by Lin Anderson
‘I’ll have to phone into work. Tell them I’m sick or something.’
‘You do that.’
‘How long before I have to tell them the truth?’
‘The sooner the better, and certainly before the newspapers get a hold of it.’
‘You’re going to tell the press?’
‘Believe me, I won’t need to.’
McGeehan looked defeated in every way possible.
‘Can I go to the toilet?’
Bill nodded his agreement. As he listened to the water running in the bathroom he mulled over McGeehan’s story. He’d said he’d assumed his older brother’s identity to avoid debts. Bill wondered if the younger McGeehan had form too, and if so, for what?
The tap was still in full flow. What was McGeehan doing in there?
Bill went to check on him. The bathroom door was closed and the light on. Bill knocked, and when there was no answer, he called out, ‘Mr McGeehan, are you all right?’
Still no answer.
Realisation hit Bill like a sledgehammer as he threw open the door on an empty bathroom. McGeehan was gone, probably since shortly after he’d left the sitting room. He’d turned on the tap loudly enough for Bill to hear and simply sneaked out the front door.
He’d been played for a sucker. Thirty years on the force and he’d bought into McGeehan’s sob story, even fetched the bastard a whisky. If he hadn’t been so angry, Bill would have laughed. McGeehan was a professional, no doubt about that, but he doubted if he was an accountant.
‘You lost him, Sir?’ DS Clark couldn’t disguise her surprise.
Bill ignored the question. ‘I need a SOCO team round here pronto. I want his fingerprints checked and the place gone over.’
‘You think he had something to do with the Rosevale victim?’
‘He says he’s his brother, name of Tony – find out if that’s true. Check “Anthony”, both spellings, too. I want as much as you can get on this guy by the time I get back from the post mortem.’ A tall order, especially since he was the one who had lost the suspect.
‘Yes, Sir.’
Bill knew he was being unfair, but being pissed on was infectious. He rang off before he could annoy himself further and checked his watch. While he waited for the SOCO team to arrive, he would take a look round. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves and started where he was now, in the fancy sitting room.
Plenty of glass. Even though it was well polished, there were bound to be prints. He opened the cupboards and checked out the DVD collection. Nothing of particular interest. A desk in the corner had a few papers in the drawer. He was suddenly struck by the lack of computer equipment. If McGeehan was working in finance, surely he would have a PC, and at least a laptop? Bill tried to recall if he’d seen one when he came in. He went to the front door and retraced his steps.
There had been a laptop case next to the coat stand. McGeehan had been about to leave for work when Bill arrived. And he’d taken the laptop with him when he did a runner.
31
‘What do we do now?’
‘Nothing.’
Ben rolled his eyes at Liam, exasperated. ‘We’ve got to keep trying.’
‘She says we’ve not to break into any more cinemas. She told me to leave it to the police. So that’s what I’m doing.’ Liam turned his attention back to his coursework.
Ben stood for a moment, undecided. Liam heard him mutter a word under his breath, which might have been ‘wanker’, then he marched out.
Liam slammed the Physics textbook shut. He couldn’t solve anything. Not the physics problem he’d been set earlier by his tutor, and not what had happened to Jude. Let’s face it, he was a wanker.
No wonder Rhona wanted him off her back.
He pushed the book and notepad away. He should go and apologise to Ben, who was a good mate; suggest they go for a pint together. But Ben would only see this as an opportunity to discuss Jude again. Liam couldn’t face that.
He swallowed, tasting again the fear he’d experienced when he’d heard they’d found a body in the river. What if that body had been Jude? The truth was he’d begun to believe she was dead and that it was only a matter of time before her body was discovered. He realised he’d stopped searching, not because of Rhona, but because he didn’t want to be the one to find her. Seeing the coat lying on the floor of the Govanhill projection room had been bad enough.
He shook his head, dispelling the image, and stood up. Agitated, he knew that studying wasn’t an option. He would take a walk. He could hear music from Ben’s room, playing even louder than usual. Liam hesitated outside the door then decided not to go in. He would try to walk off his frustration, then text Ben to meet up later for a drink.
