by Lin Anderson
Rhona dipped under the yellow tape and used the treads to reach the water’s edge. There was no sign of footprints in the wet ground, nor any broken foliage nearby. It didn’t look as though Cathy had been dumped from this spot.
McNab came and stood outside the tape. ‘Any luck?’
Rhona shook her head. ‘You?’
‘Nothing so far. Land Services are organising a search of the culvert.’
He was trying too hard to look casual, which immediately put Rhona on her guard. She knew Michael McNab too well.
‘How’s the Prof doing?’
‘Bill seems happy enough,’ Rhona said in a neutral fashion.
‘What about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘You know – a woman’s intuition.’
Her woman’s intuition told her McNab was winding her up. ‘Why don’t you ask Judy?’ she suggested, her smile as sweet as McNab’s.
He laughed. ‘You want to be on my tunnel expedition?’
‘Of course.’
‘Tomorrow morning probably. I’ll give you a shout.’
McNab moved off towards the search party, as Rhona hunkered down for a closer look at the embankment.
By the time she returned to the car park, most of the service vehicles had left. Rhona called Chrissy and brought her up to date.
‘And I thought you were still on a jolly with the handsome Viking,’ Chrissy said, placated.
‘Talking of Magnus, he guddled a fish in the Molendinar Burn.’
‘No kidding?’ Chrissy whistled through her teeth. ‘Is there no end to the man’s talents?’
There was a short silence while each waited for the other to speak. Finally Rhona broke it. ‘Any word from Sam?’
It was the question Chrissy had been waiting for. ‘A text. He’s coming to see me tonight.’ She sounded excited.
Rhona wanted desperately to tell her to watch her step.
‘We’ll be careful,’ said Chrissy, reading her mind.
Rhona rang off then, not wanting to labour the point. The Suleiman family wouldn’t give up on Sam, not if they believed he was still alive. If they got the slightest inkling there was a connection between Sam and Chrissy, they wouldn’t hesitate to use her. After the attack on Sean, the jazz club staff had been warned not to discuss Sam with anyone, and to report any suspicious enquiries. It wasn’t enough to stop Rhona worrying.
Chrissy had left the lab by the time Rhona made her way through the evening rush hour. She stored her samples and sat down with a coffee to read through the notes Chrissy had written up in the log book.
Cathy’s clothes had been delivered from the mortuary. One thing caught Rhona’s eye in particular. The plastic boots had trapped some interesting material that might give them a lead on where Cathy entered the water.
Rhona glanced at the clock. She should be on her way home by now, but anything that could help with tomorrow’s search of the culvert would be useful. Rhona settled down to examine the mix of soil, water and vegetable material.
36
DOCHERTY WAS STUDYING his hands, where the red paint had hardened on his skin.
‘You were watching your daughter?’
A bluebottle buzzed around them. Bill wanted to swat it but knew he’d miss.
‘Leanne told us Terri saw you.’
Docherty switched his attention to the fly, as though Bill wasn’t there.
‘We’re trying to save Terri, Mr Docherty.’
The insect settled on the table between them. Docherty approached it from behind, palm open. Caught it in expert fashion.
‘Where is she? Where is Terri, Mr Docherty?’
The fly buzzed frantically in Docherty’s closed fist. Then his hand slammed onto the table and silence fell.
Bill was in danger of losing his temper. Everything about this man set his teeth on edge. After the flash of fear in the boat yard, Docherty had shut down. If he wouldn’t talk, there was nothing they could do to make him.
‘If you were kerb crawling you must have seen Lucie. She worked near Terri. Small girl, half starved, crack addict. Did you watch her too? Someone strangled her with her own bra. That man had salt on his hands. Sea salt.’
Quick as a flash, Docherty’s eyes came up to meet Bill’s. ‘What did you say?’
This was a different Docherty. Alert, interested and calculating.
Bill had silently questioned his decision to mention the salt. It wasn’t common knowledge to anyone outside the investigation. They had kept it from the press releases so as not to alert the killer. Why had he told Docherty? Because he wanted to see his reaction. And to convince himself Docherty wasn’t involved in the murders.
