‘Is Cathy all right?’ Morgan asked, a little sheepishly as if he wasn’t sure it was OK to do so.
‘Not really. She’s going to be off for a while, so we might need to find you another tutor to help you complete your probation. How long do you have to go?’
‘Nine months.’
‘How are you finding it all? Any problems?’
‘No problems, Sarge. Not as such. Just all takes a bit of getting used to is all.’
‘It gets easier every day. In a few years you’ll have forgotten all this stress.’
‘I hope so. And I hope whoever’s taking over from Cathy has the same patience. Sometimes takes a few goes for something to sink in with me, you know? Come off here, Sarge, take a left at the lights.’
‘I’m sure you’re doing fine, Morgan.’
‘Sarge, you mentioned at muster how the shift officers view us community lot. How’d you mean?’
‘I’m sure you’re getting a sense of it. The shift responds to calls, they’re the front line. Us, well we’re more about preventative work, public reassurance. The happy smiley face of Police Scotland, right?’
‘I suppose. At least that’s what I thought when I got posted, but …’
‘But it doesn’t really work that way?’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘The police budget is tight. Once upon a time, community departments did all that public reassurance stuff, but the reality is we’re just another layer of call handling and since we’re second to the table with these calls, we tend to get the scraps. The icky end bits nobody else wants; often the protracted nonsense that takes loads of man hours to bottom out and with little chance of a collar.’
‘Take a right up here, Sarge, then go right to the end.’
‘What is it we’re heading to again?’
‘It’s a fraud and theft. We’re still debating over whether it’s a housebreaking or not.’
‘Sounds complicated. And a good example of what I’m talking about. Let me guess, it was left to you by some backshift or something that didn’t like the smell of it?’
‘I suppose. Cathy wasn’t happy about it anyway. I might need a bit of help with it. It’s the house at the end of this row, number fifty-seven.’
It was a nice street. Detached homes with large mono-block driveways set behind coiffured hedges. I pulled up at the very last house in the cul de sac and reached for my radio. ‘Control from three-four, over.’
‘Go ahead three-four.’
‘Can you mark us at fifty-seven Duchess Park, over.’
‘Roger three-four.’
‘So, what’s the story?’ I asked.
Morgan patted at his pocket and produced his notebook. He scratched at his jaw, his skin raw from shaving too close, and some acne just below his ear. ‘It’s an elderly couple stay here. Some fella turned up, offered to cut down a tree in the back garden. They agree a price of fifty quid but then he starts giving the old “more complicated than we first thought” thing. This goes on for over a week with various, dodgy lookin’ lads comin’ and goin’ like. In the end they get strong-armed into handing over two thousand pounds. The main fella even drives the old boy to a cashpoint. Not only that, but a few days later they notice jewellery and some cash missing from their bedroom. Real bunch of bastards.’
‘Sounds it. Where are you at with it?’
‘I’ve taken statements. Done some door to door, though not the whole street yet.’
‘What about CCTV at the cashpoint?’
‘Uh … well. I don’t know if maybe Cathy was …’
‘Relax. I’m not testing you. You get the precise cashpoint in your statement?’
‘Uh, hold on, let me see.’
He flicked through his notebook, searching for the entry. I stepped out of the car and stretched my back and shoulder. The injury I’d received during the events back in Stratharder had healed well, according to the doctors. I’d be lying if I said I’d been doing the exercises the occupational therapist had given me religiously, but I had been doing them. They were helping too. Most of the strength had returned, though the range of movement, the therapist’s words, wasn’t quite there.
Morgan’s door closed and he stepped around the car. ‘Uh, I’m sorry, Sarge. I just noted that they drove him into town. I did get a description of the vehicle though. But uh, not a reg plate or that. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine, Morgan. I said relax. That’s why we’re here, right? Dot the I’s cross the T’s?’ As I pushed the gate to the front garden a man squinted and then waved from under a rose bush.
‘Hello, Mr White. Do you remember me?’ said Morgan.
‘Uh?’ the man said and struggled to his feet. He pushed his glasses nearer his eyes, but still looked confused.
