by Bill Daly
‘We already have the CCTV tapes from Central Station,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ll have a copy sent across to you. The victim was identified getting on board and it appears he was carrying an attaché case, which wasn’t found on the train.’
‘Interesting,’ Mhairi said. ‘Any idea what was in it?’
‘No.’
Mhairi held up the list of names. ‘Can you provide me with photographs of these people?’
‘There should be mug shots of all of them on file.’
‘If you could let me have the photos with the highest resolution, I’ll load them into my system and see what that throws up.’
*
‘How did it go last night?’ Sarah asked, pouring out two cups of coffee.
‘Everything went well,’ Sue said.
‘Well? Is that all I’m getting?’
‘He really can cook.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t a take-away?’
‘A hundred per cent sure. He cooks really well.’
‘What else is he good at?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’re blushing,’ Sarah said, handing Sue her cup.
‘Behave yourself!’ Sue took a sip of coffee. ‘Was Jamie any bother?’ she asked.
‘He was as good as gold. He and Sean had to select Partick Thistle’s first team for next season. That took a long time, let me tell you. I could hear the whispered arguments still going on long after they were supposed to be asleep.’
‘Any sign of life from them?’
‘They’re both still out cold.’
‘I’d better wake Jamie up. My Mum’s coming over to my place at eleven.’
‘Why don’t you let him sleep? You must have a lot of catching up to do with your Mum. I’m sure she’d appreciate having you to herself for a while. I can drop him off at your place when I go shopping this afternoon.’
Sainsbury’s in the Braehead Centre was always busy, but today for some reason, the queues seemed longer than usual. Kay Anderson had been waiting in line for five minutes before she got to the check-out. She glanced at her watch in frustration. She’d told Sue she’d be across at eleven o’clock and she was running late.
Kay recognised the checkout assistant as one of her former pupils. ‘Why is it so busy this morning, Sally?’
‘I’ve no idea, Mrs Anderson. It’s been non-stop from the minute I came on shift. I don’t know where they’re all coming from.’
As quickly as she could, Kay started piling the contents of her laden trolley onto the conveyor belt. In addition to her regular shopping she’d picked up a carton of chocolate ice cream and a six-pack of Irn Bru for Jamie. She tut-tutted in annoyance when she lifted the ice cream from the trolley and saw the carton was smeared with blood from the sirloin steak, but when she checked the wrapping on the meat it seemed to be intact. Puzzled, she rummaged through the remaining items in her trolley. Her eye caught a plastic bag she didn’t recognise. She picked it up, then let out a shriek as a human hand slid from the bag and fell back into the trolley, the fingers lodging in the wire lattice. The last thing she remembered before passing out was seeing a bloodstained nine of diamonds and a yellow, smiling emoticon stapled to the centre of the palm.
CHAPTER 9
Kay jerked her face away from the smelling salts. As she slowly regained consciousness, the security guard’s worried expression came into focus.
‘Where am I?’ she demanded, struggling to sit up straight.
The guard put a restraining hand on her shoulder. ‘Better to lie still for a wee bit, Mrs Anderson.’
‘Where am I?’ she insisted. ‘What happened? Who are you?’ She tried again to sit up.
‘You’re in the medical room in Braehead, Mrs Anderson. You had a wee fright, but everything’s all right now.’
‘How do you know my name?’
‘Sally, on the checkout, told us who you were. We called the police and we managed to get in touch with your husband. He’s on his way over.’
‘There was a hand!’ Kay clasped both hands to her mouth. ‘It was in my shopping trolley.’
‘Just try to lie quiet, Mrs Anderson.’
‘Where is my wife?’ Charlie demanded.
‘Are you Inspector Anderson?’ the security guard asked.
‘Yes.’
‘She’s in the medical room. Over there,’ he said, pointing. ‘The police and a doctor are with her.’
Charlie rapped on the door and walked straight in. Kay was sitting in an armchair, nursing a cup of hot, sweet tea and talking to the two uniformed officers sitting opposite her. The doctor was bent over the adjacent table, writing out a prescription.
