Witness the Dead

by Robertson, Craig

  ‘Shut up, Kelbie,’ boomed Shirley. ‘If there’s points-scoring to be done, then I’ll be the one doing it. Addison, speak.’

  Addison allowed himself a sideways glare at Kelbie before answering, taking satisfaction in the smacked look on the DCI’s face.

  ‘Well, you know the basics, sir, and the basics are still pretty much all we have. DS Narey’s sweep team found the shoe at the ground adjacent to Caledonia Road church. We have since confirmed that the shoe belonged to Hannah Healey and that it matched the one that she was wearing when her body was found. Mr Baxter’s team collected trace evidence from the scene, strands of hair caught in the wall of the church, and proceeded to extract DNA. The results came back and were passed on to me. The reason for that being that I was trying to solve this case and catch a murderer.’

  Kelbie sighed but got only a glower from Shirley in return.

  ‘The DNA was put through the system and they came up with a positive match. It was only a partial match but a match nonetheless. To Archibald Atto. Obviously this presents more questions than answers, but the computer doesn’t take this into account. The computer says Atto.’

  ‘Please tell me how this can be,’ Shirley asked wearily. ‘Because I’m only a simple old polisman and I can’t get my head round this.’

  ‘I’m not sure any of us can, sir. Atto hasn’t left the prison. Sounds obvious, but it was the first thing we had to ask. No home visit, no transfer to court or hospital. He hasn’t been outside the walls of Blackridge since he had a minor op six years ago.’

  Shirley’s eyes were closed over and his face scrunched, his breathing deep. ‘The match is definite?’

  Addison nodded. ‘Partial but definite.’

  ‘Christ almighty! So could he have somehow got out of Blackridge and then back in again? The perfect alibi?’

  ‘We’re looking into it, sir. Doesn’t seem likely, but it’s possible. Obviously, Blackridge swear it couldn’t happen, but they would say that, wouldn’t they? The DNA is his.’

  The Temple seemed to be ageing by the minute. ‘Check everything. If he’s got out . . . if he’s done this . . . Holy shit. Somebody will get crucified and I’m damn sure it’s not going to be me. Give me an alternative – how else could this have happened?’

  Addison spread his arms wide, groping for possibilities. ‘The alternative is transference. Somebody was in physical contact with Atto, that person was then at the scene and, accidentally or intentionally, left the hair behind.’

  ‘Okay, so who do we know that has been in contact with Atto?’ Shirley finished his question and let his gaze swing slowly round to Winter. Addison had anticipated the query and was ready with an answer.

  ‘Tony has met with Atto but it was after the murder of Hannah Healey and after the evidence was recovered from the church. We’ve checked the visiting records and he hasn’t visited before. Atto doesn’t get many visitors at all. Hardly surprising really. The odd, probably very odd, psychologist, social worker and appointed prison visitor. That’s it. We are checking all of them out. Apart from that he only comes into contact with other cons and the prison staff.’

  ‘Are we checking them out too?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kelbie interrupted again. ‘I’ve taken charge of that, sir. It’s obviously a long process but we’re looking at every prisoner in the segregation unit that has been released in the past six months. If that draws a blank, then we’ll look at everyone that’s come out in the past year. And we’re pulling files on all the staff.’

  Shirley shook his head slowly, despairingly. ’Okay, okay. That brings us to you, Mr Winter. Tell me why I shouldn’t have you sacked right here, right now.’

  ‘Sir, I think that Tony—’ Addison’s intended defence didn’t get started.

  ‘DI Addison, may I suggest that you shut up and let Mr Winter speak for himself. Unless you want to run the risk of following him into unemployment.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Winter felt the need to stand up and make his speech but wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t just his neck on the line but Danny’s and possibly Addison’s as well.

  ‘Detective Superintendent Shirley, I know how bad this looks. But I was only trying to help my uncle, Danny Neilson, because he was convinced that there was some connection between the cemetery killings and the case he was working on in the seventies. We weren’t trying to interfere with the current investigation. We were trying to . . . help it.’

