by Tana Collins
‘Give me the bloody phone, Dougie. I’m in the middle of an important call.’
‘Well, what did you say to him? Am I going to be up on charge? I need to know.’
‘Dougie,’ said Fletcher making a successful lunge for the phone. ‘Did anyone ever tell you that there are two gs in bugger off? Now do one.’ She glared at Harris as she returned the phone to her ear. ‘Yes, sorry, I’m still here. No, I’m not telling you to bugger off.’ Fletcher felt her face burning in mortification. ‘Just having a bit of station banter with a colleague.’ She scowled at Harris, who finally tutted and stomped out. ‘No, the person I need to check is a Lewis Adamson. I believe he was playing for your pub. I want to check the time the tournament started, where it was played and how far the Saltire got in the tournament. Yes, if you can get that information to me as soon as possible that would be great.’ Fletcher gave him her number, thanked him and hung up.
Fletcher wondered if she had time to check Russell’s alibi before Harris interrupted her again. She had worked with him long enough to know that he didn’t easily let things go. She should have expected Harris would assume it was her that had grassed him up.
Harris walked back into the office, shirtsleeves rolled up. Fletcher’s heart sank.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘Well, what?’
‘I want to know what you said to Boy Wonder.’
‘I haven’t said anything.’ Fletcher stood up. Even though she was only five foot two she would rather face a belligerent Harris standing up than sitting down. Harris had moved to her side of the desk and now he stood right in front of her, invading her personal space. Fletcher took a step backwards and immediately regretted it. She didn’t want Harris to know that she felt intimidated. He would love to know she was feeling uncomfortable. She felt tears prick her eyes. She wasn’t usually given to displays of emotion but recently her moods had been all over the place.
‘Look, believe what you bloody well like, Dougie, but like I said, I haven’t told Jim anything. He just asked me how the interview went. I told him everything was fine. I didn’t mention what happened in the pub.’
Harris was looking at her, hands on hips, one eyebrow raised.
‘Well, if it wisnae you, who was it? If I find out you are lying to me, I’ll–’
‘Oh wind your neck in, will you? For the last time, I haven’t said anything. I might not agree with your tactics for getting information from suspects, but I’m not going to grass you up, either.’ She reached over for her now cold cup of tea. ‘By the way, I hear the station’s running an anger management course. I suggest you go on it. That temper of yours will be the end of your career one of these days.’
Harris swore and left the room. Fletcher sighed. She wondered how Jim had found out and so quickly. She supposed she could be wrong. Perhaps Adamson or Russell had been on the phone after all. Then she remembered Jim’s phone had been ringing when he left the office. Callum Russell? Taking a deep breath she steepled her hands in front of her face. The knock-on effect, of course, was that she wasn’t exactly going to be popular with Jim when he found out she’d been keeping things from him. Some coppers would take that as a personal affront. She hoped he wasn’t one of them. She bit her lip. She wished she’d managed to tell him of her pregnancy before the Adamson and Russell interviews.
She dug out the number of the Crematorium and made the call. It was as Callum Russell had told Dougie. The funeral of Ethel Annie Russell had taken place at 3pm.
As she hung up, she wondered how Dougie had written up his interview notes, seeing as the interview had been conducted in the gents’ toilet. Nosiness got the better of her. She went over to his desk. How he managed to find anything on it was beyond her. The place was a midden. Cups of cold coffee; sticky orange stains of what she suspected were Irn-Bru; and underneath his police manual, a copy of Playboy. He really is a throwback to the 1970s, she thought with disgust. She couldn’t find any paperwork on the interviews so she went back to her own desk and sat, deep in thought.
Fletcher now needed to find the information on where the wake had been held. She flipped through her black notebook again. Whitecraigs Golf Club. Apparently the family had hired it from 4pm onwards. Of course, Fletcher was aware that while Russell might have been at the wake, that didn’t preclude him from having ducked out for a couple of hours. This was only one step on the road to alibi corroboration. It was such a large dysfunctional family and all the members had the tendency to drink a lot and close ranks when questioned. Jim was right: was it really much of an alibi?
