Snared

by Ed James

  “Morning, Euan.” She looked away.

  “Supposed to be checking out the Muirheads, right?”

  Vicky exchanged a look with Karen, her eyes wide as she stifled a laugh. “Correct.”

  “Finally got hold of my pal in Vice. Really cagey about why they’re investigating them. Escalated it to Raven — his problem now. Hopefully sort it out, DCI to DCI.”

  “Here’s hoping.”

  MacDonald thumbed back at the counter. “Considine checked their alibi. Turns out there was a dinner party but they left early. Half seven.”

  Vicky rubbed at her face, trying to clear her head. She thought back to her timeline, trying to zoom in and make it clearer. “Christie was attacked at the back of eight, right? So they could have done it?”

  “Yep. Ferry to Fixit’s about five minutes, right?”

  “Did that holiday story check out?”

  MacDonald shook his head. “Not yet. Summers was looking into it. Said they arrived back in Edinburgh on the morning of the nineteenth.”

  “So they could’ve been involved in the snare one, too?”

  “Could be.”

  Considine sipped through the lid of his takeaway cup. “This about the Muirheads, Mac?”

  MacDonald nodded. “Yes.”

  “I was speaking to Buchan just after the briefing. He finished that phone record search you asked him to do.”

  “And?”

  “He was saying something about Polly Muirhead calling Marianne Smith a few times.”

  MacDonald tightened his grip on his coffee cup. “Get uniform to bring them back in.”

  “Will do.” Considine grinned at him and took a sip of coffee.

  Karen ran her hand through her hair. “What about them going to the Chief Constable?”

  “Bollocks to that. Happy to take any heat on this.”

  Chapter One Hundred and Twelve

  MacDonald stood outside the interview room, taking deep breaths. He grinned at her. “Ready?”

  “Give me a second.”

  “Want to talk about last night?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’ll get it started, okay?” MacDonald opened the door and sat opposite Polly Muirhead. Fergus Duncan sat next to her. The tape recorder blared out as the door shut.

  Vicky stared at the door. What the hell was she doing? This was bad news. She entered the interview room and sat next to MacDonald.

  “DS Victoria Dodds has just entered the room.” MacDonald leaned back in his chair, arms folded, sucking in breath.

  Across from Vicky, Duncan twirled his mobile phone in his hands. He put it on the table, looked at Vicky then back at the phone. He sniffed as he adjusted his bright orange tie.

  Vicky ignored the message. “Mrs Muirhead, on the morning of the nineteenth of August last year, you and your husband arrived back in the country from a holiday in Latvia, is that correct?”

  “It is. We were in Riga. We flew back to Edinburgh via airBaltic. We had a stopover in Stockholm.”

  Vicky noted it down. Very precise. “What time was this?”

  “The flight was twenty minutes late. I think we arrived just before noon.”

  Plenty of time to get up to Edzell, travel tiredness or not. “What did you do next?”

  “We stayed overnight with friends in Edinburgh.”

  “Do you often stay with friends?”

  “My client doesn’t wish to answer that question.” Duncan adjusted his mobile on the table.

  Vicky ignored him. “Can you provide the names and addresses of your friends, please?”

  “Is this strictly necessary?”

  Vicky leaned on her elbows and rubbed her hands together. “Mrs Muirhead, you arrived back in Scotland on the same morning the first of these crimes occurred. You’d a clear opportunity to drive to Edzell and commit the attack on Mr Lethnot.”

  Polly slumped in her chair. “Very well. It was Graeme Davenport and Donald Cairns.”

  “Are they a couple?”

  “They are. Homosexuality was legalised in Scotland in 1980, so you won’t be able to prosecute them on those grounds.”

  Eyebrow raised, Duncan whispered in Polly’s ear. She nodded.

  Vicky folded her arms. “We will, of course, validate your movements with them.”

  “Very well.”

  Vicky nodded at MacDonald, who was sitting back, arms folded. “Sergeant?”

  He sat forward, leaning over his notepad. “What were you really doing at Phorever Love?”

  “We’ve told you. I did some pro bono legal work for them.”

  “Your employers are somewhat cagey about releasing information about these cases to us.”

  “It’s called client confidentiality.”

  Duncan smirked. “You may know it as corporate sensitivity.”

  MacDonald poked his tongue into his cheek as he inhaled. “Phorever Love are closely linked to the crime committed at Hunter’s Farm.”

  Duncan sniffed. “My client isn’t involved in that. I assume you’ve checked the statement governing my client’s trip to Mrs Muirhead’s sister in Dunfermline?”

  “We have.” MacDonald leaned forward. “Mrs Muirhead, what were you really doing at Phorever Love?”

  “No comment other than what’s been previously stated.”

  Duncan tapped his mobile phone and raised his eyebrows at Vicky.

  Vicky smiled, trying to ignore the threat, but acid burned in the pit of her stomach, not all of it from the bacon roll. “Mrs Muirhead, on Thursday evening, you attended a dinner party.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “According to your friends, you and your husband left the dinner party at seven thirty. Correct?”

  “No comment.”

  “Why did you leave early?”

  “No comment.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “No comment.”

