Lies to Tell

by Marion Todd

  Clare jumped out, opening the back door for Benjy, and Chris roared away towards Market Street. Inside the house she retrieved the spare car key and, giving Benjy a quick rub behind the ears, she locked the front door and jumped into her car. Thankfully it started first time. There was a service sheet on the dashboard and she tucked it into the glove box to read later. ‘Right, Tamsin Quinn,’ she said to herself. ‘The show’s over.’ And she pulled out of the drive, putting her foot to the floor.

  Chapter 30

  Chris was waiting for her at the door to the flat as she arrived on Market Street.

  He jerked his head up at the windows. ‘Too late,’ he said. ‘She’s gone.’

  Clare looked across the street to where the dark red Range Rover had sat for the past couple of days but it too was gone. She took out her phone and called Wendy. It was answered immediately and it sounded as if she was driving. ‘Wendy,’ she said, ‘when did you leave Tamsin?’

  ‘About half an hour ago, I think.’

  ‘Do you know where she was heading?’

  ‘Sorry, Clare. The Serious Organised Crime boys arrived and told me to leave. They had a suitcase which I’m guessing was a change of clothes. They walked me to the door and I saw them watch as I drove off. Was there something you needed her for?’

  ‘You could say that. Look, Wendy – I don’t suppose you still have a set of keys?’

  There was a hesitation. Just enough to let Clare know that she did. ‘Clare – I know I wasn’t meant to but I had an extra copy made. Just in case. Obviously I couldn’t tell the SOCs. It’s a serious breach. But I didn’t want to risk not being able to get in so…’

  ‘Wendy, you are a godsend. Look – where are you now? Could you head back here and let me into that flat?’

  ‘I can, Clare. But I’m nearly at Glenrothes so it’ll be another half hour at least.’

  ‘Just as quickly as you can, Wendy. And thanks.’

  Clare ended the call and immediately tried the DCI again. It went straight to voicemail. ‘Come on, Chris,’ she said. ‘Let’s find a cafe and wait for Wendy.’

  They crossed the road to a small cafe with a view of the flat and ordered mugs of tea. Chris looked longingly at a tray of cakes but Clare steered him away, telling him to find a table.

  He chose a table in the window, away from the other customers, and took out his phone. As Clare sat down beside him he indicated the phone. ‘Presume you want this switched off?’

  She shook her head. ‘Frankly, Chris, I’m past caring. I’m pretty sure Gayle knows I blabbed to you and, anyway, this is her last day. Between that damned invoice, me telling you about the leak and Tamsin slipping through our fingers, I doubt I could be in any more trouble.’

  Chris put his phone back in his pocket and they sat in silence, waiting for the tea. When it arrived and the waiter had moved away, Clare said, ‘Okay, let’s try and get this clear in our heads.’

  Chris picked up his cup and took a sip. ‘You’re thinking Tamsin organised the money laundering scheme?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. I believe she recruited Johannes and Marek, and probably plenty of other students too. Maybe a few housewives – anyone she thought would be happy to earn a few quid without asking too many questions.’

  ‘But where’s the money come from?’ Chris asked.

  ‘Probably from Phil Quinn’s illegal arms dealing. Don’t forget she only turned against him when he supplied the guns that killed the Clearys.’

  ‘So she says.’

  ‘Well, yeah. Anyway, she has all this money that she wants to make legitimate. So she recruits the two lads. All goes well until Johannes gets greedy. I reckon he went to meet her that Wednesday night and she – or someone – was waiting for him, knocked him about a bit then slipped the rope around his neck. Then they threw him in a van or the boot of a car and drove him to Craigtoun Park where they dumped his body.’

  ‘Hold on, though,’ Chris said. ‘It can’t have been Tamsin who killed him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Think, Clare – this arms case against Phil Quinn. It’s been going on for two weeks now. Tamsin was in protective custody all that time and probably for a good while before the trial began. She couldn’t possibly have met Johannes to kill him.’

  Clare slapped her forehead. She’d forgotten Tamsin had been in the Perth house before coming to St Andrews. ‘Of course, Chris.’ She ran through the possibilities in her head then said, ‘She must have told Johannes she would meet him – somehow…’

  ‘Burner phone?’

