by Lin Anderson
‘Two hundred pounds.’
The money had to be for Minty. Leanne was running scared from him because the police were holding on to Terri’s handbag, including her bank card.
‘Did Leanne tell you who the money was for?’
The priest looked relieved. That question he could handle.
‘A man called … Craig Minto.’
He said it as though he didn’t know who Minty was. Bill didn’t believe that either.
‘And that’s the last time you saw Leanne?’
‘She took confession in the morning,’ he stumbled a little over the words, ‘then left.’
He’s lying, Bill thought. The bastard’s lying.
‘And you haven’t seen her since?’
The priest shook his head and looked down into his lap.
‘What about Cathy McIver?’
The priest’s head snapped back up.
‘You must have known Cathy. She was a friend of Leanne’s. Her body was found in the Molendinar with a bullet through her head.’
Duffy attempted to look as though he’d just recalled the name.
‘Oh Cathy. Of course. She comes, came, into the church sometimes.’
‘And Terri Docherty. And Lucie Webster. Did they come to confession too? What about the poor wee pregnant lassie we have no name for yet?’
The priest’s hands were trembling. A bubble of spit had formed in the corner of his mouth. The man needed a drink. Bill was tempted to take out the bottle he kept in the filing cabinet for emergencies. But not before he got what he wanted.
The priest’s hand rose and fluttered in front of him, as though making the sign of the cross.
‘I swear I did not hurt any of those women.’
‘But you paid them for sex?’
Duffy’s face collapsed like a dam breaking.
‘When I drink …’ his voice faltered. ‘I do things I’m ashamed of.’ He drew himself up in his seat. ‘But I never harmed them.’
‘So you want to be eliminated from our enquiries?’
‘I want to help.’
‘How?’
Duffy cleared his throat. ‘A man saw me with Leanne. He asked me for her mobile number.’
‘Who was he?’
‘I hadn’t seen him for years.’ Father Duffy shook his head in amazement that the past should come back to haunt him like this. His eyes moved to Bill. He was calculating just how much he had to reveal. ‘Back then, he and I had an arrangement.’
‘What kind of arrangement?’
‘He brought women to me.’
You couldn’t make it up. A priest with a pimp.
‘He reminded me of that, so I gave him Leanne’s number. I didn’t think he meant her any harm.’
‘You handed over Leanne’s number to save your own skin?’ Bill tried to control his temper. ‘What’s this man’s name?’
‘I never knew.’
This time Bill did believe him.
‘What does he look like?
The only word Bill fastened on in the rambling description was blond.
‘Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. First you’re going to give us a sample of your DNA. Then you’re going to talk to a police artist and give him a description of this man. Then you’re going to look at photographs.’
Father Duffy had shrunk inside his black suit. When all this got out he was finished as a priest, and he knew it. Bill wondered if that might not be a blessing. Working for God was screwing him up. Bill went to the cabinet and pulled out the whisky bottle and poured a large one.
The man was shaking so hard he needed two hands to hold the glass. He drank the whisky and Bill poured him a second, then put the bottle away. He wanted the priest functioning and lucid.
God worked in mysterious ways. Father Duffy’s confession seemed to have provided a catharsis for the man. It might also turn out to be the stroke of luck Bill needed.
55
THE FORENSIC REPORT from Hogganfield Loch stated that neither the metal mesh on the outfall nor the three manholes in the vicinity had been disturbed, which meant the killer had access to another entry point to the burn. Glasgow City Council were in the process of having the Molendinar surveyed by a professional company. According to their CCTV survey report, there were portions they hadn’t managed to access, as no manholes had yet been found. If the killer had discovered such an entrance, it would be an ideal disposal point.
Rhona had tried to keep Magnus and the photograph from her thoughts, but it had proved impossible. The image of him with Terri kept punching its way back into her consciousness, leaving her with a sick feeling in her stomach.
