Death in the Black Wood

by Oliver Davies

  The Millers’ taxi driver had appeared promptly at four yesterday. He’d been a short fat man in his fifties and had nothing useful to tell us either.

  Knowing that I wanted it urgently, and that it was a quick and easy job, Shay had marked the pill that he’d found in the jacket lining as a top priority when he’d packed up those samples yesterday. Someone down in the lab had paid his request due attention. The results came in just after ten fifteen. It was the same oxycodone/fentanyl mix as the one we’d found underneath Dominic Chuol’s sofa, just as I’d been hoping it would be. It was time to go and speak to Old Eric.

  His last known address was in the case file, no contact number. Apparently Eric McAndrew didn’t have a phone. Hopefully, he hadn’t moved again since last month.

  I collected Caitlin on my way out, once she’d passed her unchecked list of airport personnel to Walker to divide up, and we set off for Friar’s Street. That was nearby, on our side of the river, just below Friars’ Bridge.

  Eric had been allocated housing in one of a row of small, two-storey houses near the Church at the bottom end of the street. Some were divided into two large flats, for families with kids, but his house was divided into four small ones. It took him a few minutes to respond to his buzzer, and I was beginning to think he was either out or unwilling to receive visitors when he finally came out to see who was bothering him.

  “Mr Eric McAndrew? Good morning, Sir. I’m Inspector Keane, and this is Detective Sergeant Murray.” I held up my warrant card for him to inspect. “May we come in to have a word with you about Dominic Chuol?”

  He stared at us through rheumy, bloodshot eyes. Old Eric looked to be in his late seventies but I knew he was only sixty six. Years of on and off substance abuse had not allowed him to age well. He still had a good head of light grey hair, although that had receded a little, retreating gradually back from a widow’s peak in the centre of his forehead. The hair fell to his shoulders, and he wore a bushy beard to match. His clothing was well-worn but clean, apart from a few little stains, and he didn’t look, or smell, like a man who didn’t shower or bathe regularly.

  “Dominic? Again? I had you people round just last month asking about the poor boy.”

  “Yes, Sir, that would have been Inspector Philips.”

  “Aye, Philips, that was the name. I answered all his questions too, as best I could. You’ll have read his report. I’ve nothing to add now.”

  “Actually, you may have, Mr McAndrew. You see, there’s been another murder, committed by the same man who killed Dominic. We now have some new information and further questions. Did you happen to catch the news last night?”

  “A body would need a television to be able to do that, and who can afford the licence fees these days? Well, I suppose you’d better come in then.”

  “Thank you.” He was perfectly sober and seemed to appreciate my politeness. I’d say that was a promising start.

  His little ground-floor flat was chilly but not freezing. As he was living on a state pension, he’d be careful about how often he turned any heaters on. His Housing Benefit might cover the rent but the heating allowance was pitiful. The small living room he showed us into was sparsely furnished but clean and tidy. One armchair, a small table with two thinly padded dining chairs, a wall unit with cupboards below and shelves above and a well-worn rug covering the middle of the wooden floor. Eric McAndrew liked books. The shelves were full of them and there were more stacked against the wall.

  “That’s quite a library you have there, Mr McAndrew. Did you have those stored somewhere before you moved in here?”

  “Aye, with my niece, just for a few months mind. You’ll know I hit a rough patch last year, I suppose.”

  “I did gather that you were on the streets for a few months, yes. I’m glad to see things have improved for you since then.”

  “Are you now?” He settled himself into the armchair and eyed me dubiously before deciding I genuinely meant it. “I’d been seven years clean when I broke my hip last winter, slipped on some ice. They had me on painkillers for a few weeks. I backslid after that, when my GP cut me off… Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with the ups and downs of the life of people like me.”

  “The rent money goes, the bills pile up, and soon, there’s nothing left to sell and nobody willing to lend you any more money, not even family. You kept your library though. That’s both unusual and surprising.”

