Addison looked at her for a moment before replying. ‘Okay, so those are the similarities. What about the differences? The first girl had no shoes, this one does. One strangled with a chain round her neck, this one’s head battered in. The first one had a bag, emptied. This one doesn’t. How many girls do you know that go out without a bag?’
‘None. He’s taken it. Trying to cover his tracks probably.’
‘Looks that way.’ Addison sighed heavily. ‘Okay, let’s get on with this. First we need to find out who she is and see if there’s any connection with the McAndrew girl. Whatever we learn, we keep it to ourselves for now. I’m not sharing any information with that wee shit Kelbie, whatever Shirley has to say. As far as I’m— Oh, for fuck’s sake!’
Narey and Winter followed Addison’s gaze and saw four or five young heads popping up above the cemetery wall, all adorned with baseball caps. They were either standing on something or on the shoulders of their mates. One young tracksuited gymnast was even sitting on the wall, his legs dangling over the edge.
‘Jesus! Rachel, get uniforms to patrol the cemetery perimeter and get those silly sods down. The last thing we need is them looking in here. I’m not having a repeat of the hunt for the Gorbals Vampire.’
‘We’re not going to be able to stop them all from looking.’ Narey raised her eyes and the two men followed her gaze, seeing the pair of blue and cream giants that towered over them. The Caledonia Road flats filled the skyline and offered hundreds of uninterrupted views onto the crime scene.
Addison stuck a two-fingered salute up at the tower blocks. ‘Stare at that.’
Chapter 9
Sunday afternoon
The hurriedly arranged strategy meeting in Pitt Street wasn’t held in the largest available room but rather in one where the smallest number of people were likely to be walking past. It had been done with as little fuss as he could; Alex Shirley was determined to keep as much of a lid as he could on news of the matching words on the stomachs of the two murdered women.
Every murder was a very big deal, even in a city like Glasgow, where it wasn’t exactly unusual. But this was different. It was what it was but it was also what it could become. There was both a brutality and a potential randomness about these killings that had even hardened detectives concerned. Shirley was shitting himself at the prospect of this being only the start of something.
Winter took a seat at the back as usual, all the better to see without being seen. He knew that it was only that he’d been there from the first victim being found on the Necropolis that saved him from being outside the scope of Shirley’s need-to-know policy. Two of his photographs were on the wall facing the rows of chairs that were swiftly being filled by the backsides of the force’s CID. They were his passport to the case and he revelled in the fact that they drew the attention of every cop in the room.
They were both close-ups of the faces of the girls, blown up, full and glossy but losing nothing from the increase in size. They were pixel-perfect in their grotesque beauty. Kirsty McAndrew, her blonde hair wet-dark and licking at her pretty features. Girl number two, as yet unknown but staring helplessly into the abyss, her mouth wide as if dumbfounded by what she saw.
Winter looked at the back of Rachel’s head as she sat in the front row, seeing her sitting so close and yet so far away. Just someone he used to know in a room full of people. There were ten bodies sitting in front of Winter by the time the door opened to allow Alex Shirley to march in and advance directly to the table that faced the rows of cops. The superintendent took his place under Winter’s photographs, flanked on either side by Addison and Kelbie. Among the ranks facing them were Jim Ferry from New Gorbals, DS Andy Teven, DS Rico Giannandrea, a handful of detective constables including Fraser Toshney and Rebecca Maxwell, plus Superintendent Jason Williams representing uniform. They collectively shut up as soon as Shirley got to the top table.
He stood facing them, examining papers in front of him with pursed lips even though he’d already read every word they contained. When he lifted his head again, he was ready.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here. I know some of you have had to change shifts to accommodate this and I’m grateful for that. For those of you who don’t know him, may I introduce DCI Denny Kelbie from New Gorbals. He will be assisting on this enquiry along with DS Jim Ferry.’
Kelbie gave the briefest of nods, his face moulded into a picture of earnestness. Addison stared ahead as if Kelbie’s name had never been mentioned.