Both officers scrambled to their feet.
‘How are you?’ Charlie asked, hurrying across and taking Kay by the hand.
‘I’m all right now – but I got quite a fright. The staff have been very kind. They made me a cup of tea,’ Kay said, holding up her cup.
‘What happened?’ Charlie asked the sergeant.
‘From what we’ve been able to establish, sir, it seems that someone planted a severed human hand in your wife’s shopping trolley. The trolley’s in the Sainsbury’s manager’s office. We’ve sent for a forensic team.’
Charlie turned to the doctor. ‘How is she?’
‘Your wife’s had a traumatic shock, Inspector. She needs complete rest.’
‘Can I go home now?’ Kay asked.
‘As long as someone can stay with you for the rest of the day,’ the doctor said.
‘I’ll make sure of that,’ Charlie said.
‘These are sedatives.’ The doctor ripped a page from his prescription pad and handed it to Charlie. ‘Your wife should take two of these as soon as she gets home – and two more before she goes to bed tonight. See how you’re feeling in the morning, Mrs Anderson,’ he added, turning to Kay. ‘There might be a delayed reaction.’
Charlie spoke to the sergeant. ‘Do you have any more questions for my wife?’
‘Not right now, sir. We might need to talk to her again later.’
‘In which case, I’m taking her home.’
Supporting Kay by the arm, Charlie led the way out to his car.
‘What about my car?’ Kay said as she was about to get into the passenger seat. ‘I think I’d be all right to drive.’
‘Let’s leave it where it is for now, love. We can pick it up later.’
‘I need to phone Sue, Charlie. She’ll be worried about me.’
‘I’ll do that,’ Charlie said, taking out his mobile and clicking onto Sue’s number.
‘Sue, it’s me.’
‘Do you know what’s happened to Mum, Dad?’ Sue asked straight away. ‘She was supposed to be here at eleven o’clock, but she hasn’t turned up. I’ve tried calling her mobile several times, but she’s not answering.’
‘There was a problem, Sue. Mum got a bit of a fright, but everything’s all right now.’
‘What happened?’
Charlie hesitated. ‘Can you come across to the house?’
‘Right now?’
‘If you can.’
‘Sure.’
On the way home, Charlie stopped outside a chemist’s shop and went in to pick up Kay’s prescription. When he came back to the car he found Kay sitting with her face buried in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
‘How’s Mum?’ Sue asked as she walked through the front door.
‘She’s sleeping,’ Charlie said. ‘I gave her a couple of pills and I packed her off to bed.’
‘What happened?’
‘Someone put a dismembered human hand into her shopping trolley in Sainsbury’s this morning.’
‘Good God! Deliberately?’
‘Hard to see how it could’ve been an accident.’
‘I mean – deliberately into Mum’s trolley – as opposed to someone else’s?’
‘I think so.’
‘Why on earth would anyone do that?’
Charlie hesitated. ‘Sue,
there’s something you ought to know. I haven’t said a word about this to your mother, but two amputated hands were sent to me in the office this week.’ Sue’s mouth fell open. ‘Someone’s out to get me.’
‘Who?’ Sue asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
‘I’ve no idea.’ Sue sank down onto an armchair. ‘The doctor said Mum shouldn’t be left on her own for the rest of the day – and I have to get back to the office to try to get to the bottom of this. Could you stay with her till I get back?’
‘Of course.’
‘What about Jamie?’
‘He’s over at Sarah’s place, playing with Sean. I’ll phone her and ask her to look after him. She won’t mind.’
‘I’ll give you a call as soon as I know when I’ll be able to get back. As I said, your mother doesn’t know anything about the hands that were sent to me in the office, so please don’t mention anything to her.’
‘Don’t you think it would be better if she knew what’s been going on?’
‘Of course it would. And I will tell her – but not right now. She’s had a traumatic shock this morning and I don’t want to worry her any more than necessary.’
