Stranglehold

by Rena George

  Drummond sighed and shook his head. That's what he'd like to know too. Evie had refused to say why she'd run away from home, but surely, she wouldn't have been running from her mother? This woman sounded genuinely desperate. He could almost hear the emotional fatigue in her words. He read on.

  "I was looking at fiddles in that music shop in Church Street today. They're so expensive. Angus wants the twins to learn to play. He wanted to let them have a go on your fiddle, Emily, but I said no. It wouldn't be right. It's your fiddle and it's up to you who does or doesn't touch it. Angus wasn't pleased. He doesn't see the sense of it lying in your room if Logan and Daniel could be encouraged to show an interest in playing it, but I said that won't be happening without your permission."

  Drummond was trying to scan through the messages with a more professional eye now. He could see there were many possible clues to where Emily's mother lived.

  A music shop in Church Street, a view of the firth from the garden. It was something, but how many Church Streets were there in the Highlands? Drummond's brow wrinkled. But maybe not so many music shops with an address in Church Street?

  It took only a few minutes on Google to track down Ghillie's Music, Church Street, Inverness. He stared at the name. Could this be the shop Emily's fiddle had come from? Inverness? He thought about it. Her accent would probably fit. The shop might have a list of customers who had purchased musical instruments from them.

  On the other hand, he could simply reply to one of the woman's emails using Emily's phone. But that would be too cruel. If this really was Evie/Emily's mother, then she was about to suffer enough grief without him adding to it.

  It crossed his mind that the family might be known to social services. But what could they do when he couldn't give them a name? And then it hit him. Of course, why hadn't he thought of that immediately? Emily's parents must have reported her missing. It took only seconds to get through to Inverness CID. The officer who picked up the phone sounded terminally bored.

  'Missing persons? You've got the wrong department,' the man said.

  'No, hang on. Give me a minute.' Drummond identified himself and explained the situation. 'I just wondered if anything about this girl rang a bell with you.'

  The officer sounded like he was stirring himself. 'Emily you say?'

  'That's right. There's not much to go on. I know she, or a member of her family, purchased a fiddle from a music shop in Church Street. Does that help track anything down?'

  'It might do. Leave it with me and I'll make a few calls. What was your name again?'

  Drummond repeated his details.

  'OK, Inspector, I'll ask around about your girl.'

  'You didn't give me your name,' Drummond said.

  'It's Rougvie,' the officer said. 'DS Nick Rougvie.'

  'Can I ask one more favour, Nick? I'm going out on a bit of a limb here with this line of enquiry and I'm not exactly flavour of the month at my nick. Can this be between ourselves for the time being?'

  DS Rougvie laughed. 'I've been there myself. Don't worry. I'll keep you out of it.'

  'Thanks, Nick. I owe you one.'

  Drummond clicked off the call and glanced back to Evie's – he still hadn't got used to calling her Emily – phone. He had no excuse for hanging on to it. But if he handed it in, he would be in all sorts of trouble, not that he was worried about that. He was always in trouble. This indiscretion though might result in him getting suspended. He mulled over the possibility that he could convince DCI Buchan that he had found the thing. His story would have to be good. If she found out the dead girl had been staying in his flat and that he had kept quiet about finding her phone in his bedroom, there would be no half measures. Joey Buchan would see to it that he was marched straight out of the Force. Police Scotland and Detective Inspector Jack Drummond would no longer be together.

  He hadn't touched the phone without gloves, so his fingerprints wouldn't be on it. He was toying with the idea of dropping it in the lane where Evie/Emily's body had been discovered. There was no CCTV to record it. Or better still, he could let Gail find it. The crime scene investigators wouldn't be happy at any suggestion they had missed a vital piece of evidence. They would have to deal with it.

