by Bill Daly
‘That’s right. We’re in the building opposite the Anniesland library. The best place to park is round the back,’ Lesley added, ‘in either Morrisons’ or Mothercare’s car park.’
Tony smiled. ‘I’m not sure Inspector Anderson would want to run the risk of getting clamped.’
‘Not only is it common practice, Sergeant, it’s what’s actually recommended on our website.’
‘What do Morrisons and Mothercare have to say about that?’
‘I don’t imagine for one minute that they ever look at our website.’
When Colin Renton pulled up outside the block of flats in Oakfield Avenue, he saw Eddie McLaughlin waiting for him on the corner, two cameras slung around his neck and a large, black holdall lying at his feet.
‘What’s the score?’ McLaughlin asked as Renton led the way up the path towards the building.
Producing a set of keys from his jacket pocket, Renton unlocked the entrance door. ‘The dead guy’s flat is on the second floor,’ he explained as they were climbing the stairs. ‘As far as we know, he lived on his own. Charlie Anderson wants you to fingerprint the place to see if we can identify anybody who’s been here recently. He’d also like you to give Preston’s computer the once over,’ Renton added, ‘to see if that casts any light on what he’s been up to.’
‘No problem.’
Renton unlocked the door to the flat and ushered McLaughlin inside. ‘While you’re doing that,’ he said, ‘I’ll ring a few doorbells around here and try to find out how well the neighbours knew Preston – and if they saw anyone visiting him recently.’
‘Okay.’
Renton turned round when he heard footsteps ringing out on the staircase behind him.
When she saw Renton standing in Preston’s doorway, the middle-aged woman, dressed in a sari, stopped half way up the stairs and put down her two heavy bags of shopping.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘The police,’ Renton said, showing his warrant card.
‘You’re here because of what happened to Mr Preston, I suppose,’ she said, picking up her bags and trudging up to the landing.
‘Yes.’
‘Poor man.’
‘Can I give you a hand with those?’ Renton offered, nodding towards her bags.
‘No thanks, I’m fine. I’m used to it,’ she added.
‘Do you live next door?’ Renton asked.
She nodded, producing a set of keys.
‘Would you mind answering a few questions?’ Renton asked.
She put down her shopping bags again. ‘Go ahead.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Indira Singh.’
‘Do you live on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘How well did you know Mr Preston?’
‘I hardly knew him at all. I only moved in here a couple of months ago.’
‘Did you ever talk to him?’
‘Not as such. He kept himself very much to himself. He was perfectly polite. He would say good morning or good evening if we bumped into each other on the stairs, but nothing more than that.’
‘Did you ever see anyone with him? Do you know if he had any visitors?’
She stopped to think. ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t remember ever seeing anyone with him.’
‘Okay, thanks for that.’
*
Colin Renton didn’t get any response when he rang the doorbells of the two flats on the ground floor. The first bell he tried on the first floor also went unanswered. When he tried the flat directly underneath Preston’s, an elderly man shuffled to the door.
Renton showed him his warrant card.
‘Not before time,’ he grumbled. ‘Come on in.’
‘You were expecting me?’ Renton queried.
‘You’ve come about my complaint, I suppose? At least, I hope you have.’
‘I don’t know anything about a complaint, sir,’ Renton said.
‘Oh, bloody hell! I’ve reported them three times. What do I have to do to get something done about it?’
‘Done about what, sir?’
‘Those students in the flat downstairs. It’s the same every Saturday night. Rowdy parties going on half the night with their so-called music belting out. I can’t get a wink of sleep. I can see the wee hairies arriving from my kitchen window, you know. Shameless hussies, they are, with their make-up slapped on with a ladle and their skirts up around their bums. And when I see the amount of booze that’s carried in there – and there are sure to be drugs involved – you can bet your boots on that. Where do they get the money from, that’s what I want to know? It’s just one long, drunken orgy after another – and your lot do bugger all about it. It’s a bloody disgrace.’
‘Who have you reported this to, sir?’ Renton asked.
