'Sorry sir. Traffic's not got any record of the car being in any accidents in the last twenty-four hours. They've put out a call to all units to keep and eye out for it. They'll call me the moment they find it.'
No sooner were the words out than the phone rang on is desk. All eyes were on the young detective constable as he took the call. There was a 'hello,' a 'yes' and an 'are you sure?' and then he hung up.
'It's Emma's car, sir. They've found it.'
'Where?' McLean pushed himself up from the desk like he was on springs.
'Out the back sir. In the car park.'
~~~~
59
The little blue Peugeot sat in a narrow space between two battered white anti-riot transit vans. His own car was parked almost directly opposite. How the hell had he missed it when he'd come in that morning?
McLean peered in through the window, rubbing away at the grime of accumulated road salt and other unidentifiable muck to get a better view. On the other side of the vehicle, DS Ritchie tried the door handle.
'It's not locked, sir,' she said as the door popped open.
Inside it was just as messy as it had been the last time he had ridden in it. McLean breathed in the familiar damp smell from the carpets, casting his eyes over the back seat. There was a SOC issue fleece coat, a pair of heavy walking boots and a moth-eaten old cardboard box filled with latex gloves, dead batteries and other detritus of work. The foot wells were a repository of empty sweet wrappers and crisp packets; a place where the unwanted crawled to die.
He dropped the drivers seat back into position, noticing as he did that the keys still hung in the ignition. House keys dangled from the ring, along with a beaten up rubber gnome with a tiny tuft of bright pink synthetic hair on the top of its head. Pulling them out, he went round to the back of the car and opened the boot. Inside, a collection of coats and overalls were squashed up to either side, leaving a space just about the same size as the box he had seen Emma carrying the day before. In the middle of it sat a soft, squashy leather handbag.
'I guess she didn't mean to be gone long,' Ritchie said as she picked up the bag. McLean felt an instant of irrational jealousy, dispersing it with a quick shake of the head.
'Where the hell did she go then? Off to the shops to get some lunch?'
'Purse is still in here.' Ritchie guddled around in the bag. 'Pager too. And phone.' She pushed a couple of buttons and peered at the screen. 'You left a lot of messages.'
McLean ignored the comment, looking around the parking lot for inspiration. The back of the station loomed over on three sides, the fourth protected from the rest of the world by a high stone wall. CCTV cameras covered the whole area, as did windows behind which were offices where police sat all day. As he stood there, a couple of squad cars came in, another one leaving on patrol. Almost all of the parking bays were taken, his elderly Alfa looking very small and frail beside a BMW four-by-four that meant the deputy chief constable was in again. The only spaces of any size were the yellow-hatched area in front of the workshop, and the narrow ramp that led down to the basement stores.
'Come with me,' McLean said, setting off for the back door to the station.
'What should I do with this, sir?' Ritchie held the bag aloft, and McLean realised he was still holding the car keys in his hand. He threw them to her.
'Stick it back in the boot, and lock up.' he said, waiting impatiently as she complied.
'Where are we going now?' she asked as he hurried back to the station door, but McLean was already on his mobile.
'MacBride? Get the CCTV tapes of the car park. From nine o'clock yesterday morning until the same time today. I want to know who went near Emma's car. It's in bay twenty-three, next to the ramp. And get Grumpy Bob to give Needy a call, can you. I know he's off sick, but he's the last person who'll have seen her. She might have said something about where she was headed next.'
He hung up as they stepped from the cold dry day into the warm, moist interior, Ritchie still a step behind him like an obedient wife.
'Come on sergeant, get a move on,' McLean said. 'Time's wasting.' And he set off down the steps into the basement.
*
The evidence store wasn't the same without Sergeant Needham's cheery face to welcome you. In his place, PC Jones was manning the fort, and by the look of it struggling with the computer system. He looked up as McLean and Ritchie approached, worry writ large across his broad, young face.
