Lies to Tell

by Marion Todd

  ‘He’s been knocked about a bit,’ Clare said, adding, ‘Before death. But I’d guess not enough to have killed him.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘How long till SOCO arrive?’

  ‘They were heading straight here. Should be any time now.’

  ‘Right. Let’s get back out and see if the couple can add anything.’

  They retraced their steps. ‘That’s our way in,’ Clare said to Jim who was driving posts into the ground to mark out the cordon.

  ‘Want the park closed?’ Chris asked.

  Clare considered. In mid-May it would be busy, as would the nearby golf course. Clearing everyone out of the grounds would take more manpower than she had. And there would already have been a fair number of cars up and down the road, destroying any potential evidence such as vehicle tracks. ‘Not for now,’ she said. She looked along the road. ‘Is there another way in?’

  Chris shook his head. ‘Not without setting up a huge diversion.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s extend the cordon a couple of feet out into the road and see what SOCO think when they arrive.’ As she spoke, the SOCO van turned in past the lodge house and began making its way up the drive towards them.

  Clare’s phone began to ring – the station. ‘DI Mackay,’ she said.

  It was Gillian. One of the uniformed cops. ‘Sorry, boss. DCI Gibson has arrived. Said you wanted to see him urgently.’

  ‘Dammit,’ Clare said, ‘I’d forgotten. Okay, Gillian. Tell him I’ll be ten minutes. Fifteen tops.’

  She hung up the call and waited while the SOCO van bumped up onto the verge. She was pleased to see one of the more experienced officers, Raymond Curtice, jump down, a white forensic suit in his hand.

  ‘Raymond,’ she said. ‘Good of you to come so quickly.’

  He smiled broadly. ‘No problem, Clare. What do we have then?’

  ‘White male. Possibly early twenties. Some injuries to his face but no other visible signs of a struggle. We think he’s been dragged in,’ she said, indicating the disturbance on the ground. ‘Cordon’s over here.’ She pointed to the posts and tape Jim had set up.

  Raymond glanced across and began pulling on his suit.

  ‘Actually,’ Clare went on, ‘I’ve something urgent to attend to. Can I leave you with Chris?’

  ‘Sure. We’ll be a while anyway.’ He looked back along the road. A car was approaching, driving slowly. Jim flagged it down and they watched as he spoke to the driver. He pointed up to the park and the driver said a few words in response. Seconds later it was on its way, driving slowly past, in the direction of the park. As Clare made to leave, Sara caught her eye.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the dog walkers, boss. They don’t usually come this way. Not been along the drive for a couple of weeks.’

  Clare nodded. ‘Okay, Sara. Names and addresses then they can go.’ She looked back along the drive. ‘We’ll need another couple of cops here, please. Once they arrive, can you go down to the lodge house and speak to whoever’s in there? See if they noticed any late-night activity.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Raymond was suited and booted now and preparing to make his way in to examine the body.

  ‘Keep an eye on things, Chris,’ Clare said. But as she made to leave, Raymond called her back.

  ‘Bit of luck here,’ he said with his usual cheeriness. He held out a small clear bag into which he’d dropped a plastic card. ‘Student ID badge.’

  Clare took the bag and scrutinised the card inside. The photo was of the young man whose body lay in the trees, there was no doubt about that. But it was the name that caught her attention.

  Johannes Muller.

  Chapter 12

  The DCI was sitting in Clare’s office drinking a cup of coffee and eating the Wagon Wheel she had purloined from Chris.

  ‘I was looking forward to that,’ she said but he just shrugged.

  He drained his coffee cup and put it down. ‘So what’s all the urgency?’

  Clare opened her office door and indicated for him to follow her. She led him out the side door, propped open by the painters. ‘Mind your suit,’ she said, stepping gingerly past the wet paintwork. Once they were safely out in the car park, she glanced round, then said, ‘A blue Transit van. That’s what.’

  The colour drained from his face. ‘Not Tamsin Quinn?’