  Fifteen

  Disposing of Evie's phone for Gail to 'find' had been easier than Drummond had thought. He'd deliberately suggested they should revisit the scene. If he was lucky, the CCTV camera would still be out of action. Not that it mattered because as part of the murder investigating team, they had every right to be there. He hung back as Gail walked up the alley, then he dropped the phone in a rubbish-strewn corner. She hadn't suspected a thing when he'd led her there and saw her pick up the thing. Drummond had hated the deception and he hated himself for using a colleague like this, but if he had to distance himself from the phone it was best if Gail should find it.

  'We need to get this fast-tracked,' he said when they got back to the station, holding out the phone he'd put in an evidence bag. 'If this belongs to the dead girl, I don't want to waste any more time finding what's on it.'

  'Saul gives all his girls cheap mobile phones,' Gail said. 'He probably got a job lot somewhere.'

  Drummond turned away, his brow furrowing. The phone he found in the flat wasn't Saul's. It was Evie's own phone, which was why her mother had her number and could send all those emails. But Gail was right, there must be another phone somewhere. If they had it maybe it would help to identify and protect the killer's future victims? Drummond ran a hand over his hair. This was all spiraling out of control. They needed to catch this man.

  It was the next morning before he received the transcripts from Evie's phone. He scanned the pages. There was far more information here than he'd been able to get from it himself. 'I'll check up on this,' he said, continuing to flick through the sheets. He couldn't risk Gail making the connection about the music shop in Church Street and contacting police colleagues in Inverness, as he'd done.

  As though by telepathy his mobile rang. 'Inspector Drummond? It's DS Rougvie. I think I have something for you.'

  Drummond kept his expression bland. He didn't want Gail seeing the flash of excitement in his eyes. 'I'll take this outside,' he said, striding out of the incident room and through the door to the back stairs. He knew she was staring after him with a puzzled frown, but now wasn't the time to share whatever information he might be about to receive.

  'Sorry about that,' he said, gripping the phone. 'What've you got?'

  'Well, the first thing I did was to check missing persons. Nothing. Your girl has never been reported. So, I called in at the music shop. The business is a one-man band affair. Err, sorry, no pun intended.'

  'Go on, Sergeant,' Drummond said impatiently.

  'He remembered your girl. Long dark hair and about fourteen years old, he said. She'd got into the school orchestra and her parents were buying her a violin so she could practise at home. Seems they were keen for her to learn, especially the father.'

  'Did you get an address?'

  'I did. Thankfully our man keeps records. It's 10, Firth View, Balcreggan, Inverness.'

  'And the name?'

  'Oh, didn't I say? It's McLeod. The name of the person who paid for the violin was an Angus McLeod. I can take a run out there if you like.'

  'No, don't do that,' Drummond said quickly. 'The names still don't match. If the girl we knew as Evie really was their daughter then it has to be me who breaks the news that she's dead.'

  'Oh, sorry. I didn't realize. You didn't say.' He hesitated. 'You'll be coming up then?'

  'Yes, I'll be driving up.'

  'You've got my number. If there's anything else I can do just let me know.'

  'Thanks, I appreciate your help, but I'll take it from here.'

  Drummond had been to Aberdeen on a previous investigation, but not Inverness. He checked out the journey times on his phone as he went back to the incident room.

  Gail looked up as he came in. 'Everything all right, sir?'

  Drum
mond smiled. 'Everything's fine.' He went to his desk and began sifting through the details from Evie's phone again. He'd have to bide his time before announcing he'd traced her family to Inverness.

  It was approaching noon when he stood up and stretched. 'Any luck?' Gail asked.

  He nodded, glancing at his watch. 'I've got an address in Inverness. No point wasting time.' He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. 'Tell DCI Buchan I'm driving up there.'

  'What! Now?' Gail's eyebrow shot up.

  'Yes,' he said, striding past. 'Tell her I'll call her from the road.'

  'She won't like it,' Gail called after him as he strode away, raising an arm that suggested the opinions of his superior officer were the least of his worries.

  An internet check had confirmed it would be a three-and-a-half-hour drive, depending on traffic. Drummond had already decided not to go directly to Evie's family. He wanted to get a feel for the area first, a sense of Evie's life before she fled to Glasgow. That would involve an overnight stay at a local B&B. He called in at his flat and threw a few things in a bag before getting on the road.

