by Val Penny
“Colin, call for uniform back-up,”Jane said.
“We have too many witnesses to question, tonight, Jane,” Hunter said. “We need to get names, addresses and contact details and let people get home. We can get statements from peripheral witnesses tomorrow. Then Colin can go with Bear, Hamilton and Mel and get details of what was seen by the folks closest to Billy.”
Jane turned to Hunter. “Did you see what happened, Boss?”
“Yes. And I am sure it was not an accident.”
The CSIs began to appear and cordon off part of the car park. Meera also arrived. She looked cross.
“I planned a girlie evening with my sister and niece,” she grumbled at Hunter. “It was not going to involve a trip to Tesco.“
“Well, don't blame me, I only came to buy my dinner. Billy Hope was not on my list of companions, believe me.”
The CSIs put a tent around the body. Meera went in to examine the corpse. Bear, Mel, Reid and Hamilton started taking statements from witnesses who had seen Billy when the car hit him. Hunter walked over to Mackay.
“Sir?”
“How did you get here so quickly, Detective Inspector?”
“Chance. I was here to get a few bits of shopping. I saw Billy and was going towards him to speak about Jamie Thomson when the car came out of nowhere. Really fast. Headed straight for him. No way was it an accident.”
“Did you witness the whole thing?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Excellent. Did you see who was driving?”
“No, I was too far away. It was a light coloured 4x4. Probably white or silver, and the registration number is P559 JJF, I think. I had to commit it to memory; I didn't have time to write it down. I hope I got it right. Do you want me to type up my statement tonight, Sir, or can it wait till tomorrow, sir?”
“Tomorrow will be fine. I doubt it will change anything.” Mackay said. “Good work on getting that number, Wilson. Go get something to eat and grab some sleep. Have the statement prepared and on my desk before the next briefing.”
Hunter did not need to be told twice. “I'll have it on your desk before 9am, Sir.” He went into the tent and spoke to Meera. “You going to be long, Doc?”
“Probably not. There is not much I can do here tonight since we know what happened. The CSIs will take the details and Sam Hutchens is on her way to take the pictures. I'll certainly be less than half an hour. Why, Inspector?”
“I just wondered if I could make up for your disrupted evening and take you for a drink?” He enjoyed gazing into her chocolate eyes and was disappointed when she shook her head.
“Sorry, Hunter, no. I am really not in the mood for that. I doubt I would be good company, anyway. Another time.”
Hunter nodded. He had lost his appetite too.
That night he did not sleep. He tossed and turned as images crowded his mind. That woman, her body bruised and beaten, and her bones broken. Fear. Cold. Death. Nobody cared; nobody even knew her name.
Then, Billy. Hunter didn't hold much cop for Billy, but that car drove straight at him. Vicious. His skull cracked like an egg.
It was after 5am before Hunter finally fell into a restless sleep. The alarm went off at 7am. He chose to snooze instead of shower. He needed answers, but they would not come any sooner just because he smelt better. It might be a weekend, but there was no rest for the wicked. Or the hunter.
He drove to the station and typed up his report. As promised, it was on Mackay's desk long before the briefing began.
Chapter Eleven
Sergeant Charlie Middleton was on the front desk. It had been a long shift because not much had happened at the station. Two calls about UFOs, a domestic, and an old woman who reported her lost dog. The excitement had all been at Tesco.
Charlie had spent a lot of his time teasing the new PCs Angus McKenzie and Scott Clark. However, even that was wearing thin.
Then Arjun Mansoor walked in.
Suave, sophisticated and foreign. Everything Charlie disliked. Oh, for the day when God's own country got its independence, then Charlie would be a happy man. In the meantime he had almost stopped listening to the chat about a week abroad and a missing motor, until Mansoor got to the bit about his car being a metallic silver Land Rover with a vaguely familiar registration number.