Bill had made it clear he was operating on the principle Magnus was alive and innocent until proven otherwise. She’d respected Bill’s wishes and told no one but Sean about the image. Chrissy already smelt a rat. Rhona’s assistant would make an excellent psychological profiler. She could read people, especially Rhona, like a book. Chrissy knew something had happened that she hadn’t been told about, but hadn’t pressed Rhona for the details. It had been amusing to watch. Chrissy McInsh trying not to ask questions. Rhona had changed the subject to Sam and discovered he was accompanying Chrissy to her pre-natal appointment that afternoon.
‘I thought he was keeping a low profile?’ Rhona had asked.
Chrissy had tried to sound nonchalant. ‘I told him it wasn’t a good idea, but you know Sam …’
Wherever Sam was hiding, he’d managed to avoid Suleiman’s men. Sean had tried to convince his hunters Sam had returned south. Rhona hoped they’d believed him.
When Chrissy left for her appointment, Rhona got down to some work. A second call to Realpaints put her through to the owner and director, a Mr Hollister, who apologised for not getting back sooner.
‘Computer was on the blink. We have a customer list now, I can email it.’
‘How many in Scotland?’
‘The Clyde estuary’s a big sailing location. We supply a few marinas there, although most yachts are modern now, with fibreglass hulls.’
‘What about individuals? In particular I’m looking for a Henderson, Williams or Gordon.’
There was a moment’s delay while he scanned.
‘Nobody with those names as far as I can see.’
Rhona’s heart sank. That was the problem with anticipation. It didn’t always produce the goods.
‘I’ll send it now, shall I?’
She thanked him and rang off.
The ping of incoming mail heralded Hollister’s list and the long-awaited report from NDNAD. Rhona took a deep breath before she opened the report. This time anticipation did result in a pay off.
Williams’ profile matched one Peter Henderson who had been lifted and swabbed during an investigation into the rape of a prostitute in Bradford in 2003. The charges were dropped and Henderson walked. It must have been shortly after that Henderson changed his name and headed for the States. Details suggested he had been implicated in at least one other violent assault against a prostitute in Bradford, but was never charged. It looked like Henderson Williams had been getting some practice for what would come later.
Rhona opened the results on the other search. The profile of the skin flakes left on Lucie’s bra was a match for Lieutenant Blum’s chief suspect in the Atlantic City killings. He might have avoided leaving his mark on the three women there, but not here. This was the man they were looking for, whatever he chose to call himself now.
She immediately phoned Bill, who listened to her without interrupting.
‘I’ve got the local priest at the station giving a description – I think it might be our man. I’ve still to show him the Williams’ mug shot, but I’m hoping he’ll ID him.’ Bill filled Rhona in on the Leanne connection.
And all the time they’d hoped Leanne had simply gone to ground to avoid Minty. The darker alternative was that Minty had found her. What Bill hinted at now was much worse than even the latter.
‘Bill, the Molendinar …’
‘I know. McNab’s going ahead with a search of the culvert.’
‘I said I would go with him.’
‘The forecast’s heavy rain again. The water board aren’t keen. I had to tell them it was urgent we take a look.’
‘There should be someone from forensics with McNab.’
Bill went silent for a bit. ‘You’ll have an official with you, someone familiar with the route. If he’s concerned about the water level, you get out, whatever happens, understand?’
Rhona glanced out at the threatening sky. It had been hot, overcast and humid all day, the air crackling with unspent energy. A perfect atmosphere for a thunderstorm. In the new climatic conditions, the rain tended to be localised. Hopefully when the downpour came, it wouldn’t be over Glasgow City Centre.
Rhona called McNab on his mobile and set up a rendezvous point.
‘It’ll be easier to walk with the water, so we’ll enter upstream and work our way down. This won’t be pleasant,’ he warned her.
‘So when did you or I choose a career that was pleasant?’
Before she got her gear together, Rhona took a look at the list from Realpaints. Mr Hollister had sorted his customers into regions. He had about a dozen in Scotland, mostly dotted up the west coast. The Kip Marina was listed as a customer, as was Rhu. Individual sales didn’t include the name Henderson, Williams or Gordon.