‘The young woman with the blonde hair behind me is Kirsty McAndrew. She was twenty-two years old from Elcho Street in Bridgeton. She was a shop assistant and lived with her parents. She was murdered sometime in the early hours of Saturday morning and her body was found in the Necropolis. The young lady with the dark hair is Hannah Healey.’
The name landed heavily. To Winter, she had been decaying flesh and broken bone but now she had a name. Now she was real.
‘She was twenty-three years old, a hairdresser and lived with her mother in a flat in one of the high-rises on Caledonia Road. The flat overlooked the Southern Necropolis, where she was found this morning. Her neighbours later made a positive identification from the crime-scene photographs.’
Shirley paused, seemingly finding something else of interest in his notes but, in truth, giving everyone in the room time to catch their breath along with their thoughts.
‘We have no doubt that the two deaths are linked and that the killer was almost certainly the same person. That is not information we shall be sharing outwith the confines of this room. If asked, you refer them to media services or to the agreed statement, which you will be provided with on leaving this briefing. But be in no doubt that we are dealing with a potential serial killer.’
The phrase jagged its way across the room, screeching like nails down a blackboard. Shirley let the thought settle on his audience as he bent to click the mouse at his fingertips, causing the photographs behind to be replaced by two more that Winter had taken: the matching stomachs of the two girls and the identical lettering. Enlarged as they were, the similarities in the handwriting were obvious. Small involuntary gasps slipped from the mouths of some of those who hadn’t seen them before.
‘The images before you were written on the victims in lipstick. That information remains sacrosanct. If it goes into the force at large or, God forbid, into the public arena, then I will be holding people in this room responsible and I will not be pleased.’
The Temple glared round the room, seeking any wavering eyes, determined that his message hammered into the skulls of his detectives. There was no dissention.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, forgive me for stating the frigging obvious, but we are dealing with an extremely disturbed and dangerous individual. Both girls were raped. Both were strangled. Hannah Healey also suffered severe and violent head injuries. What I want you to do is to apprehend him before this’ — he gestured behind him — ‘happens again. Whatever else you are working on takes second place. No, it takes third place. This investigation takes first and second place. I will not have another victim, not under my watch. Do I make myself clear?’
‘DI Addison,’ Shirley started again, his tone as fierce as before, ‘bring everyone up to speed, please.’
Addison got to his feet, the briefest of unrequited glances over at Kelbie as he did so.
‘Kirsty McAndrew had been on a night out with friends. They were in Citation in the Merchant City and also Bacchus. We have… this image from Citation’s CCTV.’ A grainy still shot showed five attractive young women dressed up for a night out. ‘Kirsty walked home alone and we believe she was attacked en route. CCTV has some images of her walking on the Trongate at twelve-thirty. Time of death is estimated at around two a.m. She was strangled, partly by use of the necklace that she was wearing.
‘Her bag was present at the scene, its contents found dumped some distance away. Her shoes were not present and remain missing. She was wearing them in the CCTV, s
o she may have lost them in a struggle or the killer may have taken them.
‘We’ve only known of Hannah Healey’s identity for a couple of hours so we don’t have as much information on her as we’d like. Your job will be to put that right as soon as possible. We are currently aware of no confirmed link between the two of them. If there is one, you will need to find it and fast. If there isn’t, our job will be a hell of a lot harder, and whoever killed them is a bona fide serial nutjob.’
Shirley’s eyebrows shot up at Addison’s language, provoking a matching sneer from Denny Kelbie. Addison wasn’t particularly fussed by either but he had to stop when Shirley placed an arm out in front of him and scraped his chair back as he stood up again.
‘Let me interrupt at this point to make something quite clear. I have no doubt that a link does exist between these two young women. They may have frequented the same pub or club, used the same gym, had the same ex-boyfriend. I don’t know. Check their entire histories: school, work, family, personal lives, everything. There is a link. Find it.’
Addison allowed Shirley to retake his seat, watching his boss vigorously smooth his suit jacket back into place. He cleared his throat theatrically and continued.
