‘Not the woman who was found murdered, is it?’ replied Yvonne, the receptionist.
It never ceased to amaze Brown how quickly bad news circulated in a city of over half a million people.
‘Sorry, I can’t say.’
‘OK but I don’t think so. Do you have a photo?’
‘Sorry; not at the moment; no. So no-one has failed to return to book out as far as you know?’
‘No but that is not as unusual as you might think. Some people are even happy to leave a few things behind.’
‘Did that happen here over the last few days?’ he asked.
‘Not that I know of but I wasn’t on duty over the week-end, it was a girl called Ivana and she’s actually left now to go to another job.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
Brown had only walked ten yards from the hotel when he turned back.
‘You said people don’t come back and that they sometimes leave things behind.’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Definitely nothing left behind by a non-returner in the last few days?’
‘No. Anything that’s found in a room is stuffed under reception here. Sometimes people come back weeks later.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
Brown handed the girl his card and cursed all the way back to his car. He’d have to go back to the other five hotels and ask about articles left in rooms.
Fucking hell.
*
Ivana Jakonowski had gotten a much better job. She enjoyed the variety in the Cathedral House; bar, reception, chambermaid….but the chicken factory was nearer her Red Road flat and her wages had gone up to £4.25 per hour. She hadn’t forgotten about the nice red suitcase she had found behind the bathroom door in Room 6 after the room’s guest had checked out. She knew she should have left it at reception and not on a shelf in the cleaning cupboard, but she had done her 12 hours and just wanted to get home. Someone would find it.
***
Matt Healy had never dated another cop but Susan Dornan could be the exception. She was smart, good looking and, most important of all, he liked her. He hadn’t ever had problems with woman in the past exactly; it was just that he never felt entirely relaxed in partnerships, but he was at ease with Susan. He was sure she was interested in him.
‘Fancy a drink, Susan?’
‘When? Tonight?’ Dornan replied. She hoped not, she was planning a night on the razz with the girls. To celebrate life.
‘Yeah, if that’s OK?’
‘Sure.’ The girls could wait. Healy must have something in his head concerning the case, something bothering him maybe.
‘Fine, The Horse Shoe at eight? Maybe get something to eat, plenty of Chinkies about.’
‘Fine.’ Susan noticed that Healy was as P C as ever, but at least he wasn’t swearing.
Paul Allan came back into the office to write up his notes.
‘Allan, you fucking skiver, where have you been?’
‘Sir, I’ve been trying to trace the hotel Kate Turner was staying in. Like you ordered, sir.’
‘And did you?’
‘No sir.’
‘Fucking useless you are Allan. Tea, no sugars, on a diet’ said Healy, gently tapping his stomach.
‘How do you know she was staying in a hotel, sir?’
‘I don’t; but where else you going to stay in a city you don’t live in, if not your maw’s or pal's.’
‘I was thinking, sir...’
‘Who told you to think? In the job ten minutes and you’re fucking Colombo!’
‘It’s just that, well, rings not on her fingers, what about a boyfriend? Or ex-boyfriend?’
Healy smiled to himself. He and Dornan had already put the ‘boyfriend thought’ in the mix back at the crime scene, but the ex-bit had possibilities. At least the lad was thinking.
‘You got any ex-girlfriends Allan?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Only surprise there was you having a girlfriend in the first place. And would any of your many ex loves want to meet up with you again in the future for passionate sex?’
‘Don’t know, sir. I didn’t necessarily sleep with all of them.’
Healy didn’t know if the lad was winding him up or not, but he was beginning to take a shine to him.
‘Wee prick in more ways than one then? OK. Go speak to Martha Reid; ask her about Kate’s old boyfriends. Use your obvious charm with the ladies and see if a current boyfriend was a possibility.’
‘Right, sir.’
DC Allan was just leaving the squad room when Healy called him back.
‘Allan, two more things. Check with Martha Reid about Kate’s girlfriends; could have been a lesbo, or bi, and watch Martha doesn’t try and bed you, you being so irresistible and all.’
The few squad officers in the room laughed; Susan Dornan knew she should be squirming, regretting agreeing to a drink, but she wasn’t regretting it. Despite herself she quite liked Healy; not in a romantic way, more a respectful way, his uncompromising manner.
***
Joe Turner could have stayed at Martha Reid’s, she offered, or with me, but he felt it would be best if he had somewhere he could retreat to…. be alone. I respected him for that; even if I was a little surprised at him admitting to an emotional side. He opted instead for a B & B close to Martha but, more importantly, close to the numerous pubs in Partick and Byres Road. The police knew where Joe would be “should they need him.” We were sitting in a bar trying to make sense of the last few days. Joe was still reeling from his grilling from Healy and Dornan.
‘The wankers think I did it, Ray! Killed my own wife, for fuck’s sake. How can they think that, Ray?’
‘They don’t, Joe. They just have to cover every angle, that’s all. Trust me; I know how these things work. They just needed to eliminate you so they could concentrate on looking elsewhere. They have to think of the husband first on these occasions Joe and, to be honest, they’re usually right. It usually is the husband.’
