A Taste of Ashes (DI Bob Valentine Book 2)

by Tony Black

  Valentine shook his head. ‘We should ask the scroats just to commit crimes nine-to-five, that would make life so much easier for us.’

  Harris turned away from the officers, headed back down the hall to his own office. ‘Look, I’ll bring Leask in. I’ll let you know when we have him and if you want to sit in that’s fine with me.’

  ‘Do that, Eddy. If Leask’s tied up in this I’ll have him on a platter.’

  ‘You’ll get in line behind me, mate, slight matter of the armed robbery to solve too.’

  Valentine watched as DI Harris padded away from the incident room, but his thoughts were on the night of James Tulloch’s murder. A lot of money had gone missing from Leask’s club in the raid and that amount of cash was a strong motive for murder. If the two incidents were linked then perhaps the pieces of the puzzle would slide together more easily than he thought. Just why Flash Harris was being so helpful was more worrying. It wasn’t his style, unless there was something in it for him too.

  ‘What do you think, Sylvia?’ he said.

  ‘I think we’ve very little else to go on. Is Leask capable?’

  ‘That I don’t know. He’s a tin-pot hard man but murder would be stepping up a few leagues, even for him.’

  ‘If the money was the issue, well, a lot of heads have been turned for a few quid.’

  ‘But, presumably the money was Leask’s, it was from his club.’

  ‘He’d want it back, surely.’

  ‘So he’s angry enough to kill for it, maybe. I’d be more inclined to see Leask as a profiteer, but he’d certainly be daft enough to get involved in murder if his cut was big enough.’

  ‘But where does Tulloch come in, has he robbed his cut, sir?’ said McCormack.

  ‘There was no sign of money at the scene, only a victim’s corpse. Of course, if Tulloch copped it for the cash, there would be no sign of the cash or the killer.’

  ‘They’d both be long gone.’

  Valentine slotted his arms into his pinstripe jacket. ‘It’s an interesting scenario.’

  ‘We should certainly kick over Leask’s skittles.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, Eddy’s getting into his bovver boots as we speak. Meanwhile, nothing’s altered enough to derail us, we need to question Sandra Millar. If anyone’s likely to throw some light on Tulloch’s murder it’s her.’

  ‘Agnes Gilchrist puts her at the scene at just the right time, she knows something that’s for sure.’

  Valentine started to descend the stairs. ‘Let’s hope she gives it up nicely. I’d hate to have to borrow Eddy’s boots myself.’

  27

  The meeting with the chief super and Major Rutherford had soured Valentine’s mood. He had not been particularly cheerful before, was not even in the vicinity, but now an angry rook was pecking at his mind. There would be more to come, CS Martin had been undermined, and to make matters worse, in front of someone she clearly had a need to impress. It didn’t matter whether she was taken with Rutherford’s accent and old-school-tie bonhomie or just the cut of his jib, the result would be the same. Valentine saw the case slipping away from him, he was losing control.

  ‘Here, you drive, Sylvia.’ He handed over the car keys.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Valentine rarely let anyone drive his car but he needed time to think. As he got in the passenger’s side he found there was no space for his legs. He wanted to stretch out, but as he pushed his back into the fixed seat he groaned. ‘Bloody hell …’

  ‘All OK, sir?’

  ‘How do you put this back a bit?’

  ‘There’s a wee bar that you press. It’s under the seat, sir.’

  Valentine fumbled for the lever. ‘Where about?’

  ‘Here, let me.’

  As Sylvia reached under the seat to release the chair Valentine looked away, scanned the car park. There was no one there. ‘Good job Ally and Phil never saw that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They think we’re on.’

  ‘On, sir?’

  ‘It must be an Ayrshire expression. They think we’re getting a bit close, spending too much time together.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake. It’s only the nature of the case, they should realise I have experience of this sort of crime from Glasgow.’

  ‘Well if they don’t they better get used to it. I can see all of us burning the midnight oil from here on.’ He fastened his seatbelt. ‘Look, I meant to say, about the other day with Crosbie, thanks for that.’

