‘You usually go on your own then?’
‘Oh no. I go with a couple of friends. My pal Lizzie and her boyfriend Gus. They don’t post on OtherWorld though. We all do the urbexing but I do the photographs and stick them online. Probably why you wouldn’t know to invite them along.’
‘Yes, probably.’ He sighed inside, wondering how many other part-time explorers were out there who didn’t use the forum. Clearly neither of Lorna’s friends could be Tunnel Man though.
‘So you only know the two of them?’
‘Just those two. People have posted after seeing my photos but I don’t know them. Still, now I know five other people that do it.’
‘Six.’ The voice came from above them, someone standing. They all glanced up.
‘I take it you’re the muppets that walked the Botanics line this evening?’
They were looking at a lean, flint-cheeked guy in his early thirties with sleek black hair. He tried to switch to a smile when he saw everyone staring but didn’t quite pull it off.
‘Only joking. I’m Crow. Or Murray Bradley if you like. I thought I’d give the tourist route a miss and come straight here. Can I get anyone a drink?’
Bradley wore a black-leather jacket, T-shirt and jeans to match his hair. If he had walked the tunnel from Kirklee with them then he’d have disappeared in the darkness. Everyone said they were sorted for drinks and the guy headed off to get one for himself.
He came back with a pint of lager in his hand and squeezed himself into a space between Ally Aitchison and Gopher. ‘Cheers.’ They all raised their glasses without much enthusiasm. The newcomer had managed to piss them all off with just a couple of sentences.
‘Walking the line too safe for you then?’ Aitchison seemed happy to take him on aggressively.
Bradley shrugged, clearly not fazed. ‘Been there, done that. Happy to come for a beer though and see what you guys are all about. So where else have you done?’
It sounded like a challenge and Gabby, not surprisingly, took it that way. ‘Anywhere that’s worth doing in Glasgow. What about you, big man? Surprise us.’
The man sneered and Remy wanted to slap him. There was more chance of Gabby doing that though. ‘Finnieston Crane, the old Transport Museum, the black building at Gartnavel, the Hydro when it was being built. Like you say, hen, anything that’s worth doing.’
The next question was out of Remy’s mouth before he could stop it.
‘Have you ever done the Molendinar Burn?’
Bradley paused then pushed his lower lip over his top one and shrugged. ‘No. Not yet anyway.’
‘What’s that?’ Lorna looked confused.
‘There’s a tunnel where the Molendinar Burn runs under Duke Street,’ Miller answered. ‘It gets really tight and you wouldn’t want to do it if you were claustrophobic. Only one person’s supposed to have done it.’
More than one, Remy thought. Definitely more than one.
He knew there was a risk he was about to overplay his hand but they were the only cards he had.
‘Did you read about the body found in the tunnel last week?’
They all looked at him and he tried to take in the expression on their faces. Confusion mostly although a couple of them, Aitchison and Miller, obviously knew. Haddow too. Not Gopher, that was for sure. His eyes widened and his mouth bobbed open. ‘Body? As in, dead body?’
Winter struggled to keep conflicting emotions under control. This guy Feeks was asking all the questions for him. They were all staring at Remy so that left Winter free to look at them. Trying to read them. And what about Feeks? Nervily chatty and obviously interested in the Molendinar. But then they all were now.
But the kid’s words, body, dead body, made him picture Hepburn in a way that he didn’t want to. It messed with his thinking. He sat and watched, trying to take it all in. Underneath he was in knots.
‘Yep. Some guy was found under Duke Street,’ Miller told Gopher. ‘I saw it on the news and read about it. The newspaper said it was suspicious circumstances.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Was he urbexing?’
Shit. Was he?
‘No one knows.’ Miller stated it as if it was a fact even though Remy knew it wasn’t. ‘He could have been in there for any reason. Might have been living rough. Might have been hiding from the cops. If he was urbexing, he probably just slipped and banged his head.’
‘Probably that,’ Haddow agreed.
