by Tana Collins
Mairi’s eyes had widened. ‘You mean–’
‘Somebody took her life.’
‘Oh my God.’ Mairi was silent for a moment, before looking at Fletcher with her almond-shaped green eyes. ‘Do you think her death, murder, has anything to do with the recent attack on that other young girl, Serena Davis?’
Fletcher wasn’t surprised that Mairi Beattie knew the name of the recent slashing victim. It was a small town, the victim another university student, and the attack had made headlines in the local news.
‘At this stage we really don’t know. We’re keeping an open mind. At the moment we’re trying to build up a picture of Rachel Abbie. I’ve yet to break the news of her death to her housemates so the utmost discretion is needed.’
Mairi bit her lower lip. ‘Of course.’
Fletcher nodded. ‘In fact, I’m going to see them as soon as I’ve finished here.’
Mairi looked up at Fletcher, compassion in her eyes. ‘I don’t envy you. That’s not a conversation I’d like to have.’ She hesitated before she asked the next question. ‘Do you mind me asking how she was killed?’
‘I’m afraid we’re not able to release that information to the public yet.’
Mairi nodded. ‘Oh yes, of course, I understand. I was the wife of a cop for long enough.’ She bit her lip. Fletcher was interested in what she would say next. ‘Just out of interest, are you at the same station as my ex-husband, Jim Carruthers?’
‘Yes, I am. He’s a close colleague.’
Mairi nodded. ‘Do you mind me asking if he’s working on this case?’
‘Yes, but he’s not the lead,’ Fletcher thought of DCI McTavish as she said this, ‘but he is working on the case.’
‘Oh, I just thought… being DCI and all that.’
‘He’s not–’ She stopped herself short. How would Carruthers feel if she spilled the news to his ex-wife that he had been demoted? Not too happy she bet. ‘He’s not the lead.’
Fletcher studied Mairi as she spoke. It was pretty obvious what had drawn Carruthers to this woman. She was attractive, clearly intelligent and just came across as a genuinely nice person. Being protective of Jim, Fletcher had built up a picture in her head over the last couple of years of what his ex would be like, painting her as some sort of ogre. She had to admit she’d got it completely wrong. Once again, she wondered what their relationship had been like in happier times. She imagined it would have been a good one.
She pressed on with her questions, putting any speculating about their personal lives aside. ‘Mairi, what can you tell me about Rachel? I believe you were her tutor?’
‘Yes, I am, was, I mean, but sadly I can tell you very little. I only saw her in class and in passing. We didn’t chat socially. It was all work-related. I don’t know how much use I can be, to be honest.’
‘Anything at all would be useful.’
‘Okay, then.’ Mairi crossed one slim ankle. ‘She was a good student. Conscientious, bright, hard working. A good timekeeper. She hadn’t missed a tutorial.’ Mairi fell silent as she tried to think.
Fletcher could see that Mairi was trying her best to help but was already struggling. She clearly had no personal knowledge of the dead girl and therefore no personal details to impart to the police officer. Fletcher was disappointed. ‘Was there any branch of philosophy she enjoyed in particular?’
Mairi brightened. ‘I would say ethics. I don’t know if you know, but this university is unique, in that it has two different departments. Logic and metaphysics, and moral philosophy.’
Fletcher leant forward. ‘Did you ever hear her become heated with anyone in class?’ This question needed to be asked. It was an important one. Ethics, in particular, might be a subject that stirred passions. She knew she was clutching at straws, but with no murder weapon, no DNA and no witnesses, that’s all she had to go on. She knew most people were killed by someone they knew, but surely nobody could be killed because they had fallen out in a philosophy class?
But then she remembered a case in North America where two female friends had fallen out on Facebook and one had enlisted the help of her partner and her father to have the former friend murdered. People sometimes got murdered for the most ridiculous of reasons. It was definitely worth asking.
‘Well, no, can’t say I did. She got on with more or less everyone in her tutorial group.’
Pushing away her disappointment, Fletcher asked, ‘Can you give me the names of all those in her group, Mairi?’
