Cutting Edge

by Bill Daly

  CHAPTER 8

  Friday 24 June

  Charlie Anderson was in his office before half-past six in the morning. He had hardly slept a wink all night, tossing and turning in bed as he’d struggled to recall everyone who could possibly be bearing a grudge against him. He’d gone through all the names he could think of – there were dozens of them. He didn’t know if some of them were alive or dead. Some he could eliminate because he knew they were still in prison, others he knew were back on the streets, but there were several instances where he didn’t know if they’d been released yet. Something he’d have to check out.

  He plucked a sheet of paper from the stack on his printer and placed it in the middle of the blotting pad on his desk. Taking his propelling pencil from his jacket pocket, he wound down the lead and started to compile his list.

  Sue was lying on her back, eyes closed, breathing gently as Tony leaned with one elbow on the pillow and watched the rays of morning sunlight, filtering through a crack in the curtains, play on her long, blonde hair which was splayed across the pillow. Slipping from under the duvet, he pulled on his dressing gown and went to the kitchen.

  ‘Breakfast’s up!’ Tony announced, nudging the bedroom door open with the tray he was carrying.

  Sue stirred slowly and sat up in bed. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Nearly seven o’clock.’

  ‘That only counts as half a sleepover.’ Sue yawned, stretching her arms high above her head.

  ‘Some of us have work to go to. We don’t all have the long, lazy summer holidays of part-time teachers.’

  ‘Mmm… Something smells good.’

  ‘I took a chance on freshly-squeezed orange juice, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, wholemeal toast and coffee.’

  ‘How did you know that’s what I always have for breakfast on Fridays?’

  Sue sat up straight in bed as Tony balanced the tray on her knees. He kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Tuck in. No need for you to rush. Take as long as you like over breakfast. There’s plenty of hot water and there are clean towels on top of the laundry basket in the bathroom. Just pull the front door behind you when you go out.’

  ‘What do you have planned for tonight?’ Sue asked, taking a sip of orange juice.

  ‘Not a lot. However, your father’s liable to change that at a moment’s notice.’

  ‘If he doesn’t, would you be prepared to slum it with chilli con carne?’

  ‘I could be talked into that.’

  ‘Let me give you my address. Do you have a piece of paper?’ Tony fetched his notebook and pen from his jacket and handed them across. ‘I should warn you,’ Sue said as she was writing. ‘There are strings attached.’

  ‘You’re mixing things up. That’s not chilli con carne. It’s probably haggis.’

  ‘Very funny! The strings are called Jamie. Before we went off to Brussels, I told him you were an expert on Scottish football. He’s got a memory like an elephant and he can’t wait to test you out. He’s prepared a list of questions already.’

  ‘Any chance of a sneak preview?’

  ‘Good grief! You mean – you’d be prepared to try to con a seven year-old?’

  ‘You don’t rise to the dizzy heights of Detective Sergeant in the Glasgow CID if you’ve got scruples.’

  Tony waved across to Malcolm when he saw his car pull up alongside him in Pitt Street’s underground car park.

  ‘Did you have a quiet evening?’ Tony asked as they were walking up the steps to the main building.

  ‘Not exactly. I decided the opportunity for a Byres Road pub crawl was too good to miss.’

  ‘Good decision. How did it go?’

  ‘Fine – until I got home and found someone trying to burgle my flat.’

  ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘If only. I disturbed him in the act and got a thump in the back for my trouble.’

  ‘Did you not manage to nab him?’

  Malcolm shook his head ruefully. ‘He was far too quick for me. I’d have been hard pushed to lay a finger on him at the best of times, but in the state I was in last night, it was no contest. The bastard was off like greased lightning. The only consolation was that I interrupted him before he managed to nick any of my landlord’s precious possessions.’

  ‘Have you reported it to the police?’ Tony asked with a grin.

  ‘Of course! I called them straight away. Sergeant McPlod and his lanky sidekick came round first thing this morning to pore over the scene of the crime and take fingerprints, but I won’t be holding my breath.’