‘So who was he, if he was urbexing?’ Remy knew he was pushing his luck. ‘Anyone know who he might be?’
‘What did he look like?’
‘Newspaper said he was about five foot eleven, medium build, reddish-fair hair.’ Miller seemed to know everything or think he did. The rest mulled this over or just shrugged. Remy wanted to shake them upside down till their memories popped.
‘But if the newspaper said it was suspicious . . .’ Lorna sounded scared.
‘Maybe someone just took the guy down there to sort him out. Nice and out of the way. In space no one can hear you scream and all that.’ Bradley made it sound as if he knew what he was talking about. ‘Was he just inside the entrance to the tunnel?’
‘Paper didn’t say.’ Finlay Miller knew it all. ‘Probably. Wouldn’t want to go further into there than you had to.’
‘Anyone remember the guy that broke his neck at the seminary?’ Aitchison asked them. ‘It was about a year ago.’
They all either nodded or said yes. In a community as small as urbexing, something like that didn’t go unnoticed for long.
‘Poor guy.’ Lorna shivered. ‘Gus, my friend’s boyfriend, he knew him. Said he was a really nice guy. They think he just slipped.’
Bradley chipped in. ‘And there was that guy who supposedly fell from the Finnieston Crane. Except I’d heard that wasn’t an accident.’
‘Yeah?’ Aitchison sounded sceptical. ‘Who did you hear that from?’
‘Can’t say. Someone who knows someone. But they reckon the guy wasn’t an urbexer.’
There was a lot of silent nodding and quiet supping. Remy saw they were happy to believe it was nothing to do with urbexing. All sitting there with that thought on their faces. All except Gabby. She was looking straight at him.
Chapter 34
Winter waited in the doorway and watched the two of them speaking, the girl Gabby and Feeks, the guy who’d organized it and was asking so many questions. He held back until he saw the girl walk off then stepped out of the pub, catching Feeks before he too could leave. He didn’t know what he was going to say to the guy but he knew he had to talk to him.
‘Remy?’
Feeks nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, alarm in his eyes. ‘What?’
‘I just wanted a chat. That stuff you were saying about the body in the Molendinar. It’s interesting. You fancy another drink?’
‘Well, I should really—’
‘It’s just that I’ve been down there. The tunnel, I mean.’
Feeks blinked. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. It gets weird in parts. At one point there’s this tunnel of spiral steel piping. Then it opens up into this beautiful redbrick section before it all gets really low. Like I said, it’s interesting.’
The younger guy just looked at him. Long enough for Winter to know he’d been right.
‘Um, sure. Maybe one more.’
‘Great.’
They went back inside and Feeks found a quiet corner while Winter ordered a couple of pints. He looked back from the bar and saw his new friend fidgeting nervously, his eyes flitting left and right.
He placed two drinks on the table, as happy as Feeks seemed to be that there was no one else in earshot.
‘Cheers.’
‘Oh yeah. Cheers.’
Winter raised his glass and took a better look at the guy over the top of it. He was in his mid to late twenties, with a mess of fair hair and a light sprinkling of freckles. He had bony shoulders and skinny arms, barely a pound of fat on him anywhere
. Seen more meat on a butcher’s pencil, as his Uncle Danny would say. He seemed an unlikely candidate to slit another man’s throat.
‘So where you from, Remy?’
The guy hesitated. ‘East End. You?’
‘Charing Cross. Like I said, I’m a photographer. What about yourself?’
Remy looked wary. ‘I work in a supermarket. You really been down the Molendinar Tunnel?’
‘Aye. Till it got so low that there didn’t seem a way through without getting on my belly and crawling. Was it in the papers that you read about the guy they found down there?’
‘Uh huh. I saw it on the TV news too. There’s not been much about it since though.’
‘You been keeping an eye on it?’
‘What? Yes, I suppose so. Just interested.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘When did you go down there, Tony? I mean you didn’t say when the others were talking about it.’
‘Quite recently. I didn’t want to mention it when we were talking about the poor guy being killed. Didn’t seem right. Would have made me sound like a suspect. You know?’
