The Innocent and the Dead

by Robert McNeill

  Knox discovered this from his partner on the fifteen-minute drive over. ‘Many of the houses on Royal Terrace were bought by whisky merchants,’ Fulton was saying, ‘so it became known as “Whisky Row”. You’ll notice there’s a great view over the Firth of Forth from here?’ Fulton added as they stopped outside number 47. ‘One of the attractions of the location. It’s said merchants liked to be able to see their ships return from trading trips to the Baltic.’

  ‘Nothing changes, Bill,’ Knox said with a grin. He nodded to the Taj Mahal. ‘Most punters in there are looking for their ships to come in, too.’

  Fulton laughed. ‘Aye, you’re right, boss. I bet the whisky traders had better odds, though.’

  He and Knox left the car and ascended a short flight of steps to the door. Knox pressed a bell-push, and the door was opened moments later by an Indian man wearing a maroon blazer. Knox flashed his police warrant card and asked to speak to the manager.

  ‘I am the manager, sir,’ the man replied. ‘My name’s Benjamin Chaudhri. We’re not open for business yet, but please come in.’

  Knox and Fulton followed Chaudhri into the reception area, a wide hallway covered with a thick, intricately designed Kashmiri carpet. Two large rooms led off the hallway at either side. Knox noted that a roulette appeared to predominate the one on the left, while the room on the right had tables for baccarat, blackjack and poker. Slot machines took up most of the wall space in both rooms, each emitting loud beeps and a kaleidoscope of lights.

  Chaudhri stopped at a semi-circular reception desk, behind which sat a flat screen CCTV monitor and a desktop computer. ‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ he said.

  ‘Your customers, Mr Chaudhri,’ Knox said, ‘they’re all members?’

  Chaudhri nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Everyone using the club is required to be registered.’

  ‘What happens when a member arrives? Does he sign in?’

  Chaudhri nodded again. ‘Electronically, sir, yes,’ he said, pointing to the door. ‘I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s a keypad next to the outside bell. Each member has a card with a unique four-digit PIN number. To gain entrance, he must have the card with him and enter the PIN code on arrival.’ Chaudhri pointed to the desktop. ‘The PIN number opens the door, and the card – it’s one of the new smartcards – sends a signal to this PC. It records when the member arrives and when he leaves.

  ‘As I say, the PIN gives access, and the smartcard logs each member in. If someone who wasn’t a member tried to enter at the same time, however, a photocell at the door would take account of this, and a buzzer would sound here.’

  ‘There’s always someone at this desk?’ Knox asked.

  ‘Whenever the club is open, sir, yes.’

  ‘We’re particularly interested in one of your members we believe was here on Friday evening.’

  ‘I see,’ Chaudhri said, then indicated the computer. ‘If you give me his name, I’ll check for you.’

  ‘Murch,’ Knox said. ‘Tobias Murch.’

  Chaudhri entered the name and nodded to the screen. ‘Here we are, sir. Tobias Murch, member number 1091. Arrived 8.04pm, departed 11.07pm.’

  ‘And he was here for that entire period? No possibility of him leaving the building during those times?’

  Chaudhri thought for a moment, then said, ‘Perhaps if he smokes? It isn’t permitted within the club. But members who are smokers use the garden at the rear of the premises.’ He switched on the flat screen monitor. ‘I’ll run a CCTV check and see.’

  The monitor came on, displaying four images, one to each quadrant. ‘The CCTV is controlled by the computer keyboard, which is currently showing live pictures from the system’s eight cameras, four images in rotation,’ Chaudhri explained. ‘I’ll scroll through to find the camera I want, then highlight it.’ A moment later, he nodded to an image marked Loc 7. ‘This is the camera that covers the garden,’ he said, then tapped the keyboard until a box marked “Archive” showed on the screen. ‘Now I enter the date, together with the member number – 1091 – and the system will show if Mr Murch was there.’

  The system immediately highlighted a view which expanded to fill the screen, then fast-forwarded through a number of images and paused. The picture showed Murch strolling into the garden, where he stopped and lit a cigar. A box at the top right-hand side of the screen read: Member 1091/Loc 7/10:22pm-11:01pm. A counter beneath numbered minutes and seconds, beginning at 10.22.00pm.

