In Place of Death

by Craig Robertson

  His pulse was a drum roll. The more he tried to shut it out, the louder it got. He squeezed his eyes shut hard and it was a mistake. A flare of phosphene danced behind his eyelids. Bursts of yellow and white made him dizzy as the pressure worked on the cells of his retinae and created a light show that he really didn’t need. He gripped tighter on the rungs and hugged his face against the ladder, the metal cold and wet against his skin.

  He knew the world was spinning around him: he didn’t need to open his eyes to see that. He tried to stay as still as he could and let it settle back into place. Blowing out a long, steady stream of breath seemed to help. Taking in a big lungful to replace it definitely did.

  When his eyes did open, Glasgow shimmied before him. A million lights waved hello through the rain and not one of them seemed capable of staying in the same place even for a second. He took his right hand away from the ladder briefly and waved back - drowning not waving - then clung on once more.

  His right leg was the first to find the courage to move again. It climbed to the rung above and shoved the rest of him into action. He had to get up there. There was no other way.

  He pulled with his arms and pushed with his feet, onwards and upwards. He could still feel the other climber although he couldn’t tell if he was above him or below. He tried to look both up and down but, between the rain and his own fear, he could make out only shapes and blurs. Was that the sound of someone laughing? Or coughing maybe? He was there, no doubt about that, just far enough out of sight and hearing to taunt him, to watch him.

  The rain was getting heavier and the city was almost impossible to see through the veil. He could just make out the nearby neon-lit outlines of the BBC studios, the Armadillo and the Hydro, the big beasts of the new Clydeside. The rest was a flickering blur of yellows and reds without much shape or sense. He climbed higher.

  The observation deck had only been a shadow in the rain but now it began to loom real and reachable, though looking up caused his head to spin again. The deck was there in the clouds, waiting to be boarded like a ghost pirate ship sailing in a sea of dirges.

  What had made him think this could possibly have been a good idea? His head was full of Euan Hepburn. Full of guilt and fear, of falling and consequences. His head was full of Remy Feeks and Rachel. Rachel. His promise to her echoed between his ears. Don’t lie. Don’t mess it up. Don’t keep it from her. Don’t do your own thing.

  Of course he shouldn’t have looked down again but he couldn’t help himself. He strained to see through the murk but there was no sign of anyone else, just the vertical drop he’d once taken without the aid of parachute or safety net. It spiralled through the night and the rain to the small, firm circle of grey concrete that he’d started from. His hands were strangling the rung of the ladder somewhere just under his chin, clinging on in case it slipped through his fingers and disappeared.

  There really was no one else on the climb up the tower. Not in the sense that he’d thought. No living, breathing being. He realized that now. He was still there though, watching, maybe waiting to catch him if he fell. If you believed in that kind of thing. Euan Hepburn made an unlikely guardian angel but Winter felt him there nevertheless.

  Higher and higher. The underside of the observation deck was clearly in sight, a giant metallic eye looking out over the city. He pushed on, bolder now, sure he was going to get there.

  The deck itself was fully enclosed, a space for the public reached by the internal elevator, assuming it was working. From there they could look out over the city in comfort and safety. Winter’s destination was immediately below it, the maintenance platform that shared the same view as the deck above but was accessible, with some effort, from the ladder. He hauled himself up, over and in, collapsing onto the metal floor, enjoying the shock of the cold against the sweat on his back. He was tired and soaked through. His hands were numb with cold and the stress of holding on for his life. His head was a mess of worry and wonder. But he’d made it. He’d actually made it.

  Now all he had to do was wait.

  Chapter 55

  Narey was sitting with the lights off, waiting for something to happen. Not just anything but a very particular something that was as much hope as expectation. She knew the place well but everything changed in the dark. Furniture seemed bigger, closer. The room itself seemed smaller but without end.

