The Photographer

by Craig Robertson

  ‘Did he have many girlfriends?’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t have time for girls. He was always studying or working on one project or another. Or on his computer. There’s always time for girls later. And anyway, he has his mammy.’

  She said the last line as if she was joking but Winter knew she wasn’t.

  ‘No girlfriends at all? That’s a bit unusual though, isn’t it? Maybe he had and you just didn’t know.’

  ‘No,’ she was immediately defensive. ‘He could have had if he wanted. William could have any girl he wants. He’s so handsome. But he didn’t and I’d have known. He tells me everything.’

  ‘Mrs Broome, do you think maybe William is gay and that’s why he’s never had a girlfriend? And, of course, it’s perfectly okay if that’s the case.’

  Her eyes widened and she sat back in her chair. Winter might as well have suggested her son was a penguin from Mars.

  ‘Gay? No. Gay? There’s nothing wrong with my boy.’

  ‘I didn’t say it would be anything wrong. In fact, it’s perfectly—’

  ‘No! He’s quite normal. Very normal. He could have the pick of any girl he wanted. But they have to be good enough for him. He’s not going to settle for second best. He doesn’t have to.’

  ‘So would you say he was his mother’s boy then?’

  ‘Oh yes, definitely. And that’s a good thing, whatever anyone says. He was a mummy’s boy but that just meant he loved me.’

  Mummy’s boy. Winter was going to use that.

  ‘What did you think of the charges against William? About what they said he’d done?’

  Elspeth Broome leaned forward and aggressively stared at him over her glasses.

  ‘I thought it was disgusting. Letting a pack of lies like that get as far as court. That woman should have been the one put on trial. She should be locked up for what she said about my William. Locked up! The things she said. They made me sick. She’s perverted, that’s what she is.’

  CHAPTER 42

  It wasn’t what they called a death knock. Not quite. Narey knew it felt like one though.

  Taking bad news, often the worst news, to someone’s door was the part of the job that everyone hated. That it had to be done was of little consolation. That you could never care as much as they did always left you feeling you’d let them down.

  Narey parked in front of the semi-detached on Archerhill Gardens, DC Kerri Wells next to her in the car, and sat for a moment before going to the door, pretending to check email on her phone. They wouldn’t be welcome but that was hardly new. She seemed to have spent an entire career going to places she wasn’t wanted. No, what bothered her was she couldn’t tell them anything definite, could only fill them with dread and leave them with tattered hope.

  Get on with it, she told herself. It’s not about you, just do it.

  ‘Okay, Kerri. Let’s do this.’

  Charlie Watt opened the door looking like a boxer who hadn’t figured out he was beat, knocked to the canvas three times but still determined to get up and be hit again. He was small and bony and the lines on his forehead stretched back across his bald skull.

  He tried for words but had to settle for inviting them in by the movement of his head. Narey knew his wife would be the one with the words.

  In the living room, Heather was seated on one end of their floral sofa, her hands working away nervously. She half rose but sank back down just as quickly, neither the time nor the energy for politeness. Charlie stood next to her, an arm round her shoulder, designed to comfort but working equally well as scaffolding.

  ‘Tell us,’ Heather started. ‘Just tell us. She’s dead, isn’t she?’

  ‘Wheesht,’ her husband told her, rubbing at her arm. ‘She’s not.’

  ‘Aye she is. Look at her face. She can’t bring herself to tell us. Well, just spit it out. We can take it.’

  Narey really doubted that was true.

  ‘Charlie, do you want to sit down? I think it’d be best.’

  Heather’s hand flew to her gaping mouth, covering a silent scream. ‘I told you. Oh mammy, no.’

  ‘Charlie, please. Sit next to Heather and let me tell you what I know. I’m not here to tell you she’s dead. Please, sit down.’

  Husband looked to wife for approval, neither of them fully taking in the reprieve Narey had given them. Heather gave an urgent nod and Charlie slid onto the seat beside her, barely room for a breath of air between them.

