‘Walter, that’s great. Did he say why he he’d been to the Mission?’
A pause. ‘No really. He said he’d been speaking to the boss man over there. I remember because I know him as well. Malcolm Colvin. Malky is what they call him. The project manager. One of the good guys.’
‘Okay, Walter. I’ll go down there today and check it out. You’ve been a big help.’
‘Och, no. It’s nothing. That poor laddie. Best you find out what happened to him.’
‘We will. Are you doing okay, Walter?’
He laughed. ‘Ah’m doing how ah’m doing, hen. Better than I will be tonight no doubt and better than I will be tomorrow morning. I could say different but I’ve known maself for too long.’
‘Take care of yourself.’
‘Too late for that, hen. Too late.’
The City Mission was nearly two hundred years old, the first of its kind in the world. They were a Christian organization, offering practical care like food and a roof over people’s heads when they needed it most. The current offices were on Crimea Street, a narrow warren halfway between Argyle Street and the Broomielaw. It was a new build that resembled a New York loft conversion, all brick and floor-to-ceiling windows over five floors. The sign, GLASGOW CITY MISSION, ran from top to bottom, extended beyond the building’s side.
Just a few yards away across the road, at the T-junction with Brown Street, an abandoned building sat in stark contrast, its tall arched windows covered in protective grilles, its ornate doorway bricked up. Narey had paused as she got out of the car, fascinated by it being there in splendid isolation. She couldn’t help but wonder what it had been, a tobacco baron’s warehouse or maybe his offices. A bit grand for one and maybe too plain for the other.
Toshney caught her looking at it. ‘Everything okay, Boss?’
‘Hmm? Yes. You never wondered what a building like that used to be in a former life?’
The DC looked bemused. ‘No.’
She sighed. ‘No, I don’t suppose you have. Come on. He’s waiting for us.’
Inside the front door, a middle-aged woman introduced herself as Maureen and told them she was the project manager’s assistant. A quick call ahead had already let them know her boss was in and would hang around until they turned up. Maureen led them up to the first floor where he sat waiting behind a desk.
Malcolm Colvin was only in his early thirties, a tousled mop of hair and stubble making him look more like he’d walked off a beach with a surfboard under his arm than managed a homeless project.
His casual look was topped off with blue jeans and an open-necked white shirt. Narey noted that he was good-looking in that superficial blue-eyed Greek god kind of way that more shallow women might find attractive. He greeted her with a broad smile and she suppressed the temptation to bite him.
‘Mr Colvin, thanks for taking the time to see us.’
‘Not at all. And it’s Malcolm. Glad if I can help in any way. Please, both of you, take a seat. Can I get you a coffee? Tea?’
Narey and Toshney sat but politely refused the offer of a drink. ‘How can I help you, Detective Inspector? You said on the phone it concerned someone I might know who had lived in the Rosewood. I hope he’s okay whoever it is and not in some kind of trouble.’
‘You assume it’s a man.’
‘Well . . . you’re right, I’m making an assumption. But it’s a fair guess. As far as the homeless are concerned, men make up 93.3 per cent of our service users.’ He shrugged. ‘We keep records. And we see the proof with our own eyes. They are almost always men.’
‘Fair enough. And yes, it is a man. We’re hoping you can help us identify him.’
Colvin looked slightly pained, his pin-up features crumpling apologetically. ‘I’ll do what I can, Inspector Narey, but this job is all about trust. Both ways. I’m not going to be earning the trust of the guys who come here if I turn them in to the police. I guess it depends what he’s done.’
‘Malcolm, you don’t need to worry about losing his trust. Unfortunately. What’s he’s done is died. We’re trying to identify a murder victim.’
Colvin’s mouth fell open for a moment before he steadied himself, dragging a hand through his hair. He breathed out hard. ‘Who was it? Sorry, that’s what you want me to tell you. Of course. Anything I can do. Murder?’
‘I’m afraid so, yes. We have a description of the man plus a possible name for him. As I said on the phone, we think he came down here to talk to you. Do you want a moment, Malcolm?’
