The Harlequin

by Sinclair Macleod

  “What happened when you got to the room?”

  “The three rooms were on the same floor, all next to one another. When the groups were in position, we waited until eleven-thirty five and that’s when the three girls opened the doors. We all rushed into the rooms, each group had a camera to record how far the women had gone in getting the guys naked. Gregor had the camera for our group and when we burst in, we found Deirdre’s conquest completely naked on the bed. His penis was erect but it was tiny and there was a lot of cruel mocking. He sprung up from the bed and went to throw a punch but Gregor put his arm up to protect himself and Roy punched the camera instead. The poor sod broke bones in his hand and damaged nerves.”

  “Roy?”

  “Roy Dent, he was still a student when it happened. He was in the fourth year of studying medicine. I heard that he had to take a year out and that he had to change his plan to be a surgeon.”

  Wade reacted. “Sir, isn’t tha…”

  “Yes, D.C. Wade it is. Sorry, Ms O’Donnell, you were saying?”

  “Apparently the nerve damage meant that he has a slight tremor in his hand, particularly when he is under stress. He had planned to become a surgeon like his father and grandfather but instead he had to choose something else. Forensic pathology, I think.”

  “Do you know who else was involved in the incident?”

  “There were a few others in the room, including me, but I think Roy blamed Deirdre and Gregor.” As she spoke the implications of her story became obvious to her. “You don’t think that the murders are related to that night do you?”

  Russell lied. “We don’t know, but it’s something we’ll have to investigate.”

  She became contemplative. “I think that night was when my life started to go downhill.”

  “In what way?”

  “I wasn’t proud of my part in what happened and I cut myself off from anyone who was involved. I feel that I might not be isolated if I hadn’t been there.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “Buggered off. Left me with nothing thanks to a pre-nuptial agreement that his father made me sign before we were married. I was naive enough to believe that we were genuinely in love. We were divorced six years later as a result of ‘unreconcilable differences’ and the agreement was allowed to stand. Six months later he had moved to London with his new girlfriend. He sends money for the kids but that’s it.”

  “I’m sorry, it must be difficult.”

  “I made my bed, at least that’s what my mother tells me.” She offered a weary smile.

  “D.C. Wade will take a formal statement from you just now if that’s OK, that’ll save you a journey.”

  “Shame, I could have done with a day out, even if it was just a trip to the police station.” Her eyes lit up with genuine humour, even if it was laced with pathos.

  “I’ll just have a word with my colleague in private if you don’t mind.” Russell indicated with his head the Wade should join him in the hall.

  “Sir?”

  “Get as much detail as you can. I think we may have broken this case but don’t let her know just how important this is. Don’t tell her what our suspicions are. I don’t want her clamming up because she gets scared.”

  “You can rely on me, sir.”

  “I’ll send someone to pick you up but I’m going to head back into town.”

  “That’s fine, I think the poor woman will appreciate the company.”

  “I’m going after Dent before he kills again, wish me luck.”

  Chapter 17

  Russell walked to the car but before he could do anything he had to speak to McLelland.

  When the chief superintendent answered, Russell said, “Sir, I need a word urgently.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’d rather not say on the phone. Where are you?”

  “I’m still in my office at Pitt Street.”

  “I’m in Moodiesburn, I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

  He started the car as he put the phone into his pocket. He debated with himself whether it was important enough to merit the lights and sirens before deciding he couldn’t risk Dent getting away because he’d driven too slowly. He lit them up when he reached the main road and drove quickly but safely back into the city centre.

  When he reached the headquarters building he swiped his pass without even acknowledging the officer at the front desk. He raced up the stairs two at a time to get to the second floor. McLelland was waiting for him when he arrived at his office.

  “What the hell’s up, Tom?’

  “I think I know who the Harlequin is, and you’re not going to like it.”

  “Who?”

  “I think it’s Dr Roy Dent.”

  “The pathologist?” McLelland said with a surprised laugh, but the smile soon evaporated from his face as he realised that Russell wasn’t joking. “You’re serious. Why?”

  Russell sat down and began the long story of the Jester’s Balls club. He took his time detailing every stage of the tale in the same way that O’Donnell had laid it out for him.

  He finished up by saying, “Dent had access to the hallucinogens, he obviously has medical skills and he was privy to the information on the Blakes’ deaths.”

  “I don’t believe this. Have we got anything substantive on him?”

  “No, all we’ve got is the woman’s story. It’s going to be tough trying to prove it; he knows forensic procedures as well as anyone. We might be able to trace the money he used to pay the promotions company but even that might not be enough.”

  “Fuck, this is a mess,” McLelland shook his head, lay back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  The chief superintendent moved forward again. “We’ll need a forensic accountant to check the Harlequin’s Tears Company and who might be involved. Dent will probably have buried his connection with the company and it’ll take an expert to unpick it.”

