Riven (3 page)

‘So our boys aren’t the brightest . . . anything else I should know?’

He returned her smile, patted his notes, his ring catching the light from the police vehicles and reflecting it. ‘I think that’s a pretty accurate assessment of the situation.’ His mobile rang. ‘Excuse me.’ He passed his notes to Wheeler before he moved off, but they could hear him hissing into the phone, ‘Yes, I’m still on the job; I’ll probably be here all night . . . because it’s important work.’ A pause while he listened. ‘Oh for pity’s sake Margaret, I’ll be home whenever I can; go on up to bed and for goodness’ sake stop fretting.’ He clicked off the phone and turned back to them.

Wheeler and Ross studied the notes intently, Ross smirking.

Robertson blushed, aware that they had overheard him. ‘I’ll be out here if you need me.’

Wheeler stepped forward. ‘If you need to get home, go now. There are enough of us on duty.’

‘But DCI Stewart said that—’

Ross cut him off. ‘Stewart’s got two days off. I think between us, we can manage till he gets back. Even without you being here.’

Robertson shook his head and walked back towards his car.

She watched him leave then turned to Ross. ‘Is there a wee problem between you two lovebirds?’

He shrugged. ‘Problem’s with him.’

‘How’s that?’

‘PB.’

‘Sorry?’

‘He’s Plymouth Brethren. No drinking, whoring or swearing.’

‘Christ, really? No swearing?’

‘’Fraid so. Fuckin nightmare.’

She could imagine Robertson’s welcome at the station. ‘Just another bloody division in the team,’ she muttered.

He straightened to his full six foot three, looked hurt. ‘The rest of us are okay.’

‘You think?’

He shrugged.

‘Well then, let’s refocus: the two boys walked in through the back door intent on robbing the place, instead they found the body and, rather than scarper, they did the concerned citizen bit and called it in?’

‘Sounds about right,’ said Ross.

‘Let’s go see it then.’ She walked ahead of him, careful of her steps, keeping to the tread plates, conscious that there may be evidence still to be collected, some tiny piece that may help them find the killer.

She was first through the door. Boots and muddy wellingtons were piled inside and an old wooden coat stand held a good-quality Berghaus outdoor jacket. A camera tripod was propped against the wall. Four oak doors led off from the hall, all open. Through the nearest she could see the body laid out on a tarpaulin and kneeling beside it a stout man with a goatee beard. Professor Callum Fraser.

She stood in the doorway. ‘Smells like rancid meat in here.’

Fraser turned from the body, looked her up and down and grinned, ‘DI Wheeler, how very lovely to see you but I thought DCI Stewart might have shown a face.’

‘Stewart’s on leave.’ Ross tried not to look at the corpse. Held his breath, turned red in the face.

‘Ah. Lucky man being on leave; wish I were off doing something nice.’

Her mobile rang; she checked the number before answering and instinctively turned away from the body as she spoke briefly to the caller.

‘Stewart
was
on two days’ leave,’ Wheeler corrected Ross as she clicked off the phone. ‘He’s on his way into the station. Says he’ll meet us there.’ She turned to face the body.

‘Watch your feet please, detectives, there’s still a lot of evidence to be collected.’

‘This much blood, Callum, tell me there’s a decent set of footprints?’ Wheeler sounded hopeful.

‘Not your lucky day I’m afraid; there are no crisp outlines. Looks like the killer bound his or her feet with something to distort their prints. Towels maybe? The splatter’s been soaked up in places. The footprints are quite indistinct. Except for those excellent specimens.’ He pointed to two sets of fresh, clear prints a short way from the body. ‘But apparently they belong to the two boys who discovered the body.’

Wheeler moved carefully towards the corpse. Close up she could see the dead man’s face was a mass of pulp, the skin broken and raw. ‘He certainly annoyed somebody.’

The pathologist nodded. ‘He did that. He was already dead by the time the killer hung him up. A lot of extra effort – a dead weight like this would take a considerable amount of strength. Either that or the killer was bloody angry; the adrenaline in anger can give us almost inhuman strength.’

‘Somebody wanted to make a point.’ Ross glanced at the body and away again. ‘A warning maybe?’

Callum nodded. ‘Could be.’

‘What ETD do you have?’ Wheeler could smell stale blood and cupped her hand around her mouth before coughing discreetly into it.

