Janie let out a little yelp. ‘What the hell? Where have they come from?’
Max paused, then sighed. ‘Hardie is under that stone, and he was killed right here,’ Max said in a low, matter-of-fact voice.
‘How can you be sure?’
‘Can you come up with another theory?’
‘No, I guess not, but we can’t be positive it’s him.’
Rather than answering, Max stepped off the stone and walked around contemplatively. The top end was raised slightly off the surrounding ground and it rocked gently when pressed. Max squatted down on his haunches and dug his fingers into the crack. He gave a cautious pull. The stone moved an inch, rocking, as if it had been inexpertly repositioned.
‘It’s been removed and replaced very recently. Give me a hand. Let’s see if we can lift it enough to sneak a peek,’ said Max, standing.
‘Are you sure? Like, are we allowed to do this? You know, desecration, and that.’ Janie frowned.
‘I’m pretty sure we are way past worrying about desecration. Come on, we still have gloves on, and we need to see what’s in there,’ Max said, smiling reassuringly.
‘Just gloves? Hold up, wait there a second and don’t do anything until I get back,’ said Janie. Without waiting for an answer, she sprinted off, leaped over the wall effortlessly and ran at a surprising pace back towards the car. Max watched her as she reached the BMW, busied herself in the boot and then re-emerged clutching a shoulder bag. She jogged back, leaped over the wall and ditched the bag on the ground next to Max. Her breath rate was only slightly elevated.
‘Marathon runner?’ Max asked, genuinely impressed at her obvious fitness levels.
‘Oh Christ, no, far too much distance for me – that’s why cars were invented. Come on, if we’re doing this we should at least suit up.’ She opened the bag and tossed a forensic oversuit at Max, still in its cellophane wrapper.
Max opened his mouth, but closed it immediately once he realised that his more junior colleague was absolutely correct. They both donned the thin, white paper suits, zipped them up and pulled the hoods over their heads. Janie handed Max some overshoes and a surgical mask.
As they were both now appropriately dressed, Max said, ‘Ready?’
‘Not really, but come on.’
‘You have a torch?’
Janie said nothing but went into her bag and pulled out her smart phone. ‘Torch function on here. Like a Girl Guide, Max, I’m always prepared.’
‘No wonder you’re on accelerated promotion,’ said Max, meaning it.
‘Not you, as well,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘What?’ said Max.
‘Any time I do anything, ever, that could be seen as basic competence, some smart-arse on the team mentions accelerated promotion.’
Max looked at Janie. ‘That must be annoying.’
‘Just a bit.’
‘Okay, I’ll not mention it again. I’ll try and lift from the edge, deadlift style. You try and get a look with the torch and see if there’s anything inside,’ said Max, squatting over the loose corner of the stone. He dug his fingers underneath and managed to get a firm grip. Max was a strong man, who regularly lifted weights as part of his boxing training, but he could immediately tell that the stone was going to be seriously heavy. ‘You ready?’
‘When you are.’
Max lowered his backside to the ground, his back straight, and heaved in a deadlift style feeling immediate movement as the heavy granite began to lift, agonisingly slowly. Max felt his glutes and lower back complain as he pulled upwards, his face contorting with the effort. After a couple of seconds, he felt the stone begin to move. A renewed contraction and Max pulled up, forcing all his weight through his heels, and the stone gave way. Flies swarmed in a cloud as the tiny gap became much larger and daylight disturbed their feast on whatever lay below.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Janie spat, her voice muffled behind the surgical mask.
‘Anything?’ grunted Max, his muscles beginning to shake.
‘Hold on, I just need to clear all this crap away.’ Janie pulled away some disturbed grass and a clod of turf from the edge of the lifted stone, her eyes showing her distaste at the swarming insects that buzzed in a cloud around her.
She squatted and shone the torch into the gap. ‘Whatever’s in there is about a foot down. Hold on, I can’t see without putting my head in the way of the stone. I trust you, Max, but I don’t fancy a half-ton bit of granite hitting me on the head.’
