Robbing the Dead (Inspector Jim Carruthers Book 1)

by Tana Collins

  ‘Have you still got Dave’s number?’ asked Tomoko.

  Siobhan blushed, thinking of her one-night stand with Dave before she started seeing Rhys. She didn’t like to dwell on it. It had been a mistake. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Seriously Siobhan, if you’re this worried, swallow your pride and give him a ring.’

  Siobhan sighed. ‘You’re right. It makes sense. I’ll do it now, before I lose my nerve.’

  ‘Honestly, what’s the worst that can happen? He’s rude to you. At best, you’ll find out what’s keeping Rhys.’

  Siobhan smiled at Tomoko. ‘Ever sensible.’

  Just as she was about to pick up the phone, Siobhan hesitated. She’d thought of another reason why Rhys may not have turned up. It made her feel sick to even think about it. Maybe he’s left me, she thought. Maybe he’s got fed up with me and doesn’t know how to tell me, so he’s taken the coward’s way out and just not turned up. Siobhan knew she was being irrational, but she couldn’t stop the thoughts crowding her head. It was all Roy’s fault. Her ex had taken the coward’s way out and just stopped seeing her without a word; now she suspected it whenever Rhys was just a little – OK, a lot – late.

  ‘Siobhan, are you all right?’ asked Tomoko. ‘It’s just you’ve gone awfully white and you’re shaking.’

  She wasn’t going to let these feelings spiral. She now knew from counselling that she could control her feelings with a mixture of deep breathing exercises and meditation. She tried the deep breathing now. It seemed to help. She started to feel calmer. She was regaining control. Slowly she became aware that she wasn’t actually alone.

  ‘I’m fine, Tomoko, honestly. Just felt a bit faint for a few seconds but it’s gone now. Probably tiredness and hunger. I’m just going to make that call.’

  She composed herself and dialled Dave’s number.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Dave, it’s Siobhan Mathews here.’

  ‘Yes?’ This time the voice was slightly more impatient. There seemed to be a lot of background noise. She could hear music and another noise but she couldn’t work out what it was.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Sorry to bother you. Just wondered if you’d seen or heard from Rhys?’

  ‘No. Not since I saw him leaving the base to meet you.’

  There was a muffled noise, then what sounded like panting. Siobhan strained to listen. Dave sounded like he was running for a bus. Oh God, I hope he’s running for a bus and not having a shag. How embarrassing. She reasoned he wouldn’t answer the phone if he was mid-thrust, so steeled herself and carried on regardless.

  ‘I was expecting him several hours ago. He’s not turned up.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t seen him and I’m busy.’ He sounded really annoyed and he was panting. She heard something else in the background. To her mortification it was woman’s voice.

  ‘Dave, do you want me to go lower?’ The voice belonged to a young woman. Siobhan blushed. Why would he answer the phone in the middle of sex? No wonder he was cross. However, embarrassed as she was, Siobhan pushed on, reminding herself that this was more important than Dave getting his leg over.

  ‘You haven’t heard from him at all?’ That question was greeted by silence. ‘OK, well, if you hear from him, can you contact me straight away? This isn’t like him. I’m actually thinking of phoning the police.’

  ‘Christ, don’t do that.’ Apparently, she now had Dave’s full attention. ‘Get off me you stupid cow,’ she heard him muttering to his companion and then a thud as if something or someone had just fallen on to the floor.

  ‘Look, Siobhan, Rhys has probably gone drinking with some mates and forgotten the time. He’ll turn up when he’s ready, and he won’t thank you for getting the police involved. And yes, I’ll phone you if I hear anything, OK, now I have to go.’ Slightly away from the phone she heard him say, ‘Of course I want you to go lower, you dirty little bitch.’ Siobhan heard a giggle. Then the phone went dead.

  ‘Oh shit, how embarrassing,’ said Siobhan, her cheeks flaming. ‘He had a woman with him. I don’t know why I’m surprised. After all, I know what he’s like.’ She glanced at Tomoko who was trying to stifle a yawn. ‘Look, you’ve been brilliant, Tomoko, but if you want to go to bed early – don’t let me stop you. You look done in.’

