by Bill Daly
As Sue was disappearing up the stairs, the phone in Tony’s jacket pocket started to vibrate. Checking it, he saw the call was from Charlie. He immediately cut the call and switched his phone off before stuffing it back into his pocket.
Sunday 11 September
Having set his sat nav, Tony O’Sullivan was breaking the speed limit as he drove across town. He arrived outside Stuart Morrison’s flat in Clydebank just after eight-thirty. Sitting huddled in his car, he glanced continually in his rear-view mirror. There was no sign of Charlie. He checked his watch again. It wasn’t like Charlie to be late. Switching on his phone, he saw that he had received a text message at ten-fifteen the previous evening:
I tried calling you several times, but your phone was switched off. I don’t think we need to go to Stuart Morrison’s place so early tomorrow morning. How about we meet outside his flat at half-past ten?
Tony thumped the steering column several times with his closed fist. Firing the ignition, he drove into the centre of Clydebank. When he spotted a café that was open, he pulled up. He went inside and ordered a fried egg roll, a roll with Lorne sausage and a coffee to take away. Having picked up a copy of the Sunday Herald from the newsagent’s next door, he drove back and parked outside Stuart Morrison’s flat.
Tony glanced in his rear-view mirror when he heard a car pull up behind him. He dropped his newspaper onto the passenger seat and got out of the car.
‘On time for once, I’m pleased to see,’ Charlie said, locking his car.
‘I just got here, sir.’
‘You got my text okay last night?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you and Sue find somewhere to go?’
‘I managed to get us a table at the Chardon d’Or. They’d had a cancellation.’
‘I’ve never been there,’ Charlie said. ‘I hear it’s good.’
Tony nodded.
‘I changed our meeting time to half-past ten because I had to play football with Jamie this morning,’ Charlie said, ‘and also because I thought you might appreciate having a relaxed start to the day,’ he added.
‘Thanks.’ Tony forced a wan smile.
Stuart Morrison was eating a bowl of cornflakes when he heard the ring on his bell. When he came to the door, Charlie introduced himself and Tony. They showed their warrant cards.
‘Is it all right if we come in?’ Tony asked. ‘There are a few questions we’d like to ask you.’
‘What about?’
‘About what you were doing last Saturday night,’ Tony said.
Stuart stood aside to let them in. ‘Is it okay if I finish my breakfast while we talk?’
‘Sure,’ Tony said.
‘I was playing at a gig in Edinburgh,’ Stuart said when they were seated at the kitchen table. ‘A mate of mine, Stevie McCormick, is the main man in a group called First Tiger. The group’s drummer had called off sick and Stevie had asked me stand in for him because I’d played with the group a couple of time before. I jumped at the chance. I reckon First Tiger could be the next Texas and I was hoping that if I did well on the night, Stevie might take me on permanently.’
‘How did it go?’ Tony asked.
‘Pretty well, I think.’
‘Did you go through to Edinburgh on your own?’ Charlie asked.
‘No, I went with a mate.’
‘What mate?’ Tony asked.
‘Gavin Carter. He and I often go to gigs together and when I told him I would be playing with First Tiger he decided to tag along.’
Charlie proceeded to go through the same list of questions he’d asked Gavin, with Tony noting down Stuart’s answers.
‘You said that you and Gavin split up round about seven-thirty when you got to Waverley Station,’ Charlie said. ‘Why was that?’
‘I’d arranged to meet the First Tiger guys at eight o’clock to run over some of the stuff. Gavin wanted to get something to eat so he went to The Abbotsford. They do good fish and chips,’ Stuart added.
‘I’m told that your gig started late,’ Charlie said.
Stuart shrugged. ‘That’s par for the course.’
‘What time did you get on?’
‘Just after midnight.’
‘Did you see Gavin in Whistle Binkies before the gig started?’
‘No. I was in the back room with the First Tiger guys up until the last minute before we went on stage. We needed all the time we could get to go over the music.’
‘Do you know if Gavin was in the pub when you started your performance?’
