Clare smiled. ‘Any idea when he’ll be back?’
The woman glanced at her watch. ‘Usually breaks about twelve. But sometimes he has a piece with him and doesn’t come back till later. Can I give him a message?’
She was hovering, fishing for titbits.
‘We’re just looking into his stolen car,’ said Clare. ‘But we can pop back this evening.’
‘Oh, I know. He’s quite lost without it. He has a moped but it’s not the same. Can’t get your shopping on a moped, can you?’
‘Do you remember when it was stolen?’
‘Must be a couple of weeks ago now. Parked down at the North Haugh car park.’
‘That’s near North Street, isn’t it?’ Clare asked.
The neighbour nodded. ‘A bit further down, near the roundabout at the Old Course Hotel. It’s free parking there, you know and it’s always been fine. Near the university buildings so lots of coming and going. I park there myself. Anyway, he went to do a bit of shopping and when he came back it was gone. You can’t trust anyone these days.’
The neighbour seemed to be settling in for a long chat, so they made their excuses and escaped to the car.
As Chris pulled away, Clare’s mobile rang.
It was Jim. ‘Sorry, Clare, you’re needed over at Cromarty House.’
‘Where?’
‘Big house off the A915. Couple of miles after the hospital. You’ll see the police car.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Looks like another hit-and-run.’
Clare closed her eyes. Another hit-and-run. Christ almighty. Surely there wasn’t someone driving round, picking victims off with a 4x4? An uneasy knot was forming in her stomach. ‘Okay, Jim. Be there in ten.’
They raced back through the Bogward estate, siren blaring, turning onto the A915 at the community hospital. This time there was no crowd to interview. In fact, there was no one around at all except for the postman who had discovered the body.
‘I turned into the drive as usual,’ he said. ‘Normally I drive right up but as soon as I came through the gates I saw it. Him, I mean. I think it’s the owner. Only had a quick look. Dog was running around too.’
Clare looked up the drive. She could see the house, a fairly substantial Edwardian dwelling with white rendered walls, but there was no sign of life. ‘Did he live alone? The owner?’
‘I don’t think so. At least he gets mail addressed to Mr and Mrs. See?’ He thrust that morning’s mail into Clare’s hand.
‘Mr and Mrs Bruce Gilmartin,’ she said to Chris. ‘Ring any bells?’
‘I’ve heard of him,’ Jim said. ‘Owns a brewing business, out towards Cupar.’ He looked up the drive. ‘Doing well out of it too, judging by the size of the house.’
Clare pulled on overshoes and gloves, and moved towards the body. He was, she thought, in his late forties, casually dressed in chinos and an open-necked shirt. Boat shoes, no socks. He had either been facing the car when he fell or the impact had spun him round. His eyes were still open, but lifeless. Even in death, Clare could see he had been an attractive man. She crouched down beside the body. It was cold and stiff. ‘Rigor’s well established,’ she said. ‘I’d guess at late last night.’
‘Pathologist’s on his way,’ Jim said. ‘SOCO too so hopefully we’ll get that confirmed.’
‘Anyone been up to the house?’
Jim nodded. ‘No one at home. Not sure where Mrs Gilmartin is but there’s no sign of her.’
‘Car?’
‘Two. Both in garages at the end of the garden. A Range Rover and a sporty Audi. Garages are unlocked. I put the dog in there to keep him away from the body.’
Chris’s ears pricked up at the mention of a Range Rover. ‘Let’s ask SOCO to give it a look.’
‘Yeah, good thinking, Chris. Then get onto the brewery and see if you can find out where Mrs Gilmartin is. If he’s been here all night, why hasn’t she reported him missing?’
‘Why indeed.’
The pathologist pulled up in his van, followed a few minutes later by the SOCO team who began setting up their cordon. Clare walked back out onto the road. The house and garden sat on a gentle curve so a car could have been waiting just round the bend and been invisible to the victim. The similarity to Andy Robb’s murder couldn’t be ignored. She approached the pathologist.
‘Morning, Neil. Thanks for coming out so quickly.’
