by Marion Todd
‘I’m done with work for today,’ she said to herself, clicking to unlock the Merc. The sky was empty of clouds now, thanks to the breeze, and she thought how lovely it would be to walk part of the Fife Coastal Path with Benjy. Maybe even stop at the Cheesy Toast Shack down the coast at Kingsbarns. And with that mouth-watering prospect, she pulled out of the car park and headed off to enjoy the rest of her day.
Monday, 18 May
Chapter 10
‘So, what’s with this Gayle Crichton person?’ DS Chris West wanted to know. He was making short work of a bacon roll, a smear of ketchup on his cheek. Clare noticed he kept one eye on the door. No doubt watching for Sara, his colleague and girlfriend, who had recently decided that he could do with losing a few pounds.
‘Just what I said in the email.’
‘Yeah, I read that. But what does Development of a New Comms System actually mean? Are we all gonnae have to learn to use new software? Cos they can shove that where the sun don’t shine.’
Clare pretended to read a text message for a few seconds. Then she glanced at Chris. ‘No idea. All I know is I’ve been asked to make room for her and that’s what I’m doing.’
‘In Interview Room Three?’
Clare sighed. ‘It’s not like we use it. When’s the last time you can recall us having all three interview rooms occupied?’
Chris shrugged.
‘And wipe that sauce off your face.’
Jim appeared and Clare remembered the note on her phone.
‘Jim, can you chase up that student please? The one who came in then disappeared? I think you had an address in Kinnessburn.’
Before Jim could reply the station door opened.
‘Clare!’ a voice said, and they all turned to see Gayle Crichton staggering through the door with a laptop bag in one hand and slightly larger padded case in the other.
Clare suddenly felt under-dressed. Gayle’s dark green suit was impeccably cut, the jacket sharp and angular, the wide trouser legs swinging to reveal black patent Oxford brogues.
She dumped her two bags on the floor and came quickly towards Clare, all smiles. Clare held out her hand but she was surprised when Gayle stretched out her arms and embraced her.
‘Clare,’ she said again. ‘How lovely to see you.’ She surveyed the others. ‘Hello, everyone,’ she said. ‘Gayle Crichton. Thanks so much for making some space for me.’ Her eye fell on Chris. ‘I’ll try not to be a nuisance.’
Sara had come into the station behind Gayle but Chris was so distracted by Gayle’s effusive charm that he forgot to hide the bacon roll. He blushed and Clare saw Sara’s lips tighten. She and Chris had been what Jim quaintly termed An Item for over a year now, their relationship weathering the loss of their unborn baby when Sara was seriously injured. She had been good for Chris. Settled him down. Clare hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of himself with Gayle and she resolved to keep him as busy as possible for the next week or two.
A clearly smitten Chris, having carried Gayle’s bags into the small interview room, went to make her a coffee.
‘I’ll have one too,’ Clare called, following Gayle into the room, but Chris affected not to hear.
Clare closed the door behind her and indicated the room with her hand. ‘Well, here it is. It is a bit small, though.’
Gayle smiled. ‘It’s perfect. Thanks Clare – I appreciate it.’
Clare indicated a white panel on the wall. ‘Data point there and plenty of sockets.’
Gayle tapped one of the black bags. ‘I’ll set up my own network,’ she said, adding, ‘Safer that way.’
The door opened and Chris appeared with coffee and a Wagon Wheel biscuit. Clare raised an eyebrow. No one knew where Chris hid his biscuits. Not even Sara. Clare had certainly never been offered one.
‘Ooh, Gayle,’ Clare said, ‘you are honoured. Chris doesn’t share his Wagon Wheels with just anyone.’
Gayle laughed. ‘I won’t, thanks.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Have to watch the figure, you know, er…’
Chris laid the coffee and biscuit down on the desk. ‘DS Chris West,’ he said, holding out a hand.
Gayle took the hand and held it for a moment. ‘Firm handshake, DS West. I like that.’
