A Deviant Breed (DCI Alec Dunbar series)

by Stephen Coill

  Somewhere documents would exist that could verify old Sister Kerr’s claims. Yet another line of enquiry. What became of Mary-Mo – victim turned avenging angel? The very idea made his blood run cold. Or was she the catalyst that provoked someone else to seek out and kill these men? Who was the father of her second child? And what became of the child? Was she the woman seen arguing with a man outside Walter Farish’s place? And was the man with her Dr Vasquez? What kind of car did Vasquez own? Dunbar could have kicked himself for not looking the day he turned up for that interview. Could Sebastian Vasquez be the child she conceived to Murray or Ferguson at Heathlands? A charity associated with the Church of Scotland handled the adoption; did Ferguson initiate that through his contacts?

  ‘I wonder if Vasquez gave a sample of his DNA to Holmquist for her database?’ he suddenly said, his mind racing. Which was more than could be said for the city traffic. Tyler’s eyes lit up. That was one way of circumventing the bureaucratic and legal obstacles. A stroke of genius, compare his DNA with that of Archie English’s.

  ‘I’ll give her a bell as soon as we get back into the office, sir,’ she replied.

  ‘Do you think she’d do it?’

  ‘We can only ask – if it’s positive though, it won’t be admissible,’ she warned, but of course, he knew that.

  ‘No, but pressing him about it might get under his skin,’ he replied, with a grin. ‘Meanwhile, let’s trace this Dr Ferguson and Mary-Mo English. We need more than we’ve got before we can pull Vasquez in again.’

  20

  How to close the book on this case? All he had was theories and a few tantalizing facts. Tyler said the incident tree was starting to look like a spider’s web, and the irony of her analogy didn’t escape him. Was it whilst working at Heathlands that Wilson Farish found out about a vulnerable little boy in Bentock called Archie English? They had identified four possible sources: as a member of staff Farish would have had access to patient records; alternatively, he might just as well have been told by Dr Ferguson or Kenneth Murray, or even by the boy’s mother. If it was Mary-Mo who told Farish about her son and who the father was, it would explain the hold Farish obviously exercised over Fraser English, whilst he subjected Archie to years of sexual abuse.

  What was apparent was that Mary-Mo was sectioned to prevent her father and, by the sound of it, her GP being exposed as her abusers. If Doctor Ferguson was complicit in her unnecessary confinement, it suggested he too was aware of the history of abuse, and was therefore suspect himself. If Ferguson was not involved, he had displayed a reckless disregard of the process and protocols put in place to prevent such abuses of the system. Dunbar favoured the first theory. It would help explain Ferguson’s relationship with the odious and now headless Kenneth Edward Murray, and the leniency with which he had treated Murray’s criminal behaviour.

  Heathlands had been closed down around about the same time Fraser English’s skull was stolen from his grave and reburied at Braur Glen. Could that be the work of his daughter? Was she released? Had she tracked down her second child and was that child Sebastian Vasquez? If she had done, why only that child? Why seek out one child born of systematic abuse and not the other? Hopefully, he would have a clearer picture if – or when Allyson Holmquist cooperated and then only if Vasquez’s DNA was in the database. She had been in the middle of a lecture when Tyler phoned the university, but the wait was to prove unexpectedly productive.

  Dunbar decided to use that time to conduct his own review of the case and began a laborious chronological sift through all the collated statements, evidence and notes, only to have a minor but significant detail leap off a page at him from one of the roadblock officers’ logs. PC Claire Johnstone, who had manned the checkpoint at Carfraemill, had noted down the number of a silver Volvo V40 estate, heading north and driven by a Doctor Sebastian Vasquez, at 08:38hrs. He had even produced his Edinburgh University ID. Not in itself unusual, one or two of the volunteers who were assisting at Professor Geary’s site were stopped and checked, including Dunbar’s daughter travelling with Andrew Lound. Was that the one she called Plug or was it Shaggy? He couldn’t remember, but what did stand out was – they were all heading south towards Braur Glen – not away from it. What was Vasquez doing there at that time of day? And why was he heading north?

  ‘Neil!’ Dunbar barked.