  Shirley looked back nonplussed. ‘I need more than that, Mr Winter. Much more. I knew of your uncle back in the day. A good policeman with an excellent record. He’s the reason you haven’t been sacked already.’

  ‘My uncle worked the original case. It means a lot to him. It’s . . . unfinished business. He approached a member of the case team but didn’t think he’d been taken seriously. He felt the need to take things on himself and persuaded me to help him. He . . . we thought that if we could talk to Atto then we could come back with something that could convince others that Atto was somehow connected to these killings.’

  ‘Hmm. Regardless of the fact that Mr Neilson felt he wasn’t taken seriously, and that is something we will address’ – Shirley fired a look at Addison – ‘your behaviour has been unacceptable. You are under suspension, Winter. If you or your uncle go near Archibald Atto again, you will be arrested. If you or your uncle approach officers actively involved in this case, you will be arrested. And I still reserve the right to charge you over what has already happened. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And you will make sure your uncle understands?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Although he’s . . . single-minded about some things.’

  Shirley sighed. ‘Did you not hear me properly? He will be charged. I’m not having bloody vigilantes getting under my feet on this. Get to your office, take what you need and then piss off out of my sight.’

  Winter avoided Addison’s gaze as he got to his feet, shoving the chair back into position and leaving the room. Being suspended he could handle – it was the chance he’d taken as soon as he’d agreed to help Danny – but being off the case meant not being there if this killer struck again. Missing out on that hit home hard. It wasn’t his only problem, though: telling Danny he ran the risk of getting arrested was likely to be of as much use as shouting at a rainstorm and telling it not to hit the ground.

  Back in Alex Shirley’s office, a new silence fell on the three officers. The detective superintendent was looking at Addison and Kelbie as if he’d never seen them before and was wondering how the hell they’d ever got a job. The two of them resumed their hope that each other would speak first and dig an almighty hole for himself. In the end, they never got the chance.

  ‘You,’ Shirley began, levelling Addison with a hard stare. ‘You are friends with that idiot that just left. In the past, you have persuaded me to let him take priority position on some high-profile cases. That leaves me questioning your judgement. It also leads me to wonder whether you knew what he was up to.’

  Addison knew that he shouldn’t but, as ever, he couldn’t help himself. ‘No way. I had no idea whatsoever that he was going to visit Atto or that he even had any interest in him. Okay, if you want to question my sense in being his mate, then fair enough – I’m wondering that myself right now. But I will not accept the allegation that I knew what he was doing.’

  Alex Shirley’s face darkened and reddened. ‘Not accept? Not frigging accept? Addison, do you not know when your head is on the bloody block and it is better to shut up?’

  ‘No, sir. Apparently not. I’ll take any criticism coming my way but what you suggested was way beyond that, and I’m not having it. Whatever the consequences.’

  Shirley got redder. ‘Enough! Don’t push it, because you don’t want to find out the consequences, and I don’t have the time or the manpower to execute them while all this is going on. But don’t force me to make decisions when this is done.’

  This time Addison said no
thing and Shirley moved on to his next victim.

  ‘Kelbie, you can take that sleekit grin off your face. Just because Addison has stuffed up doesn’t mean that you are off the hook. This investigation is a frigging shambles and you’re the senior officer. What the hell was all that nonsense about the shoes in the TV interview?’

  Kelbie squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, his tie tight. ‘There seems to be some . . . er, misunderstanding about the shoes, sir. I was certainly not suggesting any firm link or motivation on the part of the perpetrator, although I admit that does seem to be how it was construed by some sections of the media.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ Shirley barked sarcastically.

  ‘Yes, well, it is perhaps unfortunate that they took that line but, operationally, it works to our advantage.’

  ‘And how do you figure that out?’

  ‘The misplaced concentration on the shoes diverts public attention from the real point of our investigation and temporarily at least takes the heat off the situation. Now we have the Atto lead and we can get on with that without interruption.’ He took a sneering sideways look at Addison. ‘As long as we can trust everyone to keep that under wraps.’

