Torn

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Torn Page 13

by Anne Randall


  Ross stood at her shoulder. ‘A peaceful idyll.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Wheeler. ‘Until she opened the door to her killer.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Team

  Wheeler strode into a bustling CID suite. Officers were on the phones, working at their computers, reading case notes or writing up their own. ‘Right, while we’re all here, let’s have a quick update. Karlie Merrick’s PM is first thing in the morning. Ross and I will be attending.’

  ‘You two get all the fun,’ said Boyd.

  ‘How did you get on with the cousin?’ Stewart stood in the doorway. ‘Get me up to speed with the new developments.’

  ‘Beth Swinton hadn’t seen our victim in years, but she did tell us that Karlie had speculated about doing a true crime programme about her father’s death. Beth suggested Karlie was hungry for fame and that would’ve been a way to get noticed.’

  ‘Bit cynical since she’s just died?’

  ‘Not necessarily, boss. Karlie Merrick seems to have been good at manipulation – she lied about being bullied at school, resulting in another pupil OD-ing. Also, our victim’s father was murdered.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’ said Boyd.

  ‘No, John Merrick was battered to death at his home twenty years back. Over in the Temple area.’

  ‘Anyone done for it?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Christ, and now his daughter’s been killed.’

  ‘A cache of underage porn was discovered at his home,’ Wheeler continued. ‘Beth Swinton says there was no proof of him having interfered with his daughter, but she was seen by a psychiatrist and a couple of psychologists. She said nothing, kept schtum.’

  ‘Tell me something turned up at Karlie Merrick’s flat?’ said Stewart.

  ‘No signs of a struggle. Everything’s neat and tidy, no sign of a break-in. Her silver Volkswagen Golf’s been parked outside all night according to a neighbour. Forensics are working on it now.’

  Stewart scowled. ‘Nothing untoward in the flat, no defence wounds on the body. We’ve got sweet FA to go on. Did uniform get anything from house-to-house in Sandyhills?’

  ‘Nothing useful, boss,’ said Wheeler. ‘Ross and I went to see the group, the Kill Kestrels. Turns out it was Josh Alden she attempted to contact.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Her email only got as far as the online system. Alden claims he never knew her. He’d heard rumours about her while she was at school, but nothing else.’

  ‘Alibi?’

  ‘The manager says they were all together at the hotel. All night.’ Wheeler felt the tension in the room increase. Too many dead ends. ‘I think we need to be looking at any link with her father’s murder, so I’ve requested the files.’

  ‘A twenty-year-old case,’ said Stewart. ‘Has there been any new evidence?’

  ‘Not that I know of, but it’s got to have some relevance, surely? It’s too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘I hear what you are saying, but keep an open mind.’

  ‘Will do, boss.’ She looked around the room. ‘Anyone know who the SIO was on the original John Merrick case?’

  A uniformed officer spoke. ‘If my memory serves me well, the senior investigating officer was Eddie Furlan.’

  ‘The Bulldog?’ asked Robertson. ‘I’ve heard about him.’

  ‘Yeah, that was his nickname,’ said the officer. ‘He was extremely tenacious, would keep at a case until he got a result. And generally he did. He was a bit of a local legend in the force; the guys at his station had a lot of respect for him.’

  ‘Is he long retired?’ asked Wheeler. ‘I’d like to have a word with him.’

  ‘A few years now. He lives out Newlands way. I heard his wife recently passed away.’

  ‘Maybe not an ideal time,’ said Stewart.

  ‘I only want a quick word,’ said Wheeler. ‘I’ll be very sensitive. It might give me an insight into our victim, who she was growing up. I’ll do it in my own time.’

  ‘You know as well as I do, that the first twenty-four hours of a murder inquiry are crucial,’ said Stewart. ‘Right now, we have nothing. You start looking backwards and you’re liable to miss something important.’

  ‘Eddie Furlan might give me something useful, although the surname makes me want to retch.’

  ‘Because?’ asked Ross.

  ‘I knew a Paul Furlan back in my army days. Let’s just say we didn’t get along.’

