Текст книги "In Place of Death"

Автор книги: Craig Robertson

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter 57

Wednesday morning

The buzz had gone from the incident room. The buzz had gone from the whole team.

McCormack had been given bail.

Addison had taken the call from the Procurator Fiscal’s office and relayed the bad news first to Narey then the rest of the team. The Fiscal wasn’t convinced they had the physical evidence to justify holding McCormack in custody. He was pleading guilty to leaving the scene of a crime but not the three murder charges they’d stuck on him. His passport had been taken from him and he was not considered a flight risk. He would face trial but wasn’t being held on remand.

It was a body blow to every one of them. The adrenalin-induced elation of getting their man was gone, replaced by disgust at him being allowed home and having perhaps months before a trial. Worse, there was a gnawing fear that he might never be convicted for the murders of Hepburn and Feeks.

Everyone was in a bad mood, not least Narey. She knew she was grouching at people when it wasn’t their fault but it didn’t stop her from doing it. She snapped at Maxell and shouted at Toshney. She later did both with Addison as if to prove she wasn’t just taking it out on the ranks.

Doors were being slammed everywhere; a despondency spread through the building and threatened arguments wherever it went. They’d already started anew on making sure they could find sufficient evidence to guarantee a conviction in court but it couldn’t take away the frustration in the meantime. They knew he’d killed all three and it stuck in everyone’s throats.

Which is partly why Rico Giannandrea found himself in danger of being lynched when he came into the incident room with a smile on his face and a whistled tune on his breath. The DS was a naturally buoyant character, laid-back and taking the world as it came, but this time it wasn’t appreciated. Misery loves company, not a cheer.

‘What the hell are you so happy about?’ DS Lewis McTeer was still hanging around like a bad smell. Given that everyone else was pissed off, it was inevitable that miserable sod would be even more unhappy than the rest. Rico wouldn’t be dissuaded by a prat like McTeer though.

‘Happiness that lasts too long spoils the heart, eh, McTeer? No danger of that happening to you.’

‘What? You taking the piss?’ McTeer was itching for a fight.

Rico just smiled and spread his arms wide. ‘Old Italian proverb that my granny used to say. Don’t worry, be happy.’

Narey wasn’t going to side with McTeer but neither was she up for light-hearted banter. ‘Leave him, Rico. No one’s in the mood.’

‘Well I am,’ Giannandrea countered. ‘And while it’s not going to make up for McCormack walking, it might just put a smile on a couple of miserable faces.’

If he meant hers, then Narey wasn’t going to take it well. But she was listening. ‘What have you got?’

‘You asked me to look into a company called Orient Development. Told me to see if they were full of Eastern promise.’

She’d almost forgotten amidst everything else that had been going on.

‘Well, as you probably suspected I would, I found connections to Saturn Property. Johnny Jackson and I did some digging and found links between Orient and both Valhalla Homes and Hastings Developments. Directors of Orient include Barbara, wife of Dominic Hastings, and June, wife of Valhalla’s Jason Grieve. The husbands being barred from taking directorships. The day to day running of Orient is done by one Mark Singleton. They and Saturn are basically the same company.’

Now she was interested.

‘We went to Saturn’s office in Skypark and there on the wall was a framed artist’s impression of Orient’s planned development in the East End. Full of Eastern promise.’

‘So two companies are owned by the same people,’ McTeer sneered. ‘So what?’

Narey thought she had already figured it out, or at least what she’d do from there, but it was Rico’s show and she was content to leave the stage to him.

‘Well, Lewis, my happy little friend, so what is that it gave us two seemingly different companies that had put the frighteners on at least two tenants to leave their properties so they could be demolished. Archie Feeks and Walter McMeekin. Neither wanted to stand up on their own. Thought no one would listen to them. But together?’

‘Walter’s going to do it?’ Narey was smiling but could barely believe it.