  ‘Yes, it must have been. The SOC guys would have been monitoring her own phone.’ She ran a hand through her hair, then said, ‘Okay, Chris. She has a phone they don’t know about. Probably used it to keep in touch with her money mules. She realises Johannes is getting greedy and calls someone to get rid of him.’

  ‘Pretty extreme,’ Chris said. ‘You reckon she has it in her? To have Johannes killed?’

  ‘Listen, she’s married to Phil Quinn. She’s no stranger to violence. He’s had some pretty dodgy characters working for him over the years so she wouldn’t be stuck for someone to do it. I’m guessing our Tamsin only has to pick up the phone and Phil’s heavies are only too happy to oblige.’

  Chris shook his head. ‘Those young lads, Johannes and Marek – they had no idea who they were dealing with.’ He picked up his teaspoon and began stirring his tea, idly. ‘Thing is, Clare – even if you do track Tamsin down, what could you charge her with? I doubt we can prove she arranged for Johannes to be killed.’

  ‘Depends. I’m pretty sure Marek’s evidence will be enough to get her for money laundering. And I’ll have a bloody good go at charging her with Conspiracy to Commit Murder.’

  ‘Bit of a long shot, though, isn’t it?’

  Clare nodded. ‘It is. Proving it won’t be easy. She’ll have covered her tracks, that one.’

  ‘But we do have Marek, thank God. That was a good call, finding out Rose was in Greystane.’

  Clare smiled. ‘Bit of luck, really. And we have Marek’s phone now. So, maybe…’ She broke off when she saw Wendy’s car draw up outside the flat. ‘Chris, get Gillian on the phone and ask her to get Tamsin’s number from Marek’s phone. Then get hold of Johannes’s phone records and see if there’s a match. That should help us pin the money laundering on her.’

  ‘You’re assuming he’ll be happy enough to give us his phone.’

  Clare reached down to pick up her bag. ‘We haven’t time to wait for a warrant so he’ll have to help us. If necessary, remind him that Tamsin’s still roaming free and that it’s in his interests to help us find her. And if the solicitor is minded to be arsy about it, tell Gillian to say we need it to track a criminal and that it’ll be noted when we decide whether to charge Marek with any offences.’ She rose, scraping her chair back. ‘And, once you’ve got the number, get on to the phone company and find out if Tamsin’s phone has pinged any masts since she left St Andrews this morning.’

  She left Chris to make the calls and went to meet Wendy.

  ‘Not a word about this key to anyone, Clare,’ she said. ‘Or I’ll be for it.’

  ‘Of course. Just make sure you get rid of it safely.’

  Wendy nodded. ‘I have a coarse file at home so I’ll grind it down tonight – unless you think you’ll need it again?’ Wendy put the key in the lock then hesitated. ‘The SOC boys have probably wiped the place down. Do you have gloves, Clare?’

  Clare opened her bag and produced two pairs of gloves. Wendy pulled on a pair and opened the door. They climbed the stairs and Wendy took the other key, opening the door at the top. The flat was little changed from Clare’s last visit except that Tamsin was no longer there. There were coffee cups on the draining board in the kitchen and a pile of magazines lying on the sofa. Clare went into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe. Tamsin’s clothes hung there and draped across the bed was the coat she had worn when they had brought her from Perth. ‘Looks like they’ve given her a
new wardrobe,’ she said to Wendy. ‘Probably a whole new identity.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s a high-profile case,’ Wendy agreed, ‘and, with Paddy Grant still at large, it’s safer that way.’

  Clare sat down on the sofa. ‘It makes me so angry, Wendy. She’s done such damage. One student dead. Another driven almost to the point of suicide, frightened for his life. And all that money she’s laundered. She turns evidence against her husband and she walks away with a new life.’

  ‘I know, Clare. But sometimes it’s the lesser of two evils. At least this way Phil Quinn is off the streets.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Clare glanced at her phone as it buzzed. A text from the DCI. ‘A bit late, Al,’ she said to herself, swiping to read the message.

  Sorry, Clare.

  Tried my best.

  SOC wouldn’t let me anywhere near Tamsin.