‘What is going on, Dad?’
‘I wish to God I knew.’
When Charlie got to his office he found a note on his desk, confirming that the hand found in his wife’s shopping trolley had been matched up with the victim on the train. Picking up the phone, he called Mhairi Orr. ‘As I suspected, Doctor Orr, the latest murder is almost certainly part of the same series.’
‘How do you know?’
‘The victim’s hand has turned up.’
‘Sent to you?’
‘Not exactly. This time, it was put into my wife’s shopping trolley in Sainsbury’s – again, with a nine of diamonds and a smiley attached.’
‘He’s getting more arrogant, Inspector.’
‘But, unfortunately, he’s not getting careless. No one saw him put the hand into my wife’s trolley.’
‘Which branch of Sainsbury’s was it?’
‘Braehead.’
‘At what time?’
‘Just before eleven o’clock.’
‘Can you get in touch with the site management and ask them to provide me with whatever CCTV footage they have? I can include it in my data analysis. I’m also in the process of scanning the photos of the men on your list into my computer module. I’ll let you know what that throws up.’
‘Thanks. I’ll have someone get onto the CCTV for you.’
Replacing the receiver, Charlie summoned Tony and Malcolm to his office.
‘We heard about what happened to your wife, sir,’ Malcolm said as he walked in. ‘How is she?’
‘Badly traumatised.’ Charlie rubbed at his swollen eyelids. ‘Did you get anything useful from Zoe Taylor’s office colleagues, Malcolm?’
‘Nothing we didn’t already know.’
‘How about the parents, Tony?’ Charlie asked.
‘As far as they’re aware, there wasn’t anyone bothering their daughter.’
‘What about the victim on the train?’ Charlie asked. ‘Has he been identified?’
‘Not so far,’ Tony said. ‘He appears to be in his mid-fifties, but there were no identification papers on him. In fact, no papers or possessions of any kind. Forensics have sent a blood sample off to run a check against the central DNA database, but we haven’t got the results back yet.’
‘I’ve had a look through the transcripts of the statements from the passengers on the train,’ Charlie said. ‘A typical lot. Most of the them were either dozing, reading their newspapers or fiddling with their mobile phones and they weren’t aware of anything untoward going on. However, a young girl in the second compartment was bouncing her baby on her knee when she saw a bearded guy, carrying a suitcase, pass through from the rear compartment a few minutes before they got to Motherwell.’
‘Was she able to describe him?’ Tony asked.
‘The only thing she could remember was that he was wearing a baseball cap.’
‘Was anything picked on the CCTV footage from the station?’ Tony asked.
Charlie referred to the document. ‘Only nine people got off the train, one of whom was carrying a suitcase under his arm. He had a scarf covering his face and a baseball cap tugged down low over his eyes. He’s almost certainly our man. He got into a black Ford Focus that was parked outside the station. The CCTV picked up the number plate – the car was stolen in Glasgow earlier in the day.’
‘If he was carrying a suitcase, could the victim’s attaché case have been inside it?’ Tony asked.
‘That’s possible,’ Charlie said as his intercom buzzed.
‘The Super wants to see you straight away, sir,’ Pauline said.
Nigel Hamilton grabbed at the sides of his desk and pulled himself to his full height when Charlie walked into his office. He waved towards the seat opposite. Charlie remained standing.
‘Another murder. Another amputated hand. Another nine of diamonds and another fucking smiley face! And this time the hand ends up in your wife’s shopping trolley!’ Hamilton sank back down onto his seat. ‘And to make matters a hundred times worse the media have got wind of the fact that the murderer has been sending his victims’ amputated hands to you.’
‘How the hell did they get hold of that?’
‘I had Fran Gibbons on the blower five minutes ago. An anonymous caller phoned the BBC switchboard at lunchtime and told the operator that two shoe boxes containing amputated hands, adorned with the nine of diamonds and a smiley – had been sent here, addressed to you, and that another hand had materialised in your wife’s shopping trolley in Sainsbury’s this morning. Gibbons wanted to know if the information was accurate.’
