‘Butler lives here in Edinburgh. Why haven’t you brought him in for questioning? Bet ya he’s in touch with his old school mate? We know both were in the Reverend bar at the time, so you better have a good reason to be kicking tyres in Glasgow when you should be arresting rapists in Edinburgh.’
‘Kelsa was raped by Moore, the weekend she went missing in March,’ Carter kicked back. ‘Glasgow Hilton is emailing me a copy of the reservation Moore made in his own name. The Royal Infirmary treated her for rape, and the A & E doctor’s report will be in ICRS shortly. It confirms she had traces of scoop in her blood. She was a victim.’
‘What did Geddes want?’ Mason’s question confirmed he and Geddes had form. ‘He’s Organised Crime and Terrorism, what’s his interest in a scummy Edinburgh rapist?’
‘Ask him yourself, Inspector. He seems to know you very well.’
‘If you’re withholding information from senior officers, that’s misconduct. But don’t worry, I’ll help you get a premium place outside a McDonald’s with a paper cup for your change.’
‘Geddes offered to find out if Moore is ex-Army.’
‘Garcia’s on that lead though.’
‘He said he has contacts. We’ll know tomorrow morning.’
Mason was silent for a moment; Carter could hear the cogs grinding. ‘It’s not his gig,’ Mason replied. ‘Apart from having you in his pocket, what does he have to gain? He’s only interested in his own success. He’s not one for long-term snitches. You’re holding back, Sergeant.’
Mason’s monologue had given Carter time to think. ‘He’s investigating InterMide. Said there was a leak or something but wouldn’t elaborate.’
The car passed Harthill Services at full speed. Halfway home.
‘InterMide is circumstantial to this investigation, isn’t it?’
‘Alice and Kelsa both had phones on InterMide contracts. Butler, Moore and Logan’s crew have them too. Jacky Dodds was on giffgaff.’ He nearly said there was no other link but stopped himself just in time.
‘Come straight to the station, Sergeant Carter,’ DI Mason said formally. ‘We need more from you.’
The call ended, leaving Carter with only one option.
75
Slings and Arrows
A maid let Carter in a side door and took him to a cosy room where Judith sat waiting. She’d arranged tea and a selection of hot finger foods. He hadn’t realised how hungry he’d been. Nathaniel was in his baby bouncer, asleep.
After disposing of DI Mason’s call, Carter had called Judith and given her enough of an explanation to tell her he had news.
‘James won’t be home until late. He prefers being at his club; like-minds and social networking he calls it.’
‘I spoke to Hugo,’ Carter said, hoping he’d remember what he planned to say. ‘By coincidence, he appeared in a case I’m investigating.’ He glanced up and met Jude’s eyes. ‘He was aware Kelsa had died.’
‘No one here told him,’ Judith said tightly, while Carter munched his way through the food. ‘Once he ditched Kelsa, he was no longer welcome in this house.’
‘I need to speak in confidence, Jude. About Kelsa.’
‘So, your questions in the park were not as innocent—’
‘I can’t pretend her life didn’t happen.’ Carter didn’t want to lose the trust they’d built up.
Judith’s face projected the betrayal she felt in her heart.
‘You said that you’d forgotten I was family,’ he said. ‘This is a family matter.’
‘Go on,’ she said reluctantly.
‘Kelsa’s name has appeared in an investigation. Obviously, she’s not around, so I was asked—’
‘In what way has her name appeared, Lachlan? I will not have my family’s reputation sullied.’
He’d run through the choices in the car. Now he was ready to pull back the curtain.
‘A woman has been raped and is in a coma in hospital. She worked for InterMide. Kelsa, who also worked for InterMide, appeared in a corporate video the rape victim made for the company in 2016. A friend of Kelsa’s – Lesley – mentioned she thought Kelsa was having an affair with someone around that time. Probably someone she worked with.’
‘She was brought up correctly, to cherish the values we hold dearly. I can’t believe she would wantonly split a man from his wife and family. Do you know this for sure, Lachlan? You must be truthful with me.’
‘I don’t know. But it’s possible.’
‘Do you have the name of the man?’
