Текст книги "In Place of Death"

Автор книги: Craig Robertson

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter 32

Narey’s incident room had changed out of all recognition. Three new faces on the wall and a host of new faces, not all exactly friendly, in front of her. In not much more than twenty-four hours, she had gone from having one murder case and the probability of losing another to holding the hottest ticket in town. The danger of that was getting her fingers burned.

She turned her back for a moment on the assorted detectives of MIT, and looked at the five faces on the wall. Euan Hepburn, looking straight at the camera in a press accreditation shot. Jennifer Cairns, smiling in a publicity picture taken for her website. Derek Wharton, young and stern in his driver’s licence photo. Then two police mug shots. Christopher Hart with a scar on his cheek and a smirk on his face. Davie McGlashan appearing soft and bashful with a thick grey beard.

As she looked at all five of them together, she began to lose the courage of her convictions. Could they really all be linked and was the connection really urbexing? Some of the bastards sitting and waiting behind her would doubtless be ready to laugh it out of court. Shit, part of her was wishing she’d never made this happen. Too late now though.

Addison was going to kick it off. It was officially under his command but they knew she was running the investigation. It was her half-baked theory and it would certainly all be hers if it went wrong.

‘Okay, listen up. DI Narey is going to bring everyone up to speed on where we are with Euan Hepburn and Jennifer Cairns. The enquiry has widened and we are looking at three other possible, I stress possible, deaths in connection with this investigation. You’ll all be going away from here with leads to follow so pay attention.’

She rose, feeling unusually nervous, and began going through the five victims one by one. Some of it was old ground for a few of them but that didn’t matter. It would be much more of a mistake to leave something out than to repeat it. She began with Hepburn and worked her way through them.

She saw a few faces wrinkle in scepticism and made a mental note not to forget who they were. DS Aaron Petrie, sore at her getting promoted rather than him. DI Bill Storey who probably thought the case should have been given over to him. DS Lewis McTeer who had just never liked her and had probably never liked any woman. Fuck them.

Not everyone had been so antagonistic though. She’d already made phone calls on the other three deaths and the lead officers had been keen to help. Actually doing so proved more difficult though.

DS Dugald Lindsay had talked to her about the body found on the ruined floor of the seminary but couldn’t provide much in the way of answers.

‘I just don’t know. I always felt there could be more to it but I couldn’t find anything to prove it one way or the other. Maybe I was always bugged by the fact that if someone did want to stage an accident then a place like the seminary, which was remote even before it fell into ruin, would be perfect. It just seemed too neat, you know? No chance of witnesses or CCTV.

‘Wharton did have gambling debts and I looked into it but didn’t get anywhere. It wasn’t a lot of money, just a few grand. And plenty of people owe that without getting killed for it.

‘His family said he did visit abandoned places as a hobby but they didn’t really understand it. I wish I could tell you more but I can’t.’

DI Martin Telfer at Organized Crime had filled her in on what they had on Christopher Hart’s death but had to confess it was nothing concrete.

‘Crispy Hart worked for the Mullen brothers, did a bit of everything, basically whatever they told him to do. Thief, bagman, hard man, dealer. Whatever. It’s possible he stepped out of line and Mullen punished him but we don’t think so.’

She thought it best not to mention that she’d just heard the same thing from the horse’s mouth.

‘Mullen was having troubles with Jack Hulston around that time. The usual territory crap, turf wars. Maybe Hart was done as part of that but we’ve no intel to back it up. A guy like that would have had a hundred enemies and a handful of mourners. Often with these gangland killings, we know who did it and we just can’t stick it on them. Usually someone’s shooting his mouth off and that gets back to us but there was none of that this time. Not a word. I can’t see how it fits with these other cases of yours though.’

Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it does.

The death of Davie McGlashan hadn’t even merited a detective on the case. She spoke to Constable Elaine Paton, one of the two who’d been called when the man’s body had been found. She was surprised to get the call from MIT, thinking the matter was closed.

‘We did a sweep of the saw works, ma’am. There were bundles of clothing and little things like a toothbrush and empty food tins that certainly made it look like he’d been there for some time. Certainly more than one night. No sign there had been more than one person there though. Just Mr McGlashan as far as we could see. Forensics came in, took photographs, did their stuff then moved the body out. It was all pretty routine.’

‘Nothing strange about it at all that you can remember?’

‘No, ma’am. Like I say, it was . . . Well maybe there was one thing. Maybe nothing.’

‘What was it?’

‘Well it seemed likely that the man had died in his sleep. The way he was positioned, still under his blanket. But there were two bottles of Buckfast near the body. Neither of them had been opened and that struck me as a bit odd. I don’t know many drinkers that wouldn’t have had at least some before they’d gone to sleep. Most would have had at least one of the bottles.’

