“That’s fantastic news, Davie.” One of our three footprint makers, at least, had left their DNA behind for us. “God! I hope they’re in the database!” But even if they weren’t, when we did run them down and bring them in, we’d have a solid, physical link between them and the murder weapon. “Are you up north of the house now?”
“Aye, we’ve been up here a while. I like your two DCs by the way. They’d be naturals for this line o’ work, if you ever wanted rid?” I smiled to myself. I’d been hoping to hear him say something like that.
“I’ll bear you in mind, if they become too annoying to keep around.”
He laughed at that. “Fat chance I’d have then! They’d just run weeping into McKinnon’s greedy, welcoming arms. You’ve already started infecting the pair of them with that incurable bug of yours. I can smell the beginnings of it on them.” I leaned back happily and kicked my chair into motion again.
“So, how are the woods today?” I asked.
“Dark and deep but not so lovely, from a professional point of view. Nothing but a couple of partial prints so far, and it looks as if they might have cut across for the lane after, from the direction of those. I doubt we’ll find much more up here now.”
“No third wish for me today, Fairy Godfather? That’s a bit short, isn’t it?”
“Blame it on all the cutbacks. I’ll make sure our gleanings get top priority at the lab for you Conall. There’s your third. Now go and find something useful to do and leave me in peace.”
“Yes, Mr Baird Sir, thank you, Sir, I love you too.” A final, appreciative snort and he was gone.
I checked my emails again and saw that Bryce had finally finished with Pete Ferguson’s official history but had nothing new to add to what Shay had sent me before lunch. On the other hand, he hadn’t missed anything out either, a slow but thorough effort. And it wasn’t remotely fair to draw a comparison. If anyone knew their way around the PND, and every other useful system out there, better than my cousin did, I was not aware of their existence. It was only my department’s own, not yet uploaded files he kept his nose out of. He played fair on that, thank goodness. I don’t think The Ids would be too happy if he kept breaking off whatever job they had him working on to figure out who broke into the local chippy and made off with six cases of Irn-Bru, or where Mrs Doe’s pedigree cat had disappeared to.
“And the thirty-million-pound money-laundering operation through the Cayman Islands last month, Mr Keane? When you’ve finished playing with the nice kitty and can spare us a moment?” I found myself grinning at the thought of it.
My phone beeped at me then, as if my thoughts had invoked his attention; a text. “Busy? No? Then go home, Con. Lots for you to do in the morning, most likely, with the shopping list you sent over.”
No chance of getting anything from him tonight then. And if that was the case, then Shay was probably right. Maybe we should all rest up properly whilst we could. I shut my office down, grabbed my stuff and went to see if Caitlin was nearly ready to call it a day. She gave me an open hand sign as she clocked my coat and bag; five minutes, so I went over to see how Collins was getting on with our detectorists.
“I think it’s all bogus, Sir,” he told me unhappily. “The numbers are out of service pay as you go accounts, and the blog is full of pieces copied from other sources and then edited slightly, as far as I’ve been able to check. I’ve sent a query to the hosting service about when that account was opened and the payment method used. As for the email accounts, again, I need to hear back from the service they’re with.”
Our detectorists were ghosts in the wind then, most likely. They had suddenly become persons of far more interest than before.
“Any photos?” I asked, not very hopefully.
“Photoshopped, would be my guess. Again, copied from other places with ‘Peters’ and ‘Boyd’ pasted in, but no shots you could identify them from, if it even was them.”
“But maybe the Kerrs thought to take a few pics, during their January treasure hunt?” It was definitely worth asking. I called the house, and Douglas told me yes, he was sure Jessica had taken some, and he’d be sure to ask her when she came back from the camp. Sod that! I called DC Walker.
“Wherever you two are, drop what you’re doing and find Jessica Kerr for me, will you? She’s probably still up at the camp, but maybe heading back to the house. I want any pictures she has of Mr Peters and Mr Boyd emailing to me as soon as you can get them.”