‘He’s already done it, boss. He and Archie Feeks both gave statements and descriptions of the man who intimidated them. In both cases the threat to burn them out of their homes was implicit but unlikely to stand up in court. Together, it’s much stronger. And we got photofits done from both of them and the two images could be twins.’

‘Anyone we know?’

‘Yep. A fire-starter by the name of Martin Tully. Jacko says this guy is reckoned to be the best in the business. The insurance companies and our guys have been after him for a few years and never been able to lay a finger on him. Now we have something. We’re going to haul him in and squeeze his nuts till he decides whether he goes down or Singleton does. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Walter isn’t going to make the most reliable witness. Saturn’s lawyers will go gunning for him.’

‘I know. Which is why I was hoping we could get him out of the Rosewood and into somewhere better. Let’s face it, anywhere would be better. And maybe encourage him to lay off the drink or at least cut it back.’

Narey ran her hand through her hair as she thought about it

‘That might be easier said than done. Let me go speak to him. And I’ll try Malcolm Colvin at the City Mission. He knows Walter and should be able to help. That’s great work, Rico. Terrific. You hear that, McTeer? A reason for even you to smile.’

‘Yeah. Great.’ McTeer’s face called his words a liar.

‘Well if you can’t smile then beat it. Go on, find some work to do somewhere else.’

‘If you say it’s important, hen, then I’ll do it. If I can. I’m no promising anything though. I’ve been drinking for a long time. I’ve got too good at it.’

‘I’m not looking for miracles, Walter. I know it’s a big ask. But if you try, that’s good enough for me. I figured that if we get you into a better place then you’ll just maybe have one reason for staying sober a bit longer.’

The old man smiled at her, his eyes crinkling round the edges. ‘I’ll not be sad to leave the Rosewood though. I’ve been in there near enough a year. That might be a new record to be there that long and still be breathing.’

She laughed, seeing something of her dad in him, probably not for the first time. A thought occurred to her.

‘Do you follow football, Walter?’

He shrugged. ‘Not so much these days. The game’s all about money. Average players earning millions, it’s ridiculous. But aye, I like the football. Why?’

She hesitated. ‘It depends. Who do you support?’

He narrowed his eyes as he tried to work out what she was after. ‘I’m thinking I should say Partick Thistle so as no to ruin something.’

‘Ha. No, tell me who you support.’

‘I’m a Celtic man. Always have been.’

‘Ah that might be a problem. But then again it might just be perfect. My dad’s a Rangers fan, you see.’

‘Och I’m no a bigot, hen. I’d argue with anybody.’

‘Well, good. How would you fancy spending some time with my dad? Say once a week, to see how it goes. Just a cup of tea and a chat about football. I think it would help him.’

Walter shrugged again, easy with the world. ‘Sure, why no? Is he no keeping too well?’

‘Alzheimer’s.’

‘Och that’s a sin. Count me in, hen. If you think it will help then I’ll tell him all about how his team’s been cheating mine for years.’

She had a tear in her eye as she bent over and kissed him on the cheek.

Chapter 58

Wednesday evening

Narey and Winter were in the back room of the Station Bar on Port Dundas Road, a Guinness and a vodka and tonic in front of them. The bar was quiet and they had the raised rear area to themselves. It was a mixed blessing because although they didn’t want to be overheard, they were having this discussion in the pub rather than at home as it would reduce the chance of them shouting at each other.

It was the first opportunity they’d had to sit down and talk about it. About them.

Just less than forty-eight hours since Winter had scaled the tower and McCormack had walked into the trap they’d set for him. Two days of interviews and legal argument, elation and frustration. Two days in which they’d been able to do nothing more than hug each other. He was drained and she was working furiously. Catching her man was one thing, keeping him was another.

Rico’s work with Orient and Saturn had managed to take the edge off her exasperation at McCormack’s bail and her talk with Walter had put a smile on her face. She was ready for this conversation, even if Tony wasn’t.

‘Look, it’s worked out fine. We got him and you’ll put him away in court. Can’t we just leave it at that?’