  Conroy recognised the tone of his voice, and so had Tyler. The detective sergeant sheepishly got up from his seat and walked through into Dunbar’s office. Tyler kept a discreet eye on proceedings from behind her computer monitor.

  ‘I thought you’d gone through these checkpoint logs?’

  ‘Aye, I did, sir – twice,’ Conroy replied cautiously.

  Dunbar spun the offending A4 sheet and stabbed at it with his index finger. ‘And that didnae strike you as odd?’

  Conroy scowled and studied the document. ‘What, boss?’

  Dunbar gasped and stabbed at it again. ‘Vasquez’s car was stopped at Carfraemill –

  at 08:38 hours,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Aye – annnd –?’

  ‘Heading north, mon!’ he snapped. ‘North!’ he repeated in exasperation. ‘Why was he coming away from Braur Glen at that time o’ day? He’d have to have been up there pretty bloody early to be on his way back to Edinburgh by then, wouldn’t ye say?’

  ‘Maybe he gave one o’ the students a lift,’ Conroy offered, clutching at straws.

  ‘On the morning Wilson Farish’s feckin’ head was found mounted on a spit? You know my philosophy on crime and coincidence, Neil.’

  ‘Crimes rarely happen by coincidence. Coincidence usually means somebody’s cocked up,’ Conroy recited verbatim, having had it drummed into him since the day he first started on CID when Dunbar was then his sergeant but he had not quite completed the mantra. Dunbar met his gaze and waited. With a sigh Conroy added, ‘Either the offender – or us.’ His expression morphed from that of puzzled innocence to guilty horror. ‘Sir, I –’

  ‘Jesus, Neil – he even drives a V40 estate – which I am willing to bet, if you PNC, will prove similar in colour to the vehicle Sarah Dodds saw outside Wilson Farish’s the night o’ the fire.’

  ‘It never – I – a few o’ the Professor’s crew cropped up on them, even your wee lass but – I just –’

  ‘Didn’t think?’ he cut in angrily. ‘I cannae have anyone switching off on a job like this, not for one minute, Neil. Let alone my office manager. Christ mon! This might be the chink in his armour, the wrong move that puts the bugger behind bars.’ Conroy went limp as if gravity was dragging him down into that hole that he hoped would open up and receive him, and worse, he knew that any response he offered would be inadequate. ‘Get out! – and I suggest you go through every bloody thing you’ve had your hands on since this friggin’ enquiry started.’ That was a bit harsh, but Dunbar was seriously disappointed.

  Conroy passed Tyler on his way out of Dunbar’s office but could not make eye contact. She stepped in as soon as he had gone, and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘Aye!’ still bristling. She eyed him, waiting for him to expand on his answer which he duly did. ‘He failed to pick up on a critical detail that should have rung alarm bells, but instead got filed. Vasquez was in the vicinity the morning Farish’s head appeared in the old sheep pen.’ Dunbar slid the officer’s checkpoint log across his desk.

  ‘What!?’ Tyler scooped it up and stared at it in disbelief. ‘Why would he be heading back to Edinburgh at that time of the morning?’

  ‘Beheading?’ he repeated.

  ‘That’s what I said.’ She hesitated. ‘Oh, very funny but – good grief!’ She looked over her shoulder then back at him. ‘Poor Neil – he looks proper dejected.’

  ‘So he should. To err is human, Briony, and I can forgive mistakes or the occasional slip o’ the mind, hell, I’ve done it myself – we all do. But what I won’t tolerate is complacency or lazy police work. Never ignore, dismiss or assume anything
until the evidence renders it void.’

  ‘To be fair he wasn’t on the radar then and –’ she began.

  ‘Neither was anyone else bar obsessive Archie!’ he snapped. ‘He switched off – he dismissed a vital clue out of familiarity with the name and its relationship to the crime scene. The road to Braur Glen – Dr Vasquez – yep, that computes – until you note the direction of travel, the time o’ day – annnnd, the description of his bloody car!’

  ‘In his defence, he’s put some long and punishing hours in, sir,’ she offered in Conroy’s defence. So had everyone else, Dunbar thought, but what she said was true. Neil Conroy was often as not the next to last to leave at the end of every day, Dunbar himself being the only one that ever lingered around the murder room longer.