Colvin’s hand was absently covering his mouth. ‘No, I . . . please ask me what you need to. Sorry, I shouldn’t still be surprised when things happen to the guys out there. One of our regulars hasn’t been seen in a couple of months and he’d stayed at the Rosewood. I’ve been worried about him. What’s the name you’ve been given of the man from the Rosewood?’
‘We think he’s called Brian Christie.’
‘No, that’s not my guy and it doesn’t ring any bells. I’m sure I don’t know that name. What’s the man’s description?’
Narey told him. Colvin processed it slowly, clearly taking his time. Finally he shrugged. ‘Well . . . no. It could be so many of them.’
‘Walter also said this man asked a lot of questions.’
Colvin still looked blank but the assistant’s voice came from the corner of the room. ‘I don’t know the name Christie but the description does sound like someone who came in a couple of times asking questions. His name was Euan though. Not Brian.’
Colvin’s eyebrows rose as a penny dropped. ‘Yes, you’re right, Maureen. Euan. Euan . . . Hepburn. It was maybe the name that threw me because I should have remembered him straight away. He was a bit different.’
‘In what way?’ Narey asked the question but thought she already knew the answer.
‘Well . . .’ Colvin hesitated. ‘Don’t quote me on this but he was different from most of the men that might have come from the Rosewood and most of those who use our service. Most of them have suffered through personal problems and circumstances outwith their control. A lot of them are quite vulnerable.’
She didn’t have the time to let him feel guilty about making generalizations about the mission’s clients. She’d do that for him.
‘Malcolm, are you saying that he was sober?’
Colvin looked uncomfortable but nodded. ‘Yes. Made him stick out a bit. He wasn’t the only one but it’s unusual. He wasn’t just sober, he’d been sober. And I’m sure he didn’t use drugs.’
‘And he asked questions?’
‘He wanted to know about the Rosewood Hotel. If that was somewhere I’d recommend for him to go. I told him I couldn’t do that. There are a lot of places in the city better for those in need than that place. In fact, and again don’t quote me, I can’t think of anywhere worse. The street would be a better option, honestly.’
‘What else did he want to know?’
‘Well he wanted to know why I thought it was so bad. Wanted to know about other places in the city for the homeless, good and bad. He asked if people ever got out of the Rosewood in one piece. We chatted for quite a while.’
Narey nodded absently, her lips pursed in thought. ‘Malcolm, you said you kept records. Would Euan Hepburn feature in them?’
‘He should. After we spoke, I passed him on down the line to get him what help we could. Keeping him out of the Rosewood was the one thing I wanted to do. He didn’t strike me as lasting long in there. He didn’t belong. I’ll get what we have on him.’
When Colvin returned five minutes later, he found Narey staring idly out the window at the old building opposite. They were level with the top of the arched windows and she could now see that the upper floors in red brick were newer than the pale stone of the ground level.
‘It’s a great building, isn’t it?’ Malcolm Colvin sensed her admiration . ‘I could look at it all day. I love old places like that. Can’t get enough of them.’
The man’s expression changed when he rememb
ered the single piece of paper he’d come back with. His apologetic look didn’t fill Narey with much hope.
‘Inspector Narey, I’m sorry but we’ve no record of him. I spoke to the staff but the only one that remembers him thinks that he just left after speaking to me. We’d asked him to wait so we could help him out but it seems he just slipped away. He must have left us and gone to the Rosewood despite what I said.’
‘Shit. So what’s this?’ She nodded at the piece of paper Colvin held.
The man gave a slightly embarrassed smile. ‘My mobile number. In case I can help with anything else.’
Narey caught the birth of a smirk on Toshney’s face. It died a sudden death as soon as he saw her looking. She thanked Colvin, said she’d be in touch if they needed anything more and began to direct the DC out the door with a glare.
Colvin called after them, ‘Inspector Narey. I might be completely wrong here but Euan . . . well like I said, he was different from most men that come here. I’m not even sure he was homeless at all.’