***
Carruthers bunched his fists. He could feel the heat of the flush spreading up his neck into his face. The phone call he’d taken had been a complaint from the pub landlord of the Saltire. The landlord wanted to report DS Dougie Harris for assaulting one of his customers – none other than Callum Russell.
His anger was directed towards both Harris and Fletcher. He was disappointed in Harris, but not surprised. But he couldn’t help but feel resentful of Fletcher for not having told him. He knew he’d feel differently once he’d calmed down. If he’d been in Fletcher’s position he would have been tempted to do exactly the same thing and keep quiet. Squealing on a fellow cop was just not done. It certainly wouldn’t win you any friends. In fact, it would make life very difficult. Fletcher was ambitious. She wouldn’t want to rock the boat. He would deal with Harris later. He turned his attention to Dave Roberts.
Carruthers hadn’t yet got an angle on why Roberts had lied to Siobhan about reporting Evans missing to the police, if he had indeed lied. He knew stress did strange things to people. There was a chance Siobhan had remembered events wrongly. Even so, he was keen to get Roberts’ version. There was a possibility Siobhan had lied, but it wasn’t a thought he wanted to entertain. ’Of course, as a policeman he was used to people lying to him; but his gut instinct told him Siobhan wouldn’t deliberately lie. He wanted to be proved right. Right now, he was keener than ever to meet and interview Roberts, who seemed to be at the centre of so much.
***
‘You can’t interview Roberts,’ said the RAF policeman who had been phoned from the sentry gates.
‘Why not?’ said Carruthers, looking at the man’s close-set eyes and boozy unsmiling face. Carruthers disliked him on sight. ‘This may be a murder investigation. We’re wasting valuable time.’
‘You can’t interview Roberts because he’s gone AWOL.’
Carruthers was flabbergasted. ‘AWOL?’
‘Absent without leave. He didn’t turn up for guard duty today.’
‘I know what AWOL means. I’m just finding it difficult to believe Roberts has disappeared – that’s all. We have one dead lad from the base on our hands as it is. Now a second’s gone AWOL. You have to admit, it looks bad, especially given Roberts may have been the last person to see Evans alive. According to Evans’ girlfriend, Roberts claims he reported Evans missing to us. However, there’s no evidence that that call was ever made.’
‘I wouldn’t give that too much significance,’ said the RAF policeman. ‘One of your lot probably just forgot to pass on the message.’
Carruthers’ face reddened. ‘Well, given the seriousness of the situation, can I at least see Evans’ room? Or interview this third man, Sean Coombe?’
‘No on both counts,’ responded the man with a sneer. ‘Not without a warrant.’
‘Can I see Roberts’ room?’ persisted Carruthers.
‘I’m not in the habit of repeating myself. Not without a search warrant. I’d like you to leave now.’
‘You realise you’re being obstructive, don’t you?’ said Carruthers, his temper finally starting to fray. ‘I want to see your superior.’
‘And I’m sure he would like to see you. After all, you’re trespassing.’ He picked up the phone.
‘No, I’m not.’
‘I asked you to leave. And you’re still here.’
Carruthers’ heart sank.
There was an unc
omfortable few minutes whilst both men awaited the arrival of the group captain. Carruthers decided to brazen it out rather than beat a hasty retreat. He hoped he had made the right decision. He ran his finger around the inside of his collar and felt the sweat on his neck.
‘Does Superintendent Bingham know you’re here?’ Group Captain Philips, head of RAF Police, was a balding pug-faced individual. He came striding towards Carruthers.
‘Bingham? What’s he got to do with anything?’ said Carruthers, a sense of foreboding already creeping in.
‘Maybe I’ll give him a call. We were at school together, at Winchester, and I’ll lay odds he doesn’t know anything about your visit here today. Well, does he?’ persisted Philips.
Carruthers remained silent. Trust the old boy’s network to be flourishing, even in Fife. If he had his way he would do away with all public schools.
‘Well, are you going to leave, or am I going to have to get you escorted off the premises? The RAF Police will be taking the lead in this enquiry. If I need your help I’ll ask for it.’ said Philips.