Mairi nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ She scrabbled about for a bit of paper and picked up a pen. ‘Actually, I think the only person I ever heard her argue with was John Campbell.’ Fletcher’s ears pricked up. ‘But then again, everyone argues with him at some point. He’s just that sort of person.’
Fletcher tucked that piece of information away in her head.
Mairi leaned in closer to Fletcher. ‘Now you’re here, I did want to ask you something. Actually, it’s about–’ There was a knock at the door of the office. Mairi looked towards the door, a little flustered. ‘Damn. Come in.’
A tall, dark-haired young man put his head round. Fletcher noticed his build was that of a rugby player. ‘When are we having the next tutorial again?’
Mairi frowned. ‘It’s tomorrow. I sent an email out about this.’ He mumbled an apology, and withdrew from her office and shut her door. Fletcher had the feeling the apology wasn’t very heartfelt and noticed that the student had kept his eyes on Mairi just a bit longer than was necessary.
Mairi sighed. ‘Talk of the devil. That was him.’
‘John Campbell?’
‘Yes.’
‘What were you going to ask me?’
Mairi shook her head briskly. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. Nothing to worry about.’
Fletcher observed the woman closely, thinking she appeared a little uncomfortable. ‘John Campbell’s visit seemed to unsettle you. Are you sure everything’s okay?’
‘Yes, everything’s fine.’ Mairi forced a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. Fletcher wasn’t convinced and wondered what she was holding back.
‘Shit, I hate this part of the job.’ Fletcher straightened her skirt as Carruthers rang the bell at Strathburn Halls.
‘Nobody enjoys it. It’s one of the worst parts of policing.’ Carruthers’ mouth was set in a tight line. Fletcher glanced up at him and his youthful face was beset with frown marks. The stress of the investigation was already beginning to take its toll. ‘After we break the news to Rachel’s housemates, we’ll need to take a statement from each of them to find out if they all have alibis for when Serena got attacked and Rachel murdered. I want them in different rooms when they get interviewed.’
‘You surely don’t think any of them – I mean, I know we have to follow procedure, but you don’t really think any of them attacked Serena and murdered their own housemate, do you? I wouldn’t normally say this, Jim, but I’ve met them all, apart from Ruth Skipsey. They honestly don’t seem capable.’
‘I don’t think anything at this moment. I’m trying to keep an open mind.’
Fletcher thought about this before ringing the doorbell again. ‘I’m still struggling to believe it could be one of them, that’s all.’
‘Well, seeing their reactions when we give them the news could be telling. That’s one of the reasons I want to be here.’
There was the sound of running feet and the front door was yanked open. Will almost fell out. ‘Thank God, you’re finally–’ He frowned, looking at one police officer to the other. ‘Oh. It’s you. What do you want? Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. You’d better come in.’
Fletcher looked around her as they entered the living room. Sarah was stirring a big pot of spaghetti with a dark-haired girl at her side. Fletcher guessed that must be Ruth Skipsey but she’d need to establish that.
‘We’re sorry to barge in like this,’ began Fletcher. She looked over at the dark-haired girl she hadn’t met before.
‘I don’t think we’ve b
een introduced. I’m Ruth Skipsey.’ The girl smiled shyly at Fletcher.
Fletcher remained unsmiling but tried to soften her features. ‘DS Andrea Fletcher, and this is DI Jim Carruthers.’
Davey was drinking from a bottle of beer. He placed it on the table and looked up expectantly at the officers.
Will, having gone red, raked through his long fringe. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude just now. Thought you were Rachel. Do you have any news of her?’
‘I’m glad you’re all here. It’s about Rachel.’ Fletcher let Carruthers lead the way but she noted Will’s drawn face and the shadows under his eyes. ‘The news isn’t good, I’m afraid. There’s no easy way to say this. A body of a young woman was discovered yesterday in Greyfriar’s Wynd. Rachel Abbie’s dad identified it as being the body of Rachel earlier today.’