Clare took advantage of this, scooping up the Wagon Wheel. ‘Thanks Chris. I’ll take this off your hands.’ She nudged him. ‘Come on, DS West. Let’s leave Gayle to settle in.’ She propelled a reluctant Chris back out into the main office. ‘Let me know if you need anything,’ she called to Gayle and she closed the door.
At the counter Sara, with one eye on Chris, was dealing with a report of a missing dog. Chris ambled over to pick up his own coffee but Clare forestalled him.
‘Chris, can you check on a couple of van registrations I phoned in yesterday?’ And, leaving him to do that, she took the opportunity to go out into the car park. At the far end, with no one else around, she dialled Wendy’s number.
‘Hi, Clare.’
‘How are things?’
‘Yeah, fine. I’ve brought in some more food and a couple of magazines for Tamsin. She’s as nervy as hell, though. Keeps going to the window to peer through the blinds.’
‘She’s not to leave that flat, Wendy,’ Clare emphasised. ‘Not for anything. And she doesn’t answer the door either.’
‘Yeah, I do know that, Clare.’
‘Sorry. I’m just a bit jumpy about this one. Listen, Wendy…’
‘Yeah?’
‘Can you keep an eye out for a blue Transit van please?’ She reeled off the registration, pausing while Wendy wrote it down.
‘Any reason?’
‘Probably nothing. I saw one on Friday, in Perth – just after we picked Tamsin up. Then yesterday I was on Market Street and saw one that looked similar. It was parked opposite the flat.’
‘Hold on. I’ll look now.’
Clare waited while Wendy went to the window.
‘Nothing, as far as I can see. There’s a white one but not blue. I’ll keep an eye out, though.’
‘Not a word to Tamsin, mind,’ Clare said. ‘We don’t want her spooked before she gives evidence.’
‘Mum’s the word.’
* * *
‘Those registrations you asked me to check,’ Chris said, as Clare walked back into the front office.
‘Yeah?’
‘One of them’s ours.’
Clare was relieved to hear that. So the Serious Crime lads were keeping an eye on Tamsin. ‘Which one?’
Chris ran a finger down his notepad. ‘Erm… white Transit.’
An uneasy feeling was developing in Clare’s stomach. ‘And the other?’
‘A red Nissan Micra. Registered in Doncaster.’ He looked up. ‘Did you think it was a van?’
‘Eh? Let me see that number.’
Chris held out his notepad and Clare called up the photo she had taken. It was the same number.
‘Check again,’ she said.
Chris walked over to the computer. ‘See for yourself.’
Clare followed him and sat down at the computer. She checked the number again. ‘Dammit. False plates.’ Her mind was racing. What to do first. ‘Hold on here,’ she said to Chris and she went back out the door into the car park, dialling Wendy’s number as she went. The phone was answered on the second ring. ‘Wendy – that dark blue Transit…’
Wendy cut across Clare. ‘Hold on, Clare. I’ll just pull in.’
‘You’re driving?’
‘Yes. I’m heading back to Glenrothes. Why? Something wrong?’
‘Get back to Tamsin and stick with her. She’s not to be left, day or night. I’ll get someone else to relieve you, later.’
‘Right. I’m parked now. So, what’s up?’
‘Wendy, I can’t tell you over the phone. Just trust me on this one. Get back there as fast as you can. And phone me when you arrive.’
‘On my way.’
Clare’s next call was to the DCI. ‘Al, are you in the area?’
‘Edinbu
rgh. Why?’
‘Can you get up here?’
‘Is it important?’
‘Yep.’
Clare ran back into the office and caught Chris by the arm, steering him into her office and closing the door. ‘Don’t ask any questions, Chris. I’m heading out for half an hour. Anything comes up – anything at all – get me on the mobile. Hopefully back within the hour.’
Chris stared at her. ‘Clare, what the hell’s going on today? First that woman tips up and takes over the interview room and now you’re acting all weird. Enough of the secret stuff. Tell me!’