“Will do, Sir.” I liked the way Walker just got on with things, no unnecessary fuss. I badly wanted those pictures to go to Shay today, to add onto his night’s search list.
“After that, you two should just call it a day before Davie Baird gets any more ideas in his head about stealing the pair of you. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.” She was chuckling quietly as I hung up. So he had broached the subject with them, had he? You couldn’t trust anyone these days. Caitlin was shutting down her desk, and the boys looked like they’d had more than enough for one day.
“Time for you two to call it too, lads,” I told them. “No doubt there’ll be plenty more for us all to do tomorrow.”
“Sir.” Two rather pleased nods of agreement. I locked up once they’d all filed past me into the corridor. Everyone had their own key to the main office, so Walker or Collins could let themselves in if they’d left anything behind that they needed to pick up today. I waved the lads off as we all exited the station and headed our different ways, Caitlin and I to my car, Bryce to his and Collins getting helmeted up, ready to wake his slumbering beast of a bike to roaring life.
“Stop in for a bite at mine today, Conall?” Caitlin asked as we buckled in. “We could get a takeout in?” Well, it had been a while since we’d just chilled with a good film, but it was far too early for any of that just yet.
“Sounds good,” I agreed readily. “I’ll drop you off, grab an hour at the gym, and pick up the grub on my way back.” Would she bite, or was she feeling too lazy today?
“No, you bloody well won’t,” she scowled. “You’ll wait while I get my kit and we’ll both go, then you can’t guilt me out of eating my fair share... and don’t say ‘grab an hour’ when you know damned well it’ll be more like two by the time you’re out the door again.”
I just grinned at her and started the engine. She muttered something under her breath.
“What?” I asked innocently as I backed us out.
“Just be dressed and ready again by seven, or I’m taking the bloody car, and you can walk back.”
Eighteen
Shay
Those students were bloody exhausting, and Miguel and Jessica were each worse, in their own ways, than any three of the others put together. After an afternoon of endless jabber and fussing, I was beginning to feel like maybe getting my head bashed in by some random psycho out along the road wasn’t such a terrible prospect to contemplate. I rather liked Katie, who had quickly decided to relegate herself to the ‘wouldn’t stand a snowflake in hell’ bench and was just enjoying the entertainment. Definitely the pick of the bunch, from my perspective, not that I had any intention of pursuing that fleeting whisper of interest. Lindsay (the showjumper) was too infatuated with Miguel to bother me, and Abby was a harmless, hopeful sweetheart of a girl. I didn’t like the other two much. Debbie’s unhealthy self-image freaked me out a bit, but she was batting for the other team anyway, and (full of herself) Jessica was just a bit too pushy for comfort.
“I’m so sorry those police officers felt the need to bother you, Shay,” she apologised, once Conall and his latest, fun-looking sidekick had taken themselves off. I edged away before she could land a comforting hand anywhere and then Miguel bounced up and unintentionally foiled any further attempts on her part to drift in again casually. “I hope they didn’t make you feel uncomfortable about staying here?”
“He was alright,” I allowed. “They weren’t the sort to worry me at all. Very polite and reasonable, just doing their job.”
“The Inspector?” Miguel asked, picking up quickly. “Nice man, I like very much. Very quiet, very calm.”
Yeah, Conall’s disguise was way better than any of mine. I bet it’d scare the shit out of his unsuspecting colleagues up here if they ever saw the rabid beast he kept penned up in there get loose. As it was, Miguel and I shared an approving little look. My pretty new Portuguese buddy certainly knew what being the object of unwanted attention was like, and Conall, being how he was, never caused any bloke the slightest hint of unease, not that way anyway. None of the lads here, I’d found, were going to be a problem which was a relief. Paul had been the only one to send interested signals my way, and he was keeping his distance now. My move, if I was up for it, but I think he already knew that he was barking up the wrong tree there.
Oh well, another one for the bank then. He was alright, was Paul.
