‘It is important that while the public, particularly young women, continue to take normal precautions for their safety, there is no need for panic. I can assure you that every possible step is being taken to identify links between the two victims and to apprehend their killer. I will take some questions.’
‘I’ve got a question, you daft little fucker,’ Addison raged at the TV screen, right into Giannandrea’s ear. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’
‘DCI Kelbie, can you confirm that both victims had their shoes removed by the killer?’
‘Yes, I can.’
‘No, you bloody can’t!’ Addison ranted, causing Giannandrea to hold the phone a foot away from his ear.
‘The reference to a “Cinderella Killer” in this morning’s press was lurid but essentially accurate. Kirsty McAndrew’s shoes had been removed and, similarly, so was one of Hannah Healey’s. It may be that the killer was disturbed before he had the opportunity to remove her other shoe, but that is merely speculation on our part, and the last thing I would want to do at this stage is to speculate.’
‘No, of course you fucking wouldn’t. Rico, can you believe this prat?’
‘Without asking you to speculate, DCI Kelbie, do you think there may be some sort of sexual element to the removal of the women’s shoes?’
Kelbie screwed his face up, smiling to make it clear that there was something he wanted to say but couldn’t. ‘I can’t really comment on that at this juncture. Let’s just say it is an avenue that we are not ruling out. Next question.’
‘Not ruling out? Jesus suffering.’ Addison’s rising anger and incredulity threatened to burst Giannandrea’s eardrum. ‘You might as well tell him that you’re convinced it’s some shoe fetishist.’
‘DCI Kelbie, are you investigating the possibility that there’s a foot or shoe fetish involved in these murders?’
‘No comment. Next question.’
‘What are the links that you think exist between the two victims?’
‘I can’t comment on those for operational reasons, but you can be sure that they are being investigated and will be confirmed. Okay, that’s all for today. Thank you for your attendance.’
The press conference ended with Kelbie posing for a couple of shots from the photographers, giving one final look of studied sincerity before turning away. The screen cut to an announcer in a studio and the programme moved on to something else. Addison roared a final obscenity into the phone.
‘Jesus H. Christ! So what did your tattooist make of that, Rico?’
Barclay had barely taken his eyes off the screen except for a few nervous glances at Giannandrea and some confusion at the stream of incoherent but very obviously swearing coming from his mobile. Stark’s reaction was almost identical.
‘Well, there’s two of them, sir. And they’re very interested. Very interested indeed.’
‘Two of them? Right, bring both the buggers in. I’m in the mood for some ritual torture.’
Chapter 19
Monday afternoon
Narey had been landed with what Addison referred to as basic policing but what she less charitably thought of as work for Sergeant Dogsbody. She had three detective constables and a fleet of uniforms out to follow the route that they presumed Hannah Healey had taken after she left her boyfriend on Victoria Bridge.
While it was possible that she had been attacked anywhere in the mile between the bridge and her home, they had been able to rule out the first quarter-mile after seeing Hannah on CCTV images near the Citizens Theatre. So they began from there, Narey directing them to pick over every bit of pavement in the hope of finding the spot that she’d been taken. There was no useful evidence on the body so their only hope was discovering the point of abduction, which was also quite possibly the spot where she’d been killed.
It was a thankless, laborious task, as much suited to a street cleaner as a detective. Taggart, eat your heart out, she thought miserably. She’d sighed as she watched Toshney blunder from one bit of the road to the next, making stupid and no doubt inappropriate jokes to other cops as he went. There must be a way to get rid of that muppet, she thought. And the sooner the better.