Charlie Middleton was the station joker, but the jokes disguised a mind like a rat trap. Mansoor's report was important. Charlie had been on the force long enough to know he did not want to get caught in the middle of this mess. Too close to retirement to risk blotting his copybook. So he closed the window across and moved back to call CID. He did not want Mr Mansoor to hear what he had to say.
Colin Reid answered the phone because John Hamilton had a mouthful of chocolate.
“Hey, Charlie! What's up in workers' world today?”
“Fuck off, Reid. I've got a bloke here wants to report a stolen car.”
“Hate to tell you Charlie, but that hardly merits an investigation by CID, does it now?”
“Usually no. Think this might be different. Might be brownie points in it for you. He says his reg number is PS59 JFF and it’s a silver Land Rover Discovery. I thought...”
“That is interesting.”
“Sarky bastard!”
“No really, Charlie. Yeah, John and I will definitely come down and have a word. Thanks, well minded. The name again? Mr Arjun Mansoor, thanks.”
Colin noted the name as he put his hand over the mouthpiece. He flushed with excitement, but maybe it was too easy. He looked at Hamilton and grinned.
“Charlie's got a boy just back from his holidays and found his Land Rover Discovery missing.”
“Big deal,” John grunted, as he got up from his desk. “I'm getting a coffee. Want anything?”
“John, just for once, empty your mouth and open your ears. The owner of a silver Land Rover Discovery PS59 JFF is downstairs reporting it stolen. It sounds like the one that the boss saw involved in the killing of Billy Hope. If it is, this matters a lot more than your next snack, believe me. Let's go and meet him.”
“Aye, go on, then.” John changed direction and moved towards the door, but Colin noticed that he couldn't help shooting a look at the coffee machine. He guessed Hamilton wanted the coffee to rinse the sticky chocolate from his teeth. Too bad; they needed to followed this up.
“We'll be right down, Charlie, pal. Put him into Interview Room 2, will you?” Colin put down the receiver and followed John down the stairs two at a time. The vehicle might well turn out to be important.
It was not a long meeting, but it did confirm one thing: the missing Land Rover could have been in Tesco car park when Billy Hope was shot. The silver-grey 4x4 Land Rover Discovery had been taken within the last week from outside the owner's home.
Arjun Mansoor told them he had just got back from a cheap, seven-night all-inclusive break in the Algarve district of Portugal with his wife. The car had been parked in the street outside their flat before they left for the break, but was not there when they got back this morning. Their flight had got back earlier than anticipated. Colin stopped listening to the bit about the direction of the wind and only taking hand luggage due to the high cost of putting cases in the hold. The holiday in the sun sounded good enough to Colin (he liked flying to holidays in the sun), but evidently not so good to Mr Mansoor. His business revolved around cars. He liked to drive to his destinations, he told them, but this time his wife booked the trip and now his car was missing.
Back to business. John took a note of the registration number and description of the car to get it circulated. Then he left Colin to take more details from the owner. It seemed the spare key was kept in the office at his car showroom. Too much access for the detectives' liking, but they were pleased that this might be the breakthrough the team had been waiting for, and it had just walked in off the street.
After the interview, Colin wanted to have all the details for DI Wilson to make him fully aware about the theft of the car, so he wrote his re
port up carefully. John went to get coffee, but not before he texted the news to Sergeant Jane Renwick.
***
Jane Renwick had her phone switched firmly off.
“When was the last time we had a day off together, Rache?” She wandered through to the kitchen from the shower towelling her hair dry.
“Feels like months, although it may be longer,” Rachael Anderson smiled over to her. “But we have next weekend too, so we can go to Tim Myerscough's party. Clever way for him to get to know the team by inviting us all, even if he knows not everybody will go along. You fancy a coffee, Janey?”
“Lovely. Then shall I run you a warm, deep, bubble bath, before I pop out? I thought I'd wander over to the National Gallery of Modern Art for a couple of hours or so before I get those few bits and pieces for tonight. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure. I’ll have my bath, then start preparing the chicken. I thought a traditional roast dinner would suit, with Mel and Bear coming over. Bear sure knows how to eat!”