‘I can’t say, Jude, it’s confidential.’
‘But you believe he is the rapist?’ Judith was aghast. She sat, staring at Carter as if he was the Devil’s advocate. Eventually, she lowered her head, and Carter heard sobs. ‘One’s family is sacrosanct. We believe that nothing can contaminate the home. Still, we have to allow our children to be corrupted in a terrible world outside. James—’ She stopped herself.
‘What about James?’ Carter pressed, drinking cold tea. ’What does he know?
‘He won’t talk of these things and forbids me to mention them.’
‘So, she was having an affair?’ Carter kept his composure. ‘How did you know?’
‘She wouldn’t confide in me, of course, but she was a very non-verbal woman. I knew something had been going on when she stopped eating and went back into therapy.’
‘She’d been in therapy?’
‘Yes, after Hugo’s very public French marriage,’ said Judith matter-of-factly. ‘She spent nearly two years at the Priory in Southampton being treated for disorders, self-harm and clinical depression. James arranged it. He said Hugo paid some of the fees. Is Hugo involved in this crime?’
‘He’s a distraction.’
‘What is going on here, Lachlan?’
‘I could ask you the same question, Jude. Kelsa’s behaviour last summer totally astounded me. She went from being happy with life to craving death in a heartbeat, and you are only now telling me she had a recurring illness. I watched her die in total disbelief, but you knew she was vulnerable.’
‘Lachlan, please, don’t do this to me, and don’t do this to yourself. Nobody takes pills for anorexia. Maybe there was something in her makeup, she was possibly predisposed to resort to extreme measures when she couldn’t cope with the slings and arrows of life.’
Carter lifted a sleeping Nathaniel from his bouncer. He walked to the window overlooking the back garden, to gather his thoughts. He was sure there was more to it than that.
‘When was the first time, Jude?’
‘She was about ten. I took her to a private clinic; she was cutting herself.’
‘So, what was her trigger last year?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Judith, with tears running down her face.
‘The break-in was meant to scare us,’ Carter said, rocking his sleeping son in his arms. ‘And it’s all to do with the teddy. Get rid of it.’
76
Crumbled Empires
Outside it was a typical Edinburgh winter’s night, damp and chilly. Not a soul was on the street. A standard, everyday text came in from Gavin Roy.
We’ve downloaded all the content and will review. Phone couriered to St Leonard’s for 8 a.m.
Carter arrived at St Leonard’s just after 7 p.m. The detectives’ room was empty, except for Charli Garcia. ‘War Cabinet,’ she said, ‘with DCI McKinlay. We’ve been waiting for you.’
McKinlay and Mason sat together behind a table. Surrounding them, electronic whiteboards displayed relevant information on the Deacon case, including Alice’s picture with Moore beside her, taken in the Reverend. Carter still felt that grin was directed at him. There was no picture of Kelsa yet. He’d be asked to provide one soon.
Dr Flowers sat on his side of the table, on the left. Charli Garcia and Ellen Podolski sat on the right, leaving an empty chair in the middle for him. The atmosphere was electric. Carter sat down.
McKinlay turned up the current. ‘The Chief wants the MIT t
o take over; he thinks I’ve lost control. I’ve given you too much latitude, Leccy, and not enough support. That’s the official line.’
‘You gave me to the end of the week,’ he replied. ‘It’s Wednesday, I’ve got a few days yet.’
‘Don’t be a smart arse, Leccy,’ Cheryl McKinlay spoke with weariness in her voice. ‘You’ve been running this investigation like it’s your personal right. Have you disclosed everything you know to DI Mason? Is ICRS up to date?’
He glanced across at Charli and Ellen, who both nodded slightly. ‘With the exception of the information about Kelsa that I found out today,’ he said. ‘It should be updated shortly.’
‘This discussion isn’t about Charli or Ellen’s performance, it’s about yours.’ McKinlay was exasperated. ‘I don’t appreciate having to justify my operational procedures to senior officers and then have you scatter them to the winds. My assessment of this case is that you’ve missed a significant suspect. Nathan Butler. I believe DI Mason has shared our thoughts with you.’
‘Incontrovertibly.’
