Death in the Black Wood

by Oliver Davies

  “For fuck’s sake, Con!” he finally snapped, pulling his earbuds back out in pure exasperation. “What the hell do you think you’re doing there?”

  “This? Just collecting a list of number plates from the camera just below Tomatin.”

  “I can see that! What I don’t understand is why you’re doing it all by hand. Why don’t you just set it to copy everything within your search parameters over automatically? Just because it’s a passive data generating system doesn’t mean researchers and analysts haven’t been given some time saving shortcuts for that kind of job. Look, see.” He logged himself in on his own laptop and clicked through a few menus to a page I’d never seen before. “You can add in all your dates, times and locations on this little programme here and it’ll generate your spreadsheets for you automatically.”

  Seriously? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like such a clueless idiot. As a registered SIO, I’d had access to this system for a long time but I’d never tried to run such a large search on it before. Face flushing, I tried to copy his movements but found myself blocked at the third of the menus he’d gone through. The option he’d taken from there just wasn’t displayed. Some kind of back door access? Shay blinked.

  “Oh,” he said, surprised. “Sorry, Cuz, I guess it needs a higher priority clearance. That kind of sucks.”

  I found myself taking a relieved breath. He’d had me really worried for a minute there. I usually did everything I could to keep up to date on training with the systems I was allowed to use.

  “Tell you what though, I’ve got a spare login you can have,” he offered, patting my shoulder apologetically. “How often do you even use the NAS, anyway? It’s not like you’re going to flood it with requests and if you needed the data urgently, for a serious crime case, it could make a huge difference.” As apologies went, that was a biggie.

  “That would be nice to have, in case it was ever needed, thanks.” I didn’t need to promise that I wouldn’t use it for cases like this one. We both knew I wouldn’t betray his trust like that. I went back to my methodical plodding. I’d already considered putting in a research request and dismissed the idea. I didn’t want to waste their valuable time on a hunch that might not yield any results.

  “Any chance of one of your peppermint blends, Shay?” Da asked, smiling over at us from his chair.

  “Sure.” My cousin shoved his tray out of the way and bounced up. “Same for you Con?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He knew I liked the one with ginger and lemon in too. Once he’d gone, da sniffed conspicuously.

  “That boy’s been a bit distracted all day. It’s not like him to overlook a possibility like that. I think all the crap he was digging up for you yesterday has thrown him off his game a bit.”

  “He’s fine, and he’ll get it properly archived again soon enough Da. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about there. You know how obsessive he is about maintaining maximum system efficiency.” I got a wry smile for putting it in Shay’s terminology like that.

  “Alright then. Just remember, if you need me to come home early, for any reason at all, I’ll be on the first flight I can get a seat on.”

  “I know.” He’d said the same thing at least a dozen times over the last couple of weeks. “I wish you’d stop worrying about us two Da. You can be back here in under a day, and we can reach you just as quickly if we need to.” It seemed like a good idea to remind him that he was as likely to find himself in trouble as we were. Accidents could happen anywhere after all.

  He took the hint. By the time Shay came back with our teas, we were both busily engaged with our own projects again. After another hour I’d had enough of it for the night. I pulled up the STV player, ready for the Scottish news segment at ten thirty, but left it muted while I nipped off to the loo. Sure enough, our images and the contact phone number were run again. McKinnon had already emailed me to let me know they’d been shown on the six o’clock news. Well, we’d just have to wait and see if anyone recognised the poor devil and called in.

  Surely, somebody in the area would know that face?

  Seven

  McKinnon’s hotline received a few calls about our victim, two of which he asked me to chase up on Monday morning. One had been from the foreman of a local construction company and the other from the Salvation Army Captain at their Community Centre on Tomnahurich Street. After phoning the supplied numbers to make sure that our contacts would be available to speak with us, Caitlin and I headed for Ness Bridge, the best river crossing for our first destination.

  The Sally Army Community Centre was on the corner of Tomnahurich and Kenneth streets, with a curving brick section at the front, two stories high, and a long, single storey section running back along Kenneth Street. I managed to find a parking spot on the side road just after the adjoining pizza place and we hurried back to the entrance through an icy fall of sleet with the wind at our backs.

  “Ugh!” Caitlin complained as we dove indoors, “I think this might be my least favourite kind of weather.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “Da timed his getaway pretty well. Makes you feel for the poor devils who are sleeping rough out there though doesn’t it?” I was looking around interestedly. “Still, at least organisations like this one are here to do what they can to help.” I pulled my warrant card out as one of the volunteer staff members came over to greet us.

  “Hi, good morning, I’m DCI Keane and this is my colleague, Sergeant Murray. I called about twenty minutes ago. Captain Thorne is expecting us.”

  “She is, Inspector. I’m Janet. If you’d both like to come with me, I’ll take you to her office.” We followed her up the stairs and down a short hallway.

  “Come in,” a clear, warm voice invited when Janet knocked.