‘Were there empties? Maybe he’d drunk something else.’

‘No, ma’am. None. He hadn’t had a drink.’

That little nugget didn’t seem to impress many of the detectives in the incident room. One or two took notes but most seemed to shrug it off. Seeing it, she gave them the lecture about every little thing being important even though she knew it would just turn a few further against her.

As she spoke, she saw Detective Chief Superintendent Tom Crosby, the lead on Major Crime, slip into the back of the room. Great. Just what she needed. Crosby, known obviously enough as Bing, stood with his arms folded across his chest and listened intently. A couple of heads turned to see him standing there but she pulled them back.

‘There is a community out there in Glasgow, right now, continuing to explore old buildings, enter abandoned premises and disused tunnels. They are doing this out of sight and by the nature of it, out of our protection. We have no reason to think that whoever is responsible for these deaths will kill again but equally, we have no reason to think they have stopped.

‘We’re on the clock here. We need to work all sides of this and get a result as quickly as possible. Becca Maxwell has information sheets for everyone on urbexing, who does what and where. Read them.’

She saw a couple of them, Petrie and McTeer, whispering to each other and both had grins on their faces. Arseholes, the pair of them. She’d sort them but doing it in front of Bing Crosby wasn’t the way.

Minutes later, the briefing was over and the detectives were dispersing with varying degrees of enthusiasm. She allowed herself to catch McTeer’s eye, just enough to let him know she was on to him.

She turned back to see Crosby deep in conversation with Addison. He was shaking his head a lot and occasionally gesticulating with his right arm. For his part, Addison was bending his head forward and speaking quietly so no one else could hear. It looked for all the world like a pissed-off Detective Chief Superintendent and a defensive DCI. She didn’t like it.

Crosby left with a final shake of his head and, once he was out of the room, Addison approached her.

‘Let me guess, he wants to offer me a promotion.’

‘Not quite. It was all I could do to stop him reprimanding you. He’s gone to cool off and you’d better hope he does.’

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know but had to ask. ‘What’s he so mad about?’

Addison loomed over her. ‘Not just him. I told you not to go near Bobby Mullen. What the hell did you think you were doing, Rachel?’

‘Ah. That.’

‘Yes, that. He got a call from Ken Bryson to say you’d been seen going into Mullen’s pub. It’s a toss-up whether Bryson or Crosby will have you sacked first. You were talking about a ticking clock on this case, Rachel. Well it’s ticking for you too. You’d better get a result.’

Chapter 33

They’d gone straight to Oran Mor for a drink after the walk to the Botanics. It had been Remy’s idea. The place used to be a church before it was turned into a pub so what better for them than an old building that had survived more or less intact after it hadn’t been wanted any more. Okay, so it had been tarted up inside but it wasn’t quite gentrified. They’d also be able to get in a corner and talk without too much chance of being overheard.

It was all dark wood and panelling inside, pillars and pews and low ceilings. It was shadowy, intimate even. Like another tunnel but this time with alcohol. Remy would be going easy though; no boozing for him but he’d make sure everyone else had plenty. He got the first round in, encouraged a ‘proper’ drink for those that said no and got himself a lager shandy that looked like a real pint.

When he came back with the tray of drinks, he saw Gabby and Miller were sitting next to each other, heads tight together in conversation. He didn’t like that much but maybe later he could get something out of her of what the arse was saying. He needed to get whatever he could from all these people because he wasn’t sure he’d be seeing them again.

He handed out the glasses and parked himself next to Lorna the NightLight who had ordered a glass of white wine. She’d actually asked for a small glass but he’d got her a large. She was so skinny that he couldn’t imagine she’d be able to hold much alcohol at all. That made him feel bad, but he needed people to talk.

‘That was fun,’ she said. ‘Thanks for organizing it. I’d only ever been there with an ex-boyfriend before. It was good to do it as a group. It felt like we were occupying the place.’

‘You usually go on your own then?’

‘Oh no. I go with a couple of friends. My pal Lizzie and her boyfriend Gus. They don’t post on OtherWorld though. We all do the urbexing but I do the photographs and stick them online. Probably why you wouldn’t know to invite them along.’

‘Yes, probably.’ He sighed inside, wondering how many other part-time explorers were out there who didn’t use the forum. Clearly neither of Lorna’s friends could be Tunnel Man though.

‘So you only know the two of them?’

‘Just those two. People have posted after seeing my photos but I don’t know them. Still, now I know five other people that do it.’

‘Six.’ The voice came from above them, someone standing. They all glanced up.