She hadn’t been in the best of moods to start with. The visit earlier to Scissor Sisters and Roslea Drive had proved a frustration, just providing more questions than answers. Now she was stuck on Gorbals Street with Toshney for company. It was hardly what you would call a secure crime scene and any number of people would have walked along it in the twenty-four-plus hours since Hannah Healey had been killed. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t worthwhile looking, just that it was a pain in the bum. Anything that was useful could have been moved, removed, run over or kicked away. She dispatched officers left and right off the main drag when they passed likely places, beginning with the car park immediately after the Citizens and then the rose garden on the opposite side of the street. At the traffic lights, she had them investigate the grounds of the creepy, desolate, Gothic building that stood on the corner of Bedford Lane. If she were going to murder anyone, she would have done it there. Either that or she’d just watched too many episodes of Scooby Doo.
They painstakingly made their way up the road, scouring the grass verge on the right after the lights and the rubble on the left, where some demolition work had recently taken place. Up ahead under the railway bridge looked another likely spot but yielded nothing, despite their spending half an hour on it. Narey looked further down the road and saw the green and white frontage of the Brazen Head and her heart sank, as she cursed Addison for what was sure to follow.
A few punters were already standing outside the pub smoking, but, as she watched, the throng grew, no doubt being called by their mates to see the police sideshow that was approaching. She sent Toshney to the right with a handful of uniformed cops, ostensibly to search the area around the boarded-up windows of the newsagent and the abandoned former takeaway premises, but in reality to keep him away from the Brazen Head.
‘Afternoon, officers,’ came the first shout from outside the pub, a dozen or more ruddy-faced regulars now standing there. Something involving the word ‘pigs’ swiftly followed from someone hidden at the back of the group. Here we go, she thought.
Narey crossed the road and confronted the group, preferring to meet them head on than have them think she was intimidated. Catcalls, wolf whistles and laughs broke out as she approached, making her hackles rise even further. She’d think of a reason to arrest the lot of them if she could but the last thing she needed was this lot kicking off.
‘Afternoon, gentlemen. We are carrying out an operation in the area this afternoon and I would appreciate some cooperation from you.’ This was the point where she hoped they wouldn’t just laugh.
‘This to do with the wee lassie that was killed along the road? The one that was in the paper this morning?’
‘Yes, it is. Have any of you seen or heard anything that might be useful to us?’
Surprisingly enough, she got nothing more than blank faces and shrugged shoulders. Even if they knew something, it was unlikely they were going to offer information to cops in front of their mates. Even though a young woman had been murdered, there was a thin line between cooperating with the police and grassing.
A grinning, leering guy with an Elvis quiff broke the silence. ‘Do you want tae take doon ma particulars, darling?’
‘Not at the moment, thanks. Maybe later.’
‘Oh, well, ah’ll keep ma fingers crossed, then, eh?’
‘You do that. But it might have been better if your mother had kept her legs crossed.’
The smart guy turned out not to be that smart and got her dig long after his mates did, their laughter alerting him to the fact that she’d taken the piss out of him. His face flushed with anger at them for taking her side against him, but he didn’t say anything else.
‘Were any of you gentlemen in the pub on Saturday night?’ More blank faces. She would get nowhere with them and knew that she’d be as w
ell getting them out of the way.
‘Okay, in that case I’m going to have to ask you to get off the pavement as my officers need to continue their search of the area.’
A brawny shaven-headed guy with a bull neck and a face even redder than his cohorts’ nearly burst a blood vessel at being asked to shift. ‘Away to fuck, what we got to move fur? We’re allowed to smoke out here.’
‘Well, for a start, I can charge you with obstructing the public highway.’
‘Aye, right.’
‘Yeah, right. You want to test me?’ Six burly cops had instinctively appeared at Narey’s shoulders, fully ready to enforce her request, but she was equally determined not to rely on them.
The loudmouth stuck out his jaw, not wanting to take a step back in front of the others, and, as if to physically prove it, he advanced to the low railing that separated the drinkers from the police. Narey knew he’d probably rather get nicked than back down. She’d happily arrest him but it could be the first in a set of dominoes falling. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked him.
He hesitated. ‘Lex. That’s all you need to know.’
I’ll decide what I need to know, she thought, cursing him for being so stubborn as to make it more difficult for her to give him a way out. ‘Okay, Lex. Here’s the thing. A young woman got murdered just along the road there. She could have been your wee sister or someone else’s daughter.’