Carruthers put his hands up. ‘Alright, alright,’ said Carruthers. ‘I’m leaving.’
‘See that you do.’
Carruthers turned to go but shot over his shoulder, ‘Just to give you the heads-up I’ll be back with a search warrant. Rhys Evans was killed off base. It’s our investigation, not yours.’
Carruthers allowed himself a self-satisfied smile when he saw the man’s face reddening. He stepped outside as he heard the group captain shout at a couple of loitering uniforms to escort ‘the inspector’ off the base. The sneer in the man’s voice was unmistakeable. Swearing under his breath, he began to walk away.
‘Inspector?’
Startled, Carruthers turned round. This was not one of the men Philips had been shouting at. This man had materialised from another direction altogether. A nondescript man with mousey hair and a weedy light brown moustache had fallen in step beside him. He reminded Carruthers of a ferret. A nervous ferret wearing an RAF uniform.
‘I’m Sean Coombe,’ he said. ‘The man you want to talk to.’
Carruthers wondered how Coombe could possibly have known who he was. ‘Coombe? You know Evans and Roberts?’
The man glanced around him. ‘Listen, we have to make this short. I can’t be seen talking to you.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘I know Dave’s gone AWOL. It’s all over the base. Is it true Rhys has been murdered?’
‘It’s looking that way. What do you know about it?’
‘Like I said, I can’t be seen talking to you. It’s too dangerous.’
‘Dangerous?’ Carruthers halted abruptly and turned to face Coombe. ‘If you know something you have to tell me.’
‘Keep walking,’ said Coombe.
‘Who are you afraid of?’
‘Evans was a nice guy. Roberts isn’t. I don’t know who killed Evans but I’d imagine it’s the men Roberts is working for.’
‘You mean the RAF?’ said Carruthers, confused.
Coombe laughed mirthlessly. ‘No, not the RAF. His other paymasters. Look, I don’t know anything for sure. All I can tell you is that Roberts has got himself involved with people he shouldn’t. Dangerous people. I’ve said enough. Don’t contact me again. And if anyone asks, this conversation never happened.’
With that Coombe took a sharp left and walked smartly into the NAAFE, leaving Carruthers looking quizzically at his retreating back.
***
The man with the binoculars pretended to be looking at a road map when the policeman passed him. He recognised the steel-haired cop with the athletic gait from Bell Street and Edgecliffe. Wondered if he would be a menace. Did he need to be disposed of? Wasn’t interested in going on a killing spree but had no qualms about killing a policeman.
Had seen Sean Coombe talk to the cop through the binoculars. Wondered just what had been said. Had been told Coombe might be a liability. But Coombe would soon be out of the picture and, as far as he was concerned, Coombe didn’t know enough to jeopardise his plans. Taking one last drag on his cigarette, he flicked it out of the window. Taking out his mobile he made the call. Organised a rendezvous to shift the Semtex.
***
‘I need a search warrant. Fast tracked,’ said Carruthers back at the station. He was facing a pile of paperwork.
‘For RAF Edenside?’ questioned Fletcher, putting down her mug of tea. ‘At this time of day? It probably won’t come through till tomorrow.’ She looked at her watch.
‘Something’s going on at the base. I spoke with Sean Coombe. He was shit scared.’
‘What about? Evans’ death?’
‘And Roberts’ disappearance,’ said Carruthers.
‘So they’re linked?’
‘He seems to think so. Thinks Roberts is involved in something dangerous.’
‘What?’
‘Didn’t say. But Coombe obviously knew more than he’s letting on. Talked about Roberts having another paymaster besides the RAF.’
‘What did he mean?’
‘No idea,’ said Carruthers.
‘Is he allowed to have a second job?’
‘I don’t think it’s legit. Look, I’ve got somewhere else to be now but I’ve made up my mind. Tomorrow morning I’m going back to the base to interview Coombe. Set it up for me, will you? Through the official channels. Don’t want my balls squeezed by Bingham any more than they’re already going to be.’
