Torn

by Anne Randall

  ‘’Course there could be another reason the killer wasn’t caught.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Wheeler.

  ‘Maybe the killer got a dodgy mix of drugs. Happened a lot in Glasgow. They mixed heroin with all sorts of substances.’

  ‘You think the killer overdosed?’

  ‘Either that or someone in the community took things into their own hands and sold them a toxic dose. It wouldn’t be the first time a neighbourhood has regulated itself, and the Temple area was very tight.’

  ‘I won’t bother you again, Eddie.’

  ‘Keep me up to speed and let me know if I can help.’

  Wheeler heard the door close behind her as she made her way through the carefully tended garden, past heavily scented roses and out to the car. She’d begun to feel suffocated in Furlan’s presence. He had the same intensity as his son. She’d known that there was a possibility; Furlan was a fairly unusual name, but seeing the green eyes and the boxer’s nose had meant that her stomach had soured. The mention of Paul Furlan had brought back memories that she’d buried years ago of a much hated army colleague. Wheeler pushed the images to the back of her mind. She had work to do.

  Her mobile rang. Ross.

  ‘I’ve made the rest of the calls. On my way back to Glasgow. You going over the case?’

  ‘When I get home. I got a couple of names from Eddie Furlan that I need to check out. Cal Moody and Keith Sullivan.’

  ‘Want company?’

  ‘Take some time off.’

  ‘I need to be working.’

  ‘If it would help.’ Wheeler knew that, if she were in his position, she would do the same. ‘I’ll organise some Italian food. See you back at the flat later?’

  Their old pattern.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Pirates

  Maureen flicked on the television, watched a news segment. A reporter stared into the camera. It was as if he were speaking directly to her. Karlie’s face filled the screen.

  ‘Beth Swinton, the cousin of murder victim Karlie Merrick, released this picture of her today in a bid to help stir memories in the community, while police at Carmyle Police Station continue to study CCTV footage of the area where her body was dumped. The detective leading the hunt for Karlie’s killer is here with me now. DCI Stewart, can you update us on what’s happening with the case?’

  The camera cut to Stewart.

  ‘We believe that Karlie was killed at another location and her body moved to the scene. We are asking anyone who saw or heard anything suspicious to come forward.’

  ‘What about possible motives for the killing?’

  ‘We are keeping a completely open mind. Karlie Merrick was a bright, hard-working woman who was also very ambitious. We need members of the public to come forward with any small detail, regardless of how inconsequential they think it might be. The last confirmed sighting of Karlie was when she left Brooks Farm, Strathaven, on Tuesday around 2 p.m. Her car was driven to her home and parked outside, where it remained overnight. Was Karlie driving or someone else? Where did she go after leaving the farm? We need to find out where she went, who she was with. We’re asking everyone to think back. Were you on that road that day? Were you in the area? Did you see or hear anything?’

  ‘I believe that you also have a statement from Beth Swinton?’

  Stewart read the statement: ‘I am distraught that my cousin has been taken in such a horrendous way and would plead with everyone to search their memory and their conscience for any information and to come forward. Someone knows who did this horrendous crime. Please, I beg you to come forward.’

  The camera cut to the Sandyhills area as the reporter continued. ‘Floral tributes to the victim have been left at the scene where her body was discovered and a Go Fund Me account has been set up by local wedding photographer, Gary Ashton, in order to help Karlie’s family. Earlier today, the photographer said that he just wanted to do something to help.’

  Back to Stewart.

  ‘We would like to thank all of Karlie’s friends and colleagues for their help in building a picture of who she was, but we still need more people to come forward. We are working our way down a list of information received from the public. If you have any information at all, please contact Carmyle CID on 101. Or you can call Crimestoppers on 0800 555 111 where information can be taken in confidence.’

  They had nothing, thought Maureen. The screen changed and a reporter in the television studio told her that Police Scotland was struggling with cutbacks and that resources were stretched to breaking point.

  Maureen thought of Karlie, of what she’d said about the old man in the care home. Maureen had laughed about it at the time, but what if there was something in it? She made the call, grabbed her bag, locked the door and headed out. She’d check it out herself. It probably was a waste of time, but better to waste her time than that of the police.

