Flesh and Blood (DS Vicky Dodds Scottish Crime Thrillers Book 2)

by Ed James

  ‘Can you bring my dad back as a consultant?’

  Forrester rolled his eyes. ‘This isn’t a chance for you to turn back time, Vicky.’

  ‘I just want to find the killer.’

  ‘Right, well, I’ll think on it. Problem was, your old man… This is not long after SOCOs switched from actual officers to civilians. The guy who was supposed to process it, he swears your dad lost the knife.’

  She knew she was being pigheaded, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Look, you should think about taking me off the case. I’m worried this will cloud my judgment.’

  ‘And leave me with Euan MacDonald? Give me a break.’ Forrester checked his watch, then glanced at the door. ‘Time we headed back to the crime scene and see how much of an arse he’s making of things.’

  THE HOTEL CAR park was rammed with police cars and news crews. Superb. So Vicky had to park outside on the verge lining the main road. She got out into the cooling evening and set off across the road after Forrester, his pace meaning she was almost having to jog. ‘Only a matter of time before those vultures showed up.’ He signed them in and gave the crime scene manager a nod, then led her through the gates into the car park. ‘You see what’s what with Mac, I’ll take our friends from the press out of the game.’

  ‘Sure.’ Vicky paced off towards the hotel.

  MacDonald stood out the front, wearing his mirror shades again, though he’d lost his suit jacket and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow. He was talking to Considine and Karen, but it looked like they were getting a lashing from him. ‘Get on with it, okay?’ He nodded at them in turn, then charged over to meet Vicky. ‘Where did you get to?’

  ‘Long story.’ Vicky gestured back at the hotel. ‘Getting anything here?’

  ‘Nada.’ MacDonald propped his shades up on his head. ‘Forensics’ve given up on the launch. Sea washed over the evidence.’

  Vicky grimaced. ‘At least we’ve got photos.’

  ‘True. Hear they found a body in the lighthouse.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  Vicky shrugged.

  ‘Tell you, those two are useless.’ MacDonald was eyeing Considine and Karen, still arguing like Bella and Jamie in the back of Rob’s car on the way to Saturday morning swimming. ‘Keep telling Forrester. Need to bring in some better cops.’

  ‘They’re not bad, Euan. You just need to manage them better.’

  His eyebrows flashed up. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I’m just messing with you. What are they working on?’

  ‘Finding the cleaners. Ten of them supposed to work here, but they’ve only spoken to three.’

  ‘Aren’t you helping?’

  ‘Wish I could. Guy from the lighthouse… company? Is it publicly owned? Anyway, he’s turned up, but I’ve got John Lamont moaning about police cars filling up his car park and there’s that event tonight.’

  ‘He can’t seriously be opening up.’

  ‘Raven’s cleared it. So long as the golf course is shut and we can speak to his staff, he doesn’t mind. But I’ve got to shift the cars on and—’

  ‘Relax. I’ll deal with the lighthouse.’

  VICKY WALKED across the pristine green of the fifteenth, heading to the lighthouse. The bunker still had its tent up but there were fewer officers around than up at the hotel. She marched on and got out her mobile to call Rob.

  He answered it straight away. ‘Finally…’ Sounded like bedlam in the background. Screeching and running and dogs barking.

  ‘You okay?’

  He sighed down the line. ‘Bella and Jamie are going apeshit. Your bloody mother gave them sweets.’

  ‘I keep telling her…’

  ‘Bella’s just about impossible with all those E numbers, but Jamie’s way over the line.’

  ‘Are you coping?’

  ‘Just. When you coming home?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ And it was the truth.

  ‘Look, Jamie’s teasing Peralta something rotten so I better go.’

  ‘Love you.’ But her words were lost to a dead line. Vicky pocketed her phone and walked on across the rough towards the beach.

  She caught herself smiling, relieved to have found the right man. One right man in a whole sea of wrong.

  She hopped down and set off across the bridge, though it didn’t seem as bad as MacDonald intimated. Damp from high tide, yes, but hardly inundated. The lighthouse was blocking out the worst of the sun.

  It was clearly connected to her old man’s case, the one that broke him, but whether it was more than someone just being familiar with the original crimes… She didn’t know, but she needed to find the killer.