“Mmm, that sounds delicious. I'll get good cheeses for afters, and we need more interesting biscuits and crackers. Do you want me to get some grapes too?” Jane smiled and nibbled a croissant with her coffee.
Rachael nodded and smiled back. Jane licked her fingers to pick up the crumbs of her croissant. The women chatted quietly as they finished their coffee.
***
As Jane left the house, Rachael sank deep into the warm, cosy bubbles. Silence reigned as her ears slipped under the water and only her face could be seen. She set about finishing her book: the most recent Peter Robinson novel. If only she could solve cases as quickly as his Detective Chief Inspector Alan Banks did, she thought. She reached the end of the novel and, with a satisfied sigh, dropped the book over the side of the bath, closed her eyes and relaxed. She did not hear the phone as John tried to call the house.
***
Jane loved Rachael dearly, but enjoyed time on her own too – probably a result of being brought up in care. To get away from the rabble at the home she used to escape to the quiet of art galleries and museums whenever she could, and that habit had never left her. If anything, quiet time was even more of a precious release from her adult responsibilities than it had been when she was a child. So she switched her mobile off to give her the peace she craved.
She decided to go to the art gallery first and pick up the cheese on the way home. She did not want the ripe Brie and pungent Stilton in the car for too long. She pulled up at the gallery and noticed how bare the November trees were. Jane felt quite sorry for the birds. The weather was getting colder, but at least it was dry today.
As she entered the lovely old building that housed the Modern Art Collection in Edinburgh, she stopped and looked up. She enjoyed the hushed atmosphere of the gallery, and the peace of contemplating the exhibits. It was like visiting old and very dear friends.
After some time wandering the galleries, appreciating paintings and sculptures, Jane went into the café. It was as busy as usual. She chose a bowl of the delicious homemade soup with fresh, crusty bread. Luckily, she found a seat. But she knew as well as Hunter did that police are never really off duty, and she switched on her phone as she sat down.
Interesting message from John. What would Hunter make of that?
Jane blew softly over a spoonful of her soup. She glanced around the cafe and caught sight of Edna Hope. Edna looked anxious, but Jane thought she certainly did not look like a distraught widow. She was dressed in a floral blouse and a striped green skirt. Jane had always associated widows with black clothes. Maybe that was old-fashioned, she thought, as she supped the soup and watched.
Edna was a big woman, and was deep in conversation with a tall, handsome man with neatly trimmed black hair, a goatee beard, and intense dark eyes. Jane did not recognize him, but this did not look like a social meeting. Heads too close together, whispering tongues, wagging fingers. Jane, although not elitist by nature, couldn’t help thinking that neither Edna nor her companion seemed to be the type to be interested in modern art.
Jane was too far away to hear what Edna and her companion were saying, and the café was far too loud and busy to eavesdrop efficiently, but the conversation looked intense. Edna terminated it when she stood up abruptly and strode out of the café. She seemed to be furious with the man.
Curiosity got the better of Jane. Reluctantly leaving the last of her soup, she slipped out and followed Edna, who marched directly out of the museum and along Belford Road heading towards the West End of Edinburgh City Centre. Edna appeared to be in an almighty temper.
Jane decided not to follow her further, but sat in her car for a few minutes to wait and see what the male companion would do in response.
She had almost given up on the mysterious man, but a good forty minutes after Edna disappeared, Jane saw him driving away from the museum in an old, silver Land Rover, registration PS59 JFF. She was sure that was the number in John Hamilton's phone message. She listened to John’s message again to be sure it was the same registration number, then pulled out into the traffic a couple of vehicles behind the car. She followed the man all the way to his destination: Gillespie Crescent. Interesting. Tim Myerscough had just moved in at the other end of the street. Gillespie Crescent was a cul-de-sac, more spacious and aspired to than its postcode would suggest. Jane did a U-turn in the entrance to the street and watched as the man locked his car, unlocked a front door and walked into a flat. She noticed that it was one of the more desirable main door apartments with its own private entrance.