‘I take it you’re the muppets that walked the Botanics line this evening?’

They were looking at a lean, flint-cheeked guy in his early thirties with sleek black hair. He tried to switch to a smile when he saw everyone staring but didn’t quite pull it off.

‘Only joking. I’m Crow. Or Murray Bradley if you like. I thought I’d give the tourist route a miss and come straight here. Can I get anyone a drink?’

Bradley wore a black-leather jacket, T-shirt and jeans to match his hair. If he had walked the tunnel from Kirklee with them then he’d have disappeared in the darkness. Everyone said they were sorted for drinks and the guy headed off to get one for himself.

He came back with a pint of lager in his hand and squeezed himself into a space between Ally Aitchison and Gopher. ‘Cheers.’ They all raised their glasses without much enthusiasm. The newcomer had managed to piss them all off with just a couple of sentences.

‘Walking the line too safe for you then?’ Aitchison seemed happy to take him on aggressively.

Bradley shrugged, clearly not fazed. ‘Been there, done that. Happy to come for a beer though and see what you guys are all about. So where else have you done?’

It sounded like a challenge and Gabby, not surprisingly, took it that way. ‘Anywhere that’s worth doing in Glasgow. What about you, big man? Surprise us.’

The man sneered and Remy wanted to slap him. There was more chance of Gabby doing that though. ‘Finnieston Crane, the old Transport Museum, the black building at Gartnavel, the Hydro when it was being built. Like you say, hen, anything that’s worth doing.’

The next question was out of Remy’s mouth before he could stop it.

‘Have you ever done the Molendinar Burn?’

Bradley paused then pushed his lower lip over his top one and shrugged. ‘No. Not yet anyway.’

‘What’s that?’ Lorna looked confused.

‘There’s a tunnel where the Molendinar Burn runs under Duke Street,’ Miller answered. ‘It gets really tight and you wouldn’t want to do it if you were claustrophobic. Only one person’s supposed to have done it.’

More than one, Remy thought. Definitely more than one.

He knew there was a risk he was about to overplay his hand but they were the only cards he had.

‘Did you read about the body found in the tunnel last week?’

They all looked at him and he tried to take in the expression on their faces. Confusion mostly although a couple of them, Aitchison and Miller, obviously knew. Haddow too. Not Gopher, that was for sure. His eyes widened and his mouth bobbed open. ‘Body? As in, dead body?’

Winter struggled to keep conflicting emotions under control. This guy Feeks was asking all the questions for him. They were all staring at Remy so that left Winter free to look at them. Trying to read them. And what about Feeks? Nervily chatty and obviously interested in the Molendinar. But then they all were now.

But the kid’s words, body, dead body, made him picture Hepburn in a way that he didn’t want to. It messed with his thinking. He sat and watched, trying to take it all in. Underneath he was in knots.

‘Yep. Some guy was found under Duke Street,’ Miller told Gopher. ‘I saw it on the news and read about it. The newspaper said it was suspicious circumstances.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Was he urbexing?’

Shit. Was he?

‘No one knows.’ Miller stated it as if it was a fact even though Remy knew it wasn’t. ‘He could have been in there for any reason. Might have been living rough. Might have been hiding from the cops. If he was urbexing, he probably just slipped and banged his head.’

‘Probably that,’ Haddow agreed.

‘So who was he, if he was urbexing?’ Remy knew he was pushing his luck. ‘Anyone know who he might be?’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Newspaper said he was about five foot eleven, medium build, reddish-fair hair.’ Miller seemed to know everything or think he did. The rest mulled this over or just shrugged. Remy wanted to shake them upside down till their memories popped.

‘But if the newspaper said it was suspicious . . .’ Lorna sounded scared.

‘Maybe someone just took the guy down there to sort him out. Nice and out of the way. In space no one can hear you scream and all that.’ Bradley made it sound as if he knew what he was talking about. ‘Was he just inside the entrance to the tunnel?’

‘Paper didn’t say.’ Finlay Miller knew it all. ‘Probably. Wouldn’t want to go further into there than you had to.’

‘Anyone remember the guy that broke his neck at the seminary?’ Aitchison asked them. ‘It was about a year ago.’

They all either nodded or said yes. In a community as small as urbexing, something like that didn’t go unnoticed for long.

‘Poor guy.’ Lorna shivered. ‘Gus, my friend’s boyfriend, he knew him. Said he was a really nice guy. They think he just slipped.’

Bradley chipped in. ‘And there was that guy who supposedly fell from the Finnieston Crane. Except I’d heard that wasn’t an accident.’

‘Yeah?’ Aitchison sounded sceptical. ‘Who did you hear that from?’