  ‘I wouldn’t make a crack like that about our distinguished constabulary in Charlie’s hearing. He came up through the ranks and he thinks very highly of our uniformed colleagues.’

  ‘Thanks for the tip, but I think even the boss would’ve been unimpressed by this pair.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘When the Sergeant asked me what I could tell him about the burglar, I said: “Not a lot – apart from the fact that he’d been going through my CD collection, so I reckon we might have a similar taste in music”. He must’ve attended one of Charlie’s training sessions because he fastidiously wrote all that down in his notebook – in shorthand.’

  ‘And I wouldn’t mention the burglary in front of Niggle either, if I were you,’ Tony added. ‘He’s not going to thank you for bumping up his unsolved crime statistics.’

  ‘I hope both of you had an early night,’ Charlie said as Tony and Malcolm walked into his office, ‘because it’s liable to be a long day.’

  ‘I can’t answer for Malcolm,’ Tony said, stifling a yawn as he sat down, ‘but I was in bed before ten o’clock.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have been long after him, if I hadn’t been burgled,’ Malcolm said, taking the seat beside Tony.

  ‘Burgled?’ Charlie said.

  ‘When I got home last night, I interrupted a burglar in the act, but he got away. Fortunately, he didn’t manage to steal anything. I called out the uniforms and they came round to my flat first thing this morning. They seemed a very efficient pair – right on top of things.’

  Tony hacked at Malcolm’s shins below the level of Charlie’s desk.

  ‘How did you get on with Ferrie last night?’ Malcolm asked, turning to Tony.

  ‘The guy was in a bad way. His nose was broken and his mouth was lacerated – and his condition wasn’t improved by me telling him his girlfriend had been murdered.’

  ‘Was he able to give you a description of whoever attacked him?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘All he could tell me was that a tall guy, with a Glasgow accent, wearing a balaclava, burst into his apartment and forced him to set up a meeting with Zoe Taylor before punching the living daylights out of him.’

  ‘Okay, let’s get a plan of action for the day sorted out,’ Charlie said. ‘Mr and Mrs Taylor are due at the mortuary at ten o’clock to formally identify their daughter’s body.’ He turned to Tony. ‘Go over there and have a word with them. The usual stuff. Do they know if anyone had been stalking their daughter, anyone phoning her and hanging up, any jealous ex-boyfriends on the scene – you know the score. Malcolm, you do the same at her office. It’s Tracy and Blundell in West Regent Street. Talk to her boss and her work colleagues and see if they can cast any light on what might have happened to her.’

  Charlie’s intercom buzzed. ‘Sorry to interrupt you, sir,’ Pauline said. ‘An email has just arrived with two documents attached – the witness statements from the passengers on the Glasgow to London train and the report on the CCTV footage from Motherwell Station.’

  ‘Print them out for me, please.’

  As Charlie disconnected, his desk phone rang. He picked up.

  ‘Renton here, sir. There’s been a significant development. We got the CCTV tapes from Central Station. There’s footage of all the passengers boarding the London train and we managed to pick out the victim boarding at eleven fifty-eight. The significant fact is that he was carrying an attaché case when he got on board –
and the case wasn’t found on the train.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Colin.’ Charlie recounted to Tony and Malcolm what Renton had told him.

  ‘I’ve got a session with Doctor Orr this morning,’ Charlie said. ‘She asked me to compile a list of everyone I could think of who might be bearing a grudge against me.’

  ‘Is Niggle on the list?’ Tony asked.

  Charlie nodded, sagely. ‘I thought about including him, but I decided against it. There’s no way he would go around committing murders on his own patch. He’s too neurotic about his crime statistics.’

  As Keith Tracy approached the front door of his office block, keys in hand, he saw Malcolm Stuart waiting for him in the doorway. Stuart produced his warrant card and introduced himself. ‘Are you Mr Tracy or Mr Blundell?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m Keith Tracy. John’s on holiday.’

  ‘Could I come in, please? There are a few questions I’d like to ask you.’

