‘What’s up?’ she whispered as he readied himself over the corpse.
‘Just doing my job,’ he murmured back. ‘I won’t be long.’
She stepped away, unsure how to reply and keen to avoid arguing with him in front of the others. Winter dropped his bag a few feet away from the body and raised his camera to his eye.
The truth was he’d been disturbed since the moment he’d got the call. Not the body or the length of time it had lain there: they were just different shades of an old routine. It was all about the location.
He got to work, doing what he had to do, but with a real and unusual sense of unease. The woman filled his lens in an ugly mass of welts and blistered skin, a war of purples, blues and reds. Her hair was the only thing intact: long and dark it curled in waves under her caved skull. He photographed her from every angle, in whole and in part. Open mouth, twisted leg, outstretched arm, desecrated torso.
He got to his knees and squeezed into the recess off stage so that he could photograph what was left of her face in situ. She could have been anything from early thirties to mid-forties, so difficult to tell. One arm was up near her face, unnaturally so and maybe trapped when she was dumped there. Her nails were still a well-manicured red, their shine barely dimmed.
It made him think of what was probably Enrique Metinides’ most famous photograph, The Death of Adela Legarreta Rivas. Two cars crashed on Avenida Chapultepec in Mexico City and she was run over on her way from the beauty parlour to a book launch. Metinides photographed her, hand outstretched, eyes open, make-up done perfectly, nails immaculate.
It was the thought of the Mexican photographer that made him tilt his camera slightly and catch the circus that was gathered above and beyond this poor woman’s head. Forensics and police, Rachel among them, game faces on, itching to get to work. Well fuck them, they could have her.
He got to his feet, stepped back a couple of paces and took one final, all-encompassing shot before tilting his lens to the floor. Job done but far from happy.
She was by his side, speaking quietly. Obviously trying to suss out why he’d been so short with her earlier.
‘Two dead bodies in creepy places in such a short time. You must think it’s Christmas.’
‘Not really. You know I don’t believe in God.’
‘Tony? What’s wrong?’
‘A woman’s been murdered and left to rot. I just don’t think it’s funny.’
He knew she didn’t quite buy it but she could hardly argue with his reasoning: the truth of that lay in front of them. It wasn’t the truth about why he was troubled but he wasn’t ready for telling her that, not quite yet.
Chapter 15
Back on Renfield Street, the air was thick with the sound of car horns being thumped by frustrated drivers. The building was on a busy interchange and traffic had ground to a halt thanks to the cop cars and ambulance that were taking up part of the road.
Tough shit, she thought. You’ll get to wherever you’re going even if you will be late. The woman in there will never get home.
She knew she was tense, more than was normal. Tony had freaked her out a bit with his reaction and she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. Maybe she didn’t have him as well trained as she thought.
It was more than that though and she knew the second reason, while completely selfish, was the one that had her adrenalin in knots. She could feel the clock ticking on this case already, not just in terms of getting a result but also making it hers. She’d been in the right place at the right time to get the call to the Odeon but she knew keeping it wouldn’t be as simple as that. MIT was packed with people who’d want their hands on this and would be trying to rip hers from it.
She could hear them now, forming a disorderly queue to moan about her already being on the Molendinar case, about her only being a DI for five minutes, how she only got her promotion because of reorganization to Police Scotland. And of course, they’d play their big card, their sneaky ace. How she only got promoted because she was a woman, how she was meeting some imaginary gender quota, how the bloody glass ceiling had somehow turned upside down.
Of course it was all complete bollocks but if she wanted this, and by Christ she did, she had to make sure she was stuck to it with superglue.
She glanced at her watch and saw there were still forty minutes of office business hours left and she had to make the most of them. Fraser Toshney and Becca Maxwell were on the pavement a few yards away and she scribbled a note on her pad and ripped the sheet from it then called them both over.
‘Becca, I want you to stay here, make sure the uniforms keep the public and the press on the right side of that tape and keep me up to date with anything that forensics find. I also want you to look into this when you get back to the office.’ She handed the DC the note she’d just written.
Maxwell read it, looked quizzical but nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Fraser, you’re coming with me. We’re going to pay the site owners a visit and let them know they’ve got a bit of a problem.’
Now all they had to do was get through this bloody traffic.
Saturn Property had its offices in Skypark, the vast glass monstrosity in Finnieston that they liked to call a business campus. It had been christened as the New Face of Glasgow. Narey wasn’t sure there was all that much wrong with the old one.
She looked up at it disapprovingly before they went in. ‘Does no one build anything from brick any more, Fraser? It’s all glass and steel and aluminium. Remember the third pig? The smart one?’
Toshney looked confused. Narey sighed. ‘No matter how hard the big bad wolf huffed and puffed, he couldn’t blow down the house made of bricks. Remember that if you ever go into the construction business.’
‘I will, Boss.’
Saturn were on the eleventh floor of Skypark 1 with blue-tinged views over the Clyde through floor-to-ceiling windows. Narey looked down to see New Glasgow below her - the Exhibition Centre, the Hydro, the BBC Scotland building, the Science Centre, the Armadillo and the Squinty Bridge. Some things didn’t change though - the Finnieston Crane and the river itself defying all attempts at renewal.
