Mark of the Devil: a gripping thriller that will have you hooked (Inspector Jim Carruthers Book 3)

by Tana Collins

  Eyes narrowing, Cuthbert said, ‘Poisoning birds of prey’s against the law. I don’t engage in illegal activities, inspector.’

  Carruthers smiled. ‘Glad to hear it.’

  ‘What about your ghillies and gamekeepers? How well supervised are they?’ asked Fletcher.

  Cuthbert shook his head once more. ‘I make sure they know the law but I’m not their keeper. No pun intended.’

  Carruthers noticed Cuthbert undressing Fletcher with his eyes as he spoke. His dislike of the man increased.

  Carruthers spoke carefully. ‘You do know that those who employ gamekeepers have a strict duty to know what is being done in their name and on their property. The law has changed up in Scotland, Mr Cuthbert. A landowner is now as accountable as his gamekeeper. Bird of prey persecution is illegal under wildlife conservation laws.’

  ‘All very interesting, inspector, but I’m not your man. I’ll keep my ears pinned, though. I would have thought a man of your standing would have more important things to do than harass local landowners about the killing of birds of prey.’

  ‘Killing birds of prey’s a serious matter, Mr Cuthbert, but then so’s the suspicious death of a young woman.’ He handed Barry Cuthbert the artist’s impression of the woman. Cuthbert took it and looked at it. ‘She may be Eastern European.’

  Cuthbert shook his head and tried to give the artist’s impression back to Carruthers. ‘Pretty girl. Don’t know her. Sorry.’

  Carruthers kept his hands resolutely down by his side. ‘Keep it and show your staff, Mr Cuthbert. We believe the people who laid the poisoned meat close to where the body was found may have seen something that will further this investigation. It’s possible the anonymous call about the girl’s body could have come from one of the illegal poisoners. If it did, they could have come from a local sporting estate. Your estate, Mr Cuthbert, is the closest.’

  Cuthbert’s eyes narrowed.

  Carruthers brought his card out of his pocket and gave it to Cuthbert. ‘If you hear of anything or have any information, call me. Oh, just one thing. We’d like to interview your gamekeepers. We could start with the two that were leaving the building when we arrived.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible. They’re busy.’

  ‘So are we, Mr Cuthbert,’ said Carruthers, mentally adding obstructive and unhelpful to the growing list of things he didn’t like about Barry Cuthbert. ‘I’m sure they could spare a couple of minutes. I take it you have a licence for the shotgun one of your gamekeepers was carrying?’

  ‘Course. You wan’ ta see it?’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you. But I’d like you to call them in. You can start by giving me their names. I’d also like a word with your estate manager.’

  ‘Pip McGuire’s day off today. Our estate manager.’ Cuthbert turned his back to the two officers, picked up a mobile that was lying on a nearby nest of antique tables and barked an instruction into it. When he was finished he replaced the mobile back on the table. Within minutes the two men Carruthers had seen outside walked through the door. The older and burlier of the two still carrying the shotgun.

  ‘Names please?’ said Carruthers.

  The older one spoke. Pointing to the boy who looked about as terrified as a school leaver starting a new job he said, ‘This is Joe McGuigan, and I’m Derek Sturrock.’

  Carruthers brought out his police ID. ‘Have either of you gentlemen been anywhere near the Kinsale beach at Pinetum Park Forest recently?’ He caught the pimpled younger man casting quick glances at his weather-beaten colleague. The boy scratched the angry looking acne on the side of his neck. It was the older man who spoke.

  ‘Nah, why would we?’

  ‘Would you mind putting the shotgun down, Mr Sturrock? Guns make me nervous.’

  ‘It’s not loaded.’

  ‘Even so.’

  Derek Sturrock did as he was requested and placed the gun down on a nearby table.

  Fletcher took out her black notebook. ‘We’re interested in talking to anyone who was in the location recently,’ she said. ‘We believe bird poisoners were out on the cliffs overlooking the beach on which a young woman’s body was found. We’re not here about the poisoning. That’s not our department. We want to know who called the police.’

  Carruthers silently congratulated Fletcher for getting straight to the point.