‘I think he was, but I couldn’t swear to it. The lights shine straight into your face when you’re on stage, so it’s not easy to make out who is out front.’
‘When did you actually see him?’
‘After our session was over.’
‘Which was?’
‘Round about quarter to one.’
‘Is there anything else we need to ask Stuart?’ Charlie said, turning to Tony.
Tony shook his head.
‘What did you make of that?’ Charlie asked as they were walking back to their respective cars.
‘I’m not sure,’ Tony said. ‘Stuart’s version of events was the same as Gavin’s, but it was all a bit too glib for my liking. If they were telling us the truth, I would’ve expected a few minor discrepancies along the way. Maybe I’m being over cynical, but the fact that every detail they gave us ties up leads me to think that they might have concocted the story together.’
‘Okay,’ Charlie said, getting into his car and winding down the driver’s window. ‘We’ll take a checkpoint in the incident room at three o’clock. I’ll round up the team. By that time, Renton should have got his hands on any relevant CCTV footage. On the way back to the office,’ Charlie added, ‘I’ll stop off at Jack Mulgrew’s place and see if he’s in.’
Charlie spotted Jack Mulgrew coming out of his tenement close as he was driving along his street. Pulling up alongside him, Charlie flung open the passenger door.
‘Where are you going?’ Charlie asked.
Mulgrew bent down low to see who was in the car. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! You again? Do you lot never give up?’
‘I said – where are you going?’
‘If you must know, I’m going to The Jaco.’
‘Get in – I’ll give you a lift.’
‘I can walk.’
‘I said – get in,’ Charlie repeated forcibly.
Reluctantly, Mulgrew slid himself onto the passenger seat. ‘What do you want now?’ he grumbled.
‘I want to know who attacked you.’
‘How often do I have to fucking-well tell you? It was Andy Carter and some young bloke – I’m not sure what his name was.’
‘The time for playing games is over, Mulgrew,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m conducting a murder investigation and, if you don’t tell me right now who attacked you, I’m going to charge you with perverting the course of justice. For that, you could get five years.’
The colour ebbed from Mulgrew’s face. ‘Andy Carter nailed my hand to the bog door,’ he said. ‘That’s the God’s honest truth.’
‘I don’t doubt that for one minute, but he didn’t have a young bloke with him, did he?’ Mulgrew didn’t respond. ‘There are no witnesses here,’ Charlie said. ‘Tell me who was with Carter when you got attacked last Saturday.’
Mulgrew’s tongue flicked back and forth across his lips. ‘I canny,’ he stammered.
‘Five years,’ Charlie repeated slowly.
‘He would fucking-well kill me,’ Mulgrew muttered, shaking his head.
‘Listen to me very carefully, Mulgrew. I need to know who was with Andy Carter when he attacked you. Whatever you tell me will remain confidential. It will never get back to whoever it was. If you don’t want to press charges against him, I’m not going to pursue it. But it’s critical to the murder investigation that I know who was there.’
Mulgrew hesitated. ‘If he ever finds out that I told you, I’m as good as dead.’
‘He won’t. You have my word on that.’
Mulgrew gazed down at his feet. ‘It was Jim Colvin,’ he said quietly.
‘Why did he nail you?’
‘I owed him money. I borrowed fifty quid from him last month and he says I now owe him five hundred.’
‘Are you going to pay him?’
‘What do you think?’ Mulgrew said, slowly massaging the palm of his right hand. ‘I’ve been told to meet him in The Jaco at one o’clock today and if I don’t pay up I’m going to get another doing – and next week I’ll owe him six hundred.’
‘Do you have the money?’
‘Aye,’ Mulgrew said, tapping his inside jacket pocket.
‘How did you manage to get your hands on five hundred quid?’
‘I pawned my mother’s engagement ring and her wedding ring for four hundred – and I flogged my telly to one of my neighbours for the other hundred.’
Colin Renton and Tom Freer joined Charlie and Tony in the incident room at three o’clock.