Sarah, who had been stirring the pot of spaghetti, dropped the wooden spoon and it clattered noisily to the ground. Almost immediately, Fletcher was by her side, switching the gas off and steering the young student towards a chair by the table. The last thing they needed was an accident in the kitchen. Will let out a cry and seemed to fold in on himself, clutching his stomach, looking for all the world as if he’d been shot. As for Davey, he’d gone a shade paler, and as far as Fletcher could see was blinking back tears. All the students had elicited the sort of response you’d expect when they’d just been given the worst news imaginable. Surely none of them had had anything to do with their housemate’s murder?
As Fletcher knew only too well though, as unlikely as it was, they had to keep an open mind. Somebody out there was responsible.
Will rounded on Fletcher, fists clenched. ‘That’s why you were asking all those questions about Rach. You already knew she was dead.’ Shock had already turned to anger. He raised his arm, and for a terrible moment Fletcher wondered if Will was about to strike her, but Carruthers pulled him back and the student collapsed into the older police officer’s arms. Fletcher watched as the former DCI held the young man close for a moment while he cried. After a few moments, he pulled away from Carruthers, wiping the tears out of his eyes with the cuffs of his shirt. Between sobs he said, ‘Why didn’t you tell us last time you were here? You let us go on believing she might still come home. You already knew. How could you? How could you?’
Fletcher realised Will was in shock. She made her voice as gentle as possible. She really felt his pain. ‘I’m sorry. A body of a young woman had been discovered, but we didn’t, at that stage, know it was Rachel. And with any death, especially in suspicious circumstances, there is always a procedure to be followed.’
‘Do you know who killed her?’ Davey had found his voice.
‘Was she attacked in the same way as Serena?’
‘Is it the same person?’
‘Did she suffer?’
‘Are we in danger?’
All the questions came at once. Fletcher expected a barrage of questions from the students once they found their voices. She only wished she had answers for them.
It was at the most painstaking, and if she was honest, frustrating part of the investigation. So far, they had too few leads to go on. They didn’t even know if the perpetrator would attack again, thought Fletcher glumly. And if he did, who would be next, and why? Was it random or were people being targeted? They still didn’t even know that. Fletcher wanted to give the students answers, she really did, but at the moment she had none to give and with each student as a potential suspect until ruled out, the police officers would have to keep their answers vague. Fletcher just hoped the CCTV that she would be going through later that evening would yield something useful.
Sarah Torr started crying in earnest. Will, Davey and Ruth rushed over to her side and the four of them stood, arms wrapped round each other, in a miserable huddle. Fletcher did notice, however, that Sarah winced when Davey put his arm round her. What’s going on there? she wondered.
Several hours later back at the station, Fletcher was trawling through CCTV with Helen Lennox. Every so often her mind would return to her meeting with Mairi Beattie. She had been so curious to meet Carruthers’ ex and fascinated that Mairi had asked her if Carruthers was working on the case. Perhaps she’s just as nervous about seeing Jim as Jim is about seeing her. Her stomach rumbled. Both women ignored it. Fletcher forced her mind back to what they were doing. None of them would get home anything but late that evening. Fletcher had even forgotten to eat any lunch but she’d grabbed a Snickers bar from the canteen and that would have to do for now. This was a time-consuming job but a vital one. Unfortunately, it hadn’t revealed anything useful.
‘Shit,’ said Lennox, raking her hands through her spiky hair. She reminded Fletcher of Carruthers when she did that, except his hair wasn’t as spiky and there was a lot more grey in it. ‘An hour of this and no’ a bean. My back is killing me,’ she grumbled. ‘And I’m dying to get home, get a nice hot bath and something to eat.’
‘You and me both. Keep going,’ Fletcher instructed. ‘CCTV has to pick up our victim soon, unless she took another way from the library that we don’t know about. I’m surprised: we know the exact time she took that library book out but yet she hasn’t appeared.’
‘Maybe she took it out and then last minute decided to look for more books?’ Lennox got up and stretched her back. ‘I’m going to get myself a coffee. Do you want one?’
Fletcher also stretched and rubbed her neck. ‘Or maybe she stayed and did some work in the library before she left. Probably a more likely scenario. Milk, no sugar please.’ She didn’t really want to have a coffee, but she was feeling tired and decided she needed a caffeine hit.