‘No. We need to talk about it.’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Of course you’d rather not. It means talking about emotion and feelings. And you’d rather run a mile than do that. But sometimes you have to. Like now.’

He drew deep on his Guinness and nodded glumly. ‘Okay. Go.’

She shook her head, knowing she was probably going to have to do all the work, but fine, it was better than it not being done. ‘Okay. Do you understand why I was so angry with you when I found out what you’d been doing?’

He sighed. ‘Yes I do. But do you realize it was a two-way thing? I was angry too.’

She let out an incredulous gasp. ‘The difference is that I had a reason to be angry. You’d gone behind my back, broken the law, risked your life, endangered my investigation and risked everything we had together. And you knew you were doing all that.’

He tilted his head to one side and blew out air. ‘But apart from that, what have the Romans ever done for us, right? Okay . . . I get it. I really do. And I didn’t want to do any of those things. I wasn’t thinking about the consequences, only what I felt I had to do.’

‘But—’

‘And I’m not saying that’s right. I don’t want to do anything behind your back. And I definitely don’t want to do anything to harm us. It’s too important to me.’

‘So why do it? It’s easy to say but I can only go on what you actually did.’

‘Because Euan was my friend and I let him down. I treated him badly and I wasn’t there when he needed me. I had to put that right. I owed him. Look, I don’t want to drag your dad into this but you know what it’s like when it’s too late to help someone you care for but you still feel you have to do something for them.’

She narrowed her eyes at him but conceded the point. ‘That’s a bit of a cheap shot but yes, I get that. I do. But—’

‘But nothing. You’re asking me to change my nature and I can’t do that.’

‘What? How did this turn round so that it’s my fault? I’m asking you to change your behaviour, not your nature. I’m asking you not to be such a dick. Above all, I’m asking you to be honest with me.’

‘Honest I can do. But it might mean telling you something honestly that you won’t like.’

‘Fine. I’d rather it was that way. If you’re going to kill yourself or get arrested then at least I’ll know about it.’

‘Fine. So we’re sorted.’

She laughed. ‘No we’re not. Look, you’re who you are and I love you. So fine, I accept there’s times you will need to be you and do what you need to do, however crazy and risky it is. I can live with that but what I still can’t live with is it crossing into my professional life. I’ve got a career and you can’t mess with that. Take your own risks, not mine.’

He pulled a hand through his hair and exhaled hard. ‘Okay, so it’s the problem it’s always been from the start. I work with the police, you are the police. That line that’s always been there will always be there.’

‘Yes. And I don’t think I can change that.’

‘Maybe I can.’

‘What?’

‘If that can be sorted then we can be sorted. If whatever I’m doing doesn’t cross that line, doesn’t interfere, doesn’t compromise your job then we can make it work. Right?’

‘Yes but I don’t see—’

‘I don’t want to explain right now but if I can . . .’

They were so in the middle of it that they didn’t hear Addison approach until he’d placed two pints of Guinness, a vodka and tonic and a newspaper in front of them.

‘Evening, campers. That bastard McCormack may be at home with his feet up but here’s a reason to celebrate and the drinks to do it with. Don’t say I’m not good to you.’

The newspaper was the Scottish Standard. Plastered across its front page and two inside were a report and photographs of the Rosewood Hotel. The words were Winter’s, the photos were Euan Hepburn’s and the headline, Hellhole, was the newspaper’s.

‘Nice work,’ Addison admitted grudgingly. ‘I didn’t even know you could write sentences.’

Winter shrugged it off. ‘The work was all Euan’s. I just wrote it up from his notes and from what I saw in the photographs. And from what Rachel told me about what it was like in there. It was easy enough.’

Hellhole. The shame of the Rosewood Hotel. Exclusive investigation by Euan Hepburn.

‘Were they okay with putting a dead man’s byline on the piece?’

‘They didn’t have any choice. I told them it was the only way they were getting the story.’