  ‘A love–hate relationship?’ said Ross.

  ‘Certainly the latter. If I never run into him again, it’ll be too soon.’

  ‘Wheeler—’ Stewart made for the door ‘—I don’t need you wasting time on personal details. First, you come in dressed like you’re on route to the bloody coast, now you’re having a tête-à-tête about your past. Get back to work.’

  Boyd slammed down the phone, high-fived an imaginary friend. ‘Yes! Capture the Dream. I’ve just bloody nailed it. I’ve tracked down Gary Ashton, the wedding photographer – he’s got an office in Duke Street.’ He scribbled the address and brought it over to her desk.

  Wheeler quickly gathered her paperwork together and crammed it into her tray. ‘Forget I mentioned Paul Furlan. Ross, get yourself together and let’s get over to meet this photographer.’ She was out the door and striding down the corridor by the time he’d grabbed his jacket.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Capture the Dream

  Gary Ashton’s office was on the first floor of the tenement building. A brass plaque announced the business. Wheeler saw a Kawasaki motorbike parked outside. She pressed the intercom. ‘DIs Wheeler and Ross from Carmyle Police Station.’

  They were buzzed in.

  Inside, Wheeler saw that the furniture was cheap and the carpet worn. Around the walls were portraits of weddings. She saw churches and registry offices. Many photographs had Kibble Palace in the background, with a marble statue she recognised – ‘Eve’, by the Italian sculpture Scipione Tadolini. The noise from the road outside travelled in through the old sash windows. By the looks of things, Ashton’s business was just about covering costs; it certainly hadn’t propelled him into the higher echelons of society. ‘Mr Ashton?’ she asked, flashing her ID.

  ‘Gary Ashton, professional wedding photographer.’ He held out his hand. ‘This is about Karlie, right? I just saw the news that she’s dead. Dreadful. I feel awful at the thought of it. I mean, you don’t ever think it’ll happen to someone you know, do you?’ He sat down at his desk. ‘She was only young.’

  ‘We need to ask you a few questions, Mr Ashton,’ said Wheeler.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘When did you last see Karlie?’ Wheeler took out her notebook.

  ‘Yesterday. We were out at the studio filming.’

  ‘Where’s the studio?’

  ‘It’s outside of the city. Out at Brookes Farm, in Strathaven.’

  ‘We’ll need access to the place,’ said Wheeler.

  ‘Why? Karlie wasn’t killed there.’

  ‘Really?’ Wheeler paused. ‘Do you know where she was killed, Mr Ashton?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘What did you mean?’

  Ashton sighed. ‘The farmer, Rory McFee, has a spare key to all the containers.’

  Wheeler took down the address. ‘What time did she leave?’

  ‘Around two-ish.’

  ‘Any ideas where she went?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When you say “filming”?’

  ‘We were shooting a couple of videos.’

  It was like pulling teeth, thought Wheeler. ‘Can you elaborate?’

  ‘I have an offshoot from the wedding photography business. I make a little bit of porn. Small stuff, more of a hobby really. I do it for the love of it.’

  ‘And what was Karlie doing? Exactly?’ asked Wheeler. She wasn’t about to mention the ligature marks to Ashton and it had been kept out of the police statement. Only the killer and the victim had kno
wn what happened that night.

  Ashton sighed. ‘This is so difficult.’

  ‘Take your time.’

  ‘First up, Karlie and Will Reid. It was just regular role play, you know, the sexy secretary being disciplined for getting it wrong?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Then, in the second video, there was a little bit of asphyxiation going on. You know, dungeon and chains? The usual, I mean, there was nothing kinky. It was mainstream stuff, just a leather collar and a lead. Nothing dangerous. It was taut around her throat and Will yanked it a few times. It’s standard practice.’

  ‘She had a leather collar around her neck?’ said Wheeler.

  ‘That was it, really. It was all very tame. She just had to look fearful and turned on. Pain and fear, it sells.’

  ‘And the customers who buy your videos?’ asked Ross. ‘Do they like to see a bit of fear on someone’s face?’