  Addison bit. ‘If there is an insinuation in that, then you better back it up with something more explicit. But there’s a tiny chance you can back it up because there’s a very small chance that there could be any truth to it. And, while we’re at it, there’s little wonder the media jumped on your slight blunder with the shoes. Jumped right in there with both size fives, didn’t you?’

  Kelbie glared at Addison briefly before swivelling his head to Shirley as if to ask that the DI be reprimanded for the height jokes, but Shirley blanked him. At least he did until Addison started again.

  ‘Although maybe you were on to something after all, because Atto wears shoes. I’m sure he does, I read it in the papers. Maybe he has an accomplice on the outside. Probably someone who wears shoes. Maybe you should look into that.’

  ‘And maybe you should shut up and show a modicum of respect, DI Addison,’ Shirley cautioned.

  ‘A modicum? That’s just a small amount isn’t it, sir? A smidgen, a wee bit, a tiny, insignificant little amount.’

  ‘Addison!’

  ‘Sir.’

  Addison couldn’t help but notice that both Shirley and Kelbie were very red around the eyes. Good. That made a bugger of a day slightly more bearable. There was, however, always a price to pay.

  ‘We need to speak to Atto.’ Shirley made sure they knew what he meant. ‘Properly. He’s the only person likely to be able to give us an explanation as to how his DNA was at the scene. If Winter was right and Atto claims to know about these killings, then we need to get it out of him, and fast. We cannot let him mess us about. If we need to offer him some extra prison privileges to get him to cooperate, then do it. DCI Kelbie, I want you to speak to him.’

  ‘What? But sir, I—’

  ‘You heard me, Addison. Just think yourself lucky you’re still on the case. If DCI Kelbie wants your assistance on this then he can ask you. It’s up to him.’

  Kelbie turned in his chair to look at Addison, unable and unwilling to keep the smug grin off his face.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll contact Blackridge immediately and make the arrangements. And, as you say, if I need DI Addison then I won’t hesitate to call on him. Although I have to say that there’s little chance of that being necessary. A very small chance indeed.’

  Chapter 33

  Thursday noon

  Rebecca Maxwell and Imelda Couper had gone back round the hairdressers Mr Grey had been known to frequent and urged the staff to alert them when he showed up again. The salons hadn’t needed much encouragement, not given the customer’s sleaze rating. Each had taken numbers and promised they’d be straight on the phone the minute he showed up.

  In the end it had taken less than a day. The manageress at Shear Genius on Hope Street called Maxwell to say that their Ryan Race had just walked in the door and asked for Libby, his usual stylist. Libby was with another customer but ‘Ryan’ had said he’d wait. The salon was halfway down Hope Street, near the corner of West George Street, and so no more than a ten-minute walk. Maxwell put a shout out for Couper, and, finding her in the building, set off with her down Hope Street at a canter.

  ‘Think he’s dangerous?’ Couper asked as they hustled past the newly and slightly oddly renamed Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, which would always remain the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama to passing Glaswegians.

  ‘Well, if he’s the guy that killed those two girls, then yes.’

  ‘And we’re going to go in there and nick him ourselves?’

  ‘I don’t see anyone else here, do you?’

  Couper grinned. ‘No, and I must admit it’s worrying me a bit. Should we not have back-up? You have told Narey about this, right?’

  Maxwell shrugged and screwed up her face. ‘I left a note saying where we were going.’

  ‘Jesus, Becca. We mess this up and we’ll both get our arses chewed.’

  Maxwell smiled broadly, her eyes never leaving the road as they crossed over Sauchiehall Street. ‘Yeah, but get it right and we reap the rewards. You do want into CID, don’t you?’

  Couper exhaled noisily. ‘Aye, okay. Come on, let’s get this over with.’

  The hill was steeper now, running away from them down towards the river. The gold and black signage of Shear Genius was visible just a couple of hundred yards away on the other side of the road. They crossed and walked the last bit of the way in silence.

