‘Right,’ McMahon confirmed.
‘No damage,’ Carter examined the driver’s side front wing. ‘If you hit her here, it would have crumpled and smashed the light cluster. Any chance it was repaired overnight?’
Dorman snorted, ‘You’re joking, right?’
Carter walked around the vehicle. Behind him, at the rear entrance to the police station, Tam Watson and two coppers appeared, carrying a set of extendable ladders.
‘Which bridge was it?’ Carter asked Dorman.
‘Eh?’
‘Two bridges span that short stretch of road, very close together. The second one is a footbridge.’
‘If you say so,’ Dorman nodded, watching Tam Watson place the ladders at the back of the van, where the patient access doors were closed and locked. The two coppers held it safely while Carter climbed up. After a moment or two, he climbed back down.
‘We’re keeping this van. Ellen, arrange for the Scene Examiners to go over it. Tam, give our two friends here a lift back to Ambulance HQ once we have their statements.’
‘You can’t do that,’ whined Dorman.
‘It’s a crime scene, I do what I need to do.’
‘But we never saw her, it was an accident.’
‘No, it was deliberate,’ stated Carter flatly. ‘You didn’t see her on the road because she was never there. She was up on the footbridge as you approached. Probably with the someone who pushed her off the bridge. That was the thud you heard: she’s dented your roof. When you swerved, she was thrown off the top of the ambulance onto the road, then you ran over her.’
‘Christ,’ said Dorman, impressed.
‘Her handbag was hanging in a tree on the north side of the footbridge, and there was no evidence of broken lights on the tarmac. When she went over the ledge, either her handbag left her hands, or she had the presence of mind to throw it into the tree while falling.
‘She’d been raped and beaten before you hit her,’ Carter told them. ‘Quite viciously. I think that happened in Dalry Burial Ground. There are steps leading to the footbridge across from the cemetery exit on Dundee Street. But I don’t know why he’d drag her from the cemetery just to push her off the bridge.’
DC Garcia added a new theory. ‘Maybe she jumped on her own?’
‘It was attempted murder,’ Carter replied, convinced by his own thinking. ‘You don’t bring your handbag with you if you intend to kill yourself.’
9
I AM
Detective Inspector Nick Mason was waiting for them when Carter and the two DCs arrived back in the detectives’ room after they’d supervised the CSEs work on the ambulance.
‘Alice Deacon,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Aged thirty-two. Her driving licence gives us an address in Shandon. House keys were in her handbag recovered from the tree. PCs are on their way there now.’
‘What else?’ Carter asked. ‘Did she have a phone?’
DI Mason ran his finger down the list of contents. ‘A Samsung Galaxy S9, in purple.’
Carter looked at his watch. ‘About fourteen hours since she was admitted, add three or four hours to when she last used it,’ he verbalised his thoughts. ‘Have they tried to get into it yet? Would she have pictures?’
‘Of him?’ Mason wondered.
‘Of her dog. Are you really stupid?’
‘You’re a sarcastic arse, Carter,’ Mason said, rising like a salmon. ‘This isn’t one of your comedy gigs. I’m not impressed by your pish patter. You think we’re all idiots, don’t you? I want a detailed update, including next steps, so I can brief the boss.’
DC Garcia looked on open-mouthed as her senior officers traded verbal blows.
‘And you two,’ Mason pointed to Podolski and Garcia. ‘Don’t you have other work to do?’
‘C’mon,’ said Ellen Podolski to DC Garcia. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea, till they sort themselves out.’
‘Choose your words carefully,’ Mason cautioned Carter after the two constables had left the room. ‘The phone is at FOC Fettes, along with the contents of her handbag. Shall I ask the question again, Sergeant?’
‘The phone has a fingerprint sensor,’ Carter set it out, standing nearly toe-to-toe with his senior officer. ‘And pictures of her attacker would help.’
‘You said the bag was the priority.’
‘Priorities shift,’ Carter replied. ‘We’ve got limited time before the phone will prompt for a password. She probably works in an office in town.’