  Clare put a hand on his arm. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘Wendy’s with her and I’ve told her not to leave her alone.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  She glanced round again, then said, ‘Remember when we were driving through Perth on Friday? Alongside the river – just at the point I told you to go straight on.’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘Well there was a blue Transit van behind us. It had been following us for a couple of miles but, just as we passed the bridge, it turned to cross the river and we carried straight on. I didn’t think anything of it. But on Sunday, I took a walk past Tamsin’s flat, just to check there was no one hanging about.’

  ‘And?’

  Out of the corner of Clare’s eye she saw the station door open and Gayle emerge. She drew the DCI back out of view but it was too late. Gayle gave them a cheery wave and strolled across the car park, her trouser legs flapping in the breeze.

  ‘Hello, you two. Is this a private party or can anyone join in?’

  ‘I’m just updating DCI Gibson. I’ve a dead body out at Craigtoun Park.’ She didn’t dare look at the DCI but hoped his poker face was a good one.

  Gayle looked suitably shocked. ‘Oh God, how awful. Is it – oh, what’s the word – suspicious?’

  Clare nodded. ‘I think so. The forensic guys are there now so we should know soon.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll drive with my doors locked.’ There was just a hint of amusement in her expression. She began moving away towards her car, a red Audi cabriolet. ‘Just off for some lunch. Byeee.’

  Clare watched the car out of the corner of her eye. ‘Just wait until she’s out of the street.’ She listened for the sound of Gayle’s car starting. It roared away, out of the car park, a cheery toot as she went.

  They stood watching until the car could be seen no more. Then the DCI said, ‘So, Sunday. You were outside the flat…’

  Clare gave an involuntary shiver. ‘I don’t know why she makes me so nervous. Anyway, I saw two Transit vans parked opposite the flat, one white, the other dark blue. Same type as the one that was behind us in Perth on Friday. Turns out the white one is Serious Organised Crime’s van.’

  ‘Anyone in the vans?’

  ‘Not that I could see. I’m guessing they were sitting in the back, keeping an eye on the flat from there.’

  ‘And the blue one?’

  ‘False plates.’

  The DCI swore under his breath. He stood thinking for a minute, then said, ‘Think we need to move her?’

  Clare’s brow creased. ‘I’m not sure. Every time we shift her we take a risk. At least in that flat we have her contained. One door in and out. The Serious Crime lads are across the road, Wendy in the flat with her.’

  ‘What about Armed Response?’

  Clare considered this then said, ‘Probably not needed. I can’t honestly see Paddy Grant being daft enough to try anything. Not here, at least. Probably just mind games. I think the real risk is when we transport her through to the High Court in Edinburgh. Might be worth having an armed escort for that. But let’s wait and see what happens over the next twenty-four hours.’

  ‘You sure? I can’t afford to lose her, Clare.’

  ‘If you could let the Serious Crime boys know about the blue van…’

  ‘Sure. Will do.’ He looked pointedly at his watch.

  ‘Before you head back,’ Clare said, ‘I’ve something to give you.’ Checking no one was watching she went to the boot of her car and clicked to open it. The boot rose up gently, revealing a pristine interior.

  ‘It still has that new car smell,’ the DCI said, a note of regret in his voice.

  Clare was fumbling in
the carrier bag she had brought back from the shop on Market Street. She took out two black boxes containing Alcatel mobile phones. ‘Pay-as-you-go,’ she said, handing one to the DCI.

  He stared at her.

  ‘Take it – before someone see us. Look, Al, I’m paranoid about Tamsin. With what Gayle said about security leaks then that blue van with the false plates – well, I don’t want to lose her because somebody, somehow has managed to hack my phone, or my email, or God knows what.’

  ‘I honestly don’t think it’s that bad, Clare,’ he said, looking at the phones.

  ‘You think they’re paying Gayle Crichton God-knows-how-much if it’s not that bad?’ She thrust the phone into his hand. ‘Take it. I’ve put my number into yours and yours into mine. If we need to communicate about Tamsin, we use these.’

  DCI Gibson regarded the phone in his hand. ‘Okay, you win.’

  ‘And you’ll let the guys in the white van know about the blue one?’

  ‘Yes, will do. Can I go now?’