  Narey took a breath of her own, feeling the weight of their expectation. She had to tread carefully.

  ‘We know where Leah went on the day she went missing. We’ve been able to track her by her phone and CCTV. But . . .’ she had to cut off the hope she saw rising on Heather’s face, ‘this isn’t necessarily good news.’

  ‘Can you not just tell us? I can’t take this, I swear I can’t.’

  ‘We don’t know where she is now, let me tell you that. We know she went to Binnie Place in the East End, on the corner of Glasgow Green, where the WEST Brewery is. The old Templeton’s carpet factory.’

  Heather’s face crumpled in confusion. ‘Right. I mean, why? Why would she go there? I don’t understand this.’

  ‘Templeton is where William Broome has his offices. We believe Leah went there to see him. We don’t know why but we’re trying to find out.’

  The blood drained from Leah’s mother’s face. ‘No, no, no. No. She wouldn’t do that. She just wouldn’t. She was terrified of that man. She wouldn’t go there by choice. Someone must have made her.’

  ‘She went there on her own. We have CCTV shots of her walking from the city centre and approaching the building. Heather, Charlie, I’m still only guessing why she went there and I don’t like doing that. But she might have gone to confront him. I think she’d maybe decided she’d just had enough and had to do something about it.’

  ‘That will be your fault then, hen.’ Charlie had had enough too. His face had hardened. ‘If my Leah felt she had to do something about it will be because you didnae.’

  ‘Where did she go after the factory, after his office?’ Heather’s voice was cracking.

  ‘We don’t know. There’s no CCTV showing her leaving or being anywhere else after being in there.’

  ‘So, she’s still in there? Oh, Jesus Christ, why’re you here and not in there looking for her? What’s he done to her? What’s that bastard done to my lassie?’

  Charlie grabbed his wife round the shoulders, scrawny fingers digging into her flesh. ‘Wheesht, wheesht.’

  ‘We don’t know what he’s done. We don’t know if he’s done anything. But I think you should prepare yourselves for the worst. If she’s alive, I’ll do everything I can to find her.’

  ‘And if she’s not? You think he’s killed her, don’t you? Don’t you?’

  Narey was stuck. Wedged between a determination not to lie to them and a need not to scare them any more than she had to. She fudged with a hopeful truth.

  ‘I just don’t know.’

  ‘Then find out!’ Charlie Watt was on his feet, his face turning purple. ‘Find out! Take that bastard in and beat the shit out of him. Or let me. Just let me.’

  It was getting to it. ‘We can’t arrest him, Charlie. All he is, is a witness to where Leah was last seen. We’re over a barrel on this. They’re not going to give me the go ahead to bring him in on circumstantial evidence. I’m sorry but that’s the way it is.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Heather was shaking her head forcefully. ‘I don’t understand. Search that place. Why not just search it?’

  ‘We need a warrant and I can’t get one.’

  Heather started to stand up but Charlie leaned on her shoulder and pushed her back onto the couch. ‘Aye? I’m phoning your boss. I’m going right to the top. Warrant? I’ll get you a fucking warrant.’

  She dropped Kerri Wells back at the station, leaving the Watts to pile on the pressure, and headed for the south side. Shazia Karim didn’t have to be told, not the way the parents did, b
ut Narey felt the obligation.

  She’d called ahead, hearing the fear in Shaz’s voice but telling her she didn’t want to discuss it over the phone. They were going to meet at Shaz’s flat on Terregles Avenue.

  Narey had played the Watts, she wasn’t hiding from that or apologising for it. She needed into the Templeton Building and angry, grieving parents increased her chances of being able to do that. She hadn’t suggested they petition her bosses. She’d just led them there.

  Rico had arranged for all available CCTV on the building to be stepped up. Favours had been called in, too, to have patrols drive by and be visible. If they couldn’t get in, they had to make sure Broome couldn’t get anything out. Unless he already had.

  Shaz was waiting for her, standing at the second-floor window, the curtain pulled back in her hand, her face grim. She waved anxiously, telling Narey to come up.

