by Ed James
‘You know a thing or two about bondage?’
‘Sir, I’m going to pretend that’s an inquiry as to my professional history.’
Forrester was blushing. ‘Aye, course it is.’
‘Well, on Teresa…’ Vicky found the photos. ‘See? Amateur as hell. Nothing like on Catriona.’
‘Right.’
‘That’s it?
‘Come on, Doddsy, it’s—’
‘Sir, we should be getting a warrant. Go to his flat again, get into his room. Might find similar knots and books on bondage, fetish porn. But it doesn’t explain why Teresa’s knots look like I’ve done it. And I didn’t get a badge for knots in the Brownies.’
Forrester patted her on the arm. ‘Cheer up. We’ve got him.’ He got up and stretched out. ‘And let’s get home, raise a glass with our families and celebrate a good collar. They’ve put up with enough.’
Vicky sat there, arms folded, something rattling around in her brain.
‘I know that look. Your old man’s got one exactly the same. What’s up?’
She looked up and met his narrow-eyed stare. ‘I’m just not so sure, sir. The stuff about his phone going missing. Plus the fact he didn’t rape Carly before she died. It all feels a bit too convenient. Or just… I don’t know.’
‘Doddsy.’ Forrester huffed out a sigh. ‘McLean raped Catriona Gordon. He abducted Ry’s lassie. He killed Carly. Sometimes murder doesn’t always have to follow rape. Sometimes they lose the ability. Not everyone associates violence with arousal.’
‘Or he didn’t do it.’
Forrester held up his thumb. ‘Catriona, eyewitness, raped.’ His forefinger. ‘Teresa, found in the boot of his car, abducted.’ Then the middle finger, but not pointing at Vicky. ‘Carly, murdered where she was going to meet him and where Teresa was abducted from.’
Vicky couldn’t look at him for much longer.
‘Look, I’m going home, Raven’s orders. You can bugger off and watch Die Hard with your old man. Whatever.’
Vicky slowly got up. ‘I think we need to check it all through, sir.’
‘It’s Christmas bloody Eve. You’re here as a favour to me, that’s it. Why don’t you bugger off and spend some time with your kid?’
Vicky nodded. But the taxi firm was on the way home.
* * *
Vicky hit a wall of traffic on the Broughty Ferry Road, that short gap between the town and the city, both long since merged. Blue lights flashing up ahead probably meant some daft kid went hammering along here at sixty and caught the ice, then another car. She’d seen it a few times over the years.
That same CD was stuck in the player, but at least it played. Seemed weird listening to the Frozen soundtrack without Bella in the back singing along, but Vicky knew all the words too, and having it play softly in the car was better company than Karen, asleep in the passenger seat.
Not even midnight. Last of the party animals.
Vicky got through in a wave of cars, all taking it slow on the black ice. A poor uniform was shaking grit over a stretch, blocked off by a squad car. And sure enough, a souped-up Peugeot was wrapped around a lamppost. The driver was sitting on the wall, rubbing his head but laughing, so at least he hadn’t ruined anybody else’s Christmas.
Vicky’s phone rang. Dad calling…
She got that jolt of fear. Never a good thing when he was ringing her. Made her think of all the shit that could happen to her mother.
She hit the button on the wheel to answer it. ‘Hey, Dad, you okay?’
‘Aye, totally fine.’
‘So why are you calling me?’
‘Well, just noticed a few missed calls from you to her. Your mother’s asleep, sitting on your chair. That chainsaw sound you can hear is her snoring.’
‘Ah.’ Vicky felt herself smiling. ‘How’s Die Hard?’
‘It’s always cracking, my girl. Just about to put on the third one, as it happens.’ Dad yawned down the line. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Just heading home now.’ Vicky eased towards the roundabout. Straight ahead was Carnoustie and home, about twenty minutes away, fifteen if she could get the run of the lights around Monifieth.
Warm house, cold wine.
And just up ahead to the right was the taxi firm. Where Considine was going through Dougie McLean’s taxi trips, looking for evidence to back up a really solid conviction, at least in Forrester’s eyes. She should really let him go. Probably still lived with his mother, and she’d be wondering where he was. She would’ve let him go if the stupid sod had answered his phone.