  ‘There you are, sir,’ Chaudhri said. ‘Mr Murch was indeed having a smoke.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Knox said. ‘But what do the numbers in that box on the top right-hand side mean?’

  Chaudhri nodded. ‘That Mr Murch was in the garden – which is location seven on the monitor – from 10.22pm until 11.01pm.’

  ‘Hell of a long time for a smoke,’ Fulton said.

  Chaudhri looked at the monitor. ‘You’re right, sir. It does seem a long time. I’ll fast forward and check.’ Chaudhri tapped the keyboard and the picture speeded up until the counter read 10.34.21, when Murch walked to the top of the picture and moved out of frame. Seconds later a man wearing a maroon blazer exited the club and followed, reappearing moments afterwards and returning to the building.

  Chaudhri shook his head. ‘That’s one of my employees, Adli Bose. Mr Murch must have asked him to open the gate.’

  ‘Open the gate?’ Knox said. ‘Allowing access to Calton Hill?’

  ‘Yes,’ Chaudhri replied. ‘Sometimes members ask to go for a short stroll. The gate’s locked, so they have to ask a member of staff to open it for them.’

  ‘What about security?’ Fulton asked. ‘Couldn’t anyone just walk into the club if the back door’s open?’

  ‘No, sir,’ Chaudhri replied. ‘The member of staff who opens the gate remains at the back door until the member returns, then relocks the gate.’

  Knox nodded to the monitor. ‘How long was Murch out of the building?’

  Chaudhri fast-forwarded the video again until Murch came back into frame, then pointed to the counter on the screen. ‘There you are, sir: at 10.47.44 he’s back in the garden. Re-enters the club itself at 10.48pm precisely.’

  ‘Can you ask Mr Bose to confirm he let Murch out of the gate?’

  Chaudhri picked up a phone and said, ‘He’s off duty at the moment, sir. But I’ll call him at home and ask.’ A moment or two later, Chaudhri began speaking in Hindi, asking questions, then listening. After a minute, he replaced the receiver and said, ‘Yes, sir, Mr Bose confirms he opened the gate. Mr Murch was gone just under twenty-five minutes.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Chaudhri,’ Knox said. ‘Can we have a copy of that section of the tape? We’ll pick it up later.’

  Chaudhri nodded. ‘No problem, sir. The system’s entirely digital. I’ll put a copy on disk and have it waiting for you.’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Looks like it’s definitely Murch, boss,’ Fulton said when they were back in the car. ‘Told us a bloody pack of lies.’

  ‘Aye, the man looks to be in the frame in more ways than one,’ Knox said, taking out his mobile. ‘I’m going to call Hathaway again. This might prove interesting.’

  ‘Hello, boss?’ Hathaway said when the call connected moments later.

  ‘Hi, Mark. You and Yvonne visited Stuart yet?’

  ‘Yes, boss. We’re at Caledonian Crescent, just spoken to him. He lives at number 29.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Says he doesn’t recall seeing Murch on Friday night.’

  ‘Doesn’t remember saying goodnight to him at around 11.15pm?’

  ‘No, boss. Says when he came on duty at ten, Murch’s office was closed.’

  Knox shook his head. ‘And DirectFone, did they get back to you?’

  ‘They called me when we were on our way here,’ Hathaway replied. ‘O’Brian spoke to Murch only once on Friday evening, at 8.20pm.’

  ‘He told us he didn’t speak to her, that he left a message on her voicemail?’

  ‘Di
rectFone assure me she received no messages or calls earlier.’

  Knox remained silent for a long moment, then said, ‘Are you and Yvonne at Caledonian Crescent? That’s off Dalry Road, a short distance from Torphichen Place station, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, boss. We’re only five minutes away.’

  Knox looked at his watch. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘It’s almost twelve. Murch is due to attend there for a DNA test at twelve-thirty. The two of you go down and wait. Arrest Murch after he’s taken the test and transfer him to Gayfield. We’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Righto, boss. What do we tell him?’

  ‘That he’s being held on suspicion of murder.’

