The First Cut (Terrence Reid Mystery Series Book 2)

by Mary Birk

  Reid perused the report. “It looks like the Mercedes was wiped clean of prints. The unopened condom packet left on the floor of the car is interesting.”

  “The only prints on that are Ramsey’s. There were also several more condom packets in the glove box with just his prints on them. Allison called and said they found what looks to be the rest of the box in Ramsey’s bedroom. The bag they were in had a pharmacy receipt time stamped Friday afternoon.”

  Reid considered what he was hearing. “Surveillance had him at his doctor’s on Friday afternoon before his meeting at Von Zandt’s. No mention of a pharmacy visit, but I believe there’s a pharmacy in the lobby of that building, so if Ramsey stopped in there after or before his appointment, surveillance might not have noted it.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “No sign of a murder weapon.” Reid thought. “Did the ME call?”

  “Aye, Tessa confirmed it was a stabbing, said you’ll have to wait until she finishes for anything else. The body’s too much of a mess for it to be easy.”

  “I thought that might be the case.”

  “You have an idea as to what the murder weapon might have been?”

  Reid shook his head. “I’m not sure. The hole in the chest seemed to be more like a puncture than a cut. Whatever it was, it wasn’t left on scene, so the killer must have taken it with him.”

  Frank frowned. “Him or her. What do you make of the condom packets?”

  “Hard to have more than one interpretation on that, isn’t it? The packets in the glove box don’t necessarily signify, but the one on the floor is different. Ramsey had hopes of using it, either right then, or at some time between when he bought the box and when he died.” Suddenly aware that this subject could be hard for Frank, who although only in his late thirties, was unlikely to ever need such items again, Reid quickly moved on. “And they had no luck with tire tracks, I see.”

  Frank looked levelly at Reid. They’d been friends since Reid’s early days with the force at Strathclyde. “I don’t want your pity, Terrence. Nor do I want you walking on bleeding eggshells with me every time the subject touches something I can’t do anymore. In return, I’ll do you the favor of doing the same when it comes to topics that hit too close to whatever is going on in your life. And as that’s bound to happen more often, you’ll be getting the better side of the deal.”

  Reid gave a wry smile. “Agreed.”

  “Good.” Frank went on with summarizing the evidence. “No on the tire tracks. Another car had been there, but they weren’t able to get any usable tracks. The ground is too sandy and between the disturbance in the air from the trains rushing by and the wind itself, it doesn’t lay quiet for long.”

  Reid flipped through the pages of the report. “Anyone see anything?”

  “No, the officers canvassing the area couldn’t find anyone who’d seen or heard anything helpful.”

  “Did the old man who found the body check inside the car?”

  “He said not. We’ve got his prints, though, and we’ll compare those with what we find on and in the car.”

  Reid raised his eyebrows. “You don’t sound like you believe him.”

  “Don’t know. Best to check.”

  “Aye. Tox results?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Any news on the whiskey bottle?” Reid knew it could have been thrown down by anyone at any time. They needed to link it to Ramsey for it to mean anything. “The local cops’ theory that he wandered, drunk, on to the tracks doesn’t sync with the obvious evidence of him being murdered. He wasn’t much of a drinker.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m thinking if Ramsey was going to that spot to have a bit of fun, there’s a good chance he’d have brought some refreshments along for his partner and himself. Anyway, that’s what I would have done, and I assume most men would do.”

  “Really?” Reid never would have thought of that. But then, he’d never taken a woman to a deserted lane to make love. He’d had lovers before Anne, of course, but he’d always conducted his brief affairs with discretion and decorum. He’d grown up in the detritus of his parents’ marital scandal and the last thing he wanted was more of that.

  Frank shook his head. “You’re bloody socially backward, Reid.”

  Reid sighed. “Right. So, still no news from Parsons?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Give DI Lawrence a call. Make sure he’s had a search team out to where Parsons was last heard from. He should have called in by now, even if it is his day off.”

  “Got it.”