  She’s left now with a new ID.

  Sorry again,

  Al

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ she muttered, putting her phone back in her pocket.

  A loud rap at the door made Wendy jump. Clare rose. ‘It’ll only be Chris,’ she said, going down the stairs to let him in.

  ‘Got the number,’ he said. ‘Jim’s tracing the phone company then he’ll check if she’s passed any masts. He’s also asked for a list of contacts from Tamsin’s phone. Might help us trace more of her money mules.’

  ‘Thanks, Chris.’ Clare glanced at her watch. ‘Fancy a trip over to Cupar?’

  * * *

  The police station in Cupar was in a modern block built mainly in honey-coloured stone. It sat on the aptly named Waterend Road which bordered a narrow section of the River Eden. They had travelled separately, Clare unwilling to leave the Merc parked on Market Street, and managed to find the last two spaces in a car park to the side of the building. They walked back round onto Waterend Road towards the front door of the station.

  Clare looked at the river. ‘It’s quite high, isn’t it? I’m not sure how confident I’d be leaving my car parked here all the time.’

  ‘It has burst its banks in the past,’ Chris said. ‘Flooded all along here.’

  At the public enquiry desk Clare introduced herself and Chris and said they would like to interview Rose Grant.

  ‘She’s asked for a solicitor,’ the desk sergeant told them.

  Clare clicked her tongue. Typical of the likes of Rose. Keep them waiting as long as possible while the clock ticked down. ‘How long before you can get one here?’

  ‘Could be half an hour – if we’re lucky.’

  The sergeant took them through to the staff rest room. It had a kitchen area at one end with the usual kettle, microwave and fridge, and an assortment of easy chairs at the other. The desk sergeant offered to make them coffee while they waited but Clare waved this away. When he had gone she closed the door behind him and sat on one of the chairs.

  ‘Let’s think about Tamsin,’ she said. ‘Now, I’m not familiar with the Serious Organised Crime squad’s operations. You?’

  Chris was wandering about, reading notices that had been Blu-Tacked to the wall. ‘Eh?’

  ‘The SOC, Chris. Have you had any dealings with them at all?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘You know what?’ Clare said. ‘I’m sick of this. I’m going to phone Steve Robins.’

  ‘The cop from SOC?’

  ‘That’s him.’ Clare took out the business card Steve Robins had given her on Monday and tapped in his number. He answered immediately. Clare asked if he remembered her.

  ‘Yes, Inspector. What’s this about?’

  ‘You had a witness,’ Clare said, choosing her words carefully. ‘The woman we met on Monday. I need to—’

  ‘Let me stop you right there, Inspector. That is information you do not need and we are not having this conversation.’

  ‘I only want to—’

  ‘I’m ending this call now and you will not contact me about this matter again. And that’s an order, Inspector.’

  Clare began speaking again then she heard the three short beeps that told her he had ended the call. ‘Dammit.’

  ‘He’s not for talking?’

  ‘Nope.’ Clare put the phone back in her pocket. ‘So, if they won’t tell us what they’ve done with Tamsin, we’ll have to work it out. So let’s put ourselves in their shoes.’

  ‘Okay.’ Chris stopped reading the notices and took a seat opposite Clare. ‘First of all, she’ll have a new location. Might be in Scotland – maybe not. So how do they get her there?’

  ‘Drive her,’ Clare said. ‘Except…’

  Chris waited.

  ‘Put yourself in Tamsin’s shoes,’ she said, at last. ‘She was living in a safe house in Perth and the location was compromised. Then she comes to St Andrews and, again, someone finds out where she is and passes that information to Paddy Grant.’

  ‘Yeah, we know all that.’

  ‘Chris, think about it. That information has to be coming from inside Police Scotland.’

  ‘The leak Gayle Crichton was investigating?’

  ‘Yeah, could be. So, if you were Tamsin, with a new identity and location organised by the police – would you trust them?’

  ‘I see your point.’

  ‘If I was in Tamsin’s shoes, Chris, I’d be making my own travel arrangements.’

  ‘You think they’d let her?’

  ‘She’s a free woman. They couldn’t stop her – if she was determined enough. And I’d say she was.’