  “You didn’t go to the Kingsway East Retail Park?”

  “My client doesn’t wish to go on the record for this.”

  “You didn’t go to the Fixit DIY store there?”

  Duncan tapped the mobile again. “Move on, Sergeant.”

  “Where were you between noon and four p.m. yesterday afternoon?”

  Polly blew out a breath. “I was at work, then I had a client visit.”

  “Where?”

  “In Monifieth.”

  “You weren’t in the centre of town by Dundee High?”

  Polly shook her head. “No.”

  “You weren’t at Dudhope Castle? Or Barrack Park just by it?”

  “No.”

  Vicky put her pen down. “Mrs Muirhead, why were you phoning Marianne Smith?”

  Polly’s eyes bulged. “I wasn’t.”

  Vicky held up a sheet of paper. “Your phone company says you were. Over a hundred and ten calls in the last year on your landline, going both ways.”

  Duncan grasped the edge of the table. “Polly, have you been calling her?”

  She stared at the table. “It was Sandy.”

  Vicky struggled to comprehend. “Was your husband having an affair with Ms Smith?”

  Polly shook her head. “No.”

  “What, then?”

  “No comment.”

  “Mrs Muirhead, your husband’s waiting for us in the next room. I’m pretty confident we can get the information out of him.”

  Polly folded and unfolded her arms before rubbing the end of her nose. “No comment.”

  “We’ve still got Ms Smith in custody. We can ask her. She’s been in here since Tuesday, charged with some fairly hefty terrorist crimes. I imagine she might be in a more communicative frame of mind.”

  Duncan leaned across and whispered in Polly’s ear.

  Sh
e scowled at him. “Really?”

  Duncan nodded. “I think so.”

  Polly coughed, eyes shut. “My husband is into dogging.”

  Vicky laughed. “It’s dogging now, is it?”

  Polly shivered. “Sandy likes . . . having sex in cars and other public places. I go along with it for Sandy’s sake.”

  “I’ve heard some very interesting alibis from you so far. This takes the biscuit.”

  “It’s the truth.” Polly’s eyes filled with moisture. “Christ, I’ve been living with this for so long.”

  “Why was your husband calling Ms Smith about dogging?”

  “He’d been asking Marianne about the sites in Cupar. He found a few places on the internet and wanted to know which sites would be best to avoid being caught.”

  “Why her?”

  Polly shrugged. “We knew her from xbeast.”

  “Did she go with you?”

  “Not recently. She used to be into it as well but stopped doing it.”

  “Were you dogging at Phorever Love?”

  “That was technically swinging. They have bedrooms and so on.”

  Vicky pinched her nose. “Jesus Christ.”

  “I swear this is the truth. It’s the reason we left the dinner party early. It’s where we were when we were supposed to be at the Rep.”

  “You weren’t having an argument?”

  “We had one afterwards. I wanted out of this whole thing.”

  “And you say this is for your husband?”

  “Sandy has particular . . . needs. It’s why we went to Riga. The prostitutes are cheap and liberal there.”

  “Assuming this is all true, you’ve wasted a lot of police time.”

  “I’m sorry.” Polly rubbed at her face. “I’m a respectable member of society in Dundee. I didn’t want this getting out.”

  “We’ll need to get this confirmed, of course.”

  “Speak to Simon Hagger about it.”

  “We’ve already spoken to him about your movements. Is it going to be the truth this time?”

  “I certainly hope so. Simon’s the one who got Sandy into this whole bloody thing in the first place.”

  Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen

  Vicky leaned against Considine’s Subaru and looked back at the Haggers’ house, a post-war bungalow on a decent street in Barnhill. Seagulls wheeled above them — there was a salty sea tang in the air. “Why do people who live in a house like that do something so stupid?”

  “Boredom?” Considine shrugged. “She wasn’t so bad but the bloke was a bit of a munter. You ever seen Family Guy?”

  “Never heard of it. Where do they get the name ‘dogging’ from?”

  “Isn’t it from men pretending they’re walking the dog but really cracking one off as they spy on couples having sex in a car?”

  Vicky patted the roof of the car. “The Python sounds like the sort of car that gets dogging action.”

  Considine laughed. “No comment.”

  “You better not get caught.”

  “Christ, of course I’m not taking this baby dogging.”

  Vicky grinned. “Really?”

  “I’ve got an old Saab for that.” Considine pointed back at the house. “You were pretty bloody-minded in there, Sarge.”

  “I’m fed up of getting the runaround by them. Simon and Emma Hagger have a history of lying to us. They provided the Rep alibi that fell apart. We need this backed up by other sources before those idiots are let off the hook.”

  “You let them off pretty lightly, considering.”

  Vicky tilted her head towards the approaching police car. “Those two are going to give them a much harder time than I did.”

  “Remind me never to get on your wrong side.”

  “You better focus on getting on my right side, Stephen.”

  Considine frowned then opened the driver door. “Where to now, Sarge?”

  “Let’s get back to the station.” Vicky got in the car and checked her mobile — no missed calls or texts. Still nothing from Salewicz.

  Considine started the engine and pulled away.

  She pressed dial again. “Hello?” Noise in the background, maybe a building site.