  She walked over to the door and called inside, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Archibald Quinn.’ A man appeared, rugged face and rugged clothes. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He thrust out his hand.

  Vicky shook it, baby-skin soft. ‘Thanks for joining us.’

  ‘Not at all, I just wish we were meeting under better circumstances.’ Quinn peered up at the lighthouse, squinting into the sun. ‘I can’t believe someone broke in to her.’

  Her? Christ.

  ‘You been here before, then?’

  ‘Indeed. We’re based up in Dundee, but I supervised the upgrade from manual to automatic in the early nineties. Felt like I was here every day. We grew attached, me and old Oggie here.’

  ‘Oggie?’

  ‘Why yes.’ He pointed at the base of the lighthouse. ‘She stands on Ogg’s Rock.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘And why would you?’

  ‘You still work for the—’

  ‘It’s a private business now, yes. And I’m part time these days. But when we got the call in, well there was no other option than for it to be me who attended.’ Quinn shook his head. ‘But it’s like someone’s violated my wife, God rest her soul.’

  ‘You know how many people have access?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Me.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Indeed. There are obviously protocols in place regarding back-up and redundancy, but I’m the only person with manual access to her.’

  ‘Any security cameras?’

  ‘No. It’s all locked down, so there shouldn’t be any need. Nobody should be getting inside her.’

  ‘But somebody broke in.’

  ‘I know. But I’m afraid there’s nothing I can add to the story.’

  ‘How about starting with how they got in?’

  ‘I’ve had a little look and it’s not pretty. Power tools were involved.’ He waved over at the door. ‘That door was designed for use in a nuclear bunker, so to gain access to her, the reprobates have had to eat away at her very fabric.’

  ‘So they used a drill?’

  ‘I’m not an expert on that.’

  ‘Any reason to keep bleach in there?’

  ‘Well, she gets her annual beauty treatment. We employ a firm based in Elie down in Fife to clean her and her sisters.’ Quinn looked up again. ‘Can I go up and see what they’ve done to her?’

  ‘It’s an active crime scene, sir.’ Vicky nodded over at DC Buchan guarding the entrance. Five foot six of ginger nightmare. She heard footsteps climbing down the inside and knew who that would be. ‘My colleague here will take a statement from you first, and you can have a look around upstairs once our forensics officers have completed their tasks.’

  Quinn seemed to take that in good grace and he joined Buchan by the door, but kept a grim look on his face.

  Jenny Morgan powered out of the lighthouse, holding two massive boxes and smiling like she knew all the answers. Jenny smiling was never a good thing.

  Vicky stopped her getting past. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Sorry. Didn’t see you there.’ Jenny dropped her boxes and huffed out a sigh. ‘It’s melting inside, Dougie keeps breaking wind and there’s a fucking body with his eyelids cut off. Of course I’m not okay!’

 
‘That must be shocking.’ Vicky took a box and led her over the concrete bridge back to the beach. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Jenny rubbed at her eyes. ‘Why are you here? Hiding from Mac?’

  ‘Much as I’d love to, no.’ She waved over at Quinn, who now seemed to be sobbing. ‘I’m dealing with that poor sod who seems to be coping with his wife’s death by anthropomorphising a lighthouse.’

  ‘Christ, and I thought you were mad.’

  ‘I am.’ Vicky smiled and it seemed to calm Jenny down a notch. ‘So, have you found anything up there?’

  ‘That bottle of bleach you found? Looks like the killer cleaned the corpse and the bloody room with it. I hoped we’d get something, but not even a hair. Whoever did it, they knew what they were doing. Wearing a crime scene suit while they were doing it, kind of thing.’

  ‘Arbuthnott finished?’

  ‘Long since. Found nothing. She might get something later on, but I wouldn’t hold out hope.’

  ‘What about the female victim? Anything?’

  ‘Don’t know. Arbuthnott was moaning about how last night’s rain got to her first and didn’t seem too happy when her guys were taking the body back to the morgue. And Mac was pestering her to check if it was the same knife as the female victim’s throat wound. Nice that you’re not the only woman your lover’s been pestering, eh?’