“Home, sweet home,” Jane said to herself. “I'll follow that up.” She actioned a DVLA registration enquiry before she stopped to pick up the cheese from Ian Mellis, Cheesemonger in Morningside Road. Then Jane, too, drove home. Rachael would not be happy if she caught her working on one of their treasured days off together, albeit momentarily. Jane would get those DVLA results tomorrow. That would be time enough.
***
Mel and Bear were good company, as always.
“So, Bear, if you were at school with Tim Myerscough, what can you tell us about him that we don't already know?” Jane asked.
“He is a good guy. Well connected, right enough, but you can't hold that against him. Tim is much like his mother in character; she was always good with people, personable, not like Tim's father.”
“Was?”
“She died when he was about fifteen. Cancer, I think. He and his sister Ailsa used to spend a lot of time with my family because his dad always seemed to be working.”
“That must have been hard for all of them.”
“Of course it was, Louise Myerscough was a lovely, kind woman. I mean, Sir Peter's heart is in the right place, but he can come across as pompous.”
“You don't say,” Jane smiled at Bear as he cut himself another slice of Stilton and put it on to a crispy multigrain cracker.
“Really, Jane, Tim is a team player. You can trust him. He is really good to have on your side when the chips are down.”
“This is beginning to sound like a lonely hearts advert,” laughed Rachael.
Bear smiled. “I wouldn't worry about Tim needing to use any lonely hearts column. He is bright, quick and honest. He was his own man, not just his father's son. I think he'll fit in well, if the boss will give him a chance.”
“I like the sound of him,” Jane said. “I can work with a man like that.”
Their gossip continued well into the night over good cheese, wine and real ale, but Jane opted not to reveal that she had seen Edna Hope acting strangely at the gallery. That was work, not gossip for tonight.
All four around the table were looking forward to seeing how Tim settled into their team and how their DI would deal with another Myerscough. It was no secret that Hunter Wilson and the former Chief Constable got on like oil and water.
On the doorstep, the four agreed plans to go together to Tim's flat warming party the following weekend. Bear and Mel climbed into a taxi for the journey home.
&
nbsp; Chapter Twelve
Jane frowned at the DVLA report. The car she had seen had been flagged up as a stolen vehicle. Colin and John had put in the report, yesterday, just hours before she saw it. But the man she’d seen drive it away had a key, had not looked furtive, and had locked the car in a relaxed manner and gone into what seemed to be his home. He had certainly not acted as if he was driving a stolen car. But he was not the registered owner. So what was going on, and what had he and Edna argued about?
Jane decided that before the morning briefing she would visit the flat that the man had gone into. She would take Colin or John with her. They had met the fellow who reported the theft.
John Hamilton was the lucky winner of her attention. He was sitting polishing off his first Mars Bar of the day.
“Come on John. Let's go visit your mate with the stolen car. It's registered to a Charlotte Fowler, not Arjun Mansoor.”
“Who's Charlotte Fowler when she's at home?”
“No idea. Let's see what Mr Mansoor has to say. You drive.”
“Yes, Sarge. Of course.”
It was never easy to find a parking space in Gillespie Crescent. Luckily John found room further down the street.
“Thank goodness we're here when most folk have left for work,” he said as he followed Jane to Mansoor's flat, which was near the corner of Gillespie Crescent and Leven Street. “Tim Myerscough's flat is down the other end of this street, Sarge. You and Rache going to his party?”
Jane nodded. She noticed the car she had followed the previous day. It did not look as if it had been moved since then, but it did have two dents in the front bumper.
“It takes a lot to do that to a Land Rover,” she observed, pointing to the damage. “I wonder when that happened, I didn't notice it yesterday, but then I was following the car, not looking at the front, and by that time the light was getting pretty bad.”