Neil Grant was someone who smiled easily, somehow at odds with the nature of his job. He stopped short of the cordon to don a white suit and overshoes, and affected a groan. ‘I’m getting too old for this, Clare,’ he said.
‘Rubbish! You’re in your prime.’
‘Five years to retirement. Not that I’m counting.’
‘You’ll never retire,’ she told him. ‘You love it.’
Neil smiled. ‘Aye, maybe.’ He pulled on a pair of forensic gloves then turned to look at the body. ‘So, another hit-and-run, is it? Two in a couple of days. Must be a record for St Andrews.’
‘Yeah, it’s not great. Look, I know you just got here, but I’m keen to know if there’s any chance the victim could have been hit out there on the road.’
Neil slipped under the tape and looked all round the body. ‘Doubtful,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure he was hit here. Look how he’s been pushed down into the gravel. The ground’s pretty dry but he’s sunk down a good few inches. The weight of the vehicle has pushed the body down. I’ll be surprised if there isn’t bruising from the gravel right up the legs and back.’
‘So it could be deliberate, then? Someone pulled off the road and ran him down?’
Neil Grant looked down the drive. ‘I’d guess he was walking out to the road when he saw the car approaching and he backtracked. Maybe thought he had a visitor and walked back into the drive to make way for the car.’ Neil stopped for a minute, looked down at the body then back at the drive. ‘Then he realises the car’s out of control. He needs to get out of the way and quickly. He starts to run and then – see how he’s face-up, but his shoulder’s turned? I’d guess he was running up the drive and he turned back to look just as it struck him. The car’s caught him and spun him round.’
It was a chilling thought. Being chased up his drive by a car, possibly in darkness. A fleeting picture of the man’s last seconds passed through her mind, but she set this aside. There was work to be done. Neil was going through the dead man’s pockets. He retrieved a set of keys which he dropped into a clear evidence bag then handed to Clare.
‘House keys, probably; a bit bent but you might still get in. Phone’s wrecked, though. Hold on…’ Neil retrieved something carefully from a top pocket in the shirt. ‘Here we are.’ He showed Clare a piece of card with the figure four written on. ‘Same as the other one. You appear to have a joker on your hands.’
Clare glanced at Chris, an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘I don’t like this, Chris. I don’t like it one bit.’ She took the card carefully from Neil and put it into a clear evidence bag.
‘Better get both cards fingerprinted,’ Chris said, ‘although I’ll be surprised if our driver didn’t wear gloves.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so. The thing is, if both cards show the same prints, and these two men were murdered by the same person…’
‘What’s the connection?’
‘Exactly. What would a philandering taxi driver like Andy Robb have to do with a wealthy brewery owner?’
Clare headed up the drive to the house with the keys Neil had found. She let the dog, an English Bull Terrier, out of the garage. A metal disc dangled from his tartan collar: Benjy.
‘Come on, Benjy,’ she said, pulling his lead gently.
He trotted after her, stopping only to cock his leg on a lavender bush. A path from the garage led to a side door with a Yale lock. Her hands still gloved, Clare tried one of the Yale keys on the keyring. The door opened to a large, bright kitchen. She scanned the room and saw the dog’s bowls on the floor. Benjy sniffed at them, but
both were empty. He looked up at Clare, expectantly. Clare picked up one of the bowls and filled it with water. As Benjy drank she opened cupboards until she found a bag of dry dog food. She poured some into the other bowl. Benjy fell on it and Clare took the opportunity to look round the kitchen. She noticed a wall planner pinned up next to the fridge. The word Amsterdam was written in red across five days, from the seventeenth to the twenty-first.
‘Looks like the wife is away,’ she said to Chris when he joined her in the kitchen.
‘So, they use a red pen for her and blue for him?’ Chris said, rubbing the dog’s head.
Clare nodded. ‘Think so. Unless he was into Pilates and yoga. Can you get onto Edinburgh airport please, Chris? Find out if they fly to Amsterdam on a Friday. If not Edinburgh, try Glasgow. See if she went.’
‘Will do.’
The dog was sitting at their feet now, having emptied his food bowl. ‘Not quite sure what we do with you,’ Clare said, picking up the end of his lead. ‘I’m guessing our victim was out giving the dog a last walk when he was run over.’