‘What did you tell her?’
‘I tried ducking the issue, but she wasn’t having it. She insisted on getting a straight answer. The story’s bound to break sooner rather than later, so I didn’t have any option other than confirm that the information she’d been given was correct.
‘She told me BBC Scotland are going to transmit a special programme about the serial killer after the ten o’clock news tonight. Exceptionally, they’re going to interrupt their Friday evening schedules in order to transmit it because they consider the public need to know what’s going on as soon as possible. She asked if we would be willing to cooperate.’
‘In what way?’
Hamilton looked away to avoid eye contact with Charlie. ‘She wants to interview you on the programme.’
‘Interview me?’ Charlie felt his mouth go dry. ‘Surely that’s a job for the press liaison officer?’
‘Gibbons knows the amputated hands were sent to you personally, so she wants you on.’
‘Did you agree to that?’
Hamilton rolled his eyes. ‘We need all the help we can get. The enquiry is going nowhere. Exposure on TV might prompt a member of the public to come forward with some useful information.’
‘I’m all for a public information programme. But why do I need to be involved?’
‘We have to be seen to be cooperating with the BBC, Anderson. We can’t give the impression that we’re trying to cover anything up.’
‘For Christ’s sake! My wife’s had a major shock. She needs me to be at home with her this evening.’
‘If necessary, we can arrange for someone to be with your wife tonight. You have to appear on the programme.’ Hamilton thrust a slip of paper across the desk. ‘This is Gibbons’ phone number. Give her a call and make the necessary arrangements.’
‘I’ve never done a TV studio interview before.’
‘You’ve been through media training.’
‘That was more than twenty years ago!’ Charlie tugged at his tie knot. ‘And it doesn’t prepare you for something like this. I’m on a hiding to nothing. We know sod all about the killer – or his motives – and nothing would give Gibbons greater satisfaction than being able to portray the Glasgow CID as a bunch of headless chickens. W
hen that lady scents blood, she doesn’t back off.’
‘Of course she’ll try to rattle you – that’s her job. Just stick to the facts and project a confident image. Try to diffuse the situation and give the impression we’re making progress.’
‘How?’ Crumpling the slip of paper in his fist, Charlie glared at Hamilton, then turned on his heel and stomped out of the office.
As soon as he got back downstairs, Charlie wrenched open the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet and pulled the whisky bottle out with a trembling hand. Grimacing, he glugged down several mouthfuls of the fiery liquid before spinning the cap back onto the bottle and replacing it in the cabinet. He slumped down at his desk and smoothed out the slip of paper containing Gibbons’ phone number. He stared at the number for some time before picking up the phone and dialling. ‘Could you put me through to Fran Gibbons, please?’
‘Speaking.’
‘This is DCI Anderson, Glasgow CID. I’m calling about tonight’s programme.’
‘Thank you for agreeing to participate, Inspector.’
‘What time do you need me?’
‘The transmission will be going out live at ten thirty-five, straight after the news, but it would be useful if you could come over to Pacific Quay a bit earlier, say around nine o’clock? That would give me an opportunity to go over the format with you and explain what we’re trying to achieve with tonight’s programme.’
‘I’ll be there.’ Charlie replaced the receiver and pressed his intercom. ‘Pauline, find Tony O’Sullivan and tell him I want to see him straight away.’
*
Charlie waved to the seat opposite when Tony walked in
‘Just so you know, I’ve drawn the short straw. The BBC have been tipped off about the amputated hands being sent to me and they want me to appear on television tonight.’
O’Sullivan frowned as he sat down. ‘How did they find that out?’
‘Some helpful bastard phoned their switchboard and told them that the amputated hands had been sent to me. Fran Gibbons called Niggle and asked for me to be on tonight’s programme. Niggle caved in, which means I get the pleasure of being interviewed live on the telly.’