‘Can’t say. Someone who knows someone. But they reckon the guy wasn’t an urbexer.’

There was a lot of silent nodding and quiet supping. Remy saw they were happy to believe it was nothing to do with urbexing. All sitting there with that thought on their faces. All except Gabby. She was looking straight at him.

Chapter 34

Winter waited in the doorway and watched the two of them speaking, the girl Gabby and Feeks, the guy who’d organized it and was asking so many questions. He held back until he saw the girl walk off then stepped out of the pub, catching Feeks before he too could leave. He didn’t know what he was going to say to the guy but he knew he had to talk to him.

‘Remy?’

Feeks nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, alarm in his eyes. ‘What?’

‘I just wanted a chat. That stuff you were saying about the body in the Molendinar. It’s interesting. You fancy another drink?’

‘Well, I should really—’

‘It’s just that I’ve been down there. The tunnel, I mean.’

Feeks blinked. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. It gets weird in parts. At one point there’s this tunnel of spiral steel piping. Then it opens up into this beautiful redbrick section before it all gets really low. Like I said, it’s interesting.’

The younger guy just looked at him. Long enough for Winter to know he’d been right.

‘Um, sure. Maybe one more.’

‘Great.’

They went back inside and Feeks found a quiet corner while Winter ordered a couple of pints. He looked back from the bar and saw his new friend fidgeting nervously, his eyes flitting left and right.

He placed two drinks on the table, as happy as Feeks seemed to be that there was no one else in earshot.

‘Cheers.’

‘Oh yeah. Cheers.’

Winter raised his glass and took a better look at the guy over the top of it. He was in his mid to late twenties, with a mess of fair hair and a light sprinkling of freckles. He had bony shoulders and skinny arms, barely a pound of fat on him anywhere. Seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil, as his Uncle Danny would say. He seemed an unlikely candidate to slit another man’s throat.

‘So where you from, Remy?’

The guy hesitated. ‘East End. You?’

‘Charing Cross. Like I said, I’m a photographer. What about yourself?’

Remy looked wary. ‘I work in a supermarket. You really been down the Molendinar Tunnel?’

‘Aye. Till it got so low that there didn’t seem a way through without getting on my belly and crawling. Was it in the papers that you read about the guy they found down there?’

‘Uh huh. I saw it on the TV news too. There’s not been much about it since though.’

‘You been keeping an eye on it?’

‘What? Yes, I suppose so. Just interested.’

‘Yeah, me too.’

‘When did you go down there, Tony? I mean you didn’t say when the others were talking about it.’

‘Quite recently. I didn’t want to mention it when we were talking about the poor guy being killed. Didn’t seem right. Would have made me sound like a suspect. You know?’

Feeks laughed uncomfortably. ‘I guess it would have. Did you take photographs when you were down there?’

‘Yeah, I did. Quite a few.’

‘Right. Cool.’

‘You ever explored the Molendinar yourself, Remy?’

‘Me? No.’

His reply was just too quick and just too hollow. Winter let it simmer for a bit, sipping his pint and noticing that Remy had barely touched his.

‘So what do you think happened to the guy they found?

Feeks shrugged, his pointed shoulders rising and falling like a kid who’d been asked how his school day had been.

Winter tried again. ‘Suspicious circumstances according to the cops. You think that’s right?’

He reddened ever so slightly and the hand that went to his pint glass had a tremble in it. ‘I don’t know. I guess the police should know so it must have been.’

‘Yeah. That makes sense.’

Feeks didn’t say anything more for a bit. He looked around the room and Winter could see his mind was in overdrive.

‘Do you know a lot of people who urbex?’ he asked at last.

‘Not many,’ Winter told him. ‘Most of them I met this evening.’

‘Do you know anyone that might fit the description of the guy in the tunnel? I mean, he might not have been exploring but he might have been. You know?’

Winter nodded. ‘Yeah, he might. There was one guy I knew years ago I did some explores with. He was about the same height, same hair colour.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’ Winter watched Feeks intently. ‘His name was Euan Hepburn. Probably a different guy though. The one I knew moved to England.’

The name meant nothing to him. That was obvious.

‘Maybe you should tell the police, Tony.’

‘Yeah. Maybe I should.’

Another awkward silence fell on them. It was like they were in a competition daring the other not to speak. If they were, Feeks lost. He quickly downed some more of the pint and all but jumped to his feet.

‘I’ve got to go. Do you want me to buy you a drink before I go?’

‘No, no need. Listen, are you okay, Remy? You seem upset about all this.’

‘Eh? No. I’m . . . I’m fine. I’d better go. Sorry.’ Feeks looked like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words.

‘No worries. I’ll get you out. Time for me to go anyway.’