  ‘It wasnae us,’ said the younger man. This time he glanced across at Barry Cuthbert.

  ‘Mr Cuthbert, would you mind waiting outside whilst we conduct this interview?’ said Carruthers.

  Cuthbert looked as if he was about to complain but grabbed his mobile instead and started walking towards the door. ‘Don’t keep them too long. They’ve got work to do.’

  Carruthers waited until Cuthbert had left before fishing out the bagged binoculars. ‘Belong to either of you?’ he said.

  They both shook their heads although he could see the younger of the two looking nervously at the glasses.

  ‘They were found on the cliffs overlooking the spot where we discovered a young woman’s body.’

  ‘What did she die of? Did she drown?’ said the younger man, his eyes still on the binoculars.

  ‘We don’t know yet but we don’t think it was an accident,’ said Carruthers. ‘We haven’t yet ruled out foul play. What are your duties as gamekeeper?’ Carruthers asked the older man.

  The man shrugged. ‘Whatever Mr Cuthbert needs us to do.’

  ‘Can you clarify that?’ said Fletcher.

  Carruthers watched the younger man glancing at his colleague with quick darting eye movements. He knows something. Young Joe McGuigan knows something and ten a penny the binoculars are his. Carruthers scrutinised him. The boy couldn’t be more than eighteen. Someone has told him to keep quiet. But who? The older gamekeeper or Cuthbert? Carruthers watched the younger man carefully. The man winced. He’s scared of something. Or someone. And I mean to find out what and who it is.

  ‘Organising shoots,’ said Sturrock. ‘Keeping records of what is shot or caught, training gun dogs, controlling predators like foxes and rats; repairing equipment.’

  ‘And a lot of this would be done on your own and in remote areas, wouldn’t it?’ said Fletcher.

  There was silence from both men.

  ‘Answer DS Fletcher,’ asked Carruthers.

  ‘Aye, I suppose,’ said the older man, Sturrock.

  ‘I’ll ask you one more time,’ said Carruthers. ‘Have either of you been anywhere near Pinetum Park in the last few weeks or seen anything suspicious as you’ve gone about your duties?’

  Whilst the older man shook his head, the younger stared at his feet.

  Carruthers decided to try a different tack. ‘Would you be prepared to come to the station so that we can take a set of your fingerprints? It’s just routine. We’d like to be able to eliminate you from our enquiries.’

  A red flush was spreading up from Joe McGuigan’s angry neck. Carruthers was reminded of molten lava.

  ‘Are you arresting us?’ the younger man said.

  Christ, the boy looks about to piss himself.

  ‘Course he isn’t, ya eejit,’ said Sturrock. ‘We havenae done anything wrang.’

  ‘Like I said it’s just routine.’ As he said this, Carruthers calmly turned the bag over in his hand. Nothing like putting the wind up them, he thought. ‘If you haven’t done anything wrong you won’t have anything to worry about, will you?’

  ‘He’s just bluffing,’ said Sturrock. ‘He knows he cannae ask us to come down the station to give a set of prints.’

  Carruthers put the bagged binoculars back in the carrier bag.

  ‘OK, let’s go back to your duties for a moment,’ he said. ‘I’m assuming you’d also protect game from poachers by patrolling the beat area at night? It’s your job to keep the guns clean, too?’

  ‘Yes, and it’s in the job description that we’d be working with the police to deal with crime such as hare coursing and badger baiting,�
�� said Cuthbert, walking back into the room.

  Clearly his curiosity got the better of him and he couldn’t keep away, thought Carruthers.

  ‘We’re all law-abiding round ’ere,’ said Cuthbert. ‘We ain’t the bad guys.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ said Carruthers, handing the plastic bag to Fletcher.

  Carruthers looked over at Fletcher, who nodded. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘you can go. If you do think of anything you can call us on this number.’ He brought out two business cards and gave one to each man.

  ‘Will there be anything else?’ said Cuthbert.

  ‘We’d still like to have a word with your estate manager, Pip McGuire, Barry. Let him know, will you? He can ring us at the station.’

  They walked off. Carruthers threw a backwards glance to see a glaring Cuthbert. The two officers headed back to their car.