  Tracy was a mousy, thin-faced creature with a nervous twitch, a pronounced Adam’s apple and a permanently worried frown. He nodded his agreement as he fumbled with his key in the lock. ‘Of course, officer. Of course.’ His voice was shrill. ‘But I would appreciate if you could be as brief as possible,’ he said as he led the way up the wide staircase. ‘I’ve got a very full schedule this morning.’

  Tracy stopped on the first-floor landing and unlocked the heavy, wooden door, ushering Stuart in ahead of him. ‘How can I help you?’ he asked tugging off his coat as he went into his office.

  ‘It’s concerning Zoe Taylor.’

  ‘Zoe?’ Tracy stood on tiptoe to drape his coat on the hat stand before scuttling round to the seat behind his desk. ‘Do you have news of her?’

  Stuart waited until Tracy had settled down on his chair.

  ‘I’ve very sorry to have to tell you this, Mr Tracy.’ Stuart paused. ‘I’m afraid Zoe is dead.’ Tracy’s eyes glazed over and his mouth gaped as if to speak but no sound came forth. ‘Did you hear the news last night?’ Stuart asked.

  ‘I caught the headlines.’

  ‘Then you know a girl’s body was recovered from the Clyde.’

  Tracy’s eyes widened. ‘They said her hand had been cut off,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I’m afraid it was Zoe.’

  ‘I just don’t… I can’t believe it.’ Tracy slumped back in his chair, repeating the same phrase over and over again. ‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.’ He picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk and used it to waft his face. ‘I knew there was something wrong when Zoe didn’t come back to work on Tuesday after lunch. I tried phoning her flat and her mobile several times, but there was no reply. I called her mother on Tuesday evening and she phoned around, but no one knew where Zoe was. Mrs Taylor contacted the police on Wednesday morning to report her daughter missing. I thought Zoe might have had a tiff with her boyfriend, or something like that – perhaps run off. But not – nothing like this.’ Tracy fumbled in his desk drawer for a packet of tissues. Tugging one out, he blew his nose noisily. ‘I just… I just can’t believe it.’

  They both heard the sound of the outer office door being pushed open. ‘Good morning, Mr Tracy,’ a cheery voice called out.

  ‘That’s Emma,’ Tracy said quietly. ‘Zoe’s colleague.’

  Tracy called Emma into his office. She knew straight away from the expression on his face that something was seriously wrong, When Stuart broke the news to her she started to scream hysterically. It was several minutes before she had calmed down enough to communicate.

  ‘Zoe left the office at lunchtime on Tuesday,’ Emma snivelled in response to Stuart’s question. ‘Ryan had rung earlier that morning. I took the call. I had a feeling something wasn’t right. He wasn’t his usual self. He normally chats me up when he phones. Just teasing, like. Lots of silly stuff. But on Tuesday he was, like, really brusque – and his voice sounded funny, as if there was something wrong with his breathing. He was barely civil. He wanted to speak to Zoe and when I told him she was in a meeting, he asked me to give her a message.’

  ‘What was the message?’

  ‘She had to meet him at half-past twelve in the boathouse at Glasgow Green. Ryan said it was very important – something about being in a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Did he say what kind of trouble?’

  Emma shook her head.

  Tony O’Sullivan was sitting in the outer office of the mortuary when Sam and Helen Taylor emerged from the room where they had formally identified their daughter’s body. Helen’s eyelids were red and swollen, the bags under her eyes grey from lack of sleep. Her husband was supporting her elbow in the crook of his arm.

  O’Sullivan stood up when he saw them approaching and showed them his ID. He offered Helen his chair and she sank down on the seat. O’Sullivan indicated the adjacent chair for Sam.

  ‘I’d just as soon stand, officer,’ Sam said quietly.

  O’Sullivan propped himself against the edge of the desk and took out his notebook. ‘I realise how difficult this must be for you both.’ He cast his eyes down. ‘But I’m afraid I do need to ask you some questions.’

  Sam gripped his wife’s hand tightly. ‘Go ahead. I need you to find the bastard who did this. And when you do,’ he added in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘I’m goany strangle him with my bare hands.’

