Torn

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by Anne Randall


  Three

  When she returned from Blackpool she went straight to her sister’s flat. Nikki opened the door and knew immediately, without even having to put on a light, that it was empty and had been for some time. It was the sense of a departure, like walking through a graveyard of recently filled graves. She switched on the light, took in the neatness of the living room. In the bedroom, she saw that Holly’s bed hadn’t been slept in. In the kitchen, a single upturned mug was on the draining board, a solitary plate beside it. Nikki walked back into the hallway and closed the front door behind her. She would go to the police station, no matter the time. There would be someone on duty, someone who would record that her sister Holly was now missing.

  Thirty minutes later, she stood at the front desk in Carmyle Police Station. ‘I want to report my sister, Holly Lithgow, missing. It’s been twenty-four hours since her neighbour saw her on the stairs. I’ve been away but now I’m back. I just checked her flat. Empty. Her bed hasn’t been slept in. And before you begin to tell me she might be with friends or at a party or somewhere safe, she hasn’t replied to my texts and I know my sister. This isn’t like her. You have to do something. You need to listen to me.’

  The desk sergeant reached for the paperwork, began to ask questions, record details. Build a case.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Saturday

  Phone calls

  Wheeler had completed her run, had showered and was making coffee by 7 a.m. She listened to the news report. The motorcyclist killed in the West End the previous night had been identified – George Bellerose, Karlie Merrick’s life coach. The driver of the van, a guy name of Owen McCrudden, was in intensive care in the Royal Infirmary with life-threatening injuries. Wheeler wondered what had actually happened.

  By half past seven, she’d made the first call. Fullarton Care Home. Explained why she was calling.

  ‘I’m afraid Mr Penwell passed away last night.’ After a short conversation, Wheeler put down the phone. Thought about what Maureen Anderson had said, that Penwell had seen a man with an eye patch. At least she still had that. The second call on the list was a 01786 code. Bridge of Allan was where Willie Lester, the Old Coyote, lived. It was close to Stirling Castle, the Unicorn Café, the Wallace Monument and the McIver. She was certain the answer to Karlie’s murder lay in that geographical area. Certain that the McIver and some of its staff were involved, wondered if the Old Coyote was too. She punched in the numbers. Waited. Finally, it was answered. ‘Mr Lester?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘DI Kat Wheeler from Carmyle Police Station. I’m investigating the Karlie Merrick case.’

  ‘I’ve been keeping up with it via the television. Dreadful. And you’re having a lot of gang trouble in the city too. Plus, that horrific motorcycle accident – the poor man was decapitated, wasn’t he?’

  ‘I’ve been reading the notes on the John Merrick case.’

  ‘That’s right, I worked the case with the Bulldog.’

  ‘I wonder if you’d mind a quick meet-up? I could drive up this morning if you’re free?’

  ‘Anytime you or any of your colleagues need to have a chat, come on up. I’d be happy to help. To be honest, I wish I was back on the force, retirement’s no kind of fun.’

  ‘What time suits?’

  She jotted down the address, finished the phone call. Rang the station. ‘Boss?’

  ‘Good morning, Wheeler.’ She heard the coolness in his tone. ‘I just heard about George Bellerose.’

  ‘Me too. I just wanted to update you. Karlie’s friend Maureen spoke with a man name of Steve Penwell, who saw someone running past his window on the night John Merrick was killed. Penwell was with his girlfriend not his wife at the time, which is why he didn’t come forward.’

  ‘In that case, have Mr Penwell brought into the station.’

  ‘That’s not possible. He died last night, although he had been ill. He was in Fullarton Care Home. Karlie had gone to see him and then later Maureen. He told them both the same thing.’

  ‘Go on.’

  She sighed. ‘He was schizophrenic and suffered from hallucinations. In particular, he had a fixation with pirates. He saw them in the room and the man he saw the night John Merrick was murdered was wearing a patch. And, boss, I think the appointments scored out in John Merrick’s diary weren’t cancellations but deletions; at least one name, if not two, has been obliterated. I want the original diary from John Merrick’s case to be re-examined and his clients re-interviewed. I’m concerned that some of the entries were altered after Merrick was killed.’