  Fletcher slipped her black notebook back into her shoulder bag. ‘What are your thoughts, Jim?’

  ‘Cuthbert’s definitely one to watch. Don’t trust him an inch.’

  Fletcher laughed. ‘That much was obvious. You know you’re not very good at hiding your feelings.’

  ‘That’s why I make a lousy poker player. What did you think of him, Andie?’

  She tucked a tendril of dark hair behind her ear. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll say this for him, though. He’s got good taste. That room was beautiful. Did you notice the furniture? It was all antique. And what about the artwork? Stunning. I really liked the painting of the horse. It looked like a Stubbs.’ She was quiet for a moment. ‘I’d quite like to have a nosey around his estate,’ she said.

  ‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Carruthers. ‘We’ll just have to think of a reason to come back.’ Their feet crunched on the gravel drive. ‘I’ll say something though. East Neuk of Fife’s not short of a bob or two.’

  ‘Those two gamekeepers know something,’ said Fletcher. ‘The McGuigan kid’s scared.’

  Carruthers unlocked the car doors. ‘I thought so, too,’ he said.

  Fletcher grinned. ‘And it definitely put the wind up them when you suggested they come down the station to be fingerprinted.’

  ‘Pity we didn’t find any prints.’ Carruthers grinned. ‘They weren’t to know that, though.’

  ‘Any plans tonight?’ asked Fletcher, opening her door.

  ‘A few phone calls.’ Carruthers opened his door and climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘Watch the News at Ten for the report on our dead body on the beach.’ Fletcher shut her door and Carruthers started the engine. ‘Hopefully we’ll get a few leads through that and with a bit of luck a positive ID on the body. Doesn’t look as if she’s local. Nobody’s come in to report her missing. Pity door-to-door yielded nothing.’

  ‘I’d really like to know her story.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Carruthers, pulling out down the drive. ‘She must have a family out there somewhere that’s missing her. We just have to find them.’

  After dropping Fletcher at the station Carruthers drove home. Once he’d had a quick chat with his mum on the phone about the family dinner she wanted him to attend on Sunday he settled back in his favourite old chair to watch the News at Ten with a whisky. Swirling the amber liquid of the ten-year-old Laphroaig around his glass gave him a satisfied feeling. He was drinking less these days. Enjoying nothing but the occasional glass. Being in control of his drinking felt good. There’d been a couple of times, just after his wife left and also right after his brother’s heart attack, when he’d really struggled and turned to the drink again. It hadn’t been easy watching his fitter older brother struck down by a heart attack and finding out that heart disease ran in the family. He’d been told to get his cholesterol tested. He still hadn’t. Perhaps he just didn’t want to know. He watched as the police artist’s impression of the young woman came on the screen. Wondered who the dead pregnant woman was, how she had met her death and why on earth she’d had to end up on his patch. He fell asleep in his chair, waking around two in the morning with a sore back and the empty crystal glass still in his hands. Putting the glass down carefully on the table he climbed the creaking stairs to bed.

  5

  Carruthers managed to get to the station by eight the next morning. He’d hardly had time to take his jacket off when his desk phone rang.

  It was his contact at the National Crime Agency, John Stevenson. Carruthers was surprised to hear his voice.

  ‘I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible,’ Stevenson said. ‘We caught the gang I was telling you about.’

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘Nope. Had a tip-off about a lock-up off the M25. Apparently there was all manner of comings and goings. Folk got suspicious and gave us a buzz.’

  ‘Go on,’ urged Carruthers.

  ‘We recovered only one painting. A little-known eighteenth-century watercolourist. They managed to move all the other pieces. They’re being interviewed at the moment. The only thing is, Jim, they’re not admitting to any other thefts. We’re pretty sure they’re responsible for the thefts down south and one in York but I’m starting to have grave doubts they would have got as far north as Scotland.’

  ‘OK, thanks for telling me,’ said Carruthers. ‘With the gang caught I’m just wondering where that leaves us. MO was virtually the same. It’s either a massive coincidence or copycat.’

  ‘Like I said, it’s unusual for a gang to steal high-end artworks. Our lot are the real deal. They’re going for lesser-known artists, which makes them professional art thieves.’

