by Bill Daly
Charlie Anderson drew up outside the Gilligan’s end-terrace house in Verona Avenue in Scotstoun. Picking up his phone from the passenger seat, he checked the post-it in his notebook, then punched in Gavin Carter’s mobile number.
‘This is Inspector Anderson,’ Charlie said when Gavin took the call. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘I saw Sergeant O’Sullivan this morning,’ Gavin protested.
‘I know you did. That’s why we need to talk. Where are you now?’ Charlie asked.
‘At Lesley Adams’ place.’
‘I have her address. I’ll be across in about an hour’s time,’ Charlie said, checking his watch. ‘Let’s say, seven o’clock. Okay?’ Gavin didn’t respond. ‘I said is seven o’clock okay?’
‘I suppose so,’ Gavin mumbled.
Disconnecting the call, Charlie got out of his car and used his remote control to lock up. When he looked towards the house, he saw the curtains in the lounge window twitch.
The front door was opened by Martin Gilligan as Charlie was walking up the path.
‘I would prefer if my wife and my daughter didn’t have to know the reason for your visit, Inspector,’ Gilligan said quietly. ‘It would only upset them unnecessarily.’
When Charlie nodded his concurrence, Gilligan ushered him into the front lounge where a young boy sat perched on the edge of the settee. Gilligan closed the door quietly behind them.
‘You must be Ronnie,’ Charlie said, smiling as walked across, proffering his hand.
Ronnie nodded nervously as he gave Charlie’s hand a tentative shake.
Charlie sat down on the settee beside Ronnie while his father took the armchair opposite.
‘This is Inspector Anderson, the policemen I told you about, Ronnie,’ his father said. ‘He just needs to ask you a few questions. There’s nothing for you to be worried about.’
‘That’s right, Ronnie,’ Charlie said reassuringly as he took out his notebook and pen. ‘There’s nothing at all for you to be concerned about. I just need to clear up a few details. Is that all right?’
Ronnie again nodded nervously.
‘At your last school,’ Charlie began, ‘I believe you were friendly with your guidance teacher, Mr Murdoch. Is that correct?’
‘We got on well at first.’
‘And did that change?’ Charlie asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Why was that?’
‘There were problems,’ Ronnie mumbled, his eyes cast down.
‘What kind of problems?’
Ronnie looked up quickly at his father, who nodded his head.
‘At first, Mr Murdoch was nice to me,’ Ronnie said. ‘He helped me with my homework. He was funny. I liked him a lot. In fact, I liked him so much that…. that I told him I wanted to have a … a relationship with him.’
‘What kind of relationship?’
‘A physical relationship,’ Ronnie said quietly.
‘How did he react when you told him that?’
‘He said that he would like that too. I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I’d said it out of some kind of bravado. All I wanted to do was impress him. I wanted him to think that I was cool and grown up. I was sure he’d say no. But he told me that he would organise somewhere where we could meet in private. He suggested that I come round to his flat. He said we could tell my parents that I was going to his place for extra maths tuition. I was scared. I didn’t want to go through with it. But Mr Murdoch was really insistent that I should come round to his flat. I didn’t know what to do. I started to panic. I told my father that he had come on to me. That he was trying to groom me.’ Tears were welling up in Ronnie’s eyes.
‘That’s okay, Ronnie,’ Charlie said reassuringly. ‘You’re doing fine. When your father found out what had happened, he decided to withdraw you from the school. Is that correct?’
Ronnie rubbed the tears from his eyes with his knuckles as he nodded his head.
‘I’ve only got a few more questions, Ronnie,’ Charlie said. ‘Do you have an e-mail address?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is your service provider?’
‘Gmail.’
‘Do you have a hotmail account?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever had a hotmail account?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever had any other e-mail accounts?’
‘No.’
‘Did you have any contact with Mr Murdoch after you left the school, Ronnie? Any phone calls, e-mails, letters, social media contacts, chat room conversations? Anything like that?’
‘No, sir. Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘You realise that we can check that out, Ronnie,’ Charlie said. ‘We can analyse the hard drive on your computer and the memory on your phone, so think about this carefully before you answer. Are you sure that you didn’t have any contact whatsoever with Mr Murdoch after you left the school?’
