by Anne Randall
‘You’ve got to be fucking joking, Paul bloody Furlan is—’
‘Watch your language, Wheeler! You haven’t been yourself recently, what with these bloody headaches and now all this. You need to rest.’
‘Are you taking me off the case?’
‘Of course not, but I want Ross to lead the investigation for the next couple of days, give you time to reflect.’
‘This is garbage.’
‘You can close the door on your way out.’
Back at her desk, Boyd updated her. ‘Holly Lithgow’s body has just been pulled from the Clyde. Early indications suggest that she didn’t fall in accidently.’
Wheeler knew that a woman named Holly Lithgow had been reported missing. She felt the tension in the room rise. Whoever Holly Lithgow was, she’d now gone from missing person to victim.
‘Her blue Micra’s turned up in long-term parking at Prestwick Airport. It’s been there since Thursday night,’ said Boyd. ‘Forensics are on their way.’
Wheeler’s phone rang. She answered it and listened: ‘We have some good news about the DNA recovered from the back door to Karlie Merrick’s flat.’
‘You’ve got a match?’ said Wheeler.
‘Not a full match, but is a partial good enough for you?’
‘Tell me you’ve got a name?’
‘Interestingly enough, the database did throw one up. That’s the good news.’
She grabbed a pen. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Paul Furlan.’
Chapter Fifty-Nine
The Vendetta
They were barely four minutes into the interview and Paul Furlan was adamant. ‘This is your personal vendetta, Wheeler.’
‘Your DNA was found—’
He cut across her. ‘My DNA was on the database because of a fucking motoring offence, years ago. And I’ve already told you that I had never contacted Karlie Merrick outside of the club, I didn’t go to her flat and I didn’t bloody murder her. You are wasting time, Wheeler, when you should be out finding the killer. You are on some twisted revenge fantasy over Jenkins’ death; you were on it in the army and you’re on it now.’
‘How did your DNA come to be in the location of Karlie Merrick’s flat?’
‘That’s for you to find out, isn’t it? Do your fucking job. But I know one thing for sure. You had access to her flat. Now my DNA turns up. Convenient. I’m making an official complaint. You’re not fit to serve.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Your bizarre hounding of me is unhinged. I’ve already told you that I was at a party the night she was killed.’
The door flew open.
Stewart stormed into the room. ‘I am terminating this interview.’ He identified himself, gave the time and switched off the tape. ‘DI Wheeler, outside now.’ He shot a look at Boyd. ‘I’ll see you in my office later.’ In the corridor, he rounded on her. ‘What the hell do you think you’re up to?’
‘It’s my case, I’m entitled to—’
‘Ross was to lead, I told you.’
‘It’s my case,’ she repeated.
‘It’s no longer appropriate for you to speak with Paul Furlan.’
‘Because?’
‘It may jeopardise the case. His father and the DCC have all complained that you are at best biased, at worst—’
‘That’s rubbish. You know it and I know it.’
‘Certainly, I believe that your ability to be objective has been severely compromised,’ said Stewart.
‘Boss—’
He held up his hand, palm facing her. ‘Wheeler, for God’s sake, we’re on the same bloody side. If Paul Furlan did kill Karlie Merrick then I need every step of this investigation to be transparent. I won’t have this investigation compromised, either by past grudges or by your absolute surety that he’s involved, despite having little evidence. Do you even get it? You’ve pissed off Eddie Furlan, the Ponsensby-Edwards and then, just to complete the hat-trick, the DCC. Now go home. That’s an order.’
Wheeler waited in the corridor, shaking with anger, saw Stewart go back into the interview room. Watched the door close in her face.
* * *
An hour later DCI Stewart escorted Paul Furlan to the exit. ‘Thanks for being so patient while we double-checked you alibi. Ronald McMasters has indeed confirmed that you stayed overnight at his country house, the night Karlie Merrick was murdered.’
‘Wheeler’s unhinged. This was personal. You know it as well as I do, Stewart. Don’t you?’
‘Thanks for your co-operation, Mr Furlan.’ Stewart opened the door.
‘You need to rein her in, or face the fucking consequences.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Furlan.’