The varnish trace was important evidence to link their killer to the scene of crime. To carry such a trace, the killer had to have been working on or near a boat that shed the varnish. They just had to find the actual boat. Rhona forwarded the list to Bill.
A few drops of rain greeted her as she carried her gear to the car, but never materialised as anything more sinister on her drive across the city. She parked in the cathedral car park alongside McNab’s car and a van with ‘CCTV Survey’ on the side. Judging by the crowds around the cathedral and the constant stream of people crossing the Bridge of Sighs, visitor numbers were on the increase thanks to the Necropolis murders.
McNab introduced the two men with him. Kenny was young and keen and dressed for a walk through water. The other man was Andy Crawford from the City Council, who looked far less confident.
Crawford reiterated his concerns about the weather and issues of health and safety as they got kitted up. McNab did his best to reassure him. ‘Dr MacLeod and I both have previous experience of sewers so we know the drill.’
Crawford looked relieved at that and reminded them once more of the forecast, before he finally left them to it.
Kenny gave them a grin as Crawford’s car departed the car park.
‘You’re safe with me,’ he told them, winking at Rhona.
Behind her, McNab gave a cynical grunt.
The manhole lay buried in greenery just south of the Bridge of Sighs, hidden from view, like many of the graves tucked away in this part of the cemetery. Steam rose from the surrounding damp foliage and grass, swathing the Necropolis in a mist reminiscent of the morning they’d discovered the bodies.
‘Apart from this one, the manholes in the section run down the middle of Wishart Street, so we would have to stop the traffic to gain access,’ Kenny said. ‘We can walk the culvert from here to Duke Street no problem. North of here, there’s a lot of encrustation, particularly the section along Alexandra Parade. Anything could be hidden up there. It’s like something out of Alien.’ Kenny looked impressed. ‘Magic.’
Kenny climbed down the step irons first, lighting their way. The powerful beam gave the culvert an iridescent glow that reminded Rhona of standing under a street lamp at night in the rain. Once they were down safely, Kenny radioed the surface where his mate stood guard. ‘When we go deeper, he won’t be able to pick us up. Sonar’s no use then either.’
Kenny gave them a moment to admire the seven-foot diameter circular brick structure, which was in perfect condition. ‘Wouldn’t think this was well over a hundred years old, would you? Couldn’t find a brickie that could build this now.’
He led the way downstream, his camera recording as they went. ‘Always wondered why we never found a body down here. My mate found a machete once, in the Camlachie culvert,’ he said proudly. ‘He said it belonged to the murderer Jimmy Boyle, had his name carved on the wooden handle.’
The culvert continued the same for some time. Clean walls and low running water. Torchlight settled on frogspawn in a deeper pool and gave them a quick glimpse of the red eyes of rats, but no gun.
‘Where are we now?’ Rhona asked.
‘Under the brewery car park.’
Some yards further on, they met an egg-shaped confluence on the western side. ‘A CSO,’ Kenny said in answer to her question. ‘Combined sewer overflow. The Molendinar isn’t classed as a sewer, but when there’s been a lot of rain, like this summer, the real sewer overflows into it, which doesn’t please SEPA or the locals when the Duke Street section smells. Trouble is we don’t know where a lot of the stuff comes from. Last time I was down here, we had a sudden rush of hot water and steam. We think it might have come from the Royal Infirmary, just north of the cathedral. They have a big laundry at the back.’
‘We should check the CSO,’ Rhona said.
The two men eyed one another. Kenny didn’t look quite so keen now. ‘The roof level dips quickly because of sagging. After that, there’s a lot of encrustation.’
Rhona wasn’t sure whether her insistence was driven by their expressions, or a real professional need. McNab finally conceded, rolling his eyes at Kenny, which pissed Rhona off. They backed up as far as the CSO. Kenny was right. There was no way the men could walk upright. Rhona offered to go alone, which resulted in troubled looks from the two men.