  ‘He’s not my lover, but he’s still pestering, aye.’ Vicky stared hard at Jenny, but the way she looked away so quickly, coupled with her daze coming out of the lighthouse, well it was obvious she was hiding something. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Jenny?’

  ‘Just waiting for you to ask me to dig into the Atreus killing.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I heard your dad was involved.’

  Vicky gave her a smile. ‘Back in the day, a knife went missing. Can you do some digging into what happened to it?’

  ‘Will do.’ Jenny hefted up her boxes, stuffed to the brim with evidence bags. ‘Better get these back to base.’

  ‘You find something?’

  ‘Nope.’ Jenny frowned. ‘Wait, we found an invite for a party at LA Golf.’

  9

  The bulk of the police work seemed to be happening in the hotel’s car park. Now the crime scene manager had been moved to the golf course, an enterprising fast food van was frying up burgers, the hot meaty smell hitting Vicky, followed by tangy onion.

  Considine was at the head of the queue, laughing at something the server said. He opened the lid of his burger and squirted tomato ketchup down his shirt. ‘Shite.’

  Vicky only had a shake of her head for him.

  His culinary mishap hadn’t put him off chewing on his burger. ‘Sarge.’

  ‘Have you got hold of the guest list for last night?’

  Considine looked at her like she’d asked him to recite A Brief History of Time from memory, so he just chewed with a finger in the air. And a dollop of sauce on the ground.

  Vicky spotted MacDonald outside the hotel, speaking to a middle-aged woman. That intense stare, the over-laughing, the stroke of her arm. Christ, he was flirting with her. ‘I’ll let you finish that, Stephen.’ She set off away from the van.

  MacDonald clocked Vicky’s approach, his eyes widening as he stepped aside to let her into the huddle. ‘This is DS Vicky Dodds, a colleague of mine. This is Lisa Johnson.’

  Lisa gave her a careful look, like she was appraising her clothes. Vicky’s summer T-shirt and loose trousers were a lot less glam than Lisa’s leopard-print skin-tight leggings and the loose brown blouse, but at least they fit properly. Her fake tan looked like she was wearing leather instead of skin, pencilled-on eyebrows and botoxed lips like a puffer fish made her smile look empty. ‘Nice to meet you.’ South African accent, out here in the wilds of Tayside.

  Vicky had no idea who she was, so she focused on MacDonald. ‘Euan, I’m looking for that guest list?’

  ‘You’re in luck here. Lisa organised the function last night.’ MacDonald soaked up the lingering look from the organiser. ‘Considine and co are digging into the attendees list.’

  ‘Our male victim attended.’ Vicky showed him a snapshot of the party invite Jenny had found. ‘I need to match this to a name.’

  Lisa frowned at them. ‘Listen, John never furnished me with a full guest list.’

  ‘How can you run an event without a guest list?’

  ‘Finally someone who gets me.’ Lisa beamed. ‘He wanted to maintain control of the whole thing. I was just paid to arrange the function. Get people to hand out nibbles and drinks, fine.’ She pointed at the photo. ‘That’s a VIP pass, so you need to ask—’ She scowled over Vicky’s shoulder. ‘John!’ She charged off.

  John Lamont was sucking on a cigarette, more than a bit too close to the hotel entrance. His suit was as crumpled as his face. Eyebrows low, he was staring right at them. ‘Lisa?’

  Vicky followed her over.

  Lisa shook her head at his proffered cigarette pack. ‘The police need access to the VIP list.’

  Lamont shut his eyes. ‘I can’t just—’

  ‘Yes, you can.’ Vicky waited for him to open his eyes. ‘And you will.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  Vicky got in his face and sucked in second-hand smoke, but she still stood her ground. ‘Sir, are you aware that we found a second body?’

  ‘I am, but that lighthouse isn’t my property.’ Lamont looked at MacDonald, then Lisa, then back at Vicky with a shrug. ‘Fine, there’s no point in arguing with you, is there?’ He put his smoke between his lips and reached into his pocket for a giant smartphone. He stared at it, then tapped on the screen and turned it round to Vicky. ‘This do you?’