The door closed.
Chapter Sixty
No. 195
Wheeler strode into the grand hotel. Mark Ponsensby-Edward’s lecture, ‘Upholding the Law – an ongoing challenge’, was in a place swanky enough that it didn’t need a name, only a number. The lecture had finished thirty minutes earlier. Through the open door, she saw Ponsensby-Edward standing at a lectern tidying some papers. A security guard blocked her as she approached. Wheeler flashed her ID. He blocked her again. ‘DI Wheeler. Police.’ She spoke loudly enough that Ponsensby-Edward glanced across.
‘Police? Let her through, Wilkinson.’
Wilkinson glared at her but acquiesced.
‘Thank you, sir. I’m DI Kat Wheeler, I just wanted to apologise.’ She kept her tone the right side of ingratiating.
‘Not at all, DI Wheeler.’ He waved her apology away with a bony hand. ‘There’s really no need to apologise. We all know that you’re upset.’
‘DCI Stewart explained the whole scenario to me,’ she lied.
‘Good.’ The smile; she saw the sharp incisors.
‘Yes, I was rather too excitable at the McIver Club. I went stomping in with my size sixes.’
Ponsensby-Edward waited.
‘Your son Hugo was seeing John Merrick,’ said Wheeler.
He paused. ‘Really? Was his name on the client list?’
‘His initials were in an old diary. Karlie’s cousin Beth Swinton gave it to me.’
‘I see. And, to be clear, Hugo’s name was actually in it?’
‘His initials. HPE.’
‘Hardly conclusive, could be anyone. Hugh Philip Evenson, perhaps Harry Pritchard Eavis, what about Harriet Pullman Egar? Oh dear, I do believe the permutations may be endless.’
‘I think the diary entry was doctored after Merrick was killed.’
‘How interesting. And you think Hugo was involved?’
‘Was he a client?’
‘My dear Inspector Wheeler, Hugo was nowhere near John Merrick’s house the night he was killed. He was at a private party on our country estate that evening.’ He turned to Wilkinson. ‘Our guest is leaving.’
Wheeler watched him, knew that there were laws for some people in society, while others, like Mark Ponsensby-Edward and his son, Hugo, thought themselves above the law. That the rules which applied to the majority of folk simply did not apply to them. Wilkinson escorted her to the door. She turned back to Ponsensby-Edward. ‘I’m asking you again, was your son Hugo a client of John Merrick?’
He smiled. ‘My son didn’t kill John Merrick. If you know what’s good for you, you won’t persist in this curious witch-hunt of yours, Inspector.’
Chapter Sixty-One
The Reprimand
‘You couldn’t let it go, could you?’ said Stewart. ‘I told you to go home but you went to see Mark Ponsensby-Edward.’
‘I needed to find out what was going on.’
‘I told you not take this line of inquiry any further.’
Wheeler said nothing.
‘Did you hear me?’
She tried to keep her voice the right side of reasonable. Failed. ‘I think Eddie Furlan falsified information in a police inquiry; even his partner Willie Lester didn’t know. The initials HPE were in the other diary.’
‘HPE isn�
��t necessarily who you think it is. You know Mark Ponsensby-Edward and his son Hugo had nothing to do with the death of John Merrick, they both have alibis, so why are you trying to drag their reputation and the McIver’s through the dirt?’
‘Call me idealistic but—’
‘I could think of other descriptions.’
‘I believe transparency and accountability are important in police work,’ said Wheeler.
‘Well, idealism is all well and good, but as a savvy cop, you need to hold the bigger picture. We don’t work in isolation, we are part of the bigger community and, like it or not, there are whole layers of this community that operate at a more influential level.’
‘It was in the interest of the case. There are clients unaccounted for; it must be relevant. Why didn’t they come forward?’
‘You think there are two clients missing? It could be just cancellations, Wheeler. I’m concerned that you are becoming obsessed with an old unresolved murder and not the task we have in front of us. Police Scotland do have a cold case team. Leave John Merrick’s case to them.’
‘Boss—’
‘Wheeler, I’m telling you, for the last time, to go home.’ He paused. ‘Paul Furlan has a watertight alibi for the night Karlie Merrick was murdered. All night.’