  ‘No bother, only trying to help.’

  Valentine played with a cuff-button and watched the road ahead as they approached the King Street roundabout. ‘Well, there’s help and there’s help. That sort of thing’s well above the call of duty.’

  ‘Most of what I do is,’ she grinned to herself.

  Valentine gave a knowing nod. ‘I don’t know if it was the meeting with Crosbie or what, but I’ve not had any funny turns since.’

  ‘Is that what you’re calling them now?’

  ‘Seems to fit. Mind you, the way this case is going I could do with the help.’

  DS McCormack glanced in the rear-view mirror and pulled onto the bypass, the car started to accelerate. ‘Well, we have Sandra Millar now and this Leask lead could be promising.’

  ‘Promising for who, us or Eddy Harris? I don’t trust him and the way things are shaping up Dino’s likely to put me out to grass and hand the lot over to Harris.’

  ‘She wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Wouldn’t she? I’ve seen her tricks first-hand and she’s capable of a lot worse, let me tell you.’

  ‘But Harris isn’t as senior an officer as you, doesn’t have as much experience. She wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘Trust me, if these cases are linked then it’s a possibility. We need to be ahead of the game, ahead of bloody Flash Harris.’

  ‘I’ll get a hold of the case files from the Meat Hangers robbery when we’re done at the hospital. I’ll go over them tonight.’

  Valentine tapped his fingers on the rim of the window-ledge, a smattering of rain had started to fall making the grim Ayrshire setting seem worse than usual. ‘The robbery was on the same night and our victim worked there; if we have Tulloch at the club earlier in the evening then that’s something for us to go on. What’s Leask saying about Tulloch’s death, has he got previous form with him that might tempt theft? You’ll have to dig for any animosity because I presume it won’t be obvious or Leask’d have just given him his jotters.’

  ‘I’ll visit the club and sniff around the staff. I’d suggest a covert visit but I don’t think we’ve got the time to set that up, sir.’

  ‘Just brass it out. Go in heavy, get the complete personnel list and run them all through the system. If there’s any with convictions for violence, run them through the mincer. If there was bad blood between Tulloch and anyone, even in small amounts, I want to know about it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The detective dropped his voice, took a more contemplative tone. ‘Just bear one thing in mind, Sylvia, if we end up sharing an incident room with Eddy Harris the only way we’re going to keep the good biccies on our side of the table is by making him look like an absolute bloody muppet.’

  Darkness had fallen by the time the detectives reached the hospital. A queue of vehicles waited to enter the car park, their disgruntled drivers watching in disbelief as DI Valentine pointed McCormack into the emergency bays at the front of the building.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ said the DS.

  ‘It’s an emergency isn’t it?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Sylvia, if murder isn’t an emergency then what is?’ She didn’t look convinced. ‘And anyway, who’s going to ticket a DI?’

  ‘Point taken.’

  They headed for the front door of the large, well-lit building. The hospital had not been there long, was close enough in recent memory for Valentine to remember when it was still farmland, but the exterior looked worn and weat
her-beaten already. Peeling paint and sun-faded window frames highlighted by bright spotlighting. Inside, the reception desk was through a further set of automatic doors, a blonde-wood facia – there seemed to be a design theme – covered the wall either side of the corridor.

  ‘When did hospitals start to look like branches of Ikea?’ said Valentine.

  ‘I’ve no idea, sir. But they do now.’

  ‘Bet you wish you’d bought those shares in allen keys, eh?’

  The receptionist pointed the detectives to the lift and said she would ring ahead to the ward to let them know the police had arrived. She was balancing the receiver on her shoulder, speaking in an unnatural volume to rise above the clamour of voices around the desk, as they left her. On the third floor, more blinding light and a powerful antiseptic smell greeted the officers. Valentine got as far as the middle of the long corridor, following the numbers on doors, before he stopped still.

  ‘Where’s our uniforms?’ he said.