Miguel insisted on dragging me off to see the project after that, so of course, nearly the whole, nosy bunch of them tagged along. I made appropriately impressed noises and asked a few intelligent, but not too informed, questions. I knew more about permaculture than I’d ever wanted to, after going through Miguel’s endless blogs the day before.
As I encouraged the topic to broaden to the global effect of people’s shopping and eating habits, my own were incidentally revealed, and mainly approved. No, I didn’t think I’d ever go full vegan, which Miguel seemed slightly disappointed to hear, but other than that I seemed to tick all the right boxes. He even got me to confess to practising a bit of yoga, and pounced with an invitation to his morning sessions, which I hastily excused myself from.
“…It’s a private thing.” Shrinking back into myself, head dropping instantly, and the eager, interested faces instantly backed off again. At least they were easily trained. It seemed like a good idea to drop in the yoga line. It wasn’t like I could practise anything less harmless whilst I was here, and I didn’t want to surprise anyone if I was spotted working out the kinks. Anyway, after all that blah blah blah, I was firmly entrenched on Miguel’s ‘Awesome People I’ve Met’ list, which didn’t do me any harm with the others.
My dietary confessions had thrown Jessica’s plans off nicely too. I’d been almost sure, before then, that she was planning to drag me down to the house for dinner later. Her endless hints about how much her uncle would enjoy meeting me, and everyone’s fulsome praise of Martha’s cooking skills, hadn’t been particularly subtle hints. Deferred until tomorrow now, I was pleased to conclude, because that suited me fine. Even Jessica couldn’t expect the poor woman to change the dinner menu to suit a picky vegetarian (not entirely true, I’d swallow just about anything if circumstances made it advisable), not this late in the day, and I had other work to do tonight.
As we headed back up from the plots, Miguel invited me over for a cuppa - more jabber - but it wouldn’t do to refuse, not after I’d so clearly shown that I thought he was a cool and interesting guy. Promising to be there soon, I nipped into the van and set a couple of little searches going, then selected a few offerings to contribute before heading over to his. Abby and Jessica had already settled in when I arrived, but Miguel had at least managed to shake the others off by then; good boy.
Where would I put myself? In the open doorway? The little selection of organic (fair trade) teas and (vegan) cookies I presented him with went down a treat. Abby, having witnessed my demonstration of ‘personal space requirements’ at the pub, quickly moved further down the bench when I hovered uncertainly, and I was soon sitting, looking almost relaxed, with my jacket parked comfortably between us.
After another forty dire minutes or so of reversing the ongoing questioning back at my interrogators and listening to polite comments about how much everyone liked their chosen teas, and the amazing cookies, I could almost have wept with relief when my phone beeped. I pulled it out and made sure to read the text at a normal speed. Little details like that could trip you up if you got sloppy.
“I’m so sorry,” I told them all, managing to look a little put out rather than infinitely grateful, “but my best client has an urgent little job for me.” I pretended to send off a quick reply, “He must have got my ‘out of office’ message from the translation service, and he would never bother me on my personal number if it wasn’t a real rush job.”
Lots of disappointed “ohs” and “what a pity” and “but what about your break?” as I shoved myself hastily into my jacket.
“It’ll only take a few hours,” I assured them, “and he’ll pay double rates to get it before eleven. I don’t mind, honestly.” I was out of there with a thank you for everything, and a see you all tomorrow as fast as I could escape. Rescued at last, by the long-reaching arm of my cousin, bless him. Like I said, they were bloody exhausting.
Conall had honed his naturally suspicious nature to a keen edge, but I thought it went a bit too far myself, sometimes. Myself, I was almost certain that it was fear that had made Billy McGregor choose to disappear. Yes, his mam had indicated that he’d been a bit unbearable as an adolescent, but that could be said of more than half the population as they went through puberty. If every brat whose brain chemistry was being totally messed up by hormonal changes turned to a life of crime, well, civilisation as we knew it just wouldn’t exist. And if Archie Ramsay had dumped the key to an unexpected, criminally obtained large sum into Billy’s lap three years ago, I thought his likeliest move would have been to run nervously to the nearest authorities with the information. I mean, the kid’s history showed that he’d grown up to be a model little citizen: hard-working, steady, reliable. Never the slightest whiff of trouble, or of any dodgy connections.