'Sir, ma'am.' He sprang to his feet behind the counter like a Jack-in-the-Box. McLean thought he might even salute.
'It's Tim, isn't it?' McLean asked, trying to put the constable at his ease.
'Terrence, sir.'
'Sorry. Terrence. How are you coping? I hear Needy's off sick today.'
'It's alright, sir. Just a bit confusing, sir. Sergeant Needham had a unique filing system sir.'
McLean tried a smile, though with each new hurdle the effort became ever greater. 'You had some evidence brought in yesterday morning, about ten. Emma Baird, the SOC officer?'
'I can check, sir. But there's something up with the system.'
'May I?' Ritchie pointed towards the computer screen. PC Jones looked a bit worried, but then nodded. Ritchie settled in the vacated chair and was soon tapping away at the keys.
'Did you see Needy... Sergeant Needham yesterday, Terrence?' McLean asked, partly to distract the constable from what Ritchie was doing. Technically neither of them should be accessing this computer without leaving a paper trail. Contaminating evidence could jeopardise a conviction, bugger up any number of cases, even his own. McLean put a guilty hand in his jacket pocket, feeling the folded strip of fabric still there.
'No, sir. He'd gone by the time I arrived.'
'What time was that?'
'About twelve, sir. I had the morning off sir.'
'Here it is,' Ritchie said after a moment. 'Evidence pertaining to the McMurdo investigation. Logged in at ten minutes past ten yesterday morning. Emma Baird handed them over.'
'Should be a paper record, too.' McLean turned back to the constable. 'Is that all still kept in the filing cabinets?'
'I... Yes, sir. Would you like to see it, sir?'
'Please.'
Constable Jones took a large set of keys from the desk and crossed over to one of the filing cabinets that lined the wall, returning soon afterwards with a series of sheets of paper, all stapled together neatly. The top was a form with the investigation code number and various other details filled in, Emma's loose signature at the bottom alongside Needy's more formal autograph. The other sheets were a manifest of everything that had been in the cardboard box. No different from the paperwork accompanying Anderson's things, but it proved one thing: Emma had been here at the back of ten. He glanced at his watch; twenty-two hours ago. So where had she gone?
*
The first thing McLean noticed when they entered the CID room a few minutes later was that Emma's photograph had disappeared from the whiteboard. Grumpy Bob was at his desk, doing a good impression of looking busy. He looked up as McLean opened the door, eyes darting to side. Too late, he realised what was happening.
'Just what the hell are you playing at, McLean?'
Dagwood had been hiding behind the door. At least that's what it seemed like. He held Emma's photograph in one hand and slapped at it with the other like it was some unruly child needing discipline.
'I'm conducting my investigation, sir. What did you think I was doing?'
'Using half the force to search for your girlfriend, by the look of things. When you're meant to be giving me a briefing so I can take over this case. You haven't even finished the report that was supposed to be on my desk yesterday.'
Out of the corner of his eye, McLean saw DS Ritchie creep away to her desk and log into her computer. He could hardly blame her; the last thing she needed was to be caught in a row between two of her superior officers. Again.
'Something came up,' he said. 'A new development.'
'Yes, I he
ard. You had an argument with your precious little SOC officer and now she won't talk to you. Don't you think that launching a full manhunt is a bit over the top?'
How did you get to be a Chief Inspector? No, how did you even get to be in CID? 'We've got a serial killer out there, sir. He's abducted three women already. Now a fourth has gone missing. No-one knows where she's gone. Her car, her handbag, her house keys. They're all here in the station car park. That sounds very much to me like she might have been, oh, I don't know... abducted? Forget that she's an SOC officer, or that I even know her. She's been missing for less than a day. If we can track her last movements we might just possibly be able to catch the sick bastard who took her.' And save her life.
'This is nonsense, McLean.' Duguid shook the photograph. 'You've no evidence she's been taken. It's just supposition. There's a proper procedure...'
'Sir... Er. Sirs?' DS Ritchie said. 'There's something here I think you should see.'