‘I’m Morgan Finney, sir.’
The old man stared blankly across his bowling-green lawn.
‘I was here last week, we talked about those bad fellas and your tree and the money and all that?’
‘Oh, you’re the police?’ he said, seemingly now able to see us sufficiently.
‘Uh, yes sir.’
‘Maybe lead with that one next time,’ I said softly.
‘I do remember you, son. Hello.’
The man, easily into his eighties, took off his gardening gloves and dropped the secateurs onto the lawn. He approached and shook both of our hands. The skin of the back of his hand was like paper.
‘I wondered if I could go back over a few points?’
‘Of course, aye. Come away in.’
We followed the old man, single file up the garden path at a snail’s pace and onto the doorstep.
‘Control to three-four,’ my radio crackled.
‘Why don’t you go ahead, I’ll be right there,’ I said.
Morgan nodded and then followed Mr White into the house, ducking as he did. The probationer was tall, six-foot-three, I’d have guessed.
‘Go ahead, three-four.’
‘Sergeant Colyear, I have a message for you from a DC Kane,’ the female voice said.
DC Kane? Alyson. ‘Go ahead with your message,’ I said.
‘Roger … and I’m quoting here. “Don, check your damned phone.” Over.’
I fished into my pocket and unlocked my phone. Four messages and two missed calls. All Alyson.
‘Three-four, all received, thanks.’
I clicked on Alyson’s number. She picked up immediately.
‘The fuck have you been?’ she said.
‘Hi Aly, nice to speak to you, too.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Where are you?’
‘Where am I? I’m at work.’
‘I know you’re at work, dipshit. I mean where are you right now?’
‘I’m – I’m at a call. Well, not a call, just following up on something for … What’s this about?’
‘I’m at your desk twiddling my thumbs. Need you to come pick me up.’
‘Me? You’re in Edinburgh? What’s … Hey, I thought we weren’t talking?’
‘Yeah, well it’s my turn to do the whole only-get-in-touch-when-I-need-a-favour thing.’
A sore point, but a fair one. Last year she’d done me a hell of a favour and I’d left her somewhat in the shit afterwards. This wasn’t something I could refuse her. Besides, I was curious.
‘OK, Aly. I’ll be about an hour I think, judging by the pace of our—’
‘The fuck you will, Colyear. Get your skinny arse back here and pick me up. This office is depressing as shit and I don’t know the area well enough to take masel’ a walk.’
I smiled. I couldn’t help myself. Her brash manner delivered in her broad Glaswegian accent. I missed both. Edinburgh can be tough, don’t get me wrong, but it wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight with Glasgow – there wouldn’t even be one. Edinburgh would about turn and run like fuck just from the smack talk.
‘OK, Aly. I’ll be right there.’
‘Bring coffee,’ she said and hung up.
‘Aly Kane,’ I breathed,
and went to give Morgan the bad news that he was walking back to the office once he’d finished here.
CHAPTER THREE
Martin
She didn’t say anything as I entered, but she knew I was there. We were in my office and there she was, a subordinate constable, in my chair, her grey suit jacket slung over the back rest, at my computer, failing to even acknowledge my presence and … oh for God’s sake. She held a hand out across the desk, continuing to type with the other, still without so much as glance in my direction. I pushed the venti cappuccino, with extra shot, into her palm. I sat on the edge of the desk and appraised her while she finished her email, or crime report.
So, the short hair was for keeps then? I wasn’t sure what had changed, but somehow it now worked for her. I recalled seeing her last year when she had surreptitiously smuggled myself and Rowan Forbes into a very busy Glasgow police office. It was the first I’d seen her in a long while and the first I’d seen her without the shoulder-length, brown wavy hair. At the time I’d thought this pixie cut, exposing her strong jawline, was somehow harsh on her, but I didn’t think so now. She was a powerful woman, figuratively and literally; six feet tall and broad-shouldered. Men were intimidated by her stature, her words, and perhaps she had, whether by design or by way of her subconscious, been trying to hide it. Joining CID had maybe given her the confidence to wear it on the outside and why not. She was into cross-fit, whatever that was. Some multi-discipline thing that satisfied her obsession with the gym. She won the fitness prize at the Tulliallan training college we graduated from together when we first joined. I was never in contention, I was happy to coast along in the middle of the intake, not standing out for good reasons or ill. Tulliallan was a special torture you just had to get through, in my mind.