  * * *

  ‘I lied because I was afraid you’d think I’d killed her,’ Murch was saying. It was just after 3pm and he was seated at a table in Interview Room 6b at Gayfield Square Police Station together with his solicitor, Mr Trevor Ellerslie. Knox and Fulton sat opposite, and a CCTV camera was recording the interview. Knox had told Murch the reason for arrest was lack of corroboration of the time he’d left the office and the fact he hadn’t called O’Brian’s mobile on Friday afternoon as he had stated.

  ‘You now admit you met Ms O’Brian on Friday evening?’ Knox said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The meeting took place on Calton Hill?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why Calton Hill?’

  ‘I was at the Taj Mahal Club when she rang me about twenty past eight. I explained where I was and that I’d booked a place in a poker game. She said she wanted to speak to me urgently. I told her the game was about to start, that I’d see her on Monday when I came back from London. She was adamant, said she’d come up to the club and make a scene if I didn’t comply. I managed to persuade her to wait until the game was over. She wasn’t happy but she finally agreed.’

  ‘You met when the poker game had finished?’

  ‘Yes. I’d an idea it would last around an hour and a half. So, I said I’d meet her at the National Monument at half past ten. I used the Taj Mahal’s rear entrance. It’s only a short walk from there to the summit of the hill.’

  Knox nodded. ‘And she was waiting for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She said she wanted to speak to you urgently. What about?’

  ‘Oh, she had also said that she’d sent me a text that morning,’ Murch said. ‘But I didn’t see it at the time. I left my Blackberry in my desk drawer until I was ready to leave the office. I didn’t expect any messages, so when I picked it up I didn’t check.’

  Knox tried again. ‘You haven’t answered my question, Mr Murch. Why did she want to see you?’

  Murch studied the back of his hands for a second or two, then looked at Knox. ‘She said she was pregnant,’ he said. ‘Wanted me to leave my wife for her. Told me she wanted the child to have a father.’

  Knox considered this for a moment, then said, ‘You told us this morning that you met Ms O’Brian on the eleventh of June, is that true?’

  ‘Yes. That was the last time I saw her before Friday.’

  ‘She didn’t tell you then that she was pregnant?’

  ‘No. She told me it was only on Friday that she knew for sure.’

  ‘She’d had it confirmed?’

  ‘I asked her if she’d seen a doctor or had taken a pregnancy test but she said neither had been necessary. She’d missed two periods and her body had recently undergone a number of changes. She was convinced.’

  ‘How did you react to that?’

  ‘I told her if she hadn’t taken a test she could be mistaken. Fact of the matter is I don’t see how it could’ve happened – I always used protection. But she said condoms weren’t infallible and she didn’t need a test to tell her what she already knew. She insisted she was pregnant and repeated that she wanted me to leave my wife.’

  ‘You were prepared to do that?’ Knox queried.

  Murch studied Knox for some moments. ‘You asked me earlier if there was any emotional involvement between myself and Katy.’ He nodded. ‘There was. A few months back, she told me she loved me. I told her I reciprocated those feelings.’

  ‘So, the relationship had changed?’

  ‘You mean had I stopped paying Katy for sex? Yes. Of course, I bought her some nice things. A Cartier watch, a Mulberry handbag and an Apple laptop amongst them. But those were presents. Over the last few months, we had a normal relationship.’ He thought for a moment, and added, ‘Would I have left my wife for her? I think so, yes. It was just so unexpected. Her being pregnant, I mean.’

  ‘You hadn’t wanted to rush things?’

  ‘I thought it better if we gave it a little more time, yes.’

  ‘You told her as much?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘To wait until today. That I’d think about it over the weekend.’

  ‘And?’

  Murch shook his head. ‘She became angry. Said I’d no intention of leaving my wife. That I’d been stringing her along. I tried to placate her but she’d have none of it. Told me if I didn’t say anything to my wife, she would.’

  ‘And that’s when things became heated?’ Knox said. ‘You lost control?’

  Ellerslie turned to Murch and said, ‘You don’t have to answer those questions.’

  Murch ignored him. ‘No!’ he exclaimed, ‘I didn’t touch her! She slapped my face hard, then turned and walked away. A minute or so later, I returned to the club. I tried calling to reason with her afterwards, but she’d switched off her phone.’ He placed the palms of both hands on the table. ‘That’s the God’s truth.’