  “A really good book’s a pill you can swallow as many times as you like once you have it. The best ones always improve with every reread.”

  “Mmm, they’re a healthier escape too. May we?” I gestured to the chairs by the table.

  “Aye, pull them over here a bit. I like to look at a man when I’m talking to him, and a pretty woman even more so.” He gave Caitlin a smile, and she threw a cheeky grin back at him which made him chuckle. Once we’d moved the chairs and seated ourselves, I set my bag down and pulled out the slim folder I’d tucked into it before leaving the office.

  “Mr McAndrew, the man who killed your friend Dominic struck again last night. This time, his victim was a family man with a wife and three kids. That doesn’t mean I find one of those deaths more important than the other, you understand, but it does mean that he’ll be very much missed. Mr Chuol doesn’t seem to have had anybody?”

  “No, he didn’t. Life was cruel to that boy. His family were all killed in some civil war, back in Africa. He told me that much. Dominic didn’t like to talk about his past.”

  No, I didn’t imagine he would have.

  “The night that he intervened, when he saw those boys bothering you and chased them off, was that the first time you met?”

  “To talk to, aye, but I’d seen him around for a few days before that. I’d figured him out. He was looking to buy but didn’t know who to approach. Once I was sure he was authentic, I sorted him out with a guy I knew, for a cut of what he was buying, naturally,” he admitted unselfconsciously.

  “A man has a right to be compensated for his trouble. There are plenty who’d have set him up and robbed him blind,” I said calmly with a hint of a shrug.

  McAndrew knew that as well as I did. It was my reaction he’d been looking for. I think he decided that I wasn’t a bad sort at that point. Not like some officers, looking down their judgmental, holier than thou noses at people.

  I pulled Shay’s photos from the folder. “Does this man look familiar to you Mr McAndrew? Did you ever see him with Dominic?”

  “Is that your killer? Caught him on camera, did you? That’s lucky.” I nodded, and he took the pictures off me to look through. “Or not so lucky. You didn’t get his face. Well I can tell you that’s not the supplier I took Dominic to see. My man was a scrawny wee fella. I may have seen this guy hanging around a few times though. It’s hard to be sure.”

  “Could you say where, or when?”

  “The Sally Army on Tomnahurich Street, back in November. Outside on the corner, smoking a fag. It might not have been him, mind. Same jacket, same height, but there’s plenty of folk around here that you could say the same of.”

  “And you saw him there more than once?”

  “Aye, two maybe three times. Huh.” He blinked, frowning. “Now I think on it, I only saw him on days Dominic tagged along with me, never when I went there without him.”

  “And you never saw him near your supplier?”

  He shook his head. So that pill in the killer’s jacket had probably been taken from Dominic. That was a pity. I’d been hoping he was the dealer, not just a random, unknown stalker.

  “Mr McAndrew, can you remember anything at all about the face of the man you saw?”

  “Let me think on it.” He closed his eyes, and we waited as he tried to recall what he’d seen three months earlier. “Pale eyes, grey or blue grey. You know how sometimes grey looks blue in sunlight? They were a lot lighter than yours, Inspector, and smaller too. He wouldn’t turn any heads. Neither handsome nor ugly, no remarkable features. Short straight brow
n hair… Wait, there was one thing. Whenever he lifted his cig to his mouth, you could see a big white patch on the back of his right hand, like an old, deep burn scar, very smooth and shiny, maybe two inches long.”

  “Round?”

  “No, more like a triangle, like the tip of a pointy old iron.” It may well have been made by just such an appliance. “The jacket cuff was badly frayed too and missing its cuff strap.”

  Caitlin pulled her phone out and started running through Shay’s photographs to see if our jacket sleeve was in the same condition. As my cousin had created subfolders for each item he’d photographed, it didn’t take her long. She held up her phone for me to see. The cuff strap on the right sleeve was missing, only a rectangle of velcro left behind to show that there had been one, and yes, the cuff was frayed. I gestured for her to show it to Eric and he nodded.