Lex said nothing but he was listening. ‘We want to catch the person that did it. None of you is suspects but we need help to catch her killer. My guess is that the rest of these guys listen to you, so what I’m asking is that you go and talk to them, see if anyone does actually have any information, and you can come and talk to me. Not grassing, nothing like that. It’s called catching a murderer. What do you say?’
Lex glanced around at the other pub customers and Narey knew that if anyone of them had looked at him accusingly the deal would have been off. Instead the others looked at their feet or shrugged as if to say, ‘Why not?’
‘Aye, okay,’ Lex muttered. ‘I know the lassie’s mother. We’ll talk and I’ll get back to you. You got a number?’
The question provoked some more infantile giggling and the beginning of a beery cheer that was silenced not by Narey but by Lex’s glare. He looked around, defying them to take the piss, and the punters settled for a few muffled laughs. ‘Right, we’re goin’ in,’ he told them.
‘Fuck’s sake!’ a few of them muttered. ‘Ah take it I can keep smoking in the pub, then, darling?’ another of them moaned. ‘Seein’ as how you’re making us go back inside.’
‘No, you can extinguish your cigarette and then go in. Or go away. I don’t care which. And put your fags out in the bin provided. If you drop them on the ground then I’ll do you for it.’
The wolf whistles and ‘whoaars’ had been replaced with muttering and grouching, which was exactly as she’d hoped. The pub’s punters stubbed out their cigarettes and shuffled back into the boozer, a few brave mumbles about pigs and fascists their last attempts at saving face.
Narey exhaled and turned back to the street to instruct the constables where to search next. Behind her, one anonymous voice made a final shot at bravado.
‘Nice arse, darling.’
She shook her head despairingly and tried not to laugh. Tossers, she thought. Toshney had caught up, his expression making it clear he’d found nothing.
‘Okay, there’s next to no chance of it being right in front of the pub but go over the ground anyway. And pay attention to that arched underpass after the pub. It’s got abduction point written all over it. The rest of you move on to the bit under the next bridge. Toshney, take half a dozen of them and go beyond the bridge. We need to move this thing along.’
It quickly became obvious that the shadows under the railway bridge had no secrets to offer up and Narey walked on underneath it, seeing the area of grassy scrubland to her right before the ruins of the old church. Her senses heightened immediately: she knew that, if she were walking alone, that would be exactly the kind of area that might have her cross the road to avoid. Prime suspect, she thought.
She saw Toshney near the sandstone side wall of the church, a bricked-up doorway immediately behind him. She somehow knew he was going to signal to her even before he did it. Expectancy and reality blurred as her instincts infused her and she saw Toshney waving both his arms excitedly above his head. Her stride lengthened and broke into a near run despite herself.
There was something at his feet and he was reaching for it. ‘Toshney! Don’t touch it, whatever it is.’
He froze mid-reach and didn’t seem to know whether to twist or stick, instead wobbling uncertainly. She got closer and could see what had got him so agitated. A shoe, black and high-heeled. It was immediately familiar.
‘Get your arse out of there, Fraser, will you? And watch where you’re stepping. Try not to trample on any more ground than you have to and avoid standing on any footprints unless you can be sure they’re your own.’
‘You think this is it, then, Sarge? Where she was attacked?’
‘If that’s her shoe, then yes. Now get out.’
Toshney turned awkwardly, his eyes at his feet as if he were walking through a minefield in clown shoes. He took an ungainly step to his right, then jumped towards an untouched patch of ground, then made another leap back onto the tarmacked area, seemingly pleased with himself as he landed. He was more pleased with himself than Narey was, despite his find.
She pulled out her phone, at the same time waving her arms at the uniforms to come off the waste ground. ‘Tape up the area and get it cordoned off… Hello… DS Narey. I need forensics at the old Caledonia Road church in the Gorbals. No… now. And contact DI Addison as well, please, and tell him I need him down here.’
