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

by Ed James

  He hiccuped, then blinked a few times. ‘That’s me, darling. I can drive you.’ He made to stand up but collapsed into his seat.

  ‘Not in that state.’

  ‘Fair enough. Let me call Johnny in.’ But he just yawned into his fist. ‘Won a bit of money on the golf this afternoon.’

  ‘That was yesterday.’

  He frowned. ‘Was it?’ He reached over and poured a good measure of whisky into his glass. ‘Well, whatever. Slainte!’ He sank it then wiped a shaking hand across his mouth. He tried to get up again, but his legs still weren’t co-operating. ‘So where can I take you?’

  ‘Police, sir.’ Vicky opened her warrant card and held it out, but reading seemed to be a bit beyond his capabilities just now. ‘Need to speak to you about Marianne Gall.’

  ‘Oh, Marianne.’ He pursed his lips. ‘One of my favourites.’

  ‘I take it she didn’t drive a cab for you?’

  ‘Correct. Working girl.’

  ‘You mean escort?’

  ‘Something like that. She was the best, though. Always did what she was told. Popular with the Yankee-doodle-dandies.’

  ‘Any local favourites?’

  ‘Oh hells yeah. Had a few repeat customers. Big earners round here, they’d keep on coming back, asking for Marianne, but I had to keep telling them how she’s no longer on the payroll. Have to pass them off to Kelly or to Lorna, but they’re not the same, are they?’

  ‘I don’t know. Does Marianne still do any work for you?’

  ‘Never. Some sleazy bumhole basically bought her off me. I hooked them up, even drove her down to his shagging pad in Car-snooty, and this boy thanks me by getting her to jack it in. I mean, I’ve offered her a king’s ransom and just for a cheeky wee hand shandy off some Yank, but nope. No dice. Some of these lassies, they don’t have the stamina for this. Just want to be some clown’s trophy wife. What can you do, eh?’ He reached for his bottle and splashed more onto the counter than into his glass.

  And right then, Vicky’s phone blasted out into the ice-cold room. ‘Sorry about this.’ She looked at it just long enough to see it was Rob, then bounced the call, then back at the owner. ‘We’re going to need a list of these clients.’

  ‘List!’ He bellowed out a laugh. ‘There’s no list, hen. I just get boys to drive people around.’ He sank his latest measure and focused on her, or as close to focusing as he could manage. ‘Let me see that warrant.’ As pissed as he was, he still knew where to draw the line. Or that he had to draw it somewhere.

  ‘We don’t have one.’

  He made little legs with his fingers. ‘Well, why don’t you bugger off out of here and come back when you do?’

  But Vicky doubled down, resting her hands on the desk and staring at him. ‘Marianne was murdered.’

  He burped, then finished his whisky. ‘You think she’s the first of my girls to pop her clogs? Bugger off!’

  Vicky took a look at MacDonald but just got a shrug from the useless wanker. She rapped a knuckle off the desk. ‘We’ll be back.’

  ‘No you won’t.’ He took a betting slip out of his pocket and kissed it.

  Vicky was sorely tempted to rip it out of his grasp and hold him to ransom. Or just tear it into a thousand pieces. But MacDonald was there and was likely to grass on her. ‘Come on.’ She stomped out of the door and stood outside in the baking heat. ‘Well?’

  MacDonald’s gaze followed a bus hurtling along the main road, dragging a wave of traffic after it. ‘I doubt we’ll get a warrant.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’

  ‘Still, taxi company with a sideline. Very shifty.’

  ‘You’re one to talk.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You’re a shifty sod, Euan.’ Right then, her phone rang again. Rob. ‘Better take this.’

  ‘Who is it? Forrester?’

  ‘My partner.’

  ‘Partner.’ He smirked. ‘Why don’t you say boyfriend?’

  ‘Because people in their thirties feel silly saying boyfriend when they’ve moved in together and their partner’s kid calls you Mummy.’

  ‘Well.’ He flashed up his eyebrows. ‘I still like you, Vicky.’

  ‘Euan, you’re married. You’re going to be a father.’

  ‘I’ve made a mistake.’ He sniffed. ‘And I’d get out of it in a heartbeat if I knew there was something to get into.’