Dagwood turned on the hapless detective. 'What is it, sergeant? Can't you see we're busy?'
'Er... Well... It's just that I was doing some background checks on Anderson. For DI McLean? And I've just had a list of visitors he had whilst he was in Peterhead.'
'And this is relevant how?' Dagwood asked.
'Well, it's just that there's one name I wasn't really expecting to see. Went to see Anderson about once a month for the last eighteen months or so.'
'Who?' McLean peered at the partially obscured computer screen.
'Sergeant John Needham, sir.'
'Needy?' Dagwood scoffed like a professor presented with a genuinely novel idea. 'You've not been here long, missy, otherwise you'd realise what a stupid suggestion you're making. Sergeant Needham was one of the team that brought Anderson to justice. He's been a stalwart of this police force for decades. His father and grandfather were both policemen. You're not really suggesting he's our new Christmas Killer, are you?'
'I only meant to point out...' Ritchie started, but Dagwood wasn't listening.
'It's just as well the DCC asked me to take over. This whole investigation's a complete and utter farce. McLean, I want a full briefing in one hour, and then you and your team can get on with reviewing all the old Anderson cases.'
McLean's phone stopped him from striking a superior officer. It rang in his pocket and being able to ignore the DCI by answering it was almost enough.
'McLean?'
'Um, MacBride here, sir. I've been going through those tapes like you asked. I think we might have got something.'
McLean ended the call and dropped his phone back into his pocket. 'Bob, Ritchie, with me.' Before he could move, Dagwood grabbed him by the arm.
'Where the bloody hell do you think you're going? Briefing in one hour, remember.'
McLean shrugged off Dagwood's hold. 'Oh fuck off you pompous old twat,' he said, and stormed out the door.
*
Grumpy Bob was trying hard not to chuckle as they walked up the corridor towards the video viewing room, leaving an open-mouthed Dagwood standing alone in the CID room. 'Was that wise, sir? I mean, it was inspired, yes. But he's going to kick up a hell of a row.'
'You know, Bob, I really don't care. They can sack me if they like. Then I won't have to work with idiots like him anymore.' McLean noticed the mobile phone clutched in the sergeant's hand. 'Did you get in touch with Needy, by the way?'
'No answer, but he could've popped out to the shops.' Or he could be raping Emma Baird, Grumpy Bob didn't say, but the look on his face was enough. They had arrived at their destination, and squeezed into the darkened viewing room without another word.
'See here.' DC MacBride fiddled with the video controls and a picture appeared on the screen. 'This is the car park yesterday morning. There's two cameras, but this one shows the best angle.'
McLean squinted at the poor quality image, watching as a pale blue Peugeot kangarooed into a parking space in a series of jerky hops. A short, dark-haired figure got out, opened the boot, took out a big box, slung something in, closed the boot and headed off towards the back door to the station, disappearing off camera soon after.
'I've been through the tapes for the next twelve hours. Admittedly quite fast, but there's no sign of her coming back.'
'This much we knew, Stuart. What did you bring me here for?'
'Ah, well.' The detective sergeant clicked another button and the image changed angle. Now the camera showed the ramp leading down into the basement loading area just off the evidence locker. It was too dark to see if the metal roller doors were open or closed, but after a few moments, a large estate car backed down the ramp and disappeared. Minutes later it came back again and drove off. McLean looked at the timestamp on the video. Half past ten in the morning.
'That's Needy's car, isn't it?'
'There's more, sir,' MacBride said. 'I asked around if anyone had seen him yesterday. Nobody had spoken to him, but Gladys, the canteen lady, said she saw him first thing when she was getting the stock in for the day.'
'Well we know he was here. His car's here.' McLean pointed at the screen..
MacBride pressed another button on the console and the image changed again. This time it showed someone standing by the same estate car that they had seen earlier. He zoomed in on the face, and although the resolution was bad, it was easy to see that something was badly wrong with it.