‘Dad, how many times did you catch a murderer at Christmas?’
‘Way too many. Numpties in the pub, open and shut cases. But there was that serial killer case, too.’ He paused for a few seconds. ‘But mostly it was just dafties knocking lumps out of each other, taking it too far.’
‘And did you get pressure to head home and have a family Christmas?’
‘Seems like Christmas is the only time when senior officers insist you bugger off home.’
‘Right.’ Vicky indicated, just short of the roundabout, and pulled off the road. ‘I’ll be about half an hour, Dad.’
‘Sure thing. But I’ve got a couple of hours of John McClane here if you need it. And a fair few tins of beer.’
‘Don’t tempt me. Love you, Dad.’
‘Love you too.’
Vicky hit the call end button as she pulled into the last free parking space, next to Considine’s car – at least he was here.
Karen was looking at her, yawning and frowning. ‘What’s up?’
‘Just going to relieve Considine.’
‘Okay-doke.’ Karen sat back, eyes closed.
Vicky left Frozen playing and got out into the bitter night. The wind had picked up from earlier, tossing an icy blast towards the city. She battled through it as she made her way over to the entrance. The door took a bit of effort to open.
Considine and Alan Kettles were sitting at a computer, laughing and joking like a pair of kids at school dicking about on the internet.
Considine glanced over at the door and shot to his feet like he’d been gossiping about Vicky. ‘Sarge? What are you doing here?’
‘Just letting you know you can get off home, Constable. Have a good Christmas.’
‘Just me and the Xbox, eh?’
‘Not going to a family Christmas?’
‘Mum’s in Spain with her new boyfriend. God knows where the old man is.’
Vicky felt that pang of guilt, that she should invite him to her family Christmas. But then, it was Considine and he’d probably engineered it so he could spend all day playing Xbox. ‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘It’s fine, Sarge. Anyway, we’re not far off finishing here.’
‘Oh?’
Considine gave a brief glower, like he didn’t want her inspecting his work, but he put on a smile quickly enough. ‘Just been going through McLean’s fares.’
‘And?’
‘Well, Mr Kettles has been putting his back into it, have to say.’ Considine smiled at the owner. ‘After all that, we’ve got some big gaps to fill tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow’s Christmas.’
‘So it is. Well, on Boxing Day then.’
‘You’re off until the 27th, Stephen.’ But something sat uneasy with her. ‘These gaps, could he have been raping and killing?’
‘Exactly, Sarge. Exactly. What you were saying about the lad’s phone, about some boy calling him.’
‘I didn’t tell you that.’
‘No, that’s right. Kaz texted us. Couldn’t back it up. But he can.’ Considine grinned at Kettles like God knows what. Like he was trying to impress the alpha male in the herd? Maybe. ‘Now we’ve recovered the car, it’d be useful to get hold of it.’
‘Stephen, it’s evidence.’
‘Aye, but—’
‘There was a kidnapped teenage girl in the boot.’
‘Aye, Sarge. If you’d let me finish?’
Vicky rai
sed her eyebrows. ‘On you go.’
‘Way he explains it, McLean was reporting no fares and was off radio, which is our gap.’
‘But?’
Considine frowned. Then looked over at Kettles. ‘How about you explain it?’
Kettles sat there with the composure of an expert being asked to provide his opinion in a case, like that mansplaining statistician last year. ‘Like he says, my boys have been going off radio and running wild for a few years now. Big issue for me, as it’s my car and my diesel. But.’ He raised a finger. ‘I let that play to my advantage.’
Vicky wished he’d cut to the chase like in one of her dad’s films. ‘How?’
‘Been in this business too long to let my drivers run wild for long. The lads and lassies have to return the motors to me for MOTs and services. Simple task to replace the radios for all the cars over a couple of months, and to put a GPS tracker in the radio that runs even if the power button is turned off.’
That could shut the door on the case, and get her home. ‘How easy is it?’
‘Piece of pi— cake, love.’