With Toshney safely back out of harm’s way, Narey carefully advanced towards the shoe. It was fairly new, the heel barely worn, hardly the thing that someone would throw away. Someone lose it while drunk? Always a possibility, but someone losing it while running or being attacked seemed much more likely. More than that, though, it just was the same shoe.
Compared with the rest of the scrub, the ground near the shoe was roughed up as if there had been people moving around on it. Her gut as well as her rationale had no doubt. This was the place.
Campbell Baxter, the heavyweight senior scene examiner, heaved himself out of the cruelly tight confines of his car just twenty minutes after Narey had made the call requesting his attendance. Baxter — or Two Soups, as he was universally known behind his back — wasn’t exactly the most popular of the SPSA staff as far as the police were concerned but he was nothing if not thorough. If there was anything at the scene that could be used, Baxter would make sure that his staff found it.
He calmly huffed his way towards Narey, pulling on his coveralls as he did so, finishing the performance by squeaking on two pairs of nitrile gloves with the uncharacteristic flourish of a final noisy smack of latex against his hand.
‘What do we have, Sergeant?’
‘A shoe. From here it’s a similar make, size and colour to the shoe missing from the Southern Necropolis murder victim. This road is on the route she was known to have taken after she was last seen. There has to be a strong possibility that this is where she was attacked.’
Baxter nodded grimly. ‘Okay. I assume no one has contaminated the scene by going over to the shoe.’
Narey looked towards Toshney, who reddened slightly and screwed his face into an apology.
Baxter harrumphed loudly, expelling air and disgruntlement. ‘Wonderful. Just wonderful. Take your shoes off, young man. Off, I said. Will someone competent please take prints of this idiot’s shoes for comparison purposes. Heaven help us. Can’t you keep them under control, Detective Sergeant Narey? I thought you knew better.’
‘Look, I’m as annoyed about this as you are. I can’t be everywhere at once, though. Don’t worry, Toshney and I will be having words later. Except he won’t be doing the ta
lking.’
By now, a small army of white-suited troops had assembled at the scene under Baxter’s command, the uniformed constables pushed back to the periphery of the battle. Two Soups continued to grumble under his breath as he patrolled the perimeter, eyeing potential access routes.
‘Mr Burke,’ he called to one of this team. ‘Find yourself a clearway. I’d suggest in here.’ Baxter gestured with a wave of his arm. ‘Get us a few shots of the positioning of that shoe, then please remove it for examination. I’m going to get the case notes from the previous scene. Don’t let anyone trample over anything in my absence.’
Baxter returned to his car, quickly re-emerging with a computer tablet in his left hand. Using the built-in 3G technology, he tapped into the R2S, the Return to Scene software, as he walked. Once he’d bypassed the system’s security he was able to access all the case notes and photographs from Brem Dawson’s team at the cemetery where the second girl’s body was found. In seconds, he had clear, close-up photographs of the single shoe that Hannah Healey was wearing.
Paul Burke photographed the shoe from various angles, dropping a scale next to it to indicate size, and making sure its precise location and angle were recorded. That done, he slipped a pen under the heel and carefully lifted it into the air before depositing it safely into an evidence bag. Retracing his steps through the scene, he handed the bag over to Baxter.
Two Soups held the evidence bag up to the light in his left hand, his eyes squinting and his right hand rummaging thoughtfully through his woolly, grey beard. He looked at the markings on the sole: the maker’s logo and the size clear to be seen. Baxter’s mouth tightened, pushing his fat lips up towards his nose in a display of deliberation.
‘Clearly, I cannot offer a definitive opinion until we do the relevant tests, DS Narey. However, I will be surprised if those tests do not tell us that this is the partner to the shoe that the victim was wearing. Now, if you will excuse me, we need to get to work. This is, ostensibly at least, a crime scene and we have evidence to find. We will start with the footprints in the area around where the shoe was. Including those of DC Toshney!’
Witness the Dead Page 12