  “So you got the jacket too?”

  “We did. He left it behind. Do you think you could help our sketch artist to draw a resemblance of his face?”

  He shrugged. “I could try, but it might be more hindrance than help to you if I remember him wrong.”

  “We’re willing to take that chance, Sir.” Former addict or not, this man had a talent for recalling details from memory that was far above average. “When would you be able to come in for that? We’ll provide a car to take you there and bring you home again.”

  “This afternoon? Three o’clock?” he suggested.

  “Let me just make a call to see if they’ll be available.” Our preferred composite artist here in Inverness was very good, and I knew he’d give my case priority, even if he had another booking. He’d cancelled prior appointments for us before. Douglas Fisher was a freelance artist with an MSc in Forensic Art and Facial Imaging, as well as a remarkable talent for drawing faces. What I didn’t know, offhand, was whether he was away on holiday. He wasn’t and yes, he could be at our offices at ten past three.

  That arranged, we thanked Eric McAndrew again and took our leave of him.

  “Well, Old Eric was certainly a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to be so coherent, or so amenable. He must have been back on the wagon for a while. Do you want to call in at the Sally Army now or wait until we have the sketch?” Caitlin asked as we climbed back into the car. I looked at the time on my phone. It was only a little after eleven.

  “Let’s call in there now. We can send them the sketch over later, but I’d like to see if anyone remembers our man from that burn scar. There’s a good chance the staff there would remember something like that if he ever went in.”

  “Alright, Tomnahurich Street it is.” She waited for me to buckle my seat belt, and I dialled Captain Thorne’s number as she pulled out. Allowing the lady the courtesy of a few minutes notice was better than turning up unannounced.

  Twenty

  Our little visit to the Salvation Army community centre didn’t take long and was not productive. If our man had ever set foot inside the place, none of the staff or visitors who were there that Thursday morning recalled seeing him. I left a copy of the best of our pictures with Captain Thorne, and she promised to make sure everyone who went in there was shown it. She’d do the same with the sketch too once we sent it over.

  Douglas made an excellent job of that composite. He sat with Eric McAndrew in the break room for well over an hour, and I made sure we had a good selection of sandwiches and cakes put out to keep the old man happy. Caitlin and I had stopped in at the supermarket to pick those up on our way back from Tomnahurich Street. Caitlin would make sure they were both well supplied with hot drinks too.

  Eric seemed fascinated by the whole process. Douglas began, as always, with his computer blanks, getting Eric to pick out the closest face shape from the selection he had on file. The colour of the eyes was next, then their size and shape. Eyebrows, nose, mouth, ears, hair. A virtual Mr Potato Head with plenty of options to choose from. Once they’d got as close as they could with that, Douglas got his sketchbook out and they started working on the little details that didn’t quite match Eric McAndrew’s memory. I didn’t sit in to watch Fisher work, but I had seen the process before.

  “It’s remarkable,” Eric said, staring at the completed sketch after Caitlin came to tell me they were done and I went out to see the finished drawing. “I didn’t know you could get coloured pencils in so many shades or blend them like that either.”

  “Does it match what you remember he looked like?”

  “Aye, uncannily so, in every detail.”

  The completed composite was similar to the face they’d put together on the screen, but the man that Douglas had drawn by hand bore far more resemblance to a real person. His finished pencil sketches always ended up looking more like photographs than hand drawn images. The chin was a little wider, the cheeks a little less fleshed out. Thinner lips, extraordinarily realistic eyes… The detailing was incredible. There was also a little mole, just above the jawline on the left side of the face. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties but could have been a little older, or younger. You couldn’t always tell.

  “The closer it got to what I remembered seeing, the more detail I could remember. I could almost smell the cigarette smoke as we were doing it.” All I could smell in there at the moment was the fixative spray Douglas had used to make sure nothing accidentally smudged his work.