‘I’m absolutely certain,’ Ronnie stated emphatically, the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘I’m not trying to hide anything, Inspector. I’m telling you the truth.’
‘Okay, Ronnie,’ Charlie said. ‘I believe you.’
‘Is that everything, Inspector?’ Martin Gilligan interjected.
‘I’ve only got one more question. Where were both of you on Saturday evening?’
‘I was wondering how long it would take before you got round to asking that.’ Gilligan gave a sardonic smile. ‘Ronnie was performing at the Boys Brigade gymnastics display in Scotstoun Leisure Centre and I was there too, handing out the annual awards. There are a lot of people who will be able to confirm that.’
‘Charlie put away his notebook and got to his feet.
‘I’ve got a question for you, Inspector,’ Ronnie said hesitantly.
‘What’s that?’
‘Do you know who killed Mr Murdoch?’
‘Not yet, son. But I intend to find out. Thanks for answering my questions, Ronnie,’ Charlie added. ‘You’ve been a big help.’
Martin Gilligan stood up and saw Charlie to the front door, closing it quietly behind him.
Charlie Anderson was breathing hard by the time he’d climbed the two flights of stairs to Lesley Adams’ flat. When he rang the bell, Lesley came to the door.
‘Good evening, Ms Adams. I’ve come to see Gavin.’
‘I’m afraid he’s not here, Inspector.’
Charlie looked puzzled. ‘But I called him an hour ago and arranged to meet him here at seven o’clock.’
‘He didn’t say anything about that to me. He went out about twenty minutes ago.’
‘Is it all right if I come in?’ Charlie asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Do you know where Gavin was going tonight?’ Charlie asked when they were both seated in the lounge.
‘No.’
‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’
‘He didn’t say. What was it you wanted to talk to him about?’ Lesley asked. ‘Perhaps it’s something I could help you with?’
‘I need to establish where Gavin was, and who he was with, at half-past ten last Saturday night, when John Preston was murdered.’
‘I’ve already told you that, Inspector. He was in Edinburgh with his friend, Stuart.’
‘Unfortunately, that’s not what he told Sergeant O’Sullivan yesterday. Gavin told him that he was with his uncle, Andy Carter, in a pub in the Calton on Saturday night – and that the two of them assaulted a man and nailed his hand to a cubicle door in the toilets.’
‘What on earth are you talking about?’ Lesley said, a stunned look on her face.
‘Gavin’s uncle was here when Gavin was interviewed by Sergeant O’Sullivan yesterday morning,’ Charlie said. ‘They both admitted to committing the assault at ten-thirty on Saturday evening.’
‘That’s… that’s totally ridiculous!’ Lesley spluttered. ‘Gavin was in Edinburgh – at a gig – with his friend, Stuart. He told me all about it.’
‘Then you will understand why I need t
o talk to him urgently – to get to the bottom of what’s going on.’
‘Of… of course. I’m totally confused about what’s going on. He definitely told me he was through in Edinburgh.’
‘Were you here on Saturday night when he got back?’
‘I was in bed. He came in late.’
‘How late is late?’
‘I don’t know. I was asleep. I put my light out after midnight and he wasn’t back by then. In the morning, he told me that they had missed the last train so they’d caught a late-night bus back from Edinburgh.’
‘Do you have any idea where he might have gone this evening?’ Lesley shook her head. ‘Do you know where he was earlier today?’
‘As far as I know, he spent the day here, working. When I got back from work, which was around half-past six, he told me he was going out – but he didn’t say where.’
‘And he didn’t say anything to you about having arranged to meet me here at seven o’clock?’
Lesley screwed up her face. ‘Perhaps he forgot?’
‘I very much doubt that.’
Would you like me to give him a call, Inspector?’ Lesley said, picking up her phone from the coffee table. ‘To find out where he is – and when he’ll be back?’
‘Yes. Please do that.’