‘Then the DNA must belong to a family member. Eddie? Or Paul’s brother, James? Familial DNA.’
‘Christ, Wheeler, take a break from persecuting the Furlans. Paul has accused you of planting evidence. You had access to Eddie’s house and later to Paul. And then to Karlie’s flat. Can you see how this looks?’
‘Boss, I want—’
‘You need to go home.’
‘You need to trust me.’
‘It’s not a request, Wheeler. I’m telling you to go home. Now.’
Chapter Sixty-Two
Small Details
Wheeler found an empty office at the opposite end of the station and fired up a tired, old computer. First off, she tried to call Hugo Ponsensby-Edward again. Got through to voicemail. Again. She left another message. She began wading through old newspaper reports, scanning them for details. She scrolled through years of information, worked steadily through every story, every reference, until her head felt like it was going to explode. Mark Ponsensby-Edward and Hugo at a myriad of grand parties. Then Willie Lester. Edward Furlan. Police. Glasgow. She scrolled through pages and pages of irrelevant information, constantly refining the search, narrowing it down. It was two hours and twenty-five minutes later when she saw it and froze.
A photograph of them together at a function. She reached forward and touched the screen. There they were, the Old Coyote and the Bulldog. Underneath the photograph were their names, Willie Lester and Eddie Furlan and two women, presumably their wives.
‘Christ, it’s taken a while to track you down.’ Ross stood in the doorway. ‘What the hell are you up to? You’re meant to be at home. You need to take a breather.’
‘Look at this,’ She gestured to the image on the screen. ‘An old photograph of the two of them at a posh do.’
Ross looked at it. Got it.
She picked up her mobile, called Willie Lester, explained why she was calling.
‘Yes, I remember Eddie had eye surgery and there were complications. He couldn’t let any light get to it so had to wear a patch for a while. Is this important?’
‘Thanks, you’ve been a great help.’ She slammed down the phone. ‘Eddie Furlan killed John Merrick.’
‘What was his motive?’
‘I don’t know that yet, but I’ll find out.’ She printed out the photograph, sprinted through the corridors to Stewart’s office, burst into his office. ‘Boss.’
‘Why the hell are you still here?’
‘Eddie Furlan killed John Merrick.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Wheeler.’
‘Hear me out. Look.’ She gave him the printout. ‘I found this photograph of Eddie from years ago. He had a patch over his eye. Steve Penwell said he’d seen someone running away from the area of John Merrick’s murder. The guy had an eye patch. Like a pirate. I just checked with Willie Lester. Eddie Furlan had eye surgery and wore an eye patch for a while. Eddie killed John Merrick. I believe he killed Karlie too and that’s why the DNA found at Karlie’s flat was only a partial match for Paul Furlan. Eddie Furlan’s will be a full match, I’m sure of it.’
Chapter Sixty-Three
Lyndsay Moody
Six miles south of Glasgow lies the village of Busby. Lyndsay Moody lived in an old stone cottage on the outskirts of the village. Through his casual chat with Cal Moody, Cutter had tracked down not just Cal’s sister Lyndsay, but her ex-boyfriend too. Cutter knew that they had separated the night of the fire, knew too that the boyfriend was fucking liable for it. Cutter had dressed for the party. His five foot five frame was encased in motorbike leathers, his head freshly shaved, his hands balled into their customary fists. He parked his motorbike outside the cottage, watched Josh get out of the Range Rover. They walked together to the wooden door. Josh knocked.
A man in his early forties opened it, a mug of tea in his hand.
‘We’re friends of Lyndsay’s,’ said Cutter. ‘And you are?’
‘I’m her partner, Rob Vernon.’ The man settled into the space he inhabited; five eleven, eighteen stones, he took his time expanding into the doorway.
‘Right then, Rob,’ said Cutter, looking up at him, ‘you tootle back inside and we’ll come in for a chat.’
Rob Vernon stared hard at Cutter, looked as if he was about to remonstrate. Took in the expression, the blazing eyes. The balled fists. Thought better of it. Instead, he turned and called into the hallway, ‘Lyndsay doll, you’ve got visitors.’
