Witness the Dead (25 page)

She spoke to her contact in London Road but no one there had heard of Grey. It was the same in divisions all over the city. Maybe not surprising if he’d never actually committed, or been caught for, anything. Leering and the possibility of a bit of undercover fiddling were offences that didn’t generally get as far as the police.

Along with Rebecca Maxwell, she visited the city-centre salon where Kirsty McAndrew had her hair cut, but none of the staff there had any tales of dodgy customers, never mind anyone who fitted the description of the man who called himself Ronnie Dance.

She pulled records on sexual harassment, indecent exposure, voyeurism, indecent communication, whatever she could think of. Nothing. Was she wasting her time? There wasn’t that much reason to like the guy for the killing, given what he was said to have done in the salon, but the fact that he’d lied about his identity changed things big time. Addison was keen for her to push it, his nose twitching as much as hers at the fact that the perv felt the need to create a false name and address.

In the end she had no option but to fall back on the tried and tested. Talk to people. She got as many officers as she could into hairdressing salons, taking Scissor Sisters as a starting point and working out in a circle from there. Although she hated herself for it, almost to the point of hearing Addison’s chauvinistic chuckling as she did so, she got female cops to visit the shops wherever possible. She needed gossip, she needed girl-talk. Jesus, she needed whatever she could get.

If Addison said it was woman’s work he’d run the risk of a kick in the balls.

The word back from her hairdresser scouting patrols came in slowly, but then, as Toshney was quick to remind her, there were no shortcuts in this kind of case. Just about the only kind of business that Glasgow had more of than hairdressers was pubs.

She let it do its thing in the background, confident there was nothing else she could do to rush it. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough to be getting on with.

The first tickle came after Rebecca Maxwell visited a salon on the Gallowgate, no more than a quarter-mile from where Kirsty McAndrew lived. She came into the operations room, dropping her coat and bag into a chair and making her way towards Narey.

‘I might have something on your Mr Grey, Sarge.’

Narey looked up, noticing something different about Maxwell’s own fiery red tresses. ‘Yeah, you might have had a haircut on his account by the look of it.’

Maxwell grinned and ran her hand through her hair. ‘Seemed the best way to get the conversation started. Anyway, it was only thirty quid and I reckon expenses can stand that.’

‘If you’ve got something out of it, then maybe.’

‘Well, it’s something. I’m just not sure how far it will take us. The girl who did my hair said that another member of staff, a Lorraine Victors, had been complaining about some guy who kept eyeing her up. Seems she’s a pretty girl and it’s not that unusual with male customers but this guy just struck her as creepy. Thought he might be touching himself under the robe but could never be sure.’

‘And?’

‘And the description given was about six foot, early forties, dark eyebrows, grey hair.’

‘That sounds like a full house if we were playing Mr Grey bingo. Did he give a name?’

‘Yes. Scott Duke.’

‘Scott Duke? Sounds bollocks. You checked it out?’

‘Just about to.’

‘Go do it. Good work. And nice haircut, by the way.’

Later, one of the WPCs, Imelda Couper, got a similar response from a girl named Tracey in a salon on Union Street. She said that one of her regular customers, a guy calling himself Mike Majors, was a bit of a weirdo. Always asking for her, always staring and some uncomfortable fidgeting going on down below while he got his haircut. The description was bang on.

Before long, they also had a Jason Prince visiting a hairdresser’s on Howard Street and a Ryan Race, who was a regular at a salon on Hope Street. In each case he got his hair cut by arguably the prettiest girl in the place, never let anyone else do it, and was considered a sleazeball by all and sundry. In each case, the hairdresser was alive and accounted for.

‘What the hell have we got here?’ exclaimed Narey. ‘A serial killer or a—’

‘A serial curler?’ offered Toshney.

‘Oh, shut up, Fraser.’ Narey rubbed at her eyes and pulled a hand through her long brown hair, idly trying to remember when she last had it cut. ‘I want this guy in Stewart Street by this time tomorrow. Whoever he is, whatever his game is. Just find him and drag him in here.’