‘Quick as you like, this is a little heavy,’ Max said, the strain evident in his voice. The flies buzzed with renewed vigour as they were drawn to the sweat across his brow.
Janie quickly took her phone and swept at the screen, selecting the camera function. She made sure the flash was operating and pointed it into the grave. A tinny fake camera sound was audible as she snapped away before pulling the camera out and looking at the screen. ‘Holy shit, you can drop the stone. I have it recorded.’
Max steadily returned the stone back into place as gently as his complaining muscles would allow and stood exhaling a deep breath of relief.
‘What do we have?’ he asked.
Janie simply handed the phone over to Max who looked at the screen. Tam Hardie’s bloated face and lifeless eyes stared back out of the dark, fly-blown hole.
Max sighed deeply and pulled the mask away from his face, swatting some flies away.
‘Let’s go back to the car. No sense in sticking around by all these bloody flies. They give me the creeps,’ said Max as he handed Janie’s phone back to her.
‘They’re unpleasant, I grant you, but forensic entomology is bloody fascinating, I have to say,’ said Janie, looking at the swarming insects.
‘Well, that’s as may be, but right now they’re doing my head in, so can we please bugger off out of here?’
‘No stamina, Sarge.’
As they began to retrace their steps Max pulled his own phone out of his pocket and dialled.
‘Max, tell me some good news.’ Ross Fraser’s gruff voice filled the silence.
‘Sorry, I can’t. We need the full works. MIT, a crew with the ability to remove a gravestone and a forensic pathologist. Best get some local uniforms up here too for scene securing. Hardie is dead. I’ll email you a map link. They’ll all need it to find this place; it’s the middle of bloody nowhere.’
‘Fuck. In fact, double-fuck, this could be bad. How did he die?’ he said.
‘No idea. He’s under a gravestone in an ancient burial ground by the remains of an old church. Managed to sneak a wee lookie inside and Janie snapped a picture, but it’s definitely him, especially bearing in mind his Range Rover is just a few yards away.’
‘So, he’s been murdered then?’
‘Either that or he buried himself to death, and that doesn’t seem very likely.’
‘Less of the levity, Sergeant. I’ll make the calls; just get the scene secure and wait for the MIT. It’s their job now. I know one thing, though, this is going to bring trouble to Caithness. There is no way that the Hardies will leave this to law enforcement. They’re going to want blood, and plenty of it.’
7
First to arrive were the local officers from the nearby Wick Police Station. They pulled up next to Max and Janie’s BMW and a slim, grey-haired, middle-aged sergeant with a less-than-perfect uniform and tired eyes alighted the vehicle, affixing his white-topped cap. He flashed them a weary smile as he approached. A smartly dressed, young uniformed constable got out of the passenger seat and stood, looking at the scene before him.
‘Mick McGee, acting inspector for today. What do we have? I got a call from our divisional commander about a murder.’
‘DS Craigie and this is my colleague, DC Calder.’ Max explained what they had found.
‘Shit, that’s not good. How the hell did you find it all the way up here?’
‘Just inquiries, you know. Are you traffic, as well?’
‘Normally I’m roads policing, but I’m also the sen
ior cop on duty for miles about, so I got sent. Glad you’re here, pal. Give me an accident to reconstruct and I’m your man. Murders, not so much,’ he said with a genuine smile.
‘No problem,’ said Max.
‘Do I need to see the scene?’ asked McGee.
‘I’d say no, pal, but it’s your call. If you could get your guys to cordon it, we can wait for the forensic crime scene manager and the Major Incident Team. I can show you the photographs, if you like. It’s not particularly pleasant, though.’
‘Nah, I’m good. Just give me the abridged version so I can brief this to the boss,’ he said.
‘Cool. Myself and Janie entered this scene on a missing person inquiry. Once we realised that someone was probably secreted within a grave, the only interference with the scene was done whilst we were wearing appropriate forensic clothing and only to ensure that life was definitely extinct. My advice is that no one returns back in until the SIO and forensic teams arrive,’ said Max.