‘I was in Spain, for God’s sake!’
‘Once they establish that then you’ll be fine....well…not fine….but you know what I mean.’
Joe Turner’s head was bowed over the table, his eyes fixed on the top of a pint of lager.
‘Yeah, well slight problem there.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Yes...No. Well yeah... I was.... it’s just that I wasn’t there all the time.’
‘What are you talking about, Joe?’
I thought I was going to faint; last night’s thoughts roaring through my brain.
‘You know how things were with Kate and me, Ray, a man has his needs.’
‘What? You were with another woman?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, as long as she confirms that, then you’re fine. The police aren’t here to judge your morals, Joe.’
Joe still looked peevish. Another thought came to me.
‘Christ, you were in Spain, weren’t you?’ I was indignant; I didn’t quite know why.
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, then. You’ll have to get a hold of the woman. Get her to back your story up.’
‘Well, that’s the thing. She’s married. Spanish...catholic....no chance...wouldn’t even ask.’
‘Fuck that, Joe. This is lying to the police in a murder enquiry, Kate’s murder in case you’ve forgotten. You got to get her to back you up.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘Well, I was wondering if you would cover for me.’
All my fears over everything surrounding the last few days swamped my brain. I couldn’t really fathom what Joe, was saying, asking.
‘What? How? Joe are you off your fucking head? I’m a lawyer, for Christ’s sake. ’
‘All to the good. Say you were over on holiday. We went up the mountains camping.’
‘Have you ever been camping in Spain? Or anywhere else for that bloody matter?’
‘
No.’
I couldn’t believe I was actually having this conversation but, more importantly, I wanted to know why Joe was having it.
‘And what about my passport…and the fact that I was in my office, my legal practice that is, Joe…..every day. You’ve lost it, Joe.’
‘Is it any wonder?’
I looked across at him. My anger dissipating slightly as I studied his apparently broken frame but there was still something Joe wasn’t telling me.
‘Where were you doing this shagging? Maybe the hotel staff would remember you.’
‘Edinburgh.’
‘What! You telling me you were only 30 bloody miles away from where Kate was murdered?’
‘Seems so, yeah.’
‘Sweet mother of God, Joe. You’ve got to tell the police, Joe. You’ve got to.’
‘I’m going to risk it. My staff are all half pissed or worse most of the time. Don’t know if it’s New Year or New York. They’ll probably just say I was there or they can’t remember. I think I’ll be OK’
‘Suit yourself, Joe, but you’re being stupid, really stupid. And you can leave me out of it.’
An uneasy silence fell between us. I felt I was going to throw up again. I couldn’t fathom out what Joe was thinking. Wasn’t sure I wanted to.
‘Listen, Joe, I’ve got to get back to work tomorrow. It’s really busy at the moment and I’ve already had a couple of days off this month.’
‘No problem, Ray; I know you’re a busy guy. I’ll call you. Let you know what’s happening.’
I could sense Joe was glad I was putting some space between us. He realised as soon as he said it that he shouldn’t have told me about Edinburgh, friend or not. In fact, I was even more relieved than Joe was. I just had to get away from him. Get space to think….to think what to do. We walked back to Joe’s B & B, trying to make small talk on the way, but Joe telling me he was only 30 miles away from the scene of Kate’s killing had never left my thoughts. I stood by the window watching out for the taxi I had phoned as he stomped around the room getting ready to go to his bed. I couldn’t really understand his reaction to Kate’s murder. Sure, he was distraught at first; apparently, but now he was quite happy to go out drinking with me and if I didn’t know what had just happened, I wouldn’t have seen much of a difference from the “normal” Joe. In fact earlier in the day he had been bent double with laughter when we had overheard some ladies, apparently from Glasgow’s more up-market West End, who had gotten into conversation with some guys standing beside them and when one of the guys had replied, when asked what he did for a living, that he was a painter; the woman had said: ‘Oh really, landscapes and things?’
The guy had replied: ‘No, fire escapes and things.’
My mind raced. I knew Joe was involved somehow.
Could he have paid someone to do it? Christ, Ray, get a grip, it’s not a movie.
I knew I would have to let the police know, betray my friend. I stood there wondering how I could do it without any direct involvement. It was the police’s job to put the whole thing together; but they needed all the pieces, and if those pieces showed Joe was not involved, then no-one would be happier than me. Joe sat on the edge of his bed, emptying the contents of his pockets on the small pine table beside his bed. He got up and went into the toilet. My taxi blasted its horn impatiently in the street below.
‘Night, Joe,’ I shouted as I passed the bedside table to get to the room door. My glance at the detritus from Joe’s pockets convincing me both of his guilt….. and of how I could guide the police to him.
***
Matt Healy was early. He had planned on getting a couple of halves in before Susan turned up but as he wasn’t a big drinker, he had decided to bin that idea, nerves or no nerves. He’d be fine. He knew he wasn’t being professional. In fact, he didn’t know why he was behaving like this at all, other than that he liked her.
Dornan walked into the Horse Shoe dead on eight o’clock. Matt liked that and thought she looked great. He wished he knew what she thought.
