by Tony Black
‘You fucking stupid bitch!’ he said. ‘Couldn’t leave well alone, could you?’
He stood over her, watching the motionless body she had once inhabited. He ran an open hand through his hair, gripped the crown and turned his face into the crook of his elbow. ‘You had to fucking ruin it… Just had to.’
Henderson felt his heart pounding inside his chest; he removed his hand from his head and touched his bloodied shirt front. He walked towards the sink and started to run the tap. He removed his shirt, tearing the buttons off as he did so, and then dropped it on the floor beside Angela. The slash across his chest was a clean cut, deep enough to cause blood loss but he knew it wasn’t so serious as to require hospital attention. He soaked a towel and dabbed with it; the raw tenderness of the wound caused him to wince but he continued to swab the wound and then held the towel in place with his hand for a moment to allow the blood to coagulate. As he looked down at Angela’s twisted body he knew what he had to do next. He reached down to the floor and retrieved the kitchen knife she had attacked him with and held it in his hand.
‘You fucking asked for it, Ange… You know that.’ Henderson eyed the cold steel of the blade then pressed the knife’s point in the counter to test its strength. As he did so, he caught Angela’s wide-eyed stare and ran over to close her eyelids. ‘You can fucking-well pack that in as well,’ he said.
As he stepped back, looked at the woman he had killed lying on the floor, he started to laugh. ‘Aye well, we might just get what we want out that beast bastard yet, Ange.’ He removed the towel from his chest, blood was still weeping from the wound but only enough to line the skin’s open fold. He reached down to grab Angela’s wrist. As he dragged her from the kitchen he tucked the knife’s blade into the back of his belt; he was surprised how heavy her lifeless body was.
Chapter 40
As DI Rob Brennan walked into the Chief Super’s office he eyed the back of Jim Gallagher’s head with a burning contempt. Brennan had risen early, made a point of getting the first editions of the newspapers and listening to the radio news bulletin in the car on the way to the station. He had known what to expect from the evening news the night before but the sight of DI Gallagher in Benny’s office threw up images of his worst nightmare coming true.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Brennan.
‘Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, shall we?’ said the Chief Super.
Brennan shrugged. ‘If you like.’
‘They do seem wholly inappropriate, wouldn’t you agree?’
Brennan was tempted to add a smart-arse reply of his own, something like his mother saying manners cost nothing, but he let it slide. He was in enough trouble as it stood.
Gallagher shifted in his seat as Brennan drew level with him; there was no acknowledgement between the two men. The Chief Super shook his head and sighed, he raised both hands towards the ceiling in an exasperated salute and returned to his seat. ‘Sit down, Rob,’ he bellowed.
Brennan removed the chair in front of him, opened his coat and sat down. He watched as the Chief Super pressed his fingertips into his temples and massaged; he seemed stressed, even for a man whose natural state was to be stressed.
‘Guess what’s on my mind, Rob?’ said the Chief Super.
‘Sir?’
‘No, go on, indulge me…’
Brennan crossed his legs. ‘Well, if I was to hazard a guess it would be the Sloan case and…’
The Chief Super interrupted, ‘And perhaps the way it’s been portrayed in the press?’
Brennan paused, resumed his calm tone, ‘Well, I was going to say, how it has been linked to the Fiona Gow cold case which,’ he flagged a hand in Gallagher’s direction, ‘he gifted to the press yesterday.’
Gallagher leaned forward, turned to face Brennan. ‘Now, come on.’
‘Come on what, Jim?… Are you disputing that hack had your number from the moment you walked through the door? You should never have been within a mile of that press conference and you know it.’
The Chief Super raised his hands again, glanced upwards again. ‘OK. Look, Rob, it was my idea to put Jim in the press call…’
Brennan tutted.
‘Was that a tut, Inspector?’ said the Chief Super.
‘Sir, it was my press conference, and we wouldn’t be in this bloody mess now if it had been left to me. Just like this is my case and it should be left to me.’