  ‘I’ll take it that you never watch porn, Inspector? Then you’re very much in the minority here in the UK, not to mention the rest of the civilised world. Porn is a mainstream industry now, everybody’s in on it.’ Ashton’s voice rose. ‘And when Karlie pretended to look fearful or compelled, she was only acting. It was her job. And despite what you’re implying, this is legal shit. I’m not taking a snooty tone from you lot. My taxes pay your bloody wages and presumably you have no leads or you’d be out chasing whoever did it, instead of coming over all sanctimonious with me.’

  ‘When Karlie left the farm yesterday, was she alone?’ Wheeler asked quietly.

  ‘Yep, Will was waiting for a ride home with me. Johnny was putting away the props.’

  ‘I’ll need a list of everyone on site and their contact details.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Did she ever mention the group, the Kill Kestrels?’ asked Wheeler.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What can you tell me about her?’

  ‘I assumed that she was active in the BDSM scene, that she probably dipped in and out. She did the role play in our films accurately. I imagined that she dabbled, but she didn’t say. We didn’t chat much. It was purely a professional relationship.’

  ‘Did she ever mention a boyfriend?’ asked Wheeler.

  ‘No, but obviously she could have had anyone. Good-looking girl, hot body. She’d be able to pick and choose who she dated. A guy finds out she knows all the tricks and he’d love it. A bit of bondage, a bit of gasping and she knew how to rock a ball gag.’

  Ross stared at him.

  ‘In my experience, most normal blokes are into this kind of stuff, but maybe you’re a little bit inhibited, Inspector?’

  ‘You were one of the last people to see her and she acted out being fearful while being strangled,’ said Ross. ‘Now she’s dead, you can see how awkward it looks.’

  ‘Her role play was consistent with the S&M scene. Thousands of folk work in the industry. Most of us are professionals. Karlie certainly was.’

  ‘Who else would she have worked with? I mean, whose DNA do we have to eliminate?’ asked Wheeler.

  ‘No one recently, it was just her and Will.’

  ‘And the collar, would it have chafed?’ asked Wheeler.

  ‘Usually, if Will was a bit rough, but the welts would have gone down after a day or two. Hazard of the profession. That and burn marks from cheap carpet. Other than that, there are no risks.’

  ‘Where’s the collar now?’

  ‘Should still be at the studio.’

  ‘And how did Karlie seem? Was she anxious or worried? Was there anything on her mind?’

  ‘No, she was her usual self. Karlie wasn’t the most outgoing of people – she came in and did her job. Didn’t want to socialise with us, no going out for a drink after work. Just straight up, came in, got changed, got on with it. Left.’

  ‘What about online punters?’ asked Ross. ‘Anyone fixated or obsessed with her?’

  ‘She never mentioned anyone in particular.’

  ‘You were one of the last people to see her alive, Mr Ashton,’ said Wheeler. ‘Take a moment. Is there anything else you can tell us?’

  ‘Nothing much, I’m afraid. She was very much alive when she left the studio. She was doing what she loved. Perhaps she had been a little preoccupied with her future prospects.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘The government’s thinking of pushing through legislation trying to stop us showing certain sex acts. It’ll just about close us independent film makers down. She was worried that the money might dry up in the UK. She talked of us going to the US together.’

  ‘As a couple?’

  ‘Professionally. If we got the right break, that’s where the serious money is.’

  ‘And she only worked at the farm?’

  ‘There were other venues. We used empty hotels that are on the market.’

  ‘So,’ said Ross, ‘you book out the hotel and do the video, but the owners have no idea they’re being ripped off?’

  ‘No one gets hurt, it’s a win-win situation,’ said Ashton.

  ‘Who supplies the properties?’

  ‘Terry McAvoy, he works for Turner Estate Agents in Milngavie.’

  ‘We’ll need Mr McAvoy’s details too,’ said Wheeler.

  ‘So your mate Terry gets you the keys to the property he’s showing and you have it for a couple of hours?’ said Ross.

  ‘Yep, we always tidy up and take away our props, used sheeting and throws. Keep the lighting subdued and the owners never guess it’s their place, not for certain. And it’s a bit of a long shot anyone ever coming round – Terry only uses properties when their owners are out of the country.’