Addison nodded. ‘How much did they pay?’

‘A thousand for the front page and the two-page spread inside. I gave the money to the City Mission. Seemed the right thing to do.’

‘Very generous,’ Addison raised his glass in salute. ‘I’m sure that guy Colvin at the Mission will be pleased. He might even take Rachel out to show how grateful he is.’

Narey sighed theatrically. ‘Very funny. You did do the right thing, Tony. I’m sure Euan would have been happy with the Mission getting the money. And he’d have been even happier knowing the place is going to be closed down.’

‘It is?’

‘Yes.’ Addison confirmed it. ‘Your story, Hepburn’s story, kicked it all off this morning. Local MSPs and a couple of MPs have jumped on the bandwagon and they’ve forced the council to act at last. They’ve said they’ll review the Rosewood’s licence and privately they’ve let it be known they’ll withdraw it. The Department for Work and Pensions is feeling the heat too so basically the shit has hit the fan as far as the owners are concerned. Kilgannon and Wells are going to pull the plug and close the place down before they’re told to.’

‘Great but . . .’ Winter’s glass was still half-empty. ‘Kilgannon and Wells still get away with having run that place the way they did.’

‘No. They won’t. Thanks to Rachel, they’ll still pay a price.’

Winter looked at her questioningly. Wondering not only what Addison meant but why she hadn’t told him.

‘I only got the word this afternoon,’ she stressed it as if anticipating his complaint. ‘David McGlashan, the homeless guy whose body was found at the old saw works in Houldsworth Street. He did die of natural causes but we’ve been able to put a time of death on it plus check when he last stayed at the Rosewood. Those bastards had been claiming his housing benefit for eight weeks after he died. They’ll be charged and there’s no way they’ll be opening up anything similar. We might even manage a bit of jail time for them both.’

‘Nice. So why was he sleeping in the saw works? No urbexing thing, I take it?’

‘No. We can’t be sure but it seems he just wanted somewhere dry and warm, a roof over his head that wasn’t the Rosewood. The poor sods that are there just now will be looking for the same once it’s closed down. We don’t know who’s going to look after them.’

Addison shrugged. ‘The City Mission will be glad of Tony’s donation. And council services will have to take up some of the slack.’

‘And that’s it?’

‘What do you want me to do? Arrest them? Look, the Rosewood is being shut down, Rico and Johnny Jackson are on Saturn Property’s case and we’ll be asking Bobby Mullen some very difficult questions about torched buildings. Let’s just be happy about that for now. And we’ll make sure McCormack’s put away for life. I’ll drink to that.’

‘There might be a complication with McCormack,’ Winter began slowly. ‘He and Remy Feeks weren’t the only people in the Gray Dunn factory that night.’

They both looked at him. Until that point it had gone unsaid in Addison’s company but he didn’t seem surprised by Winter’s statement.

‘I saw the CCTV images,’ Addison told them flatly. ‘The third man looked familiar but I couldn’t make any definitive identification. Too blurry. If McCormack has something to say in court then we’ll contend with it then. For the moment, he’s saying nothing so let’s leave it like that.’

‘If I could give evidence —’

‘Just shut up, Tony,’ Addison told him firmly. ‘Don’t say another word. We’ll have to deal with your photographs from the Botanics as it is. That’s enough to be getting on with.’

Winter shrugged. ‘So be it. I’ll take whatever’s coming my way.’

Anger flashed in Narey’s eyes and it could be heard in her voice. ‘You made a mistake. Playing at being a detective and nearly getting yourself killed. Lucky for you that you didn’t make that mistake twice.’

‘No, I got good advice and I paid attention to it.’

‘I’m glad you did.’

Addison laughed. ‘Do you two think I’m daft? You think I can’t hear the private messages in amongst what you’re saying to each other? Or that maybe I’m blind?’

‘No idea what you’re talking about, Addy.’