  ‘You think Eddie Furlan missed crucial evidence?’

  ‘I’m saying that there are areas of the investigation that need to be revisited, in particular the diary. I want to get this information out there to the public, see if we can contact the other clients. I’m just about to call Beth Swinton and ask her to search for anything she may still have belonging to John Merrick.’

  ‘Eddie’s one of us, Wheeler. Accusing him of a balls-up, with as yet bugger all evidence seems a bit harsh, given what’s recently happened. Just concentrate on solving the Karlie Merrick case, rather than pointing the finger at another cop and their work from two decades past. Particularly one you’ve recently upset.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Wheeler, this is looking like a grudge against the Furlans.’

  ‘Boss, you need to trust me.’

  ‘You need to be damn sure of your facts. Are you?’

  She ended the call. Quickly rang Beth Swinton and left a message on her answering machine, if she could please double-check if she had anything still relating to John Merrick’s hypnotherapy practice. Wheeler recalled that Beth had said earlier that there might be more in the attic.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  The Old Coyote

  Her mobile rang again as she approached Bridge of Allan.

  Ross sounded harassed. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘About to meet up with the Old Coyote. I think Eddie Furlan had some questionable practices, just like his son.’

  ‘If the DCC’s on the case, you need to be careful, Wheeler.’

  ‘I’m certain that the Furlans are connected somehow. I need to find out what this Coyote guy knows.’

  ‘You’re sounding weird.’

  ‘Because I’m following a lead?’

  ‘You’re going off at a tangent. I warned you, Paul Furlan is making this look like your personal vendetta, first against him then against his father.’

  ‘You need to trust me.’

  She ended the call. Was this what it was coming to? Asking Stewart and now Ross to trust her? Did she even want to be a cop anymore? She started the car, heard her mobile ring again. Ignored it, let it go through to voicemail. She thought about what Ross had said, reasoned that since the DCC was breathing down Stewart’s neck, it had to come from the McIver Club. In which case, she was definitely on to something.

  Five minutes later, she found the bungalow. The door was opened by a thick-set man in his early sixties. His shirt was open at the neck, exposing an object that she hadn’t seen for a long time, but there it was, nestled in the grey chest hair – a silver medallion. She saw the flash of a name bracelet. Country music drifted through the doorway; she heard Tammy Wynette imploring women to stand by their man.

  ‘Mr Lester, thanks for agreeing to see me.’

  ‘You make it sound formal. It’s Willie. Come in and have a seat.’

  ‘I just wanted a quick word about the John Merrick case.’

  ‘So you said on the phone, but it’s all in the files. I told Eddie this when he rang.’

  ‘Eddie called you?’

  ‘Yesterday. Told me his wife Jean had died. An awful shame. Eddie’s a hell of a bright guy, did most of the reports, paperwork was never my forte.’

  ‘Mine neither.’ So Furlan had known how to contact his former partner. We lost contact, I think he went off to the country someplace. Probably to fish, knowing him. Wheeler wondered what
else Eddie Furlan had kept from her. So much for them all being on the same side and him being so fucking concerned about her.

  ‘Are you a member of the McIver Club?’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘It’s in Stirling. Eddie and his son, Paul, are members.’

  ‘Again, not on my radar. What kind of a club is it?’

  Her mobile rang again; she ignored it.

  ‘You need to answer that?’

  ‘It’s fine. Can you tell me about the John Merrick case?’

  ‘Well, me and Eddie worked the case but it was one of the ones that got away. Eddie had Cal Moody and Keith Sullivan up for it but we’d no evidence and their alibis stacked up. It was a real pity.’

  ‘Did all of the team feel so committed to finding the killer?’

