Windsor Place

by Russell Robertson

  “I have a question for you. What do you know about the developer, Atlas Design?”

  “Off the record of course. They are Glasgow based and appear to be targeting the east coast after numerous successful development projects in Glasgow and surrounding areas. Rumour has it that they are associated with some low life in Glasgow although their board are all legit. Which you would expect.”

  “Any idea who the low life might be?”

  “Again, rumour says that the local villain Alf Hunter could be involved with the Dean brothers, Dargie and Jimmy, who have a nasty reputation as Glasgow’s stand over kings. You know Glaswegian developers are religious people who are known to pray on their knees and their friends, but remember you didn’t hear this from me.”

  Hamish stretched his back and stifled a yawn. “Has this got anything to do with your current situation?”

  Harry paused for a second “Not sure, but I need to check out all avenues.”

  “Why don’t you leave all the detective work to the police? Your mate James Scully is a good operator with a high closure rate. Surely you trust him to solve the crime?”

  “Sure, but I have a feeling that he might need all the extra help he can get.”

  “Be careful Harry. I don’t want to have to find a new cycling partner.”

  “Another coffee?”

  “No thanks. I should get going, I have another appointment in ten minutes. Trust the information was of assistance. Take care and keep in touch. Until next time.”

  “Ripper mate. Much appreciated.”

  “You sound more like an Aussie every day.”

  Harry smiled. He knew his accent had changed.

  The information Hamish just delivered was a surprise to Harry. He didn’t think Alf Hunter would associate with Glasgow’s villains but there again it made sense to work with invaders rather than fight them. Alf might be a sadistic bastard but he was also very astute when it came to crime and business.

  Prison was no barrier to Alf in running his criminal empire.

  If there was a link here to the deaths of Carole and her daughters, then things just got a little bit messy

  Chapter 19

  The Scottish Police Force had changed a lot over recent years and the consensus within the rank and file was that it had become a complete shambles. Not only losing experienced staff at an alarming rate but seemingly hiring anyone that showed the slightest bit of interest.

  Police Scotland was formally established on 1 April 2013 and was responsible for policing across the entire country. Some people saw a resemblance with April Fools’ Day

  Many experienced staff took early retirement as they could see the changes were not for the better, although the team Scully had put together were experienced and committed to doing their job to the best of their ability. Well almost all of them. It was a pity DCI John Paul had taken early retirement as his skills would have been welcomed on this case. “JP” was well liked by everyone and damn good at his job but he had decided that in his final years he preferred to bring down his golf handicap rather than continue in the ramshackle that was now Police Scotland. Perhaps he would need to be called upon as a consultant on this case.

  The room selected for the meeting was small, had a stale smell from all the fast food meals that had been eaten in the past week and the ceiling was a smoke stained dirty shade of brown. The room struggled to accommodate the team of eight put together for ‘Operation Skippy’ which of course was named after Harry Cram.

  DI Spencer replied to DCI Scully’s opening question, was everyone present?

  “Yes, all accounted for sir, except for Sam Cropley who is presently calling out to Ruth in the toilet after his usual Sunday night at the Masonic Club. No doubt he will be here shortly.”

  There was sympathy from all the heavy drinkers in the room as they had been in that uncomfortable position before at some time. Drinking – not in moderation – was a mandatory pastime for most people in the force. It helped relieve the stress of the job. DC Darling was sitting at the far end of the rectangular table flanked on either side by Dr Fraser Heston and PC Blackie.

  Sitting patiently in the middle section of the table was Mark Cox a civilian financial analyst and Royce Brownlie a forensic specialist from Howden Hall.

  DI Spencer was sat next to DCI Scully.

  The one empty chair was awaiting the arrival of the last person in the team

  DI Spencer continued, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the second briefing of ‘Operation Skippy.’ Now you all have a copy of the post mortem of the three deceased.” He pointed to his copy. “Carole Hunter was shot at point-blank range, while the two girls were executed by a second person in the same manner.”

  “How can we be sure there was more than one person,” asked DC Darling.

  “At this stage, we can’t, but the post mortem report states that the bullet that entered the mother was at a different angle to the bullets that killed the two girls, suggesting a much taller person fired those two shots as opposed to the one that killed the mother.”

  “Were all three the same height?” asked Mark Cox

  “All within one inch of each other.”

  “What was within one inch of each other?” DC Cropley asked as he entered the room and gingerly sat down.

  DCI Scully belatedly welcomed him to the meeting and quickly brought him up to speed.

  He had a strict policy of not dressing down anyone in front of their peers. However, anyone who stepped out of line knew they would be dragged before him sooner rather than later and dealt with appropriately.

  “Royce, what do you have for us?”

  Royce who was over six-feet eight-inches tall, born in Elgin, a small fishing village on the northeast coast of Scotland, hence his title of “The Elgin Lighthouse.”

  Royce laid out his findings. “The ballistics evidence points to different guns being used at the killings at Sixty-Six Windsor Place. So, at this stage, we can assume it was not the same gun that killed all the Baxter family.”

  “How can you be sure of that?” questioned DCI Scully.