The Chief Super closed his mouth, leaned back in his chair. For a moment he paused before Brennan and Gallagher and then he opened a blue folder on his desk. ‘When it’s left to you, you go wild with overtime and hire profilers from Strathclyde!’
Brennan felt his throat freeze. ‘I needed a profiler and he was the best man for the job.’
‘That’s not my point, Rob…’
‘Well, then I’m missing the point, sir.’
The Chief Super leaned forward; he removed his glasses from his top pocket and put them on his nose. ‘The point is you need to be closely supervised,’ he ran his index finger down a column of figures, ‘… you appointed Lorrimer after I cautioned you about the overtime spending and I don’t know what to expect from you next.’
Gallagher started to tap at the leg of his chair with his foot; Brennan turned away, held himself in check.
‘No comment, Rob?’ said the Chief Super.
Brennan flared, ‘Look, Lorrimer is the best there is, what sort of a state do you think this investigation will be in without the best people on the job? You know we’re in enough shit as it is with the press; if we don’t get results soon we’re going to be in even more… My job is catching criminals, not counting little rows of numbers in ledgers!’
‘Wrong, Rob.’ The Chief Super rose from his chair, pointed at Brennan. ‘Your job is to do whatever I tell you to do. And not the bloody opposite!’
Brennan watched as the Chief Super kept his gaze fixed on him; he felt his mouth dry over and then a line of sweat formed on the back of his neck. He had seen Benny fire up before but never in front of anyone else; it should be a private affair — carpetings were something personal. This was new territory and it confused Brennan. If Benny had wanted to take the case from him, he would have done that by now; he sensed a shift. It could have been the fact that Brennan was now firmly fixed in the media’s glare — he was leading the investigation — if he was suddenly stripped of command, that would make the force seem in turmoil. Moreover, Benny’s favourite son — Gallagher — had been identified as the investigating officer from a similar unsolved case; Benny couldn’t put Gallagher at the head of the team without attracting even more criticism. It was a stalemate. Brennan knew what that meant: the investigation might be his now but only in name; Benny would be calling the shots and that wouldn’t ease up after the case was closed. Benny had been disgraced and he wanted Brennan to pay for that. The fact Gallagher had been shown up too was not to be ignored; circumstances had conspired to keep the investigating officer’s role from him, but Gallagher would still need someone to blame, and Brennan knew who that would be.
The DI wiped the palms of his hands on his trouser legs as he prepared to reply to the Chief Super; there was a moment of dead calm in the room where even breathing seemed to have ceased and then, as he was about to speak, the phone on the Chief Super’s desk started to ring.
‘Yes, Hill…’ his tone was firm, then suddenly changed, ‘What? And the locus?’
Brennan caught Gallagher’s eyes taking him in; they both looked away.
The Chief Super continued, ‘And where are you now?… Right, do not make a three-ring circus out of this, I do not want the press alerted!’
As the Chief Super returned the receiver to its cradle he seemed to have lost several shades of colour. He looked gloomily towards Brennan and spoke, ‘We have another one.’
Brennan lunged forward in his seat, ‘What did you say?’
‘It’s another murder… Same as the others.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Gallagher. ‘Whe
re about, same locale?’
The Chief Super nodded, ‘Within a mile’s radius… McGuire is on his way out there, and the SOCO squad.’
Brennan rose, ‘Right. I better get on this.’ He turned for the door.
‘Rob, take Jim with you…’
Brennan halted mid-stride, ‘Would you like me to carry him?’
‘Very droll… This is not the time for jokes, Brennan.’
‘I’m not joking, sir…’ He turned to Gallagher, ‘Shift your arse, Jim, I’m not waiting for you.’
As they left the Chief Super’s office, Brennan noticed Benny had spun his seat to face the window. He sat staring out into the open sky like a man who had lost his way in the world.
On the stairs Brennan took out his mobile phone and dialled DS Stevie McGuire’s number. The phone was answered on the third ring.