  Lester sighed. ‘Maybe a few of the guys back at the station lost focus. I’m not saying they didn’t want to find the killer, it’s just the sickening material we found. On the surface, John Merrick appeared to have been a family man, clean as a whistle, but the stuff we uncovered was just shocking. I think it changed the tone of the investigation.’

  ‘Less of a priority?’

  ‘He wasn’t one of the good guys any more, he was a sleazeball. But, believe me, Eddie and I were still completely thorough.’

  ‘John Merrick went from innocent family man to pervert?’

  ‘We had other cases. It crossed our minds that it might have been one of the community. Maybe someone who knew that he had the images, suspected he was a paedophile? There are vigilantes out there.’

  ‘Do you think that some of the details in Merrick’s diary could have been changed post murder?’

  ‘That couldn’t have happened.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Eddie was very thorough.’

  ‘What if some of the appointments were deleted?’

  ‘Did you ask Eddie?’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘Then I’m telling you no. Poor Eddie’s just lost his wife. He’s not what he was, I could hear it in his voice.’

  ‘Eddie’s wife, what was she like?’

  ‘Jean? She was a blast, went off like a wee rocket.’

  ‘Happily married?’

  ‘They had their challenges. I know that it was rocky for a while but they got through it.’

  ‘When you say “rocky”?’

  ‘They argued; what couple doesn’t? I argued a lot with my ex-wife Gloria. You married, DI Wheeler?’

  Wheeler thought of the ashtrays in Eddie Furlan’s house. ‘Did she smoke?’

  ‘Like a chimney.’

  ‘She ever try to stop?’

  ‘No idea.’ He paused. ‘Oh, I get it, you’re trying to link her with John Merrick.’

  ‘Is it possible that she went to see him?’

  ‘Eddie would have mentioned if Jean had gone to see Merrick and it would have been in the diary.’

  Wheeler waited.

  ‘You think he deleted Jean’s name? Why would he do that? What in hell is wrong with you? Subtle you’re not, Inspector. So what are you saying, that Jean went to see Merrick and then what? They fell in love, had an affair? She threatened to leave Eddie and, being a well-respected cop, his first instinct was to go over and batter Merrick to death in his own home? You know what? You’re in the wrong job, you need to be writing fantasy books.’

  Wheeler stood. ‘I’d best be off. I don’t want to take up any more of your time.’

  ‘You be careful what you’re doing out there, DI Wheeler.’ More of a warning than advice. ‘You don’t want to go stirring up trouble. Stay on track with your new case. Eddie and I were thorough in the John Merrick case.’

  ‘Then why is it unsolved?’

  ‘Some cases just are, you must know that.’

  ‘I have concerns that crucial evidence may have been altered.’

  ‘For what end?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘You can see yourself out.’

  Wheeler closed the door behind her. As she made her way back to the car she went over and over it in her mind. Who were the missing clients? And if Eddie Furlan had deleted their names, why? If it had been Eddie’s wife, why bother? There was no scandal around smoking. She rubbed her forehead, thought of her mother’s words before her death. ‘If you start getting regular headaches like these, go and get tested.’ A week later, she was dead. Wheeler slipped a packet of painkillers out of her bag, took two, swallowed them dry. Played the what if game. What if Jean Furlan had been having an affair with John Merrick? There’s motive. Or what if Merrick had discovered something while a client was under hypnosis? Something illegal, something he’d be duty bound to report to the police? What if he’d threatened to go to the police and report it? Client confidentiality only went so far. The therapist had to encourage the client to go to the police. If not, it was their duty to report criminal activity. What if a client had revealed something incriminating whilst under hypnosis and John Merrick had threatened to reveal it? Whose names had been deleted and why? Wheeler knew that there was something just out of the picture, something about the case that didn’t add up. Lester had said that he and Eddie Furlan had been thorough, but the discovery of underage porn had changed the perception of the team’s investigation. Another what if presented itself. What if the porn had been planted to discredit the victim? She checked her phone, one message, Beth Swinton would search her attic. Wheeler reached the car. Felt the pain behind her eyes increase. Thought of calling the GP’s surgery. Instead, turned the car back towards the city.