  Vicky snatched it off him. The high-resolution screen showed some sort of contacts app, with names and photos. She slid down the list, aware of MacDonald’s close presence over her shoulder and Lamont’s second-hand smoke coiling into her nostrils.

  And there he was. The male victim.

  She let out a sigh. ‘Derek Craigen.’

  Lamont’s mouth formed an O. ‘Derek?’ He swallowed hard. ‘My God.’

  ‘You didn’t recognise him from the photo you were shown?’

  Lamont frowned. ‘What photo?’

  Vicky looked at MacDonald and his eyebrows shot up. Another Considine mess, probably. She looked back at Lamont. ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘He’s a good guy.’ Lamont exhaled slowly, then pressed his cigarette against the bin and dropped the butt in. ‘Local businessman, and I’m trying to get him to sign up as an early-access member at the club.’

  MacDonald grinned at him. ‘Close the deal?’

  Lamont nodded. ‘Signed him up last night over the sorbet.’

  Vicky shot MacDonald a glare to shut him up. ‘How well do you know him?’

  ‘Like I say, he’s a local businessman. Runs a plumbing company. If you listen to him, it’s a big deal. They cover the north east and Fife, but that’s the extent of my knowledge I’m afraid.’

  Sounded like at least a reasonably-sized deal. Meaning money could be a motive. ‘Did they do any work here?’

  ‘Sure. They were contractors for the build. Did all the plumbing for the hotel. Even installed the swimming pool and the watering system for the golf course, you name it.’

  ‘Are they anything to do with the rework going on inside?’

  ‘I wish they were. No, the joinery was shoddy, whereas Derek’s work was sound. The fish tanks have been a complete disaster. Only wish he accepted taking that on, but he didn’t.’

  Vicky showed him her own phone, displaying the photo of the female victim. ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Sorry, no. I’ve seen her already.’

  At least Considine had done something right. ‘Was Mr Craigen married?’

  ‘Think so.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Well, last night, Derek booked in a birthday party for his youngest daughter. It’s her eighteenth in August.
I’d need to check the date, but Derek booked our Prom package, even though it’s not a prom.’ He gestured at the phone. ‘And if that’s Derek’s wife, she’d be about five when the kid was born. So I’d say it’s not her.’

  So who was she? And why did she have an engagement ring?

  ‘Right.’ Vicky put her phone away. ‘You get an address for him?’

  EVEN THOUGH IT SHOULDN’T, it still shocked Vicky to see her old high school missing, all but the swimming baths replaced by a new building. Not that it looked much better than the old Sixties tower.

  Considine was in the passenger seat, gripping the oh-shit handle for dear life. Kept glancing over at Vicky, like he was angry with her driving the Subaru. Probably was. ‘You used to be a pupil there, right?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Played football against that shower a few times. Had a few handy players, mind.’ Considine glanced back that way with a grin. ‘Couldn’t prevent me from scoring a hat trick, likes.’

  Vicky eased past the heavy traffic flowing up West Path, the steep hill climbing up from the town below. Her dad called it Bury’s Brae, but she had about six ideas of how to spell it. ‘The kids nowadays don’t know they’re born. They wouldn’t know the joys of a sway.’

  ‘A sway?’

  ‘The old building was a nightmare. The middle bit was four floors, but there were extensions on the second floor in like three directions, so you’d be having swap classes and hit a ton of traffic. Just like this.’ Vicky pulled up ahead, waiting for a hole in the golf traffic. Nothing was opening up, just a steady stream of Audis and BMWs. ‘A sway was when the older kids pushed through and pretty much picked up the smaller kids off their feet. You’d sometimes get carried from one end of the B-floor to the stairs at the far end of Maths. And you were trying to get to Music.’ Was that gap big enough? Even the Subaru would struggle to get through. ‘You went to Forfar Academy, right?’

  ‘Nah, grew up in Brechin.’

  Bingo. A bus pulled in at the stop, so Vicky shot past the tail of a Lexus and got onto the street, residential and almost as modern as Carnoustie got, but more upmarket than most at this end of the town. Vicky knew a few kids on this street growing up, but Craigen’s address was at the end, hidden behind tall walls, shrouded on both sides by mature oaks and beech.