‘I don’t have a name. Every time I phone up and complain, somebody takes down the details and tells me they’ll get back to me, but they never do.’
‘What I recommend you do, sir, is go in person to Partick Police Station and ask to speak to Sergeant Sid Cummings. You’ll definitely get a sympathetic hearing from him.’
‘Right,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I’ll do that. So if you’re not here today about my complaints,’ he added, ‘what are you here for?’
‘How well did you know your upstairs neighbour, Mr Preston?’
‘I didn’t even know the guy’s name, but he’s okay.’
‘How is he okay?’
‘He doesn’t have rowdy parties.’
Eddie McLaughlin was huddled over Preston’s desktop computer when Renton returned to the flat.
‘Any joy with the neighbours, Colin?’ McLaughlin asked without turning away from the screen.
‘Not a lot. The lady in the flat across the hall told me that Preston kept very much to himself. The only exchanges she ever had with him were an occasional hello on the stairs. Apart from her, the only other person who answered his door was a surly old bugger in one of the flats on the first floor.’
‘So what took you so long?’
‘He did. As soon as I showed him my ID he launched into a tirade about the racket the students in the ground floor flat make every Saturday night. According to him, it’s just one long, drunken, drug-fuelled orgy after another.’
‘Any chance of an invite?’
‘You wish! Old misery guts told me he’s reported the problem to the police three times, but he claims that nobody does anything about it. It took me all my time to get away from him.’
‘How did you manage to placate him?’
‘I gave him Charlie Anderson’s home number and told him to give him a call.’
‘You must be joking!’
‘Correct!’ Renton said with a broad grin. ‘I’ve every intention of reaching my retirement age with my head still attached to my shoulders. I actually gave him Sid Cummings’ name and told him to drop into the Partick nick and discuss the matter with him face to face.’
‘Sid’s not going to thank you for that.’
‘It’ll serve him right for taking the piss out of me when Thistle lost at home last weekend.’
‘You’re a braver man than I am.’
‘How are you getting on here?’ Renton asked. ‘Have you come across anything worthwhile?’
‘I’ve taken a few sets of prints which I’ll check against the central data base when I get back to the office to see if they match with anyone we know. I’ve been trawling through his computer. I haven’t found anything of interest so far, but it’ll take me another hour or so to check it out thoroughly.’
‘While you’re doing that,’ Renton said, ‘I’ll have a look through his desk.’
‘Did you manage to get parked all right?’ Lesley Adams asked as she trotted down the flight of stairs to the reception desk to meet Charlie and Tony.
As he took her proffered hand, Charlie reckoned she was probably in her late twenties; tall, slim, athletic-looking, shoulder-length auburn hair, shapely figure, stro
ng, angular features.
‘I decided to leave my car in Morrison’s car park on the basis that there’s a sporting chance I might be taken for one of their customers,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m not sure I could say the same about Mothercare.’
Lesley smiled. ‘Would it be all right if we go for a walk round the block while we talk?’ she asked, taking a packet of cigarettes and a book of matches from her handbag and holding them aloft.
‘No problem,’ Charlie said, returning her smile. ‘My wife’s always on at me to take more exercise.’
‘It’s a disgusting habit, I know,’ Lesley said, screwing up her face. ‘But if I don’t get my morning “c-o-u-g-h-i-e” break,’ she said, spelling out the word, ‘I’m like a bear with a sore head for the rest of the day. I can’t get by without my five a day,’ she added, her gravelly voice leading Charlie to conclude that it might be considerably more than five.
As soon as they were clear of the building, Lesley lit up.
‘The reason we wanted to talk to you today,’ Charlie said as they were heading along Great Western Road in the direction of the city centre, ‘is that there was a murder in the West End on Saturday night.’
‘I read about that in the papers,’ Lesley said, ‘but I thought you wanted to talk to me about the Carter family?’ she added hesitantly.
‘There is a connection,’ Charlie said. ‘Have you heard the news this morning?’
‘No.’
‘The man who was killed has been identified as John Preston, who was previously known as John Murdoch.’