  ‘I’ve been looking online at the list of the Church of Scotland General Trustees,’ she then said, changing the subject out of sympathy for a DS she had come to admire, as much as highlighting another telling detail that might advance their enquiry.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Doctor Thomas R. Ferguson isn’t the only familiar name on that list – Sebastian A. Vasquez is on there as well.’

  ‘How can he not be a Catholic with a name like that?’ Dunbar asked half in jest and half genuine surprise.

  ‘His mum’s Presbyterian. Vasquez is on two committees and being a historian, he lends his expertise, in a consultancy capacity, to the church archivists.’

  ‘And discovered his origins without even meaning to maybe.’

  ‘It crossed my mind. And maybe he came across some other unsavoury details that motivated him to dig a little deeper – no pun intended.’

  ***

  Most irregular, unethical and probably illegal, Professor Holmquist called it. It was perhaps one of those conversations that should have been conducted face-to-face but she had the academic on the end of a phone and so, made her pitch.

  ‘We appreciate the implications, Professor,’ Tyler soothed. ‘All we’re asking is – did Dr Vasquez give a sample of his DNA for your database?’

  ‘What if he did?’

  ‘Has his DNA ever been compared with any of the samples connected with the Braur Glen site?’

  ‘No! His sample was donated quite some time ago – one of thousands I have been collating for a study into human migration.’

  From her tone Tyler assessed her response as guarded. Tread lightly, she thought to herself, as she waited for Holmquist to elaborate, which she did, a moment later.

  ‘Being part Spanish and Scottish on his mother’s side Seb was equally keen to see what sort of journey his chromosomes had made down the ages,’ she explained.

  ‘Without access to your data, allow me to extrapolate. He isn’t part Spanish at all is he?’ Tyler said. Holmquist stayed silent. Tyler read it as stunned silence. ‘We’d be very interested to know how his DNA compared with Archie English’s?’

  ‘Impossible. When Seb got his results he asked for his sample to be destroyed.’

  ‘Impossible physically or ethically?’ Tyler pressed. ‘And a rather strange reaction don’t you think?’ Again Holmquist remained silent. ‘I mean, from a man dedicated to expanding our knowledge of human history.’

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Inspector, but Seb is a rather strange character.’

  ‘Mmm, yes well, how long ago was it that you took his sample?’

  ‘Oh, not long after I’d begun my research. Seb was one of the early volunteers, so it has been a few years – five perhaps.’

  ‘And was it destroyed?’

  ‘Yes! I’m obliged to do so if the donor requests it.’

  Tyler’s heart sank. ‘But I’d bet you still have it on the database, only for your own personal research purposes, of course.’

  Holmquist answered with a question. ‘Why Archie English of all people? That’s –’

  ‘You’ve obviously done enough research to establish that Seb’s origins are not what he expected,’ Tyler cut in. It was one of those intuitive moments cops have. Having avoided giving a direct answer, Holmquist had betrayed the fact that she still had his data on file. ‘I know you cannot discuss those findings with me over the phone but –’

  ‘I cannot discuss it at all, Briony,’ Holmquist interrupted firmly.

  ‘Okay, allow me to take a stab at it then. His origins proved much closer to home on both the X and Y spectrum.’ Again Holmquist remained tight-lipped. ‘Tell you what, how about you compare his DNA to Archie’s – just out of scientific curiosity?’ Tyler pressed.

  ‘Why the interest in Seb’s DNA?’

  ‘I can’t go into details, Allyson. Let’s just say he’s popped up on our radar.’ Another telling silence, but this time she thought she heard the faintest gasp. ‘Take a peek,’ Tyler suggested. ‘We both know you want to. I know I would – and I’ll leave it up to you whether you feel inclined to discuss those findings with me.’ At that Tyler hung up. She looked through the glass screen at Dunbar and shook her head. He got up and walked through.

  ‘She hasn’t done a comparison with the Braur Glen samples, but I think she just might now.’ Dunbar was pleased until she added, ‘However, I doubt she’ll be willing to share that information with us – certainly not without lawful authority.’