'Aye, but we all thought he had the flu. Not a broken nose and black eyes that make him look like a panda.'
~~~~
60
'You really think Needy's our man?'
DS Ritchie sat beside McLean as they drove south out of town towards the bypass. The sun low over the Pentland hills made visibility a bitch, and the early rush hour traffic didn't help. It seemed like only a few hours ago he had been talking to Father Anton in the candlelit morning church, and now evening was falling rapidly. McLean wished he could go faster, whilst at the same time knew more haste would ultimately mean less speed.
'Fuck, I hate to have to admit Hilton could be right. But everything's pointing to Needham at the moment.' McLean ignored the angry toot of a horn as he cut up the inside of a dawdling school run mother. One hand off the steering wheel, he began to count out the points. 'He's a loner, dominated by his father all his life. He's been mouldering away down in the evidence store for years now, passed over for promotion God only knows how many times. He could have been a DCI by now if some toe-rag hooligan hadn't put a broken bottle in his leg. He was on the Christmas Killer team longer than anyone else. And of course he had access to the keys to Anderson's shop.'
Ritchie grabbed for the dashboard, supporting herself as the car tilted alarmingly round a roundabout. 'Look out sir!'
McLean slammed on the brakes as a Taxi swerved across his path and in to the side of the road, where it proceeded to unload an elderly gentleman. McLean wished he'd been able to get hold of a squad car, or even one of the unmarked CID pool cars. They all had sirens and hidden blue lights that could have cleared his route in no time. But as usual, all of them were out or broken, leaving a choice of the Alfa or Emma's Peugeot.
Dropping down into second gear, he roared past the taxi, twin-cam Italian engine bellowing a far better expletive than anything he could have come up with. The road ahead was clear for a bit and he concentrated on driving as fast as he safely could.
'I hope Stuart's managed to get in touch with traffic. It'll be a right pain if you get pulled over.'
'It's all cameras along here,' McLean said. 'And frankly I don't care right now if I set a few of them off. Damn!'
The traffic backed up to the Kaimes junction and once more he was forced to slow down.
Ritchie laughed. 'You sound like Grumpy Bob, you know.'
McLean didn't answer, and her smile soon faded. 'We'll find her. It'll be all right,' she added.
'You knew her, back in Aberdeen.' McLean wasn't sure he wanted to talk about Emma, but anything was better than staring at the glaring brake lights of a thousand unmoving cars. 'I
'd be right in saying there was a bit of history?'
Ritchie shuffled in her seat. It could almost have been called squirming
'We met on a few cases, yes.'
'And that's it? So why'd you go all stiff and formal every time she's mentioned? More to the point, what's she got against you?'
Ritchie said nothing for a while, just staring ahead as if she, too, were willing the traffic to evaporate. When she did finally speak it was in an oddly formal voice.
'There might have been a bit of a misunderstanding. Over a certain detective constable.'
'A male detective constable, I presume.'
'As it turns out, he wasn't worth either of our attention. Little creep's a DI now, transferred down to the met. And he shat on everyone to get there so quickly.'
'So he's long gone. Why're you two still fighting over him?'
Ritchie didn't answer, and McLean was left to ponder as the line of cars started to move. Traffic gnarled slowly along the short section of dual carriageway past Burdiehouse and under the bypass, finally freeing up as McLean took the turning to Loanhead. How long was it since he'd come this way with DS Robertson? Not more than a couple of months. It felt like years.
The headquarters of Randolph Developments was a blaze of lights as they slipped past the compound. The old stone factory buildings were surrounded by machinery, but most of the portacabins had been moved away. McLean remembered the models that William Randolph had shown him, his plans for the regeneration of the city and its suburbs. No doubt work was about to begin on turning this place into yet another luxury living experience.
'Give MacBride a call, will you,' McLean said, an odd thought crossing his mind. Ritchie flipped open her phone.
The Book of Souls (The Inspector McLean Mysteries) Page 28
