by Lynne McEwan
Matthews was teamed with a special, a young man with burnished red hair and pale freckled skin, colouring so distinctly Scottish you’d remember him. Copper Knob – the nickname would be irresistible to colleagues and felons alike. Bet he heard it a lot. An idea chased itself around Shona’s mind for a moment, but she failed to catch it. There was a spark of recognition, then it came to her.
‘You were at the bridge last night.’
Copper Knob looked uncertainly at Matthews. ‘Yes, ma’am. It’s Johnstone. I was at the warehouse too. If it’s about my hours, I volunteered for this, I’m applying to join…’
She cut him off with a raised hand. ‘How’s the gentleman who was threatening to jump?’
He looked even more uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. The paramedics were checking him. We went to disperse the crowd and he just vanished.’
‘Were you wearing a BWV?’ Shona asked. Body-worn video cameras were being introduced but issues with software meant they weren’t universal.
‘Yes, ma’am, I was.’
‘Send me the footage.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ His shoulders dropped. ‘I’m very sorry, ma’am.’
‘You’re not in trouble, Johnstone,’ she reassured him. ‘I saw the way you pulled him to safety, that was quick thinking. Unfortunately, we often see people again. We’ll circulate his picture, get mental health agencies involved.’
Shona returned to her office. Murdo tapped on her door and came in beaming. ‘Great result.’
‘Yes, it was, and largely due to your planning amendments.’ She smiled. ‘Well done, Murdo.’
‘Ach, no,’ he said with the hint of a blush. Her sergeant’s lack of confidence in his own abilities was something Shona was determined to work on. ‘Anyways, all safely gathered in, that’s the main thing.’ Murdo continued, ‘The fiscal reckons as known faces they’ll go before the Sheriff tomorrow and if we can link them to the drugs behind the wall they’ll be remanded.’
One of the civilian data processors, a slight middle-aged woman with the air of a librarian, was hovering at the door.
‘All right there, Amanda? Is it me you’re after?’ Murdo asked.
‘Sorry, ma’am,’ Amanda said nervously to Shona. ‘it’s just… the bracelet.’ Both detectives looked at her blankly until she held up a printed out photograph of a young blonde woman who had one hand raised, brushing the hair back from her face. On her wrist was a silver bracelet stamped with the overlapping hearts of Luckenbooth design. ‘You mentioned it the other day, Murdo.’
Murdo took the photograph. ‘Where did you find this?’
‘I’ve been going through the social media of the suspects picked up by Op Fortress this morning, like you asked, Murdo,’ said Amanda shyly. ‘Searching for links, pictures of them together, you know. This was on a Facebook page belonging to a James Buckland.’
‘You wee belter, Amanda,’ said Murdo, beaming at the woman, whose face was rosy with pleasure. He turned to his boss. ‘Think that could be our girl?’
Shona pulled up the electronic file of the forensic report. She held the two pictures side by side. ‘What do you think, Amanda?’ asked Shona.
‘Yes,’ she said seriously. ‘I believe it’s the same bracelet. I couldn’t say if it’s the same woman wearing it.’ She averted her eyes from the post-mortem photographs on the screen. ‘The girl’s not tagged or listed as a friend, so I couldn’t trace her, but if you look at the detail of the bracelet, at the crown.’ Amanda took the mouse from Shona and highlighted an area of the bracelet on screen, blowing it up. ‘There’s an identical flattened point and scratch on both pictures, where it’s been damaged. I think it has to be the same bracelet.’
‘I think you’re right, Amanda,’ Shona said. ‘Murdo, we need to have a chat with this James Buckland.’
‘Right, ma’am. Buckland wasn’t a primary target; he was at a Dumfries address we raided and had drugs on his person. I’ll see where we are on the clock with him.’
Shona checked her watch. ‘If he was picked up at five a.m. we’re still within the twelve hours. When the custody review is done, if there’s any chance he’ll be released, tell them I’ll give my authority to hold him for another twelve hours, while we investigate this link to a suspicious death.’
‘Okay, will do,’ said Murdo, heading out the door.
‘Amanda, can you get me all the pictures of this woman on Buckland’s account, with dates?’