  ‘There doesn’t appear to be any here.’

  ‘That’s what I mean. There should be. Ally should have had one on the door, this is a bloody murder suspect.’

  McCormack looked the length of the hallway and back again. ‘Maybe he tried to put someone on but was overruled.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Sylvia,’ Valentine looked through raised lids, ‘unless Dino’s opened a rolling expenses spreadsheet for this case alone.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past her.’

  ‘No, neither would I. But I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt on this occasion, given that she’s been otherwise engaged all day with her new major friend.’

  ‘I’ll check it out, sir.’ McCormack removed a notebook from her bag and started to scribble.

  ‘Do that. And make sure it’s round-the-clock surveillance, I don’t want Sandra Millar left alone when she’s already got a habit of going walkabout.’

  As they reached the door to the patient’s room a man in a short-sleeved shirt, a lanyard with an ID badge around his neck flapping, started to jog to meet them. ‘Hello, you must be the police officers.’

  ‘You must be the doctor?’ said Valentine.

  He tapped the badge round his neck. ‘No getting anything past you – Ben Caruthers.’

  ‘Shall we go inside, Doctor?’

  ‘Before we do, can I just say, she’s not in the best condition.’

  McCormack returned the notebook to her bag, said, ‘I thought she was lucid now.’

  ‘I don’t know if I’d use quite that term. She’s conscious, but she’s very confused.’

  ‘What are you trying to say, Doctor?’ said Valentine, sensing a note of over-caution from the doctor.

  ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is that this woman has been through a serious trauma.’

  ‘She was knocked over by a kid on a scrambler, not a double-decker bus. And he was hardly up to ninety in the pedestrianised area of the High Street.’

  ‘I’m not talking about the accident, Inspector. I mean Sandra Millar is suffering from pronounced anxiety, she’s under a serious amount of stress and confusion. Her nerves are bad, she blacks out and she’s got memory loss.’

  ‘That’s convenient,’ said Valentine. ‘Have you any idea how many murder suspects I interview with memory loss, Doctor?’

  ‘I don’t mean to make it sound like she’s affecting these symptoms, she’s really not well. She’s likely to be suffering some form of post-traumatic stress, that’s a fragile state for anyone to be in. I’m merely asking you to be considerate of that.’

  Valentine turned for the door, grabbed the handle, ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Doctor.’

  As the DI opened the door a flat-screen television, suspended on a bracket above the bed, was the only source of light. He flicked the switch on the wall and illuminated the whole room. A huddled mass, curled in the middle of the bed, recoiled.

  ‘It’s all right, Sandra, you can catch up with the Hollyoaks omnibus on Sunday,’ said Valentine. He walked to the bedside, where he was joined by DS McCormack. Dr Caruthers moved to the other side of the bed and tried to settle his patient. As Sandra jerked upright in the bed her gaze darted between the two officers and the doctor who examined the catheter on the back of her hand.

  Valentine was unmoved, he reached over Sandra and retrieved the remote control, flicked off.

  ‘I hear you’ve lost your memory, Sandra?’

  ‘Have I?’ her voice was a whisper.

  ‘Very good, of course you wouldn’t remember that either.’ He put his hands in his pockets. ‘Where have you been, my dear?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean?’

  ‘Since James Tulloch was murdered in your kitchen, Sandra.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, I see. You’re going to claim you don’t remember your boyfriend, now.’

  Her face was impassive. Dark circles sat under her eyes, just above drawn cheeks and the straight, thin line of her mouth. ‘I remember Jade.’

  DS McCormack spoke: ‘Where is Jade?’

  ‘I don’t know. I want to see her. She’s my daughter.’

  ‘But she’s missing, Sandra,’ said Valentine. ‘Just like you were until we found you rolling about on the High Street this morning. Yes, Jade’s missing. And Darry, your son …’

  The officers looked for life in her eyes but nothing showed. The talk seemed to have stilled her nerves, she sat solidly in the bed and didn’t move.

  ‘I said Darry, do you remember him?’