  Russell sighed. “I think in the interim, we should put surveillance on Dent.”

  McLelland wished they could arrest Dent and get him off the streets but without evidence they wouldn’t be able to hold him very long. Dent would know how little they had, and he knew exactly how the system worked. He could only hope that Dent wouldn’t make a move before they could find the proof they needed to prosecute the case.

  “I can start the surveillance right now.”

  McLelland nodded. “Are you sure? He’s bound to know your face.”

  “I’ll need to be the secondary, we’ll need at least one other person.”

  “We need to keep the number of people involved in this to a bare minimum. People we can trust. I know Dent might not be the most popular guy in the world and I doubt he’s got many friends in the force, but if someone leaks this and he finds out, he’ll be off and we’ll never get our hands on him.”

  “What about Ellen Clarkson? She was helpful to me during my brief exile.”

  “You contact her directly, you’ll need the backup immediately, I’ll clear the paperwork later.”

  “Will do.”

  As Russell stood to leave, McLelland said, “You are sure about this, Tom? If we’re wrong we’ll be lucky to be pounding the beat when they’re done with us.”

  “It’s the only thing that makes any sense,” Russell replied, confident that his instincts were right.

  “Get to it and god help us all.”

  ***

  In order to watch him, Russell had to find out where Dent was. Marriot had said that Dent was taking the day off and he hoped his quarry was at home but he had to be sure.

  Russell dialled the number for mortuary; he was gambling that he might get Dent’s home address from them. It was probably in the police records somewhere but he wanted to short cut procedures a little.


  “Hi, it’s Detective Inspector Russell, I was wondering if Dr Dent was available.”

  “Hi Inspector Russell, it’s Graham Rowson here.”

  “Hi Graham,” Russell presumed from the man’s tone that he must have met him some time in the past but had no memory of it. There were a number of forensic pathology technicians at the morgue and they tended to work quietly in the background anytime Russell visited. Rowson wasn’t a name he recognised.

  “No, I’m afraid he’ got the day off. It’s Doctor Thompson and Professor Marriot today. Do you want to speak to either of them?”

  “No, it’s Doctor Dent I need to talk to. I need him to clarify something in an old post mortem report. It doesn’t tie with my notes and I want to be sure I’ve got my facts straight before I take this to court.”

  “Is it urgent because Dr Dent is due to go to a conference this weekend in Birmingham, so he won’t be available until Monday?”

  “Do you think I could maybe get his home address, it’s just that the case is due to start tomorrow.”

  “I suppose so. He’s not far from here, he’s over in St. Andrew’s Square in fact. I could pop over and get him if you like.”

  “No, it’s fine. If you give me the number I’ll go visit him. It’ll get me out of the office.”

  He supplied the number and Russell thanked him.

  Was Dent really going to a conference or was it some attempt at an alibi or even worse escape? Was his need for revenge satiated by killing Hastings or were there other targets that he was planning to go after in the next few days? Russell couldn’t afford to let those thoughts creep in; he had a job to do.

  He dialled Ellen Clarkson’s number.

  “D.S. Clarkson.”

  “Ellen, it’s me. I need you to help me with some surveillance. You have to keep it to yourself, so make some excuse to the others. It’s vital that you don’t say where you’re going.”

  “I understand,” she said her voice sounded flat and disinterested.

  “I’ll meet you at St Andrew’s Square as soon as you can possibly get there.”

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  Russell could sense that she was desperate to ask what was going on but she had managed to maintain the pretence that the phone call was of no consequence. Secrecy between detectives wasn’t a normal part of working on a murder case and Russell hoped that she respected what he had told her.

  ***

  He waited impatiently at one corner of St. Andrew’s Square hoping that Dent wouldn’t leave before Clarkson could arrive. The time ticked on and Russell’s anxiety increased. Finally, after twenty minutes Ellen Clarkson pulled her Ford Focus up behind his car. She got out and Russell met her on the pavement.

  “You made it. Any problems?”

  “No, I just told them I was checking a witness statement.”

  “Good. I know this is going to sound crazy but I think Roy Dent is the Harlequin.”

  “The pathologist? You’re kidding.”

  “No, it’s a long story but he has a link to both Deirdre Nichol and Gregor Hastings. That link is strong enough to give him a motive.”

  Clarkson looked stunned as she said, “What’s the plan?”

  “We have to keep an eye on him while the chief super tries to find some evidence that will stand up in court. All we’ve got is a story from twenty years ago and a lot of circumstantial evidence. Have you had many dealings with him?”

  “No, not really. I worked one scene that he was the attending pathologist at but I doubt he even noticed me.”

  “He knows me all too well but there’s no one else we can use at the moment. We need to keep this between ourselves, we can’t afford Dent getting wind of it.”

  “Hence the secret squirrel stuff.”