‘Well, decomposition’s beginning and rigor’s advanced, so I’d say we’re talking about some time last night. Can’t be more specific at this time; I’ll know more when I get him back to the mortuary.’

‘He hardly looks human,’ she sighed. ‘So we’ve got his name and where he worked. Bit strange though, an educational psychologist ending up like this.’

‘Usually more gang-related,’ Ross said, ‘this kind of thing.’

Wheeler peered at the body. Dark eyes bulged back at her. ‘You think he got on the wrong side of one of the Glasgow families?’

Ross held out his hand, counting off each finger. ‘If it was drugs, the McGregor crew, or the Tenant clan, both are at loggerheads. Or one of the independents? Doyle or Jamieson? Any one of them could do this in a heartbeat.’

‘An educational psychologist though?’ Wheeler pursed her lips. ‘Are that lot not a bit out of his league?’

‘You thinking mistaken identity, somebody got the wrong guy?’ asked Ross.

She pointed to the corpse. ‘I think this was more personal. This amount of blood, they took their time.’ She looked around the room; it had morphed from someone’s home into a crime scene – everything was being photographed, bagged and tagged. She tried to see beyond the gore, tried to get some idea of who James Gilmore was, hoping that his home would give up some of its secrets. But there wasn’t much homeliness to the room; it appeared that, even before Gilmore had been murdered, the place had been slowly dying. The sofa was ancient, torn cushions exposing the inner foam padding. A threadbare carpet, filthy curtains. Everything old and worn and neglected. She turned away. ‘Whatever they’re paying educational psychologists these days clearly isn’t enough.’ She turned to Callum. ‘I don’t suppose they left the weapon behind?’

‘Nothing found in here I’m afraid Katherine – maybe they’ll find it out in the garden somewhere.’

‘If you had to guess . . .?’

‘If I had to guess, and I don’t like guessing, then I’d say the weapon was some sort of a bat, possibly baseball, and most certainly wooden, considering the presence of these splinters.’ He tweezered a tiny shard of wood from a pool of blood and held it up. ‘Could be made from ash, that’s the most usual, or if our killer went upmarket for his bat, it could be made from maple.’

Wheeler shook her head. ‘With so many baseball bats in circulation in the city, is it not about time we had a few actual teams going?’

‘I’m done here.’ Callum stood with a groan. ‘Want a lift back in Jessica? I don’t mind detouring to the station. For you, Katherine, anything.’

Wheeler tutted. ‘You still naming your cars, Callum? Is that not a wee bit immature?’

‘I name all of my vehicles.’

‘Thought you’d have grown out of it by now. Thanks, but I’ll go back with Ross.’

‘Suit yourself, but I’ll keep her on the road.’

Ross groaned. ‘It was an
accident
.’

‘Ignore him,’ said Wheeler, ‘he’s feeling tired and emotional. We’ll be at the PM tomorrow. What time?’

‘I’ll let you know – we’re backed up just now, but I’ll try to give him priority. Although,’ he paused, ‘I think it’s obvious . . .’

She cut him off, ‘I know, I know
, it’s obvious what happened
.’

‘Indeed it is. A man was battered to death. All you need to do is find out the “who” and the “why”.’

She chewed her bottom lip as she followed him into the hall. Her phone bleeped again. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen – her sister again. She flicked it off as she passed three young SOCOs. Overheard one whisper to Ross, ‘Haddy, get it? Short for haddock.’

Behind her Ross tutted, ‘Aye, I get it. Fish tea. He’s been battered.’

At least their laughter was subdued.

Outside, Callum pointed at the house. ‘You see the extra-wide doorway?’

She saw it.

‘This place was the old slaughterhouse and that’s where they herded the cattle in for slaughter. Of course it’s been renovated since then and that stained glass put in. It’s totally out of character with the building. Not that there’s much left of anything really – it’s all a bit of a wreck. But the hook the body was found hanging on is an original feature and would have been used to tether the animals before they were killed.’ He smiled at her. ‘Are you absolutely sure about that lift, Katherine?’

‘Sure.’ She watched Callum lumber towards his car, felt herself breathe in the cold damp air and was grateful to be out of the house, away from the atmosphere of evil. She inhaled again, deeper this time, bringing the freezing air low into her lungs, enjoying the shock it gave her system. She watched the crime-scene photographer come out of the house and continue taking pictures before she half turned back to the house and opened her mouth to yell, but he was already striding towards her, long legs covering the ground easily. ‘No need to shout,’ Ross said, ‘I’m here already. We’re going to interview the two boys. Right?’

