In Place of Death

by Craig Robertson

  She urged him on and he did as he was asked, losing himself in the moment and the act, letting everything go. When the end came it was together and breathless.

  He lay on top of her, bearing what weight he could on his elbows and kissing her neck. She managed to twist a hand back and stroke where she could.

  ‘I needed that.’

  She’d said it but it could have been either of them.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  A long pause for thought then a heavy sigh. ‘No. Just hold me and kiss me. Tell me about your night if you want though.’

  ‘No. I’d rather kiss you.’

  ‘Suits me fine.’

  Chapter 38

  Friday morning

  The incident room was buzzing in a way it only could when everyone was under pressure yet secretly enjoying it. You couldn’t go around admitting that you got a high when there was a murder, better still more than one. But it was why they did what they did. No one signed on to find lost cats or give road-safety talks to schoolkids.

  The phones were ringing off the wall, detectives were running in and out, keyboards were being hammered, the humour was black and rife and there wasn’t a single moment of silence. Narey loved it. Even under all the pressure she’d managed to create for herself, she revelled in it.

  She’d spoken to Hepburn’s sister who told her that a DNA test was being done that afternoon. No one doubted that it was him but everyone needed the final confirmation. Rico Giannandrea had been in and out like a fiddler’s elbow, working with Johnny Jackson and turning over every stone to see if Saturn Property might be hiding underneath it. They were also forensically examining other companies to see if Saturn had morphed again.

  They were looking again at Davie McGlashan’s post-mortem results and maybe, just maybe, there would be something they’d missed. Maxwell had drawn up a list of Jennifer Cairns’ charity commitments, including a breast cancer support group, a homeless charity and an arts foundation. Narey had lined up a phone call with someone who was supposedly the UK’s leading urbexer. Others were trying, so far in vain, to find a link between Hepburn and Cairns. It was buzzing.

  She was looking at her computer screen when she became aware of Fraser Toshney standing up and waving at her, his hand clutching a pen. He had a phone in his other hand, clamped firmly to his ear. Toshney was manning one of the hotlines and had been fending off well-meaning nutters all morning. This time, he seemed to have something more interesting.

  She pushed out of her chair and walked over, just catching the tail end of the conversation.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to give your name, sir? You might be eligible for a Crimestoppers reward and . . .’

  He stopped to listen. ‘It would really help us if . . .’

  He looked at her and shrugged. ‘He’s gone and wouldn’t leave a name. Said he wasn’t interested in a reward and didn’t want to get involved.’

  She just looked at him. ‘Well? I’m assuming this is something worth me getting out of my chair for.’

  ‘Yes, boss. Definitely. Well, if this guy’s telling the truth. He says he’s got a name for the person that found Euan Hepburn in the Molendinar.

  ‘This guy says he was in Oran Mor last night and overheard some people talking. One of them was a guy named Remy Feeks. He spelled the name out for me. He says this guy was talking a lot about the body in the tunnel, knew a lot about it. He said, and get this, that this Remy Feeks said he went urbexing. We haven’t said anything public at all about urbexing, boss.’

  ‘I know that, Fraser. Go on.’

  ‘The guy that phoned said Feeks seemed really interested in the Molendinar and said he’d been in there. He was asking lots of questions about it.’

  ‘Did he give an address or a description?’

  ‘No address but said, from what he heard, he lives in the East End and works in a Tesco. He said this Feeks sounded scared. He specifically said’ - Toshney checked his notes - ‘that he didn’t sound scared of getting caught. More like scared that he’d be next. He said the guy was maybe twenty-six or so with fair hair and freckles. Skinny guy about five feet ten.’

  Narey glanced down at the scribbled note. ‘Good work, Fraser. Go and get that typed up into something legible then get your coat. We’re going to the East End.’

  Chapter 39

  They were driving out to the East End to see the only Feeks listed in the Glasgow phone book. The phone call might have been genuine or it might have been another crazy or just an attempt to get someone into trouble. There was only one way to find out.