  The lights outside the window were sneaking their way in, casting shadows and playing with her mind, making things stretch and twist. It gave her time to think but it was an elastic and unhelpful form of time. Thinking in the dark wasn’t generally to be recommended. Your mind went places it shouldn’t, running through doors that you knew were shut for a reason.

  There were doors marked Dad, Tony, Work, Future. She was crashing through them all, even the ones that shouldn’t be linked but were. It wasn’t exactly helpful given the circumstances but she couldn’t help herself. The more you thought about why you shouldn’t go there, the more you were thinking about it.

  She’d given Tony an ultimatum but had basically left him to choose whether to go along with it or not. It meant she’d given him the option of completely destroying what they had. It was like giving a chimpanzee the keys to a Ferrari. Men weren’t good with decisions, she knew that. They’d rather not make them and they certainly didn’t like being made to make them. What other choice did she have though? She had to trust he had the sense to see what was important. If he didn’t then they were wasting their time.

  It didn’t come too naturally to her to sit still for any length of time. It never had. As a kid she would devour books but always on the move in one way or another. She’d sometimes walk and read, through the park or down by the river. Even if she read in one spot, on her bed or in the living room, then she’d roll and wriggle, move from one place to another, never giving the world the chance to take root beneath her. Ants in her pants, according to her mum and dad.

  She had to try to stay still now though. Still and quiet and unseen and patient. The only things allowed to move were the doors that opened and shut in her head. There was no guarantee that this still-waiting would have the outcome she was hoping for, but there was no other way to find out. She’d sit and she’d wait. And she’d think.

  In the end, it took a bit less time than they’d thought. She’d sat in that familiar chair in the dark for less than forty-five minutes when she heard three little words whispered in her ear. ‘Here we go.’

  Her pulse quickened and her hands gripped the sides of the chair. She’d been ready from the moment she sat down but now she felt the need to reinforce that. Feet flat to the floor, ready to brace against it even though she probably wouldn’t have to.

  She mentally crossed her fingers and hoped their man wouldn’t change his mind or chicken out. The words in her ear meant he was on site and ready to move in. It didn’t mean that he’d definitely be coming through the . . .

  The creak of weight outside the door filtered through the apartment just a moment before the sound of something jangling at the lock. Surely he didn’t, couldn’t, have a key. Although in his line of work maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult for him to get his hands on some kind of skeleton key. Whatever he was using, a key or a jemmy, it had worked. The door edged open and the person on the other side stood quietly, testing the temperature.

  She held her breath, sitting tight. A potent cocktail of anticipation, adrenalin and apprehension coursed through her veins. Don’t switch on the light, she silently urged him. Not just yet. Let’s both savour this.

  Footsteps padded through the hallway, and the door to the living room, which she’d left ajar, was slowly eased wider still. A tall shadow appeared in the doorway, its outline framed by the street lights shining through the window. It was him. Surely it was him.

  The shadow’s owner carried a torch and in seconds a slim beam of light arced across the room, settling first on the desk against the far wall where Tony’s laptop sat along with the external hard drive which held many
of his photographs. She’d let him go a little further, until he was within touching distance of what he’d come hoping to find.

  Pausing for a moment to sweep the torchlight over the desk, he reached out to flip open the laptop’s lid. Thinking better of it, he closed it again, picking the laptop up and stretching to do the same with the hard drive.

  ‘That’s a better idea,’ she called from the gloom. ‘Don’t waste time trying to get into them here. Safer just to take them with you.’

  He jumped at her voice and threw the laptop across the room at her. She dodged it easily but suddenly regretted the theatrics and knew Tony would be furious if the laptop was damaged.

  ‘Who’s there? Who the fuck is there?’

  He sounded scared. Desperate.

  ‘We’ve met before. Don’t you remember?’ She was enjoying the moment but she also wanted to push his buttons as much as possible. Anything that made him lose his cool would be a good thing. ‘I told you then that I wasn’t a lady. You’ve got to believe me now.’

  The torch wavered in her direction and she raised a hand to shield her eyes. He gasped when he saw her.