‘No, of course not. Anyway, you’ve got bigger problems than what I know about your relationship. The Chief Constable knows about you taking those photographs and your relationship with Hepburn. He’s put two and two together and it’s fair to say he isn’t impressed.’

‘Great. Where does that leave me?’

Addison and Narey looked at each other again, not a smile or flicker of hope between them. He’d feared as much. Campbell Baxter had been building a funeral pyre for him for some time and now Winter had given him all the fuel he needed to set it alight.

Narey was about to speak when her phone began ringing in her pocket. She pulled it out and her face wrinkled in surprise when she looked at the screen.

‘Hello?’

‘Detective Inspector Narey.’ The voice was instantly familiar. ‘I think you’ll want to speak to me. I suggest you come right away.’

Chapter 59

David McCormack lived in the West End in half a million pounds’ worth of blond sandstone on Lancaster Crescent. The first patrol car had beaten them there and two uniformed officers were standing guard outside the open front door.

They’d called for a car of their own, none of them being able to risk driving. Narey sat up front with the constable while Addison and Winter sat in the back, the latter with his camera bag on his lap. They said little in the few minutes it took them to get there, preferring to let the sound of the siren drown out their thoughts and words.

Narey was first out and up the short flight of steps to the glossy black front door before the others had got out of the car. She talked to the cops on the door and waited impatiently for Addison and Winter to catch up.

‘He’s inside. They’ve kept an eye on him through the window but haven’t been in. They’ve left him to us, as instructed.’

‘Okay, let’s do it. Let me go first.’ Addison was the senior officer and the responsibility was his. He pushed at the door and it swung back to let him stride into the hallway. Narey and Winter followed in silence and single file. The two constables went in behind them.

The hall was dark and minimalist, McCormack clearly taking his work home with him. Dark blue walls and black flashes but no clutter whatsoever. It looked unlived in. Maybe it was.

Addison held his right hand out to the side as he neared the first door, slowing them down. They eased to a halt behind him and let him work his way round so that he was face on to the door, so he could see as much as he could of what he was walking into. He stepped inside and although he pulled up quickly at the scene in front of him, they followed hard on his heels.

David McCormack. In a room of virgin white, an interior designer’s orgasmic fantasy. White walls, white carpet, white furniture. A snowstorm of statement. Spoiled only by the violent splashes of red.

McCormack lay on his back on the white shagpile carpet, his arms and legs wide as if he was making a snow angel. You might have thought it was exactly that but for the blood spatter that formed a sickly halo round his neck and head and beyond. The sticky red clung to the thick white pile of the carpet like an invasion from another world.

Winter eased past Addison and Narey as they stood looking at McCormack, slipping between them and taking his first shot. The contrast between the room and the blood was a photographic gift. The man was sprawled helplessly, his life seeping into his living room, his skin draining of colour till it was beginning to fade into the surroundings.

The man’s throat though . . .

It was a riot of red. Winter’s internal shade chart put it at crimson, meaning it was as fresh as it was warm, no more than twenty minutes since it was spilled. It had soaked into McCormack’s shirt and through it to his skin.

Winter zoomed in, seeing the throat ripped, stabbed, cut, destroyed. This wasn’t one slice of a knife, it was a succession of frenzied assaults. The knife had been wielded savagely long after life had gone.

A tilt of his camera brought it all into focus. On the white-leather sofa above McCormack’s body sat Douglas Cairns. A large knife, its blade still dripping blood onto the once pristine carpet, was clutched in his hands. Winter fired off a succession of shots, catching the open-mouthed, distracted wonder on the man’s face. He’d done this yet he seemed barely capable of believing it. He might have worn the same expression to gaze at a goldfish bowl.

‘Mr Cairns? Douglas?’

The man lifted his head lazily, roused from his deliberations. ‘Detective Inspector Narey. And you’ve brought friends. That’s nice.’

She spoke calmly. ‘Douglas, I need you to put the knife down. Slowly, please.’