Feeks laughed uncomfortably. ‘I guess it would have. Did you take photographs when you were down there?’
‘Yeah, I did. Quite a few.’
‘Right. Cool.’
‘You ever explored the Molendinar yourself, Remy?’
‘Me? No.’
His reply was just too quick and just too hollow. Winter let it simmer for a bit, sipping his pint and noticing that Remy had barely touched his.
‘So what do you think happened to the guy they found?
Feeks shrugged, his pointed shoulders rising and falling like a kid who’d been asked how his school day had been.
Winter tried again. ‘Suspicious circumstances according to the cops. You think that’s right?’
He reddened ever so slightly and the hand that went to his pint glass had a tremble in it. ‘I don’t know. I guess the police should know so it must have been.’
‘Yeah. That makes sense.’
Feeks didn’t say anything more for a bit. He looked around the room and Winter could see his mind was in overdrive.
‘Do you know a lot of people who urbex?’ he asked at last.
‘Not many,’ Winter told him. ‘Most of them I met this evening.’
‘Do you know anyone that might fit the description of the guy in the tunnel? I mean, he might not have been exploring but he might have been. You know?’
Winter nodded. ‘Yeah, he might. There was one guy I knew years ago I did some explores with. He was about the same height, same hair colour.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Winter watched Feeks intently. ‘His name was Euan Hepburn. Probably a different guy though. The one I knew moved to England.’
The name meant nothing to him. That was obvious.
‘Maybe you should tell the police, Tony.’
‘Yeah. Maybe I should.’
Another awkward silence fell on them. It was like they were in a competition daring the other not to speak. If they were, Feeks lost. He quickly downed some more of the pint and all but jumped to his feet.
‘I’ve got to go. Do you want me to buy you a drink before I go?’
‘No, no need. Listen, are you okay, Remy? You seem upset about all this.’
‘Eh? No. I’m . . . I’m fine. I’d better go. Sorry.’ Feeks looked like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words.
‘No worries. I’ll get you out. Time for me to go anyway.’
Chapter 35
It was raining by the time the two of them left Oran Mor together, the ones named Winter and Feeks, but it wasn’t difficult to see them. From the shadows of a doorway across Byres Road, they were lit up like Christmas trees under the orange glow of the street light.
They stood on the steps, speaking and shaking hands like old friends before going their separate ways. Had they known each other all along? It hadn’t seemed like that in the pub but maybe they’d been hiding it.
Feeks and the blonde girl, Gabby, had hung back at first after everyone else had left. She went off and then the older guy had appeared. He and Feeks had gone back inside. That had been a worry.
The temptation had been to follow them inside again. Try to hear what they were saying. But the risk was too great. Too hard to explain if noticed.
So there had been no choice but to wait. It was an uneasy, enraging wait. Not seeing, not hearing, not knowing. It just made for a headache, a brain-pounding pain that throbbed black and dull.
They were in there for a long time. Twice, the urge to check on them nearly became too much. Twice, feet started to follow heart before head said no. Wait, just wait. Try to stay calm and wait.
It was impossible not to wonder though. What were they talking about? What information were they sharing? What did they know?
The stone steps outside Oran Mor were dappled with the first spots of rain and still there was no sign of them. Willing Winter and Feeks to appear through the arch of the door did no good either. It worked as well as trying to wish things away.
The pain had grown thicker and darker, feeding on frustration and anger, becoming blacker and bigger with every pulse. Then, finally, they showed. Smug and conspiratorial on the steps. Sly handshakes, a wave goodbye and slipping off into the night thinking themselves out of sight. Thinking themselves clever. They weren’t, not clever at all.
Only one of them could be followed though. Which? Eenie meenie miney mo. It was Winter.