  “Firstly, to help stabilize the flight path of a bullet, manufacturers cut spiral grooves into the gun barrel. This pattern of grooves on the barrel leaves corresponding raised and lowered areas on the surface of the bullets fired from it. Measuring the number and the width of these gross impressions narrows the range of possible weapons to a particular class of firearm. The markings from the bullet fragments from victim one were different to the markings taken from victims two and three.

  “Secondly, the residue on the victims clothing confirms what Dr Tenant has reported that all the victims were shot at close range, execution style.”

  “How do you determine the type of gun used?” DI Spencer asked.

  “From the bullet fragments logged in the victims, and that information will take a little longer to investigate.”

  “So, one can deduce from that information that there were two killers?” DC Cropley piped up.

  “I didn’t say that. I said there were two guns,” Royce replied.

  DI Spencer cut in. “At this point, until we have further evidence, we will assume that there are two perpetrators and that information remains in this room.”

  Royce added. “The post mortem puts the time of the deaths at somewhere between the hours of six and nine p.m. on Friday evening the thirteenth of November. I would like to investigate the report in more detail and report back at the next meeting.”

  Mark Cox was asked, “Mark, can you look into the financials of Carole Hunter and see if there is anything worthwhile there? And at the same time, could you also take another look into your previous investigations into Alf Hunter that may lead us to any other links?”

  “Will do,” Mark replied.

  DCI Scully decided to wind things up at that point.

  “Cropley, you organise a house-to-house canvass within a one-mile radius of Windsor Place and see if anyone noticed anything odd that day in the neighbo
urhood. You can have eight uniforms to cover the area.

  “Sheena, you join Cropley and both of you concentrate on Bath Street and Windsor Place.

  “Craig and Andy will interview Alf Hunter in Saughton. The time is six-thirty p.m. and the meeting is now closed.”

  As they all filed out of the meeting, Spencer who was gagging for a pint, called out. “I’m heading down to The Foresters for a few drinks, anyone that wants to join in is welcome.”

  There were no takers.

  Chapter 20

  Stewie Howie or ‘JamTart’ as he was known to his close friends and all the prisoners in Saughton was originally from Glasgow and had settled in Edinburgh after being transferred from Barlinnie Prison to Saughton in a promotion to senior officer five years ago.

  Stewie and Harry had formed a friendship stemming from their meetings at Tynecastle Stadium and the three things that they had in common was a passion for Hearts Football Club, a great yarn and a good pint.

  Harry greeted Stewie with a business-like handshake in the small pub they always met in at Gorgie.

  ‘Straddies’ was a working man’s pub on the corner of Stewart Terrace and Dalry Road and was never over busy, unless there was a game on, which suited both men. It was close to Saughton and Sighthill where Stewie worked and lived,

  It was also directly opposite their beloved Tynecastle Park, the home of Hearts Football Club.

  This was a clever ploy from Harry as it meant his friend felt more relaxed in his own backyard, which inevitably ended up in more information being passed over.

  “Lost any prisoners over the weekend Stewie?”

  “I wish, but I notice that the Rangers centre half didn’t take any on Saturday at Tynecastle.”

  “Yeah. He’s a fuckin’ animal and should be suspended for the rest of the season for that diabolical tackle late in the game. Lucky, he didn’t break the forward’s leg. And as for the ref, he needs to go to Specsavers. Still we were lucky to get away with a point.”

  Stewie agreed with Harry’s observation and they set about analysing the loss of two points over a couple of pints of lager.

  “Now that we have solved the team’s failings at the weekend, how can I help you?” Stewie asked.

  “I need to find out who is in ‘Team Alf’ inside the prison.”

  “Harry, I saw you last year visiting your old buddy Bryson Kidd and you would have been clocked by Alf no doubt if he knew you gave his wife a lift home.”

  Harry was stunned by that comment but chose not to respond to it.

  “Stewie, trust me I am not involved in the killings.”

  “That may not be the way Alf sees the situation.”

  “Be that as it may, will you help me?”

  “Can’t turn my back on a Jambo can I? I’ll see what I can find out.”

  'Thanks, Stewie, I owe you. Can I get you another beer?”

  “No thanks. I’m full to capacity, but two grandstand tickets for the next Hibs match will be suffice.”

  “Now I know it is true that square toed shoes were invented by Glaswegians so the Weegies could get closer to the bar. Time to pull up stumps.”

  Stewie grinned at him as they both left the bar together.

  Chapter 21

  Alex had decided that it would be better to carry out some Google searches on her desktop at home before using the computer database at work. That way there was less chance of someone querying what she was doing.

  Where she was stationed at Fettes allowed her to go relatively unnoticed since it was one of the largest stations in Edinburgh. Although it was currently under threat of closure as it was outdated and geographically isolated. That would be a shame as her office overlooked the magnificent Fettes College, built in 1870 and Scotland’s premier private school with some well-known former pupils, most notably being ex-Prime Minister Tony Blair. The college also produced many respected judges, lawyers, diplomats, military officers and politicians.

  Google was a godsend to the police force allowing them to gain information that previously was not accessible. Although some of the old school in the force still thought that Google was some sort of eye specialist franchise.