Saturn’s managing director had an office that might be described as minimalist. Ready for a quick getaway was another description that sprang to mind. A computer and monitor sat on the sole desk, a black-leather chair behind it, a single filing cabinet and a black-leather sofa. Beige walls and a carpet so nondescript that it almost wasn’t there. The only thing that even suggested what they did was a series of black-framed artist’s impressions of what she presumed were future projects.
In one stood a row of modernist apartments, all glass and wood frontage with awkward angles and showy features. Standing on a field of pastoral green and under a gloriously sunny sky, they were ‘full of Eastern promise’ according to the accompanying text. They also looked like a big bad wolf could blow them down with one puff.
A door opened behind them and the office’s owner hustled in. Mark Singleton was a sunbed thirty-something in a loud suit, all white teeth and fashioned hair. Narey disliked him even before he looked her up and down without bothering to try to hide the fact.
‘Detective Inspector . . .’
‘Narey. Thank you for seeing us, Mr Singleton. I expect you’ll know why we’re here.’
The man gestured them towards the sofa but Narey didn’t budge. He shrugged and sat behind his desk.
‘I got a call from my site foreman telling me about the body found at our Renfield Street site but I don’t see how we can help. This hasn’t got anything to do with Saturn other than the fact that someone was trespassing there.’
‘Well I don’t think we’ll be charging the woman with trespass, Mr Singleton.’
The man looked annoyed but didn’t rise to it. ‘What can I help you with, Inspector?’
‘Have you any idea why the woman would have been inside the property?’
‘None whatsoever. I’m told the body had been there for
some time so she didn’t work for us. The site had been secured for a considerable period of time. She had no right being in there.’
‘Mr Singleton, I am not looking to make a case for negligence. This isn’t about holding your company responsible. It’s about finding out how and why the victim was in your property. It’s about trying to find out who killed her.’
He blanched beneath his fake tan. ‘It was murder?’
‘It looks that way. Have you spoken to your security people about how she could have got in?’
‘I haven’t had the chance but it wasn’t Fort Knox. People can get into most sites if they try hard enough. Frankly, I’m more concerned about any possible delay in demolition. We’re on a very tight schedule and time is money. When can we get the site back?’
She was disgusted and barely hid it. ‘Not any time soon. It’s a crime scene. The demolition will have to be delayed indefinitely.’
Singleton looked furious. ‘Our lawyers will have something to say about that, Inspector.’
‘They’re welcome to try, sir. Now about your security firm. Did they have the premises covered by CCTV? If so, I want to see their tapes.’
He exhaled, clearly irritated. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. It was an empty building with nothing inside to steal. There was no need for cameras.’
‘It seems there was. Now, your security. It is provided by Mullen Security. Is that right?’
A shrug. ‘I’d need to check but that sounds right.’
‘It is right. Have you employed this firm for long or on other premises, sir?’
‘I’m not sure why any of this is relevant.’
‘Maybe it’s not, sir. But I’m curious as to how you came to employ Mullen. They have a certain reputation. The people behind it definitely do.’
Paul and Bobby Mullen made their money through drugs, prostitution and people trafficking, then laundered it through the security firm, pubs, tanning salons and saunas, etc. They were serious players in the city.
‘What are you insinuating? If you have a problem with Mullen Security, Inspector, then I suggest you take it up with them. I fail to see how they or their reputation have anything to do with what happened in our building. Do you have any further questions?’
‘Yes I do.’
She saw the flare of anger in the man’s eyes and it made her happy. He sank further back in his seat but said nothing.
‘How often were the premises checked and who checked them?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Can you find out?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have a list of all the people who have worked in the building in the past few months and may I see that, please?’
‘They are mostly subcontracted.’
‘That’s not what I asked you, Mr Singleton. Will you get me a list of the names?’
‘Yes!’
‘Thank you. Can you provide me with your lead contact for Mullen Security?’
‘I really don’t see why . . .’ He made a small exasperated sigh. ‘Okay. I’ll get my secretary to look them out. She’ll get all the information to you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I need that project to restart as soon as possible, Inspector. There is a lot depending on it. What can I do to expedite things?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You can cooperate fully. As soon as I know who was responsible for this woman’s death, you can have your building back.’
‘What did you make of our Mr Singleton, Fraser?’
‘He’s a prick, ma’am.’
‘Yes he is. And I don’t like him one little bit. Let’s see what else we can find out about him.’ She took her phone out and began scrolling through her contacts.
‘You think he’s involved?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’d just like him to be. He’s in business with the Mullen brothers and a body’s been found on premises they were protecting. That sounds like a good starting point to me.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time the Mullen boys were responsible for a body or two.’
‘Exactly, Fraser. You’re catching on.’
They were sitting in the car in the shadow of Skypark and Narey was determined to push things on before they got back to the station. She needed an edge. She needed someone who knew the property game a lot better than she did.