  ‘You fucking bitch. I’m going to kill you.’

  Those were the magic words. Giannandrea and Toshney emerged from the shadows and crossed in front of him and two uniformed cops piled through the door to take him down from behind. He struggled against them but could do nothing against the superior numbers. He writhed in frustration, his face contorted, spitting in fury.

  ‘I’ll fucking kill you,’ he raged. ‘I mean it. I’ll fucking kill you.’

  ‘Like you killed Jennifer Cairns?’

  ‘Fuck you! Fuck you!’ He’d lost it completely. ‘Get off me!’

  She stood over him as he looked up, screaming obscenities.

  ‘David McCormack, I am Detective Inspector Rachel Narey of Police Scotland and I’m arresting you for the murders of Jennifer Cairns, Euan Hepburn and Remy Feeks. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say may be noted in evidence. Do you wish to say anything, Mr McCormack? Or do you prefer David Haddow?’

  His head shot up and he stared hatred at her, his face turning a blood-boiling shade of anger.

  ‘I’m saying nothing. Get my lawyer. I’m demanding my lawyer.’

  ‘You did kill her though, didn’t you? Your partner’s wife. How long had you been having an affair with her? How long?’

  There was no reply.

  ‘You broke in here looking for the photographs that prove you were at the Odeon. Didn’t you?’

  McCormack glared but still said nothing. ‘Take him away. And get his lawyer. He’s going to need one.’

  The ring of his mobile phone made Winter jump, the noise rattling round the high night air and cutting through the whistle of the wind. He sat bolt upright and stared at the screen, the lights of the city below and beyond him.

  Rachel. His finger scrambled for the screen and hit receive.

  ‘We’ve got McCormack. He came looking for the photographs as you thought he would, once he saw you were up there out of the way.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know it would be him. That was down to you. And I couldn’t be sure I’d been followed that night from Oran Mor and another night. It was just a feeling. Has he confessed?’

  ‘He hasn’t admitted or denied anything. But he will. Now, can you get yourself down from there safely without breaking your neck or do I need to send a helicopter?’

  He laughed. ‘A helicopter would be nice, but no thanks. This is something I need to do.’

  ‘Exorcize some ghosts?’

  ‘Yes. Exactly that.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll pick you up at the bottom. And please, be bloody careful.’

  ‘Didn’t I promise I would?’

  Chapter 56

  Tuesday afternoon

  David McCormack sat in interview room 2 in Stewart Street, his back firmly to the chair, trying and failing to give an impression of calm. By his side was his solicitor, Patrick Doull, and opposite were Narey and Addison.

  Doull came with a reputation as hard-nosed and aggressive. He looked like a middleweight boxer in an expensive suit, well-schooled in confrontation and doing whatever it took to keep his clients out of jail. The word was that you couldn’t mark his neck with a blowtorch. They both knew he’d be hard work.

  The room was deliberately small and claustrophobic. Anyone with a sense of smell could still make out the countless cigarettes that had been smoked in there. No amount of bleach or fresh paint could remove that any more than it could get rid of the twin spectres of sweat and fear.

  The interview had already lasted ten minutes. Doull had made his mark early, stressing his client’s clean record and professional standing, questioning the legality of the process that led his client to the flat in Berkeley Street and making loud noises about entrapment being illegal in Scotland since the incorporation of the European Convention on Human Rights into Scots law. In terms of the interview, it was bluster. Narey led the attack.

  ‘Mr McCormack, officers carried out a search of your home earlier today. They found a number of items of interest. Do you know what they might be?’

  Doull answered as she’d expected. ‘My client isn’t a mind reader, Detective Inspector. Why don’t you just tell us what you found?’

  ‘Okay. In a small rucksack in a cupboard, we found three torches, spare batteries, a Swiss Army knife and a street map of Glasgow. In the same cupboard, there was a pair of waders. Can you explain why you have those, Mr McCormack?’