‘Bring me the head of Mr Grey,’ sniggered Toshney, grabbing the top of his own hair and holding it up as if he were carrying it. Narey slapped Toshney’s hand away, causing him to yelp.

‘Ow. That’s—’

She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to finish. He changed his mind.

‘Um, no. It isn’t.’

Narey’s exasperation was close to breaking point. ‘Good. Now that’s settled, go bring him in here.’

Chapter 29

Wednesday evening

‘I swear if that prison officer hadn’t been there, I’d have happily wrung his neck with my bare hands.’

‘Not sure that would have done us much good in getting him to talk about the two new killings, Danny.’

‘No, I don’t suppose it would, son, but it would have done me a hell of a lot of good. That smug look on his face . . . I just wanted to smash it, wipe it off his gub with a single punch. Just sitting there, thinking about what he did to all those girls. Thinking about the parents who don’t know what happened to their daughters, don’t know where they’re buried. I wanted to kill him. God forgive me but I actually wanted to kill him.’

Winter looked at his uncle, the man he’d always respected more than anyone else in his life, his own parents having both died when he was too young to have properly known them, and saw something he’d never seen before. Danny had always been big and strong, rough and wise, but Winter had always thought of him as basically a gentle soul. Sure, he’d seen him put people in their place and on their backside but this was different. Danny meant what he said. Given the chance, he would have ended Archibald Atto’s life.

They were back in Winter’s flat in Berkeley Street, a beer each already drunk and another in front of them. Both men knew it was going to take more than one to wash away the taste of Blackridge Prison and the man they’d gone to see.

‘He revels in it. That’s what gets to me as much as what he’s done. He loves pulling our chains and making us dance through bloody hoops to get anything out of him. He enjoyed what he did and enjoys rubbing our noses in it. All that bollocks about low brain density and paralimbic whatever it was. He’s a cold-blooded killer and I don’t care whether it’s his brain, his mother, his primary-school teacher or whether he was bitten by a rabid dog. He did it and he pays the price. The reason doesn’t make any difference to me.’

‘I get that, Dan, but what if it makes a difference to why the two girls were murdered? What if it can help us work out the connection, if there
is
a connection, between Atto and what happened last weekend?’

‘Oh, there is a connection. He said so. And I know he might have been saying it to keep our attention or just to wind us up, but I don’t think so. He said he knows a lot about these new killings. A lot.’

Winter saw Danny’s fist close over again, the lines on the back of his hand disappearing as his anger emerged anew. ‘Okay, what about the nature-or-nurture stuff he was talking about. He said that was “more relevant” than I might think. What do you reckon that was all about?’

Danny slugged on his beer, a serious swig that accounted for nearly half the bottle. ‘I don’t know, son. Like I said, I don’t care about the psychobabble of why he’s the crazy murdering bastard that he is. That might have been just one of his games. Or maybe he was hinting at something. But I don’t see how his parents or his upbringing could be relevant to what’s going on now. We need to go back and see him again, though. We can’t leave it at that.’

Winter mulled over the beer and the thought. Something nagging away at him like a bad tooth.

‘He was playing with us. No doubt about that. But I also think he was giving us something.’

Danny laughed grimly, wiping at his mouth. ‘Giving
you
something more like. He wouldn’t have pissed on me if I was on fire, but he liked you. Not that I would think that was a good thing if I was you.’

‘No, I don’t think it’s a good thing. All that shit about me seeing death and being able to understand him. Made me want to puke. I tell you, Dan, it made me feel like I need a shower after talking to that guy.’

‘Yeah? Well you might just have to get used to it because I need to know what it is that he knows, and, if him having some kind of freaky connection with you is what makes it happen, then so be it.’

‘Jesus Christ, Danny. The guy is a monster. A proper fucking monster. I don’t know. Even today, he was trying to mess with my head and I don’t know if I want to let him in there.’

‘Scared of what he might find?’

‘Piss off.’

Danny’s eyes closed over and his hands covered his face. ‘Sorry, son. Honestly, Tony, I didn’t mean . . . Jesus. Look, I was just . . .’