‘Thanks … for … the … coffee,’ she said, hitting a key with each word and slamming the return with the last. ‘Hey, check you out. You look, you know, normal.’
‘As opposed to?’
‘Last time I saw you, Colyear, you looked like a toothpick in a suit. Good to see you’ve found your way to a few good meals. Watch you don’t overdo it though,’ she said, her eyes glancing at my stomach as I peeled off my body armour and dumped it in the corner of the room.
‘You’re never happy, Aly. I see you’re still your petite, demure self.’ She stayed seated but made a motion with her hands to imitate a curtsy. ‘So, am I getting a hug or what?’
She stood, letting the chair wheel away behind her and approached me. Her face was granite. She prodded a finger into the space between my chest and shoulder. It hurt, but I tried not to show. ‘You, left me with a shit storm.’
‘I did. I’m so—’
‘They had to draft in public order units to quell that wee riot you left in your wake.’
‘Really? Shit. I am sorry, Ally. I was up to my neck in—’
‘Stop.’ She clamped her hands to her ears. ‘Whatever it was you were up to your neck in, I don’t need to hear about. Just tell me it’s all in the past.’
‘Fair enough. And yes, it is.’
She gently placed a hand on each of my shoulders and drew me in for hug. My chin found her shoulder and I rubbed at her back. We mutually patted to signal that the embrace had been long enough.
‘Seriously though, you’re all right? How’s the shoulder?’
‘I’m fine. Not perfect, but it doesn’t bother me too much.’
‘So, you’ve chosen semi-retirement?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Edinburgh. I thought you’d be itching to get back to the action.’
‘Edinburgh sees plenty of action, don’t you worry about that. Anyway, are you going to tell me what you’re doing in my city, or what?’ I said, to change the subject more than anything else. If she’d pursued why I’d elected a beat in Edinburgh I wouldn’t have lied to her, I’d have to have told her it was all about my living arrangements with Dad.
Alyson’s eyes narrowed slightly and she breathed out, then her hands found her hips. ‘Close the door,’ she said.
I did, and went back to perch on the edge of the desk while Ally sank back into my chair.
‘I’m here about the case I’m assigned to.’
‘The Callum Bradley murder.’
Her eyes narrowed even further. ‘How did you know?’
‘Same way you knew I was working in Edinburgh. We’re cops – we’re nosy bastards. Besides, Aly, we’d all like to be on that case. Everyone in the force will have taken an interest in the murder. It’s no secret who’s working it.’
‘Suppose, aye. Well, it turns out I could use your help to bottom out a lead.’
‘Really?’
My face must have lit up, because Aly said: ‘Don’t get excited. It’s almost certainly bullshit, but it’s something that needs looking at all the same.’
‘All right. What do you need from me?’
‘Company really. And just in case, some corroboration.’
‘To what?’
‘To this.’ She reached for her jacket on the chair and pulled her phone from a pocket. She looked pointedly at the door.
‘It’s closed, Aly. Do you want me to lock it?’
‘Yeah, would you?’
What the hell’s going on? I thought. I gave the latch an extra push, clicking the lock into place. Aly had placed her phone on the desk. I stood, hands gripping the edge as I listened to a confused old man being teased by a call handler. When it ended, I waited for something more, but Aly put the phone back into her pocket.
‘That’s it? What’s it have to do with the Callum Bradley murder?’
‘Almost certainly nothing. Especially since it was recorded three weeks before the murder happened. It’s just something the old man says that throws up a tenuous link.’
I replayed what I just heard in my head. What had been said that might instigate an enquiry? ‘The thing about the eyes?’ I said.