  “Hi, Andy, it’s DS Dodds. Are you okay to talk?”

  “Hi, Becky. It’s been ages since I’ve heard from my kid sister.”

  “I take it this is you letting me know it’s difficult to talk?”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten your birthday. You get the card? There was a message in it. Took me ages.”

  “I need to speak to you about the Muirheads. Was there any swinging at the camp?”

  “Of course. That sounds brilliant. There are a few people here who definitely think that’s a great idea.”

  “Were you personally involved?”

  “Not me, no. Look, I’m in the middle of something. I’d better go but I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Thanks.” Vicky ended the call.

  “Who was that, Sarge?”

  “Salewicz, just checking on what the Muirheads were up to at Phorever Love. Sounds like there is some sort of swinging scene there.”

  Her phone buzzed. A text — Salewicz. You almost blew my cover. Thanks for nothing. I hope it’s worth it. NEVER CALL AGAIN.

  Vicky watched Dundee pass by, tempted to text the ending to Breaking Bad out of spite.

  Her phone buzzed again. MacDonald. Vice confirm Muirheads part of dogging crackdown. No action taken yet but sting planned for this week. Mac

  Vicky blushed. Her hand stroking his back, his on her neck. That why they didn’t want us surveilling? Uniform just going in 2 speak to them abt it now. V

  MacDonald replied. Exactly why. Ill warn them. Summers said holiday checks out. Riga notorious for sex tourism tho. When do you fancy coffee? X

  Vicky put the phone away. She looked up — they were already at the Kingsway. “I think the Muirheads are in the clear.”

  “So who’s doing it, then?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  The Airwave on the dashboard crackled. “Control to DC Considine. Over.”

  “Can you get that, Sarge?”

  Vicky picked it up and answered it. “This is DS Dodds receiving. DC Considine’s driving.”

  “Just had a call from a member of the public. Someone’s found a black Vauxhall Vectra in a lock-up in Fintry.”

  Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen

  Considine tore up the dual carriageway, heading north out of the city. He tugged the wheel hard right to overtake a supermarket lorry. “Think this is them?”

  “Doubt it.” Vicky stared at the playing fields passing by, rubbing at her neck. This had to be a load of bollocks. It was Robert. She just needed one of Kelly’s guys to head round to speak to him. That was it.

  Wasn’t it?

  He swung a right at the first roundabout, heading into Fintry Road. “It’s still a complete shit hole up here.”

  “It’s better than it was when I was growing up.”

  “Didn’t think they had council estates in the nineteenth century.”

  “Whatever. Right here.”

  Considine turned at the roundabout. The buildings oscillated between long rows of flats and detached houses — most of the small gardens were filled with trampolines.

  Vicky checked the maps app on her phone. “Right here. Then it should just be on the right.”

  “Sounds like we’re going in a circle.” Considine drove down Fintryside. A row of brown council houses faced into the park, balconies at the front.

  “This is it here.” Vicky leaned forward, pointing to the right.

  Considine pulled up behind a Dundee City Council van with a police car parked in front of it. A side road, blocked off by a steel fence, led into Finlathen Park.
“This must be it here, surely?”

  “I think so.”

  A man in high-vis gear was talking to a policeman. He came over and motioned for Considine to wind down his window. “One of you DS Dodds?”

  Vicky got out of the car and held up her warrant card. “That’s me.”

  “PC Paul Arnold.” He took off his hat. “Got the call from one of the guys who rents a unit here.” He thumbed behind him. “He’s in the back of the car. Thought you might want to speak to him.”

  “We’ll get round to that. So, what’s the story here?”

  “Boy who called it in reckoned he saw a car on Tuesday when he was locking up. Saw your info request in the Tele last night. It’s a black Vectra.”

  Vicky nodded. “Can we have a look?”

  “Aye.” Arnold pointed at the man standing next to him, who wore white council overalls with a yellow pencil stuck above his ear. “This is Jim Smalls.”

  Smalls grinned at them. “I manage these lock-ups for the council. We rent them out to punters to park their cars in.”

  Considine raised an eyebrow. “Do they store other things as well?”

  Smalls chuckled. “Aye. Not sure why you’d want to lock your car away in Fintry, but then no bugger’s getting in here, that’s for sure.”

  “Who rents the one with the car in it?”

  “I’d need to check on that, son.” Smalls gestured across the road. “Past the gate up there. If you’ll follow me?”

  Vicky leaned close in to whisper. “Stephen, you stay here and take a statement off the guy in the car, okay? I’ll deal with this, get this off our plates quite quickly.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge.”

  Smalls was unlocking the gate across the road. He waited for Vicky to cross before he pulled it to.

  She followed him up the long drive. Halfway up the steep incline was a long row of lock-ups, thirty or so single-storey garages made out of concrete. The building backed onto the park — mature trees now covered two-thirds of the roof. “Can you unlock it for me?”

  “Aye, will do.” Smalls wrestled with a large chain of keys, eventually finding the one he was after. “Lucky we’ve got a skeleton for these.”

  Vicky stood watching. This wasn’t their car. How could it be? She’d seen it outside Robert’s house.