  The property that Alex and Curtis owned was a four-bedroom, two-bathroom semi-detached in Duddingston, situated about half way between Edinburgh and Portobello. They had bought the house some three years ago and were proud of the fact that they had recently paid out the mortgage allowing them a lot more financial freedom.

  Alex settled down into her leather office chair in her study. With her feet failing to reach the floor she entered her password, selected her favourite internet browser and keyed into the computer search engine the words Dean brothers Dundee.

  There were over 1,222 results.

  It would be a long day as she sipped her coffee and nibbled on a cracker.

  After countless cross referencing, additional searching and several more cups of coffee she struck gold.

  The apartment was absolutely freezing when Harry arrived home. He would have to get the faulty thermometer on his white heating fixed with winter coming on. He reset the heating and while that was taking the chill of the rooms he decided to have a hot shower.

  One of the things he hated about Scotland was the short daylight hours in winter. Today was pitch black by four o’clock. By the time the middle of winter arrived it didn’t get light until nine o’clock in the morning and was dark by three-thirty in the afternoon.

  In contrast, in summer he could play golf until ten-thirty in the evenings, go straight to a party, get drunk and stagger out of the party at four in the morning to bright sunshine. Talk about opposites.

  After his shower, he dressed in a warm fleecy dressing gown and flicked on the TV to watch the 6 p.m. news and poured himself a small glass of Edradour and fell into the TV chair exhausted.

  After a couple of sips of whisky, he could feel his eyes getting heavy and the sound on the television was drifting off into the distance.

  The ringing of the phone startled him and with one eye he glanced at the clock. Christ, it was eight o’clock, some cat nap. He let the phone go to message bank and finished his glass of whisky.

  He needed to eat something. The fridge was pretty bare as he hadn’t had the time this week to visit Asda. Frozen pizza looked the easiest choice. Thank goodness for microwave ovens.

  Five minutes later he sat at the dining table with his meal and a cold glass of water watching the shadows of the container ships under the full moon making their way across the Forth to wherever, as he gingerly chewed a piece of the Asda ham and cheese pizza for one.

  The phone rang again and this time he thought he should answer.

  “Hi. Harry here.”

  “Harry, it’s Alex. Hope I didn’t interrupt a romantic dinner?”

  “Never ever had a romantic dinner on my own, have you?”

  Alex ignored the sarcasm. “What’s interesting is the info I found scrolling through the internet today regarding the Dean brothers.”

  “Go on, you have my full attention.” As he sat upright in his chair.

  “Well, firstly I found out that the Dean brothers as well as investing in real estate also have an interest in a technology company, Atlas Designs.”

  “Bit out of their league is it not?”

  “That’s what I first thought, but when I googled the company as well as high tech real estate software, I found that they design and build drones.”

  “What? The ones that drop bombs in the Middle East?”

  “No, the small ones they call the message drone. Organisations like Amazon are trialling them to deliver their goods direct to their customers. It’s the future for small deliveries.”

  Harry was puzzled. “So, what would the Deans want with drones?”

  “Sometimes, Harry, I think you spent too much time in the sun in Australia.”

  “Go on, cheeky.”

  “Okay, if you wanted to get drugs or guns into prisons what would be the best way to do that?”<
br />
  Harry was stunned, “Struth, drones over the walls. Drop the contraband and fly away.”

  “Got it in one. It’s called forward thinking. Dargie Dean is more ingenious than we give him credit for.”

  “So, Alf can do business with the Dean brothers from within prison. Very clever,” added Harry.

  “And they could control the market to other prisons. What else did you find out, Alex?”

  “Do you remember the old Tranmere pub in Tranent that was burnt down a few years back?”

  “Hell yeah! Used to serve a great pint.”

  “It was owned by Jessie Parry.”

  “Who’s she when she’s at home?”

  “Only Dargie Dean’s sister-in-law.”

  “Alex, I have a question, if you can find all this out on a computer, one would assume so can the force.”

  “Sure, they can, but they don’t have the time or resources to delve into the Dean brothers right now.”

  “Point taken. I’ll talk to Blair about this and see where we can take it. Great work, Alex.”

  “Talk to you tomorrow, Harry.”

  “Sleep tight, Alex.”

  Harry decided that an early night was in order but first he would quickly call Blair and fill him in on Alex’s call.

  Chapter 22

  There were two things Harry thought he would like to do in Edinburgh. Take a tram ride and a return train trip on the new Borders Railway. However today he had to concentrate on visiting Sandy Hall in Tranent.

  He thought that Sandy would be worth a call as the grapevine said he had no time or fear for Alf Hunter whom he once worked for as a heavy, prior to falling and breaking both his hips. Accidently, of course.

  Sandy Hall had no family so the only option for him was a government nursing home in Tranent. Not the best way by far to spend your remaining years.

  Harry always carried a card detailing his business as a private detective. This opened more doors than an investigative journalist, sometimes the card remained in his wallet and he used that line in response to the question, “Are you the cops?” He would respond that he was working with them. That seemed to please most punters even though it was stretching the truth it was not deceptive or misleading.