by Ken McClure
Fenton phoned Kelly when he got into the lab and Kelly agreed to come too. They arranged to meet at noon and adopted Fenton's suggestion that they should use the Honda to avoid lunch time traffic and parking problems.
At a quarter to twelve Kelly phoned to point out that, as it was blowing a gale and the rain was almost horizontal the Honda might not be such a good idea. He would come round for Fenton in the car.
Kelly cursed as he tried to reverse the Capri into a small gap that they had found after crawling up and down side streets near the police station and found it particularly difficult because of the rain and condensation on the windows. "Hell, that'll do," he decided, abandoning the effort for neatness and leaving the car with its nose jutting out.
They ran up the hill, keeping close to the wall in an effort to avoid most of the weather but took it full in the face as they rounded the corner at the top with fifty metres or so still to cover before reaching the shelter of the police station.
"Do you think God has something personal against Scotland?" asked Fenton, shaking the water from his hair in the doorway.
"I think it's a character building agreement he has with John Knox," said Kelly. "Let's face it, if you were having a good time you'd only feel guilty."
Jamieson looked up from his desk as Fenton and Kelly were shown in by a constable who seemed strangely reluctant to let go of the door handle after opening the door for them. Both had to enter sideways.
Jamieson clasped his hands together under his chin and said, "Don't tell me. Let me guess. You have a suspicion that the Queen Mother did the Brighton Trunk Murders?"
Fenton grinned painfully and conceded Jamieson's right to some come back over his behaviour in the past. He told the policeman of their visit to the Murray house and what Sandra Murray's brother had told them about what a man pretending to be from the Blood Transfusion Service had asked at the house.
Jamieson knew the name Sandra Murray well enough. "Hit and run death, up the Braids way?"
Fenton nodded.
"And you are saying that she knew about the Saxon Plastic problem?"
"Maybe not the details, but she knew that Neil Munro thought that there was something wrong with it."
"And that's what this fair haired man wanted to find out?"
"It seems like it."
Jamieson sucked the end of his pen in silence for a moment then said, "Did Murray tell you any more about this man?"
Fenton told him about the ring and watched Jamieson's expression change. The policeman put down his pen and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands before saying quietly, "That lot."
"You know them?" asked Fenton.
"Oh yes, I know them all right," sighed Jamieson. "We all know them. The force is now full of senior officers who have tangled with that bunch and ended up giving road safety lectures to five year olds."
"You are serious?" asked Fenton in disbelief.
"I'm serious," said Jamieson quietly.
Fenton looked at Kelly who shrugged as if to say, I told you so.
"But you are the police. I thought…"
"I know what you thought," interrupted Jamieson. "You thought I could nip up to Braidbank, pick up Sandra Murray's brother, and get him to identify the man?"
"Well, yes."
Jamieson shook his head and said, "Let me tell you what would really happen. Assuming Sandra Murray's brother was willing to co-operate, and if he knows anything at all about this mob he wouldn't be, we would start making enquiries. A few days later I would be directing traffic in Princes Street and Murray would be running for his life."
"You can't be serious," Fenton protested.
"I am," said Jamieson. "These buggers have so much power it scares me shitless."
Fenton was shaken by the admission. "So where does that leave us?" he asked.
Jamieson ran his finger round the inside of his collar and said, "Now that you have told me this I am obliged to go see Murray and ask him formally if he thinks he could identify the man. Frankly, I hope he says no or there could be another hit and run accident in Braidbank within the week."
Fenton was having difficulty in coming to terms with the frankness of Jamieson's admissions but he did have an idea and said so. Jamieson grimaced and Kelly smiled. Fenton said, "Murray told me that his sister was the scientist in the family and that he was an artist. If he really is an artist, a brush and paint artist that is, he might be able to sketch the man for you and no one would ever know how you got on to him?"
"Sounds a good idea to me," said Kelly.