  Adelaide Street was like an oasis in reverse. Its short row of grey sandstone buildings was isolated among green swathes of wasteland where other tenements used to stand. Now the remaining homes, weathered and shabby, stood like the last couple of teeth in an old man’s mouth.

  This part of the Calton used to be home to hundreds of families but they and their houses were all long since gone. The buildings, the single-ends and rows of closes, had been demolished and the infertile scrubland was the only reminder of where they had stood. Many of the buildings had become unfit for habitation by twentieth-century standards, lacking the little luxuries like inside toilets and heating. All that hung on were the better-class and later-built tenements that had sprung up in a 1920s overhaul. They were better then but they weren’t all that now.

  According to both the phone book and the electoral register, Archibald Feeks was the only person in the city with that surname and seemed to be an obvious enough place to start. If he wasn’t the right Feeks then he was likely to know who the other one was. Narey and Maxwell parked up in front of the downbeat row and stood for a moment to take it in.

  There was only a handful of flats in the block whose windows weren’t either boarded up or smashed in. Most were shattered, open to the wind and rain and to anything or anyone else who fancied crawling in. Take away the lack of curtains in a couple of those whose glass had thus far escaped the sticks and stones that broke their bones, and that left just three that might still be lived in.

  They pushed open the scruffy door to Number 2 and walked inside, finding the air thick with the smell of neglect and the stairs as steep as the climb out of poverty. The landing outside 2f was different though. It was swept clean and a neat little green mat sat outside a door that, unlike the others, had been painted while the present Queen was on the throne.

  Narey knocked and they waited. Finally, a shadow appeared and they watched a head duck to the spy hole. The person on the other side of the door must have been wondering whether they liked what they saw as the door catch still didn’t budge. Finally, the door swung open about six inches.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  The man was probably in his mid-sixties but his skin was about ten years older, with the dull mustard glow of a lifelong smoker’s. His brown eyes were bright but tired and his hair curled back grey on his forehead. He was looking at them as if he feared they were there bearing bad tidings by the stretcherload. This was a man used to hearing bad news.

  ‘Mr Feeks?’

  He huffed and the door moved an inch or two nearer to them and the lock. ‘I said I wasn’t going to talk to you people any more. I told them you’d be wasting your time coming to my door.’

  Narey held up her warrant card. ‘I don’t think it was our people that you talked to, Mr Feeks. Police. I’m Detective Inspector Narey and this is DC Toshney. May we come in?’

  His face turned to confusion and then the habitual worry turned even deeper. The door edged back towards him. ‘What’s wrong? Is it Remy? Has something happened?’

  Well, that answered one question: they’d come to the right place.

  ‘It would be easier if we could speak inside, Mr Feeks.’

  That didn’t do much for his optimism but it did get them in. The man pulled the door back and grimly waved them inside. Once he’d shut the door behind them, he led them to a busy but well-ordered sitting room where he turned off the television
and showed them both into a chair.

  ‘So has something happened?’

  ‘Not as far as we know, Mr Feeks. I take it Remy is your son? We’d like to speak to him. Do you know where he is?’

  ‘Is he in some kind of trouble? Sorry, but I think there’s been a mistake. Remy’s never been in trouble in his puff. What’s this all about?’

  ‘We just need to speak to him, Mr Feeks. There’s nothing to worry about but we think there’s something he may be able to help us with. Do you know where he is?’

  The man leaned forward, eyes narrowed. ‘He doesn’t live here. Something he may be able to help you with? What does that mean exactly? If that’s like helping the police with their inquiries then I don’t much like the sound of it. I’m sorry but I’m not saying anything until I know what’s going on.’

  Feeks was getting louder as he got more worried by the situation and he finished his statement by exploding into a coughing fit that didn’t sound like it was being fuelled by much in the way of breath. He was reaching deep into his lungs and only producing a rasp.