‘Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that now,’ she said, following Murdo out.
Shona sat down heavily at her desk. She rested her chin on her hands and closed her eyes. Images from the last twenty-four hours played like a newsreel on the inside of her eyelids. The dead woman on the dissection table; Jax and her expression of defiant defeat when she knew she’d lose her daughter; flashes of the frightened face of the suicidal man on the bridge. Already the brittle lift from the coffee was speeding through her system. It would keep her going for an hour or so, but the double dip of sleep deprivation and caffeine ebb could affect her judgement and she needed to get this right. She needed some fresh air, but she could feel herself drifting towards sleep.
Her phone rang. Her head jerked upright, the muscles in her shoulders clenching in protest. She was about to decline the call when Dan Ridley’s name flashed on the screen.
‘I’ve been to see Nathan Jones’s wife,’ he said. ‘Cops visited the house before, but only because she was battering him.’ There was a pause. ‘You still there, ma’am?’
‘Yeah, sorry. Go on.’ Shona massaged her neck.
‘Do you think this might have been some form of revenge? That he killed the woman to get back against women in general?’ Dan persisted.
‘It’s possible, I suppose, but we can’t connect them, and Jones has come up clean here, no history of violence.’ Shona saw Murdo at his desk put down his phone and give her the nod. The interview with Buckland was on. ‘But listen,’ Shona said to Dan, ‘I’ve a possible lead on the jewellery. Come over tomorrow, I’ll update you.’
‘Great,’ Dan replied. ‘And I might have something for you too. I’ve been handed a bit of paperwork.’ Shona thought it was more likely that a mountain of low grade files had been unceremoniously dumped on his desk courtesy of DCI Lambert. ‘There’s a mention of shop thefts involving baby milk,’ he continued. ‘I’ve asked the tech guys for any CCTV, I’ll bring it over.’
‘Good,’ said Shona. If nothing else it would give Dan a legitimate reason to be in Dumfries if his boss got arsy about him pursuing the ID of the girl. ‘Tomorrow it is.’ She ended the call and stood up, tucking her blouse back into her waistband, shaking herself awake. She’d had two hours’ rest in the last twenty-four, but she welcomed the pain, the tiredness. This was what hard graft felt like, and hard graft was how you got results.
Chapter 10
Jamie Buckland was in his early twenties but looked younger. Somewhere in his childhood all potential for growth and ripe maturity had been snuffed out. Scrawny and thin faced, Shona could see him becoming the kind of frail elderly man who shuffled between betting shop and boozer. That’s if he made it to old age, which was by no means certain. She suspected he was a user and small-time dealer and there were a dozen beartraps waiting for someone in his line of work.
He sat opposite Shona and Murdo, the restless rhythm of his right leg a staccato beat on the vinyl floor of the interview room. Shown the blonde girl’s photograph from his Facebook page, he denied he knew her. He did some casual bar work. She was just a girl he’d met there, or on a night out, he shrugged. No one he could put a name to. Murdo produced three other pictures taken at intervals over a few months showing Buckland with the girl. Caught out, he retreated into a no-comment interview. When Shona revealed this was a potential murder inquiry and he should have a chat with the increasingly nervy duty solicitor next to him, Buckland seemed to enter a state of suspended animation. The agitated tapping of his leg stopped. The muscles of his jaw clenched tight as if guarding aga
inst any outburst. Shona sent him back to his cell to think things over.
By the next morning, with Buckland remaining tight-lipped and no further evidence, Shona was forced to watch him go before the Sheriff on possession of a Class C drug, namely Valium. The amount was too small to charge him with dealing and his guilty plea provoked a ticking-off and he was released on bail to await pre-sentencing reports. Half the suspects Shona’s team had picked up on Operation Fortress’s trawl received the same treatment but the remainder, including Keana’s parents Jax and Hammy, were remanded. It was a better than average result, but when Dan Ridley’s hopeful face appeared at her office door, she felt an edge of disappointment that she had no good news for him.
Dan handed the CCTV from the Cumbrian baby milk theft over to Kate. Shona brought him up to speed on the bracelet photographs over coffee, drunk side by side as they leaned on her office window sill, taking in the view over Dumfries relief road to the umber-tinted trees beyond. He nodded, furrowing his brow and rubbing the stubble of his beard, as he jotted down Jamie Buckland’s details and Carlisle address.