  A plump, brown-haired woman in her late forties smiled up at us as we walked in. The captain was wearing her short sleeved white shirt but her jacket was hanging on a stand in the corner. It struck me as funny that she looked far more official than we did, with those starred epaulettes on her shoulders. Well, people might sometimes mock the Sally Army for their uniforms and their Christian fervour, but they did good and useful work. I knew from Shay that they had a contract with the government in England and Wales to offer support to rescued trafficking and slavery victims. Despite his reservations about the religious aspect of the organisation, he mainly approved of how they’d been handling things down there over the past few years.

  “Inspector Keane and Sergeant Murray to see you, Susan,” Janet told her.

  “Thank you, Janet. Do you think you could find Alan for me?” she asked as she gestured for us to sit.

  “Of course.” Janet closed the door behind her.

  “Alan Parker is one of our hard working volunteers. He had the most contact with Dominic when he visited us last year,” Captain Thorne explained. “It was Alan who called me on Friday evening, when he saw Dominic’s face on the news. A tragic business.” No details regarding the body had been given out, just the information that he’d been found near Dores and a plea for anyone who could identify the deceased to come forward. It was likely that she thought he’d simply frozen to death.

  “Dominic, Captain Thorne? Was that the only name he gave when he came here?”

  “As far as I know, Inspector. Perhaps Alan will be able to supply you with more information. I don’t recall the unfortunate young man myself, we see so many faces passing through our doors and Alan says he only came here a few times.”

  Another knock announced the arrival of Alan, a skinny, pale faced man in his mid-sixties. Once he’d seated himself facing us, to the side of Thorne’s desk, he looked at us sadly.

  “I’d like to thank you for reaching out to us, Mr Parker. I’m Inspector Keane and this is Sergeant Murray. Would you mind just looking at these images and making sure that our victim is the man you knew as Dominic?” I pulled out my folder and handed it across to him.

  “Of course,” he agreed. He stared at the images for some time
, a slight frown furrowing his brow. “Excuse me, Inspector, but these don’t appear to be actual photographs. The one on the news showed Dominic as a bald man but his face was unmistakable. This one here though, with the short hair and beard, that’s more what he looked like when I last saw him.” He indicated the fourth image. “The hair was slightly longer, but yes, that’s certainly him.”

  Captain Thorne was frowning now too. “Those are computer generated reconstructions?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I’m afraid that the body had been in a fire when it was discovered.” I saw the shocked look on both their faces. Well, burning to death was not a pleasant thing to think about, but I could at least disabuse them of that notion. “We currently believe that happened after death occurred.”

  “The news said he’d been found near Dores?”

  “That’s correct.” I really didn’t want to get side-tracked by their curiosity. “Mr Parker, can you tell us of the times you met and spoke with Dominic please?”

  He didn’t have a great deal to tell us. Our victim had first visited the centre with one of their regular attendees at the end of October. Alan thought he was a recent arrival to Inverness. Dominic had spoken English with a strong African accent and had walked with a slight limp from an old leg injury. He’d seemed like a calm, shy young man and had been very grateful for the hot meal he’d been given, and the warm coat and boots he’d been offered from the stores.

  “He didn’t seem to want to talk much, so we didn’t press him with questions. Old Eric, the man who’d brought him in, told me that Dominic had come to his aid when a pair of drunks had stumbled across him and decided to start harassing him the night before.”

  We didn’t have many homeless people registered in our area but vicious, nasty drunks didn’t seem to be in short supply anywhere. I got what details I could for ‘old Eric.’ He’d also found himself cheap lodgings since then and we’d need somebody to go and talk to him too.

  “Dominic came in maybe another half dozen times over the next couple of weeks and opened up a bit as he began to feel more comfortable around me,” Alan went on. “He told me he was from South Sudan and had been in the UK for about eighteen months. He’d been housed in the south of England for a while, while his request for asylum was being processed, before being granted his initial right to stay for five years once that was approved and finalised.” That would have taken five or six months if nothing had occurred to delay the process.

  “I was aware that he had a drug problem,” Alan told us. “You soon learn to recognise the signs, but he always seemed sober when he came in. Eric must have warned him that we don’t tolerate misbehaviour here. He politely declined our counselling service but was happy to be given information on employment agencies that might be able to find him some work. I knew he was receiving benefits, so he wasn’t totally destitute. The last time he came in, it was just to let me know that he’d managed to rent himself a room, somewhere over in Merkinch, and that the Citizens Advice Bureau people had helped him put in his application for housing benefit for that. He didn’t come back again after that.”

  “Can you supply us with a list of those agencies you mentioned?” I asked. Captain Thorne got up and looked through the stacks of fliers arranged on a table under the window.

  “He’d have been given this,” she told me, handing one over. I put the flier, and my folder, back in my bag.

  “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you again for your time.” Caitlin put her notebook away, and we all stood.

  “May I ask, was it an overdose, Inspector?” Alan asked. “It’s just that there’s only so much we can do, but I can’t help feeling that maybe I should have tried to do more with Dominic.”

  “Alan, no,” Captain Thorne remonstrated mildly, “it’s a fine line to walk between scaring people away and making them feel safe here. I’m sure you handled him properly.”