  “Then put together a statement for the press. I’ll have to send it to McMurty for approval, but I’ve a meeting to brief Carolyn Caspary set up for Tuesday to put out the story we want the press to have.” Reid had worked with the reporter for years and had made sure to give her regular exclusives so he’d have her ear when he needed it.

  “First thing in the morning soon enough? By then we’ll have more on what Allison’s finding and maybe something from Harry and Oscar on the electronics. And hopefully the tox screen will be back.”

  “Morning is fine.”

  “I assume you’re doing something about DI Lawrence?”

  “Aye. First priority.”

  Frank gave a satisfied smile, turned his chair, and motored out, leaving Reid alone with his thoughts. He looked down at his mobile where it lay on his desk, willing it to ring, but it stayed silent.

  Bloody socially backward.

  Chapter 9

  “FUCKING BASTARDS!” Allison slammed the door of the High Street office behind her just before six that night.

  Harry looked up, taking a quick inventory. She was practically trembling with anger; tears threatening to escape from her eyes. He looked over at Frank, who just shrugged. Oscar studied Allison from behind his thick eyeglasses, with no expression, as if she always burst in like a tsunami.

  “Us, duck?” Harry ventured, trying to think what they could have done. He didn’t think he’d committed any fresh outrages.

  She flounced over to her desk, throwing her shoulder bag on the floor, and landing heavily on her chair. “Not you lot, though you’re all the same.”

  “Ah, men in general, I’m assuming?” Harry relaxed. He’d heard this particular accusation before.

  “Yes, and in particular, those stupid bastards doing the search. The Super left me in charge but they ignored me when I said anything, or rolled their eyes and said things like, don’t worry your pretty little head about it, luv, we know what we’re doing.” She mimicked them, and Harry had to stop himself from smiling. “The worst was that prick Michaud who I ended up having to get a lift back with.”

  Harry tried to think what to say. “Don’t let them rattle you, sweetcakes. So what did you do?” He marveled silently on how quickly this minister’s daughter had picked up her colleagues’ habit of profanity when agitated. She’d primly reprimanded him about his language for the first month she’d been on the team, then the first bloody had slipped out of her mouth and there’d been no turning back.

  She puffed out a breath. “I told them, quite calmly, that it was my job to make sure the search was done the way the Super wanted. They just smiled at me in their stupid way and pretended to agree, then went on doing whatever they wanted. I had to practically pitch a bloody fit to get them to do what I needed done.”

  Harry rummaged around in his mind for what she would expect—no, want—him to do. “Do you want me to talk to them?”

  She screwed up her face in horror. “Are you kidding? That would just make it worse. Like I went crying about it to my big brother or something. Absolutely not. I’ll handle it.” She looked over at the closed door to Reid’s office. “Is he in?”

  Harry nodded. “He’ll want your report.”

  Her back stiffened, and he could see her donning the professional poise at which she worked so hard to present to the guv. “Right. I know. I’m just getting myself calmed down, then I’ll go in.”

  Oscar went back to his co
mputer screen, but Frank brought Allison a cup of tea, motoring his wheel chair automatically, rather than the manual mode he preferred when he didn’t have his hands full.

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  Frank handed her two sugar sachets. “I imagine it’s rough being a woman in this business sometimes. Being young doesn’t help, but it’ll get easier.”

  “I know. Still, it’s a lot of aggro.”

  Harry said, “I’d have . . .”

  She interrupted, her voice impatient. “It doesn’t matter what you’d have done. It’s different when you’re a man. You lot have your own ways of letting each other know who’s in charge or that you’ll beat each other’s brains out or something. I can’t do it the way you do it—or how the Super does. I have to find my own way. I just wish I wasn’t so young.”

  Frank shook his head, his face serious, though Harry saw the flicker of a smile before it was skillfully suppressed. “Don’t wish that away too soon. Eventually you won’t be.”

  “Or so small.” She added.

  Frank pondered, then said, “You could eat more and get fat.”