‘John Murdoch?’ Lesley stopped dead in her tracks. ‘The John Murdoch? The John Murdoch who raped Tommy Carter?’
‘The John Murdoch who was acquitted of assaulting Tommy Carter, Ms Adams,’ Tony interjected.
Lesley looked askance at Tony as she resumed walking. ‘Don’t expect me to shed any tears over him,’ she said, drawing hard on her cigarette.
‘What can you tell us about the Carter family?’ Charlie asked.
‘You said you’ve seen the social work reports?’
‘The Drumchapel office sent us copies,’ Tony said.
‘In which case, I’m not sure there’s much I can add.’
‘What was Terry Carter like?’ Charlie asked.
‘Is this off the record?’ Lesley asked. Charlie nodded. Lesley thought for a moment before replying. ‘I had him marked down as a skiver, Inspector. He claimed to have a bad back, which meant he wasn’t able to hold down a job.’
‘And you didn’t believe that?’
‘He didn’t seem to have any problem moving when it was a matter of going to the pub or the bookies. But despite that,’ Lesley said, ‘he was a decent enough bloke, who was doing his level best to bring up his kids up in very difficult circumstances.’
‘What about his other son, Gavin?’ Tony asked.
‘Gavin?’ Lesley paused to flick the ash from her cigarette. ‘Gavin was the reason the social work services got involved with the family in the first place. It was one of the first cases I was assigned to when I joined the department six years ago. Terry Carter’s wife had walked out on him and moved in with a bloke in Paisley. Not long after that happened, Gavin started to go off the rails. He was about thirteen at the time. I asked the Paisley social work department to get in touch with the mother to find out if she’d be prepared to get involved in looking after her sons, but the feedback I got was that she’d made a new life for herself and she didn’t want to know.’
Turning left before the railway bridge, Lesley led the way towards the car parks. ‘With the enthusiasm of youth, I invested a lot of my personal time in trying to get Gavin straightened out. It takes a few months before the battle-hardened cynicism begins to set in,’ she added with a wry smile. ‘I really thought I was beginning to get somewhere with him. He was up in front of the Children’s Panel three times in as many years. Nothing particularly serious – he was caught nicking cigarettes from a shop, he got involved in a couple of fights and once he stole a bicycle. On the third occasion – he was sixteen at the time – the panel members were minded to send him to a young offenders’ institution, however, I intervened on his behalf and I managed to convince the chairman that it would be in everyone’s best interests to give Gavin a final warning and allow him to stay at home. Splitting up a family really has to be the last resort, Inspector. At the end of the day, the thing that swung it for the Panel was that it was evident that Gavin’s father was doing his level best to keep his boys on the straight and narrow and if Gavin had been sent to a remand home, there were serious concerns about the knock-on effect that might have had on Tommy.’
‘Did Gavin get into any more trouble after that?’ Tony asked as they were passing in front of Mothercare and heading towards Anniesland library.
‘Not really. He channelled his energies into playing football. I’m no expert on the subject, but I’m told he was very good at it. In fact, not far off Scotland under-eighteen standard. He was interested in all kinds of sports. I introduced him to tennis. I consider myself to be not too bad, but within a few weeks he was hammering me consistently. Of course, these don’t help,’ Lesley added, holding up her cigarette.
‘Five a day shouldn’t cause you too much of a problem,’ Charlie said.
‘Some days, it’s six – or seven,’ Lesley said defensively. ‘I said that Gavin didn’t get into any more trouble,’ she continued, ‘however, there’s a really bad influence in the Carter family – Terry’s brother, Andy. He’s been in and out of prison most of his adult life. I mentioned that Terry’s a lazy sod – permanently on the dole. His brother’s a completely different kettle of fish. He associates with some very unsavoury characters. He’s done time for drug dealing and GBH. I think that was mentioned in one of the reports?’ Charlie nodded. ‘Something that isn’t referred to in the reports, because there was never any proof of it, is that, a few years back, he was one of a group of thugs who called themselves the alternative LGBT – the Lesbian and Gay Bashers’ Team. Wearing hoods and masks, they broke into several gay bars in the city centre and smashed up the premises with crowbars – while laying into anybody who got in their way.’