  Twenty minutes later, she pulled into Fullarton Avenue and parked in front of a long, single-storey building. Fullarton Care Home. When she’d called they’d said they would let Steve Penwell know to expect a visitor. Maureen walked into reception and gave her name to the nurse behind the desk.

  ‘He’s in the day room, three doors down on your left.’ The nurse paused. ‘Are you a relative?’

  ‘A friend of a friend.’

  ‘Have you visited Steve recently?’ The woman’s voice was low. ‘I need to advise you that he can say things that are a little unusual.’

  ‘I know that he’s schizophrenic.’

  ‘It can be upsetting to see a change in behaviour or hear unusual comments.’

  ‘Is he capable of knowing what’s real?’

  ‘There are moments when he’s lucid but at other times he hallucinates. This morning, for example, he was convinced that he was captain of a ship and that the ship was in danger of capsizing.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He was most insistent. People with schizophrenia can sometimes suffer from hallucinations. Steve is one of them.’

  ‘Did you explain to him that he wasn’t on a ship?’

  ‘No, I reassured him that it was going to be fine. It’s not always helpful to continually contradict and undermine him. If I had done so, Steve would only have become agitated and distressed.’

  ‘Right, so if he’s talking like this to me, I should just go along with him?’

  ‘I’ve just been in to see him. He isn’t hallucinating at present, so it should be fine. But if he does start, just try to be supportive and calm. At this point it’s all about his quality of life. I’ll take you through.’

  ‘I think I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘Oh dear, I do hope I haven’t put you off?’

  ‘It’s just that I need to ask him something and to know if it’s factually true. From what you tell me, it sounds like he might not know.’

  ‘Just a quick visit? He’s already been told to expect you, he’ll be glad of the company.’

  Maureen caved. ‘OK.’ By the sounds of it, the visit would be a waste of time.

  ‘Let’s pop along now. I’m sure he’ll be delighted. His children phone every week but they live in the States.’

  The day room had been painted bright yellow and the sofa and curtains were pale blue and there was only one person in the room. Steve Penwell was sitting on the sofa.

  ‘Steve, you have a visitor.’ The nurse turned. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  Maureen saw a thin shell of a man; his eyes were rheumy, his cheeks sunken. She sat on a chair facing him. ‘I’m Maureen, I’m a friend of Karlie’s.’ Prayed that he already knew, that he’d seen the news on the telly.

  ‘Where’s Karlie?’

  How was she supposed to tell him? Maureen worried that the news might send him into free fall and he’d start to hallucinate again. She wished she’d turned back after she’d spoken to the nurse. ‘She’s . . . Karlie’s not that well.’ She swallowed.

  ‘How not well?’

  ‘Not well at all, Steve.�
��

  He stared at her. ‘Will she be coming back to see me? I told her something important.’

  There was no other way of saying it. ‘Karlie’s dead.’ She spoke quietly. ‘She was murdered.’

  ‘Christ, no?’

  ‘They found her body up by Sandyhills Road.’

  ‘What was she doing up there?’

  ‘Don’t know, that’s where they found her.’

  ‘They ken who did it?’

  Maureen shook her head.

  ‘She tell you we talked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She tell you what about?’

  ‘A man you saw the night her dad was killed.’

  ‘My eyesight was always good. Not now, mind you, but it was, years ago. I should have gone to the polis back then.’ He stared at the curtains. ‘There, over there in the curtains! Can you see a face? Someone’s listening!’

  Maureen looked at the curtains. ‘There’s nothing there.’ Immediately regretted contradicting him.

  ‘Only I don’t want spies or pirates to hear me. They’re everywhere, but I’m going tell you the same thing I told her.’ He leaned closer, his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘The night of the murder, I saw a man running. He had a patch over one eye.’

  ‘A patch?’

  ‘Aye, a patch. Like a pirate! I can’t remember if it was his left or right eye.’ Steve scanned the room. ‘But it doesn’t matter, does it?’ he whispered. ‘If you’re a pirate.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter, Steve.’