When she finished, he closed his notebook, his bright blue eyes alive with news he was bursting to tell. ‘The DNA results came back. We have a hit.’
‘You got a match? Why didn’t you say instead of letting me rabbit on?’ Shona turned her face up to him, hand on hip.
‘Well, it’s not a match as such,’ he said, caution clouding his features. ‘She’s not on the database, but…’
Shona gave him a look that said, spit it out.
‘But we’ve got a partial match to someone listed as living in your area.’
Shona held up her hand to stop him, opening her office door. Kate had headphones in, the new CCTV from the baby milk investigation playing on her screen. Ravi was out somewhere, following up on the witness statements. ‘Murdo, a moment,’ she called. When he came in, she nodded for Dan to continue.
‘The girl in the Solway Firth. We’ve got a partial DNA match to Paddy Corr, fifty-six, address in Dumfries.’ Dan flicked open his notebook again. ‘String of previous. Convictions for aggravated assault, sexual assault and theft, also prostitution related offences including procuring, living off the avails…’ Dan ran his finger down the list.
‘Murdo?’ Shona enquired.
‘Aye, I know him. Lifted him a few times myself. We’ve got him on the Violent Offenders Database, though I don’t recall hearing much about him lately. His younger brother, Tony, is in Barlinnie for culpable homicide. Glassed a fella in a bar and watched him bleed out. There’s another brother, Gerry, doing a ten-stretch for robbery and possession of a firearm. There’s also a posse of cousins who are known to us too. The lassie with the bairn you picked up yesterday, Jax Cameron, she’s related. The whole extended family’s been keeping us busy for years.’
‘Yes. Name rings a bell. Let’s pay him a visit,’ said Shona, all trace of tiredness gone.
‘Aye, why not,’ said Murdo. ‘But I warn you, you’ll want to take a shower afterwards.’
* * *
Shona and Murdo spent a few minutes gathering up photographs of the woman from Jamie Buckland’s Facebook account, the forensic shots of the bracelet and checking for the latest intel regarding Paddy Corr. Dan perched on the edge of Kate’s desk, reading from his notebook as they went through the CCTV together. Shona noticed a definite thaw in her DC’s attitude to the Cumbrian copper and hoped Dan’s intel had brought a breakthrough in the baby milk case. Shona appeared in front of him, suit jacket on and handbag over her shoulder.
‘Ready?’ she said.
Dan looked surprised. ‘You want me along on this?’
‘Of course. I don’t expect we’ll get the warmest of welcomes, but we’re doing this softly-softly. Follow Murdo’s lead and keep your eyes open for anything that strikes you as odd. Okay?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Dan jumped to his feet. He gave a last nod to Kate, who glared after them before turning back to her screen and looking distinctly put out.
The Corrs’ home was on a 1950s council estate of roughcast grey semis under grey tile roofs. Gap-toothed garden fences marked a permeable boundary between private and public. Nothing that happened here was out of sight of the neighbours, although most would claim, if asked by a police officer, not to have seen or heard a thing.
A short woman in her fifties with dyed blonde hair and heavy rose-gold jewellery opened the door, her face set like concrete, instantly recognising the trio on her doorstep as plain-clothes detectives.
Shona lifted her warrant card, looped on its Police Scotland lanyard around her neck. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Shona Oliver, these are my colleagues DS O’Halloran and DC Ridley.’
The woman glanced at the card, then folded her arms and leaned against the door frame. ‘Aye. What do youse want?’
‘Mrs Corr, is it? We’re here to see Paddy. Is he about?’ Shona replied.
‘Isn’t he always?’ She shrugged but made no move to step aside. They were about as welcome as Ebola in in her household, and she wanted them to know it. Eventually she said, ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’
Murdo touched her lightly on the arm and entered the hall. ‘All right, Marie? How’s the family?’ She ignored him.