  Allison gave a rueful smile. “Might be an idea.” She pulled her notes out of her bag and stood up. “At least then maybe the bastards wouldn’t ask me out after not giving me any respect on the job.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “On that subject, if that arsehole Michaud calls while I’m in with the Super, tell him I’ll call back when hell bloody freezes over.”

  Harry cocked one eyebrow. “He asked you out?”

  “Him and Boyle and Wolfe as well. Not in front of each other, of course.”

  He shook his head and stood up. “You’re right, you’ll have to figure out your own way. That never happens to me.” He motioned to Reid’s door. “I’ll go in with you—I want to hear about the search.”

  Allison made a face, marched to the door, and knocked. After Reid called to come in, she opened the door and went in, Harry following behind. He leaned against the wall while she took the chair Reid indicated.

  “All finished?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Everything went all right?”

  She nodded. “Fine. They didn’t find much. No papers or anything. Nothing in his room or his wife’s of too much interest. No hairpiece. His son said he’d never seen him wear one. But Mrs. Ramsey had about a dozen wigs in the attic from when she used to sing professionally. We took those to compare against the strands. Also, there were some prescription meds there—I bagged them for the medical examiner to compare with whatever she finds.”

  “Good.”

  “There were some porno mags and a collection of DVDs of the same ilk. Nothing too deviant.” Her voice was businesslike, but spots of bright pink dotted her cheekbones.

  Harry almost smiled. What would a curly-headed milkmaid like her know from deviant? No wonder the lads had a hard time taking her seriously.

  “You checked the DVDs to make sure they were what they said they were?” Reid asked, his face patient and noncommittal, although Harry assumed the guv had the same thought as he had.

  “I brought them back with me. The lads were a little too interested in playing them and I didn’t want to waste time in the house doing that.” Allison’s cherubic face registered disapproval. Harry pursed his lips in restrained amusement; they hadn’t completely corrupted her yet.

  Reid nodded. “And the computer?”

  “I had them copy anything remotely promising, but nothing seemed of any interest to us. The hard drive was new. It looked to have been replaced recently and the files seemed to be ones that had just been transferred over from the old one.”

  Harry wasn’t surprised at that after what Reid had told him he’d learned from Bert Ramsey.

  Allison went on. “I asked the son about it. He said his father had mentioned having to replace the drive because of a virus.”

  “Did he say when?”

  Harry knew Reid had heard Bert’s story already, but was asking because he wanted to make sure the young man’s explanation had stayed consistent.

  “His father complained about it last week, but Bert thinks it got fixed this morning.”

  “By whom?”

  “His sister.” She glanced down at her notes. “Moira.”

  Harry made a face, and Allison gave him a quick puzzled look. He raised his eyebrows in a tell-you-later look.

  Reid’s face, however, didn’t show any reaction. “Where’s the drive that was supposed to have the virus?”

  “Bert didn’t know.”

  “You had the search team look for it?”

  Harry watched to see if Allison would betray any of the trouble the officers had given her, but she didn’t blink or hesitate.

  “I did. They weren’t able to find anything like that.”

  “Any other computers in the house?”

  She shook her head.

  “Bert lives there as well, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he says he uses his work computer. A desktop at the office.”

  “Likely anything on Ramsey’s computer implicating Von Zandt, if it ever existed, isn’t there anymore.”

  “I’m afraid not, sir.”

  “Anything from the other family cars that looked like they had been at the crime scene?”

  Harry held his breath, wondering if Allison had thought to have them checked.

  She gave a satisfied nod. “I knew you’d ask that. Those lads on the search team thought that was overreaching with no suspects and the house likely not being the crime scene. But we checked, and no, there was nothing. All in all, the search was a nonstarter.”

  “Can’t be helped. If there’s nothing to find, we can’t find anything. The search team was thorough?” Reid raised his eyes, appearing to seriously gauge Allison’s response.

  “Yes, guv.”

