Dark as Night (17 page)

              It was the end of March and the week in which the Clyde experienced its Spring tide. The locals had noticed how fast the water had come into the shore that day. The sharp southerly wind made the waves tall and strong. Ross never returned home that evening.

              His wife called the police and the coastal rescue service. They searched the beach and cliffs until daybreak. No sign of the man was found. It was decided at the inquest that Ross had become pre-occupied with his hunt for fossils, enthusiastic as he was about his hobby. The tide had rushed upon him unexpectedly, sweeping him out into the powerful currents of the Clyde.

              A body was never recovered, but the Procurator Fiscal was satisfied that enough evidence pointed to the fact it was death by misadventure. This was the official verdict that was reached.

              ‘So Mr Ross didn’t turn up in any of the searches we performed for missing persons reported in the Glasgow area in the 90s and 2000s. He wasn’t officially missing. The man had been declared dead,’ Alice Mann explained, after having spent the morning examining the findings of the inquest.

              ‘Do you think he was really swept out to sea?’ The DCI directed her steady gaze at the detective constable.

              Alice screwed up her face. ‘The witnesses were a bit flaky, Ma’am, especially the dog walker who claimed to have seen Ross on the beach. This woman didn’t actually know Mr Ross but had assumed it was him after watching a reconstruction on the local news. I wouldn’t have treated her testimony as particularly reliable.’

              ‘I suppose it was simply the most likely conclusion based on the evidence they had,’ Phil added. ‘Everyone assumed that Douglas Ross had done exactly what he told his wife he was going to do. But with that ring turning up in the same bag as the trophies from Calder and McLaren, it puts a whole new complexion on the incident.’

              Bevan nodded sombrely. ‘We need to tread carefully on this. The first thing I propose we do is to organise a meeting with Ross’s children. I need a proper identification of the signet ring before we start spreading the idea that this well-regarded teacher and family man was taken by some kind of psychotic serial killer.’

              A ripple of agreement echoed around the room.

*

Beverley Williams lived with her family in Helensburgh. She worked as a legal secretary in a solicitor’s office in the town and had arranged to come home early so she could receive the detectives.

              Alice and Dan approached the property and rang the bell. The house was a dormer bungalow with a pretty garden encircling it, just on the right side of being overgrown. Alice pricked her finger on one of the rose bushes snaking up the wall next to the front door. As Beverley led them inside, the officer had the digit lodged firmly in her mouth, sucking up the blood.

              ‘Would you like a plaster?’ The woman asked. ‘My husband keeps meaning to cut that bush back. He hasn’t quite got round to it yet.’

              ‘No thank you, Mrs Williams. It’ll stop bleeding in a minute.’

              Alice knew that Beverley was in her late thirties but she looked older, imagining it must be her old fashioned high collared blouse and knee length chequered skirt which gave that impression. ‘Are your children at home?’

              She shook her head of short, wavy hair. ‘I’ve asked a friend to pick them up from school. I assumed it wouldn’t be wise to have them here.’

              ‘That was a good idea.’

              Beverley led them into a small lounge, facing out onto a long thin garden. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

              The detectives allowed her to perform this ritual, knowing that keeping people busy always helped in these situations. She brought in a tray a few minutes later. ‘Now, I assume this is all about Dad.’

              Dan edged forward on the floral sofa, the evidence bag bulging in his pocket. ‘We need to see if you recognise an object, Mrs Williams. We have reason to believe it may have belonged to your father.’

              The woman slipped on a pair of small rimmed glasses that were resting on the coffee table, another action which prematurely aged her. ‘Come on then, let’s have a look.’

              Dan fished into his pocket and brought out the plastic pouch. He slid the gold ring into the palm of his hand. To their great surprise, Beverley smiled.

              ‘Can I touch it?’

              ‘Of course.’ Dan handed it over.