When Lesley clicked onto Gavin’s mobile number, the familiar ringtone emanated from the bedroom. ‘He must have forgotten to take his phone with him,’ Lesley said, a puzzled look on her face as she cut the connection. ‘That’s not at all like him. He never goes anywhere without his phone.’
‘I need to talk to this friend of his – Stuart, you said his name was?’ Lesley nodded. ‘Do you know how to get in touch with him?’
‘I’m afraid not. I met him a couple of times when he came here to see Gavin, but I don’t know very much about him. Gavin met him at a computer forum a while back and they seemed to hit it off. They do the same kind of work and they have similar tastes in music. They swap ideas about computer games and they quite often go to gigs together, but I don’t have his phone number and I’ve no idea where he lives.’
‘Can I ask you what you were doing on Saturday evening, Ms Adams?’
‘The same thing I do every Saturday, Inspector,’ Lesley said with a resigned sigh. ‘I was visiting my mother in a care home in Bearsden.’
‘My father spent the last three years of his life in Abbotsford House in Bearsden,’ Charlie said.
‘My mother’s in the Westerton. She’s been suffering from dementia for quite some time, but her condition has got a lot worse recently. My sister goes to see her on Wednesdays, because that’s her day off – and I do my duty on Saturdays.’
‘When do you go to see her?’
‘It depends. I prefer going in the morning so I can spend as much time as possible with her, but quite often I have to work on Saturdays and when I do, I go to see Mum in the evening. The care home is very flexible. There’s an entry code at the door and, as long as you avoid meal times, you can visit the residents more or less any time you want.’
‘When did you go to see her last Saturday?’
‘I was working, so I went in the evening.’
‘At what time?’
‘I got there about eight o’clock.’
‘How long did you stay?’
‘I’m not sure – two or three of hours.’ Lesley paused. ‘Why are you asking me that?’ She shrivelled her brow. ‘You surely don’t think that I had anything to do with –?’
‘I’m not thinking anything, Ms Adams,’ Charlie interjected. ‘All I’m doing is gathering information. Did you drive to the care home on Saturday?’ Charlie asked.
‘I never do. It’s not worth the hassle of getting through Anniesland Cross when I can catch a train just along the road at Partick Station and be at Westerton in less than ten minutes. The care home is only a two minute walk from the station.’
‘Thank you for your time, Ms Adams,’ Charlie said, hauling himself to his feet. ‘When Gavin gets back, please ask him to get in touch with me straight away.’
Gavin Carter sat at a table by the window in The Three Judges, nursing what was left of his drink. He badly wanted another one, but decided against it. Make this one last, he told himself. He needed to keep a clear head to decide what to do next. There was no way he could have talked to Anderson tonight. Anderson would have said something in front of Lesley about him being with Andy on Saturday night and all hell would have broken loose. It had been bad enough trying to stick to the party line about being in The Jaco when he’d been grilled by O’Sullivan yesterday. He could tell that O’Sullivan knew his story was riddled with holes. It would only be a matter of time before the cops blew his so-called alibi out of the water. Either that, or Mulgrew spilled the beans.
He was already regretting leaving his phone behind. He was lost without it. But he knew the police were able to trace phones. He reckoned there should be three or four hundred pounds in his bank account. He could withdraw up to three hundred at a time. He should do that straight away, he told himself, before the cops decided to track his bank card. Three hundred quid wasn’t bad, but it wouldn’t last him very long. He racked his brains about what to do next.
The immediate problem was where to spend the night. He couldn’t risk going to his father’s flat – or his uncle’s. The cops would find him. Stuart would put him up, but he didn’t know if he’d be at home – and he couldn’t phone him to find out because the only place he had Stuart’s number was on his phone – and going back to Lesley’s place to retrieve his phone wasn’t an option. The only thing he could think to do was catch a bus to Clydebank and hope to God Stuart was in. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. He glanced at his watch. Anderson would be at Lesley’s flat right now, talking to her, telling her about him claiming to have been in The Jaco with Andy on Saturday night. After he had told her he was in Edinburgh with Stuart, she wasn’t going to be welcoming him back with open arms. But if he switched tack now – changed his story – told the cops he was in Edinburgh with Stuart, Andy would go ballistic. He was going to get sent down for trying to give him an alibi. How would he react if he found out he’d done that for bugger all, because Gavin had changed his story? That didn’t even bear thinking about.