‘I remember hearing about those attacks,’ Tony said. ‘I don’t recall any arrests being made.’
‘There weren’t any,’ Lesley said. ‘The gang disbanded after a couple of months when the heat started to come on. At the time, it was common knowledge in Drumchapel who the ringleaders were – they even boasted about their activities in the local pubs. The story was that someone had threatened to talk to the police, which resulted in him getting both his kneecaps smashed in. After that, no one was prepared to speak up.’
‘Was Gavin a member of that gang?’ Tony asked.
‘Definitely not,’ Lesley said with a firm shake of the head.
‘How about Terry?’
‘He wasn’t either. As far as I’m aware, Terry didn’t get involved in anything illegal, apart from fiddling his benefits, that is. Terry and Andy didn’t get on. I don’t know a lot about the background, but what I do know is that they were barely on speaking terms. I think the fact that Andy was always flush and would buy the boys more or less anything they wanted – things Terry could never afford to get for them – had a lot to do with it. Gavin hero-worshipped his Uncle Andy, which was not a healthy state of affairs. The only reason Gavin nicked the cigarettes was to give them to his uncle to try to impress him. A couple of years ago Gavin told me he was going to leave his father and move in with his uncle – and that probably would have happened if Andy hadn’t been sent down again for assault.’
‘Does Gavin still stay with his father?’ Charlie asked.
Lesley paused to draw hard on her cigarette. ‘I don’t have any dealings with the family now, Inspector. Not since I transferred to Anniesland.’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘About nine months.’
‘Tell me about Tommy Carter,’ Charlie said as they arrived back in front of the
social services’ building. ‘What kind of boy was he?’
Lesley stopped beside a waste bin and nipped out her cigarette. ‘Let’s talk about that inside,’ she said, dropping her cigarette butt into the bin. ‘There’s an office on the first floor we can use.’
Lesley led the way up the staircase. Having closed the office door behind them, she indicated chairs for Charlie and Tony as she took the seat behind the desk.
‘Tommy was a vulnerable lad,’ Lesley began. ‘Totally different in character from his older brother. Where Gavin was an extrovert and interested in sports, Tommy was introverted and lacked self-confidence. He kept himself very much to himself. He was bright enough academically, but he was overweight to the point of being obese and he was subjected to a lot of cruel bullying at school. Gavin was protective towards his young brother, often getting into fights with the louts who were bullying him. Initially, I found Tommy very difficult to communicate with, but once I won his confidence, I got to know him quite well. A couple of years ago – he was thirteen at the time – he confided in me that he was struggling to come to terms with his sexuality. He had a crush on one of the older boys in his school – and he had no interest whatsoever in girls. His biggest problem at the time was that he had no one he felt he could talk to about it. Thinking you might be homosexual in a predominately heterosexual world is difficult enough to cope with when you’re thirteen, but it’s a lot worse when you don’t know anyone who shares your feelings – and it’s not at all helped by having an uncle who continually goes on about how much he enjoys duffing up queers.’
‘Charming!’ Tony interjected.
‘When Tommy plucked up the courage to tell me how he felt, I suggested he talk things through with his guidance teacher, who happened to be John Murdoch.’ Charlie could see moisture forming at the corners of Lesley’s sky-blue eyes. She blinked away her tears as she took a tissue from her pocket to dab at her eyes. ‘That didn’t work out well,’ she said quietly, blowing her nose hard into the tissue.
Charlie took out his notebook and pen. ‘What can you tell us about Tommy’s relationship with John Murdoch?’ he asked.
‘At first, everything seemed to be going well. Tommy was more upbeat than I’d seen him in a long time. He told me that Murdoch was prepared to discuss everything with him – and that he was sympathetic and understanding. I took a step back at that point because I considered Murdoch to be a lot better equipped to provide advice and guidance to Tommy on such matters than I was.’ Lesley’s fingers twitched across her mouth. ‘I didn’t do Tommy any favours,’ she added.