Shores of Death

by Peter Ritchie

  She booted up her PC and paged through the information system, shaking her head at what must have been a bastard of a time for almost everyone who had been on during the night shift. It started to niggle – all that mayhem that seemed to be well away from the Ravelston area of the city. Macallan knew better than most how diversions worked, the paramilitaries having been masters of the art during the Troubles. This had the same smell. Coincidences could happen, but this was too conspicuous. She made a note on her scribble pad to see who, if anyone, had been arrested and get them seen by her own team. She wanted to know if there had been any coordination in what had taken place on the streets of the capital.

  She read an email saying that there would be an early briefing on the situation at The Corral and she replied that she’d be there with McGovern.

  The list of incidents seemed to go on and on and she’d already flicked past the report of a possible MISPER down at Portobello. It didn’t sound that unusual, probably just one of those events where too much drink was involved and the locals would resolve it when the girl had sobered up wherever she’d passed out. Macallan only glanced at the details and she was three entries further on when an alarm went off in the back of her mind. She scrolled back up and felt the skin on her back tingle when she found the entry on the MISPER. Her heart sank as she went backwards through the information. It wasn’t the taxi driver or the clothes that had caught her attention, but where the driver claimed to have picked up the attractive foreign girl.

  ‘Please, no,’ Macallan said to the empty room around her.

  The taxi stand was close to the hotel where Ingrid Richter was staying with her parents. It could have been another coincidence, but Macallan knew that wouldn’t be the case. That wasn’t how Sod’s law worked, and it felt as if the investigation and everything that it touched was cursed.

  She flicked back through the information log and stopped at the point where the beat officers had described the pile of clothing on the beach. Maybe it was an omen, but she realised that they were the same uniforms who’d found the Fleming twins’ mother in a gibbering heap after she’d been abducted by Billy Nelson’s Loyalist team. It had been just before the bombing that had nearly killed her.

  Macallan shivered; being back in this building kept resurrecting the memory that Jack had been trying so hard to erase. She dragged herself back to the present.

  The medical staff at the hospital had told Macallan that Richter was being haunted by nightmares involving visions of beaches and the sea. It all made terrible sense to her.

  As she sat back in her seat and closed her eyes to digest what she’d read, a text came up on her mobile to call one of the area inspectors. Macallan stared at the message, knowing what she was about to be told.

  She leaned forward, held the top of her head with both hands and tried not to break down. Her heart thumped against her rib cage as she tried to calm herself. It was too much to cope with and her thoughts started swirling again as she began to panic at the scale of the problems she was being expected to handle.

  She stood up and walked over to the window and concentrated on Jack and Adam for a few minutes till her heart slowed enough for her to make the call without the tremor in her voice that would expose her uncertainty.

  The inspector, sounding like she was dead on her feet, confirmed that Richter was the missing person. Her father had woken early and discovered that his daughter was gone. They’d no idea when she might have left and CID were still interviewing the driver, though it looked like he was in the clear for any assault on Richter.

  Macallan explained some of the background and that Richter was the girl found near Eyemouth. There was a pause as the voice on the other end of the phone digested what this meant. Macallan gave as little away as possible while still trying to sound supportive to the exhausted uniform.

  ‘Thanks, Inspector. All you can do is give it the full treatment as a MISPER and possible suicide. I’ll get someone from my team with a bit of background knowledge to liaise with whoever is handling it at your end. She was an important witness for us, but we’ll let the CID handle it. I know she hasn’t been found but I can’t see this ending well given what she’s been through.’

  Macallan sat back in front of the computer and stared at the screen without seeing a word. If Richter was dead, Pete Handyside would never stand trial for killing her, even though he was the killer as far as Macallan was concerned. She felt rising anger displace the seething doubts of the night; it burned through her and she decided it was time to get back in the game.

  ‘Fuck them all,’ she snarled into the silence of the office.

  ‘Beg your pardon, miss?’ The old cleaner almost whispered it – as if she’d done something wrong.

  Macallan swung round in surprise and smiled broadly. ‘Winnie, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Let me make you a cuppa.’

  Winnie felt like royalty as a senior police officer made her coffee, fed her biscuits and asked about her family. Most of the cops she saw treated her as if she was invisible and unimportant. When she got home at the end of her shift she called her sister and told her all about it.

  McGovern still didn’t feel that well; nevertheless he was in the office sharp and not surprised to find Macallan already at her desk. What did surprise him was that she seemed to have found new energy; he’d been worried that she was going to be overwhelmed given everything that had happened.

  ‘Good morning!’ she said to him. ‘You look like shit, but then so do I. Take it you didn’t sleep either?’

  ‘It must have been the curry but I’ll survive. What’s doing?’

  She hit him first with the news about Richter and he sank into a seat opposite her. She knew the girl’s story had been hard to listen to – the look she’d seen in his eyes when he’d recounted the young woman’s statement had made that perfectly clear.

  ‘I just checked again and there’s no sign of her yet. There’s a team out searching the beaches down to Musselburgh and a chopper is in the air as we speak. Not much we can do, but could you get Pam Fitzgerald to liaise with them as she knows as much as anyone about the girl. Make sure she’s briefed not to discuss any of the investigation side of it, and particularly not Handyside.’