He set off on foot in the direction of Sauchiehall Street, with the vague idea of calling into the halls of residence and speaking to Charlie.
When he got there Charlie wasn’t in his office, so Liam went upstairs to check on Jude’s room. The door was closed and a length of police tape was still strung across it. The sight of the tape just reinforced his feelings of failure.
The girl from the neighbouring room emerged, no longer wearing the 3-D glasses. She observed him with concern.
‘No sign of Jude yet?’
Liam shook his head.
‘D’you want to come in for a coffee?’
Liam nodded. Why not?
‘I’m Aurora, by the way. And you’re Liam. Jude told me about you.’
Liam was slightly taken aback. He’d never imagined Jude talking to anyone about him. As he entered the room it struck him that the name Aurora seemed appropriate for its occupant. The walls were festooned with bizarre luminescent pictures – a psychedelic wonderland. On a large computer screen in the corner was a similar image which she appeared to have been working on.
Aurora registered his startled gaze. ‘My project. Three dimensional computer-generated worlds. That’s why I wear the funny glasses.’ She switched on a small kettle and spooned coffee into two mugs. ‘No milk, I’m afraid.’ She gestured for Liam to take the one easy chair. ‘Jude’s project on old cinemas was going really well. She’d used light to give the impression that ghostlike people were sitting in the rows of empty seats. Really spooky. And sort of profound.’ She looked to Liam for confirmation of this.
He nodded as though he’d understood and appreciated Jude’s work, but inside he felt he’d let her down. He hadn’t shown any interest in it at all.
‘She wanted to capture the magic of the places. Show what they meant to the people who went there,’ Aurora said. She handed him his mug of coffee and sat on the bed. ‘Jude didn’t do small talk. That’s why she never went to parties. She only talked about things she was passionate about. Like her photographs. And no one was allowed in her room. That’s what was so odd about that night.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought I heard a man’s voice from her room. I assumed it was Charlie. He often takes a walk round the corridors to check everything’s OK.’
‘But you said you just heard noises.’
‘I’d been at a party. When you’re drunk you don’t remember half of what happens. It’s just recently bits and pieces have started coming back.’
‘Did you tell the police this?’
‘I only just remembered. I’m not even sure it’s true.’
Liam tried to imagine what that might mean. Had Jude stood him up because she was meeting someone else? Had she brought the guy back here? He didn’t like to think what the noises might have been if that was the case. But why was the room trashed? And where was Jude now? God, even though the idea of it burned him he half hoped she was holed up with this guy somewhere, unaware of the search for her.
No, that wasn’t a possibility. Jude never did things spontaneously, and she would never have left her room looking like that. And what about the missing laptop and the film reel?
‘Did Jude say anything to you about the old film reel she had in her room?’
; ‘The porno flick?’
‘You knew about it?’
‘She said she found it in an old cinema. She thought it was too damaged to run on a projector so she was digitally photographing the frames. How weird is that? An old black and white gay porn movie.’
‘You know it went missing from her room?’
Aurora looked surprised. ‘No. Is that significant?’
‘Did Jude talk to anyone else about the film?’
The girl thought for a moment. ‘She was in contact with old cinema internet sites, I know that. Wait a minute, there was a guy who got in touch with her. She said he collected old reel-to-reel films. She was quite excited about that.’
‘Did she meet him?’
Aurora shrugged.
‘Did you tell the police about this guy?’
‘It wasn’t until you mentioned the film going missing that I remembered him.’ She looked worried. ‘Maybe I should phone that policeman.’
‘No. It’s OK. I’ll tell him.’ Liam drank down the remainder of his coffee and stood up. ‘I have to go.’
She nodded, scribbling a number on a Post-it. ‘If you hear anything?’
‘I’ll call you.’
Ben was still in his room with the music turned up. Liam knocked on the door.
‘Ben?’