  At the front door, she studied Narey’s face, looking for signs and somehow sensing or seeing that it wasn’t what she feared most. She breathed a cautious sigh of relief and led the detective inside.

  They sat down opposite each other, Shaz with her hands trapped between her knees.

  ‘You haven’t found her.’

  ‘No, we haven’t.’

  ‘And that’s the good news, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, what’s the bad? Because I know there is some. I can feel it.’

  She explained. About tracking Leah’s phone. About the CCTV, the Templeton Building and Broome’s office.

  Shaz sat, nodding fiercely, trying to hold herself together, taking it all in.

  ‘Right, okay. Okay. There’s things that could explain it. That she’s still maybe okay. Or being held somewhere but not hurt. Or got out when no one was looking and is hiding out somewhere or . . .’

  Her voice drifted away and the tears burst loose. She tried speaking through them, snuffling and wiping and trying to convince either of them that it would be okay.

  ‘You sure she went there? Sure she went in?’

  ‘We saw her walking there. Argyle Street, the Trongate, Barrowlands, London Road. She walked all the way. No one following her. And she went into the Templeton.’

  ‘Oh Christ, the Barrowlands.’ Shaz choked out a laugh of sorts. ‘The nights we had there. So many gigs and so much booze. I need her to be okay, Inspector. She’s my best friend and you only get one.’

  Narey felt the need to hug her but stopped herself. ‘You two did a lot together, didn’t you? Talk about her if it helps. Why do you get on so well?’

  Shaz shrugged. ‘She gets me. I know that’s a cliché, but she does. No need to pretend, you know? We’ve always just been able to tell each other everything.’

  ‘I get that. What bands did you see at the Barrowlands?’

  ‘Everyone. Belle and Sebastian, Saw Doctors, Biffy Clyro, the Manics, Pigeon Detectives. It was about a night out, just me and her. Drinks in town then the ballroom. We even went to see Runrig and we can’t fucking stand Runrig.’

  She dissolved into laughter and more tears at the same time, her mascara scarring her cheeks.

  ‘Find her. Please. Find her safe.’

  Narey could only nod. Half a lie. She was sure she’d find her.

  CHAPTER 43

  Charlie and Heather Watt hadn’t stopped at a phone call to Police Scotland. They’d followed it up with a personal visit and refused to leave until they were interviewed by the most senior officer possible. Shouts of their daughter having been murdered were effective but threats to go to the press even more so.

  There were meetings way above Narey’s head and although she wasn’t privy to the contents, she was quickly apprised of the result. A warrant would be issued for a search of the Templeton Building, including the HardWire offices. Broome wasn’t to be considered a suspect or treated as such but his premises could be searched. Not computers, not files or folders, not company documents, just the office itself.

  They were to get in and out as quickly as possible and to treat everyone with the respect due. She knew she’d struggle with their assessment of how much respect was owed to Broome but it wouldn’t show. She’d done this before.

  She led the team in through the front door of the building, Rico Giannandrea and Bryan Dawson at her heels and the troops following behind. Dawson would take the lower floor and the brewery, Giannandrea the stairwells, lifts and middle floor. The top floor was hers.

  She took two DCs, Kerri Wells and Steph Harkness, with her as well as the SOCOs. She wanted Broome to be faced by three women and see how he liked it.

  Pushing the door open a bit harder than was necessary, she grabbed the attention of the entire office immediately.

  ‘I am sorry to interrupt, ladies and gentlemen, but we’re authorised to conduct a search of the entire building as part of an ongoing investigation into the disappearance of Leah Watt. We will try to minimise the disruption. We will need to take fingerprints from each of you to eliminate you from any prints we find. I also need you to give me a list of anyone else likely to have been in here in the last few days. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.’

  A tall, gawky guy in a stripy long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans shot to his feet. ‘You need a warrant for that.’

  ‘Well, lucky that I’ve got one, isn’t it? What’s your name, sir? My colleague here would like to ask you some questions.’

