Blood Torment

by T F Muir

  ‘If you could answer a few questions,’ Gilchrist said, ‘it could help us have a better understanding of what might have happened. I’m sure we won’t keep you long.’

  ‘I’m sure of that, too,’ she replied.

  ‘Tea? Coffee?’ Rutherford said, just to keep the irritation level high.

  ‘We’re fine, thank you.’ Gilchrist returned his attention to Mrs Davis. ‘We’re sorry to hear about Katie’s disappearance, but I can assure you that we’ll use every resource available to us in the search for her—’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect anything less.’

  ‘You spoke to your daughter, Andrea, on the phone last night—’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  Gilchrist pushed beyond the snap in her tone, and said, ‘How did she sound?’

  ‘She sounded fine. Just said she was tired.’ She snorted. ‘Tired doing nothing all day long, if you ask me. I told her just to take a pill and go to bed.’

  ‘What kind of pill?’

  ‘Sleeping pill, of course. What other pill would you expect her to take?’

  ‘And did she take a sleeping pill and go to bed?’

  ‘How would I know whether or not she did, for goodness’ sake?’

  ‘Well, did she say she would take one then go to bed?’

  ‘Why? What difference does it make?’

  ‘If she took a sleeping pill, it might explain why she never heard anyone break into her house and remove her daughter.’

  Jessie nudged in with, ‘And I’d like to ask her why she never mentioned anything about sleeping pills when we spoke to her this morning.’

  ‘What exactly are you implying by that remark, young lady?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant—’

  ‘So we’ll put that down as a No,’ Gilchrist said.

  ‘What down as a No?’

  ‘That you don’t know whether or not Andrea took a sleeping pill as you suggested, before she went to bed.’

  ‘Mmhh.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw Katie?’ Gilchrist said.

  ‘A month ago. No. Three weeks last Wednesday. It was my birthday. Sandy and I drove down for the day.’

  ‘To see Andrea?’

  ‘And Katie.’

  ‘Of course,’ Gilchrist said. ‘And how did she seem?’

  ‘How did who seem? Katie or Andrea?’

  ‘Andrea,’ Gilchrist said, becoming wary of the speed of her mind and tongue.

  ‘Barely gave us the time of day, but Katie was wonderful.’

  Even then, her face failed to break into a smile, as if she were saying one thing and thinking another. ‘And why would Andrea barely give you the time of day?’ Gilchrist asked, and noted her gaze flicker at Rutherford.

  ‘She’s never approved of my relationship with Sandy.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jessie again.

  ‘That’s none of your bloody business,’ she snapped.

  Gilchrist thought it odd the way her gaze darted left and right, as if she was wary of showing some hidden inner emotion. ‘Would it be fair to say that Andrea is unhappy that you and her father divorced?’ he tried.

  Her gaze settled on something on the floor. ‘That might explain it. But who knows?’

  He tried to pull his questioning back on track with, ‘Can you think of any reason why anyone would remove Katie from her home?’

  ‘Isn’t that your job?’ Her eyes were back on his, dancing with anger.

  ‘We don’t have all the answers,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Not yet. But it always helps if we know of any arguments, threats, anything of that nature; or if Andrea fell out with anyone, owed money to anyone – anything at all.’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  Well, that was a quick response that seemed to cover all events with negativity. He turned to Rutherford. ‘How about you, Sandy? Can you think of any reason why someone might take Katie away from her mother?’

  Rutherford’s forehead creased, his lips twisted, as if he’d been asked to calculate the square root of the nineteenth prime number. Then his face cleared, and he shook his head, and said, ‘Sorry.’ He might be physically fit, but he was bugger-all good at quick thinking.

  Gilchrist studied Rutherford for a few more seconds before turning to face Mrs Davis again. ‘How about money?’ he asked her.

  She frowned. ‘What about money?’

  ‘Could someone have kidnapped Katie and be holding her for a ransom?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be answering that question? Have you received any demands?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Jessie said, which received another fierce look.

  Again, Gilchrist diverted the hissy-fit with, ‘Does Andrea have any money worries that you’re aware of?’

