Robbing the Dead (Inspector Jim Carruthers Book 1)

by Tana Collins

  He didn’t know how people like Mackie and Jodie Pettigrew did their jobs – the blood, gore and stench – an ever-present reminder of sometimes violent death. No wonder Mackie had trouble giving up smoking. He wondered how he slept.

  Once outside, he took some deep breaths and looked around for the two women. He saw Siobhan, not far from his parked car, leaning up against a rather puny oak tree. A small pool of vomit lay close by. Fletcher was by her side.

  ‘Sorry,’ Siobhan said embarrassed, wiping her hand over her mouth. ‘I could do with something to rinse my mouth. Have you got any water?’

  ‘I’ve got a bottle in the car,’ he said as he approached. ‘Hang on.’ With long lean strides, Carruthers walked to the car, opened the back door and retrieved the bottle. Undoing the screw top he gave it to Siobhan. ‘Sorry, it’s a bit warm,’ he said.

  She rinsed her mouth out and offered the bottle back. He told her to keep it.

  ‘It didn’t look like him,’ she said.

  Carruthers looked up sharply.

  ‘I mean, of course it was him, but it just looked like a shell.’

  Carruthers nodded. ‘It’s difficult to ask questions right now, but I have to ask them, Siobhan. You’re sure you have no idea who’d want to hurt him?’

  ‘No, none.’

  ‘Looks as if the motive was robbery,’ said Fletcher. ‘Rhys’ wallet and phone were missing, but at this stage we can’t rule anything out.’

  Carruthers frowned. Siobhan had reminded him of the fight between the RAF boys and some of the townies recently. He knew, of course, that Rhys had been present. According to Siobhan, he’d been trying to break it up.

  ‘Siobhan, would you excuse me. I need to make a quick call to the station. Stay with her, will you?’ he mouthed to Fletcher. She nodded.

  Walking a discreet distance away, Carruthers punched in Dougie Harris’s number. He looked back at Siobhan as he spoke. ‘Dougie, I’m at the mortuary with Siobhan Mathews. Have you managed to pull that file on the fight? We know Evans and Roberts from the RAF base were involved, but who were the townies? Was it the usual suspects?’

  Carruthers listened carefully.

  ‘Callum Russell and Lewis Adamson were the main perpetrators,’ Dougie Harris said. ‘In their statement, they both say that they were having a quiet drink in The Earl of Fife wi’ their pals. Three lads fae the RAF came over to them. Started to flash the cash. Insults were exchanged and then it all started kicking off over a girl. Russell and Adamson claim they were defending themselves, and that Dave Roberts threw the first punch.’

  ‘I bet those two have never had a quiet drink in their lives.’ In the couple of months Carruthers had been at the station the names of Callum Russell and Lewis Adamson had already cropped up half a dozen times. They seemed to be a two-man crime wave. ‘Why is it trouble seems to follow them around like a bad smell? That’s not their usual stomping ground, though. I would’ve thought The Earl of Fife was a bit too up-market for them.’

  ‘Maybe they were feeling lucky that night? Thought they might pick up a couple of students,’ said Harris.

  ‘What did the RAF boys say in their statement? Don’t tell me? Russell and Adamson started the fight and threw the first punch?’

  ‘Aye. Pretty much got it in one.’

  ‘OK, so what did the witnesses say?’ said Carruthers.

  ‘Pushing and shoving on both sides. One witness, one of the bar staff, claims it was one of the RAF boys who threw the first punch. Apparently, according to her, another one of their lot tried to break it up. Got assaulted for his trouble.’

  ‘That could have been Evans,’ said Carruthers. ‘Did she have any trouble telling the townies apart from the RAF?’

  ‘Naw. All three of the RAF had Welsh accents. And, of course, plenty of money.’

  ‘All three?’ said Carruthers. ‘I wonder who the third was? How many Welshmen are up at Edenside anyway?’

  ‘Third lad was a Sean Coombe.’