‘What if Coombe’s too scared to talk?’ said Fletcher.
‘We could offer him police protection?’
‘Whilst he’s in the RAF? How would that work?’
‘Could be done. We’d need the cooperation from the RAF of course.’ I haven’t made a good start, he thought ruefully. Good luck with that one. ‘I’m heading off.’
Fletcher looked up surprised. ‘Bit early, isn’t it?’
He tried to ignore her sniffing, it was discreet, but he spotted it. Wondered if she could smell the aftershave he’d freshly applied. ‘I’ll be on the mobile.’
‘Business or pleasure,’ she called after him.
‘Business,’ he replied and left the room.
***
Carruthers got behind the wheel of his car, hesitated for a fraction of a second then turned the ignition on. He knew that he shouldn’t be going alone but he wanted to make sure Siobhan Mathews was OK. He wondered if she’d remembered anything else that might be useful to the investigation. He wasn’t sure why she felt more comfortable talking to him than Fletcher but he felt the last conversation had proved fruitful. Siobhan was starting to trust him and open up. But still, he shouldn’t be going alone and if anyone at the station found out he could be in serious trouble. He sat in his car weighing up the risks. A couple of minutes went by. Finally, he took the handbrake off and cruised out of the car park.
After approximately a mile Carruthers realised he was being followed, for a second his heart ramped up. A green Beetle was following him. It was keeping its distance two cars behind, but not covert enough to be unseen. There was only one person he knew who drove such a car. What the hell was Fletcher doing following him? He took a sharp left and momentarily the green Beetle was out of sight. However, when the road straightened up there it was again. He drove another mile or so, then pulled off the road sharply when it was safe to do so. He waited for the Beetle to catch him up.
Both of them got out of their cars. Carruthers slammed his door just a little bit too forcibly. He marched up to her. ‘What the hell are you doing tailing me, Andie?’
He could tell she was embarrassed: she was avoiding eye contact with him. ‘I was worried about you. You’re going to see Siobhan Mathews, aren’t you?’
Carruthers tried to keep his expression unreadable. ‘I’m going to see her for work reasons.’
‘It isn’t my place to say this, but I think you’re making a mistake.’
Carruthers bunched his fists. ‘What I’m going to Edgecliffe for is none of your business.’
> ‘You’re not going for work reasons though, are you? You’re wearing aftershave.’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake. Are you my bloody mother? If you must know, I’m going to interview her about Evans’ relationship to Sean Coombe. Wearing aftershave isn’t a crime. I’ve been working all day. Anyway, what the hell am I doing justifying myself to you?’
‘Well then, let me do the interview. After all, it isn’t really a job for a DCI, is it? You’ve got to trust me some time, you know. I’ll do a good job. Scout’s honour.’
He turned on her, couldn’t help himself. ‘I don’t think I’m the one with the trust issues, do you? Although God knows I should be.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ But he could see it from her sheepish face she already knew.
‘What do you think I mean by it? I know about this morning’s interviews. What the hell were you thinking letting Harris beat Callum Russell up and then not telling me?’
‘Has Russell made a complaint?’
‘The publican has,’ said Carruthers.
‘Shit.’ Her eyes were downcast. ‘Jim, I’m sorry. You know how hard it is to rein Dougie in.’
‘You should have said something.’
‘I know.’ Fletcher let out a long sigh. ‘Would you have said anything in my position?’
‘I can understand why you didn’t. But you have to trust me. And more important, I have to trust you.’
‘You can trust me.’
‘Can I?’
‘Yes. I made a mistake. I’m sorry. What about the interview with Siobhan Mathews, Jim?’
‘Go on then. You conduct it. I could do with an early night.’ He opened his door. ‘Be in tomorrow at 8am.’ He got into the car and slammed the door.
‘Jim?’
He opened the car window and put his head out. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m sorry. About earlier. The interviews. I was in a difficult position. Nobody likes a snitch.’
Carruthers eyeballed her. ‘I realise that. But you have to understand where your loyalties lie. They are with me.’ He started the ignition.