  ‘Get over yourself. You sleazy prick, I’m in a relationship. With a nice guy, not a cheating bastard like you. The world’s full of lost and lonely kids whose fathers were selfish pricks that couldn’t handle responsibility. Don’t be another one.’

  But he just stood there. ‘Charming.’

  ‘You’re all mouth and no trousers.’

  ‘You felt the bulge in my trousers when we kissed, Vicky.’

  ‘Is that what it was? I thought it was a very small Yale key. You’re married, you slimy prick.’ She walked off towards her car and got out her phone.

  But Rob had rung off.

  Superb.

  But MacDonald had followed her over to her car. ‘Sorry, but I need you to follow me.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘DCI Raven asked me to escort you to Bell Street. He wants a word with you.’

  32

  Vicky knocked on the office door and stepped back, heart in her mouth. A male voice droned through the wood, someone talking on the phone.

  ‘You okay?’ MacDonald was trying to smile, but it wasn’t coming off as genuine, at least not to Vicky. Narrowed eyes, clenched jaw.

  ‘I’m just fine and dandy, Euan.’ Vicky stood there, the butterflies in her stomach flapping harder and harder. She still had no idea what this was all about, what Raven wanted and why he’d sent MacDonald to fetch her.

  Well, maybe she had an inkling. Several of them. Her dad, Alan, MacDonald himself.

  ‘Sod it.’ She opened the door and MacDonald tried to stop her, but she brushed him off and powered in.

  DCI John Raven was sitting at his desk, speaking on the phone, but sweeping a glower across Vicky. ‘Carolyn, I’ll call you back. Thanks.’ He eased the handset down on the cradle, then took a sip of coffee. ‘Mac, thanks for ferrying her here.’

  Vicky stood there. Didn’t even give MacDonald the satisfaction of eye contact. ‘What’s this about, sir?’

  Raven pointed at the chair in front of the desk. ‘If you wouldn’t mind?’

  Vicky took the seat and badly wanted to nibble at her fingernails, but she resisted it. ‘Is there a problem, sir?’

  Raven walked over to the machine bubbling away by the window overlooking the car park and refilled his cup. ‘Coffee?’

  Vicky shook her head.

  ‘Wouldn’t mind one, sir.’ MacDonald was still by the door.

  ‘Bet you wouldn’t.’ Raven sat back down with a laugh, and cradled his mug. ‘You can go, Mac.’ He shot him a brief wink, then slurped at his coffee, waiting for MacDonald to leave them to it. ‘Now, Sergeant, I’m looking for an explanation and it better be good.’

  ‘What am I supposed to have done, sir?’

  ‘As you should be aware, Superintendent Ogilvie from Professional Standards is investigating who’s been leaking to the press. If I’d known it was you, I’d have—

  ‘What?’

  ‘Okey-doke. Denial, is it?’

  ‘Of course I’m denying it. I’ve not leaked anything to anyone!’

  Raven took another drink of coffee. ‘So the name Alan Lyall doesn’t mean anything to you?’

  This was going even worse than how she expected. That little creep was getting all over her professional life now? And she caught herself nibbling the nail on her left index finger. ‘If this is about who was leaking to the press, it’s not me.’

  Raven looked right at Vicky, those dark eyes drilling into her. ‘But he is your ex, right?’

  ‘That’s immaterial.’

  ‘And Alan Lyall is the father of your child?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have to endure this.�
��

  ‘Aye, you should. Your coat’s on a really shoogly peg here, Sergeant. You’re acting like you don’t think the rules apply to you. A member of my team made me aware of the connection between you and this Alan Lyall.’

  ‘DS MacDonald told you.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  Vicky snarled at him. ‘Because he’s a brown-nosing bastard.’

  ‘You know what I mean…’

  ‘I find it really interesting how DS MacDonald is grassing to you.’

  ‘Grassing. You’re not at school here, Sergeant.’

  ‘It feels a lot like it. Did DS MacDonald make DI Forrester aware of this allegation?’

  Raven just stared into his coffee mug.

  ‘So he’s got a direct line to you, right?’

  Raven raised his eyebrows. ‘You and this Lyall were an item. Your daughter is his child. Stands to reason.’

  ‘Believe me, the last thing I’d ever want to do in my life is speak to him.’

  ‘And yet you have. You let Mr Lyall photograph the Craigen crime scene, didn’t you?’