  Looking over at Siobhan talking to Fletcher, Carruthers said, ‘What are you up to now? Whatever it is, I want you to drop it.’ Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Siobhan had left Fletcher’s side and was walking towards him. ‘Whilst I’m at the RAF base,’ he said to Harris, ‘I want you to track down the two slime balls, and interview them. I’ll get Andie to drop Siobhan back at the student flats. You’ll need to talk to Andie about where you’re going to meet. Also interview the barmaid who was working in The Earl of Fife that night. Whilst you’re out and about see if you can find the girl who this fight was over. I want a further statement from her as well. That should keep you out of trouble for a while.’

  ‘Right you are, boss.’

  ‘And Dougie – we need to move fast. We don’t want to let the grass grow under our feet on this one.’ Carruthers broke the connection and pocketed his mobile.

  ‘I couldn’t help but overhear the end of the call,’ said Siobhan. ‘Can I ask you to take me back instead? I’d like to talk to you about Rhys.’

  Carruthers knew from the way he was starting to feel about Siobhan that he shouldn’t be alone with this young woman, but he was curious as to what she wanted to tell him and why she’d want to confide in him rather than in a female cop. He trusted his instinct though he glanced over at Fletcher who had listened to the conversation. She gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘I’ll give Dougie a call and organise where we’re going to meet,’ Fletcher said, punching in his number. Carruthers shepherded Siobhan over to his car, opening the passenger door for her. She climbed in. He shut the door and in a few economical steps was round to the driver side. He sat beside her and waited for her to begin talking about Rhys Evans.

  THREE

  As Carruthers drove towards Edgecliffe, he tried to concentrate on anything but the woman sitting quietly at his side. The case. Think of the case.

  Whenever there was any trouble in Castletown, especially trouble involving a fight, Carruthers could lay odds that it would involve Callum Russell and Lewis Adamson. In the short time he’d been here he’d had cause to read their files enough times to know they had both been teenage tearaways, and were now in their twenties. Both had collected convictions for theft and Adamson one for assault. Carruthers frowned. Street fighting and breaking and entering were their specialities. Would they go as far as murder? It seemed unlikely.

  Christ, thought Carruthers, remembering Siobhan viewing the body of her boyfriend, I hate days like these. Sometimes he really wished for a different profession. He wondered how different his life could have been. If he’d had a less stressful job, with more time for his wife and family life, would that have saved his marriage? He knew Mairi had wanted children but she always complained that as a dad he just wouldn’t have been around for his kids, and that as a husband he was married to the job. He remembered their final argument as if it had been yesterday.

  Had their marriage really been that bad? He hadn’t been a big drinker, unlike a lot of his colleagues. Had never had an affair, although there were times he’d wondered about his wife. However, he knew he could be moody and introverted, especially when investigating a tough case. As much as he’d loved his wife, he was, without doubt, a loner at heart. His hobbies of fishing and hill walking were an expression of that separation; they were passions his wife had never shared. She used to joke with friends that between them they had bagged two hundred Munros. He had climbed one hundred and ninety-nine; and she had climbed one. That had been in the days when she still had a sense of humour about their relationship.

  One Munro had been more than enough for her. After a six hour slog up Ben Sgulaird, locally known as ‘The Bastard’, she had never gone up another mountain. That had been early in their courting days. He still regretted the choice of hill for her first Munro. Despite the fine views of the hills of Mull, the walk was steep and demanding. The nickname gave it away, really. The wry thought crossed his mind that Fletcher would have loved it. Maybe his wife had been right: maybe
he was selfish. Selfish to do the job that he did, selfish in the way he spent his free time. He probably should never have married. He sighed. Better not to think about it.

  ‘Would you mind pulling over?’

  It was the first time Siobhan had spoken, so Carruthers quietly pulled over to the side of the road. It wasn’t a pretty view, but this might be his chance to get information from Siobhan. Turning off his engine Carruthers turned to Siobhan Mathews. ‘What do you want to do?’

  Siobhan was silent. Her head was turned away from him, so he could only see the back of her head. By rights, his job was done. He should just drive her straight home. This stop was not his best idea. Somehow, though, he felt responsible for her, though he didn’t know why. She turned to him. Her expression was bleak. Eyes empty of hope. He couldn’t fully read her expression but he had a pretty good idea how she was feeling.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said.