  ‘I … I …’

  Dr Caruthers intervened. ‘I think you’re confusing her. Perhaps if you eased off a little.’

  ‘This is a murder investigation, a man’s been stabbed to death … In her kitchen.’

  Sandra’s face contorted, the thin mouth widened and she started to whine.

  ‘I think she’s had enough now,’ said the doctor.

  Valentine’s voice rose. ‘I’ll decide when she’s had enough.’

  ‘No. Actually, Inspector, that decision is mine and I think my patient has had quite enough questions for one day.’

  Sandra sunk into her pillow, sobbed into the bedclothes as Dr Caruthers tried to coax her to take a sip of water. The detectives watched, McCormack nodding towards the door; when Valentine’s eyes met hers he shook his head and continued with the questioning.

  ‘We have the knife, Sandra,’ said Valentine. ‘And footage of you throwing it in the river, what have you got to say about that?’

  She mumbled, ‘Jade. I want my daughter. I want Jade. She needs me. I’m all she’s got …’

  ‘That’s right, her father’s dead too isn’t he? You remember that bit OK.’

  Dr Caruthers put down the glass of water and stepped towards the officers. ‘That’s enough now! You can see the effect your questioning’s having on her. I won’t watch her take a complete breakdown tonight, it’s time for you both to leave. Now.’

  28

  It had been a day to forget for DI Bob Valentine. From the less than enthusiastic report the Glasgow boffins delivered to the encounter with Dino – and the realisation that she was more attached to the idea of sucking up to Major Rutherford than helping the case – things could hardly get worse. Sandra Millar turning up should have improved matters, but after visiting her in hospital it was obvious that she couldn’t be of any use to the investigation. She was clearly not well; even if she admitted to the murder the chances of the fiscal taking it on were doubtful without some forensic evidence too. If it did go to court the defence would have the stronger case. It would be one more thing for Dino to use against him, and the attendant bad publicity would be yielded like a lash on the force. And anyway, Valentine wasn’t convinced that Sandra Millar was the killing type.

  He had met many like her before. Demure, hard-done-by women who had snapped after a lifetime of beatings and brutality. Men weren’t immune either, he’d encountered the disorder in both sexes. The usual MO seemed to be that they took the abuse for years, listened to
the belittling voice for so long that they believed it, and then almost in spite of themselves some animal instinct arrived and they attacked. It was as if human beings were only able to take so much torture before their programming, or was it just a preference, to fight took over. He’d seen a Kilmarnock woman from way back who had lasted to her seventieth year before spiking her husband’s morning coffee with paraquat then casually calling in the police. She said she had never had such a good night’s sleep afterwards; her conscience was intact. That wasn’t the case with Sandra Millar, she was bothered by something, but what? It was against his experience for someone like her to kill and then crack, normally it was the other way about. Sandra was deep in guilt about Tulloch’s murder, and that confused the DI.

  As Valentine put the key in the door to his home he was surprised to see a light still on in the living room. It wouldn’t be Clare, surely; she would have went to bed long ago. As he stepped inside his curiosity subsided as he found his father nodding into sleep in the armchair.

  ‘Still up, Dad?’ he said.

  His father’s head jerked upright. ‘Och, just about. I’ve been dozing off for the last wee while.’ He sat up, put the picture he was holding on the arm of the chair; the action seemed to spark his memory. ‘I called you at work today.’

  ‘I saw that, sorry I meant to call back.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he interrupted. ‘I thought it was a silly enough thing for me to be calling you. I didn’t disturb you or get you into bother did I?’

  Valentine found the suggestion, after all of today’s troubles, mildly humorous. ‘No, Dad, it’s fine.’

  ‘It was this, you realise.’ He held up the picture that had been drawn by Hugh Crosbie. ‘What a likeness, it is.’

  The detective put his briefcase on the floor and started to remove his jacket. He hadn’t expected a response to the picture, he didn’t really know what he expected to come of it when he took it home. ‘You recognise him?’