  ‘I know how you must feel, Mr Taylor, but –’

  ‘No you don’t, son,’ Taylor interjected, shaking his head emphatically. ‘You have no idea how I feel.’

  ‘We’ll do everything we can to find Zoe’s murderer, Mr Taylor.’ O’Sullivan paused. ‘Do you know if anyone had been bothering your daughter recently?’ Taylor looked enquiringly at his wife, who shook her head. ‘Do you know if she received any unexplained phone calls? Or if anyone was hanging around in the street outside her flat?’

  ‘You’d have to check with Ryan,’ Sam said. ‘I’m not around all that much, but I’m sure Zoe would’ve said something to her mother if there’d been anything like that going on.’

  ‘When did you last see your daughter, Mrs Taylor?’

  ‘On Sunday,’ Helen offered. ‘Sam was away in Germany. Ryan and Zoe came over to our place for their tea.’

  ‘Would that be Ryan Ferrie, Zoe’s boyfriend?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Helen said.

  ‘What can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Bit of a chancer,’ Sam said. ‘Never held a job down for more than five minutes in his life, but a decent enough bugger all the same. He moved in with Zoe a couple of months back. He got her a really nice engagement ring. They were planning to get hitched next month.’ His voice was on the point of cracking as he grasped his wife’s hand tightly. ‘Helen was baking their wedding cake last week, while I was away. Zoe was stuck on Ryan and as long as he was treatin’ her right, that was fine by me.’

  ‘And was he treating her right?’

  Sam Taylor stared at O’Sullivan. ‘Unless you’re telling me you know somethin’ different?’ He let go of his wife’s hand and both his fists slowly clenched and unclenched. ‘Because if you are –?’

  ‘Not at all, Mr Taylor. Ferrie was attacked in their flat on the morning Zoe was murdered. He’s in the Southern General. He was beaten up very badly. We have reason to believe that the person who murdered your daughter was also responsible for assaulting Ferrie.’

  ‘Poor sod,’ Sam muttered, relaxing his fists.

  O’Sullivan put away his notebook. ‘I don’t think there’s anything else I need from you right now.’

  ‘I’ve got a question for you, son,’ Sam said. ‘In the papers this morning, it said the police were waiting for the post mortem results before they could confirm whether or not Zoe’s hand was cut off before she was killed.’ His voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘I need to know.’

  ‘We don’t have the results of the post mortem yet.’

  ‘Why did the sick bastard chop her hand off?’

  O’Sullivan held eye contact. ‘We have no idea.’


  A single tear threaded its way down Sam Taylor’s right cheek. He helped his wife to her feet and supported her arm as he led her towards the door.

  Charlie Anderson’s intercom buzzed. ‘Doctor Orr is here to see you, sir,’ Pauline said.

  ‘Send her in.’

  ‘Do you have your list of names for me, Inspector?’ Mhairi asked, taking her iPad from her briefcase before settling down on a chair.

  Charlie opened his top desk drawer and produced a photocopy of the list he’d compiled. He handed it across.

  Mhairi scanned the twenty or so names. ‘You seem to have upset a lot of people in your time.’

  ‘That’s not the half of them. I left off the ones who are dead or still doing time.’

  ‘And the five names you’ve underlined? Is there any particular significance?’

  ‘In my opinion, they’re the most likely candidates. But I must stress that’s based purely on my gut feeling. I don’t have any evidence that would associate them with the murders.’

  Mhairi nodded. ‘What do you intend to do with the list?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I’ll examine the case notes on the crimes for which they were convicted and I’ll check for any similarities in methodology and motive vis-à-vis the latest victims. In parallel with that, as you will no doubt recall from my talk at last year’s seminar,’ Mhairi said, doing her best to suppress a smile, ‘I have a sophisticated software package that allows me to cross reference photographs of suspects with CCTV footage. There was no CCTV at the gypsy encampment in Port Glasgow, but there are cameras in the vicinity of the boathouse in Glasgow Green and, for now, I’m working on the assumption that the murder on the London train was the work of the same killer, so I’ll include whatever footage I can get from Central Station and Motherwell Station at the relevant times.’