‘Maybe she’s got a rich daddy and runs around all day in an expensive Smart car. You’re drawing this out Carter, and I’m totally pissed off with it,’ Mason stepped back, running his fingers through his black hair in frustration.
‘Fingerprint ID on Samsung phones,’ Carter explained. ‘If she doesn’t use the phone regularly, it’ll prompt for a passcode as well. I’ve got a Samsung too.’
Mason fished his phone from his pocket. His cheap Nokia didn’t have a fingerprint sensor. ‘So you take the phone to the hospital and use her fingerprint to unlock it. Sometimes, Leccy, getting to the point gets you points.’
‘She was pushed or thrown off the bridge after being raped,’ Carter laid out his thoughts. ‘She landed on the ambulance, bounced off it, and it ran over her. A suicide attempt is feasible, but until she comes out of the coma, we should treat it as attempted murder.’
‘OK, I’ll inform the boss.’ Mason calmed down.
Carter left the detectives’ room and found DC Podolski and DC Garcia drinking tea in the small kitchen.
‘Ellen, go to Alice’s flat and supervise the search. Find out if she’s got family.’ He turned to DC Garcia, ‘Charlotte, you come with me. We’re going back to see Alice.’
‘I am Charli. With an “i”,’ she said. ‘I will call you Leccy.’
‘Whatever. Everybody else does.’
They found their way to Carter’s Smart car, parked on the street rather than in the car park. It had acquired a ticket. Carter searched fruitlessly for the culprit. ‘Sixty quid,’ he muttered. ‘Robbin’ bastards.’
An hour later, after signing out her Samsung S9 from FOC Fettes, Carter and Garcia stood outside the private room in the Royal Infirmary, gazing through the window at the newly named Alice. A nurse passed them, and Carter asked for Dr Murray. A few minutes later, she stood beside him. He introduced Garcia.
‘She’s stable, but still in a coma,’ Dr Murray began recounting the diagnosis before he asked. ‘We’re preparing her for a series of scans, to see what else is going on, what other damage there might be.’
‘Do you ever go home?’ asked Carter, eyes front, staring through the window.
‘Do you?’ Dr Murray countered.
‘Nothing there for me.’ He felt Dr Murray’s eyes on him.
‘Have you always had white hair?’ she asked.
‘This I want to know too,’ Garcia jumped into the social chat.
‘Most men have hair,’ he felt cornered. ‘What’s your problem?’
‘White hair is unusual, at your age,’ said Dr Murray.
‘You colour it, yes?’ Garcia had made up her mind.
‘No,’ he said exasperated. ‘Can we focus on the job?’
The women shared a glance.
‘Why is she in a private room? Aren’t these reserved for insurance jobs?’ Carter asked Dr Murray, feeling the banter between them had made something in him click.
‘My discretion, after I saw the rape injuries. She’s been violated by some sick arsehole. No need to add insult to that by putting her in a general ward. She would upset the other patients anyway, the condition she’s in.’
Carter nodded. ‘Alice Deacon. She’s thirty-two. Lives in Shandon.’ He gave Dr Murray her full address.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘We’ll track down her medical records now.’
‘I need a favour,’ Carter asked before she left. ‘I want to use her fingerprint to open her phone, and I need a witness. It’ll be quicker than waiting for police techs to do it. I
t might be a breach of privacy and – if she recovers – she might be upset if she was of a mind. Do you think her injuries could be caused by consensual sex? Some like it rough—’
Dr Murray wasn’t fazed by the question. ‘It’s always possible – but who consents to be thrown from a bridge?’
They entered the room. Carter handed his own Samsung phone to Garcia. Then he and Dr Murray stood at Alice’s right-hand side. The video started. Dr Murray introduced herself, Carter spoke into the lens, recounting the date, time, and circumstances, and he identified DC Garcia.
Carter wore latex gloves. He removed Alice’s phone from its protective packaging, preserving the evidence chain by showing the camera the inventory ID label. Dr Murray removed the pulse sensor from Alice’s finger, causing the monitor to respond with a highly pitched alarm. She silenced it.