‘What you fancy, Susan?’ asked Healy, an infantile memory hoping she would say “you”.
God what age am I?
‘G and T thanks, loads of ice,’ replied Susan.
‘Grab that booth in the corner, I’ll bring them over.’ Matt Healy ordered a half of lager.
‘What’s the latest with the case Matt; I’ve been in court all afternoon.’ Healy knew that, he always knew where she was.
‘Bloody waste of time that was too. Sat about all day, then the case gets adjourned for God knows what. That’s the third bloody time. Had a laugh, though. Listen to this. You know that snooty young defence lawyer, Price I think his name is; the one who thinks he’s the new Beltrami? He’s questioning a wee arse from Drumchapel, and he says to the guy:
‘You say you went to your friend’s house that night for a tap. Is that correct?’
‘Aye.’
‘Are you a plumber?’
‘Naw.’
‘Ah, so to use the vernacular, you went to borrow money?’
‘Naw.’
‘No, well what kind of tap are you referring to?’
‘A Selic tap.’
The judge had to adjourn the case for ten minutes.’
‘Welcome to the world of Glasgow Courts counsellor’ smirked Healy.
He looked at his drink for a moment and continued. ‘Kate Turner wasn’t killed where we found her, but we kind of guessed that. About a mile, mile and a half tops, up river according to the local gillie, river man or whatever the fuck you call them. Sorry...thought I was talking to Allan for a moment. I’ve organised a search from about a mile and a half up river to where the body was found for tomorrow morning. I hope that’s OK with you; I’m not trying to by-pass you or anything? It’s to see if we can find the actual kill site; not to try and take over.’ Matt Healy was blushing. Susan Dornan blushed as well. She thought it was sweet he was making such an effort but he surely doesn’t think...oh shit.
‘Right.’
‘Forensics got loads of stuff from the phone box and crime scene, well, from where she was found; they’re trying to match it up as we speak. Maybe the killer had a conscience, doubt it, though. Where do we go from here, do you think?’
‘Well, I think all we can do is to speak to Joe Turner and Martha Reid again; and Julie Connor, see if we can get anywhere. Any luck with where she might have been staying?’
‘Naw, needle in the proverbial haystack stuff. I don’t think she wanted anyone to be able to find out where she was staying. For her own reasons obviously.’
‘Man?’
‘Man.’
They had another couple of drinks and chatted pretty aimlessly. Susan thought Matt Healy was lonely; which was a shame, but she couldn’t help him there. Definitely no way! Healy appeared to have forgotten that he had suggested a Chinese meal; and didn’t react when Dornan said she was moving on to a club to meet up with some friends. She was relieved she had only altered her previous arrangements and not cancelled them.
Chapter 5
Jill French had been put in charge of supervising the river bank search. It had proved to be a pretty futile exercise; as nowhere on the mile and a half stretch of both sides of the river had thrown up any connection to either the victim, or any signs of a violent incident having taken place. Except one unusual find which Jill French was showing to Dornan and Healy back at H.Q. It was a business card.
“Azrael. Retribution & Vengeance.”
‘Where was this found?’ asked Dornan.
‘It was on a tree by the river. Quite close to The Four Pillars as it happens. A police constable saw it, by chance really’ replied French.
‘What do you think it means?’
‘No idea, ma’am. Maybe an ad for a heavy metal band or something. Nothing probably.’
‘OK. Have it sent to the lab anyway.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And, Jill. Well done.’
***
Joe Turner, my friend and now client, and I were sitting in a bright, but nevertheless bleak, interview room in Pitt Street Police Headquarters. I couldn’t say whether Joe’s head was spinning or he was feeling under any sort of pressure. I only knew that I was. I was also aware of how attractive D.I. Susan Dornan was. The introductions were made, the tape machine switched on, and the roll call of those present made ‘for the benefit of the tape.’
‘Alright, Joe, how are you coping?’ asked Matt Healy.
‘Alright,’ replied a bedraggled Joe.
‘We need to go over one or two things. Anything you want to tell us first?’
‘No.’
‘OK. Joe we’ve spoken to a couple of members of your staff in The Star and Garter and they said that you told them you were going to be away on business the week-end Kate was killed, for four days to be exact.’
‘No, they’re pissheads…that was the week-end before.’
‘Right. Where were you away to on business?’
‘Madrid.’
‘How did you get there?’
‘Drove.’
‘Long way.’
‘Yeah.’
‘OK, so you were in the Costa Brava last week-end?’
‘Yeah.’
My quandary was complete. I knew then that I should have dismissed myself from representing him, but Joe wasn’t stupid. He had thought over things and when we had met up outside the station he had told me that he had only been kidding about being in Edinburgh ‘winding you up mate.’ I had to defend my client’s position even if I didn’t believe what he was saying for one minute; or at least say nothing.
‘How come none of your staff in The George saw you either, then?’
‘Cause they’re all arseholes as well.’
‘Need to do better than that, Joe. Somebody has to have seen you.’
‘Loads of people, yeah.’
‘Fine. Names?’
‘God. I don’t know...loads. Juan.’
The Initial Blow Page 7