She found the name she was looking for and called. It was answered on the third ring.
‘Rachel! How the hell are you? It’s been a while.’
Johnny Jackson was an ex-cop, her first sergeant in CID, who now worked as a consultant for IFIG, the Insurance Fraud Investigators Group.
‘I’m good, Jacko. You? How’s the fraud business?’
‘Plenty of it, I’m glad to say. Always someone trying to screw someone else for the sake of a few quid. Keeps me in beer. So is this a business call?’
‘’Fraid so. I’m hoping to pick your brains.’
‘You do know I get paid for that kind of thing these days?’
She laughed, pleased to hear he hadn’t changed. ‘How about I owe you a lunch? Sarti’s maybe?’
‘That will do nicely. What do you need to know?’
‘I’m looking for information on a company called Saturn Property. Could you let me know what you have on them? And while you’re at it, its managing director. A sleazeball by the name of Mark Singleton.’
‘Saturn is familiar but I’ll need to look up what we have. It will be tomorrow before I get back to you. It will take a bit of time and I work office hours these days. That okay?’
It wasn’t ideal but it would have to do.
‘And, Jacko, could you check if you have any info on links between Saturn and Mullen Security?’
There was a long pause. ‘Bobby Mullen’s firm? That explains why Saturn’s name is familiar. If I’m right they had one or two fires at their properties and Mullen’s name has come up in connection with it. I’ll get it for you.’
‘Thanks, Jacko. It’s appreciated.’
‘Whatever this is about, watch yourself, Rachel. Bobby Mullen isn’t known for taking prisoners.’
Chapter 16
Winter climbed the stairs to Narey’s Highburgh Road flat with a heavy step. He’d spent most of the previous night thinking about what he would say. Or even if he would say anything at all.
He’d almost blurted it out the day before, standing over the body at the Odeon with all that running through his head. A bit of him had known when he was in the Molendinar. Maybe he’d known as soon as he’d heard a body was in there. But when the second victim turned up at the Renfield Street site . . . he’d had no doubt at all.
For a while he conned himself by saying that she wouldn’t want to hear it. That he was only there to take photographs and everything else should be left to the police. God knows she’d used that line or a variation of it on him often enough. If he heeded the well-worn advice then he’d just keep his theories to himself.
Except he was sure it was more than a theory. More than a coincidence. And there was more, the voice whispering at him was back. It nagged away at him no matter how much he tried to ignore it.
She met him at the door with a kiss and two glasses of wine. She let her arms slump round his neck for a while, the wine expertly upright, and her head on his shoulder.
‘Long day?’
Her voice came back muffled. ‘Uh huh.’
‘Worse than usual?’
She lifted her head. ‘Yep. I was already juggling a fair bit but two murders in a week have put it onto another planet.’
‘You think they’re connected?’ He wasn’t sure if he wanted a yes or a no. Maybe she’d get there without whatever help he had to offer.
‘What? No, nothing to suggest it. I’ve got a line I want to follow for the Odeon. It doesn’t link to the Molendinar though. I’m ruling nothing in and ruling nothing out.’
‘I’m getting the official press line? At least it wasn’t No Comment.’
‘Oh shut up and come through. I need to sit down, have someone to lie against and share wine with me. What do you say?’
‘I can just about manage that.’
Winter sat at one end of the leather sofa in the front room and she lay along its length with her head in his lap, the wine glass on the floor by her side. He let his right hand trail along the length of her body, occasionally resting and squeezing as the moment seemed right.
She made appreciative noises and her body lifted towards him. ‘That feels good. I wish I had the energy to do something about it.’
‘I could do the work and you could lie there and think of Scotland.’
‘The day that’s the way it works then we’re both in trouble. We’ll scratch that itch soon enough, just not tonight.’
‘Sounds good to me.’ He stroked her hair and sipped slowly at his own Rioja.
‘Did you see the DCI tonight?’ He could hear the tiredness in her voice. He and Addison were best pals and drinking buddies.
‘Hmm? Yes. We had a couple of pints in the Station Bar after work.’
‘Thought you might have. So what was he saying about my murder cases? I can’t imagine it didn’t come up in conversation. Come on, spill.’
‘He’s going to chat to you about the Odeon tomorrow. Don’t quote me but I think he’s going to come in on that one. He’s worried you’re getting overloaded.’
She sat upright, nearly knocking the wine glass over. ‘Is he saying I can’t cope?’
Winter laughed and gently pushed her back down. ‘You know he’s not. Anyway, you were saying you had so much on your plate.’
‘I know, but I get to say it. So that was it? Just that he was going to pitch in?’
‘Pretty much. So what’s the line you’re following for the Odeon body?’
An elbow came back and caught him in the stomach. ‘You know the rules.’
‘And I know we’ve broken them often enough.’
‘Not this time, lover. Anyway, it’s not much more than a hunch at this stage. The owners have a dodgy connection and I want to check it out.’
‘Okay.’ It wasn’t really okay. He wanted to know more but he’d change the subject for now. ‘Have you spoken to your dad tonight?’
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