four inch distance determination test results match most closely to the results of the Greiss test). There are no findings that suggest a close-range firing. There is no stippling on the skin, consistent with either longer-range intermediate distance or distant range – distant equalling twenty-four or more inches from the body, in this case.

  “Findings are consistent with intermediate range. The closer range of fire is unlikely, because the Greiss test shows only three nitrite particles, suggesting a further intermediate range of fire. If the gun were shot at closer range there would be more nitrite particles. If the gun was fired from a more distant range, there would be no gunpowder particles at all.

  “In conclusion, the bullet wound is within an intermediate to distant range. Most likely longer range of intermediate wound and most certainly not consistent with a close range of fire wound, making it nearly impossible for Reginald Buchanan to have shot himself. Therefore, the manner of death is conclusively homicide.”

  “Thank you, Royce. That is extremely useful information.”

  As they were drinking their coffee at the morning break, Cropley suddenly blurted out, “You know, I was thinking last night?”

  “You mean you were doing what you don’t do best?” suggested Spencer.

  Cropley ignored the remark and continued. “I asked myself the question. If Alf Hunter was behind these killings why would he have his own children killed when it would be simpler for him just to eliminate his wife on her own? What if the children were collateral damage? Then Alf Hunter would be extremely angry and out for revenge.”

  “You mean that the hired killers went over the top?” Spencer asked.

  “And the children were not meant to be there that day and ended up as collateral damage,” Cropley sighed.

  Mark Cox threw his hat into the ring. “What if Harry Cram was supposed to be there instead?”

  Spencer raised his eyebrows. “Meaning that he and Carole Hunter were the intended victims?”

  “Exactly, the killers got the timing wrong, got there early and stumbled upon the daughters who should not have been there,” was Mark Cox’s response.

  “Mark, I appreciate your thoughts but would you stick to your area of expertise. Have you come up with anything of interest in the world of finance?” Spencer’s reply came as a question.

  “Sorry, sir. Well, I may have uncovered a possible link between Alf Hunter and the Dean brothers. It seems that there are regular monthly payments being made to an account in Beijing China for around £100,000. The payments are made to a company called Xian-Peng Trading Co, who trade as an electronics research company.”

  “So, who makes the payments?”

  “Atlas Designs, a company registered in Glasgow.”

  “What are the reasons given for the payments?”

  “License fees for the sale of drones in the UK and Europe.”

  “Wouldn’t that be legitimate, as they are buying the drones from China?”

  “Yes. But I would suggest that this is a payment to a sham company laundering drug money. The problem is proving it and you can be sure that they will have signed an IP Licence Agreement to cover their tracks.”

  Scully intervened. “Mark, this is all very good information and could lead us to fraud or money laundering charges but it doesn’t really help us in pinning the killings on either Alf Hunter, Dargie Dean or others.”

  “Perhaps not, but if they know that we know. That will make them nervous and could lead to them making mistakes.”

  “Good point, and I think your original theory carries some weight. Keep looking at the financial side and see if you can dig up anything else. Meantime we should all keep looking for leads as to who the killers may be and what the motive was.”

  Scully inwardly felt that this investigation was going nowhere and the public interest was losing enthusiasm. He had seen this many times before and more recent crimes tended to get more attention. As time went on, the case would be sent to the too-hard basket on the bottom shelf and another detective would be put in charge. He wondered what he could do to stop this happening as he wound the briefing up.

  Chapter 31

  The switch from the Caffe Borsa in Musselburgh to the Eteaket coffee shop in Fredrick Street in the city suited Raffles much better. Harry didn’t mind the switch of venue as he could combine the visit with other things he needed to attend to in Edinburgh.

  Nearby was George Street which was the preferred designer shopping precinct and also housed many of the high-falutin’ restaurants and coffee shops in the city. Harry would meet Blair there later for a meal.

  The venue was not unknown to Harry as he regularly visited Eteaket to meet an old friend Ian Orr who was a member of the Athenians rock band who were extremely popular in Edinburgh in the mid-seventies and Billy Hunter, a Hibees legend of the same era.

  Harry knew that Raffles was going to pound him for information as the media were not getting any breaks from the police, the public or the underworld.

  Nestled in a cosy corner of the cafe sat Raffles with a coffee and his nose buried in a newspaper.

  Harry pulled up a chair. “Any good news today?”

  “Only if you’re a pessimist or a sadist. Any breakthroughs in your investigation?”

  “It’s a tough road.”

  “Tell me, Harry, how did you go with Sandy Hall?”

  “You were spot on. He does have a deep hatred for Alf Hunter, but he is very cautious about releasing any information. I’m sure that he can help but he wants to drip feed information to me so I keep visiting him and swap cigarettes for dirt on Alf Hunter. He was once an organised and direct individual who is now separated from his organisation and direction in life. Just another person waiting for God in the halls of mercy. But he did indicate that there may have been a mole in the force who is keen to please the underworld in return for favours.”

  “And who would that be?”

  “He won’t say right now but I believe he will in his own time.”

  He decided not to mention the clue Sandy Hall gave him about the identity of the policeman until he was one hundred percent sure himself as to who that person was.

  “You know, I asked him how he had been since he was diagnosed with dementia around two years ago. His answer to me was put succinctly, when he replied.”

  “I was older then but I’m younger now.”

  Raffles changed the subject. “What’s the story on Reginald Buchanan? My sources tell me that he was murdered by a single gunshot to the head and it was a professional hit. Any idea who?”

&n
bsp; “There’s a whisper that the Mason brothers could be involved,” Harry replied.

  “Fuck, they’re a nasty piece. That’s a potential toxic combination. But don’t they normally work in Dundee?”

  “Yes, but it would seem that they could have teamed up with Alf Hunter.”

  “Christ, this is getting interesting and very dangerous. Now I have some homework to do.”

  “Remember Raffles. None of this came from me.”

  “You got it.”

  “Now, what have you got for me?”

  “I hear that Nugget Reid may be lining up to topple Alf Hunter. And word has it that he could be in an alliance with a lady partner.”

  “Is that within the realms of possibility?”

  “Anything is in the realms of possibility with Nugget Reid.”

  “It may be worth pursuing. Also, my visits to all the wonderful pubs in Leith tell me that you may have been the target as well as Carole on that fateful night. Either you got there late or the killers got there early? I’m getting too old for all this, Harry. Roll on, retirement.”

  “You sound as though you need a break, Raffles. Maybe a nice week in the country.”

  “I was born with concrete under my feet, Harry. No chance the country for me.”

  Chapter 32

  It had to be extenuating circumstances to be allowed out of prison temporarily and losing your wife and two children met those requirements on the grounds of compassion even though this prisoner didn’t have a morsel of that ingredient in his entire body.

  The three senior prison officers who accompanied Alf Hunter to the church service and now at the Portobello Cemetery were hand-picked, as were five of the special response team intermingled amongst the guests. You just didn’t take any chances with one of Scotland’s most violent criminals. As well as the possibility of an escape attempt there were a few criminals who might take this rare opportunity to send him to his maker in the sky. He was like a cherry on top of a compost heap in the criminal world.