‘Kirsty McAndrew had this’ — he clicked the mouse, and a new photograph appeared on the whiteboard — ‘tattoo on her back. DS Narey has established that it refers to her former boyfriend Robert Wylde. Narey and I have interviewed Wylde and believe it is unlikely that he was involved in her murder. He’s got a busy charge sheet and some history of violence but I don’t think he’s our man.’
Addison caught the maliciously raised eyebrow offered }up by Kelbie for public consumption and managed to swallow down the retort that yearned to burst free from within him, refusing to give the DCI the satisfaction. ‘We are of course not ruling Wylde out and will explore every avenue open to us. With that in mind, Rico, I want you to take over coordinating a look into the tattoo parlours in town. We think this was done relatively recently and might give us something to work with. There’s already been groundwork done and Jason will fill you in on where his people have been.’
DS Giannandrea nodded, taking the printed copy of the tattoo that was passed down to him. Winter, looking over his shoulder, followed the contours of the angry snake that inked its way round the small of Kirsty McAndrew’s back.
‘Andy, go over every inch of the CCTV from Citation and whatever Bacchus has,’ Addison continued. ‘Also get everything you can between there and Elcho Street. Talk to her friends and the staff, see if anyone was hanging around, paying Kirsty special attention, that sort of thing.’
‘Narey, coordinate further door-to-door round Caledonia Road and surrounding areas. Trawl her route home. We need details on her movements last night, boyfriends, friends, family. Take Toshney with you.’
Winter couldn’t see the look on Rachel’s face but he could picture it, and allowed himself a smile. He knew just how much she enjoyed having Toshney as a sidekick. But he also knew Addy. The fact that Rachel didn’t want Toshney would have been reason enough for her to get him.
‘DS Ferry you — and your DCI — talk to her parents, her friends and whatever other close family she had. Talk to Wylde again and see if there was another boyfriend or someone she’d maybe knocked back. See if we can set up a reconstruction as well. Someone must have seen her walking alone even if the cameras haven’t.’
A low rumble escaped from Kelbie’s throat and the skin around his eyes reddened.
‘Thanks for the advice, DI Addison. If you’re also going to teach us how to suck eggs then can you wait till this investigation is over? In the meantime, maybe we can discuss the most significant piece of information that we have to hand. The one you haven’t mentioned yet.’
Addison stared and Winter could tell he wasn’t sure whether Kelbie was bluffing or not. The self-satisfied look on Kelbie’s snarling face made Winter fairly sure that he wasn’t.
‘What information is that?’ Addison couldn’t help himself.
‘The fact that Kirsty McAndrew’s bloodstream contained heavy levels of benzodiazepines.’
‘Where the fuck were you keeping that little nugget of information?’
Addison paused, seeing the reproach on Shirley’s face. ‘Sorry. Where the fuck were you keeping that little nugget of information, sir?’
Kelbie smiled smugly, enjoying Addison’s fury. ‘I took the liberty of having a wee chat with your lab people. Very accommodating they were, too. The toxicology tests aren’t complete yet, as some of the samples have yet to be returned, but the blood samples suggest Kirsty McAndrew was heavily sedated. Some derivative of Rohypnol, most likely.’
Shirley leaned forward, deliberately cutting off the space between Addison and Kelbie. ‘Thank you, DCI Kelbie, good work. Derek, contact the lab and ask them to match the results against the samples taken from Hannah Healey.’
‘No need.’ Kelbie grinned like a pit bull licking raw meat. ‘I’ve already asked them to check. They’ll get the results back to me by the morning.’
Chapter 10
Late Sunday afternoon
Addison and Winter followed Cat Fitzpatrick as she led them through a set of swing doors and down the pale, narrow corridor on the first floor of the Scottish Police Services Authority building. Winter saw that Addison’s gaze was focused admiringly on the pathologist’s rear and gave him a frown of disapproval that the DI cheerfully shrugged off.