  ‘OK, do you mind?’ She was already heading to her room. ‘I’m exhausted and I really need to get this paper completed tomorrow. I’ve already had one extension. Come and get me if there’s any news. No doubt if he comes in late, I’ll hear the doorbell. And Siobhan, try not to worry.’

  ‘Good night, Tomoko, and thanks.’

  Knowing sleep would be impossible Siobhan made herself a milky coffee. She sat with it in the living room. Idly flicking through a magazine, she tried not to worry. But time passed. She glanced at her watch. More than two hours later Rhys still hadn’t arrived or contacted her. Siobhan sighed and picked up the phone. She hoped that whatever she had interrupted earlier had long since finished. If not it was the longest blow job in the history of blow jobs.

  ‘Hi Dave, it’s me again, Siobhan. Sorry about earlier. I know you had company.’

  ‘If you wanted to join us, you should have said. It’s been a while since I had a threesome.’

  She decided to ignore his remark. ‘Look, I know it’s late, but Rhys still hasn’t turned up. I just wanted to check with you one final time before phoning the police. I know what you said about my being a laughing stock if I ring them this early, but I have to do something. This is just to let you know I’m going to give them a call.’

  ‘If you’re that set on phoning them, Siobhan, I’ll ring them for you. OK? It’s very macho down at the station and it’s more than likely to be a male copper that answers the phone. If a bloke rings them to have a chat about a missing mate this time of night, they may take the conversation more seriously than if it’s just the neurotic little girlfriend.’

  Siobhan bristled at being called ‘just the neurotic little girlfriend,’ but exhaustion on top of anxiety had robbed her of her urge to fight. She just wanted to find Rhys, so she ignored Dave’s condescension.

  ‘Thanks Dave, are you sure? Can you ring me back as soon as you’ve spoken to them?’

  ‘OK, Siobhan. If it gets you off my back. Look, seriously, try not to worry. It’s unlikely they’ll have any news of Rhys. He’s probably had a skinful and is sleeping it off on a mate’s floor somewhere. I’ll ring the police now. Speak later. Bye.’

  Though talking to Dave had got her no positive news of Rhys, Siobhan felt she was at least doing something. She lay down, still fully clothed, on the living room couch and shut her eyes. I’ll just have forty winks before Dave rings back, she thought. She soon drifted off into chaotic and frightening dreams. She awoke with a start four hours later, stiff and cold but perspiring. Her first thought was that Rhys still hadn’t been in touch. She checked her phone. Dave hadn’t rung her back either.

  ***

  WEDNESDAY MORNING, 30TH MAY

  The man knelt down and inspected the contents of the bag. He slipped on a pair of gloves. He stroked the explosive lovingly. It hadn’t been easy to come by but he’d been lucky. Still had some old contacts that owed him a few favours. It had cost him. Semtex wasn’t cheap. But he reckoned these men were as loyal to him as he’d been to them. They believed in what he was doing.

  He didn’t have to worry about being grassed up. The only thing he wouldn’t tell them was who or where the target was. Didn’t want them to get in there first and spoil his fun. He could imagine there’d be hordes of people wanting to line up to take a potshot when they knew the target. He laid everything out on the old wooden kitchen table in the farmhouse. The last items out of the bag were a couple of photographs. One showed a man in his sixties. The man spat on the photograph. He then wiped the spit away with his gloved hand. His face softened as he picked up the second photograph. It was faded and old. It was of a young woman. Tenderly he laid it on the table.

  ***
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  ‘That’s the last of the statements collated, sir,’ said DS Andrea Fletcher the following morning. She stood in Carruthers’ office at the police station in Castletown, like him drinking coffee. ‘Nobody claims to have seen or heard anything.’

  ‘What, nothing at all?’ asked Carruthers. He put his glasses on his prematurely grey head and stared out of the window, noting the bustle of Castletown, even on the outskirts where the station sat. He couldn’t believe that, in a busy university and tourist town, nobody had seen anything. He wondered what the hell had happened to get a young man killed in such a brutal fashion.