  As Eric had told us at his flat that morning, it was an unremarkable face, but the intensity of that pale grey gaze staring up at me from the paper was both unusual and a little disturbing.

  “We’re very grateful for your help, Mr McAndrew,” I told him as Douglas Fisher carefully peeled off the sheet and turned it over for Eric to sign the back, confirming that our witness found the drawing to be an accurate depiction of the man he had seen.

  “If it helps you catch the fella, then I’m happy to oblige, Inspector. I didn’t know Dominic for long, but he was good to me. He even helped me with the Housing Association, bought me some groceries, little things like that. I reckon I owe him. As for the man his murderer killed yesterday, well, that’s a crying shame, three poor weans losing their daddy like that. I hope you find the crazy bastard before he harms anyone else.”

  “We’ll certainly do our best, you may be sure of that.” Once Eric had his coat back on and was ready to leave, I shook his hand warmly before Caitlin showed him out. The uniformed boys would see him safely home again.

  “Cracking job again, Doug.” Our artist was packing his drawing tools away. “Thanks for coming in on such short notice. I hope you didn’t have to cancel a profitable sitting for us.”

  I liked Douglas Fisher and my admiration for the quality of his work was unfeigned. Douglas made a decent living with his portrait commissions and the composites he drew for us probably didn’t make any significant impact on his income. A murder suspect was a step up from the usual crop of assailants and thieves we brought him in on too. I suppose the chance to contribute towards getting someone like that off the streets was why he did this work.

  “Not at all, Conall, I just rescheduled a client. Another bloody ‘owner and dog’ portrait. I’m getting really sick of those.” He handed me the composite.

  “A shameful waste of your training and talent,” I agreed, “but I’m sure you make a lot of people very happy with those. Send your invoice over and I’ll see it gets settled straight away.”

  “You can count on it.” He finished packing up his things and slung his laptop bag on his shoulder before picking up his smaller art case. “Impressive memory for detail, that one. I wish all your witnesses were that sure of what they’d seen.”

  “You and me both!”

  Once he’d gone, I went back to my office to run the sketch through the scanner before filing the original safely away. After adding the digitised copy to the case file, I emailed it to McKinnon and to Shay too. He buzzed me a minute later.

  “Think this is accurate?” he asked.

  “I’d say there’s a very good chance that it is. As I told you i
n my earlier email, Eric was right about that cuff strap, and his memory seemed unusually clear.”

  “You mean he has a decent data retrieval system.” Idiosyncratic corrections like that, from my cousin, seemed to be an automatic reflex with him. “Well, accurate or not, the bad news is that a biometric search might not be as helpful as we’d like. I’d have to allow too much leeway on all the measurements to hope for only a handful of possible matches. I suppose McKinnon will want to go public with the composite?”

  “Definitely.”

  “No chance he’d be willing to send it out to every shop in the area as a first step, before going to the media and the press with it?”

  “I doubt it. Time is of the essence here, Shay. If anyone out there has had a good enough look at our suspect to recognise him, the sooner we know the when and where of it the better.” His unhappy little noise in reply to that told me he was feeling even more opposed to the idea of putting that sketch out there than he’d been with the stills yesterday. “You’re worried it might provoke a reaction from our suspect that we won’t like?”

  “Aren’t you? We can’t predict what he might do but judging by historical cases, the chances of it throwing him off his pattern are high.” Which might result in him striking again far sooner than four weeks from now, at the next full moon. Shay wasn’t done yet though. “If he’s living alone, reclusively, even his nearest neighbours may never have taken a good look at him. You think he has friends or relatives here? I don’t. I think the shops are our best bet, anyway.”

  “I’ll advise McKinnon of your concerns, but I think he’ll go ahead and release it, anyway. Right now, it really is our best chance of finding our man.” My cousin didn’t choose to deny it, he just waited to hear whatever I was going to ask next. “What are the odds on you managing to locate a medical record for treatment of that burn on his hand?”