  ‘What’s the plan for us now the Fleming boys are no more?’

  ‘First things first. We have to attend a briefing at Fettes on the incident at Swan’s and then we’ll stay there for a closed session with Felicity to see what we’ve got and what we do with it. One thing is for sure – I had my doubts over the last few days but I’m certain now we’ll nail the bastards who’ve done all this.’ She slapped McGovern on the arm, and as they headed for the murder briefing McGovern took a call that Swan had been in touch with his handlers. Apparently he was in complete meltdown so they were on their way to see him and would call in as soon as they had more information.

  ‘At least he’s not dead.’ Macallan felt the tide had turned with Richter’s disappearance. If there had been any reason for the detective to wallow in self-pity then it had vanished with news of the night’s events, and if it all turned out to be part of some master plan then she was going to make sure whoever was responsible paid a suitable price.

  Ronnie Slade arrived at the conference room and looked like he hadn’t slept in a week though it was only just over twenty-four hours. His smile was present though, and it was genuine, and Macallan thought there was a bit of a young Harkins about him – with a dash more dress sense. She hadn’t known Harkins when he was younger but she’d always had an image of what he must have been like before he decided to rebel and do it all his way.

  Young was already there along with the usual reps from specialist departments. Macallan didn’t notice any surprise guests as she scanned the room until Tenant strode in with O’Connor. She swore to herself – that could only mean a problem she didn’t need. It made no difference though; a day earlier it would have concerned her, but since the news had come in about Richter she was prepared to take it on the
chin. She’d promised herself that she’d left her self-doubt behind – that it was probably just a consequence of getting back into the game. Though it was going to take time, whatever the future held she was going to do her best for the girls who’d died needlessly on the Brighter Dawn, and that included Ingrid Richter.

  She tried a quick smile to O’Connor but received no more than a nod back her way, which told her that Tenant had already stuck her oar in. She felt a moment of juvenile self-satisfaction when she looked at Tenant, who looked like a bag of old mince, and on a good day wouldn’t look any better. The phrase ‘a face only a mother could love’ occurred to her and she could barely restrain a tight grin. It was wrong to judge people on looks, and she would have ripped up anyone else for doing it, but she thought she deserved a small moment of indulgence.

  Tenant saw it and her already grey complexion deepened by another tone.

  O’Connor opened the meeting and asked for the lights to be put on. Outside the storm pounded the city and water zigzagged down the edges of windows that should have been replaced years before. Then O’Connor handed over to Slade, who told the meeting more or less what they all knew already. This, however, didn’t stop Young scribbling endless notes, which was reassuring in its own way. No matter what anyone else ever thought, Young always believed the answers were there somewhere, waiting to be connected.

  Slade told the meeting that they’d confirmed the identity of the first deceased and that as far as they could work it out, Crazy Horse had been shot at close range and probably died immediately. There were footprints in the grass and soil heading away from the body in the general direction of the car where the Flemings were killed. It was impossible to confirm till all the tests had been carried out but it looked like the Flemings had known their killer. The position of the car meant they must have seen whoever it was walking away from The Corral towards them.

  Slade paused and let it all sink in, watching as they worked through the flood of images forming in their minds. ‘Whoever it was must have been a cool bastard because this all took serious balls.’

  There was a deep sigh from Tenant’s direction as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. She clearly disapproved of the word balls, but the rest of the room ignored her as best they could.

  Slade flicked through some of his notes, looking for anything else he could tell the meeting that was confirmed as fact. ‘A witness has been spoken to on the door-to-door enquiries,’ he added. ‘They were a bit further away and looked out of the window when they heard the shots. They describe a figure in dark clothing get into what they thought was a BMW and head off. That’s as good as it gets from them. The intelligence team have let me know that such a car was found burned out down at Cramond. Can’t confirm it’s the one just yet but the team at the locus reckon there’s the remains of a sawn-off there. The car and contents are completely toasted so it’s unlikely we’ll get any forensics.’ He waited for questions and Macallan asked him if Brenda McMartin had been told yet.

  ‘Yes. She went radio rental and tried to sink her teeth into the detectives who told her. Luckily she’s still not recovered from her injuries and they managed to restrain her. God knows what’ll happen when that woman gets out of hospital and back on the street.’ Slade felt weary; he just wanted to get the briefing over, stand in the shower and sleep for a few hours – but there was still a bit to do.

  ‘The other priority is that we need to get Ricky Swan. Crazy Horse was found on his lawn, the front door wide open and Ricky and his dog gone. Given this is the second incident involving a McMartin, we can assume that Swan is in a bad place. I mean, these fuckers are mental.’ Slade realised he’d just used tut-tut language in the wrong place and blushed.

  Tenant looked like she would explode; she clearly thought O’Connor should rip him up but that didn’t happen so he crashed on. ‘I believe Superintendent Macallan has got some info.’ He sank back and let her take over. His face was burning, and he tried to avoid eye contact with Tenant in case she turned him into a pillar of salt.