‘First, let me give you an update on my chat this afternoon with Jack Mulgrew,’ Charlie said. ‘To no one’s great surprise, he told me that Gavin Carter wasn’t anywhere near The Jacobite Arms on the night of the murder.’
Charlie turned to Renton. ‘Do we have anything from the CCTV, Colin?’
‘I’ve been through the footage,’ Renton said. ‘It looks like Gavin was telling us the truth this time around, at least, up to a point. Gavin met his pal, Stuart Morrison, at Queen Street Station just after six o’clock on the day in question. They were sighted getting on board the six seventeen train to Edinburgh – and they were picked up again on camera in Waverley Station when they got off the train. They split up at seven twenty-five and went their separate ways. The next images we have of them together is in Edinburgh bus station at quarter past one in the morning, and they were picked up again in Glasgow, getting off a bus in Buchanan Street bus station at two forty a.m. on Sunday morning.’
‘What did you mean when you said Gavin was telling us the truth ‘up to a point’?’ Tony queried.
‘There is no footage of Gavin being anywhere near Rose Street – and he certainly wasn’t in The Abbotsford at any time on Saturday evening,’ Renton said. ‘However, there is one very interesting thing. I managed to get my hands on CCTV footage from the cameras on North Bridge, which is close to Whistle Binkies. They show Gavin walking towards the pub all right, but not before eleven o’clock as he told us. He crossed North Bridge at twenty-past twelve.’
CHAPTER 26
Charlie rested his chin on his fingers.
‘Let’s think this through,’ he said. ‘Gavin arrives in Edinburgh with his mate just before seven-thirty last Saturday, then they split up. Gavin gives us a fictitious account of his movements and the next known sighting of him is at twenty-past twelve on North Bridge, which leaves the best part of five hours unaccounted for. Who’s to say he didn’t nip back to Glasgow during that time and bump off Preston?’
‘Do you want me to request the CCTV footage from Waverley Station and Edinburgh bus station throughout those five hours?’ Renton asked.
‘It’s worth a shot, Colin. Check it out. However, if Gavin isn’t picked up on camera in either of those locations, that won’t necessarily prove anything. He wouldn’t have to have returned to Glasgow from either Waverley Station or the bus station. He might have caught a train from the Haymarket, or he could’ve boarded a Glasgow-bound bus in Princes Street – or anywhere else along the route for that matter. CCTV is a useful tool when someone isn’t trying to hide their movements,’ Charlie added, ‘but all it takes is a change of clothing and a hoodie for someone to disappear under the radar.
‘Stuart Morrison said he was rehearsing with the First Tiger group before the gig started,’ Charlie continued, ‘and he told us that he didn’t actually see Gavin until after the gig was over – which was around quarter to one in the morning. That means that Gavin had sufficient time to go back to Glasgow, murder Preston, then get back to Edinburgh and be in Whistle Binkies by half-past twelve. However,’ Charlie reflected, ‘if Stuart was trying to cover up for Gavin, it would’ve been the easiest thing in the world for him to tell us he’d seen his pal in Whistle Binkies before the gig started, which would’ve ruled Gavin out from being in Glasgow at the time of the murder.’
‘What do you conclude from that, sir?’ Tony asked.
‘That there’s a high probability that Stuart Morrison is telling us the truth. However, as far as Gavin’s concerned,’ Charlie mused, ‘that’s a completely different kettle of fish. We need to get to the bottom of what’s going on. Give Gavin a call, Tony. Tell him that I want to see him here at ten o’clock sharp tomorrow morning – without his uncle!’
Tony O’Sullivan was standing in front of the vending machines, waiting for his coffee cup to fill, when his mobile rang. He recognised Bert Tollin’s voice.
‘I picked up a snippet that I thought might be of interest to you, Mr O’Sullivan,’ Tollin said.
‘I’m all ears, Bert,’ Tony said, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip.
‘Are you still interested in Jim Colvin?’
‘Very much so.’