  At this time of day, he'd missed the worst of the heavy traffic getting out of the city and onto the M80. An hour later and it would probably be gridlock, Drummond thought. At the big roundabout outside Perth, he joined the A9 and settled down for the next couple of hours driving north. He'd made good time and it was approaching five o'clock when he reached Inverness and joined the teatime traffic going through the Longman Industrial Estate. He had no real idea where he was going so he followed the stream of vehicles negotiating the series of little roundabouts through the estate and out of the city centre.

  His second priority was to find a B&B and dump his bag, the first was to find a pub. He spotted the Riverside Inn as he drove across a bridge and headed for it. Traffic was still bumper to bumper on the bridge above but down here it was a different world. Drummond parked in front of the pub and got out of the car, a hand on his back as he stretched his cramped limbs, anticipating the pleasure of the pint of real ale he'd been promising himself.

  There was only one customer at the bar nursing a pint. He gave Drummond a nod as he walked in. The barman appeared from somewhere out the back and Drummond ordered a pint of a local brew he hadn't heard of.

  'Haven't seen you in here before,' the barman said. 'On holiday, are you?'

  Drummond wiped the foam from his mouth. 'Just passing through.' His eyes were on the notice behind the bar advertising accommodation. 'Actually, maybe you could help me. I'm looking for a room for the night.'

  The barman gave a nod. 'We have availability tonight as it happens.' He moved to the end of the bar and came back with a black ledger. 'Just the one night, was it?'

  Drummond nodded.

  'It's fifty quid, including breakfast and payable in advance. Will that do you?'

  'Fine,' Drummond said, accepting the pen being offered to sign the book. His fellow drinker watched as he pulled out his wallet and took out his bank card.

  'Come far?' the drinker asked as the financial transaction for the room booking concluded.

  'Glasgow,' Drummond said.

  'Ah, Glasgow. Now that's a hell of a place.' He lifted his beer glass and took a drink. 'You'll know the Horseshoe Bar then?'

  Drummond nodded. He did. Intimately – all 104 feet of it. 'They say it's got the longest bar in the country,' the man said.

  Drummond had heard it was Europe, but he wasn't going to argue. He didn't particularly want to be drawn into conversation, but the man persisted.

  'You here on business?'

  'Like I said, I'm just passing through.'

  'Through to where?'

  Drummond finished his pint. 'Through to bed.' He beckoned to the barman. 'Can I go up to that room now?'

  'Sure,' the man said, moving away to fetch the key. He returned and handed it over. 'It's Room 2 at the top of the stairs.'

  Drummond thanked him and nodded to the drinker before going to his car to collect his overnight bag from the boot and heading up the narrow, creaking stairs.

  Room 2 turned out to be a basic, but clean, comfortable room overlooking the river. He dropped his bag on the bed and fished out his mobile. There was a missed call from Joey Buchan and another from Pete. He'd stopped on the drive up to phone Joey and explain why he needed to check out the address in Inverness. She hadn't been pleased that he'd gone off without first running the trip past her. Joey liked to be in control. She'd be even more unhappy when she learned he was staying overnight. But that could wait.

  He stood by the window watching two swans glide elegantly downstream and wondered if DS Nick Rougvie would like to join him for a drink.

  Sixteen

  Drummond pulled up a street map of Inverness on his phone and was surprised to see the address for the Mcleods was within walking distance of the pub. It was in the opposite direction from the town centre, but it was over half an hour before he was due to meet Rougvie.

  The traffic had died down and he set off at a steady pace on foot through the backstreets. The house was a semi- detached stone villa set back from the road. Drummond had been imagining a less impressive council house on a busy estate. This property, although not especially grand, had an air of faded elegance, something that spoke of a bygone age. It didn't look like the home of a teenage girl. As he stood on the other side of the road, a car turned into the driveway and parked at the side of the house. A man in his early forties got out and reached back in for a briefcase. Drummond studied the serious expression and the solid upright frame, the dark businesslike suit and the thinning ginger-coloured hair. Was this Evie's father? She hadn't looked anything like him, but that was neither here nor there. He wondered how the man would react when he shared the tragic news. No one had come to the door to meet him and Drummond guessed if Evie's mother was inside, she was probably busy in the kitchen.