  ‘Jimmy got a call when we were on the way here.’ Macallan left out the reference to handlers because it was need-to-know that Swan was a source. ‘Swan’s at a flat used by one of his escort girls. We should get a call back shortly and I’ll brief Ronnie before he goes off for some well-deserved sleep.’ She nodded over at the DI then looked round the table before she broke her main news.

  ‘I’m not sure who knows here but Ingrid Richter, the girl found on the beach at Eyemouth, is a MISPER and I’m afraid the signs are not good. The locals are handling the search and liaison with the family but obviously I’ll be kept in the loop. There’s no reason to suspect anything suspicious at the moment, but she was our one and only witness for the Brighter Dawn and it looks like we’ve lost her. Apart from anything else it’s a tragedy for the family. The girl made it to the shore but didn’t really survive what happened on that boat.’

  ‘The press are going to combust over all this, Grace, but we are where we are, I suppose.’ O’Connor looked flat when he said it.

  They ran over some of the routine matters and O’Connor made the formal decision that the shootings would be included in the cases being coordinated by Macallan. A team including Slade would be free to investigate but everything had to be run past Macallan, and she would have the final say on the direction of the various linked investigations.

  O’Connor then closed the meeting and asked to see Macallan before her meeting with Young. She nodded to McGovern, who still looked sick, and told him she’d be there as soon as she was clear of O’Connor. His office was close to their meeting room and she followed him in and closed the door behind her. She knew exactly what was coming, but she was prepared.

  ‘I had Elaine Tenant in here first thing. She’s a hard woman to like.’

  Macallan hadn’t expected this level of honesty about a senior officer. Considering O’Connor was ever the politician, this suggested he really had changed. ‘You probably know what she’s said and you’re too smart a detective to be surprised by this. Did you have a drink last night?’

  ‘I had more than one. It was a hard day and we were tired and hungry so we had a meal and two or three beers. Just for the record, Felicity volunteered to drive back so had nothing more than water. On the way up we were called about the shooting and I decided to have a look. That’s all that happened. Superintendent Tenant made an issue of it and I left. I was wrong if it’s any help, but if you want an apology it’s not coming. Do what you want.’ She felt strong again; her edge was back and the uncertainty gone. Whatever happened she was going to do this investigation so if they sidelined her she was finished with the job.

  ‘Look, I don’t expect an apology because you are what you are. That’s why you have this case. It’s a bigger mess than I realised, and we’re going to be hung out to dry in the press. I’m the one who had the vanity problem but there are times you’re too stubborn for your own good. We don’t need distractions, and you would have been furious if one of your team had given a woman like that an open goal. Let’s just make out that you’ve had some kind of arse-kicking from me then I can throw cold water all over this one. Please, Grace, I do not need this hassle and you certainly don’t. Accept it for old times’ sake and let’s get on and do the job.’

  He’d thrown her, but she saw the desperation in his eyes and decided to jump off her high horse before saying anything else she might regret. To most people the drink issue would have seemed trivial, but Macallan knew how much mileage Tenant could make out of it if she wanted. O’Connor was trying to help, and it was a good offer. She relaxed back into her seat.

  ‘Okay, for the record I’ve had my arse kicked. I can take it. Can I go and get on with the job, sir?’

  ‘Okay. Just do what you do and till this is finished I’ll do everything I can to cover for you.’

  Macallan stood up and made for the door but couldn’t resist asking, ‘What happened? We were so involved, then you turned on me a
nd now this. I wish I understood . . .’

  ‘Not now. Just accept it, and when this is finished I’ll buy you lunch and explain. I have to put Tenant back in her coffin during the hours of daylight.’

  Macallan saw the look in his eye and left it there. She headed for the closed meeting with Young. On the way she picked up a call from the handlers – Swan was close to a nervous breakdown, and in a way she could hardly blame him. Having the McMartin clan on your case was enough to terrify the strongest character, never mind the original eight-stone weakling. She told them to stay with him and she’d come over once she’d finished her meeting.

  37

  When Macallan entered the room she found Young already waiting for her with McGovern and Lesley Thompson had joined them. She tried to sound as upbeat as possible but she was distracted by McGovern, who was clearly suffering in silence. She didn’t need a quack to tell her something was wrong so she eventually offered to let him go home and sleep off the bug. As always though it was a waste of time trying to get him off the job and he insisted he’d be fine.

  Time was passing and she was due to meet Jack and Adam at the airport in the late afternoon. There was no way she could miss that, and as there weren’t enough hours left in the day to do what she wanted, she pushed them on.

  ‘Tell me what we’ve got, Felicity, and by the end of this meeting we’ll decide where we go from here. It’s getting harder by the day and we’re running short of options but we aren’t quite out of them yet. We’ve been slow to get going and part of that’s my fault, so let’s change all that. You’ve been looking at the call patterns and we have a criminal intelligence and forensic report, some of which I’m seeing for the first time, on what we have so far, but I’ll go over that.’ She nodded at the analyst, who ran into her usual preamble about her methods and cautions where the analysts’ work had produced a hypothesis only.