‘I’m happy with that, mate. Glad you found him, and not one of my lot.’ He turned to the constable at his side. ‘Steve, put some tape over the entrance to the field and let’s get another couple of units up here to make sure we keep everyone away, including the bloody sheep. We can make the perimeter the whole field, including the graveyard. Agreed?’ He looked at Max for reassurance.
‘Perfect. I imagine he’s been dead at least a couple of days, judging by the number of flies, but the pathologist will have a better idea.’
‘I’ll make the call to the control room,’ said McGee, reaching for his phone.
‘One thing you should know, Mick. The body is a gentleman named Tam Hardie. He’s probably the biggest gangster in Scotland, and this is going to be very high-profile. The dead body of a gangster, hidden in a centuries-old grave, will be on the front cover of every newspaper.’
8
A couple more patrol cars arrived at the scene within about forty minutes and McGee sent the officers off to man the cordons that were now in place. He seemed to be a very relaxed sort, genuinely grateful for Max’s presence. Due to the remote nature of the area and scant policing resources, it wasn’t uncommon for officers to wear multiple hats, hence a traffic specialist turning up at a murder scene.
Max and Janie sat in the BMW, still dressed in their white overalls, the doors open, as the late afternoon breeze wafted in from the North Sea. It was an unseasonably warm period, which this part of north Scotland was definitely not used to. It probably explained why the late Old Man Hardie was decomposing at a fair rate.
Max’s phone buzzed in his pocket. ‘Hello, Max Craigie?’ A light, soft voice asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Hi, I’m DI Sally Smith, the on-call SIO. We’re on our way up to you from Inverness, and I’d just like a heads-up on what’s going on there.’
‘Sure thing, Boss, no problem,’ said Max and he proceeded to give a full account of their actions and involvement.
‘A right affair. You okay to hang on there? We’ll be about an hour, I suspect, but I’d like you to walk us through the scene. I’ve enough officers with me, and some shovels to get us into the grave.’
‘Shouldn’t be a problem, just need enough pairs of hands to lift the gravestone off. It’s not held in place by anything other than gravity.’
‘Okay, thanks, Max. Stay put and we’ll be there soon.’
*
DI Smith was as good as her word, and fifty-five minutes after her call a small convoy of two cars, a minibus and a liveried CSI van pulled up alongside them. The occupants all got out and began to suit up into their forensic overalls. There was a comforting air of practised efficiency.
DI Smith was an immediately reassuring presence as she jumped out of the car, already thrusting out a hand to Max for a firm shake with a warm smile. Smartly dressed in a business suit, she bristled with confidence and authority and looked younger than Max had imagined.
‘Hi, Max, thanks for hanging about for us. I’m Sally; this is Tim, the police search adviser. I thought it probable we’d need PolSA on this job.’ She nodded at a smiling sergeant in dark blue cotton overalls with the Police Scotland crest on the sleeve.
‘Ma’am,’ Max said returning her smile.
‘Sally will do fine. So, what do we have?’
Max went back over their findings and she listened intently, scribbling into an A4 hard-backed book.
‘You sure this is Tam Hardie?’
‘As I can be.’
The inspector exhaled, puffing her cheeks out as the reality of what she was dealing with became apparent. ‘Jesus. That’s not good. I’ve investigated that family’s connection to several murders. They won’t take this well.’
‘I think that’s why they asked me to look at it rather than the locals.’
‘Common approach path to the grave?’ she asked, still scribbling, her attention turning back to the immediate matter at hand. Notorious gangster or not, Tam Hardie was still a victim.
‘From the rear of the yard opposite the gate, the wall is low and easy to cross and I didn’t want to disrupt the route that Hardie or his killer took. Do you have stepping plates with you?’
‘Yep, in the CSI van. Bill over there is our crime scenes manager, and he has everything we need.’ Sally nodded at a small, stocky man dressed in a forensic suit who was already pulling a mask over his nose and mouth, clearly eager to get moving. Equipment in large plastic boxes was being unloaded and piled alongside camera cases on the rough ground.
‘How do you want to play it?’ asked Max.
‘If you show me and Bill your approach path, the three of us will then move up to the grave and get it photographed before anyone else gets in. We can then get the step plates in place. Once we’re happy, we’ll bring the PolSA boys and girls in for the heavy lifting. How easy will it be to remove the stone?’