  He tried to imagine the writer of those emails on Evie's phone. For some reason he was picturing a small, pretty woman with intelligent green eyes and a vulnerable smile – completely the opposite of Evie.

  He knew he should cross the road and knock on the door, but still he hesitated. There was a possibility this family had no connection with Evie. What if the music shop owner had given Nick Rougvie a wrong address? Even if it was right, it was only indicating a customer who had bought a fiddle. It was all ifs and buts. He needed to do more digging, he needed to find stronger evidence that these people were Evie's parents before wading in and destroying a family's life. Drummond turned on his heel and was heading into town to meet Rougvie when his phone buzzed.

  'It's Nell, Jack. I thought you'd want to know. The girl in the alley died from having pressure applied to her neck.'

  'She was strangled?' Drummond felt his heart sink. 'Are you saying she was another victim of our serial killer?'

  'I doubt it, unless he was going out of his way to do everything differently. I'd say it was another killer who wrapped his hands around our victim's neck and choked her.' She paused. 'She was also full of heroin.'

  'But it was definitely the pressure to the neck that killed her?' Drummond asked.

  'Isn't that what I said?'

  Drummond felt sick. 'Yes, you did. Thanks for letting me know, Nell.'

  'Are you OK, Jack?' She sounded concerned.

  'I'm fine, Nell. Look, I have to go. I'll get back to you.' He stared at the phone for a while after he ended the call. Who had reason to want Evie dead?

  He walked at a slower pace to the Market Bar in the centre of Inverness where Nick Rougvie had suggested they should meet. It could never have been described as palatial. In comparison to the Horseshoe Bar back in Glasgow it was minuscule.

  Drummond prided himself on being able to spot a cop at a hundred yards, but the man at the bar had him guessing. There was a comfortable, stocky look about him. Wide shoulders in a grey tweed jacket and a crop of wiry grey hair. He turned as Drummond walked in and gave him a nod. His smiling face was round and pink, wi
th only the merest stubble on his chin. Drummond couldn't picture this man dealing with the thugs he met on the Glasgow streets, but then Pete was no tough guy either and he had worked on what they called those mean streets all his years in the Force.

  Nick Rougvie turned and smiled as he introduced himself and they shook hands.

  'What would you like?' Nick said.

  Drummond asked for a pint of the local brew he'd had before.

  Nick ordered the drink as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a couple of printed sheets. 'I don't know if you need it or not, but I've been doing a bit more digging about your girl.'

  'My girl?' Drummond frowned. 'You mean your girl. We haven't established if they are the same person.'

  Rougvie flushed. 'I meant Emily.'

  Drummond immediately felt guilty at having sounded so grumpy. The man had put himself out for him. He should be more gracious. 'Sorry. I know what you meant. It's been a long day.' He put out his hand for the information.

  'It's from the school's Christmas show. Emily gave a solo performance on her violin.'

  Drummond was staring at the photocopy of the local newspaper article. The girl in the picture was Evie, but the caption read Emily Ross. The date of the article was the first week in December.

  Nick was studying his face. 'Is that her, sir?'

  Drummond gave a sad nod. The barman moved away to serve a customer at the other end of his bar. Nick lowered his voice. 'You didn't come all this way to find out about a missing girl. What's this all about, sir?'

  Drummond took a long swig of his beer and put the glass back on the counter. He looked up and met Rougvie's eyes. 'I'm investigating a murder,' he said. 'Five of them if we include Emily.'

  'The strangler?' Nick blew out his cheeks. 'You think this girl was a victim of the Glasgow Strangler?'

  Drummond shot him a surprised look. He hadn't considered the murders would be as big news so far north, but why not? Inverness might be distinctly chillier than Glasgow, but it was hardly Alaska.