‘There was salt and diesel on the killer’s hands.’
Realisation dawned. ‘That’s why I’m here. You think I did it. You think I killed those lassies.’ Fury erupted on Docherty’s face. ‘You bastards. You pathetic bastards. Some maniac’s got my daughter and the best you can do is blame me!’ Spittle sprayed the table.
‘What have you done with Terri?’
‘You make me sick.’
‘You forbid your daughter to come home. You threaten her. When she walks the streets you follow her. I think you’d had enough. I think you wanted it all to end.’
The anger drained out of Docherty as quickly as it had arrived.
‘We’ve got to keep hoping. That’s what Nora says. Hope. Another fucking word for torture.’ He looked at Bill with haunted eyes. ‘If you had to watch your daughter sell herself. What would you do? Eh?’
Bill couldn’t answer.
By the time Bill let Docherty leave, he knew the man had gone to Glasgow late on Friday night to look for his daughter, intending to take her home. Docherty maintained, despite driving around for an hour, he’d never found Terri.
Geordie had said in his statement that he’d seen Terri get into a black car around ten thirty. He’d waited, but she never came back. The two stories matched, but Bill didn’t see either man as a reliable witness. He still had a vision of Docherty trying to take Terri home and her refusing. What would he have done then?
37
MAGNUS TOOK THE only vacant seat in the room, which was next to Geordie. The strong odour emanating from the old man hit his senses like a sledgehammer. Magnus concentrated on analysing it to weaken its power.
It reminded him of the first sealskin he’d attempted to cure. He’d worked on it in the old smoking shed, but even the lingering scent of salted fish had failed to disguise the mess he’d made of the skin. Eventually, on his mother’s orders, he’d buried it far from the house, watched by the circling seagulls that had followed him to the burial site.
The other men in the room were suffering more than Magnus. Only Geordie looked unconcerned, munching on a chocolate biscuit and slurping a mug of tea. They’d all looked up when Magnus entered, then had returned to studying their hands or the floor between their feet.
Geordie savoured every last taste of chocolate, then held out his hand to Magnus. The skin was wrinkled and grimy but the handshake was warm and firm.
‘Geordie Wilkins.’
‘Magnus Pirie.’
Geordie contemplated the name. ‘Had a mate in the army called Pirie. He was from Orkney. Talked like you.’ Geordie’s eyes grew vague as his mind moved into the past.
Magnus surveyed the other occupants. Brendan Paterson had been there that morning to give his mouth swab. That left Beattie, Ray Irvine and Gary Forbes. A faint scent of motor oil helped him identify Gary as the mechanic who’d travelled up from Dumfries and Galloway. He was young, barely early twenties, looking shocked to be there. His furtive sideways glances indicated his discomfort at being in the presence of Terri’s other clients. When in fantasyland you could kid yourself you were the best she ever had. Sitting in a room with men who’d been there before and after him was causing Gary some problems.
Beattie, Magnus had picked out right away. His face was a study in anger. Terri’s former guidance te
acher and sailing instructor, who was trying to stay aloof. He, of course, had told Bill he’d only talked to Terri by phone.
Magnus suspected Ray Irvine, with his expensive clothes and well tended hands, fancied himself more than any woman. Magnus wondered why Ray chose to slum it in the red-light district. He read him more as a sauna man. Sex in the comfort zone. Bought and paid for, like his manicure.
Magnus tried to imagine each of the four men with Lucie, luring her to the Necropolis, strangling and stabbing her, raping her with a stiletto. It was difficult, because they looked so normal. But then most serial killers looked ordinary. The only thing recorded as common among them was the emptiness of their eyes. Magnus didn’t accept that. He’d seen photographs of Ted Bundy. Not only did the serial killer look charming and friendly, his eyes sparkled with laughter and life. That’s why the girls went with him in the first place. If the eyes were the mirror of the soul, Bundy had managed to fake a soul pretty well.
When Bill opened the door they all raised their heads expectantly, apart from Geordie, who went on mumbling and humming to himself. Bill nodded at Magnus and he stood up. Beattie immediately complained.