  Harkness took out her notebook and stared down the geek, who quietly declared himself to be Marty and had clearly lost his enthusiasm for complaining.

  Narey strode down the length of the room, heading straight for Broome, who faced her approach, sat behind his desk like it was a throne. The man clearly wasn’t surprised at their arrival and she got the distinct feeling he’d been tipped off. Quite possibly by whoever seemed to be on his side at Tulliallan.

  Not surprised but no less angry; she saw in his eyes something of what she’d seen that night in his bedroom when he’d been arrested. The cornered animal, resentful and dangerous. He didn’t get up as she approached, just glared from his seat, eyes burning.

  ‘This is provocation, unwarranted and actionable. My lawyer agrees.’

  ‘I’m sure he does. Is he on his way?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s fine, but just make sure he stays out of my way. You might be well advised to give your staff a couple of hours off. I’m not sure they’ll be able to concentrate.’

  Broome said nothing but his contempt was obvious.

  It had been days since Leah had been in the building, not exactly ideal in forensic terms but they’d find what they could. Every surface would be examined; doors, pillars, desks, computer screens, telephones, cupboards, handles. All undoubtedly mired with a myriad of prints, but all they’d need was one.

  They’d search the basement, roof spaces, locked cupboards, all the hidey-holes that a building as old and strange as this one would have. The hunt was not only human. The lower floors were being nosed by a cadaver dog who’d work his way up through the building, sniffing out death.

  The dog would search the HardWire office too, because although there was nowhere, seemingly, to hide a body, the dog could also tell if someone had been killed there and later removed.

  Broome could neither hide his anger or stand that it was so obviously on show. He kicked back his chair and got up to leave.

  ‘I hope you’re not going far,’ she stopped him in his tracks.

  ‘I’m going for a coffee if that’s okay.’

  ‘Of course, it is. DC Wells will accompany you until you’re ready to return.’

  Broome stormed off, a mischievously grinning Wells in his wake, leaving the lair without its beast. That he would leave her in there made her surer than before they wouldn’t find anything in his office. They’d search and dust, making the maximum of minimal disruption.

  She studied the printed messages on the brick walls. Win or learn, never lose. Was this Broome’s personal philosophy as well as the company’s? She intended to
make sure he both learned and lost.

  Her phone rang. Rico. ‘You might want to come down the stairwell, boss. Something interesting.’

  ‘On my way.’

  One flight down, she saw the huddle. Two SOCOs, one – Paul Burke – hard at work with camera in hand, with Baxter and Giannandrea looking on. The buzz from them was contagious.

  ‘Blood,’ Giannandrea told her. ‘Easily missed unless you were specifically looking for it.’

  It was arterial spray, concentrated on the wall about four feet from the ground in a dull arc, and peppered on the floor. There was no trail away from the spot.

  ‘They’re going to do an inch by inch of the area. Paul has skin scrapings, too.’

  ‘Miniscule amounts,’ Burke warned.

  ‘We’ll take whatever you can get,’ she told him.

  Christ, Leah. What have you done?

  CHAPTER 44

  Lainey Henderson’s file contained case histories on a number of named women who’d suffered sexual assaults and who seemed to fit her profile of The Beast. Some of them didn’t come with addresses and others had moved since they were attacked but they were all relatively easy to trace using electoral rolls and credit checks.

  What was much more difficult was approaching them.

  Winter knew it was what he’d signed up for but it was the reverse of the way he’d been working and it was making him uneasy. Tracking down the women in the photographs and determining their fate seemed somehow less invasive than searching for known rape victims.

  The first was in files dating back to October 2012. The woman woke to find someone in her bedroom, was overpowered, beaten and raped. The police had investigated but got nowhere.

  Her name, rightly, hadn’t been released to the press but Lainey had got it through her cop contact. She was Anna Catherine Collins, then living in Inchinnan, now in a flat in Paisley. They had to find her and see if she matched any of the Broome photographs.

  They ruled out doing the simplest thing, which was to knock on Anna’s door and see what she looked like. That first step would be much easier than the one that would have to follow.