Jamieson took his time but finally conceded that he too thought it was worth considering. He said, "If we could find out who the man was without his knowing it would give us time to build up a case against him. We could go in strong."
Kelly suggested that he and Fenton should approach Murray and keep the police out of it in Murray's own interest. Jamieson agreed but Fenton sensed that he was uncomfortable. He wanted to say something else but it was having a difficult birth. "Gentlemen," he began, tapping his finger tips together, "With your agreement…" The words struggled over invisible barriers. "I would like to keep this on…an unofficial basis for the time being.
Fenton and Kelly waited for an explanation and it was even more laboured when it came. "Frankly, once a report is written…I can't be sure who is going to see it."
"I see," said Fenton. He said it calmly but felt anything but. "Perhaps it would be better if we met on neutral ground next time?" Jamieson nodded, relieved to see that Fenton had taken the right implication from what had been said without any further explanation being necessary.
It was still raining heavily when they got outside so they made a dash for the car although it was all to no avail when Kelly dropped the keys into the overflowing gutter in his haste to unlock the door. His curse was lost on the wind as Fenton turned his back and held up his collar while he waited.
"Did I dream that?" asked Fenton when they were safely out of the rain.
"If you did I had the same one," said Kelly.
Jenny looked aghast. "But they are the police!" she protested. "They don't say things like that!"
"That's what I thought too," said Fenton. "But I'm telling you exactly what Jamieson said."
"Oh Tom," said Jenny in exasperation. Fenton put his arm round her and tried to assure her by saying, "It's still a police matter. It's just that Jamieson wants to conduct it a little unconventionally."
"When are you going to see Murray?"
"Tonight," said Fenton.
The object of the exercise, decided Fenton, was to get the sketch from Murray with as little explanation as possible. They should say nothing about any possible connection with the Saxon murder and should not mention the police at all. This was just a little afterthought from their previous visit. But was Murray the right kind of artist?
"Actually I am a sculptor," said Murray. "But I think I can manage a rough outline."
It had turned out to be easier than Fenton had thought it might be. He had the sketch in his hands and Murray had hardly asked a thing, in fact, the man seemed positively subdued. He wondered whether the whisky beside Murray's chair was to blame but abandoned that notion in favour of a box of pills that he saw lying open on the table. He sneaked a look at the label when Murray had his back turned for a moment and saw that they were tranquillisers. They were a relatively mild brand but the alcohol was enhancing their effect.
Fenton looked at the sketch and admired Murray's competence.
"Thank you for your help Mr Murray," said Fenton, getting up to go.
"A drink before you go?" said Murray.
Fenton looked at his watch as a prelude to an excuse but the pathetically baleful look in Murray's eyes made him change his mind. "Thank you," he said. "Whisky for me."
"Do you still think my sister was murdered?" Murray asked as he handed Fenton and Kelly their glasses.
"I think it's possible," replied Fenton.
"I miss her you know," said Murra
y distantly. "I never liked her much while she was alive but now that she's gone…I miss her."
Fenton and Kelly exchanged embarrassed glances while Murray's eyes were fixed on the middle distance. He appeared not to notice and continued, "You see, she was the only person in my life who ever really liked me and now she's gone…"
Kelly shrugged his shoulders in discomfort and Fenton moved uneasily in his chair. Murray brought his eyes back and apologised for his rudeness. "Another drink?" Fenton declined the offer and thanked Murray again for his help.
As they walked down the path to the gate Kelly turned and looked at the house. "Poor bastard," he said.
The clock on the dash said eight forty-five and Kelly suggested that they call Jamieson on the number that he had given them. Fenton did so by using a phone box on the edge of Braidbank. He looked down at the lights of the city while he waited for Jamieson to answer. The rain had stopped but water was still running down the gutters from the hill. Jamieson answered and Fenton told him that they had the sketch.
"Do you know 'The Gravediggers' pub?" Jamieson asked.
"Corner of Angle Park?" said Fenton.
"That's the one, opposite Ardmillan Cemetery."