‘I don’t mind acting as tour guide,’ Fitzpatrick was saying, albeit in a tone that suggested she did mind. ‘But I’m not sure Sam will have results for you by now.’
‘If they’re not ready, they’re not,’ Addison replied, his stare never wavering. ‘I’m just keen to find out the conclusions. Before anyone else does.’
Winter knew full well what the last comment meant, and so too, by her reply, did Cat.
‘Such admirable dedication. And I’m sure that it has nothing to do with a visit this morning by DCI Kelbie. And why have you got Tony with you, anyway? I can’t see any need to photograph lipstick samples.’
‘Do you two mind not talking about me as if I’m either not here or stupid?’
They both ignored him and Addison coughed unconvincingly before answering. ‘I feel it will help to record the process. For evidentiary purposes. And because we have to attend another location immediately after we leave here.’
‘The Station Bar by any chance? I hear that place is full of highly suspicious characters.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Fitzpatrick.’
‘Course you don’t. Okay, here we are.’
Fitzpatrick opened the door into the lab and led them inside. Winter was struck, as he always was, by the suffocatingly clinical nature of the room. Diffused lighting, sterile workspaces and numerous trays of blue plastic test tube holders. There were phials and bell jars and endless computer monitors. Above all, there was a pervading sense of seriousness.
Cat Fitzpatrick looked around the lab, obviously not seeing the person she was looking for. ‘Sam?’
‘Two seconds.’
An impossibly tall and slender young woman in a white lab coat emerged from behind a screen, her hands resplendent in bright-purple nitrile gloves and a pair of protective glasses pushing long dark hair back onto her head. She unashamedly looked Winter and Addison up and down, seeming to take a particular interest in the DI’s lanky six-foot-four frame. Rather than address either of them, however, she spoke to Fitzpatrick, betraying the hint of an accent that might have been Aberdonian beneath its educated overtones.
‘Hi, Cat. I take it these are the long legs of the law.’
Fitzpatrick tried to hide the smile that fought its way onto her face at seeing Addison on the receiving end of a sexist remark for a change.
‘It is indeed. Detective Inspector Derek Addison and photographer Tony Winter. DI Addison, this is Sam Guthrie, one of our chemists. She’s been taking care of the lipstick for your collar.’
Winter watched the sideshow, seeing an uncustomary awkwardness in Addison as he realised the joke, and that the innuendo was at his expense.
‘Aye, very good. Thanks for seeing us, Miss, er, Ms…’
The chemist smiled and her eyes showed amusement at the DI’s unease.
‘Sam. It’s short for Samantha.’
‘Sam. Thanks.’
Fitzpatrick and Winter swapped glances, both enjoying Addison’s discomfort and happy for him to know it. The DI glared at them.
‘Right, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got things to do. Play nice.’ Fitzpatrick hesitated and glanced at Guthrie. ‘Both of you.’
Guthrie smiled at Addison, her right arm out playfully as if guiding the way. ‘This way, gentlemen, and I’ll bring you up to speed on where we are with your sample. Do you know anything about forensic discrimination of lipsticks?’
Both men shook their heads, causing the chemist to tut in mock disapproval.
‘It’s an interesting science. There was an excellent paper done on it by the Forensic Science Society of Malaysia in 2011. Bit of a field leader. The key is to apply a little TLC. Do you know what TLC is, Detective Inspector Addison?’
The DI seemed to swallow before answering. ‘Um, tender loving care?’
‘Thin-layer chromatography. Lipstick samples that are indistinguishable during visual analysis can be discriminated from each other by a combination of TLC and GC-MS.’
‘Okay, I’ll bite. GC — MS?’
‘Gas chromatography — mass spectrometry.’
‘Right, obviously.’
‘We analyse the colouring agents with TLC and the organic components with GC — MS. Okay, see these two lipsticks?’ Guthrie held up two seemingly identically coloured tubes of red within an inch or two of her own lips. ‘What colour would you say they were?’
Witness the Dead Page 6