If Ben did hear, he was choosing to ignore him.
‘Fancy a pint?’ Liam called through the door.
Seconds later, the door opened and his flatmate eyed him warily.
‘Sorry,’ said Liam.
‘Forget it, mate. Pub?’
Liam nodded.
He kept his news to himself until they were settled in the pub and nursing their pints. Ben listened with interest.
‘Well, well, well. That changes things a bit,’ he said thoughtfully when Liam had finished.
‘What d’you think?’
‘I’d say Jude’s been abducted by someone who knew about the film.’
‘Isn’t that jumping to conclusions?’
‘Were you ever invited into her room?’
‘No. She made me wait outside the door.’
Ben raised an eyebrow. ‘There you go then. In your version, Jude brought this guy home, had noisy sex with him – trashing her room in the process – then left with her laptop and the film to hole up at his place and have more of the same?’
Liam didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.
‘Way off, bro.’ Ben shook his head. ‘OK, so we have to find this guy. The one who collects the films, or at least says he does.’
‘How do we do that?’
Ben thought for a moment. ‘There might be a way, if you’re lucky enough to have a computer genius for a mate.’
32
‘So?’ Chrissy said.
‘So, what?’
Chrissy grinned. ‘You’ve got the glow.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘It was rubbish?’ Chrissy said in disbelief.
‘Can we change the subject?’
‘Sure, now that I know, we can.’
‘Chrissy …’
‘Right. What’s up for examination this morning? Bodily fluids?’
Rhona ignored that one. Any encouragement and Chrissy could keep the innuendoes going on for ever.
‘Where are you with the Brogan case?’
Chrissy got the message. She gave Rhona a look that said You’re not off the hook yet, then assumed a more serious expression. ‘I’ve put a copy of the bullet report on your desk. Just as I said. It’s not a match for the gun taken from the safe house. So, what d’you want me to do now?’
‘Can you take a look at a coat for me? It might belong to Jude. Liam found it in the Govanhill cinema.’
Chrissy raised an eyebrow. ‘He’s still breaking into cinemas?’
‘Not any more.’ Rhona didn’t want to revisit that story. ‘See if it’s a match for her DNA. And anything else you can find on it.’
‘OK.’
‘I’m going to take a look at the samples I took from Matthew Sinclair before the post mortem.’
They parted company, sparing Rhona from any further discussion of Liam or of Sean, which suited her very well. She didn’t want to think about either of them right now.
She decided to take a look at the ballistics report before she started on the Sinclair evidence. The matching of bullets to guns was one of the simplest principles in forensic science. The grooves around the insides of the barrel, there to increase speed and force, caused matchable ‘rifling’ marks on the bullet. That’s how they knew the bullet that killed Brogan hadn’t come from the SOCA gun. It was a relief to see it in print, although it did nothing to alleviate her concern about McNab’s current well-being.
Rhona put the report to one side and gowned up. The only thing she could do for McNab at the moment was to find a route to his abductor. The night porter’s death might just help with that.
As it was, she had very little to go on before the post mortem: the swabs taken from Sinclair’s head; the water debris caught in his hair, and a hair sample. Toxicology tests would show if Sinclair had been a drug user, which would explain how he’d got involved with someone like Lang.
Before she began, she checked the R2S cinema crime scene. There were a couple of new postings. It seemed a match had come up on the fingerprints of the victim; his name was Dominic McGeehan, and he had an old drugs conviction. There was also a group of new overhead shots of the streets surrounding the Rosevale. Viewing them, it struck her how close the old cinema was to the crime scene at the river. No wonder they’d thought the body might be Jude.
Rhona buried herself in work until the time came to head for the mortuary. Chrissy was nowhere to be seen when she went to get changed, which meant she was still working somewhere in the lab. Rhona decided not to look for her. Chrissy knew where she was headed, anyway.
Bill was gowning up when Rhona arrived.
‘I see you got a match on the mummy’s prints?’ Rhona said as she joined him.