  ‘She shouldn’t have. Her father spoils her. Her biological father, that is.’

  Another glance at Rutherford, who lowered his head as if in shame, although it was not clear to Gilchrist what shame he felt. At not being a biological father to Andrea? Or not spoiling her with money despite living in obvious wealth?

  ‘Do you keep in contact with Andrea’s father?’ he asked Mrs Davis.

  ‘Good Lord, no. The man’s a liability. And I have Sandy now.’

  She almost smiled, which had Sandy raising his eyes from the floor in response.

  Gilchrist continued with his questions, pushing here, prodding there, but learning not much more other than the fact that neither of them knew who had fathered Katie.

  ‘Probably from a sperm bank,’ was the first comment Rutherford freely offered.

  Mrs Davis glared at him, and he shrunk back into his cardigan shell.

  ‘Why Katarina?’ Gilchrist asked. ‘Why not Catriona, or Katherine?’

  Rutherford shrugged in silence.

  ‘What’s wrong with Katarina?’ Mrs Davis asked.

  ‘Anyone in the immediate family with that name?’

  ‘No. But with the names mothers give their children now, we should be happy she’s not named after some tropical fruit or God knows what.’

  Gilchrist caught Jessie’s eyes, and nodded to her, but she shook her head.

  ‘Looks like we’ve finished for the time being,’ he said, and slid a business card on to a corner table. ‘Give me a call if you think of anything that might help us.’ Rutherford pulled himself to his feet, and Gilchrist said, ‘We’ll see ourselves out.’

  But Rutherford followed them to the front door, even walked them to his car, as if to make sure they touched nothing on the way.

  Gilchrist beeped his remote fob and was about to slide in behind the steering wheel, when he nodded to the Bentley. ‘Must be nice to drive. Especially with the top down.’

  Rutherford surprised him by saying, ‘Wouldn’t know. That’s Vera’s. I’m not allowed behind the wheel.’

  Jessie said, ‘Possessive, is she?’

  Rutherford cracked a smile, gave a nervous glance over his shoulder. ‘You don’t know the half of it. I think that’s what finished her and Dougal in the end—’

  ‘Nothing to do with his being a wife-abuser?’ snapped Jessie.

  ‘Vera can hold her own. Rest assured. Just like Rachel.’

  ‘Who’s Rachel?’

  Rutherford’s face creased, as if regretting having let a name slip. ‘Andrea’s sister,’ he said.

  Gilchrist jerked a look at him. ‘No one mentioned she had a sister.’

  ‘That’s because she’s banned from the family sine die, for hitting her father, Dougal.’

  ‘Any other siblings?’ Gilchrist asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have a contact number for Rachel?’

  Rutherford shook his head.

  ‘You know where she works?’

  A pause, then, ‘Lloyd’s.’

  ‘Lloyd’s where?’ Gilchrist asked, intrigued and irritated in equal measure by the man’s apparent reluctance to impart information.

  ‘London,’ Rutherford said.

  ‘Is she still Rachel Davis?’ Jessie
asked. ‘Not married, is she?’

  Rutherford said, ‘Rachel Novo. She’s up there. A director of something. Just ask.’

  And with that, he retraced his steps, head down, as if anticipating being chastised for having given away one too many family secrets.

  CHAPTER 7

  On the return drive to St Andrews, Jessie confirmed that a Rachel Novo worked with Lloyd’s Insurance Group in their London office, as Director of Investments Strategy, and had just returned from a four-day business trip to Beijing, China. She had the conversation on speaker in Gilchrist’s car, and said, ‘Can you put me through to her?’

  ‘She’s in a meeting.’

  ‘I’m sure she is, but would you mind interrupting her?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to do that.’

  ‘Tell her it’s urgent, and that she needs to call one of these numbers before midday.’ She rattled off her own and Gilchrist’s number, then ended the call. ‘What the hell is it with these people? They’re always in meetings.’

  Gilchrist smiled. ‘Meetings are for people who justify their own sense of importance by organising others to come and listen to what they have to say. Did you know that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The world according to Jack.’