‘One of Colvin’s more profitable sidelines is exploiting female asylum seekers. His guys hang around outside the foodbank in Govanhill and follow the girls when they come out to find out where they live. Colvin’s main interest is in young, black girls. When one of his guys identifies a potential target, he rings the girl’s doorbell and tells her he’s from the Home Office. He tells the girl that her application for asylum has been turned down and threatens her with deportation. He says her only hope of staying in the country is to lodge an appeal and for that she’ll need a lawyer. He tells her he can put her in touch with a good one who’ll be prepared to fight her case, but he’s expensive. The girls never have the kind of money Colvin’s guy is talking about, so he helpfully suggests a way they can earn a lot of money quickly.’
‘Not by going on the game, by any chance?’ Tony chipped in.
‘You’re way ahead of me, Mr O’Sullivan. The girls are often desperate, so some of them agree to go along with it. Colvin’s guy says he’ll arrange with the lawyer to accept payments in instalments and that he’ll come round on Saturday mornings to pick up the money. But, of course, the money the girls earn from prostitution never goes anywhere near a lawyer.’
‘Colvin’s a slippery customer, Bert,’ Tony said. ‘Is there any way he can he be linked to exploiting those girls?’
‘I was coming to that, Mr O’Sullivan. One of the new girls – she’s Nigerian – is rocking the boat. Initially, she agreed to go on the game, but she changed her mind. When Colvin’s guy turned up to collect money from her yesterday, she told him she hadn’t kept the rendezvous with the client that had been set up for her – which, by the way, was with one of the city councillors who is on Colvin’s payroll. That totally pissed Colvin off, so the girl’s going to be taught a lesson. And Colvin being Colvin, he’s going to be there in person to oversee her punishment.’
‘How did you find out all this?’
‘I was out for a drink last night with a bloke called Harry Thompson. He’s one of the guys Colvin hires to set up the girls and collect their money. Harry’s got a loose tongue at the best of times, but he blabbers his mouth off when he’s had a few. He’s been told to meet Colvin outside the girl’s flat at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. His instructions are to carve up the girl’s face – leave a few visible scars – so as to discourage any of the other girls from stepping out of line. Harry’s not at all happy about it. He’s never hurt a woman in his life, but he knows that if he refuses to do what Colvin tells him, he’ll be the one who’ll be needing stitches.’
‘Do you know the girl’s name and where she lives, Bert?’
‘Not exactly. Her first name’s Chibando, or Chibundo, or something like that. I’m not sure, exactly. Harry was slurring his words and I didn’t want to appear too cur
ious. I did manage to wheedle out of him that she lives in Calder Street but I didn’t find out any more than that.’
‘Okay, Bert. Thanks. I’ll see what I can do with that information.’
When he disconnected, Tony called Charlie and relayed what Tollin had told him.
‘Get on the blower to the Home Office in London straight away,’ Charlie said. ‘Use the hotline. An approximation of her first name and the street she lives in will probably be enough for them to identify her. Try to find out her full name and address and get them to check her immigration status.’
When Tony got in touch with the Home Office he was given Chibundo Ikande’s name and address. He was told that that her case was under review and that no decision would be made for another few months.
It was just after six o’clock when Tony and Charlie drew up outside the address in Calder Street. When they rang the doorbell, a female voice answered.
‘Is that Chibundo Ikande?’ Charlie asked.
‘Yes.’
‘This is the police. Would you let us in, please.’
When Chibundo opened the door of her flat, Charlie and Tony showed her their warrant cards.
‘We’d like to talk to you, Ms Ikande,’ Charlie said. ‘Is it all right if we come in?’
Chibundo nodded nervously.
‘We’re here regarding your immigration status,’ Tony said as he was closing the front door behind him.
Chibundo backed away, a look of panic in her eyes. ‘I’m going to lodge an appeal against the decision. My social worker is looking into that for me.’
The sound of her mother’s raised voice wakened Chibundo’s daughter and she started to wail. Crossing quickly to the cot by the window, Chibundo picked up the infant and hugged her tightly to her chest, rocking her back and forth to try to still her crying.
‘There’s no need for you to lodge an appeal,’ Tony said. ‘Your case is still pending. No decision will be made for some time yet.’