‘But?’
Kettles grinned at Considine. ‘See what you mean about her.’
Vicky knew she could dive headlong down that rabbit hole, but needed to stay focused here. ‘How do you—?’
‘You’re a smart cookie, you.’ Kettles shook his head, grinning away. ‘I need to get at the motor itself, plug the laptop in and it’ll let me download the data from the GPS tracker. Then I can tell you exactly where it’s been for the last seventy-two hours.’
‘Why that long?’
‘How long it takes until the memory chip fills up, eh? I can usually concoct an excuse to get it within that window, then I can nail their balls to the wall if they’ve been too cheeky. I’m a reasonable man, I did it myself when I was—’
‘So if we take you to the car, you can do it?’
‘Less than a minute, love.’ Kettles grabbed his laptop. ‘Just show us where it is and I’ll see if Dougie’s story checks out.’
16
Vicky pressed the doorbell again, shivering in the cold, the night seeming that bit darker. ‘Come on, come on, come on.’
Karen stood there, yawning into her fist, bleary eyes scanning the house. ‘They’re in.’
‘Aye, but not answering the bloody door.’ Vicky checked her watch. Two eighteen. Christ, how did it get to that time? She pressed the button again.
Along Adelaide Place, the other house they’d visited – Carly Johnston’s parents. Lights on inside, but low. The sign of grief.
The door opened and a woman peered out. Eyes lined with stress and fatigue. Dressed in leggings and a top, but like she was going for a run, instead of bed. ‘Can I help?’
No complaint about it being the middle of the night.
‘Mrs Wilkie?’
‘That’s right. Jane.’ She didn’t hold out a hand. ‘And you are?’
‘DS Vicky Dodds.’ She flashed her warrant card. ‘This is DC Karen Woods. We’re here to speak to your son.’
‘What’s he done?’
That hit Vicky with a frown. ‘He was arrested earlier this evening. Your husband was—’
Jane shot off into the house. ‘GARY!’
Vicky glanced at Karen, then followed Jane inside.
The place was beige. Everywhere. Everything. A beige rug over pale floorboards in the hall. Beige pictures on the beige painted walls. Beige carpet in the living room, with beige wallpaper.
Mike Wilkie sat in the living room on a beige leather couch, in front of American wrestling, big muscular guys with long hair throwing each other around. He looked over at them, gave a nod, then went back to his wrestling, sipping whisky from a glass.
‘YOU SHOULD’VE TOLD ME!’
Vicky followed the din through the house to a large kitchen, a room that had taken all of the colour from the house and put it on display. Bright-red units, a baby-blue Aga, mid-orange carpet and deep-purple dining table with matching deep-purple chairs.
Gary Wilkie was standing by the stainless-steel American fridge, the only thing in the room that had no colour. He was clutching a bowl, spooning cereal into his mouth. Milk dribbled down his chin. Probably the first food he’d managed since decorating his shoes in the interview room. ‘Didn’t Dad tell you?’
Jane stood way too close to him, fists on hips, looking like she was going to punch a Wilkie, but hadn’t decided which one. ‘So you were arrested?’
‘Aye.’ Gary looked over at Vicky, then hid behind his cereal bowl. ‘They did it. Those two arrested me, Mum.’
Jane focused her anger on Vicky. ‘What happened?’
‘We had reason to believe that your son was involved in the murder of Carly Johnston.’
‘Carly?’ Jane dipped her head. ‘She’s dead?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I used to babysit for her when she was wee. Sorry, I didn’t know. I was out at a friend’s for a catch-up. Why did you think Gary did it?’
‘We thought he’d killed her because he ran away from us at a party. And couldn’t explain his movements.’
‘But?’
‘His assistance, and that of your husband, led us to another suspect, Carly’s boyfriend.’
‘That taxi driver?’
‘Correct. You’ve seen him?’
She sighed and her fists slipped from her hips. ‘Aye, I’ve seen him. The taxi driver, aye?’
‘The reason we’re here, Mrs Wilkie, is that we believe that her boyfriend’s last fare before he lost his mobile phone was to this address.’