  ‘You believe me?’

  Maureen nodded, remembered not to contradict him.

  ‘You going to tell the polis?’

  ‘I don’t know, Steve. Why didn’t you?’

  He sat forward. ‘I was supposed to be at work, but I was with the girlfriend when I saw him. The wife would’ve left me and taken the kids. I couldn’t let her do that.’

  ‘But now?’

  ‘The wife’s dead and I’ll follow her soon.’ He glanced at the curtain. ‘There’s that face again. I tell you, he’s watching me!’

  ‘Did your girlfriend not recognise the man, seeing as how she lived in the area?’

  ‘Never got the chance to ask her. It was the next day before I found out someone had been killed. I tried to call her but she wasn’t having it, never returned my messages. Chucked me. I told myself the guy was running for a bus or late for work.’

  ‘Could be, Steve, that would explain it.’

  ‘Then I’ve been helpful?’

  ‘In a way,’ she lied. What was she supposed to tell him? That she’d go to the police station and tell them that an ill man, who thought he was on a capsizing ship, had seen a man wearing a patch, just like a pirate, running from the scene all those years ago? She was glad she hadn’t bothered the police. ‘I need to get going.’ She made for the door.

  Steve continued to stare at the curtains. ‘You’ll come back and visit me?’ he called after her.

  She turned. ‘If I can.’

  Once out in the corridor, she took a deep breath. So much for trying to help.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Self-Harmer

  Cal Moody had been picked up and was waiting in the interview room.

  Wheeler made her way briskly along the corridor.

  Boyd was beside her. ‘And he’s happy to talk to us?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say he’s happy, Boyd, but he’s agreed to it, so let’s get in there before he changes his bloody mind.’

  ‘How’d you get on with the Bulldog?’

  ‘Eddie Furlan wants to be kept in the loop.’

  ‘Still sees it as his case?’

  ‘I think so, a little bit,’ said Wheeler. ‘I guess he just wants Cal Moody nailed for it, if he’s guilty.’ She knew from experience the frustration of knowing who the perpetrator was and not being able to prove it. Gut instinct counted for a lot as a cop, and there were times she’d had to walk away from an unsolved case knowing the culprit had got away with it. Stewart had mentioned Ian Bunyan, the drug dealer, as an example of someone who’d got away with the attack at the Cockroach. Whoever had worked that case would have had to park their frustration. She knew that some crooked cops would plant evidence to back up their theories, but Wheeler had never met one. Others allowed the unsolved cases to eat away at them, destroying their chance of a peaceful retirement. She’d known a few of those over the years, wondered if Eddie Furlan was one of them. ‘What about the other guy Eddie had in the frame, Keith Sullivan? Did you find him?’

  ‘Sullivan’s dead,’ said Boyd.

  She turned to him. ‘How’d he die?’

  ‘Overdose. Heroin. Eighteen months ago.’

  They reached the doorway. Wheeler was first through. She knew that Cal Moody was thirty-six, but the man sitting at the table looked twenty years older. Whatever life he had led after John Merrick’s death had left its mark on him. His gaunt face was deeply pockmarked and one hand was heavily bandaged.

  Wheeler and Boyd sat opposite him.

  ‘Thanks for coming in, Mr Moody,’ said Wheeler.

  ‘This about the Merrick lassie?’ Moody eyed them warily.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Wheeler.

  ‘Well, before you ask, I was working at the Coach House the night she got done.’

  ‘Until when?’

  ‘Till I cut myself in the kitchen.’

  ‘How’d you manage that?’ Wheeler thought of the man who’d been previously stabbed at the pub, but, despite the place being crowded, no one had seen anything. And now Cal Moody was cut so badly that he’d ended up in hospital. Whatever else the Cockroach was, it was a hell of a blind spot for self-harming.

  ‘I’m clumsy. I was trying to cut up frozen sausage meat.’ He held up his bandaged hand. ‘Ended up at Accident and Emergency at the Royal Infirmary.’

  That tied with what the pub manager, Andy Carmichael, had told her. ‘And when was this?’