She smiled at him. ‘Bingo.’

Ross turned the car into the station car park and braked sharply. ‘Christ, I nearly killed the wee shite’.

The wee shite in question, Graham Reaper, was chief reporter with the
Glasgow Evening Chronicle
and he flashed a crooked smile before signalling to his photographer to get a picture of the cops. He already had the headline in mind:
Gruesome Find in Glasgow’s East End! Murder Inquiry Begins
.

‘You ever wonder how Grim gets here so fast?’ Ross parked the car, pausing to smooth down his hair before releasing his seat belt.

‘Aye, he’s being tipped off and if Stewart ever finds out who the hell’s doing it, they’ll be fucked.’ She glanced at him. ‘You always so worried about your appearance?’

‘Well, if I’m going to be in the paper . . . there’s no harm in looking my best. You never know who’ll see it.’

‘You single
again
?’

‘I know it’s hard to believe.’

‘What happened to the last girlfriend – what was her name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘Aye, her. What happened?’

‘The usual.’

‘The usual in that she woke up one day and realised that you’re a numpty?’

Ross tried for a hurt look. ‘The usual in that she started blethering on about rings, future plans, kids. She even mentioned coming off the pill. That sort of shite.’ He mimed putting two fingers down his throat and gagging.

‘You not want a wee “mini-you”? Thought that would be right up your street.’

‘No way. I’m too young. In my prime.’ He threw open the door, blinked back the flash from the camera. He fixed a ‘no comment’ smile to his face and made for the door.

She had already reached it when the reporter caught up with her. ‘So, a murder inquiry, Inspector Wheeler – any comment?’

‘You know better than to ask for anything at this point, Grim; there’ll be an official statement later and if you’re really lucky Stewart will throw you a press conference by mid-week.’

‘Aye but is it gang-related? It must be, surely? Drugs? A turf war? What’s your take on it?’

‘See the above answer.’

‘Got anything to do with Maurice Mason being released?’ he persisted. ‘Christ sake hen, gimme something.’

She smiled.

‘Come on, eh? Man needs to make a living here. Give me a break, I’m only doing my job.’

‘Well, okay Grim,’ she stopped and turned towards him, ‘but you first. You tell me who called you about this, who’s giving you the heads up on these cases?’

Grim gave her a sly smile. ‘You know I cannae reveal my sources hen. It wouldn’t be professional.’

‘That right?’ she asked, holding open the station door to let Ross go inside.

‘Aye,’ Grim made to follow her, ‘but maybe we could have a wee chat, off the record like?’

Wheeler walked into the station and slammed the door, heard Grim curse her. Shrugged, ‘Let the ugly wee runt get soaked.’

‘Still but,’ Ross stood beside her, shaking his head like a dog who’d just returned from a walk in the rain.

She stood beside him, the rain drops from her boots leaking onto the cracked linoleum. ‘I know, I know.’

‘Mason,’ said Ross.

Tommy Cunningham sat behind the desk. ‘That bastard got out early.’

‘Aye, he did, TC,’ she agreed. ‘I wonder what he’ll be up to now he no longer has his own rent-a-thug empire.’

Cunningham scowled. ‘He’ll be up to his old tricks again.’

She walked to the desk and was signing the pool car back in before she continued, ‘Mason gets released from Barlinnie and James Gilmore gets battered to death in what was his territory. We already know Mason expresses himself best with his knuckles.’

‘Who’s Mason got history with?’ Ross continued. ‘The Tenant clan? McGregor’s lot? Or a freelancer, maybe Andy Doyle or Roddy Jamieson?’

‘Mason’s always been a freelancer, can’t seem to get on with folk. Saying that, he’s probably got history with half the freelance thugs in the city, Jamieson and Doyle included.’

‘Doyle’s the most ambitious,’ said Ross. ‘His star’s on the ascendant.’

‘True. But he stays on his own turf. Well, so far.’

‘The others?’

‘The Tenants and McGregors are way more insular. Unless Mason’s become part of their setup and I doubt that; it’s family members only. He’d have to marry in, it’s that tight-knit in both families.’

‘Okay but I still can’t help thinking it’s a hell of a coincidence. Mason gets out and someone gets murdered.’

‘Trouble is, this part of the city has a bit of an overlap. Tenants to the north, Jamieson’s crew to the south – around here’s a bit of a no-man’s-land.’