  Beth Swinton called as she approached the city boundary. She’d found a small diary and a couple of old wedding photographs. Wheeler made the detour. An hour later she’d known it was worth it.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Nikki

  Despite the weather Nikki Lithgow shivered, exhausted by the sheer effort of believing that Holly was still alive. She was on the same bridge Rachel Dawson had stood on, a decade earlier, watching and waiting while the police divers searched the River Clyde. Like Rachel, Nikki had been assigned a family liaison officer to support her and who’d explained what Police Scotland could offer by way of specialist resources. Nikki recognised the signs, knew that the police were now searching for the body a horrified tourist had reported seeing an hour earlier. Nikki knew that, given the description, the police had a strong suspicion that it was Holly. That she was dead.

  Nikki knew that up ahead a pack of rubberneckers and press was watching to see if the corpse would reappear. Nikki stared at the Clyde. She had always thought that the river was so integral to the city, a ribbon of water softly meandering through, on its way to the Firth of Clyde. Not now. Now she saw it as a multi-armed monster with suction fronds to grasp and pull underwater innocent victims. She thought of Holly, of her confidence, her long blonde hair and her ambition. Then she thought of a body being dredged from the river.

  Nikki offered a silent prayer to a God she didn’t believe in, promised Him anything, anything for Holly not to be dead. Like Rachel a decade earlier, Nikki had provided the police with a recent photograph. Holly had been smiling into the camera, long hair framing her face. A whole life ahead of her. Nikki closed her eyes, felt hot tears swell and fall. She hadn’t felt this vulnerable since their mum had died. She spoke to Holly out loud. ‘Please get in touch. I love you.’

  It was an hour and fifteen minutes before Holly responded.

  Nikki stood at a distance, beyond the police cordon, recognised the change in behaviour, knew by the flurry of activity that the police divers had found a body. She sent up another silent plea to the unknown God, pleaded that it not be Holly.

  It’s one of life’s truisms that the dead, when their body is disposed of in water, will resurface to ascertain their place in life. Holly Lithgow’s body did just that. As her body decayed, gas had formed in the tissue. Thanks to a combination of the warm temperature of the water, the low fat in her tissue and the bacterial action, she rose qui
ckly and floated on the surface of the River Clyde, gently ebbing and flowing in a macabre aquatic waltz.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Good News

  ‘Boss, we definitely need to be looking at the John Merrick case. Information in the main diary was deleted.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘The deletions were to hide at least one name. Look.’ She put the small diary in front of him. ‘I’ve just collected this from Beth Swinton. There was a long-term client – HPE. I think it could be Hugo Ponsensby-Edward.’

  ‘Indeed it could. And it could be other names. Why jump to conclusions that it’s Mark’s son? Is this to do with the McIver, Wheeler?’

  ‘The name was deleted.’

  ‘And Merrick deleted it?’

  ‘I think it was deleted after Merrick was murdered.’ She paused. ‘And not many people had access.’

  ‘You’re accusing one of the team?’

  ‘You have to admit it’s a possibility. Willie Lester said Eddie Furlan handled all the paperwork.’

  ‘Motive?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Evidence?’

  ‘Gut instinct. I’m certain that—’

  ‘A retired police colleague, Wheeler. Think about what you’re saying. You’ve already pissed off everyone at the McIver and now, for good measure, you’re taking another potshot at Eddie Furlan? Yet you have no evidence and no motive. This whole business with his son Paul has put you out of sorts.’

  ‘I know there’s something amiss.’

  ‘I don’t agree.’

  ‘Look, I’m telling you that—’

  ‘Drop the attitude, Wheeler. The DCC told me about the loss you experienced while serving in the army, about Colin Jenkins.’

  ‘How does he even know this information?’

  ‘He was acting in your best interests.’

  She very much doubted it.

  ‘They all are.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Mark Ponsensby-Edward and Paul Furlan too.’

 

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