‘No neighbours nearby. Want me to take him back to the station?’
‘If you could. And we’ll need some bodies out here to check round the house in case it was an aggravated burglary, although it looks unlikely. We’ll also need to get in touch with Mrs Gilmartin and let her know the sad news. Maybe the brewery staff can help. Can you get onto that too, please?’
‘Yeah, sure. We are assuming she isn’t the one who ran him over?’
Clare’s expression hardened. ‘Nothing ruled in or out at this stage.’
Outside, SOCO were examining the area around the body for tyre tracks, although the ground was drier than on Saturday night.
‘Might get something off his trousers,’ one of them told Clare.
‘Does it look like the same tread? Land Rover or Range Rover?’
‘Impossible to say out here. We’ll have a better idea in the lab where we can measure it properly. But it does look to be quite a wide tyre.’
‘There’s a Range Rover in the garage.’
‘We’ll check it out before we go,’ the SOCO man said.
Clare stood. The two murders were so similar and so close together, there must be a connection. But what? What could the two victims possibly have in common? If there was a link, it would mean she was only looking for one killer but what on earth would the motive be? And there was something about those numbered cards that worried her. First a card with the number five and now an identical card with the number four. Could it be some kind of countdown? What if this was a serial killer? And one that was too clever for them all? Her mouth suddenly was dry and she licked her lips. Who was doing this – and why?
From somewhere, a dim recollection – a film or a book maybe – You can expect three more of these.
Chapter 7
When Clare returned to the station, she found that Benjy the Bull Terrier was officially a hit. He was sitting atop the broad front counter being fed titbits and thoroughly admired by staff and callers, including a reporter from the Fife Newsday website who had somehow heard about Bruce Gilmartin’s death.
‘Any news on what happened to Mr Gilmartin? Prominent businessman and all that. I’m sure our readers will be keen to know.’
Clare smiled sweetly and suggested he contact the press office, giving him the number. He hung about on the pretext of entertaining the dog until Sara gently but firmly led him to the door.
‘I’ll call back in a wee while,’ he said, as Sara closed the door behind him. It was opened again seconds later by a tall man in a dark grey suit and what looked like an old school tie.
‘DCI Alastair Gibson,’ he announced. ‘Inspector Mackay?’
Clare, who had been poring over a printout of Andy Robb’s phone contacts, whirled round on hearing her name. She moved forward to meet the visitor. ‘I’m Clare Mackay. I take it you’re our SIO, sir?’
He didn’t immediately respond but raised a single eyebrow. ‘Clare Mackay, did you say?’
Clare met his gaze steadily. Whatever he had heard about her, she was determined not to be intimidated, particularly by someone whose bearing was clearly designed to do just that. ‘Yes, sir.’
He looked at her, unsmiling. ‘Hmm – your office please, Inspector?’
Clare led him through the security door to the back of the station and into her office. She held the door open and was dismayed to find him stride past her and plant himself in her chair. She was thankful, at least, that they hadn’t sent Tony McAvettie. Clare took a seat opposite and waited.
DCI Gibson pressed his hands together and scrutinised Clare. After a few moments he said, ‘So I need to know, Inspector, if you’re fit for this kind of duty. After that incident in Glasgow. The Ritchie lad – and the gun.’
Below the desk, Clare’s hands found the sides of her chair and she gripped them tightly. Was she never going to stop having this same conversation? ‘Of course, sir,’ she said, her tone as pleasant as she could manage. ‘I’ve been here for two months now.’ She avoided his eyes and said, ‘Had a few investigations under my belt since Glasgow.’ This wasn’t strictly true but she wasn’t having this jumped up suit from some posh station in Edinburgh thinking she wasn’t up to the job.
‘You sure? I can easily bring in another inspector for this one. Let you concentrate on the routine stuff. I’m sure we could find plenty for you to do.’
Clare became acutely aware of the pulse beating in her temple. She wondered if the DCI could see it. She felt her cheeks redden and she swallowed a couple of times before finding her voice. ‘Thank you, sir, but this is my patch and my investigation.’