  ‘Why don’t I get you home?’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant I don’t know what to do now that Rhys has gone. I know we weren’t together very long, but I had hopes the relationship might really go somewhere.’ She hung her head and her shoulders sagged forwards.

  Carruthers knew dejection when he saw it, and despair. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with. Siobhan looked up at him with her almond-shaped green eyes. Carruthers felt her sorrow but he had to press. ‘You said you wanted to talk to me about Rhys.’

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you might as well know. Rhys had put in for a transfer. It was something we’d talked about. If he’d got it, I told him I would consider leaving university and moving with him.’

  Carruthers was surprised. Her masters was only a twelve-month course. Siobhan came across as a dedicated student. ‘You’d consider leaving in the middle of your course? Couldn’t you have joined him later?’ The words were out before he could stop them. He shouldn’t have asked. Really, it was none of his business.

  ‘I didn’t want to lose him,’ she said simply.

  ***

  Fletcher found out that the girl at the centre of the fight was named Charlene Todd. She lived in Crosshaven, an old mining village fifteen miles outside Castletown.

  ‘Come on, Dougie. Let’s get going.’

  Harris, predictably, had his face in a bag of doughnuts.

  ‘You’re going to end up with a heart attack if you carry on like this.’

  ‘My choice, doll.’ A jet of strawberry jam shot out of the doughnut and Dougie scooped it up greedily with his fingers. ‘I hope she’s got a great pair of tits, this Charlene,’ he said, licking the sugar and jam off his chubby fingers. ‘I like them big myself. In fact, the bigger the better.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ replied Fletcher, rolling her eyes towards heaven.

  ‘Have you ever thought of getting a breast enlargement?’ he asked Fletcher.

  She saw him glancing at her 32B chest. ‘No, I bloody well haven’t.’

  ‘Well, I’d think about it if I were you. Your face is bonny. Imagine how much better you’d look if you had big tits. It’s incredible what advancements have been made in surgery.’

  ‘Pity they haven’t managed to advance as far for a male brain enlargement,’ retorted Fletcher, ‘although I’m not sure it would be available on the NHS and I don’t think you’ve got the money to go private.’ She propelled him out of the door. ‘Come on. Let’s get going.’

  Charlene Todd lived in a restored miner’s cottage in the lower part of Crosshaven, close to the Docks. Having parked up, Fletcher strode over to the door and knocked irritably. Her head was full of the fact that she still hadn’t managed to have a proper talk with Mark. He had hardly said two words about her pregnancy since she had told him. He was hardly ever home these days and when he was, he just wanted to watch TV or sleep. She was starting to wonder if he was avoiding her. How many games of football can a man play in a week? As the weeks carried on she was growing more and more anxious. She also needed to talk to Jim, too. She was lucky that she had such a good relationship with him. He would support her. She sighed. To say her private life was in turmoil was an understatement. She was now fourteen weeks pregnant. The pregnancy hadn’t been planned and she had no idea whether she was going to keep the baby. She wondered what her tits, as Dougie called them, would look like after breastfeeding. She grimaced.

  As she knocked, Fletcher looked around her. The place was a war zone. There was graffiti on the houses; litter blowing in the streets; broken glass on the road and pavement, dog mess everywhere. A couple of malnourished youths, wearing baseball caps, were hanging around near the corner shop. No children were playing.

  She contemplated what it might have looked like forty years before. Despite the poverty, she imagined the neighbours with their doors open; the high street being the life of the mining community. Everyone looking out for each other. Children playing in the street. Long before their parents had become too paranoid to let them outside, before anyone had heard the term ‘paedophile’. Despite the obvious concerns of parents, the chances of kids being taken off by a paedophile, were a lot slimmer than kids’ chances of becoming obese through a sedentary lifestyle. Most of the time, as Fletcher knew only too well, paedophiles turned out to be family or friends of family anyway. No getting away from them. Fletcher thought of the catalogue of health problems that these kids were storing up for themselves. She imagined what her own child might look like out playing. Then pushed the thought out of her head.