  “That’s it. Right, let’s make a start. You see if there’s a parking space around the corner that will give you a view of his flat. I’ll go round to Steel Street and pick you up as you go by. I’m not sure if he’ll recognise my car but I don’t want to take the chance that I’ll spook him.”

  “OK, sir.”

  “Keep your radio on, it’ll be quicker than using the phone.”

  They returned to their cars and drove to their respective vantage points. Clarkson drove halfway round the gentrified square, where she had a perfect view of the block where Dent lived. Russell found a space in Steel Street, on the edge of Glasgow Green.

  It was close to three o’clock when they settled in to their respective places. At four-twenty a traffic warden approached Russell’s car but a flash of his warrant card was enough to make the woman walk on and turn her interest to another vehicle further along the street. Shortly after she left, raindrops started to patter gently onto the windscreen.

  Steel Street leads to the road known as Saltmarket. Due to its proximity to the High Court, the street is popular with lawyers. These aren’t the sumptuous, elegant chambers of the Inns of Court that flourish in the shadow of the Old Bailey in London; they are slightly sleazy shop fronts where the drug addicts and thieves could find a solicitor to defend them in their latest brush with the law. Russell tried to avoid watching the parade of solicitors and criminals walking passed his car, there were too many who would know his face.

  Time moved like a snail and Russell’s concerns grew, maybe Dent had slipped away while he was waiting on Clarkson. At six o’clock the rush hour traffic was just beginning to subside as a black taxi pulled up outside Dent’s block. Clarkson could barely see it through the rain that was now falling steadily and blurring her windscreen.

  “Sir,” Clarkson’s voice disturbed the quiet interior of Russell’s car.

  “Ellen?”

  “There’s a black cab outside his flat.”

  “Let me know if it’s for him.”

  Silence descended again as she watched the door of the building intently and Russell drummed gently on his steering wheel.

  Dent emerged a couple of minutes later wheeling a suitcase.

  “Here he comes,” Clarkson announced.

  “I’m set, Ellen,” Russell said as he started the engine of his car.

  The detective sergeant moved out as the taxi pulled away from the kerb. The taxi turned into Steel Street and then left on to the Saltmarket with Ellen about two cars back. Russell pulled out but the lights at the junction turned red before he could follow them through and he had to stop.

  “Shit,” he said as he pulled up at the junction. “Have you got him Ellen?”

  “The taxi has turned on to Clyde Street,” she replied.

  “Keep them in your sights. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  The traffic lights ran through the full sequence before Russell was able to drive off in pursuit.

  “Ellen, where are you?”

  “Still on Clyde Street.”

  Russell turned right on to the street that followed the course of the river. He sped through the junction at Stockwell Street just as the lights were about to halt his progress. He drove past St. Andrew’s Catholic Cathedral and on towards Jamaica Street.

  “We’re going under the bridge, sir,” Clarkson announced.

  “Understood.”

  A few seconds later she said, “We’re turning into Oswald Street, I think he’s going to Central Station.”

  Russell was stopped by another red light, this time on the junction with Jamaica Street and screamed a curse in frustration. What should he do? If Dent got on a train, he might never return, but if he tried to take him in they might lose their only chance. When the lights did change he accelerated quickly, drawing an angry blast of a horn as he cut in front of a bus, he drove under the railway bridge and turned towards Hope Street.

  “Confirmed, sir. He’s going into the station.”

  “Follow him in but don’t get too close.”

  “Yes, sir.”


  He had another brief stop for traffic lights at the intersection of Oswald Street and Argyle Street before driving up the ramp that led into the old railway station. The tight spiral opened out on to the broad concourse and in to the short-stay car park. A taxi was moving towards the exit ramp and Russell caught a glimpse of Dent walking in the direction of the platforms through the rank of parked vehicles. He passed Ellen Clarkson’s Focus just as she was getting out and he managed to find a space at the very end of the same row.

  He rushed to join the detective sergeant. “I’m not sure how to play this, Ellen,” he confessed.

  “I don’t think we can let him leave the city, sir,” she replied.

  “No, I suppose not. I’ll follow him to the train, you wait at the end of the platform.”

  They walked swiftly to the departure board where they discovered that the Birmingham train was due to leave from platform 2 at twenty-five to seven. The long sleek form of the bright red and grey train was pulling to a halt at the buffers just as the two detectives arrived at the end of the platform.

  “Ring the chief super, we might need backup. Wait here and make sure Dent doesn’t make a run for it.”

  Russell began to walk up the long platform that was crowded with passengers disembarking from another train as well as the people waiting to board the Birmingham-bound coaches. While trying to spot his quarry he had to dodge the surging current of people and luggage trolleys heading for the exit. He finally saw Dent waiting to board the first-class coach at the far end of the train. The doors slid open with a sigh of air and he watched as Dent lifted his case onto the train.