  ‘Just one more thing.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘What?’

  ‘You owe me a Wagon Wheel.’

  Chapter 13

  It was almost five o’clock when Jim, Sara and Chris returned from Craigtoun Park.

  ‘You’ve left someone at the scene, yeah?’ Clare asked.

  Chris nodded. ‘A couple of uniforms: Robbie and Gillian. The night shift will send another two over to relieve them.’

  ‘Thanks Chris. Are SOCO still there?’

  ‘Yeah but should be finished soon.’

  Clare’s mobile buzzed in her pocket. Raymond Curtice. ‘Raymond, hi. Any news?’

  ‘We’re done here, Clare. Just packing up. Body’s gone off to the mortuary and you’re in luck. They’re doing the PM now.’

  ‘Any hints?’

  ‘Not my field, Clare. But I’d say, judging by the bruising I saw around his neck, he was probably asphyxiated. No doubt they’ll be in touch, though.’

  Clare looked at the clock. ‘I’ll give them a couple of hours then call myself. Anything else?’

  ‘Don’t quote me, but I reckon he didn’t die where he was found. There’s a contusion on the back of his head with what looks like a grey sandstone mixed with blood and hair. The walls around the park are more of a red sandstone so it does suggest he was killed elsewhere. I’ll need to get the samples to the lab to be sure though.’

  ‘So he was pushed against a wall?’

  ‘Something like that. There’s a patch on his scalp where some hair has been ripped out. My guess is someone took a hold of him by the hair and hit his head against the stone. Then they knocked him about a bit and finished off by strangling him. But, again, don’t quote me. The pathologist will know more. That’s just my guess.’

  Clare considered this. Raymond knew his stuff and was usually right. ‘Okay, thanks Raymond. Oh, one last thing – do you think it would have taken a lot of strength?’

  ‘Sorry, Clare. That really is out of my field.’

  ‘Who’s doing the PM?’

  There was a pause, then he said, ‘Neil Grant. You know him, don’t you?’

  She allowed herself a smile. If there was anyone she could push for a quick result it was Neil. ‘Yes, I know him. Thanks Raymond. I’ll give him a call.’

  She hung up the call and looked across at Jim. ‘Can you get me that lad Marek – what’s his name? Can you get me his address?’

  ‘Schmidt,’ Jim said, moving to the computer. ‘Was it not on the printout I gave you already?’

  ‘Sorry Jim – it’s somewhere on my desk. If you could just do me another quick print…’

  ‘Aye, no bother.’

  Clare turned to Chris. ‘We’ll call into his flat. See if he’s at home. He might be able to ID the body.’

  ‘And if he’s not there?’

  ‘Let’s just see if he is, first.’

  Jim handed Clare another printout of the missing person report for Johannes Muller. ‘I’ll get on to the university,’ he said. ‘Get an address and next of kin for the deceased lad.’

  Clare snatched up a set of car keys. ‘Come on, Chris. The sooner we find Marek Schmidt, the sooner we can find whoever killed Johannes.’

  * * *

  Kinnessburn Road was a jumble of houses, some very old, others added probably in the Sixties and Seventies. Judging by the number of bikes chained to lamp posts it was a popular street for student flats. Marek Schmidt’s flat was at the west end of the street, just before the stretch where the narrow burn had prevented even the most determined builder from laying down foundations. Clare saw a space and pulled the car in. They walked along, checking door numbers and, after a few minutes, they found it.

  There were two name panels, each with a buzzer. One read G Morton but the other was illegible, faded by the sun. She pressed the buzzer next to the illegible one, moving closer to the speaker. But they were buzzed in without further enquiry and she pushed open the outer door.

  An automatic light flickered into life and they found themselves in a short passageway with two doors facing them. The door to the left was a modern, panelled type in a mahogany stain. A rush mat lay in front and there was a brass nameplate screwed to the door surround.

  ‘G Morton,’ Clare read. From the neat appearance of the flat door she didn’t think this was the one they wanted. She regarded the other door and decided it was more likely to be a student flat. The red paint was peeling and there was a small hole where a lock had been. Securing the door was a newish brass Yale lock. ‘This is ours,’ she said. There was no sign of a bell so she rapped sharply on the door.