‘Nor me, Malcolm. Nor me.’
Chapter 12
Monday afternoon
It sometimes occurred to Winter that his uncle, Danny Neilson, had never changed in all the time he’d known him. Danny had seemed old to him when Winter was a kid. Old but big and strong, patient and wise. None of that had altered. Danny was one of those people who grew into his age. Being in his sixties seemed to suit him. He’d filled out into what he should always have been.
He’d done his thirty years in the police, mainly as a sergeant, and he still worked a beat of sorts. He spent his nights as a taxi-rank superintendent keeping part of Glasgow safe and the other part in order as best he could. The drunk had not yet been stewed that Danny couldn’t keep in line.
Danny was Danny. Solid. Always there when he was needed, gruff, tough and rough but capable of being as gentle as a summer breeze. And the smartest man that Winter had ever known.
When Tony had called wanting to speak, Danny had suggested they meet for a lunchtime coffee in Lola & Livvy’s under the Hielanman’s Umbrella - the glasswalled railway bridge that carried Central Station’s platforms across Argyle Street and was historically a meeting place for Highlanders relocated to the big city. The café was fronted in the green and gold of the Umbrella’s refurb, and inside it had a Mediterranean vibe with tiled floors, exposed walls, whitewashed wood and red-leather sofas.
‘This place is a bit trendy for you, isn’t it?’
Danny shrugged and lifted his mug as evidence. ‘Great coffee. Great cakes as well. What do I care what the décor’s like?’
‘Fair enough. Wasn’t trying to suggest you weren’t a man of refinement.’
‘Yes you were. So how have you been, son? Haven’t heard from you in a month or two. Everything okay?’
‘Sure. Rachel’s enjoying her promotion. Working like a slave but loving it. She’s picked up a new murder case and that’s always guaranteed to make a girl happy.’
‘The body pulled out of the Molendinar near the Great Eastern?’
Winter nodded.
‘Odd one. Saw it on the news. Did you do the photography?’
‘Yeah. The body had been there for at least a month so it was in a right state. Hell of a place to work in as well.’
‘Sounds right up your street. You’ll have been in stranger places than that.’
Winter didn’t rise to it, seeing the gleam in Danny’s eye and hearing the tease.
‘Anyway, I asked how you were, not how Rachel was. So what aren’t you telling me?’
He sighed. Danny would drag it out of him anyway so he may as well get it over with.
‘It might come to nothing but that twat Baxter had me into his office to give me a bollocking and dropped very heavy hints about me losing my job.’
Danny’s eyebrows rose but his expression didn’t change. ‘They’re going to fire you?’
‘No. Not this time. The suggestion was that I’d be made redundant. “The review of all services is continuing” was how he put it but he couldn’t have laid it on thicker if he’d stabbed me with the trowel he was using. And he was enjoying it, obviously.’
‘Obviously. Pompous arse. You think he’s serious?’
‘It’s certainly possible. I probably shouldn’t have been there for a few years now. The SOCOs can do what I do. Not as well but they do all their forensic shit too so they come in much cheaper. It will make sense to accountants and it’s them that are running the show now.’
Danny nodded soberly. ‘You’ve told Rachel this, I take it?’
‘Nope.’
‘And you think that’s a good idea? Because I don’t. Something like that doesn’t work well as a surprise. Flowers or a weekend away - that’s the kind of surprise women like. You need to tell her, son. You’ll be hard pushed to marry her if she’s killed you.’
Winter hesitated just long enough for Danny to pounce on it. ‘Now, I was just joking but I didn’t hear a denial or a piss off, which I’d have expected. You thinking of making an honest woman of her? Because you won’t do any better, believe me.’
Winter laughed. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dan. But I’m not about to drag her up the aisle, even if she’d let me. But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘But I’m ready to . . . I want more. I’m fed up of hiding this. I want us to be like normal people. A couple. And you know, I think she is too.’
‘You think?’
‘Danny, you know what she’s like.’