  Carruthers sat listening. ‘You said with the well-known names it’s near impossible to sell them on, especially in the normal market.’

  ‘Yep. They’re literally too hot to handle. What have your lot got away with?’

  ‘A Constable, a Sisley and a Vettriano.’

  Carruthers heard the man whistle. ‘I wonder if they’re amateurs.’

  ‘Well, if they are, they’re being very professional about it. Look,’ said Carruthers, ‘I hear what you say about masterpieces and paintings by well-known artists being too hot to handle. What about selling on the black market?’

  ‘It can be just as difficult for criminals on the black market as the open market. As a general rule, stolen artworks’ black-market value is around ten per cent of the actual value, but with paintings worth tens of millions of pounds, you can see that even that mark-down is way out of most criminals’ price range. The kind of people who are able to get their hands on that kind of money by and large aren’t interested in owning something that they could possibly go to jail for possessing. And remember that they wouldn’t be able to sell the pieces on easily, either. However, that said, to play devil’s advocate, you can also see the attraction of art theft for criminal gangs. Stolen art can easily be carried across international borders.’

  ‘I suppose you wouldn’t have to worry about currency conversion,’ said Carruthers.

  ‘That’s just what I was about to say. Size is important too. Some smuggled paintings are smaller than an A3 sheet of paper. It might be worth contacting Interpol. It’s possible these paintings have already left the country.’

  Carruthers sat deep in thought. He could certainly see the attraction of becoming an art thief.

  ‘What else can you tell me?’ asked Carruthers.

  ‘Worth bearing in mind it isn’t always about profit,’ continued Stevenson. ‘I know I said earlier that criminal gangs wouldn’t generally steal high-end art but let’s not forget that there will still be wealthy private individuals who want to own a piece of exquisite and rare art for the sake of it. Even if they can’t show it to anyone.’

  Once more Carruthers thought of the Paris heist.

  ‘There have also been cases of organised criminals stealing valuable works of art to be used as collateral.’

  ‘Care to elaborate?’

  ‘Right, well, just say our art thief is caught – when faced with prison, criminals have been known to try to broker shorter sentences in return for informat
ion leading to the discovery of the famous piece of stolen art.’

  ‘Does it work?’ said Carruthers.

  ‘Most European courts do accept these type of plea bargains. Generally what you’ve got to remember is that art theft is a big deal. Moving away from the high-end pieces of stolen art for a moment – thousands of lower value works are stolen every year and are simply never found. We just don’t have the resources to go after them all. Did you know that Scotland Yard has just three people working in its arts and antiques unit?’

  Carruthers was surprised. ‘Why so few?’ he said.

  ‘Art retrieval is largely left to the private sector. Two reasons, really. First, it’s because victims’ insurance covers the majority of losses and secondly, most thefts traditionally haven’t involved violence, although as we know that now is changing.’

  Carruthers moved a cold half cup of coffee off his notebook. He flicked open the notebook to a clean page and picked up a pen. Poised with the pen mid-air he said, ‘Tell me a bit more about it. What happens if an artwork is stolen?’

  ‘The first thing to do would be to check with the Art Loss Register which is a London-based company part owned by Sotheby’s, Christie’s and Bonhams. They maintain a database of over 400,000 missing works. Before each sale, dealers and auction houses have a duty to check the item against the register. If it’s listed as lost or stolen, the ALR will then handle negotiations leading to its return in exchange for a fee.’

  ‘What happens when an item is found?’ asked Carruthers, curious to learn more about an area of police work he was unfamiliar with. He looked down at his scribbled notes.

  ‘Often, when an item is found, it’s owned by someone who has no idea it’s been stolen because it’s already been sold on,’ said Stevenson.

  ‘That must be tricky. I take it the new owner doesn’t get to keep it? Or does it end up going to court?’

  ‘Too expensive. It’s in the interests of both parties involved to try to negotiate privately. It’s different in every country, but generally if someone has bought it in good faith, not from the thief but from someone who has bought from the thief, and they’ve held it for six years, they may have a chance of holding on to it – but the whole business is complicated.’