Clare hesitated. For a split second she considered telling Chris about Tamsin. And then she knew she couldn’t. Someone had leaked Tamsin’s location in Perth and yesterday a blue Transit van with false plates had parked outside the Market Street flat. She glanced at her computer. She had heard about hackers using webcams to spy. What else might they do? ‘Not here,’ she said, her voice low. ‘And not now.’
‘I’m supposed to be your DS.’
‘Chris, I said not now.’
‘Are you even going to tell me where you’re going?’
‘Nothing to tell,’ she said, but she tugged at his arm and he followed her outside into the car park. She steered him away from the door. ‘Look, when I come back, we’ll talk. But not in there.’
‘What, the station? What the fuck, Clare?’
‘You’ll just have to trust me, Chris.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ll be half an hour. An hour at the most. Now get back in there. You’re my eyes and ears.’
* * *
Market Street was a hive of activity, the tourists competing for pavement space with shoppers laden with carrier bags, and students carrying MacBooks. Clare abandoned her car on South Street, away from Tamsin’s flat, and walked the short distance up Church Street towards the fountain. She hovered in a shop doorway, scanning Market Street. There was no sign of a Transit van, blue or otherwise. Even the white one was nowhere to be seen. Clare’s mouth was dry. She didn’t have a key to the flat and Tamsin had been told not to answer the door. If Clare rang, even called through the letterbox, she might scare Tamsin. Better to wait for Wendy. She checked her watch. Wendy would be here in ten minutes. She strolled up and down the street, pretending to glance in shop windows and chat on her phone. There was no sign of anyone resembling Paddy Grant. In fact, she couldn’t see any sign that the flat was being observed. She sent up a silent prayer that the Serious Crime cops were concealed somewhere. A sharp toot alerted her to Wendy’s arrival. She waved to Clare and drove on, past the flat towards North Street, presumably to park. A few minutes later, Clare saw her come round the corner of Union Street and she walked quickly to greet her. She steered Wendy over the road towards the fountain and positioned herself where she could see Tamsin’s windows.
‘That dark blue Transit van I asked you about…’
‘Yeah?’
‘False plates.’
‘Shit.’ Wendy looked up at Tamsin’s windows. ‘Do we tell her?’
Clare shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Not for now, at least. They might not be watching her. Could be using false plates for any number of reasons. But I’m not taking any chances. I’ve asked DCI Gibson to come up. I don’t want to do anything without speaking to him first. But he won’t be here for another hour yet.’
Wendy nodded. ‘Okay. Best get in and see she’s okay then.’
Clare followed Wendy to the flat door. Wendy produced the key and, with a glance left and right, she slipped it in the lock. As she closed the outside door behind them she called up to Tamsin. ‘Just me and Clare.’
There was a muffled response as they climbed the stairs.
‘She’s there, at least,’ Wendy said, putting another key in the door at the top of the stairs. As they entered the flat Tamsin emerged from the kitchen, kettle in hand. The TV was blaring, Holly and Phil having another attack of giggles on This Morning.
Clare thought Tamsin looked tired, dark circles below her eyes. Hardly surprising, really, given the strain she was under.
‘Just making a coffee,’ Tamsin said, her voice flat. ‘Want one?’
‘Ooh yes please,’ Wendy said.
Clare waved the offer away. ‘I need to get back,’ she said. ‘Just popped in while I was passing.’
Tamsin looked at Clare for a moment, then back at Wendy, her expression clouded. ‘Thought you weren’t coming back till tonight. Is there something…’
Wendy’s tone was bright. ‘Afternoon appointment cancelled. So I might as well be here. Keep you company.’
Tamsin seemed to weigh this, then she managed a smile. ‘I could certainly do with it. Being here on my own – well, time to think, ye know? Gets a bit…’
Wendy took off her jacket and jerked her head towards the door. ‘Nice to see you, Clare,’ she said. ‘Maybe speak later?’
Clare took the hint. She had an errand to run anyway. Closing the outer door firmly behind her and checking the handle to make sure it was locked, she walked quickly down Market Street until she came to the shop she needed. She had to wait ten minutes to be served and it then took another twenty minutes to transact her business. Then she tucked her purchases into her bag and headed back to her car.