‘Hello, sir…’
‘Stevie, where are you now?’
‘Erm, well, let me see…’ there was a pause on the line, ‘if you orientate yourself from the Straiton roundabout then we’re about half a mile down the A720… past the last crime scene.’
‘Same side of the road?’
‘Which road?’
‘The bypass, Stevie.’
‘Yes, same side… But the other side of the access road.’
‘Right. I know where you are.’
Brennan let the front door of the station swing shut behind him; he watched Gallagher open it again himself and jog towards the VW Passat. When he was behind the wheel, he turned over the ignition and watched as Gallagher broke into a sprint. When the DI was in the passenger’s seat, Brennan released the handbrake and pulled out.
They drove in complete quiet for the best part of the journey, until Gallagher broke the silence. ‘Look, it wasn’t my idea to put me in the press call. You can’t blame me for that.’
Brennan bit. ‘You’ve had your mind set on big-footing me from this investigation from the off, Jim; if it wasn’t the press call it would have been something else.’
‘That’s some fucking ego you have… Why would I want your case?’
Brennan smirked at him, ‘Because you’re a glory hunter, always have been. You let your ambition get in the way of good sense. This time, it might have been Benny’s idea for you to be on the panel but you could have said no… I mean, didn’t you see that fucking hack there?’
‘Jesus Christ, Rob, how many hacks are there? I can’t be expected to remember every fucking one.’
Brennan took his eyes from the road, fleetingly put them on Gallagher, ‘He remembered you well enough.’
The conversation ended as abruptly as it had begun. At the Straiton roundabout Brennan eased off the accelerator pedal and lowered the gears, took second. There were no officers viewable from the road. He scanned further down the exit and put his indicator on. At the point of the original crime scene Brennan started to look for the access road DS Stevie McGuire had mentioned; when he spotted it he started to slow again, dropped down through the gears once more.
‘You know, Jim, there’s something I don’t quite understand.’
Gallagher sneered, ‘Oh really, is that a doubt?’
Brennan turned the car into the access road, ‘Oh I’ve got many a doubt about you, Jim… Maybe you can clear just one up for me.’
‘Go on, then.’
‘Right from the start, I’ve warned you off this case, my case, there’s no way you could have been unaware that you weren’t welcome. Yet, you persisted, and even after a spectacular downfall, you’re still here. Why?’
Gallagher fell silent, for a moment he stared out into the fields and then he returned his gaze to Brennan. ‘You don’t get it do you?’
‘Get what, Jim?’
‘That you’re not the only one who cares about the job.’
‘Oh, I know I’m not. But I’ll tell you what else I know: you’re not one of the ones who gives two shits about this job, Jim. So don’t be playing that old tune and expecting me to put coins in your cup.’
Gallagher smirked, exhaled a long breath and turned back to the fields.
Brennan glanced at him, stored away his expression. The doubts he harboured about Jim Gallagher’s interest in the case remained intact as he pulled up to the crime scene fronted by two uniformed officers.
Brennan felt the wet beneath the wheels of the car as he eased the vehicle into the verge. He motioned Gallagher to get out before he blocked his door with a dry-stone dyke. As he left the Passatt, Brennan started to fasten his coat; he scanned the fields for members of the force, alighted on the sight of DS Stevie McGuire running towards him.
‘All right, boss,’ McGuire was breathless.
‘Stevie… What’s the SP?’
‘Well, you’re not going to like this.’
Brennan nodded, agreed with him inwardly. ‘Try me anyway.’
McGuire brought himself up to the gate that separated the field he stood in from the road; he leaned his arms over the top rung and eyed the DI directly. ‘It’s a young girl, maybe early twenties…’
‘We got a cause of death?’
‘There’s bruising to the neck and puncture wounds to the torso.’
Brennan eased himself over the gate, jumped down into the field and started to walk towards the small crowd of officers. ‘Sounds familiar.’