Carter held Alice’s phone and pressed the side button. The screen came alive, requesting its owner’s confirmation of identity. Gently he lifted her hand, noticing the delicacy of her fingers. He turned her thumb so only the outside edge would present, as it would if she used the phone one-handed. Her thumb touched the sensor. Nothing happened. He tried again, still nothing. Turning her thumb around, he pressed harder, this time getting an error message: Not recognised’.
He spoke into the video, recording his failures. ‘I don’t know how many attempts I’ll have, but I’m going for three. If it doesn’t work, we’ll have to try something else.’
He released her hand, then picked it up again. ‘Right forefinger,’ he said to the video. ‘Two-handed method, holding the phone in her left hand.’ Her finger touched the sensor. Not recognised, the phone repeated. Gently, Carter laid her hand down on the bedcovers.
‘One more chance,’ he said to Dr Murray, who nodded her agreement silently. ‘I’m assuming she wouldn’t use her other fingers on that hand, so that leaves two more choices.’
Carter and Murray walked around the bed to Alice’s left side. Garcia followed them with the video camera.
‘Maybe she’s left-handed,’ he said, carefully handling her bandaged and stookied left arm. She’d broken her wrist and forearm in two places when she landed on the ambulance or when she’d rolled off onto the road. Her thumb, forefinger and middle finger protruded, the other two were encased in plaster.
This time he pressed the phone onto her thumb and held it there.
The screen flickered and displayed some familiar multicoloured icons.
‘Now what?’ said Dr Murray, clearly relieved that Carter wasn’t going to subject her patient to more gruelling exercises. They both stood gazing reverentially at the unconscious Alice, giving silent thanks. The video kept rolling.
Carter placed Alice’s phone on the bed and removed one glove from his hand. ‘I’m going to reset her phone’s security.’ He picked up the Samsung and went over to Garcia, recording his actions in the video. Once complete, he placed the Samsung back in its evidence bag and sealed it.
‘Show’s over,’ he said, taking possession of his own phone from Garcia and saving the video clip.
‘Gracias, Dr Murray,’ said Garcia. ‘Thank you, Alice, too. You have helped us more than you know.’
Carter left without saying goodbye.
10
Crime Scene
In the privacy of the car, Carter removed Alice’s Samsung from the evidence bag and scanned her call log. Garcia was keen to know what he was doing.
‘There was a call at seven-fifteen yesterday evening to a cab company, Uptown Cabs,’ he told her while switching into Alice’s calendar. ‘Look, there’s an appointment last night at seven-thirty. It doesn’t say where, but she’s meeting someone called “J”.’ He skimmed through the calendar. ‘There are quite a few meetings with “J”, going back a few months.’
‘The forensic tech guys can make location data from the phone to find where she was?’ Garcia asked.
‘Yep,’ he nodded as he skimmed through her pictures. Mostly they were of groups of attractive girls in bars, but none was taken last night.
‘Look, she’s got a dog,’ he smiled. ‘Single Shandon girl, living with a dog.’
For the next ten minutes, he reviewed every calendar event over the previous two months. ‘Going by the calendar entries in the daytime, she’s a self-employed PR consultant,’ Carter said, then added, ‘as confirmed by her Twitter bio. She also has WhatsApp, and Facebook Messenger installed on the phone.’
He opened WhatsApp, scanning the conversations and contacts. ‘She’s got a boyfriend called Hamish. Facebook seems to be for friends and Twitter is clients only.’
He scrolled through two pages of apps and sat up stiffly. Garcia spotted the change in body language.
‘What is it, Leccy?’
‘Give me a minute.’
They sat in silence while Carter flicked through screens. After two minutes he still hadn’t said anything but was staring through the windscreen, his thoughts a long way from the present.
‘Leccy, what can I do?’
He came out of his reverie and handed Garcia the phone.
She looked at the screen, where a message was displayed in a format she didn’t recognise. Above the message were the date stamp and sixteen-character code.
[2019-01-14:0015] Now I’ve got your attention, Leccy, was my calling card what you expected? What secrets will Alice tell you and how will they help you? There’s more to come. J.
‘What does this mean?’ Garcia asked.
‘He planted it on her phone while the ambulance crew battled to save her life. He was there, watching. The timestamp confirms it.’