He looked at her intently. ‘If you say so, Inspector. Now, bring me up to speed, please. What’s been happening?’
Clare moved her chair closer to the desk, feeling rather like a visitor in her own office. ‘We’ve had two sudden deaths, both hit-and-runs, both look deliberate. One on Saturday night, one discovered this morning, probably happened on Sunday night.’
‘Connection?’
‘There is a link, sir, but I can’t make sense of it.’
‘Explain, please.’
Clare told him about the two numbered cards found on the bodies. ‘The first was a five and the second one a four. Forensics have them but from what I could see it looks like the same card, same ink.’
‘And you’ve no idea what it means?’
‘Not yet, sir. But we’ve yet to interview the family of the second one. Employees too. He owns a brewing company near Cupar.’
DCI Gibson sat forward in his chair. ‘Not Bruce Gilmartin?’
‘Did you know him?’
He winced at her use of the past tense. ‘I certainly did. We were at school together. Great chap. I – I can’t believe it. Has anyone told Jennifer?’
‘Jennifer?’
‘Mrs Gilmartin. Surely you’ve told her?’
‘We can’t get in touch with her. It looks like she’s on a short break in Amsterdam. Our DS is checking with Edinburgh airport. We’ll find her, but it’ll take time.’
DCI Gibson took out his mobile phone. ‘I have her number. I’ll give her a call.’ He began navigating through his contacts to find it.
Clare frowned. They didn’t even know if she was in Amsterdam. Didn’t have enough information to rule her out.
She cleared her throat. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if the news came from an official police source?’
He glared at her. ‘Are you suggesting, Inspector, that I am not an official police source?’
‘No sir, only that she might react differently to you, being a friend. And – well – we don’t know yet that she is in Amsterdam. She could even be a suspect.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Inspector. I’ve known Jennifer for twenty years.’
‘I’m just saying I would like to judge her reaction. Hear how she takes the news. Just to satisfy myself.’
‘I think you can safely leave that to me, Inspector
. I have done this once or twice, you know.’
She made one last effort. ‘Can I ask you to put it on speakerphone then, sir, so I can at least hear her voice?’
‘Nope.’
He was about to tell her to go when the call was answered. ‘Ah, Jennifer, how are you? Al Gibson. Good to hear from you… yes, I can hear that. You’re where? Ah yes. Lovely city…’
Clare strained to hear but there was music in the background and it was hard to make out what Jennifer Gilmartin was saying. The DCI swivelled the chair round, turning his back on Clare.
‘I’m afraid it’s official police business,’ he went on. ‘Yes, I fear I have some bad news. It’s Bruce. He’s met with an accident… No, I’m so sorry, Jen. Bruce died last night.’
There was a pause, then the DCI took up the conversation again. ‘When are you flying back?’
Another pause.
‘To be honest, Jen, it’s probably just as well leaving it until tomorrow now. I’ll send a car to meet you at Edinburgh if you let me know the time. I know, it must be such a shock. Yes… Post-mortem… I can’t say too much at this stage, but it seems to be a road traffic accident.’
Clare thought that was stretching the truth a little, but she understood his reticence.
‘Okay, Jen. Take care now. See you tomorrow.’
He terminated the call and scowled at Clare. She wasn’t quite sure why, but her place seemed to be firmly in the wrong.
‘How did she take it?’ she asked.
‘She’s devastated of course. Fortunately, she’s out there on a girls’ weekend so at least she has her friends with her. Flying back tomorrow afternoon. Send someone to the airport to meet her.’
Clare bit her lip. They weren’t exactly drowning in manpower. On the other hand, if she sent someone astute like Jim, he could gauge her mood. See if she really was a grieving widow. ‘No problem. I’ve a uniformed sergeant who’s good at that sort of thing.’
‘I want everything thrown at this, Clare. He’s a high-profile businessman and he was a bloody good friend.’
‘Of course. Do they have children?’
The DCI shook his head. ‘Just the two of them. She’ll be on her own now.’ He lapsed into silence for a moment then recovered himself. ‘What about the other victim?’
See Them Run Page 6