As for Pete Ferguson, a truly revolting picture of that loathsome predator was becoming clearer and clearer as my searches popped out more little bits of information. Conall’s hunch about Ferguson’s M.O. hadn’t gone nearly far enough, for once. Pete Ferguson didn’t just bait his traps with addictive candy and pull his catch into dependent, criminal bondage. He also encouraged the suitable ones towards another way of paying for their supply. Once they no longer cared enough to turn down any offer of a bit of easy cash, he had an entirely different kind of client he could send them to.
I knew where he lived these days, he’d moved down to Glasgow over twenty years before, but I also knew, by then, that he was often away from his flat in Haghill for weeks at a time. It was one of a block of six, and he was close to paying off his mortgage, on the whole building, with ‘legitimate’ rental income from the other tenants. All set up for a financially comfortable retirement, Pete Ferguson was, or had been until he’d come to my attention. There was no way in hell I’d leave that itch unscratched now.
I could almost sympathise with Archie Ramsay, but he’d had his chances to back out of that sordid little arrangement, clean himself up and choose a different life. His failed marriage might even have been a half-hearted effort to do so. And, years later, Ferguson had not put that knife into his hand or forced him to use it on the wrong person in a haze of misdirected rage and shaky, craving panic.
Most of the information I was getting on Ferguson’s unofficial history came from bits and pieces on closed, confidential support group forums, naming no names but giving enough away to piece it all together. Archie must have been one of Ferguson’s first victims, if not the first, back when the newly aspiring dealer was only just beginning to realise the power his stock in trade offered him over his customers. Archie had been fifty-four when he died, over thirty-five years after first crossing paths with the slightly older Pete Ferguson. He’d never escaped from the man.
I wondered if the visits and the phone calls to Shotts were the only moves that had been made in a long-running campaign to get Archie to give up the location of those missing coins. Did Ferguson have anyone in there to apply further incentives? Well, Archie Ramsay had shown how strong his hatred of the man must have become. He’d managed to hold out for over fifteen years without breaking and giving his old ‘pal’ what he wanted, for once in his life
.
Hypothesis: When Billy shows up to confront his biological father, Archie is horrified. He warns Billy that Ferguson will soon learn about the visit and come looking for him, wanting to know what Archie may have told him. He is convincing enough to scare the shit out of the lad and Billy, wisely, disappears.
I really hoped that Billy had hidden well enough. With a bit of luck, in a few hours, I’d know the answer to that myself, now that my efficient little packages were working their way through the DVLA database. My heavily boosted laptop, with its cutting edge cooling system, packed more punch than anyone might reasonably expect.
Peters and Boyd were next up on Conall’s little list. It didn’t take long to discover that neither man existed. The phones had been paid for in cash, with more than enough credit on them to cover the calls to Jessica Kerr. The hosting service for the blog had been subscribed to in December, paid for through a PayPal account in Mr Boyd’s name, but the bank account for the linked debit card was in the name of Miss Audrey Smith. Miss Smith had lived at the home address given for the account for less than a year, and quite a while ago at that. I could pursue that name later if I became stumped enough to make it seem worthwhile.
The blog itself was nothing but a jumble of detectoring stories stolen from other sources, backdated to look like it had been running for years. Good enough to pass casual inspection but they were clearly amateurs at my game. I sent another package out to retrieve the contents of Boyd’s equally recently opened email account and then retrieved the texts between Jessica Kerr and Boyd and Peters by going through her mobile account. It was a little disappointing to find that the message history between them bore out the version of events she’d related to Conall. After that first visit, she’d agreed quite readily to a second attempt, but became increasingly reluctant about succeeding visits and really quite rude after that aborted attempt to reach her last week.
Dark of Night Page 18