McGuire raced after him, he was panting again as he spoke. ‘Sir, that’s not all that’s familiar… There’s the eye gouging and the genital mutilation as well. Boss, this is identical to the other cases; our man’s struck again.’
Chapter 41
DI Rob Brennan took the blue coverings the SOCO handed out and slotted them over his shoes; he was already gloved as he turned the flap on the white tent and proceeded towards the murder scene. Jim Gallagher had reached the corpse before him, was hunched over staring at the victim, his hand pressed firm to his mouth. When he saw him, Brennan halted for a moment, placed an arm in front of DS McGuire and raised a finger to his mouth. As Brennan observed the older inspector at work he felt suddenly suffused with a new opinion of the man.
Brennan turned to McGuire, said, ‘See that?’
‘Oh, I saw it.’
‘He’s rattled, Stevie.’
‘Certainly looks it.’
‘Why though?’
McGuire turned to Brennan, spoke, ‘Aren’t you, boss?’
Brennan thinned his eyes, ‘Not like that I’m not, no.’ He lowered his arm, walked forward. As the detectives reached the corpse, Gallagher rose and placed his hands in his pockets. His complexion was pale, pasty. A line of sweat formed on his top lip as he looked at his colleagues.
‘Everything OK, Jim?’ said Brennan.
He paused, a thought seemed to spark in his mind; his countenance altered. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this.’
Brennan rounded Gallagher, crouched low on his haunches and stared at the young girl lying on her back in the wet field. Her neck was heavily bruised, he identified the finger marks as being consistent with strangulation. Her dyed blonde hair had been soaked in the rain and her arms were splayed behind her, one beneath her torso, one to the side, as if she had been dumped. He ran his gaze head to toe; she was wearing only one shoe, a black high-heeled shoe, and there was more but older bruising on her knees. Above her thin white thighs was a covering of blood that matched the hacking scars on her pubis and extended over her stomach and the exposed parts of her thorax. Half of the girl’s face was submerged in the soggy earth, the other half was bruised and blackened; some blood from a head wound ran from her hairline down her wide white cheekbones. As Brennan stared at her features he felt she looked young, and she looked scared.
‘She’s brass,’ said Brennan.
Gallagher responded, ‘That’s what I thought. The knee bruising, and same with the wrists, it’s old marks…’
‘She’s dressed like brass,’ said McGuire.
Brennan rose, walked to the front of the tent and tilted his head as he looked down on the victim’
s features. He shook his head, ‘This doesn’t look right.’
McGuire and Gallagher followed Brennan’s lead as he bent his knees and crouched down in front of the corpse. He leaned forward, removed a pencil from his inside pocket and stuck it in the girl’s mouth.
‘Sir, do you think you should?’ said McGuire.
‘Do you think I shouldn’t, Stevie?’
‘It’s just, the doc hasn’t been here yet and…’
‘Fuck Pettigrew.’
Brennan prised open the girl’s mouth; as he did so his face became contorted and creased. ‘Jesus Christ…’
‘Well?’ said Gallagher.
‘There’s something in there… But not what I was expecting to see.’ Brennan rose, fronted the two officers. ‘She’s been mutilated but it’s inconsistent… The other two had their knickers in there as well.’
McGuire scratched his forehead, ‘The eyes are gone though… That’s consistent.’
Brennan removed his rubber gloves, they made a snapping noise as he turned from the others, said, ‘Well that would be because the News printed that, Stevie… They never ran anything on the panties.’ He lifted up the flap of the tent and walked out to the field. Two white-suited SOCOs stood outside the entrance; they were looking at a flip-chart but became distracted as Brennan approached.
‘Sir…’
‘Has she been printed?’ said Brennan.
‘Er, sorry, that would be John’s line… We’re casting the soil indents.’
Brennan widened his stance, slotted his hands in his pockets. ‘I don’t give a fuck whose job it is, I want it done. Now.’
‘Yes, sir.’