‘He’s only just arrived. The rest of us have been here for hours.’
Bill ignored him and ushered Magnus out. Once they were in the side room, Bill asked him what he thought.
‘Beattie’s hiding more than just the sailing lessons. The Gary character smells of oil. There’s no chance he works on boat engines, as well as cars?’
‘We’ll check that out.’
‘I take it they’ve all given samples?’
‘On arrival.’
The one-way glass gave a clear view of the interview room. Gary Forbes, his face drained of colour, was brought in first to sit at a table opposite DC Clark.
‘I let Geordie go,’ Bill said. ‘He’s done his bit.’
‘I wrote that stuff on the web about Glasgow pussy.’
Gary had barely waited for the tape to start before he began his confession. Magnus, observing through the one-way glass, saw how taken aback Bill was. But Bill couldn’t have stopped Gary’s verbal diarrhoea, even if he wanted to.
‘It was a joke. Blokes travelling to Glasgow for sex. A blog to tell them what to expect.’
Anger suffused Bill’s face. ‘Mangy crackheads?’ There was a moment’s silence, then Bill’s fist came down hard on the table. ‘Still fresh?’
Gary’s face flushed, then went white.
‘That’s a joke?’ The sneer in Bill’s voice sliced through Gary’s remaining veneer like a knife.
‘I copied it from something else I read online, I swear.’
Bill read from a sheet. ‘If you fancy beating up a whore, this class is for you. Nobody gives a shit what happens to them, including the police.’
If Gary had thought confession was good for the soul, he was fast changing his mind. ‘I didn’t mean it.’
Bill’s tone was pure ice. ‘You didn’t mean it? Well I mean this, so listen carefully. I’m going to book you for incitement to violence and conspiracy to commit murder.’
Bill wasn’t faking his anger. Magnus could almost feel it radiating through the glass.
Gary was near blubbering. Bill let him stew for a bit while he sat back in his chair and waited. Finally he said, ‘Did you set up the online auction?’
Gary’s head came up, his face puzzled. ‘Auction?’
Magnus watched Gary intently. Bill’s voice was calm now, circumspect.
‘A murder auction. Highest bidder gets to watch Terri being killed, any way they like.’
Gary’s confusion gave way to horror. ‘I wouldn’t do that. Terri was …’
‘Was what?’
He forced the words out. ‘She helped me.’
‘How?’
Magnus thought about Gary’s expression in the waiting room, the furtive embarrassed glances at the other men.
Gary indicated Janice’s presence. No way was he going to say anything more in front of her.
‘Let me get this clear,’ Bill said. ‘You don’t mind publishing web pages that refer to women as mangy crackheads, but you won’t talk sexually in front of my constable.’
Gary’s jaw tensed stubbornly. Magnus wondered if Bill realised the younger man had reached his limit and was about to clam up.
Bill motioned to Janice to leave and stared directly at the glass, indicating he wanted Magnus in there.
Magnus could smell Gary as soon as he entered the room. A mix of perspiration, fear and adrenalin. Gary was like a cornered animal, his eyes darting, his muscles twitching, ready to run, except there was nowhere to go. Magnus could imagine the man’s brain twisting itself into knots. Gary had decided to admit to the blog, only to find himself in even deeper shit.
Bill introduced Magnus as a criminal psychologist assigned to the case. Whatever Gary expected, it wasn’t that. Magnus took his seat next to Bill and offered Gary his hand. After a moment Gary accepted it, his glance moving between Bill and Magnus, trying to read the scenario.
‘It is imperative we find Terri,’ Magnus said. ‘Can you help us with that?’
‘I wouldn’t hurt her.’
‘I believe you.’
Gary kept his eyes on Magnus now, like a lifeline.
‘She helped you?’ Magnus prompted.
The shifty look was back in Gary’s eye. He was planning a lie or a retraction, then changed his mind.
‘I couldn’t get it up,’ he said flatly. ‘Terri made it work.’
‘You tried others before Terri?’
A spasm of pain crossed Gary’s face. ‘That’s why I wrote that stuff. Who wants to fuck a zombie?’