"When?"
"Thirty minutes?"
"We'll be there."
"I know it," said Kelly when Fenton told him. "Where can we park down there?"
"There's a railway footbridge near there, park in the street on the other side. We can walk over it."
Kelly followed Fenton's suggestion and they found a parking place with no difficulty. A diesel express thundered under the bridge as they crossed it, illuminating the banking with flickering light for a few brief moments before it was suddenly plunged back into darkness.
Jamieson was already there. He got up as they came in and ordered a round. "Any problems?" he asked as they sat down.
"None," replied Fenton, reaching into his inside pocket to take out Murray's sketch and hand it over.
Jamieson pursed his lips and made tutting noises. "Well, well, well," he said slowly.
"You know him?" asked Fenton.
"I do, indeed I do," replied Jamieson, still mesmerised by the sketch. "That's Gordon Vanney, Councillor Vanney's son."
Fenton thought that Jamieson looked as if he was being forced to remember something that he would rather have forgotten and did not intrude. He and Kelly remained silent until the policeman began to speak in his own time.
"Four years ago," said Jamieson, "A girl named Madeline Gray took her dog for a walk on Corstorphine Hill; she was fourteen at the time. Four youths set about her. They stripped her, tied her up and raped her in turn. When they had finished they stuffed stinging nettles…into every opening in her body and left her, still staked to the ground."
Fenton and Kelly listened in horror as Jamieson continued.
"When she could speak she named one of the youths as Vanney. She had recognised him because he lived in the same neighbourhood. We arrested Vanney but his old man got him out on bail." Jamieson paused and sipped his drink as if the words were paining him. "The very next night, while Madeline's father was out walking her dog, the dog ran off into the trees. It ran off with four legs and came back with three. Wire cutters, the vet said. Two days later the leg arrived by post addressed to Madeline. It was in a flower box so her mother let her open it by herself. A note suggested that it might be her leg next if she didn't keep her mouth shut. She did and Vanney went free. The girl still isn't right, takes four baths a day."
"What a story," murmured Fenton.
"And you never traced the others?" asked Kelly.
"We never did," agreed Jamieson. "A pity because, before she stopped talking altogether, the girl told us that Vanney wasn't the ringleader, he was just the one she recognised. That singular honour went to a six foot tall dark haired youth, wearing some kind of college or university scarf. He had a piece missing from his right ear lobe, she was very sure of that; she had concentrated on it while he was raping her."
"Four years ago Inspector? You have some memory." said Kelly.
"So would you if you had seen that wee lassie," replied Jamieson.
Fenton asked what Jamieson was going to do about the sketch.
"Watch and wait. Find out who his associates are. See who's an organ grinder and who's a monkey."
"You don't think Vanney could have killed Sandra Murray and Saxon?" asked Fenton.
"Vanney's a shit but he's small fry. Someone else always pulls the strings."
"Any ideas."
Jamieson shook his head and said, "No, I haven't. We kept tabs on the bastard for a while after the Madeline Gray affair, you know the sort of thing, anyone farts in a built-up area and we pull in Vanney. But his old man pulls a lot of weight in this city. He started shouting harassment and we had to back off."
"The same thing might happen this time," suggested Fenton.
"No." said Jamieson, "This time it's unofficial, and personal."
"You mean you are going to do it by yourself?" asked Kelly.
Jamieson nodded.
"Can we help?" asked Fenton.
Jamieson smiled faintly. "Aye," he said, "Aye, you can."
Fenton grew to know Vanney well over the next couple of weeks. The fact that Jenny was still working nights let him share night time surveillance with Jamieson and back- leave that he was due took care of some day time work. Steve Kelly took over on the nights that Jenny had off.