Throwing back the rest of his drink, he went up to the bar and ordered another one.
*
Driving out Great Western Road, Charlie Anderson turned right at Anniesland Cross and took the Switchback in the direction of Bearsden, turning left when he got to Maxwell Avenue. When he arrived at the Westerton care home he drove down the steep ramp to the underground car park. Getting out of his car, he walked back up the slope and round the corner to the main entrance at the front of the building. When he rang the bell he was buzzed in by a nurse.
Charlie showed her his warrant card. ‘I believe you have a resident here called Mrs Adams?’
‘Yes. Grace Adams,’ the nurse said. ‘Her room is on Skye. That’s what we call the top floor,’ she added by way of explanation.
‘Sky sounds like an appropriate name for the top floor,’ Charlie nodded.
The nurse smiled. ‘It’s Skye with an ‘e’, Inspector. Named after the the island. The other two floors are Iona and Argyll.’
‘How long has Mrs Adams been with you?’
‘Quite some time. I started working here two years ago and she was here when I arrived.’
‘Do you keep a record of visitors to the home?’ Charlie asked. ‘Their names? The date they come? The time they arrive? How long they stay?’
‘I wouldn’t really call it a record. We have a register where we ask visitors to sign in when they arrive and sign out again when they leave. It’s to do with fire regulations, so we know who is in the building in case of an emergency.’
‘Would it be possible for me to see the register for last Saturday?’
‘There are two registers. One here and one at the car park level. It depends which entrance the visitor uses.’
‘The person I’m interested in comes here by train.’
‘In which case, they’d probably use this entrance. The register is on the table over there,’ she said, pointing.
‘It’s not very reliable, I’m afraid,’ the nurse said as Charlie went across to pick up the book. ‘Visitors are usually pretty good about signing in, but half the time they forget to sign out when they leave.’
Charlie turned back the pages until he came to the entries for the previous Saturday. He ran his finger down the column of names. On the second page for that date he came to the entry:
Flicking back through the book to previous Saturdays, Charlie saw similar entries in the same, neat handwriting, the only difference being the arrival and departure times, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening.
‘Do you know Grace Adams’ daughters?’ Charlie asked.
‘Of course. They’re both regular visitors here.’
‘Did you see Lesley Adams here last Saturday?’
‘I wasn’t on duty.’
‘According to the register she arrived at ten past eight and left at quarter to eleven. Would there be anyone here tonight who was on duty last Saturday?’
‘Hold on a minute. I’ll check the rota.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Why are you interested in this?’ she asked as she was flicking though the rota book.
‘It’s just boring, routine enquiries,’ Charlie said with a fixed smile..
‘Yes, here we are. Emily. She’s the senior nurse on the Skye floor. She’s on tonight.’
‘Could I have a word with her?’
‘I’ll give her a call.’
When Emily came to the phone, Charlie introduced himself. ‘Do you recall if Lesley Adams was here last Saturday evening to visit her mother?’ he asked.
‘My goodness, Inspector. It takes me all my time to remember what happened yesterday.’
‘I know the feeling. Take your time.’
‘I think she must have been,’ Emily said hesitantly. ‘Prior to Grace’s dementia setting in, she suffered from mental health problems. She once told a nurse that one of her daughters had had a traumatic experience when she was young, but she clammed up when the nurse questioned her about what had happened. Grace gets easily muddled up. Whatever happened in the past, it seemed to have upset her a lot and I think she still carries that with her. Her world has to have structure, otherwise she gets agitated. An important part of that structure is her daughters’ visits every Wednesday and Saturday. On the rare occasion that nobody comes to see her on one of those days, she gets very upset. That hasn’t happened recently – at least, not when I’ve been on duty. But now I come to think of it, Inspector. Of course! Lesley was here. I remember now. I was walking past Grace’s room and her door was open. Lesley was sitting on the chair beside her bed. She gave me a wave.’