McKinlay sighed. ‘Do you have a plan of action?’
‘Of course, ma’am.’
‘Share it with us, please.’
For the next thirty minutes, Carter outlined his thoughts and plans.
‘Do you know where he is now?’ McKinlay asked after he’d finished.
‘No, but I know where he’ll be in two hours.’
‘You’ll want rent-a-mob to make sure you get him?’
‘Too visible. He’ll case the place, and if he sees riot vans, he’ll melt away. Better with just us.’
‘I’ll not be going,’ said McKinlay. ‘I’m an auld wifie for this kinda thing. DI Mason will fill my sturdy boots.’
‘Right. Well, I’d better be on my way or none of this will happen.’ Carter turned to Dr Flowers and Ellen Podolski, ‘You two OK with this? Not exactly the kind of fieldwork you’re used to.’
‘I might be in my forties with three kids, Leccy,’ Ellen replied, ‘but victims sometimes have to kick back.’
‘What about you, Lisa?’
Dr Flowers gave him a look that crumbled empires.
‘See you all soon, then.’
77
Pattered Pish
For the second time that day, the Smart car climbed the high road into Midlothian mining fields. Carter parked at the Gorebridge Bowling Club and entered by the side door. It seemed an entirely logical thing for Moore to track his phone, once the concept landed in his head, taxied to the gate and shut down its engines. It required skills, a laptop computer and a gaggle of servers buried deep in a data centre. Once those possibilities were accepted, likelihood about–turned from impossible to probable. Moore could harvest all the numbers he needed from Kelsa’s phone because he’d presented it to her as his gift and she didn’t care to look in its mouth. Moore had tracked every step she took, every move she made, even when she wasn’t with him.
Carter wasn’t an InterMide account holder, but that didn’t matter because – as Gavin Roy had told him – all the operators exchanged public account data. Suppose Moore had the right credentials in the company? They could enable him to harvest the unique IMEI and IMSI codes on any phone in the country by running a lookup on the InterMide servers. If he commanded the servers to track Carter’s phone and then scrape the location data gathered into a file, he’d get data points spat out onto a Google map when he wanted it. Simples.
The margin of accuracy? About the size of a Smart car.
Until the Champions League football return in a few weeks, Wednesday was comedy night at the bowling club. It moved to Mondays after that. After finishing the conversation with DI Mason that they’d begun while still on the M8 from Glasgow, Carter had called the club secretary.
They were delighted to host him. ‘You’re on third the night, Leccy,’ wheezed the stage manager, as Carter checked in and prepared his off-the-cuff material. ‘We’ve already lined up another compere. You’ll likely know her. Miss Chris.’
Carter glanced at a thirty-something woman sheltering in the shadows. He didn’t know her but nodded respect. Attractive, possessed of a bull-dozer figure and wearing a long blonde wig with a red Santa hat on top, she looked like she could handle herself in the rough and tumble. They’d know soon enough. Controversy was the way to go for him tonight; wind the audience up and take it from there.
At 9.30 p.m. exactly he took the stage.
‘Ladies and Drunkards, give it up for a good old Gorebridge boy, Leeeccy Caaarter!’
‘Spankin’,’ Carter said into the handheld mic as the local crowd cheered and whooped. ‘Spankin’.’ The spotlight picked him out on the darkened stage. ‘Brexit. What the fuck’s goin’ on there, then? Mother Theresa – May not, May will, May won’t, May can’t. We’ll have a people’s vote, here, tonight, Mother T. Raise your right hand for Leave or your left hand for Remain.’
Half the audience stuck up both hands, the other half sniggered. ‘Looks unanimous to me,’ Carter said. ‘If we really want to leave Europe this quickly, all Mother T has to do is give the job to Alex McLeish. We’ll be out before half-time.’
That got a much deeper laugh.
‘Forget the UK and EU,’ Carter marched his way across the stage, pointing to people in the audience. ‘I think the nice folks in Arniston have been holding back the Great Scottish town of Gorebridge for far too long. I propose to invoke Article 50 and tell them to fuck right off without a deal. We’ll have a hard border across the Rangers park, with no backstop, and we’ll impose tariffs down the middle of the railway station platform. If they want to catch the train to Edinburgh, they’ll have to pay double.’