  ‘It’s open,’ a voice called.

  ‘Typical students,’ Chris muttered. ‘Leave the Yale on the latch then complain to us when they have their stuff nicked.’

  They entered the hall which was illuminated by a Chinese lantern-style paper lampshade. The pendent was too long for the ceiling height and Chris had to duck to the side to avoid catching it with his head. The wallpaper was woodchip, painted cream at one time, now ripped in places, with an Extinction Rebellion poster covering most of one wall. On the other wall, next to the door intercom, someone had made a pyramid of business cards: take-aways, taxis, bicycle repair shops and the like. A door next to this was ajar and Clare could see a bath with a shower curtain drawn along its length. There were several other doors off the short hall but they were all closed. From somewhere within the flat music was playing but no one appeared to greet them.

  ‘Hello?’ Clare called. ‘Police.’

  The music stopped abruptly and for a few seconds there was no sound. Then a door opened and a girl appeared. She was about twenty, Clare thought. Pale-skinned, the only evidence of make-up the black kohl lines around her eyes. Both ears had multiple piercings and her nose bore a small stud. She was wearing tartan pyjamas and her long red hair was piled up on her head, secured by a clip. She looked from Clare to Chris, then back at Clare, glancing at her ID badge.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Clare Mackay and this is Detective Sergeant Chris West.’ Clare saw colour drain from the girl’s face and she wondered what they might find if they rummaged through her bedroom. ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Clare said. ‘We just need to talk to Marek Schmidt. Is he here?’

  A look of relief crossed the girl’s face. ‘Oh, Marek. Sorry. I’ve not seen him for a few days.’

  She seemed disinclined to move out of the hall.

  Clare gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘Look, could we maybe…’

  ‘Oh yeah, sorry. Erm, it’s a bit of a mess though…’

  They followed her into a sitting room. Every chair was piled high with clothes, books and carrier bags. A gateleg table bore the remains of several meals, judging by the number of dirty dishes, glasses and empty bottles. The girl began clearing the sofa.

  ‘Sorry, not had much time for tidying. Exams soon, you know.’

  Chris was staring round at the mess and seemed about to speak. Clare adminis
tered a sharp kick to his ankle.

  ‘We’re just the same, when we’re on a case, aren’t we, Chris?’

  He looked at her then round again at the clutter. ‘Yeah. That’s right,’ he said, his voice deadpan. ‘Just like this.’

  The girl flushed and avoided their eyes. She indicated the space she had made. ‘You can sit down. I mean, if you want to.’

  Chris hesitated, then slowly sat down on the sofa, perching on the edge. Clare squeezed in next to him. ‘Can I ask your name please?’ she said.

  ‘Lily. Lily Keillor.’

  ‘Well, Lily, we really need to speak to Marek as soon as possible so any information you can give us would be appreciated.’

  The girl’s eyes widened. ‘Is Marek in trouble?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. We just need to talk to him. Does he have a girlfriend?’

  Lily shook her head. ‘Marek’s gay.’

  ‘A boyfriend then?’

  She shook her head again. ‘No one special. I mean, sometimes he stayed out – all night, you know. But I don’t remember him bringing anyone here.’

  Chris looked round the flat. ‘Who else lives here, Lily?’

  ‘Paul. Paul Jessop. He’s not here just now. I think he’s in the library…’

  Clare nodded. ‘Okay. We’ll need to speak to Paul. I’ll leave my card for him to call me when he gets in.’

  Clare fished a card out of her pocket. The girl took it but said nothing.

  ‘How long is it since you’ve seen Marek?’

  Lily sat back in her chair, thinking. Then she said, ‘Friday. He was here on Friday morning because we were out of coffee and I accused him of using the last of it. I don’t think I saw him after that.’

  Friday.

  Clare remembered that was the day Marek had come into the station to report Johannes missing. And he had left abruptly, before Jim could finish taking down the details. She made an effort to keep her tone light. ‘And how did he seem? On Friday morning, I mean?’