Bill made a noise between his teeth. Magnus covered it with his next question. ‘How many times did you meet Terri?’
‘Twice a month over the last six months.’
‘What about the night she disappeared?’
‘I came looking for her. She wasn’t there.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Early on. Ten o’clock maybe. I hung around for a bit, then left.’
‘You didn’t go with anyone else?’
Gary shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat. Magnus had been conscious of his scent all through the interview. There was a change now, a subtle one; but to Magnus’s keen nose it was unmistakable.
‘Lucie worked near Terri. You didn’t see her?’
Gary shook his head.
‘When people engage in sexual activity they exchange fluids, skin flakes, even human scent.’
The change in body odour was more distinct now. Gary was sexually aroused. Talking about sex obviously turned him on.
‘You had sex with Lucie Webster?’
‘No.’
The ‘no’ was emphatic and probably true, but there was something that linked Gary to Lucie. Magnus took a shot in the dark.
‘You watched someone have sex with Lucie.’ Gary’s eye twitched and Magnus knew he was right. Bill was itching to interrupt. Magnus begged him silently to say nothing. Gary’s swab would not link him to Lucie, but he had been there that night.
‘I paid to watch her,’ Gary emphasised the ‘paid’ as though that made it all right.
‘And?’
‘She showed me where to stand so the punters wouldn’t notice. After a couple of times, she asked me for more money.’ He sounded peeved. ‘I said no. We argued for a bit. A big guy turned up. She called him Minty. He told me to fuck off. I left.’
Bill came in. ‘What time was that?’
‘I don’t know, before midnight.’
‘You fix boat engines as well as cars?’
Gary wasn’t happy with the change in interviewer. He threw Magnus a pleading look. Magnus didn’t respond.
‘I don’t know anything about boats.’
There was a knock at the door. DC Clark’s expression was grim – bad news. Bill terminated the interview.
‘Can I go home now?’ Gary’s wail followed them out.
> ‘It’s Geordie,’ Janice said, once Bill closed the door behind them.
The old man lay under a white sheet, wires leading from his chest to a monitor that bleeped steadily.
‘The car hit him full force from behind,’ the doctor said.
‘Will he live?’
‘The internal injuries are extensive. A younger, healthier man might survive them but …’
‘Geordie isn’t a young healthy man.’
Bill felt a rush of pity. If he hadn’t let the old man leave the station, Geordie might be there now, eating chocolate biscuits, drinking tea and stinking everyone out.
‘Did you keep the clothes?’
The doctor pointed to a white, sealed plastic bag. ‘They smell pretty bad.’
‘Forensic will need to examine them.’
Bill sat for a bit beside the bed, knowing he was wasting his time, but staying anyway. The PC attending the scene was convinced Geordie had been knocked down on purpose. ‘You don’t drive that fast down a narrow lane with an old man in full view.’
Geordie had told Bill he’d seen a fancy black car take Terri away, but couldn’t recall the number plate.
It wasn’t worth killing for.
Of course it could have been a kid driving a stolen vehicle, accelerating through a lane where Geordie just happened to be, but that would have been coincidence. Bill didn’t hold with coincidence.
If Geordie had seen the car that lifted Terri, then the driver had probably seen him.
38
CATHY’S KILLER SHOULD have removed her boots before he disposed of the body. Sand gets everywhere. You don’t have to be a beach lover to know that.
Rhona peered through the microscope at the mix of sand and water. Sand particles ranged in diameter from 0.0625mm to 2mm, their shape and composition dependent on age and origin. But that wasn’t all. The watery cushion that surrounded sand was a natural habitat for bacteria, algae and tiny animals. Cathy had brought a microscopic world back in her boots. A world that could tell Rhona where she first entered the water.
According to Judy, horned wrack was found only in brackish water. In the Clyde estuary, it grew on the northern shore, notably at the village of Cardross. The village itself didn’t have a sailing club, but there was a marina at nearby Rhu. The MO might be different, but Cathy’s death looked suspiciously linked to the watery world of their killer.