Vanney lived in his parents’ house on Corstorphine Hill, a sprawling modern bungalow with large gardens and a gravelled frontage that accommodated three cars. The Lotus belonged to Vanney junior. Each week day morning he drove it to work in the city, leaving at eight thirty and arriving at a merchant bank in the New Town at five minutes to nine. Lunch was one till two and he ate it in a pub in Rose Street called, 'The Two Shoemakers.' He always ate with the same people, a tall, ginger haired man with buck teeth and a loud voice and a short, squat, olive skinned man who looked Italian, maybe Spanish. Both worked in the same bank and it seemed just to be a lunch time friendship for neither featured in Vanney's evening social life.
Vanney had a girl friend and it surprised Fenton for he had assumed that a connection with the Cavalier Club inferred homosexuality although Kelly had said in the past that the club had broadened its horizons. The girl seemed nice and came from a similarly well heeled background to Vanney himself. She was tall, nearly as tall as Vanney, and good looking in a country girl sort of way. Fenton liked her on sight and wondered what she saw in someone like Vanney, and vice versa if Vanney really was homosexual.
Jamieson provided an answer to the second question. The girl's father was a director of the bank where Vanney worked. "Vanney to a tee," he snarled, "Brown nosing the boss's daughter."
"What do you suppose her father thinks about it?" asked Fenton.
"Probably encourages it," said Jamieson wryly, "Son of a prominent councillor, heir to a concrete shit empire, an excellent choice for their wee Denise. That's her name by the way, Denise Hargreaves.
Vanney and Denise Hargreaves saw each other twice during the week and again on Saturdays. One disco, one trip to the cinema and dinner out at the week-end. He played golf with his father on Sundays and stayed in on Thursdays. That left Mondays and Wednesdays.
TWELVE
On Monday Jamieson lost Vanney in town traffic and it was accepted as just one of those things, but when the same thing happened to Kelly on the Wednesday, the three men met to discuss tactics.
"Do you think he realised that he was being followed?" asked Fenton. Jamieson replied that he did not, adding that Vanney had shown no sign of 'awareness' on any of the other nights. Fenton had to agree with that, saying that he himself had had no trouble following Vanney on the previous Friday and the wrestling match that he had had with Denise Hargreaves in the car outside her house had not suggested the actions of a man who thought that he was being watched.
"How did he get on?" asked Kelly.
"She
slapped his face," said Fenton.
"Good for her," said Jamieson.
Jamieson and Kelly compared notes and found that they had lost Vanney at the same place in town. He had made a left turn out of Leith Street and had apparently disappeared into thin air. "He must have turned into a lane or something," said Kelly and no one disagreed. Jamieson suggested that they should all attempt to follow Vanney on Monday. One of them should pick him up as he left his house just, in case he should do something different, the other two would wait in Leith Street, around the area where they had lost him on the previous occasions. Fenton said that he would follow Vanney from home. Jamieson and Kelly agreed where they would position themselves for the wait.
On Monday evening Vanney left home at seven thirty and Fenton followed on the Honda, keeping some two hundred metres behind and with at least two vehicles between himself and the Lotus at all times. Traffic was light enough at first and the only problem was the persistent drizzle which caused problems with his face visor.
Vanney appeared to be taking his usual road to town and Fenton automatically assumed his route, an assumption that nearly caused him to lose the Lotus when he found himself trapped in the inside lane when Vanney decided to turn right. By the time he had recovered the Lotus had disappeared. He had to make a guess. Did he go down to the Grassmarket or up to the High Street?
Fenton bet on the High Street and gunned the Honda up Castle Terrace which wound round and up the side of the floodlit castle rock. The needle was touching sixty-five when he braked at the top of the Royal Mile in time to see the tail lights of the Lotus as it sat at traffic lights. He free wheeled the bike down the steep cobbles, allowing a taxi and a Ford Escort to reach the Lotus first.
The lights changed and Vanney turned left. He was heading back towards Princes Street after having gone out of his way by nearly two miles. It didn't make sense, thought Fenton, unless of course, he was taking routine precautions to avoid being followed on Mondays and Wednesdays. The idea excited Fenton.