              She positioned it between her thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the light. ‘It’s definitely Dad’s. It was what he used to call his play ring. He wore it on his little finger, but was always working it off. My father performed a trick where he pretended that the ring had disappeared behind our ears and then he produced it again. Like folk do with coins.’

              Dan nodded.

              ‘Where did you find it?’ Beverley gazed at her lap, obviously frightened of the answer.

              ‘Have you heard about the McLaren case down in Giffnock?’ Alice placed her hand on the woman’s arm.

              She raised her head abruptly. ‘Yes, but what…?’ A hand sprung up to cover her mouth, her expression one of horror.

              ‘A bag was found near to the place where Mr McLaren’s body was recovered. It contained a number of items, some of them belonging to the man who was killed and others that had been the property of men who’d gone missing from the Glasgow area in the last fifteen years, their whereabouts having never been properly determined.’

              A flash of hope passed across Beverley’s face. ‘Well, that rules Dad out. He had an accident. It was awful but just one of those things. He was collecting precious stones out at Wemyss Bay. The strong tide washed him into the water. The currents took his body as far away as the Atlantic Ocean they thought. That’s why I like to live by the water myself. It makes me feel closer to him.’

              Alice cleared her throat. ‘With your father’s ring being amongst these items, we believe that the findings of the inquiry into your father’s death may have been incorrect. It might be possible he was never on that beach at all on the day he went missing.’

              Beverley’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Then what
was
he doing – where is he now?’

              ‘That is what we intend to find out, Mrs Williams.’ Alice placed her arm around the woman’s shoulders, squeezing gently, suddenly quite certain that whatever they did discover about the fate of her father, it wasn’t going to make the poor lady feel any better.

              Then the detective looked down, noticing that a drip of blood from her pricked finger had seeped onto the sleeve of Beverley’s white cotton blouse, creating a deep crimson stain which was unlikely to ever come out.             

Chapter 35

‘I
think we can now be confident that there are at least three victims.’ Dani stood to face her officers. ‘The first murder that we’re aware of was in 1997, followed by Donald Calder in 2005, and then Nathan McLaren in 2015.’

              Phil’s brow furrowed deeply. ‘We had a connection when both the victims had visited the Glasgow Fair on the day they went missing. With Douglas Ross added to the equation, we lose that unifying factor.’

              DC Caitlin Hendry put up her hand. ‘Perhaps the link has nothing to do with the Glasgow Fair specifically.’

              ‘Go on,’ Dani urged.

              Hendry looked thoughtful. ‘Alice and I have been investigating the people who provided the entertainments on the Glasgow Green that Saturday. Perhaps we don’t need to focus on the weekend itself, but on the travelling fairground. The whole point of it is that the show isn’t tied to one particular location.’

              Bevan straightened her posture. ‘Isn’t there a big caravan park at Wemyss Bay?’

              ‘It’s a holiday park,’ Phil answered. ‘We took the girls there a few times when they were little.’

              ‘Isn’t that the type of place where a fairground would set itself up, especially during school holidays?’ Bevan glanced around the group, registering the nods and grunts of her officers. ‘Caitlin, can you and Alice check that out for me? I want to know every single recreational activity that went on in the Wemyss Bay area during the spring break of 1997.’

*

Calder loitered by the main gate that led to St Columba’s Park. He recalled how much time he’d spent on the terraces as a lad with his father and Don. For the first time, the idea struck Andy that he’d never have a son; that this Calder ritual wouldn’t be played out again in his generation. Then he stopped himself short. He imagined DCI Bevan informing him, in no uncertain terms, that there was nothing preventing him from bringing Amy along on a Saturday afternoon.

              The detective was just considering whether he had time to nip into the shop and buy her one of the kiddie-sized kits when the man he was waiting for emerged from the building beyond. He opened a door in the gate for Calder to pass through.

              ‘Hi Terry,’ he said, shaking his hand. ‘It’s been a very long time.’