  ‘Are you okay, Mr Feeks? Can I get you some thing?’

  The man shook his head and barely managed to say, ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘We think Remy might be a witness, Mr Feeks. That’s all it is. He isn’t in any trouble but we’d like to speak to him. He isn’t in the phone book or on the electoral register. You are so that’s why we came to you.’

  The man started to speak but she could see he hadn’t the strength for it. ‘I think Remy might be worried about talking to us. He doesn’t have to be. It might help if you can tell him that. I’ll leave you my number but I’d like his address too if that’s okay. Has Remy been okay recently? Maybe worried or acting differently?’

  He shook his head, the cough continuing.

  ‘I’m also interested in what Remy does at night.’ She saw the man’s eyes widen in surprise. ‘Do you know if he has hobbies that take him out late?’ She could hear how bizarre it sounded but she couldn’t take it back. ‘Mr Feeks, do you know if Remy ever goes exploring?’

  ‘Exploring? He barely squeezed the word out. ‘Who the fuck do you think he is? David Livingstone? Remy works in a supermarket, for God’s sake. Exploring?

  ‘Calm down, Mr Feeks. Please. There’s nothing to get upset about.’

  ‘What are you talking about, hen?’

  ‘We think Remy may have seen something and might be able to help us. He’s not involved. And if he’s interested in visiting old buildings, that would fit with what we’re looking for.’

  Feeks looked old and confused. ‘He’s into history. Of old Glasgow and stuff like that. The boy’s proud of his heritage but I don’t understand what else you’re talking about. You’ll need to speak to him. He’s got his own place. 619 London Road. He doesn’t have a phone. Not a proper one anyway. He just uses his mobile. Listen, I don’t know what he does at night but I know it won’t be anything crooked or anything weird. He’s not like that.’

  Narey nodded at Toshney, their cue to leave. Both stood and Feeks also got to his feet.

  ‘That’s it? You scare me half to death and now you’re going?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Feeks, but that’s all I can tell you for now. As you say, I’ll need to speak to your son. But you don’t have to worry.’

  He stood frowning but finally gave in with a shrug. ‘Okay, but whatever it is, go easy on the boy, will you? He’s a good lad.’

  ‘We’ll take it very easy. Mr Feeks, when we arrived, you said you’d told our people we’d be wasting our time coming to your door. Who did you think we were? Are you getting hassled?’

  ‘Ach. It’s nothing. Nothing I can’t handle anyway.’

  Narey heard more behind the dismissive words. ‘It doesn’t quite sound like nothing. You looked worried when you saw us. Who did you think we were?’

  ‘Och it’s just some crowd who want to move me out. But I’m going nowhere and I’ve told them that. Told them there was no point coming round trying to change my mind. I’m a stubborn old sod.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Developers, I suppose you’d call them. Got all these big plans. Going to make the East End the new West End or some bollocks like that. It’s a lot of nonsense.’

  Narey asked the question just in case. ‘They’re not called Saturn Property, are they?’

  ‘Eh? No. Never heard of them. This lot are called Orient Development. Bunch of chancers, if you ask me.’

  ‘How many of you are left here, Mr Feeks?’

  ‘Two houses. The McCanns left last week so that leaves the Meiklejohns at 4c and me. Tam Meiklejohn says he’s chucking it and taking the family away. So it will just be me.’

  ‘It’s not going to be much fun for you if that happens.’

  ‘I’ll not be the first. A pal of mine knew a guy called Jamal. He was the last resident of the Red Road flats. He was an asylum seeker, poor bugger. They were knocking the flats down but he was going to get deported if he left his house so he refused to go. For four months. He was the only person in his entire block and they were demolishing the other towers round about him. The guy was terrified. Living alone on the fourteenth floor all that time. Well if he could do it then so can I. I’m only on the second floor. Should be a doddle.’

  ‘But they knocked the Red Road flats down.’