‘Half a dozen should be able to do it safely enough. It’s pretty heavy, but movable. I managed to pick the edge up so Janie could take the picture.’
‘Nice work. Can I see?’
Janie swiped at her phone and handed it over to the detective inspector who looked at it with an expressionless face. ‘A bit grotty already with the warm weather. How long do you reckon?’
‘I think we can be pretty exact, bearing in mind the call data. Has that been shared with you?’ Max said.
‘Ross emailed it. Makes sense. I think we can be pretty sure that he died at or around the time his phone dropped off the system. Okay. Bill, Tim with me – let’s go and look at this scene.’
*
Within an hour, the scene was secured and the controls established. The common-approach step plates were in place and Bill had photographed the whole area in detail, including a videoed walk-through. The scene tape had been affixed more widely and a line of tape had been erected from the entry point to the yard, along the approach path and around the gravesite itself. A uniformed officer had a scene log going and anyone entering or leaving the taped-off area would now be logged.
Six of the PolSA officers, all wearing forensic clothing, stood around the grave in positions ready to remove the heavy, sinister slab of granite.
Sally spoke from behind her surgical mask. ‘Okay, folks, one at each corner, one on each side. We walk it sideways over to the cleared point we’ve designated to deposit the stone. Everyone ready?’
The team got into position and there were nods all round.
‘Go for it. Bill, are you recording?’
‘Camera is turning,’ said Bill, holding a small video camera pointed at the grave.
The six officers all squatted, digging fingers in underneath the stone and pushing into the soft earth, trying to gain traction.
The sergeant spoke. ‘Ready?’
More nods.
‘On my three, then. One, two, three, lift.’ There were muted sounds of exertion as each officer strained and lifted. The stone gave way immediately, moving clear of the rough, dark hole. Flies swarmed angrily in a dark cloud.
Totally ignoring the sudden onslaught of insects, the sergeant calmly said, ‘And steady now, step.’ The team stepped across, taking the stone away from the hole. ‘Everyone okay?’
More nods.
‘Right, guys, let’s get it across.’ Efficiently the team moved the large stone to a cleared square of grass. ‘And down gently.’ As one, the team lowered the stone to the ground.
The grave seemed to yawn, its interior dark and foreboding. The police officers all stood and stared, no one wanting to approach. A chill seemed to descend, as a bruise-coloured cloud moved into the sun’s path.
Bill the CSM approached the lip of the hole, his camera raised, with Sally alongside him. Max stepped forward and looked into the hole.
Tam Hardie lay on his back about four feet below, his face swollen and putrid, after the assault of millions of insects. His teeth were exposed in a grimace, his eyes wide open but empty. The smell hit them like a wall, assaulting the nostrils of all who stood surveying the scene. No one moved, retched, or even raised a hand to cover their noses. They were murder squad detectives, and this was their day job. Death was their business.
There was a vivid bloom of black blood that crawled with flies right in the centre of his torso, clearly the site of a terrible abdominal wound. A lifeless mobile phone sat in the centre of his chest. There was a visible straight slice in the fabric of the corpse’s shirt. An edged weapon, thought Max. No powder residue, no signs of exit wounds.
‘Okay, Max. Thank you for your help, but I think you can leave it to us now. Can you bag your forensic suits, gloves and overshoes and hand them to the productions officer before you leave? He will need to log them into the register. Once that’s done, head off and get your statements to the incident room by tomorrow.’
‘How about telling the family?’ asked Max, his thoughts turning to the brooding presence of Tam Hardie Junior.
‘I’ve already appointed a family liaison officer who will be on their way to tell the family as we speak. We have to try to keep them onside.’
The look in the detective inspector’s eyes was focused and determined. The weight of responsibility of a case like this was huge. Career making or career breaking, this was hers now. Max couldn’t help but ponder that this had the capacity to be the biggest and most notorious murder of the year, and it all rested on DI Smith’s shoulders. He didn’t envy her.
Dead Man's Grave Page 5