  ‘Jack who?’

  ‘My son.’

  ‘Oh, that Jack. How is he?’

  ‘Fine, I think.’ He tried to shift the topic by saying, ‘How’s Robert?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘How’s Robert?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Gilchrist glanced at her, then chuckled at her joke. Her teenage son, Robert, was stone deaf, and Jessie was a loving and devoted mother who fiercely protected him from her own dysfunctional and criminal family. Robert wanted to be a stand-up comedian once he had a cochlear implant, but in the meantime worked on his comedic skills by writing jokes and humorous stories.

  ‘Is he still writing?’ he asked.

  ‘Can’t stop him.’

  ‘What’s he working on at the moment?’

  ‘Some short story about two postmen. One’s got a wooden leg, and wants to take up ice-skating, and the other’s got one arm, and fancies himself as a snooker player.’ She shook her head and chuckled. ‘I read a bit of it last night, and it cracked me up. And he’s written a couple of jokes about a deaf salesman.’

  ‘Let’s have them, then.’

  ‘No, I’ll spoil them for him. He’s superstitious that way.’

  Gilchrist knew not to push. He called the Office and got through to Baxter. ‘Did you release Bell from custody?’ he asked.

  ‘We did, sir.’

  ‘Did he sign the undertaking to appear in court?’

  ‘He did, sir, yes, and a DI MacIntosh handed in an envelope marked . . . ’ A cough, then, ‘For your attention, sir.’

  That would be Tosh’s reports and statements, handed in before midday. Maybe Tosh was reforming. On the other hand, maybe the Pope was a Protestant. ‘Anything back from the Computer Crime Unit yet?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Get on to them right now,’ he snapped. ‘We need something that connects Bell to the kidnapping. Otherwise we’ve got diddly.’ He killed the call. ‘Jesus,’ he hissed, ‘we can send messages around the world in nanoseconds, but it takes days to download a hard drive.’

  ‘That’s because there’ll be passwords and stuff,’ Jessie said.

  ‘Is that it?’ he said. ‘The extent of your IT terminology? Stuff?’

  ‘You’re getting right nippy in your old age. Fancy something to eat? I’m starving.’

  ‘Hungry.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You’re hungry. People dying in famines are starving,’ he said as his phone rang. He made the connection with, ‘Gilchrist.’

  ‘I’ve just been given an urgent message to call back on one of two numbers.’

  The woman’s voice was English, not upper-class Scottish as he’d expected, which threw him for a second. But he recovered, and said, ‘Rachel Novo?’

  ‘This is she.’

  He thanked her for calling back, introduced himself, then Jessie, adding, ‘I have you on speaker-phone, and we would—’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Novo said. ‘Has something happened?’

  Gilchrist glanced at Jessie. ‘Have you not heard from anyone in your family?’

  ‘My family and I no longer speak.’

  ‘So you haven’t heard that your niece was removed from your sister Andrea’s house in St Andrews this morning?’

  ‘No. I haven’t.’

  Gilchrist waited, but that seemed to be the end of it. If he thought the matriarch of the family was ice-grannie, he was speaking with fifty-below-Novo.

  ‘Is this why you asked me to call back?’ she said.

  Jessie gasped. ‘Before you hang up from utter boredom,’ she said, ‘we’d like to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like why your niece’s disappearance is of no concern to you.’

  ‘I told you, I no longer communicate with my family.’

  ‘So you never knew you were an aunt?’

  ‘Of course I knew. That’s a bloody stupid question.’

  ‘I thought you no longer communicated with your family.’

  ‘I was informed by a family friend, whose name eludes me at the moment.’

  ‘When you remember who it was, give me a call, will you?’

  Gilchrist took over with, ‘Although you’ve not been in touch with your family for a while, would you have any ideas at all as to who might have taken Katie?’

  ‘My father,’ she said. ‘Dougal Davis. He’s made many enemies over the years, and is a ruthless man who tolerates nothing and no one. I wouldn’t put it past him. I suggest you focus your investigation on him.’

  ‘I thought he’d also distanced himself from his family,’ Jessie chipped in.