They followed her into an immaculate front room. Coy china shepherdesses sat on a teak shelving unit, a three-piece suite in polished leather was ranged back along the walls over a dark green carpet with a subtle fleck design. The room was dominated by a large flat-screen television showing the horse racing. A decaying man sat in a lounger, his swollen legs hoisted up to the near horizontal by the footrest. He breathed via a nasal cannula attached to an oxygen tank. When he saw Murdo he gave a gummy grin. ‘Thought I smelled bacon.’ His laugh subsided immediately into a fit of wheezing.
‘All right there, Paddy. You were never one for the healthy lifestyle, but I can’t say I’m happy to see you in this state.’
‘Can’t say I’m happy to see you at all,’ breathed Paddy. ‘What have I done this time?’
To Shona’s surprise, Murdo shook the hand Paddy offered him and pulled up a stool next to the man’s chair. He studied the television picture. ‘The gee-gees, is it? You got a fix on the next race?’
Paddy shook his head. ‘Strictly a spectator these days. In this as in everything else.’ He swept his hand across his failing body, inviting sympathetic nods and noises from his audience. He got none.
‘Well, you won’t mind me turning this off then.’ Murdo tapped the remote, placing it just out of Paddy’s reach and provoking a scowl. ‘This is my boss, DI Oliver, and a colleague from Cumbria. We need to ask you a few questions.’
‘Can we sit down, Mrs Corr?’ Shona asked.
‘Suit yourself, hen,’ the woman said, and turned on her heel. Dan chose a spot on the sofa, but Shona followed the woman out into an equally spotless kitchen. ‘We’d like to talk to you too, Mrs Corr.’
‘I’ve the dinner to make. That one’s on special food.’ She nodded through the wall to her husband as if she’d gained the advice of a vet rather than a doctor. ‘Mair work for me, so it is.’ She looked defiant, but Shona noted the edge of fear in her voice. Marie Corr crossed her arms and nervously chewed her lip.
‘It will only take a moment,’ Shona reassured her, ushering her back through to the lounge.
When they were all seated, Murdo took out a picture of a young blonde woman laughing into the camera and held it up. ‘Do you recognise this girl?’
Shona saw the warning look pass from Paddy to his wife.
‘No, don’t think so,’ Marie said uncertainly.
Paddy shook his head. ‘What’s this lassie supposed to have done?’
‘She’s not done anything,’ said Murdo, ignoring the man and focusing on the woman, who seemed to be shrinking back into the armchair. ‘Marie, we need to find her. We’re increasingly concerned for her welfare.’
Marie reached forward and snatched the photograph of the smiling girl in the bar, pee
ring at it, hungry for every detail. She turned in her seat, shielding herself and the picture from her husband’s murderous looks. ‘Have youse lot got her?’
‘Got who, Marie?’ said Shona inching forward. She took a second photograph from Murdo, the post-mortem shot of the bracelet removed from the victim and held it out to Marie. ‘Who does this belong to?’
Marie stared at it for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. ‘That’s Isla’s bracelet. My daughter, Isla.’
My daughter, not our daughter. Shona noted the demarcation. A line had been crossed, a subtle shift in the power dynamics of the Corrs’ marriage. Marie was taking sole possession of their child, but Paddy Corr, even in his reduced state, wasn’t giving way without a fight.
‘Shut up, woman. We don’t talk to the polis. Our family is our business.’
But Marie ignored him. ‘This picture of Isla, where did youse get it?’
‘From a Facebook page belonging to Jamie Buckland,’ Shona said. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Isla doesnae do Facebook. But Buckie? Aye, they were pals from when they were wee.’ Now the barriers had come down the words flooded out. Shona knew the moment was coming when she’d have to give Marie the bad news. No matter how many times she’d had to deliver the ‘death knock’ it never became easier.
‘You’re sure it’s Isla?’ Shona knew she was putting it off. Paddy Corr’s eyes darted from face to face seeking an advantage but all attention had turned to his wife. Immobile and breathless, there was nothing he could do.
‘I’ve got some pictures in the kitchen. C’mon and see.’
Shona got up to follow Marie. Paddy turned to the now blank television screen, the rasping rhythm of his breaths the only sound in the room. Murdo had taken up a position in the bay window, one eye on the street outside. Dan’s attention was fixed on the carpet. All were waiting for the storm to come.