  ‘I can’t remember the exact time, but it would be about eleven I did it, around midnight when I was at the Royal.’

  It would be easy enough to check the records at the hospital. Karlie had been killed between midnight and 2 a.m.

  ‘Did Andy Carmichael not tell you this when you went to see him?’ said Moody.

  ‘Best to hear it from you. Where did you go after the hospital?’

  ‘I went to my pal Davie’s. You can phone him if you like? I’ve got his number here, waiting for you.’ He held out a scrap of paper. ‘Lives up by Shettleston.’

  Wheeler took the paper. ‘Thanks, Mr Moody, very organised of you.’

  ‘I don’t trust you lot. Call me paranoid but I reckon I’m getting stitched up here.’

  Wheeler watched him fidget, wondered what he was hiding. She spoke calmly. ‘I’m not here to stitch anyone up, Mr Moody. I just need to find out, for the process of elimination, what you and Davie were doing that night.’

  ‘Gaming. We pulled an all-nighter.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Aye. “Call of Duty”. It was fucking great.’

  ‘Was it just the two of you? All night?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Had Karlie Merrick been in the Coach House?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  Again, the fidgeting. Cal Moody didn’t know what to do with his hands. She watched him eventually lace his fingers together, saw the white of knuckle on one hand. The bandage covered the other.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Did you know Karlie?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I got the impression from Inspector Furlan that you did.’

  ‘Aye well, ages ago, when she was a kid. She was only young. I only knew her to see her.’

  ‘She was eight when her dad was murdered.’

  ‘So I was sixteen then. What are you saying? That I’m some kind of a pervert?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m asking if we could have a bit of a chat about her dad’s case?’

>   ‘She moved away right after he got killed. Never saw her again.’

  ‘If you could remember anything at all.’

  ‘Can’t help you there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ve got some kind of a condition, brain fog. It affects the memory.’

  She saw the trace of a smile develop into a smirk. ‘Oh that’s fine, Mr Moody. I understand.’ Wheeler stood. ‘I’ll just leave you here for a couple of hours, maybe a rest will help jog your memory? Funny how these things can sometimes help.’

  Moody sat back in his seat. ‘OK. Fuck’s sake. I was only young at the time. I ran with the gang. The Temple. Me and Keith Sullivan. He’s dead now. Wee bit too much in the needle. It’s the way he’d have wanted to go though.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. You were telling me that you got into trouble when you were younger?’

  ‘A bit. Mostly stupid stuff – thieving, graffiti, gambling – and then I took a bit of a nosedive. Got into drugs. Smack mostly.’

  ‘You were a heroin addict?’

  ‘I just said that! I needed to make some quick money, so did a couple of stupid jobs. I was only a boy. A daft boy. Didn’t know any better. My ma and da had split up and me and my sister went to live with the auld man. He’s gone now and I hear that my ma’s in the Royal Infirmary, dying.’

  Wheeler cut through the sob story. ‘Do you remember the night of John Merrick’s murder, Mr Moody?’

  ‘We were out with the gang, scoring drugs. Furlan wasn’t like you two are, sitting here calling me Mr Moody. The last time I was called Mr Moody, I was up in court.’

  ‘This when you were a daft boy?’ asked Wheeler, although she already knew the answer.

  ‘It was a while ago now. Got done for resetting a couple of fridges.’

  Wheeler knew that there had been a lot more to it, but she wasn’t here because of stolen property. Maybe the Cockroach was where he got rid of the stuff? She made a mental note to keep an eye on both the pub and its manager, Andy Carmichael.

  ‘But back then it was a different story. And Furlan? He was old school.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He’d just stop the car and pick you up in the street in front of your pals. Just to embarrass you or try and pretend like you were a grass and feeding him information.’ Moody warmed to the subject and became more animated. ‘He gave me a bollocking for smoking one time. Like it had any fucking thing to do with him. He’d try to pressurise us into saying we did stuff that we never did. He was all about clearing the crime rate for his district. He’d stop you in the street for a pretend chat and then have a real go at you. He’d try to trip you up when you said anything by contradicting you and calling you a liar. He was a right twisted bastard.’