‘Pretty great, I’d say.’
‘Yes, pretty great. Amazing. Fabulous. But she is also capable of being stubborn, contrary and argumentative. If I suggest it, she’s as likely to dump me as say yes. It’s trying to find the best time to talk about it. I’m not sure being landed with this kind of murder case is the best time.’
‘This kind of murder? They’re all this kind, son. Dead body and dead ends. If you’re going to wait till things are nice and quiet, you’ll both be on Zimmers. If you want my advice - and I’m guessing that’s why you’re going to buy me coffee and one of those big pastries – then you need to grow a pair and ask her.’
‘Aye, maybe.’
A beep called from inside Danny’s jacket pocket. He pulled out his mobile phone and read the text. Whatever it was, it seemed to amuse him.
‘Looks like I’m in demand today. We’ll need to wrap this up.’
‘Hot date?’
‘You could say that.’ He typed a reply and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He picked up his coffee mug and looked at Winter over the rim.
‘Here’s what I think. You can listen or not, up to you. Rachel is the best thing that’s happened to you and whatever you decide to do, get it right. And not just right for you, for her too because that lassie’s got enough on her plate without you making it worse. If you upset her and she decides to kill you then I’ll not be helping you. I’ll be holding you down so she can do it. Got that?’
‘Yes, Uncle Danny. I’ve got it. Loud and clear.’
‘Good.’
Half an hour later, Danny was still sitting in the same chair with a fresh coffee steaming gently in front of him. He’d had no more than two cautious sips at it when he heard the door open and looked up to see Narey walk in, her collar turned up against the wind.
‘Rachel.’ He got out of his seat and hugged her. ‘Good to see you.’
She’d known Danny for almost as long as she’d known his nephew. There was a shared respect and a closeness between them, him being an ex-cop, and his knowledge and experience had been of help to her in the past.
She looked around at the café and nodded approvingly. ‘Nice. Didn’t think it would be your kind of place though.’
He half laughed, half groaned. ‘Too trendy for me, do you think?’
She kissed him on the cheek. ‘Not at all. Looks like you started without me. You want a pastry to go with that?’
The waitress had appeared beside them and look
ed at Danny as if to say did he really want another one. Patting his stomach like a man who’d been caught having a midnight feast, Danny politely said no thanks.
‘So you said you wanted to pick my brains?
‘And to see you,’ Narey assured him. ‘But yes, I could do with some help. I need answers that I’m not going to get from Google. I’ve got a case that—’
‘The Molendinar?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Lucky guess.’
‘Yeah, sure. But that’s exactly what I mean. I need some answers from the kind of smart-arse that knows everything.’
He grinned. ‘Then you’ve come to the right place. What do you need to know?’
‘The Molendinar. Everything you’ve got.’
He spread his arms wide. ‘Sit comfortably, my child, and I shall begin. History lesson first. In the beginning, God created heaven and earth and Glasgow. But before he created Glasgow, he created the Moldendinar Burn. The Clyde was too big and unmanageable and the land around it was too low and marshy so they built along the Molendinar. The city could never have grown without it but in the end, the burn just got in the way and they covered it over and built on top of it. It’s the city’s own time capsule. Buried and forgotten. Most folk don’t even know it’s there.’
‘And now it’s where the bodies are buried. One of them anyway.’
‘So what are you thinking?’
She exhaled hard. ‘It’s the one thing I can’t get away from. Why would someone be in the Molendinar? Whether it’s to kill or be killed or to play tiddlywinks. Why there? Who would go in there now?’
‘People do know it’s there. Not many but some for sure. Locals will all know it, kids probably played in or around it. Anyone with any knowledge of local history will know all about it. Engineers will be down there, keeping it clear. The council will have responsibility for it, probably have maps of it. Urbexers would probably see it as a challenge. Teenagers might walk it as a dare. I guess it could be used to stash stolen goods or even drugs. And I’d say it would be a good place to hide a body.’
‘Urbexers?’
In Place of Death Page 7