  She wondered if it was harder to bring children up nowadays than fifty years ago. She had only a rough idea of what bringing up a child today would cost. That was another thing to consider. Not to mention who would look after the child when she returned to work. She sighed. But she knew, whether she had Mark’s support or not, at least she wouldn’t end up destitute. Down the street a small child, crossing the road with its mother, stumbled and fell. The mother scooped the crying child up in her arms. It had a look of anguish on its face. For some reason her thoughts turned to a picture she had seen recently of a mother and child refugee in Turkey. She shuddered. There but for the grace of God…

  She smiled bleakly, trying to push all thoughts of the desperate scenes of drowning children out of her mind.

  ‘Are ye gonnae chap the door again, or are we gonnae stand here all day like a pair of farts?’ said Harris.

  She raised her hand once more to the door. On this second knock, a girl wearing a black boob tube and leopard skin print leggings answered. Harris’ eyes nearly came out on stalks. She had the most enormous pair of breasts Fletcher had ever seen outside a porn mag. She sighed inwardly. Harris was in for a treat. She just hoped he would behave himself.

  ‘Charlene Todd?’ she said.

  ‘Aye,’ she said, chewing on her gum, as she flicked back her dyed blond hair. Fletcher noticed she looked bored with the conversation already. ‘Whatever you’re selling, I’m busy.’

  ‘We’re not selling anything,’ said Fletcher. ‘We’re police officers.’ They flashed their ID cards. ‘Detective Sergeant Andrea Fletcher, and this is Detective Sergeant Dougie Harris. We’d like to ask you a few questions about the recent fight in Castletown.’

  The girl sighed. ‘I’ve already given a statement.’ She studied her long manicured nails.

  ‘Can we come in please, Charlene?’ said Fletcher. Charlene Todd rolled her eyes and with a sigh opened the door. She took them into the front room.

  ‘S’pose you’d better sit down,’ said Charlene. Whilst Harris sat in a large armchair facing Charlene, Fletcher took a seat on a small couch draped with a white long-haired Afghan rug. Immediately she heard a yelp from beside her. Startled she looked down to see a tiny curly haired poodle that had its front legs wrapped round a grey cuddly toy.

  ‘Mind Mr Pickles,’ said Charlene.

  Fletcher inched further away from Mr Pickles who threw her a look of disdain. ‘The fight was between some locals and some airmen from the base.’

  Charlene
just shrugged.

  ‘One of the airmen, a Rhys Evans, has been found dead in suspicious circumstances,’ Fletcher said. She noticed a rise of Charlene’s left eyebrow.

  ‘Has he? Nothing tae do with me.’

  ‘You were the only girl present in the altercation,’ said Fletcher. ‘What was the fight about?’

  ‘Me.’ She looked smug as she blew a bubble with the gum.

  ‘Care to elaborate?’ said Fletcher thinking that women’s lib had obviously bypassed this generation.

  ‘I’m wi’ Davey now. Callum couldnae stand it.’

  ‘Callum?’

  ‘Callum Russell. My ex.’

  ‘And Davey would be?’ said Fletcher, reaching for the black notebook in her pocket.

  ‘Dave Roberts. He’s in the RAF. We’ve been seeing each other a couple of months now.’

  Fletcher held the black biro poised mid-air. ‘You’re having a relationship with Dave Roberts?’ Fletcher and Harris exchanged glances. ‘So you threw Russell over for Roberts? How did he take it?’

  ‘No’ well, obviously. I mean, they were fighting, weren’t they? I’ve never been fought over before. It was braw.’

  ‘Why did you dump Russell?’

  ‘Well, me and Davey got it together one evening when I was with a group of my pals. I didnae go looking for it or anything. But sometimes it just happens, eh?

  ‘So what was it about Dave Roberts?’ asked Harris. ‘Does he have a bigger cock?’

  ‘Dougie,’ admonished Fletcher.

  ‘Aye, he does as it happens. And a bigger pay packet as well. He knows how to treat a girl. He was buying me mojitos all night. Callum only ever bought me buckie or lager. I dinnae think he would ken what a mojito was.’

  ‘With his form, I would suspect he knows more about molotov cocktails than mojitos,’ said Fletcher.

  ‘Oooh, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them. Are they nice?’ asked Charlene. ‘Are those the ones with a twist of lime in them?’