‘Who is J?’
He told her about the two texts he’d already received.
‘There are more messages here,’ he pointed to Alice’s phone. ‘History,’ he said, troubled. ‘Alice has responded to them, but it doesn’t look like she’s mentioned his name and all his texts have got different sixteen-character codes.’
‘What do the codes mean?’
‘I don’t know. We have to get this phone to the techs as soon as we can.’
He replaced the phone in its evidence bag. They drove to Uptown Cabs at the West End and asked for the supervisor. Procedures existed for getting information from cabbies, and Carter followed them. Within a few minutes, he was given the destination, the cab number and the driver’s name. ‘One passenger, officially,’ said the supervisor. ‘You’ll have to ask Billy to be sure, eh?’
Within a few moments, Carter spoke to the driver, who confirmed one passenger dropped on George Street, close to the Dome. ‘How did she seem? Happy, upset, nervous?’
‘Played wi’ her phone, only spoke when she got in and when she got out.’
‘Did you see where she went?’
‘Nah, got another fare an’ drove off.’
The supervisor confirmed Billy’s assertion with a nod and cancelled the line. ‘She paid by card.’
‘Any other jobs within twenty-four hours back to her home address?’
‘Not from us,’ said Supervisor. ‘You’ll have to check the other radio taxis yourself.’
As they walked away, Carter turned to Garcia. ‘Charli, find out which businesses around George Street have CCTV. We need to know where Alice went after the taxi dropped her off.’
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘As soon as we get back to the station.’
Once they were back in the car, Carter dutifully called DI Mason, keeping quiet about the messaging app for now. However, he recommended that the phone’s contents be downloaded and analysed as soon as possible.
‘Ellen has arranged for Alice’s dog to go to kennels,’ said Mason. Carter smiled, noting no irony in his superior’s tone of voice. ‘She’s expecting family information to bubble up, but I guess you’ll leave that to her. Too touchy-feely, for you, eh?’
‘Given my state of mind,’ Carter said, ‘you’ve no idea what I might say to them.’
‘The Big Boys think you’re still on compassionate leave under the care
of Dr Flowers. She’ll get reamed if they discover you’re running loose on the streets. Go home.’
‘Once I drop DC Garcia at the station.’
First, they detoured to Dalry Burial Ground. Officers had found the spot where Alice had been raped and protected it with a white tent. It was fifty metres up a slope on the left-hand side, not far from a rough path that led to the black iron gates that exited onto Dalry Road. Crime tape segregated off a section of ground, full of tombs, memorials and mature trees. Two uniformed coppers strolled around, looking bored; visible policing after the event to reassure the TV-watching public that Police Scotland was on the job. Carter didn’t think the residents of the graveyard worried too much.
The Crime Scene Manager was an old hand. She told Carter and Garcia they’d recovered knickers and tights and they might get DNA from them. ‘Won’t help us if this is his first time, though.’
‘Because he’s not in the Forensic Science Lab database?’ Carter confirmed.
‘Aye.’
‘Any ideas on how she got here?’ he asked. ‘There are only two entrances, and I don’t see her scrambling over ten-foot-high walls.’
‘We’ve not found anything outside the tape that provides a trail,’ she said, still wearing her paper suit. ‘There’s plenty of discarded stuff about – clothes, shoes, cans and bottles. It’s a microcosm of the city, but it’s all been here a long time. Her knickers looked clean, even if they were torn and ripped.’
‘You think she came here willingly?’ asked Carter.
‘We have evidence proving she was here, but none of it says how she arrived or how she left. But look around yourself,’ she replied. ‘This graveyard is semi-derelict; it’s not open for business unless your family bought a plot here last century. There’s been a recent burial on the west side, less than six months ago, I’d say. These days most go to the burny fire at Mortonhall. This place is overgrown, it’s rough ground. Headstones have been pushed over everywhere; some cut grass, decent hard paths, evidence of people visiting graves. And the usual homeless and gormless using it as a bar, toilet and bedroom. The scene is at least fifty metres away from the top entrance, and yet there’s no evidence she was dragged down here against her will.’
A Wife Worth Dying For Page 3