  ‘First, it wasn’t a crime scene, it was just a victim’s home. And second, DI Forrester was informed of that. Said you’d approved it.’

  ‘I did, did I?’

  ‘Are you saying you didn’t?’

  ‘No, I approved it, but it’s interesting how much you’re helping your baby daddy.’ Raven took a sip of coffee, grimacing at the taste. ‘I’ll schedule some time with you, me and Superintendent Ogilvie tomorrow morning.’

  ‘The complaints? Seriously?’

  ‘I suggest you work on your story before then.’

  She punched the desk. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide here. Euan MacDonald seeing me chatting to my ex is enough to get me in the shit with the complaints? This is complete bullshit.’

  ‘Would you rather it was any other way? If I just let you get away with this, this place would be absolute chaos. Just like when your old man was serving.’

  ‘You should be very careful what you’re saying.’

  Raven sat back and finished his coffee with a long slurp, dumping the mug on the table. ‘I’m giving you one last chance before I throw you to the wolves. Have you been leaking to the press?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay, another last, last chance.’

  ‘No, I haven’t been leaking anything to anyone, sir.’

  ‘Do you know who might have been?’

  Vicky had a good idea, but there was no way she was grassing to him. ‘No, I don’t. Listen to me, Alan Lyall hasn’t been part of my life for a long time. Over seven years. I unfriended him on social media, blocked his phone, all that jazz. He’s never even met his daughter. He’s dead to me.’

  ‘Well, if that’s how you’re playing it, I have to say I’m disappointed but not surprised. You probably want to wear a suit to work tomorrow.’

  Vicky took one last look at Raven and realised he was a lost cause. ‘Good evening, sir.’ She went back out into the corridor and slammed the door behind her. The hallway felt like it stretched miles south, all the way to Edinburgh, maybe even London.

  She was sure she could hear buttons being pressed on the phone through the door. Raven calling his contacts in the complaints, piling more on the file. Maybe DCS Soutar, updating her on an emerging vacancy in the Dundee MIT.

  She knew in her heart it was Considine leaking. Stupid bastard didn’t know what he was doing. And it was all hitting her.

  Vicky needed to put a stop to it.

  VICKY TWISTED the bottle lid and let it fizz up slowly, easing it off with a hiss until the bitter dark smell hit her. Not a drop spilled and it was a lot flatter. She took a sip of the ice-cold drink and looked around the canteen.

  Time was, this place would be jumping about now, the servers dishing up burgers and chips to anyone and everyone. But things being what they were in Police Scotland, it was almost deserted, just a few isolated pockets of cops eating on their own. Night shift probably getting stuck into something before they started.

  No sign of Considine.

  ‘I’d kill MacDonald, fuck Raven and marry Considine.’ A familiar voice drifted over, way too loud to be getting away with that. ‘You?’

  ‘Definitely kill Raven, fuck MacDonald and marry Considine.’ Another voice, one that should be a lot busier. They both should.

  Definitely two someones who knew where Considine would be.

  Vicky put the cap back on her bottle and wandered over to the table. ‘Ladies.’

  Karen was fiddling with a white headphone cable dangling from her mobile. An Ashworth’s sandwich wrapper was crumpled up in front of her. ‘Hey, Vicky.’

  Vicky rested her bottle on the table but didn’t sit down. ‘Have either of you seen Considine?’

  Jenny Morgan was sitting opposite, dropping soy sauce onto a sushi roll, looked like avocado and cucumber rather than raw fish. ‘So what order would you do them? MacDonald, Raven, Considine.’

  Karen smirked at Jenny. ‘Fuck. Marry. Kill. Definitely.’

  ‘Oh hells yeah.’ Jenny picked up her sushi with chopsticks but just held it there instead of eating it. ‘Though I think she’d marry Considine. That mothering instinct.’

  ‘Haven’t you two got any work to get on with?’

  Jenny nibbled at the sushi, daintily slicing off half and chewing slowly. ‘Wait, marry means you don’t get to fuck them, doesn’t it?’

  Karen scowled at her. ‘Eh, no?’

  ‘Of course it does. Otherwise you’d… Anyway, I reckon Vicky would actually fuck Considine.’

  Vicky slumped down in the spare seat and tore the lid off her drink. ‘Right now, I would kill all three. But I’d start with knowing where the hell Considine is.’