  The man didn’t look worried or surprised. ‘There’s nothing unusual about any of those things.’

  ‘Okay. We also found this camera. Is it yours?’

  She placed a Nikon SLR on the desk between them.

  McCormack was wary, as if fearing a trap. ‘It looks like mine. I can’t be sure.’

  ‘We’ve already dusted it for fingerprints.’

  Doull nodded at his client, who answered, ‘Yes, it’s mine.’

  ‘Good. There were a considerable number of images of empty buildings on the memory card. Can you tell us about them?’

  McCormack looked troubled but gathered himself. ‘I like to explore abandoned places. It’s legal.’

  Narey smiled at him. ‘Not entirely. Anyway, let’s leave that for now. We also found these.’

  She placed a clear evidence bag on the table. Inside were a pair of black-silk panties.

  ‘Do you recognize them?’

  ‘No. I . . . They belong to an ex-girlfriend.’

  ‘What’s her name? We can check with her.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  Narey looked across at Addison who duly laughed.

  ‘You don’t remember. Must be plenty of exes then. Mr McCormack, were you having an affair with Jennifer Cairns?’

  Colour drained from his face at the mention of the name.

  ‘No. I wasn’t. They’re not Jen’s. You can’t prove that they’re hers.’

  ‘Which is it, Mr McCormack? That they’re not or that we can’t prove it?’

  ‘Either.’

  ‘But we can prove it. DNA tests might take a couple of days, no longer. I’m confident that they will match to Mrs Cairns. Aren’t you?’

  McCormack’s eyes flitted to his lawyer, looking for help. Doull recognized the gesture for what it was. ‘I’d like a moment alone with my client.’

  Narey and Addison nodded to each other in agreement. ‘Interview suspended at 14.42,’ she told the tape. ‘DCI Addison and DI Narey leaving the room.’

  ‘Two minutes,’ Addison informed Doull. ‘That should be long enough to tell him what he needs to do.’

  The solicitor ignored Addison’s remark and the door was closed on Doull and McCormack as the officers left. When the door reopened, less than ten minutes later, it was clear that the atmosphere inside the interview room had changed.

  ‘Are you ready to continue, Mr McCormack?’ ‘Yes. And I wish to make a statement.’ ‘Good. Then let’s ge
t going again. Interview resumed at 14.51. Those present as before. David McCormack has intimated his wish to make a statement. He will now do so.’

  The man drew a deep breath and let it back out slowly. With a final look to his lawyer, he began. ‘I wish to confirm that I was involved in a sexual relationship with Jennifer Cairns. This began three months ago. It was mutually initiated and consensual at all times. I did not kill her and I was in no way involved in her death.’

  Narey nodded slowly at him as if grateful for the information. The man’s lawyer had obviously told him not to deny something if it could be easily proven. Deny everything else. That was going to be their strategy. ‘How often did you and Mrs Cairns see each other?’ McCormack looked uncomfortable. ‘When we could. Maybe two or three times a week.’

  ‘And was Douglas Cairns aware of your relationship?’

  ‘No. Of course not. It would have destroyed him. Jen said that he could never find out.’

  ‘So Mrs Cairns said your affair would always be a secret. Always just be an affair. Were you happy with that or did you want more from your relationship?’

  He flushed slightly. Just a hint, a little poker tell. Then he shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Yes you do. Did you want to take it further, be a couple, have her split from her husband, be with you full-time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘My client has already answered—’

  She ignored him. ‘She’d have been better off with you, wouldn’t she? Younger, better-looking, more what she needed. Give her what her husband couldn’t.’

  ‘Maybe but I . . .’

  ‘Is that what you argued about in the Odeon?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you were in the Odeon with her?’

  ‘Yes. No, I . . .’

  ‘You were in the Odeon with her, you argued and you killed her.’

  ‘DI Narey, I must speak to my client alone.’

  ‘You argued, you lost it and you killed her. Maybe you didn’t mean it. Was it an accident?’