  ‘It’s not about love with that man,’ Novo said. ‘It’s about possession. His family is something he possesses. And anyone who dares to take one of his possessions from him will face his wrath head on.’

  ‘Sounds like a lunatic.’ Jessie again.

  ‘He’s been called much worse, I can assure you.’

  The logic of Dougal Davis having kidnapped his own granddaughter, then put out a TV appeal for her safe return, did not compute with Gilchrist. Novo was likely just putting his name forward for personal revenge. So he said, ‘I’ve one question. Unrelated to Katie’s disappearance. Why did you fall out with your family?’

  ‘I wanted to preserve my sanity,’ she said. ‘Being suffocated by an abusive psycho for a father is detrimental to your mental health. So I hurt him where it hurts the most. I removed one of his possessions from his life. Me.’

  Gilchrist caught the vitriol in her tone. ‘You’re saying he abused you?’

  ‘He tried to. Once.’

  When she offered nothing more, he said, ‘What happened?’

  ‘I woke him in the middle of the night with a kitchen knife to his throat, and told him if he ever tried that again I would slit his throat when he was asleep.’

  Well, that would take the heat out of most men’s loins, he supposed.

  ‘When did this happen?’ he asked.

  ‘When I was twelve.’

  Gilchrist frowned at the speaker. ‘Where was your mother when this was going on?’

  ‘She denied all knowledge,’ she said. ‘But she knew. She always knew.’

  Gilchrist accelerated through the mini-roundabout and powered up North Street. He thanked Novo for her time, and asked her to call again if she thought of anything new.

  When he ended the call, Jessie said, ‘What d’you make of that?’

  ‘I think we need to talk to this Dougal Davis, see if he can shed light on who hates him so much that they might kidnap his granddaughter. And do some digging into his personal life. He’s been divorced a couple of times. Find out why.’

  ‘I used to think my family was fucked up,’ Je
ssie said, ‘but we’re learners compared to this lot.’

  Gilchrist could only nod, his mind dredging up memories of his own familial failings. Too many hours spent on the case of the week, not enough time with his children, or his wife for that matter, his family forced to take a back seat while he concentrated on his career. And look where that had got him. Stuck at DCI with no hope of promotion – until he retired, or was forced to resign.

  He reached the Office and found a parking spot near the back wall.

  Jessie got out and stretched. ‘Seeing as how I’m so hungry, I’m going to spoil myself and have fish and chips in The Central. Want me to order a pint for you?’

  ‘Let me pick up some notes first, and I’ll meet you there.’

  He stuck his head into Jackie’s office, but her desk was empty and her crutches were gone, so he assumed she’d popped out for lunch.

  He found Tosh’s envelope lying on the middle of his desk. He picked it up and read the handwritten address in big black letters – FAO: DCI Randy Gilchrist – and tutted. The envelope felt too light. He ripped it open, and removed a CD with a Post-it stuck to it with a series of numbers that started with a zero – a mobile phone number.

  He checked the depths of the envelope, but no notes, only the CD.

  He sat at his computer and fired it up, trying to salve his feelings with the rationale that Tosh had been the Incident Officer for no more than several hours. Even if he’d handed over all he had, there could not have been much.

  He opened the CD drive, placed the CD into it, then frowned as he realised it was a video recording. When the video came up, he clicked the Play arrow, turned up the volume, and maximised the screen.

  The time bar along the bottom of the screen told him the video was 3:35 long, and he eyed the monitor as the sounds of breathing and rattling came from the speakers.

  Then an image appeared, out-of-focus browns and greys that shifted to dull greens. Voices mumbled in the background, like the busy hubbub from an evening at the bar – people hustling, coughing; feet crunching, scratching; engines revving, rattling. The camera jerked and shifted, the horizon rocking for a moment, disappearing, then returning to steady itself into the shape of a stone house that zoomed in, then out again, as if the cameraman was trying to familiarise himself with the controls. He caught his breath as the camera swung along the boundary wall and focused on the nearest car, a dark green Land Rover, then shifted to two people standing at the side of one of the barns.