  Knox stood up and said, ‘Okay, Mr Murch, that’ll do for the moment. I have to tell you now that we’ve a particularly strong reason to suspect you’re implicated in the murder of Ms O’Brian. For this reason, you’ll be held in custody overnight until we obtain the results of your DNA test tomorrow morning.’

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Knox sat in the Major Incident Team office together with Fulton, Mason and Hathaway discussing Murch’s interview. ‘The pathologist didn’t say O’Brian was pregnant, did he, boss?’ Mason was saying.

  ‘No, Yvonne, he didn’t,’ Knox replied. ‘Which he almost certainly would have done if she had been.’ He picked up the phone on his desk. ‘But I’ll ring him now, just to make sure.’

  After a short wait, Turley’s secretary put through the call and Knox heard the pathologist reply, ‘Alexander Turley.’

  ‘Alex? Jack Knox. I’m calling you regarding the Calton Hill murder. We’ve detained a suspect who’d been intimate with Ms O’Brian for quite a while. He claims she told him she was pregnant.’

  ‘Pregnant? No, Jack, I can assure you she wasn’t. What did she say?’

  ‘That she’d missed two periods and her body had undergone physical changes which led her to believe she was expecting.’

  ‘Physical changes? Anything specific, did he say?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I saw nothing when I examined her.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘Did you discover during your inquiries if she’d been suffering from depression?’

  Knox thought for a moment, then relayed the gist of Hathaway and Mason’s interview with McHugh, during which the clergyman had mentioned that O’Brian had been suffering from depression and anxiety.

  ‘I see,’ Turley said. ‘There is a condition known as pseudocyesis, which can affect women who suffer from depression. The symptoms are very similar to pregnancy: morning sickness, tender breasts, uterine enlargement. And, of course, it’s not uncommon for a woman suffering from pseudocyesis to experience abdominal distension and menstrual irregularity. It’s possible Ms O’Brian may have been affected by the condition. An intense desire to become pregnant is another causative factor.’

  ‘Thanks, Alex. That might explain it.’

  ‘Glad to be of assistance, Jack.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The DNA results arrived at
8.30am the following day. Knox was taken aback when DI Murray came into the office and said, ‘All negative, Jack. DCI Warburton’s just ordered Murch’s release.’

  ‘You’re sure, Ed? All five?’

  ‘Afraid so.’

  Knox shook his head. ‘I could’ve sworn it was Murch.’

  Fulton said, ‘Me too.’

  ‘Sorry, Jack,’ Murray said.

  Knox gave a philosophical nod. ‘How it goes sometimes, Ed. Thanks for letting us know.’

  Hathaway and Mason walked into the room as Murray took his leave. ‘Just heard the news,’ Mason said pensively. ‘No DNA match for any of them.’

  Hathaway looked at Knox and shook his head. ‘A real bummer, boss.’

  Fulton took a swig of coffee from a polystyrene cup. ‘Aye, looks like we’ve been barking up the wrong tree.’

  Knox was silent for a long moment, then turned to Fulton. ‘What did you just say?’

  Fulton gave Knox a look of surprise. ‘Who, me?’

  ‘Yes, what did you say just now?’

  ‘I said we’ve been barking up the wrong tree, boss.’

  ‘That’s it!’ Knox exclaimed. ‘The dog!’

  ‘The dog?’ Fulton said.

  ‘Yes. When I phoned Alice Murch on Saturday, there was a dog barking in the background. She told me it was her West Highland terrier.’ He turned to Hathaway. ‘Mark, you told us that two of the folk on the Blenheim and Waterloo Place tapes were walking dogs. Let’s dig them out and take another look. I’ll bet a month’s wages one of them is a woman.’

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later Hathaway was fast-forwarding through the second tape, taken from a branch of the Scottish Commercial Bank at Blenheim Place. The camera had a wide lens and afforded a view along Royal Terrace, encompassing both pavement and roadway.

  ‘No, Mark, rewind a bit,’ Knox was saying. ‘There … stop!’

  The bottom left of the screen read 11.01pm, and the monitor showed a red BMW i8 coupe being driven from Royal Terrace into Blenheim Place.