‘How far before it dips?’ she asked.
Kenny consulted his map. ‘About forty feet.’
McNab wasn’t happy. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No point in us both breaking our backs. It’s not far. I’ll call you if I find anything.’
It was a compromise of sorts. McNab wrestled with his conscience briefly, then agreed.
Rhona dipped her head and moved in. The CSO was two thirds the size of the main culvert and even more claustrophobic. She tried not to think about the confined space and how much earth was above her. A tidal line more than halfway up the wall indicated how high the level could rise. Eventually the high-powered torch Kenny had given her picked out a dip in the roof.
The flow in the CSO was slower than in the main chamber, suggesting it was restricted. Rhona shone the torch under the dip and saw what Kenny had described as encrustation. A cluster of stalactites hanging from the roof and red deposits of iron oxide streaking the walls. Gone was the beautiful brickwork of the main culvert. Kenny was right. It did resemble a scene from Alien. If Cathy had been dumped further up the CSO, could the body have made it through?
Rhona called out to tell them she was on her way back, her voice reverberating through the tunnel. As she emerged, McNab quickly masked his anxiety. Rhona hammed it up for Kenny’s sake.
‘You weren’t worried about me, were you?’
McNab assumed a nonchalant air. ‘If I let you drown, the boss’ll kill me.’
Rhona decided to get Kenny’s opinion on how Cathy’s body had got into the burn. He looked pleased to be awarded temporary detective status.
‘A lot of the manholes are in the middle of a road, so he couldn’t use them. The section that runs parallel to Alexandra Parade is like you described the CSO. We can’t find the access points. The Victorians avoided building over the culvert to protect it and give access. You can see that from the old maps. More recently they didn’t care. If I was dumping a body, that’s where I’d do it.’ Kenny said it through gritted teeth, as though he had someone in mind.
‘And the body could have been washed down from there?’ Rhona said.
Kenny pointed to a line on the wall above them. ‘That’s where the water can rise to. Anything and everything gets washed down, if the water’s high enough.’
‘Any grilles?’
Kenny shook his head. ‘Grilles cause blockages.’ He gave Rhona a winning smile, as though he’d just solved the case for them.
They’d been walking slowly on as they talked. Rhona spotted a circle of daylight in the near distance.
‘Not far to Duke Street now,’ Kenny sounded genuinely disappointed. He’d expected more excitement on his guided tour.
56
‘WE’VE MISSED SOMETHING,’ Rhona told McNab.
‘There’s nothing there. You said so yourself.’
Cathy’s body had been badly scratched and bruised. They’d had no explanation as to why, but seeing the encrustation on the tunnels she thought that might be a possibility. Rhona stood in the culvert, under the lee of the wall fronting the goods yard. In the neighbouring car park folk were dashing from the building to their cars, trying to avoid the pelting rain.
The heavy shower had begun as they emerged from the culvert. The plan had been to keep going. According to Kenny, the next section under the railway yard was built with blue engineering brick and was even more remarkable. Rhona didn’t like to point out this wasn’t a sightseeing tour.
Kenny hadn’t refused her request to backtrack, but he kept glancing at the thick grey clouds, as the rain pinged off his yellow macintosh.
‘This is on for a while,’ McNab informed them gloomily.
‘How long before the water level rises?’ Rhona asked Kenny.
‘Half an hour.’
‘We can’t go back in. Not unless this goes off.’ McNab was adamant.
A deep roll of thunder sounded almost directly above them. Rhona counted to seven before lightning cracked the sky. The effect was spectacular.
‘I think we should,’ she repeated stubbornly.
‘Why?’ asked McNab.
‘Because Cathy had post-mortem injuries which might be consistent with hitting the encrustation in the CSO.’
Rhona glanced across the car park to the large hole in the ground and the distant brick arches of the old railway building. Judging by the depth of excavation, the railway cellars had gone deep down, perhaps to the level of the burn. She asked Kenny if that was the case.
He shook his head. ‘Sorry, no idea.’