  Karen tilted her head to the side. ‘What’s he done now?’

  ‘He’s fucked me over.’ Vicky tried to cover her simmering rage with taking a sip, but it wouldn’t get past either of her two friends. ‘He’s been leaking to the press. And now Mac’s grassed to Raven, saying I’ve done it. And I’ve got a session with Ogilvie from the complaints tomorrow.’

  Jenny opened a pickled ginger sachet. ‘That mean you’re off the case?’

  ‘Probably.’

  Karen sat back. ‘So I’ve been listening to that podcast for no reason. Great.’

  ‘Hardly. Look, Raven didn’t explicitly say I’m off the case.’

  Karen raised her eyebrows. ‘If you’ve got a meeting with Ogilvie tomorrow, then you need to tread carefully.’

  ‘And where’s that likely to get me?’

  ‘Have you spoken to Forrester?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Vicky sat back and swigged cola. ‘So, have you seen Considine?’

  ‘He was at that hotel, last I heard.’ Karen started wrapping her headphones around her mobile. ‘Doing God knows what, but what else is new?’

  Vicky reached over and tapped her phone. ‘How’s the podcast going?’

  ‘Slow.’

  ‘Slow good or slow bad?’

  ‘Well, not good. The audio quality is shocking, so it’s really hard to make out what they’re saying half the time. It’s like she recorded it with two tin cans tied together by string.’

  ‘So you’ve got nothing?’

  ‘I’m getting there.’

  ‘But nothing?’

  ‘Christ, I’m starting to feel sympathy for Considine. No, nothing.’

  ‘Right.’ Vicky took another drink. The only way out of this deep hole was to either murder Alan, nail Considine to a cross and get him to squeal, or to solve the case. So she stared at Jenny. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I was thinking I’d probably have to fuck Considine.’

  ‘I mean, have you got anything on the case?’

  ‘Other than a packet of supermarket sushi, no. I’d kill for—’

  ‘Jenny.’

  ‘No, we haven’t got anything since you last pestered me.’

  Vicky leaned over and kept her voice low. ‘Seriously?’

&n
bsp; ‘I don’t know what you expect me to say here.’

  ‘Something like you’ve found the knife from the Broughty Ferry crime scene. That’d be like all of my Christmases in one go.’

  ‘That’s a lot of—’

  ‘Jenny.’

  She smiled and popped a shaving of pickled ginger into her mouth. ‘Vicky, I don’t know what you expect here. The records are still missing.’

  ‘And that’s it? You just can’t find anything?’

  ‘Well, no. I mean, I can see that the knife was stolen. Also, that prints were done.’

  ‘Prints? From the knife?’

  ‘No, from the Tay Bridge. Yes, from the knife. Taken from the initial dusting at the crime scene.’

  ‘How can you tell that?’

  ‘Back then, they didn’t have anything automated. You needed to book time on the computer and do it by hand.’

  ‘And someone did?’

  ‘Right, but that’s part of what’s missing. And the results aren’t there either.’

  ‘Christ. That’s all I need.’

  ‘What are you trying to achieve?’ Jenny grabbed her wrist. ‘I know what you’re doing. Trying to exonerate your old man. Trying to prove that he didn’t mess up. But it’s not fair on him, Vicky. What happened, happened.’

  Vicky sat back and sucked on her cola. She should’ve gone for the sugar-y one. Full fat, as her dad would say. Not that it wasn’t anything other than full of as many sweeteners as the diet one these days.

  Sanderson was their guy. A serial killer. Drugging pairs of adulterers. Raping the women and murdering their partners in front of them, showing them the error of their ways. Casting judgement on them and their decisions.

  But was that the full picture?

  ‘Humour me here. Did Jim Sanderson kill these people?’

  ‘What other explanation is there?’

  ‘Pretend you’re on the stand. What would you say to the jury?’

  Jenny thought about it, drizzling some more soy sauce over a block of rice. ‘I’m telling you the DNA evidence matches Sanderson. He was the rapist.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Okay, so we had DNA evidence on file. Semen, found in Susan Adamson’s vagina. Back then, it was early days and it wouldn’t stand up in court necessarily. Also, it would take as long to run as it must seem to you cops. Months. And it would be done by some guy up at the university, too, on a favours basis. And it was pioneering tech back then, so the number of false positives was pretty shocking.’