  ‘Eventually. I’m going nowhere though. This was the first house my wife and I had together, bless her soul. My laddie was brought up here. I still think it’s his home even if he doesn’t. There’s too many memories for me to leave it. I’m staying.’

  ‘Stick to your guns, Mr Feeks. But watch yourself, okay? And if the hassling goes over the top then you call us.’

  He gave a throaty laugh. ‘Hen, I used to be a welder. Made cups of tea with a blowtorch and worked with guys who knocked rivets in with their foreheads. I’m not going to get bothered by some guys in pinstripe suits. You just do me a favour and look after that boy of mine. Okay?’

  ‘I will, Mr Feeks. Promise.’

  Giannandrea answered immediately.

  ‘Rico, I’ve got something I want you to look into. A company called Orient Development. They’re working on a project in the East End around Adelaide Street. Jacko might know about them.’ ‘Sure. What am I looking for?’ ‘Find out if they’re full of Eastern promise.’

  Chapter 40

  Her phone rang when she and Toshney were driving back to the station. It was Winter.

  ‘Hi. Listen, I know you’re busy but could you find some time this afternoon?’

  She glanced at Toshney but he had his eyes dutifully glued to the road. He’d been warned more than once for listening to her conversations and maybe he’d finally learned a lesson.

  ‘Busy’s an understatement. Some time for what?’

  ‘Well not the same thing as last night, if that’s what you were thinking. Although if you can find time for that too then I’m more than willing.’

  She kept her voice level and didn’t indulge in the flirting by her tone. ‘Well that would be good and we should schedule that as soon as possible but it won’t be this afternoon. What was it you wanted time for though?’

  ‘Your dad. Could you get over to the care home for about three o’clock?’

  ‘My dad?’ She forgot Toshney instantly. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you. Nothing’s wrong, honestly, but it’s still important. Can you make it?’

  ‘Why can’t you tell me what it is? I’m not in the mood for guessing.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to guess. There’s nothing wrong and I think you’ll want to see this. Please.’

  ‘Okay, okay. I’ll be there.’

  When she pulled into the car park of the nursing home, having deposited Toshney at the station, she saw that Winter’s car was already there. She looked to the front door and instead of the usual depressing sight of it staring back at her, he was standing there waving and with a smile on
his face.

  She had no idea what was going on and that wasn’t the way she liked it. Surprises didn’t impress her as a rule and even less so when it involved her dad. She preferred to know what was coming despite or perhaps because of his condition meaning that wasn’t often possible.

  ‘Right, what’s going on? You know what I’m in the middle of. This better be good.’

  He slid an arm round her waist, kissed her and pulled her close.

  ‘I think it will be. Just come and see. But be quiet, okay? It will be better if your dad doesn’t know you’re here just yet.’

  They walked down the corridor together, his arm round her and easing some of her misgivings. As they neared the door to her dad’s room, he slowed and made her do the same. The door was open and she could hear voices coming from inside, one of them unmistakably her dad’s.

  Winter put a finger to his lips and an arm round her shoulder to guide her into the open doorway. Her eyes widened to see her dad sitting upright in the chair by his bed, quite animated and deep in conversation with a man in his sixties she didn’t recognize. Behind the stranger sat Tony’s uncle Danny.

  ‘I was there,’ her dad was saying as if proving a point. ‘Me and my brother and our pal Bill. You scored and you would have had another couple but that big goalkeeper of theirs made some cracking saves. Big baldy fella.’

  ‘Gordy Gillespie. He was a good goalie. Nice bloke as well. We played together at Morton for a season.’

  ‘Did you? I don’t remember that.’

  The stranger laughed. ‘Typical supporter. You only remember us when we played for your team.’

  ‘Aye, right enough,’ her dad laughed. ‘I always had those blue-tinted glasses on. Always the Rangers for me.’

  ‘Who is that?’ Narey whispered to Winter. She had a smile spread across her face though. ‘What’s going on?’