They walked into the hall and were met by a woman who was a little over five foot in height. She was casually dressed in a white T-shirt and patterned shorts. She pushed her horn-rimmed glasses onto her hair and peered at Cutter.
‘Good to finally meet you, Lyndsay.’ Cutter smiled. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’
The woman’s smile was hesitant. ‘Do I know you?’
‘We have a couple of people in common. Paul Furlan and your mum.’
‘I haven’t seen Paul for years. How do you know Mum?’
‘I know a friend of hers from way back, the time of the fire.’
‘Get out.’
‘Fuck, have you no manners?’ Cutter tutted. ‘There’s a wee problem. Josh here believes that there’s been . . .’ He paused. ‘How shall I put this? A miscarriage of justice. Now he’s distracted from his work, which is a worry to me, so I thought it would be better all round if we come to an agreement.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Glasgow Cross,’ said Cutter.
‘What about it?’
‘You know it?’
‘I grew up in Glasgow, but I expect you know that already?’
‘There’s a great wee saying carved on one of these buildings,’ said Cutter. ‘Do you know what it is?’
Lyndsay chewed at her bottom lip.
‘I’m going to call the police,’ said Rob.
Lyndsay put her hand on his arm.
‘What’s that, Cutter?’ asked Josh.
‘It says “Nobody provokes me with impunity.” It means nae fucker messes with me, without getting fucked.’
Lyndsay bit her thumbnail. ‘You better come through.’
They followed her through to a small living room with two sofas. Cutter and Josh took one, Rob and Lyndsay the other.
‘Do you think maybe we can get a couple of glasses of water?’ asked Cutter pleasantly. ‘Only, it’s roasting hot and we’re parched.’
Rob went to the kitchen and returned with four glasses of water. They rattled on the tray as he brought them through. His and Lyndsay’s remained untouched but Cutter finished his water before he spoke. ‘I know how Amber Ellis died.’
‘It was all in the papers.’
‘No, I know how she reall
y died,’ he repeated slowly. ‘And I know who did it.’
‘I didn’t do . . .’ Lyndsay started.
Cutter glanced at her. ‘Did I say it was you?’
Lyndsay was silent.
Rob turned to her. ‘What’s this about?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I think you do,’ said Cutter.
‘Lyndsay?’ said Rob.
‘It was twenty years ago; I was a very different person. There was an accident.’ She looked at Cutter. ‘I’m telling you the truth, it was an accident.’
‘What accident?’ asked Rob.
‘It was the lies that came after that caused the problem, wasn’t it?’ said Cutter.
‘What is going on here?’ Rob demanded.
Lyndsay addressed Cutter. ‘Look, Mum’s dying, the doctor says it could be a few days, a week at the most.’
‘Difficult to tell, these things; it’s not like it’s an exact science,’ Cutter admitted. ‘And then your junkie brother, Cal, got himself sliced up over at the Cockroach. Tut-tut. Careless.’
‘It was Cal who told you where I was?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I just wanted to protect Mum until then. Afterwards, I’ll go to the police.’
‘No. That’s not what’s going to happen.’ Cutter finished his glass of water and held it out to Rob. ‘I’ll have another.’
‘Christ.’ Rob got to his feet.
Cutter waited until another glass was in front of him before continuing, ‘You’re not just protecting your wee mammy, though, Christ knows, she doesn’t deserve it. You’re protecting the cunt that caused all this.’
When she spoke her voice was a whisper. ‘We weren’t even established as a couple really. I was a bit nervous around him. I didn’t want to . . .’ She glanced at Rob. ‘I was eighteen and I didn’t want to, you know. He was going off to the army and I just wasn’t sure. Me and Cal were living with our dad, over in Temple. Mum and I never got on that well. We hadn’t seen each other for ages but she was desperate to go to the bingo that night, some big prize. She rang and asked me to babysit, said it would be a big favour to her, help us build some bridges. She said the kids would already be in bed, it was just a matter of keeping an eye out. I agreed. Thought I’d ask Paul round while Mum slipped out to the bingo for an hour or so.’