  I didn’t envy them their chosen work, but I was glad that there were people willing to do it. Especially volunteers like Alan, who weren’t receiving any financial compensation for their time.

  “It wasn’t an overdose, Mr Parker,” I told him. “And I’m sure that Dominic was very grateful for your kindness. I know I would be if I ever found myself in need of help like that.”

  We shook hands all round and took our leave of them. At least the sleet was taking a bit of a break when we went outside again. Back in the car, I got my phone out and called Shay.

  “Hi. We’ve just spoken with the Sally Army people. They first saw our man in late October. We only have the given name Dominic so far but he’d told them he was from South Sudan, had been in the UK for eighteen months and had a five year right to stay after an asylum hearing. He was living somewhere in the south of England while that was being dealt with.”

  “That’s useful… if he was telling the truth. I’ll look into it. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, image four was the closest, but the hair was slightly longer when they saw him. Also, he was on benefits. CAB were helping him out with the applications. Oh, and he had a limp from an old injury. Nothing else yet but we’re off to see the construction guy now.”

  “Okay, good stuff. Keep me updated, Con.” He rang off.

  “South Sudan,” Caitlin mused as I pulled us out. “The civil war there’s been going on for quite a few years now. I wonder if our victim was caught up in any of that.” It seemed likely, given that he’d been granted asylum. The ethnic massacres and rampant human rights violations sweeping the region certainly made it probable.

  “It doesn’t sound like he had an easy life of it. I can’t imagine what it must be like growing up in the middle of a mess like that.” Given the limp and the scar Shay had determined was on his forehead, Dominic Chuol had certainly taken a knock or two at some point. “We’ll have to wait for the pathologist’s report to see what they make of his medical history.”

  She nodded. “Then there’s Alan Parker’s impression that he was a user. Pain relief or just escapism? Hopefully the tox screen will shed some light on that too.”

  Our construction site was only a few minutes away. A block of dilapidated old slum housing had been torn down to make way for some new flats and the contractor who’d called in to McKinnon’s hotline was one of the people working for the development company whose project it was. After being issued with hard hats, we were led across the muddy site to the portacabin where he had his temporary office set up. At least they’d put some chipboard down to form pathways so we didn’t sink up to our ankles in muck.

  Bill Rogerson was a bulky chap with a protruding beer belly sagging over his belt. He was about my height but a good few stone heavier by the look of him. He didn’t look that old either. I thought he might have a good ten years on me though.

  “Inspector Keane.” He shook my hand with a firm grip and seemed satisfied to find that I wasn’t some wimpy desk jockey, “Thanks for calling ahead. I have copies of Dominic’s paperwork here, all ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Mr Rogerson, that was very thoughtful of you.” I read through it quickly, making sure Caitlin could do the same. Atovura Dominic Chuol had been twenty-two years old and had been placed with this construction firm by Global Highland Limited on the nineteenth of November. He had a valid CSCS card and was listed as a skilled labourer with a level two technical certificate. Rogerson told us that Dominic had turned up for his shifts punctually and performed well. During the eight weeks that he’d worked there, he’d clocked up over forty hours every week.

  “He was a good worker. And he never made any trouble or got into arguments with any of the others. Not very chatty though, and he didn’t socialise with the other lads outside of work.”

  “Did he ever give you the impression that he was taking drugs?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I can’t say that he did. I mean, I knew his doctor prescribed him painkillers, but they didn’t seem to affect his abilities and he never drank on the job either. No complaints there. When he didn’t sho
w up on the fourteenth, I phoned the agency to see if he’d called in sick. He hadn’t. They phoned back later to tell me he wasn’t answering their calls.” He shrugged. “I just assumed he’d moved on. That happens quite often, so I didn’t think much of it, except feeling a bit disappointed that he hadn’t given us any warning.”

  “So the last time you saw him was Friday the eleventh?”

  “That’s right. He left at half six that night. Dominic didn’t mind putting in overtime hours during the week whenever we asked him to but he liked to have his weekends to himself.”

  “And this is the address you were given for him?”

  “It is. Those are the details the agency sent over.” There didn’t seem to be anything else he could tell us so I thanked him for his time, and the papers, and we made our way back to where I’d parked the car, handing our hard hats back in at the gate on our way out.

  “You can drive,” I told Caitlin. “Just hang on a minute while I photograph these sheets first will you.” I climbed into the passenger seat while she walked round to the other side. Once I had clear images of all the information, I attached them to an email and sent it over to Shay. Hopefully, he’d be able to find me the landlord’s contact details pretty quickly.

  “Dominic’s home address next?” Caitlin asked.

  “Yeah, I think we’d better get over there. I’d like to see what his housemates have to say. At the moment we have a big, blank gap to fill in between the eleventh and the twenty fourth. Maybe they can enlighten us about some of those missing days.” The sky had darkened again, another bank of rapidly moving clouds sweeping down from the north east. Sure enough, as Caitlin drove us up towards Merkinch, the next batch of sleet began to come down, heavy and hard. Windscreen wipers swishing rhythmically, we headed north.