‘Forget it. The guy’s messing with your head, too, Uncle Dan. Look, if it means that much to you – and I know it does – then I’ll talk to him again. But I reserve the right to tell him where to go. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay. Now, like I was saying, I think he was giving us something when he started on that nature-and-nurture stuff. It was like some kind of test. The clue was there if we were smart enough to work it out. But I don’t think it has to be what you were saying about his parents or—’

Before Winter could finish, he was interrupted by a sudden and violent banging on the front door. Four or five loud thumps resonated through to the living room where they sat. The two men looked at each other.

He got to his feet, noticing that Danny had instinctively done the same, readying himself for any possible confrontation. Winter waved him back into his seat but Danny shook his head and stood his ground.

The banging continued as Winter got to the front door. ‘Who is it?’

‘Police! Open up.’

The voice . . . Winter thought and moved in one action, his hand turning the snib and releasing the door catch. As soon as it was unlocked, the door began to swing towards him, the speed of it forcing him to take a step back. Derek Addison strode through the gap, fury on his face and the flat of his hand pushing straight at Winter’s chest and driving him backwards. Behind him was Narey, face set hard and as angry as Addison.

She threw the door closed behind her as Addison continued to push Winter back, nearly forcing him off his feet as he shoved him back into the living room. Danny had emerged from the room and looked ready to step in and go for Addison, but a near scream from Narey stopped him in his tracks as he wound back an arm.

‘Don’t even think about it, Danny. Things are bad enough as they are.’

Addison disagreed, though, his features curling into a confrontational snarl at Danny as he pushed Winter back and back until he finally made him tumble into a leather armchair. ‘No, go on, do it. After the shitty day I’ve had it would be the perfect ending if you take a swing and I get to belt you one and then arrest you.’

Danny’s arm did swing back but he didn’t get the chance to throw a punch as Narey strode between the two men, shoving a hand against the chest of each and forcing her way through till she stood over Winter, who sat in the chair with a look of bewilderment on his face.

He looked up and saw her face tighten, her mouth draw up and in as she sucked on her teeth, a sure sign of anger. Her eyes burned furiously at him, a look he was used to – but this was a new level of intensity. She looked at him until her lips curled back and she shook her head in an obvious fit of disgust, reaching into her coat pocket and producing a set of handcuffs.

‘Anthony Winter, I’m arresting you on suspicion of perverting the course of justice and interfering with a police investigation. You don’t have to say anything but anything you do say will be noted and may be used as evidence. Do you understand?’

Chapter 30

Wednesday night

She’d cuffed him. She’d actually cuffed him. It had all happened in such a whirl that Winter wasn’t sure just what the hell was going on, but he’d looked down at his wrists bound in two circles of steel and black moulded plastic. There was something that looked like tears of frustration forming in the corners of her eyes, and that was never a good sign. From behind her, a raging Addison shouted, ‘What the fuck have you two muppets been up to?’

Danny’s voice had roared back. ‘This is ridiculous. Look, I don’t know what you think’s happened but you can’t just—’

‘Don’t you start, Danny,’ Narey had spun and bawled at him. ‘Don’t you dare start. He’s just an idiot but you should know better!’

She’d snapped her head back at Winter, daring him to argue, daring him to say anything that would give away their former relationship to Addison. He’d never seen her look at him the way she was doing right now.

‘What’s this all about?’

‘Good question, wee man.’ Addison’s head had appeared over Narey’s shoulder, his expression no less livid than hers. ‘A very good question. And it’s just what I was about to ask you.’

He’d bent down so that he was eyeball to eyeball with Winter, his face aggressively up against his friend’s. ‘And you better be clear that, when I ask you that question, I want an honest answer or – pal or no pal – I’m going to rip your head off and stick it up your arse. You’ve been taking me for a mug, Tony. All those questions about the case? I’m not very happy with you. You understand me, wee man?’

Winter hadn’t exactly been in a position to argue, so had simply nodded. Addison had nodded back, slowly.

‘So what have you two idiots got to say for yourselves?’

Winter and Danny had looked at each other, unspoken messages flying from one to the other. The silent consensus had been to say little or nothing. It had left Addison no choice – they could see that now – but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.