  Maxwell entered the salon first, catching sight of the grey hair in the hairdresser’s chair as she pushed her way through the door. She looked into the mirror and saw the face looking back at her: early maybe mid-forties, dark, bushy eyebrows, an expression of curiosity. She watched and saw the expression change as Couper followed her through the door. The man’s eyes opened wide at the sight of her uniform.

  In an instant he was out of the chair, the stylist Libby being pushed as he got to his feet, staggering backwards till she collided with Maxwell. Still wrapped in an apron, the six-foot-tall client rushed towards the door, barging his way past a startled Couper. The place was in uproar. At least one customer and one member of staff were screaming and a pile of magazines were sent flying as the man fled across the room.

  Mr Grey had the door to Hope Street open before anyone could move and was halfway through it. Couper threw herself at the door, using her weight to slam it closed, trapping his trailing arm inside the salon. The man screamed in pain and frustration but Couper kept the door hard against the arm, knowing that if he freed it he’d be gone.

  ‘Get my cuffs, Becca,’ Couper hissed through the exertion of pressing the door against the man’s desperate efforts to free himself. Maxwell took the handcuffs from the belt around Couper’s waist and locked one round the customer’s flailing wrist and one round her own.

  ‘Okay, got him.’

  Couper released the pressure on the door and the man immediately began to pull his arm through and run. Maxwell was ready for him, though, and braced herself, halting his movement and then swiftly pulling back to yank him clean off his feet. Couper grabbed a handful of the man’s shirt and together they hauled him back inside the salon.

  As Couper twisted the man’s arm behind his back, she looked at Maxwell with a rueful grin on her face. ‘Okay, now can we call for back-up?’

  ‘Yeah, why not? We may as well get a lift back up the hill.’

  The man lay on the floor below them, breathing hard and looking up at them, wild-eyed.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ he screamed. ‘I didn’t touch her.’

  ‘Touch who?’ Maxwell asked him.

  ‘Hannah Healey. I didn’t kill her. I know that’s what you think but I didn’t. I didn’t.’

  Chapter 34

  Thursday afternoon

  DCI Kelbie and DS Jim Ferry were standing next to their car, wearing matching dark raincoats and grim expre
ssions, viewing the clinical exterior of Blackridge Prison and taking a moment before crossing the car park and going inside. They’d worked together for four years and there was no need to say anything or to explain their hesitation. Ferry knew how much it meant to Kelbie and it was a big deal for him too. Promotion for one probably meant an overdue step up for the other. They both wanted it badly. Atto was a stepping stone to a better future for them.

  ‘C’mon,’ Kelbie muttered as casually as he could. ‘Let’s get in before the flaming rain starts again.’

  The men hurried across the car park, dodging puddles and casting anxious glances at the low clouds glowering blackly at them from above. The heavens looked about fit to burst and, if they did, it was likely they’d return to find their car sitting abandoned in a tarmac swimming pool.

  Kelbie delved into his pocket as they hustled past the sodden flags dripping from the flagpoles in front of the gatehouse. He brought out his ID and clenched it in his right hand, ready to show it as soon as they were inside. He had no intention of waiting in any unnecessary queues or being given any less than the attention and respect that they deserved. The staff inside wore uniforms but they weren’t cops; they had to be shown who was in charge right from the off.

  There were a few people in the queue waiting to be seen at the gatehouse but Kelbie wasn’t having any of that. He walked behind them and flashed his warrant card at the man behind the desk. ‘Police. DCI Kelbie. This is DS Ferry. We’re expected and in a hurry. Where’s the visitors’ centre?’

  The man didn’t look best pleased and neither did those in the queue, but nothing was said. Instead, the officer just pointed, leaving Kelbie to charge on, satisfied he’d scored his first point. He and Ferry pushed their way inside the holding hall and Kelbie looked around for assistance. He knew there were all sorts of procedures for getting into the visit but they didn’t apply to him. A stocky officer with a bullet bald-head was a few yards away, scouring the room with a drugs dog, and Kelbie shouted to him.