  ‘No boss, but Italian restaurants can be noisy places. I used to work in one. I’m not surprised they didn’t hear anything. Dougie was right: there was a two-for-one special on last night. That’s why it was still so busy when we got there. Staff said they were run off their feet. Door-to-door hasn’t yielded anything either, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Call’s just come in, boss,’ panted Harris, entering the room with an air of purpose that, for Carruthers, seemed out of keeping with the man’s generally lazy demeanour. That alone made Carruthers sit up and take note.

  ‘Student fae the university reported her boyfriend missing. Apparently, he didnae turn up at her flat last night. She’s worried sick. Says it’s out of character. Want to know the best bit?’ Harris didn’t wait for an answer. ‘He’s based at RAF Edenside, aircraftman Rhys Evans. Reckon that’s our man.’

  ‘We don’t want to jump to conclusions,’ said Carruthers.

  ‘Nae doubt with a name like Evans,’ said Harris. ‘It’s hardly Scottish, is it? I love it when it’s handed on a plate to us like this.’

  ‘What’s the girlfriend’s name and address?’ said Carruthers.

  Harris read from his notebook. ‘Siobhan Mathews, 56 Edgecliffe. Back in a sec,’ he said, then was gone.

  ‘Edgecliffe are student flats just down from the caravan site on the way out of town, boss,’ said Fletcher. ‘If our man was coming from the RAF base, what was he doing at Bell Street? It’s nowhere near Edgecliffe.’

  ‘What indeed?’ said Carruthers. It hadn’t taken him long to get his bearings in Castletown. Whilst quaint and full of character the centre was grid like and compact. Edgecliffe was a fifteen-minute walk from the centre of town. He knew where it was. He smiled. Fletcher clearly felt she needed to remind him. After a stint down south and coming from the West coast, he didn’t know Fife too well, although it was where his estranged wife grew up. He turned to Fletcher. ‘Did you say you’d studied here in Castletown, Andrea?’

  ‘I did, for my sins. I have a BA from the University of East of Scotland. And like many students from England, much to the consternation of some of the Scots, I never left.’

  Carruthers looked thoughtful. He’d only moved back to Scotland himself a couple of months ago from London, in the vain hope of saving his marriage. It hadn’t helped. He pushed all thoughts of his failed marriage out of his head.

  ‘And boss,’ said Fletcher. ‘I know I keep asking, but can you call me Andie? Much prefer it. Do you want me to go over to Edgecliffe, and talk to Siobhan Mathews?’

  ‘We’ll both go over to talk to her,’ said Carruthers leading the way out of his office. ‘I think she’ll probably appreciate another woman’s presence. And I’ve told you before, Andie. Don’t call me boss. It’s Jim. I like to keep things informal. Dougie can stay here. I want him to pull the report on that fight here in Castletown.’ He glanced into the main office, it was empty. ‘By the way, where’s Dougie gone?’

  ‘The gents?’

  ‘Has that man got a bladder problem, or does he just go there to read his girlie magazines? Because if so, I’ll have him on a charge. Oh, there you are, Dougie,’ said Carruthers frowning as the man himself appeared.

  ‘Christ, you’re no’ clocking how long I spend having a pee now are ye, guv?’ said Dougie Harris, still doing his flies up. ‘And dinnae tell me it’s another one of those useless time and motion studies.’

  ‘What, how much time it takes you to pass a motion you mean?’ said Fletcher, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Well, whatever it is, it’s an infringement of my personal liberties,’ said Harris.

  ‘Look, Dougie, stop trying to sound like Arthur Daley and just get on with it, will you?’ said Carruthers. ‘Andie and I are going to pay this Siobhan Mathews a visit. I want you to stay here and go through every detail of who was involved in that street fight. I have a feeling the two events may be connected. If our man was involved, last night may have been a payback. Before you do that, though, I want you to phone RAF Edenside. Find out if they have any personnel matching our dead man’s description. And don’t take all day about it. We now have a suspicious death and a report of a missing airman. We need to find out if it’s the same person.’

  TWO

  As Inspector Carruthers drove towards Edgecliffe Halls of Residence, DS Fletcher quiet by his side, he heard his own stomach growl.

  ‘Did you have time for breakfast, Andie?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not very hungry.’