The man turned and headed down Byres Road towards Hillhead underground. It meant a quick dash out of the shadows and across the road, trying to stay close but not too close. A late hop onto a different carriage of the same train. Winter went only two stops, getting off at St George’s Cross. Over the interchange and along the length of St George’s Road, hugging shop fronts and darkness. Finally, along North Street past the Koh-i-Noor and to the corner where the dome of the Mitchell Library shone like a lighthouse in a rough sea. But when the corner was turned, Winter was nowhere to be seen.
Had he gone inside the library? The building was still open so it was possible but the entrance was far enough away to make it unlikely. Across Berkeley Street in a weird panic, standing in the shade of the sandstone and looking around. There. Back across the street. Just in time to see a light go on and a figure closing blinds at the window.
It was him.
It was where he lived.
Chapter 36
Narey had parked up outside a house in Rowallan Gardens in Broomhill and had just stepped out of the car when her phone began ringing. She cursed the timing of it but pulled the mobile from her pocket and looked at the screen. The call was from her dad’s care home. At nearly eight in the evening? It was unlikely to be good news.
She nibbled at her upper lip, debating whether she really wanted to hear whatever it was they had to tell her. There was no argument to be had. She opened the car door and fell back into the driver’s seat.
‘Yes?’
‘Miss Narey? I mean, Inspector Narey? ‘
‘Yes. Who’s speaking?’ The voice was familiar but it wasn’t Mrs McBriar, the home owner. It was someone younger. It was . . .
‘Jess. Jess Docherty. From Clober Nursing Home. I look after your dad.’
She breathed deeply. ‘Hi, Jess. What’s wrong? Is he okay?’
‘Yes. Well, no. I mean he’s okay but he’s a bit stressed. He’s been asking for you and I can’t calm him down. I usually can but he’s agitated and worried. He keeps going on about Huntly Avenue. You used to live there, didn’t you?’
‘Huntly Avenue? When I was about thirteen! What is he agitated about?’
‘He keeps asking when you’ll get here. Or there. He thinks he’s in Huntly Avenue. He’s worried about buses being off and you not being able to get home. It’s really upsetting him. I’ve told him you’ll be fine but he’s not having it. He wants to pick you up in his car and I’m having to say no. Co
uld you maybe come over and see him?’
Narey looked through the car’s window at the house she was about to visit, the home of Jennifer Cairns’ best friend. This wasn’t a choice she wanted to make.
‘There was a bus strike when I was in second year at high school. I had to walk nearly three miles to get home and he was out of his mind with worry. I’ll get there as soon as I can, Jess. What time do you finish your shift?’
A pause. ‘Forty-five minutes ago.’
‘What? Why are you still there?’
‘I told you. He’s agitated. I couldn’t go home and leave him like that. Wouldn’t have felt right.’
Eileen McBriar had said that Jess wasn’t the problem she seemed to be. She said that surly was just the way her face was, just the way she spoke. She’d insisted to Narey that Jess was a good worker and that she genuinely cared. It looked like she might have been right.
‘Jess, I need to do something before I can get over. But I’ll be as quick as I can. Can you stay with him? I know it’s asking a lot.’
‘Course.’
‘Thank you.’
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Carrie Thomson was a good looking forty-something dressed as an early thirty-something but pulling the look off effortlessly and stylishly. Blonde and tanned, she was wearing money and it suited her. The only clue that anything was wrong was in her make-up, eyes smudged from running mascara and cheeks streaked with tears. Narey also had the distinct impression that she’d been drinking.
The strain in her voice was obvious and her slightly manic manner was testament to her insistence that she wasn’t Jen Cairns’ friend, she was her best friend.
‘Of course I’ll help you. Why the hell would I do anything else? I can’t go five minutes without thinking about her and bursting into tears. What happened to her?’
Narey and Thomson were sitting in the front room of the woman’s large and expensively furnished house in the West End, a couple of streets back from Clarence Drive. Becca Maxwell sat quietly to the side, letting Narey connect one to one with the woman.
‘To be honest with you, Mrs Thomson, we don’t know yet. That’s why we need to talk to as many people as possible who can help us build a picture of Jennifer’s life and movements. So you were close?’
In Place of Death Page 19