Chapter 11
If Clare had worried about what to tell Chris, on her return, she was saved the trouble. She saw the expression on his face.
‘What?’
‘It’s a body, Clare,’ he said. ‘And it looks suspicious.’
* * *
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, as they drove along. ‘I was just there on Saturday.’
‘What? The park?’ Chris asked.
‘Yes. So was DCI Gibson. And Diane from Tech Support.’
‘Eh? What was it – a works day out?’
‘Just the Saturday parkrun. I decided to do it on the spur of the moment and it just so happened they were there too.’
‘The DCI and Diane? I never had those two down as a couple.’
‘Not together, you muppet. They both do parkruns and just fancied a change of course.’
‘So exactly the same course on exactly the same day?’
‘It’s not like there are dozens of parkruns in Fife, Chris. Stop match-making and tell me about this body.’
‘It’s not actually in the park. Just off the main drive. There’s a bit where the bushes are thicker.’
‘And it’s suspicious?’
‘Looks that way. A couple out walking their dog found it. Or rather the dog did. Said the face was bloody.’
‘Not mud?’
‘It could be. SOCO are on their way so hopefully they’ll give us an idea.’
‘No cameras?’
‘Nope.’
They passed Daisy Cottage and Chris said, ‘How’s the house now?’
‘Yeah, it’s fine, thanks Chris. Just one or two niggles to fix. Don’t suppose you know a joiner?’
Chris slowed down as they approached the red sandstone lodge house at the entrance to the park drive. He signalled left and Jim, who was travelling behind them, did likewise.
‘What you needing done?’ Chris asked.
‘Oh, nothing much,’ Clare said. ‘Some of the floorboards were a bit damaged when the central heating was upgraded. And the shed needs a new door. Gate’s hanging off. Draughty window upstairs – actually, now I think about it, there is quite a lot to do.’
Chris turned into the park entrance, past the lodge house and up the long drive which led to the Dukes Golf Course and, beyond that, to the park itself. Ahead they could see a couple standing on the verge by a clump of dense foliage, a yellow Labrador at their side. ‘This must be the couple that found it,’ he said and he signalled again, pulling the car onto the verge a little short of the couple. Jim and Sara pulled in behind them and jumped out.
Clare and Chris began donning white forensic suits and overshoes while Jim set up a cordon.
Clare introduced herself and Chris, then asked the couple to t
ell them what they had found. The woman was visibly upset, the man white-faced.
‘It’s just in there,’ the man said, pointing. ‘The dog, you see. She was sniffing and barking and I called her but she wouldn’t come. So I went in to see what it was…’
Clare thanked the couple and asked them to remain by the roadside. She moved along the verge a little, avoiding the route they had taken. Finding a gap, she stepped gingerly between rhododendron bushes into the trees beyond, Chris at her back. She made her way around and behind the body. It was maybe ten feet back from the verge and, looking at the ground between the body and the verge, she reckoned it had been dragged there.
‘Not killed here, I reckon,’ she said, indicating the disturbed ground. ‘See where his heels have been dragged?’
Chris bent to look at the body. It was a young male, fully clothed, dressed casually in jeans and a hoodie. On his feet were blue and white trainers, the colour still visible beneath a covering of earth and leaf mould. ‘Someone’s not short of a few bob,’ he said, standing up again. ‘See his trainers?’
Clare looked at the shoes. Not a brand she recognised. ‘You know them?’
‘Jordans.’
‘Should that mean something to me?’
Chris rolled his eyes. ‘Michael Jordan? Greatest basketball player of all time? Godsake, Clare. Keep up!’
‘Expensive then?’
‘Could be. These look pretty retro. Hundreds, probably.’
Clare muttered something about a fool and his money and returned to her assessment of the body.
His collar-length hair was dark and he was clean-shaven. His clothing prevented them from seeing anything other than fresh bruising on his face and bloodstains on his temple. His eyes had rolled back in his head and his tongue protruded from bruised lips.