  ‘Classy,’ said Ross. ‘We’ll need a list of the locations Karlie used.’

  ‘Some of the properties have already been sold. I don’t want to get Terry into trouble.’

  ‘Not our problem,’ said Ross.

  ‘You go sniffing around these places and it’ll drop him in the shit.’

  ‘If you could email them to me ASAP, I’d appreciate it,’ said Wheeler. ‘We’ll try to be as discreet as possible, but you can understand that a murder investigation takes precedence. Can I ask where you were last night?’

  Ashton’s eyes narrowed. ‘You don’t think I had anything to do with it?’

  ‘We’d like to eliminate you from our inquiries, Mr Ashton,’ said Wheeler. ‘It’s purely routine.’

  ‘I was on another shoot.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Wheeler.

  ‘The George Hotel in Milngavie.’

  ‘Can anyone corroborate this?’

  ‘Yes, the team were there. Laura McCormack, Will Reid and Johnny Pierce.’

  Wheeler jotted down their names. ‘Do you have contact numbers and addresses for them?’

  Ashton reached for his phone, scrolled down and read out the numbers. ‘Laura lives in the East End, out by Greenfield, but she flew out to Amsterdam after the shoot for a short break, back Friday. Johnny’s out in the sticks and Will lives with his girlfriend, out by Tollcross Road. Hold on.’ He went to his desk and took out a folder. ‘Here are their addresses.’

  ‘That your bike outside?’ said Wheeler.

  ‘Yeah, so?’

  ‘Do you know the Coach House in Sandyhills?’

  ‘Yeah, I know the manager Andy Carmichael.’

  ‘Did Karlie ever go there?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I never heard her mention it. She wasn’t a biker, so unlikely.’

  ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Ashton.’ Wheeler gave him her card.

  They made their way to the car.

  ‘Ashton thought more about him being dropped in it, than her being dead. Didn’t see much sign of grief,’ said Ross.

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘You reckon he would have called us later?’

  ‘Not a chance.’ A breeze meant that the air was, thankfully, cooler. ‘I’ll get Boyd and Robertson to pay them a visit.’ She made the call.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Confessio
n

  Johnny Pierce lived in an ancient caravan which was parked on rough standing on a farm. A small motorcycle was parked beside the pickup truck.

  ‘This is some kind of shit-hole.’ Boyd guided the car off the dirt track and on to the concrete. A few hundred yards away, cows were being herded into the field and, in their wake, they’d left the usual farmyard slurry behind. ‘Pierce did time for assaulting his ex-partner.’

  ‘Yep.’

  Boyd parked the car. ‘Now we need to wade through shit and piss and fuck knows what else.’

  ‘Stop complaining, it’s our job,’ said Robertson, but he eyed the yard with distaste. Great steaming mounds of fresh shit lay across their path. ‘This guy certainly lives the high life.’ He closed the door and they picked their way carefully across the yard. It was impossible not to get it on their shoes and splashed on to their trousers.

  ‘See, this is why I’ve always lived in the city,’ muttered Boyd, as they approached the caravan.

  When a small, skinny man with deep-set wrinkles around bloodshot eyes opened the door, Boyd could smell it – marijuana. Weed. Dope. Cannabis. Call it what you will, the place stank of it. ‘Johnny Pierce?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  They flashed their IDs.

  He sniffed, brought a hand roughly across his eyes. ‘I can guess why you’re here.’ He didn’t move. ‘No need for you coming inside.’

  ‘We’re not here to discuss the merits of personal use,’ Boyd reassured him.

  ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘We’re investigating—’

  ‘I know what you’re investigating – that body found over by Sandyhills was wee Karlie. I heard it on the radio.’

  ‘When did you last see Karlie?’

  ‘Yesterday at the studio.’

  ‘At Brooks Farm in Strathaven?’

  Pierce nodded.

  ‘My colleagues are out there now speaking with the farmer,’ said Boyd. ‘Did she leave alone?’

 

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