  “Good job, then.” Reid smiled his approval and Harry saw Allison relax, pleased and proud.

  “Thank you, sir.” She stood up, all efficient and eager. “I’ll just get on with things, then. Bert Ramsey signed a consent to search his father’s office at work as well and called security to tell them to give us access. I think we should just bring Richard Ramsey’s work computer back here so it can be gone over thoroughly. We’ve got overtime approval.”

  Reid frowned. “It’s Sunday afternoon, Allison. I doubt that you’ll be able to get enough officers . . .”

  She waved her hand airily as she moved to the door. “The lads from the search are waiting for my call—I warned them they might be needed again. We’ll just go out and get it done quickly. I may have to stand them a round after, though.”

  “That’s fine. Get a chit and have Frank reimburse you.” Reid looked at Harry as the door closed behind her. “So she had no trouble with that lot?”

  “Nothing she couldn’t handle, looks like.”

  “Any joy on the bottle?”

  Harry was glad he could report some progress, paltry as it was. “Ramsey’s prints. Some lipstick on the rim. They’re running more tests to see if it can be i.d.’d.”

  “Good.”

  Harry moved toward the door. “By the bye, Lawrence has called three times asking if he was needed to help with things.”

  Reid raised his eyebrows. “And?”

  “The first two times I told him he and his lads weren’t needed just yet. The third time, I assured him they’d done quite enough to help and that we would call if we needed any more surveillance dropped or anything else f’ed up.”

  The telephone rang. Reid picked it up and motioned for Harry to stay. He listened and his face turned grim. After he hung up, he looked at his sergeant, and Harry knew the news was bad. “Parsons?”

  “Aye.”

  “He’s been found?”

  “Aye.”

  “And?” Harry knew what Reid was going to say next, knew in that way you feel when hope swirled down a sucking drain.

  “He’s dead.”

  Chapter 10

  REID AND HARRY s
pent long hours at the High Street office that evening going over how to reconfigure the operation in light of Ramsey’s death, and as a secondary goal, to figure out whether, or perhaps more to the point, how, DC Parson’s death was related to Ramsey’s. Having both the man being watched and the man watching him, turn up dead was more of a hard lump of coincidence than either of them could swallow.

  The search team had found Parsons’ body hidden in some brush along a road not too far from where he’d been stationed to keep an eye on the Ramsey house. According to the report Reid got, it looked as if the young constable been hit by a car—a victim of either a deliberate or accidental hit-and-run. Reid leaned heavily to the deliberate.

  Reid’s desk phone rang. He answered, not very surprised to hear DI Lawrence’s angry voice on the other end.

  “Not only did you get one of my lads killed, but you’ve left me the dirty task of dealing with his family. Thanks ever so much, Superintendent.”

  Reid restrained himself from saying what he wanted to say, that whatever had happened to Parsons could, at least in part, be traced back to DI Lawrence’s irresponsible manner of managing his team. If Parsons had been expected to check in periodically throughout the night, when he failed to do so, someone would have gone to check on the lad. Maybe he could have been saved if he’d gotten medical attention in time.

  “We’re all grieved by the loss, Mark. I’ll talk to Parsons’ family if you’d prefer.”

  Reid could almost see the other man’s surprise through the telephone.

  “Yes, well, maybe that would be best. I’ve a lot to do here trying to keep the rest of my people calm. They’re blaming you, of course.”

  Of course they are, Reid thought. With DI Lawrence’s encouragement.

  “What exactly am I being blamed for?”

  A pause, then Lawrence spit out, in a voice that held more bluster than sense. “It’s your operation, isn’t it?”

  As the Reid family’s longtime cook would say, that was the outside of enough. He heard the snap in his own voice. “Actually, the surveillance portion was yours, as I recall. I’d hope that in the future, you’d make sure your surveillance teams have a check-in and back-up routine. But I don’t see that this discussion is getting us anywhere. Give me the family’s contact information and I’ll reach out to them. Have they been informed of his death?”