              ‘Aye, it certainly has.’ Terry Finch led Andy down a corridor lined with team photos, pausing when he reached his office. ‘Take a seat. I’ve a bottle of single malt in the drawer.’

              Calder shook his head with a sigh. ‘No thanks, Pal. I’ve got the car outside.’ He didn’t actually say he was on duty, but this was the impression Andy was hoping to give.

              ‘No problem, I understand. Now, what is it I can help you with?’ Terry poured himself out a wee dram, relaxing back into his seat and holding the glass to his lips like a microphone.

              ‘Did you hear we found Uncle Don’s body?’

              Terry frowned. ‘Aye. I’m very sorry for you all. How’s Mae bearing up?’

              ‘He’d been gone a long time. Mae was pretty sure he was dead. She’s relieved to be able to lay him to rest.’

              Terry nodded sagely. ‘I can see that. But it’s tough, all the same. She loved him to pieces. That fact was obvious to us all.’

              ‘You know the book he was writing about the club? Mae thinks that Don came to see you to discuss it in the week before he disappeared. Do you recall what you talked about?’

              ‘It was a decade ago, Andy. I’m not sure I can really help.’

              ‘Did the police come here after Don went missing? Were you ever questioned about meeting him?’

              The man made a face. ‘Not that I remember. Don met with me a lot during that period. I honestly couldn’t tell you the dates. Your uncle was making really great progress with his research. I was hoping to get a first draft by the end of that summer.’ Terry took a sip of whisky.

              Andy cleared his throat. ‘How well did you know Don back then – were you close enough for him to confide in you?’

              ‘I’d commissioned his book, but we were also friends. I knew that Don had his demons. He told me that sometimes he got really low. For what it’s worth, I always thought that perhaps Mae wasn’t the right lassie for him. He never spoke about her the way I used to speak about Val. I can’t really explain what I mean by that. There was just a lack of warmth in his tone, I suppose. It was evident when he talked about the kids, though.’

              Andy nodded. He recognised what Finch was describing. When a man had fallen out of love with his wife, he usually had real trouble hiding it. A woman, on the other hand, could cover it up indefinitely. Calder stood up to leave. ‘By the way, did you ever get hold of the manuscript?’

              Terry looked puzzled. ‘The stuff Don had written up to the point he disappeared, you mean?’

              ‘Aye. You could have brought in another author to complete it, after all the work that had been done.’

              Terry downed the rest of his drink. ‘I never set eyes on that document and I wouldn’t have wanted to. Don was like a little kid with that book. I was waiting for him to come back and finish the thing himself.’

              Andy smiled, leaning forward to give the man a warm hug. ‘Don would have appreciated that Terry, I’m certain of it.’

Chapter 36

W
hen the weather was warm like this, Carol usually took Amy to the local park. Even with all the windows wide open, the flat got really hot in summer. Andy assumed that was where the girls would be, when he got home later that day to find the place empty.

              He took the opportunity to remove the little football shirt and shorts from their plastic bag, laying the outfit on the kitchen table. The striking purple and white colours of the strip unlocked a sudden rush of memories. Andy had to blink feverishly to hold back the tide.

              The front door opened out in the hall. With that sixth sense that toddlers seemed to possess when it came to presents, Amy ran into the kitchen and jumped up on a chair. ‘Are they for me?’ She cried.

              ‘Of course, sweetheart. Do you want to try them on?’

              The little girl grabbed the garments off the table and headed straight for her bedroom.

              Carol made a beeline for the kettle instead. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

              ‘Aye, that would be great. How was the park – any other mums there?’

              She turned, resting her weight on the counter. ‘We had to come back early. One of the residents who lives across the street had called the police. She saw a man hanging around the playground.’

              Andy’s posture stiffened. ‘Did he approach any of the kiddies?’

              Carol shook her head, but she looked unsettled. ‘I’d spotted him too. It was a hot day but he had the hood of his tracksuit top pulled up over his head. But then plenty of folk do that. I don’t think I would have rung the bobbies.’