‘What?’ He looked down at the kitchen knife in his hands as if surprised to see it there, so easily forgotten amidst everything else. ‘Of course. Sorry.’

He bent forward and placed the blade on the carpet by his feet. Winter couldn’t help himself and caught a close-up of the black-handled knife as it settled into the white carpet, the remainder of the blood drenching the fibres.

Cairns sat back and they could all see that his shirt was as soaked as McCormack’s. The other man’s blood was all over him, drenching his hands and splattering his face and streaking his beard. He leaned against the white leather behind him, breathing hard as if relieved. His work was done.

‘Tell us what happened, Douglas.’

His face screwed up in bemusement as if she’d asked why the sky was blue or why five followed six.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he replied at last. ‘Have I killed him because he fucked my wife or because he killed her? Or because you let him go free and I was scared he’d get off in court? I’m right, aren’t I?’

She answered for all of them. ‘You’re right, Mr Cairns. I was wondering that and I do want to know why you killed him. But first I need to read you your rights. Douglas Cairns, I am arresting you for the murder of David McCormack. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say may be noted in evidence. Do you understand?’

‘I do.’

‘So what’s the answer?’

He laughed. A high-pitched, highly stressed laugh that didn’t suit him. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. All of it? Because he fucked her, because he betrayed me, humiliated me. Because as angry at her as I have been since I found out, I loved her and he killed her. He admitted it was no accident. He admitted all of it.’

Narey and Addison looked at each other, hoping and fearing in equal measure. She had Cairns’ attention though and she spoke for both.

‘We only have your word for that, Mr Cairns.’

The man smiled weakly and picked up the mobile phone by his side and held it in front of him. ‘I recorded it all on this. I made him confess.’

‘With a knife to his throat?’

‘Yes. But it’s the truth. He was too scared to lie. He killed my wife then he killed two men to cover it up. I didn’t know anything about them but he told me anyway. It spilled out of him like . . .’

Cairns faltered, staring at his business partner’s body, seeing the blood that was everywhere but where it should have been. His mouth jammed, lips trembling. The reality of it had suddenly bitten him hard. Unable to work words that would make any sense, he pushed one button on his phone, waited a few moments, then pushed another. McCormack’s voice filled the room.

‘. . . I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t mean to do it! I was terrified, Douglas. Terrified. The boy was asking too many questions and I didn’t know what he knew. Didn’t know what he could tell the police. I arranged to meet him and . . . It just happened. I couldn’t have it all come out. Jesus Christ, Douglas, I didn’t want any of this! You have to understand!’

Cairns pressed the button again and McCormack stopped talking as surely as if his throat had been cut.

‘He thought I might let him live if he told me it all. I couldn’t do that though. I couldn’t. He disgusted me. He . . . he betrayed me.’

‘You did this? You killed him? I need you to confirm that, Mr Cairns.’

‘Yes. I killed him. I meant to kill him. I’m glad I killed him. I did it alone. I came here intending to kill him. Is that enough? I won’t deny any of this if that’s what you’re worried about. I killed him.’

Narey nodded, rarely unhappier at getting confirmation of what she needed to know.

‘You need to come with us now, Mr Cairns. You know that, don’t you?’

He smiled at her and let his head bob in agreement. He made as if to push himself up from the sofa but let his hands slide off the leather and made a grab at the floor where the bloodied knife still lay. He managed to grasp the handle and turned it towards himself. He got as far as lining it up with his heart when Addison swung a boot viciously into his ribs and caused his arms to drop. The two constables were on him in a second and his wrists were twisted until the knife fell from his grasp.

‘Don’t touch the handle!’ Narey shouted. ‘Just get him away from it.’

She stood above Cairns, seeing the fight drain from him. He had no interest in hurting any of them, just himself. With that chance gone, he’d collapsed.

Addison stood by her side, shaking his head at the stupidity of it all. He turned to Winter who was standing a few feet away with his camera in his hands. ‘Did you get that?’

‘Every frame.’