  ‘Well, I am,’ he said. ‘Let’s stop and get something to eat first.’ They stopped for coffee and bacon sandwiches from a little café on Market Street, ate them in the car park overlooking East Castle Beach. Or at least Carruthers ate his. He could see that Fletcher was struggling with hers.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Bacon’s making me feel a bit queasy,’ she said, crumpling up the paper bag with most of the sandwich still in it. She placed the bag by her feet.

  Carruthers looked at her, wondered if she was sickening for something. There seemed to be a summer bug doing the rounds.

  It was half ten in the morning and the tide was out, exposing a vast expanse of silvery stretch of sand. The rays of sun were dancing, mischievously catching the shallow pools of water, making the scene a landscape photographer’s delight. Carruthers finished his breakfast while Andie waited, then they were back on their way.

  The flats at Edgecliffe consisted of a drab, ugly maze of pebble-dash concrete and brick buildings, set behind the imposing glass and brick Scottish Oceans Institute.

  ‘Not much to look at, is it?’ DS Fletcher’s comment broke into Carruthers’ thoughts as they clambered out of the car and shut the doors. ‘Looks like a holding centre for illegal immigrants, I always think.’

  ‘I certainly wouldn’t want to be incarcerated in here, that’s for sure,’ said Carruthers, thinking of his cosy little fishing cottage over in Anstruther.

  ‘When I was a student here, I got out of halls as quickly as possible and moved into a flat in Market Street.’

  ‘Good move?’

  ‘Much better. Closer to town too. Only problem was it didn’t have central heating. I was so cold I got chilblains the first winter. They used to give me serious grief when I went hill walking.’

  ‘Hill walking? I know you’re a runner, but I didn’t realise you like to get out on hills. You’re a regular action girl aren’t you? So how many winters did you survive in that flat?’

  ‘Just the one.’

  ‘What did you do about the fact there was no central heating?’

  ‘Me and the other girls used to switch the gas fire on and huddle round it when Scott wasn’t around.’

  ‘Scott?’

  ‘Friend and landlord. Didn’t like the gas fire being on. Cost too much. But he was out a lot so he never really knew. Well, till the bills came in of course.’ She laughed, but Carruthers noticed the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Now he looked at her a little more closely, she looked tired and strained. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought this over the past few weeks. In fact, she looked plain unhappy which wasn’t like her. She was usually so bubbly. He wondered if she was having problems on the home front.

  ‘Everything OK between you and Mark?’

  Fletcher frowned. ‘Yes. Why wouldn’t they be?’

  Prickly, thought Carruthers. Clearly everyth
ing isn’t OK but she doesn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘I take it you’ve got central heating now? In your flat with Mark?’ he asked, happy to get back to a safe subject.

  ‘First thing I checked when I was looking for a place,’ Fletcher’s freckles stood out in her drawn face, every feature exposed since her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled up in a ponytail. She looked younger than her twenty-nine years. She took in the buildings in front of them. ‘They might lack character and imagination but at least they’re warm.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Carruthers. He looked at them critically. From the outside, they were devoid of any soul. Not the sort of place to stay if you were looking to be inspired. If these buildings were people, Carruthers thought, they were the shell that is left behind by advanced Alzheimer’s. The lights were on, but no one was home. At least not the person you’d know. His father’s mother had had Alzheimer’s. He felt sad when he thought of her last few years. ‘Think I’d rather stay in a flat with no central heating,’ he said. ‘OK, where’s number 56, then?’

  They entered the maze of accommodation. It was surprisingly quiet. No loud music; no student voices; no students in evidence anywhere, in fact. The only noise above the babble of a nearby burn was an occasional seagull, banging door, or squeak of an opening window. He looked up at the lifeless structures, with their huge dark gaping square windows.

  Having finally found number 56, Fletcher stepped forward and pressed the doorbell. Carruthers was surprised to see the door opened by a serious looking Japanese girl, whose round glasses magnified her already worried expression.

  ‘DCI Jim Carruthers, and DS Andrea Fletcher. We’re looking for Siobhan Mathews,’ said Carruthers, showing the girl his police ID. Fletcher followed suit.

  ‘What’s happened? You have news of her boyfriend?’ the girl replied, her eyes fixated on Fletcher’s highly polished black boots.

  ‘We’re not sure. Is she here?’ Fletcher asked.