Gary tossed his bowl in the sink with a clatter. Milk sprayed up, cereal lumps sticking to the splashback tiles and sliding down. ‘Why does everyone think it was me?’
Vicky approached him, slowly and carefully, mindful of his tendency to run. And to vomit. ‘When we spoke to you earlier, you told us you were at a work night out last night. The video game company?’
Jane got between them, mama bear protecting her cub. ‘That’s true. He was out.’ She wagged a finger at Vicky. ‘But he’s too young to drink.’
Aye, right. Vicky focused on the mother. ‘Did Gary get a taxi home after it?’
Gary shook his head.
‘Mrs Wilkie, did you pick him up?’
Jane shook her head now. ‘I didn’t, no.’
‘And your husband?’
‘He was out himself.’
Nailed. Vicky focused on Gary. ‘When you took the taxi last night, did you steal his phone?’
‘Whose phone?’
‘Carly’s boyfriend.’
‘No!’
‘You sure about that?’
But Gary wouldn’t answer.
‘Here’s what we know happened. You caught a cab home with—’
‘I didn’t!’
‘You did. We know you did. A pick-up in the city centre, driven here. You told us you were at the Indignity party, which we know was at the Malmaison in the centre.’
Gary looked defeated now, his head slumped on his chest.
‘You stole his phone, arranged to meet Carly, then you stole a car, kidnapped Teresa.’ Vicky held his gaze. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘I didn’t do anything.’
‘Son, right now, you really need an alibi for this evening.’
‘I didn’t kill Carly!’
‘Oh, so who did? One of Santa’s elves?’
‘How dare you talk to my son like that!’
‘Mrs Wilkie, we know your son was in a relationship with Miss Johnston for—’
‘Bullshit!’ Gary lurched forward and launched his fist at Vicky’s head.
She caught it and twisted his arm around his back, then forced him over the kitchen table.
‘This is bullshit!’ Gary was shooting his head either side to get at Vicky, but she had him pinned down good and proper. ‘Carly is a witch!’
‘A witch, right.’
‘You don’t know what I’ve been through!’ Gary went l
imp, collapsing against the counter, his body rocking with tears. ‘What she put me through…’
Vicky snapped out the handcuffs and rolled them around his wrists. He stayed there, sobbing against the worktop. ‘What did she put you through, Gary?’
‘Hell.’ He turned around, glaring at her. ‘Carly and Teri, they made my life hell!’
Jane stood there, her anger dissipated to frost.
Karen stepped forward and got in the kid’s face. ‘Gary Wilkie, I’m arresting you for—’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘—the crime of murder.’
‘It wasn’t me!’ Gary slapped her hands away. ‘I wasn’t there. It wasn’t me in that taxi.’
‘Gary, you need to stop lying to us.’
‘I was here at home, playing games.’
‘But you told us you were inv—’
‘I wasn’t.’ Gary stood up and looked over at her, his hand spraying greasy hair back over his head. ‘I’m just a part-timer. And I’m underage. They didn’t invite me to the party.’
‘So that stuff about you becoming a big shot?’
‘It was…’ He sighed. ‘I’ve never spoken to anyone except my manager.’
‘Gary, this all seems a bit far-fetched. Like you’re trying to wriggle out of a murder charge.’
‘I’m stressed, okay?’
‘Stress is a very common experience with people who have killed, especially in cold blood. Especially when—’
‘No.’ Jane moved back, getting between them, but she was defending her son this time. ‘You don’t understand. Gary’s been off school with stress. Last night, I drove him to see his therapist down in the Ferry.’
‘It’s also common for parents to lie to protect their children.’
‘I’m not lying.’ Jane was crying now. ‘Gary’s been off school for a month now. He just went back two weeks ago. But the stress was a lot to handle, so he needed to speak to his therapist again.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘Carly and Teri. Those girls… Carly… I don’t know how she did it, but she made him think he was her boyfriend, and she got him to send her a…’ She clamped her eyes shut.
‘What?’ Vicky was clenching her fists tight. The motive was getting stronger and stronger. ‘What did he send?’