  ‘Did she give you anything?’

  ‘Well, it was one of those conversations where it wasn’t so much what she said that was telling, as what she didn’t say. When Vasquez gave his sample, he obviously thought his adoptive parents were his natural parents.’

  Dunbar was stunned. ‘They never told him?’

  She shook her head. ‘But he obviously knows now.’

  ‘Why? Was that part of the deal?’ Dunbar asked himself as much as Tyler. ‘Do you suppose his parents were told never to tell him?’

  She shrugged. ‘I also got the silent treatment when I speculated that his DNA profile placed him much closer to home.’

  ‘She didn’t deny it?’

  ‘On the contrary, she told me that when he found that out he didn’t have Spanish blood, he asked for his sample to be destroyed.’

  ‘Which prompted his search for his true identity – in the church archives?’

  ‘Possibly, but we’re back to speculating, sir. It’s not enough to arrest him.’

  ‘But if we did, we could take DNA samples.’

  ‘Which would only prove that he is Archie English’s half-brother. Do we have any forensics or DNA to connect him to Farish or Murray or any of the crimes scenes?’ she countered.

  Dunbar shook his head and paced with frustration. There was nothing worse than having a solid suspect in your sights, only to lack the evidence to arrest them. The murders were linked to Mary-Mo’s second bastard son, born of rape, he just knew it, but no way could he prove it. Dunbar suddenly stopped, took his phone out of his pocket and tapped at the screen.

  ‘Hiya love, fancy meeting your old dad for lunch?’ He paused. ‘Ach, having a bit of a slow day – yeah? Great! That wee pub in Greenlaw?’ He cringed. ‘Argh’ ye’re’ in Dundee, I thought maybe,’ he checked his watch – his dad’s watch. ‘No, nae problem, I’ll call you back when I get up there.’ He hung up to find Tyler staring at him in disbelief.

  ‘What? Can I no’ meet my daughter for lunch?’

  ‘You’re surely not going to ask Zoe to –?’ he was already heading for the exit. If he was to make it to Dundee for anywhere near lunchtime he would have to get moving. ‘Don’t get done for speeding,’ she called after him.

  He stopped and leaned around the door. ‘Tell Falk to find Vasquez, then get an obs team pulled together. I think we’d better have eyes on the bugger.’

  ***

  Falk reported back that Vasquez’s car was not parked in its allotted space outside his flat and there was no sign of him. Chances were that he was on campus; it was within walking distance and only twenty minutes away by foot or ten on a bike.

  Tyler phoned the university pretending to be a ditzy student who had got confus
ed about Vasquez’s lecture schedule. She got quite a ticking off from the woman on the other end of the phone but had managed to establish his whereabouts. She hung up mid-tirade as the harassed admin clerk explained that she had better things to do than play messenger to students that “couldnae get their idle backsides out of their pits in the morning”. Next task was putting together a competent surveillance team at short notice.

  DC Donald would have to do his best not to draw attention to himself, whilst lurking around the campus where Falk dropped him off. Meanwhile Falk returned to brief the ad-hoc obs team they had scraped together. He could have done with someone less imposing than a human-juggernaut like DC Iain Donald as acting spotter but sometimes you just have to go with what you’ve got. He struck lucky with two eager young probationers; one, a spotty boy, whose tutor constable was tied up at court and the other, a female officer, on her CID attachment. Her supervising detective sergeant was only too happy to palm ‘his proby’ off on them for the day. He had run out of things she could do unsupervised, which her level of competence allowed.

  Having rushed back to his digs to get out of uniform and quickly into mufti, the other eager young probationer returned looking every inch the student, and way too young to be keeping obs on a potential serial-killer. DCs Reece and Donald and two Task Force officers (TF) completed the team with Falk orchestrating the operation as a roving seventh pair of eyes. Three cars, one pushbike and seven bodies should be enough to keep tabs on Vasquez without him realising he was being watched. He was not likely to be surveillance conscious, and it was decided that the two inexperienced probationers, who looked by far the most convincing of the team to be wandering about a university campus, would be deployed as spotters only.