Settled with their coffees, another hour passed. ‘Stop the fast-forwarding. There she is.’ The cry from Helen Lennox was triumphant, back pain all but forgotten. Fletcher sat bolt upright too and watched the cameras pick out the slim, blonde-haired student – the recognisable sight, albeit grainy, of the last known movements of Rachel Abbie. The two women narrowed their eyes, Fletcher watching Rachel like a bird of prey about to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse.
‘She’s walking on her own,’ announced Lennox. Fletcher nodded, not wanting to speak at such a crucial moment. Her eyes were fixed on the figure. She watched the young student leave the library and walk up King James’s Way towards Bell Street. Then she was out of view. At that point nobody else was in the footage. A few moments later a couple of male students passed, in conversation with each other.
‘Rewind it. Let’s watch it again. Maybe there’s something we’ve missed,’ said Fletcher. They watched it again. And again. And a third time.
Lennox sat back, her flat voice betraying her disappointment. ‘There’s nothing.’
‘Keep watching,’ urged Fletcher. ‘The camera might pick her up later.’ The women watched in virtual silence. Then a few minutes later they spotted her at the bottom of Bell Street crossing the road towards Greyfriar’s Gardens. ‘There she is. She’s not far from Greyfriar’s Wynd.’
Fletcher turned to Lennox, hand holding her now empty coffee cup. She shook her head. ‘There’s no CCTV on Greyfriar’s Wynd, though. There’s a fair amount in Castletown but I can’t see anything suspicious. No footage of either attack. And there’s no CCTV on either street where the two girls got attacked. But we do want to find those two students who were in the frame seconds after our victim.’ Fletcher sat thoughtfully for a moment. ‘It was two male students who found the body, but not the same two people who were in these images. Those two men were slim built and tall. These two are shorter and burlier. What they’re wearing is different too. One of the men in this footage is wearing a hoodie and the other two were wearing parkas. Fletcher stood up. ‘I think it’ll be a good idea to have a word with Carruthers about seeing if we can organise a reconstruction of Rachel’s last moments. Perhaps it will prompt someone to remember something.’
‘The attacks both occurred away from CCTV.’ The disappointment in Lennox’s voice was obvious. She turned to Fletcher. They were
both thinking the same thing. ‘It’s looking more likely the attacker chose his or her place of attack with a great deal of care.’
Fletcher drained the cold dregs down her throat as she spoke as calmly as she could. ‘Which means that chances are the attacks were premeditated rather than random.’
‘Aye, it’s looking that way.’
Fletcher walked towards the door. ‘I’d better fill Jim in.’
She found him back at his desk. She shook her head as he looked up. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Just gone through CCTV. We’ve picked up Rachel Abbie’s movements but not the attack. Not a bean. Either a lucky coincidence for the murderer or he or she has specifically chosen the places that have no CCTV to do their killing.’
Carruthers leafed through the statements that had been taken from the students. He shook his head. ‘I’ve got the students’ alibis here, Andie, for when Rachel got attacked. Davey Munroe was over visiting a friend, an Annie McLeod.’
‘I met her when I first visited them.’ She visualised the dark-haired girl sitting on Davey’s lap.
Carruthers carried on speaking. ‘Sarah Torr and Will Smith were in tutorials and Ruth Skipsey was with her parents who are up in Castletown for a visit. All the alibis check out.’
‘Well, you didn’t really think it was one of the students we met, did you?’
Brown approached the desk and gave Fletcher a buff file. She nodded her thanks before taking it.
‘Make it a damn sight easier if it was rather than the alternative.’
She looked up from the file. ‘Some random, you mean, that’s not in any way known to the victim?’
‘That’s more the serial killer scenario, isn’t it? Okay, so the alibis work out. How are you getting on with checking out the backgrounds of Rachel Abbie’s housemates?’
Fletcher double-checked her notebook. ‘We’re getting there. There were four students to check. Done all of them except for Davey Munroe and Sarah Torr. We haven’t come across anything of interest yet. Wait a minute. Let me just check what’s in the file Willie’s given me.’