  Chris rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Godsake, Clare. If that’s true then we haven’t a hope of finding her.’

  ‘Well we have to try. So get thinking. How might she have got herself to a new location?’

  ‘Taxi and train?’

  Clare nodded. ‘So we’re looking for any taxi firm who sent a car to Market Street this morning. Find out where it went. We need the CCTV from the local railway stations – check Leuchars, Dundee, Cupar and Kirkcaldy. She could have gone to any one of those. Ladybank, even, if she was being cautious enough.’

  Chris scribbled this down.

  ‘Car hire,’ Clare went on. ‘She could have hired a car to go – well, who knows where? So we want any car hire company that sent a car to St Andrews. And if that doesn’t throw up any results, check all hires out of Cupar and Dundee – any destination. Get the registrations and see if any of them have pinged any ANPR cameras on the way to St Andrews.’

  ‘That’s a hell of a lot of work, Clare.’

  ‘Draft in as many cops as you can. I’ll authorise the overtime. But see who’s around first.’

  The desk sergeant appeared and said that the duty solicitor was with Rose Grant now. Clare and Chris followed him to a small interview room. She hesitated outside the door, oddly nervous. The closest she had been to Rose had been in the High Court in Edinburgh and now she was coming face to face with the woman who had tried to scare Tamsin off testifying and who had probably tried to murder Marek Schmidt.

  Chris glanced at her. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded and put a hand on the door. ‘Come on. Let’s see what she has to say for herself.’

  Chapter 31

  Rose Grant was sitting behind the desk, a middle-aged woman in a dark suit next to her. The woman looked up as they entered and gave them a nod, but Rose’s expression was not encouraging. They took their seats opposite and Chris began fiddling with the tape recorder while Clare took her first proper look at Rose. She found it hard to work out how old Rose was. She could have been anything from late twenties to early forties. She was tall and wiry and her hands, crossed in front of her, looked strong. She wore no make-up on her face which was long and angular. Her hair was her most distinctive feature, white-blonde, as Clare had seen that day in the High Court, with the beginnings of dark roots starting to show. It was shaved close at her neck and spiked on top. Her eyes were a steely grey and her gaze penetrating. Clare realised now why she had felt nervous outside the door and she marvelled at Tamsin’s ability t
o give evidence after Rose’s unscheduled appearance in the court room.

  Clare introduced herself and Chris and delivered the usual caution. Then she asked Rose how she knew Tamsin Quinn.

  Rose’s response was a terse ‘No comment.’

  Clare couldn’t quite work out her accent. She wasn’t a Dundonian, nor a Glaswegian. Maybe somewhere between the two – central Scotland, probably. She asked why Rose had been seen in a blue Transit van in St Andrews over the past week and received the same reply. She tried again, asking when Rose had last seen her brother Paddy Grant.

  Rose yawned and made no reply.

  Clare changed tack. ‘How do you know Marek Schmidt, Rose?’

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Clare persisted. ‘Because he told us you chased him onto the Tay Road Bridge. That you had followed him through Tayport to the bridge and that you put him in fear of his life. And we’ll be checking the CCTV that covers that end of the bridge.’

  ‘No comment.’

  Clare sighed. ‘Okay, Rose. Why don’t you tell me why you found yourself on the Tay Road Bridge yesterday?’

  Rose met Clare’s eye and stared at her for a few seconds. Her eyes seemed to bore into Clare and it was all Clare could do to hold her gaze. Then Rose said, ‘I was gonnae kill myself, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Mind if I ask why?’

  Rose shrugged. ‘Life gets a bit tough, sometimes. Just thought I’d end it all.’ There was the hint of a smirk, at odds with what she had just said.

  Clare reckoned there wasn’t the remotest chance that Rose Quinn had contemplated ending her life. Sitting there, just a few feet from Rose, she thought it was no wonder Marek had been driven to run into oncoming traffic on the bridge. She was making Clare pretty uncomfortable so she must have scared the life out of the young student. ‘Do you deny you tried to intimidate Marek Schmidt, one of the patients at Greystane House?’

  ‘Me?’ she said. ‘You’ve got me mixed up with someone else.’