‘Dominic McGeehan. I went to visit him this morning. Alive and well.’
‘What?’
‘Or at least I went to visit the man who stole McGeehan’s identity. He maintains he’s Dominic’s brother. According to him, Dominic moved to the States. The brother, Tony, had debts he couldn’t pay here, so he became Dominic.’
‘Is he in custody?’
‘He got away from me. Played the oldest trick in the book – the “can I use the bathroom” one – and I fell for it.’
‘You can’t win them all,’ said Rhona sympathetically.
‘I’ll try to remember that. As should you. Now, listen. I’ve seen CCTV footage from outside the Rosevale. Liam wasn’t with Jude. That was Jason, the boy who works in the charity shop. They emerged from Rosevale Street together, parted outside the pub. Angus was lying. He’d hinted Jason had been in trouble before but was clean now. Probably the reason he spun me a tale.’
Rhona couldn’t disguise her relief. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me. Thank DS Clark and the poor sod who watched a lifetime of CCTV footage.’
‘You think this Jason might be involved in Jude’s disappearance?’
‘I’ve ordered for him to be brought in. We’ll see what he has to say.’
‘Any word from Petersson on the car?’
Bill shook his head. ‘Let’s hope there’s something soon.’
The barbed wire had been removed, as had the plastic sheet. Rhona was keen to take a closer look at both of them. Most perpetrators had no idea the forensic tale a plastic sheet could tell.
Sinclair’s clothing had been bagged for transfer to the forensic lab. Various items from his pockets were laid out nearby: a wallet and its contents; a mobile phone; a comb and a hairband, no doubt a spare for the ponytail he’d favoured.
The naked body lying on the slab looked gaunt, the exposed arms showing evidence of old needle tracks. Rhona recalled her meeting with the porter, his obvious agitation, the brassy glint of
his eye. She’d assumed it had been just his reaction to the possibility of a freebie from someone he assumed was an escort. But now that she replayed the scene in her head it did seem possible Sinclair had been high on something. Hopefully the Tech department could find out who he’d called that night.
Bill, apparently thinking along the same lines, lifted the mobile with gloved hands and waggled it at Rhona.
‘I’ll see if the Tech guys can get us anything from this. Give me a ring when Sissons delivers his verdict,’ he said.
Rhona didn’t have long to wait.
Sissons had completed the preliminaries and was concentrating on the head wounds. The bullet’s entrance and exit points had already been noted and discussed. The pathologist had made a point of noting the similarity between Brogan’s gunshot wound and Sinclair’s, indicating that both had been at point-blank range. The second wound above the left ear was now under scrutiny.
‘I’ve seen one of these before. Made, I believe, by an electric drill.’ Sissons had come to the same conclusion as Rhona. ‘The last time it punctured the skull and damaged the brain. In this case, the drill hasn’t perforated the bone, although it’s been applied more than once.’ He indicated two smaller marks close by. ‘As a means of persuasion, perhaps?’
As Sissons set about measuring the indentations, Rhona excused herself and went to call Bill. When his mobile went to voicemail she left a brief message confirming the existence of three electric drill injuries to Sinclair’s skull.
Chances were she would find trace evidence on the plastic sheeting of those responsible for preparing Sinclair for his watery grave, but based on the drill attack alone Bill would very soon be bringing Lang in for questioning.
Rhona tried Petersson next, anxious to know if he had made any progress on the car, but there was no answer from him. She had a choice; she could wait for the completion of the PM and transport the items and trace samples to the lab herself, or she could head back there now and call in on Petersson on the way.
Rhona decided on the latter.
On reaching Petersson’s apartment block she pulled over on a yellow line and tried his number again. When the mobile went to voicemail she decided to park anyway, aware that when Petersson was engrossed online he didn’t always pick up. She eventually found a space way past the bridge to the west of the Botanic Gardens and had to walk back. Ten minutes later she arrived at his main door to find someone had wedged it open with a door stop. Noises in the stairwell confirmed that a resident was either moving in or moving out.