Somebody threw a half-pint glass onto the stage. It shattered and sprayed dirty lager over his trousers.
‘Ladies, calm yourselves. This isn’t the Strangers’ Bar in Westminster.’ He walked away from the lager to the other side of the stage and waited. ‘It’s a little-known fact that Jeremy Corbyn’s parents were stoned when they christened him. I mean, their names were Toby and Miranda Smith.’ That got a snigger or two – the village was solidly SNP.
‘Have you watched PMQs recently? Mother T gives Corbyn really patronising looks when he’s getting all puffy over the Despatch box. The contempt on her face is thicker than her Cabinet. “You’re not big in the trouser department, Jer, are you? You debate like a goldfish, and your contribution to British political history will be a mere footnote unless you VOTE FOR THE FUCKING DEAL.”’
He paced the stage, back and forth. Some of the audience were laughing, but not all. It was like they were waiting for something else to happen. Nick Mason was standing at the bar, one elbow on the counter, nursing a drink. Carter couldn’t see his face.
Charli Garcia sat on his far right. She wasn’t smiling either; it was torture, right enough. Dr Flowers and Ellen Podolski sat close together. Out in the darkness, all eyes were on him. Waiting for the heat to come on. He about-turned and began his next lap of the stage.
‘Just when it couldn’t get any worse for Mother T, President of the United States and the next King of Scotland, Donald J. Trump, slithers into the debate.’ Carter swept back his hair and cocked his chin. In the middle of the stage, he turned to face his audience. ‘She asked me for advice, folks,’ he held up his left hand at breast height, making an ‘O’ shape with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I mean, who wouldn’t. Trump told her – sincerely – that she should read his wonderful book – The Art of the Deal – available in all great bookstores, people. You heard it straight from Trump. I’m telling you, and Trump never lies.’
That got a longer laugh; his Trump impersonation was good. He gazed out into the audience. Was Moore here? If not, it was going to be a long and tortuous fifteen minutes.
‘Listen to me, folks. I said to her – this is the truth, Trump never lies – I said to her – Theresa – how do you spell your name, by the way – is that an H in there? Theresa – Theresa – forget Stephen Barclay, he’s a goose.
Trump wouldn’t let him shine his hair – and Trump has got great hair. To Make Britain Great Again, I’ll lend you Don Junior – for a great price – he’s a great negotiator – he was taught by the best.’
Carter made a Trump gurn and held it. ‘Showtime, folks.’
The house lights came up suddenly. Carter leapt off the stage and pushed his way into the throng of people. At the same time, Nick Mason abandoned the bar and swooped in from behind the audience. A man rose up from his chair, of more substantial build than those around him. Carter could see the surprise on Moore’s face, but Moore recovered quickly. Two men next to him collapsed, screaming and holding their faces. Chairs skittered across the wooden floor. Men and women panicked and charged for the exits, thinking it was a gang fight. Some were pushed down to the floor, becoming trapped in the melee, barged and kicked by others climbing over them. High-pitched screams infected the audience as more blood and alcohol was spilt on the floor.
Dr Flowers positioned herself at an exit, beside Ellen Podolski. Charli Garcia and Nick Mason tried to keep Moore in view.
Mason came in from behind and laid his hand on Moore’s shoulder. Instantly, without turning his head, Moore’s elbow caught Mason’s ribs hard and knocked him off-balance. Moore turned and nutted him in the face, then kicked his legs out from under him as he stumbled. Mason crashed to the floor and groaned.
Carter was a few metres from him but was blocked by bodies.
‘It’s over Moore, we’ve got you.’ He clawed his way through the panicked audience.
‘Think so, Carter?’ Moore laughed, then moved away at a march, taking advantage of the chaos. Garcia appeared in front of him and threw a Muay Thai roundhouse kick up towards the side of his face. He parried the blow with his left arm, grabbed her right leg in flight and wrenched it counter-rotational at the knee. She screamed in pain and collapsed on the dirty floor.
A Wife Worth Dying For Page 25