Aly reduced the distance between us and lowered her voice. ‘Don, you can’t repeat this. Not to anyone.’
‘What?’
‘Promise.’
‘Fine, I promise.’
‘The decision to withhold certain information to the press was made right at the beginning.’
‘Oh no …’ I said.
‘Yeah. When his body was found, his eyes had been put out by a blade. Not a soul outside the enquiry team knows about this recording.’
I wasn’t familiar with the nursing home. It wasn’t one I’d visited, and I’d visited a fair few – it being a large part of my role as community sergeant. I didn’t mind the visits to the old folk’s homes. They had the best biscuits and you were always made to feel like a minor celebrity, despite the occasional geriatric grope. One of the few privileges of being old, you can get away with almost anything.
The nursing home was in Muirhouse, the most challenging area in my beat. It was a large housing estate really, a bit of a rat-run with high density housing and comparable to some of the areas I’d covered in Glasgow, though it wasn’t going to feature in any ‘Top Five Shittest Scottish Neighbourhoods’ list. It had some tough characters, though, and I’d steadily been getting to know them.
‘Well, this is Pennywell Court. Has to be here somewhere. Maybe that’s it?’ I said. The place was barely discernible from the houses on the rest of the street, but a small road round the side of the last building opened into a parking area. There was a zone sectioned off by yellow markings to be kept clear for ambulances. Four other cars were parked. The sign above the door invited you to ‘PENNYWELL ARsE HOlE’, the ‘PENNYWELL CARE HOME’ altered by a marker pen.
There were laminated warnings against leaving the door open and to not allow anyone to follow you in or out of the building. To the right of the door was a silver box with a black button. Alyson pressed and held it for a moment. It let off an electric buzz and somewhere inside I could hear a similar sound. We waited for a minute and Alyson raised a finger to try again when a face appeared at the glass-fron
ted door. A white-haired woman stared out. I might have jumped back had Alyson not been there. I thought for a moment that the old woman was talking to us and that the glass was too thick to hear her, but then we heard the buzz of the intercom and a younger female voice came from behind her.
‘Come on now, Mimi. Stand away from the door.’
The old woman continued to open and close her toothless mouth. Now it seemed more like the action of a goldfish rather than talking. A blonde lady, her straight hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, cupped her hand to the glass to get a look at us. The midday sun hitting the pane must have made it difficult to see. She spotted my uniform and smiled. I raised a hand in salutation.
She ushered the old lady around and directed her off down the corridor. Now the old woman was talking, a long, high-pitched and ceaseless babble as she shuffled along, her feet never quite clearing the carpet. ‘Abuckin-telt-ye-here-no-here-buckin-polis-here-some-pissin-buckin-shite-bam,’ she squeaked and faded away down the hall.
‘She’s a charmer,’ I said as the door opened.
The lady held it, then locked it behind us.
‘She sounds like a horror, but it’s just how she communicates. Believe it or not, I can tell what she wants from the particular tone of her swearing.’ The lady laughed.
‘I’m Sergeant Colyear, I work out of Drylaw station. I’m the community sergeant for Muirhouse. This is DC Kane, she’s looking into an incident and we thought perhaps you might be able to help us, uh …’ I glanced at the name badge pinned to her light blue shirt, ‘Vicky?’
Alyson and Vicky smiled at one another and Vicky looked down at the warrant card Alyson wore around her neck.
‘Of course. What do you need?’
‘Is there an office or something we could go to? What we’re looking into is of a sensitive nature,’ said Alyson.
Vicky’s eyes widened slightly at this. ‘Uh, yeah. We share an office, but I’m pretty sure it’s clear at the minute. This way.’
She led us to the right, the opposite direction of the shuffling Mimi. We passed a common room on our left, which had a bunch of large armchairs all pointed at a television with the volume turned way up. The corridor had that grey, hard-wearing carpet you always saw in places like this. Pennywell was little more run-down than the other care homes I’d seen. Nothing drastic, just little details I noticed, like the furniture being a bit tatty and the tired watercolours on the wall not sitting square in their frames.
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