See Them Run

by See Them Run (retail) (epub)

  Edward Collinson looked at his solicitor. The solicitor raised an eyebrow at Clare who put her hand out, indicating the seat Collinson had just vacated. He took the hint and sat down again.

  Clare went on. ‘Can you please tell us what you know about these activities?’

  The solicitor spoke for his client. ‘Mr Collinson has no knowledge of any such alleged offences and denies any involvement absolutely.’

  ‘Perhaps Mr Collinson could speak for himself?’

  The solicitor looked at Edward Collinson who sighed heavily. ‘As my legal representative has already said, I cannot help you, officers. I know nothing of any events of this nature which may have taken place in my house during my frequent absences. I deny any wrongdoing absolutely. And I may say I am utterly shocked at having my house taken over by armed police with neither my knowledge nor my consent.’

  Clare was not put off by this. ‘Do you know a man by the name of Andrew Robb? He was a driver for Swilcan Taxis.’

  He smiled. ‘Not as far as I am aware. I do, however, take taxis from time to time so I may have met him without knowing it.’

  ‘Bruce Gilmartin?’

  ‘The brewery chap? I read about his death. Hmm… possibly at charity functions? I like to do my bit.’

  ‘Nat Dryden?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Professor Bertram Harris?’

  ‘I think not.’

  Clare looked steadily at him but he returned her gaze. ‘Perhaps you recognise this photograph?’ She pushed the photograph of the wood panelling with the peapod carving across the table. He removed a pair of reading glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on.

  He peered at the photo. ‘It’s a rather beautiful piece of wood carving.’

  ‘From Mortaine Castle.’

  ‘I can’t say. It’s possible but then there are other examples of this type of work found in properties of a similar age. It’s not unique by any standards.’

  ‘But unusual?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  She pushed another three photos across the table. ‘Are these photographs of furnishings in Mortaine Castle?’

  He looked at them and smiled again, removing his glasses. ‘They could be from any country house, Inspector.’

  ‘How many people have keys to your property?’

  He sat back and clasped his hands together, making a pretence of thinking about this. ‘Let’s see, now: myself of course, then there is the woman who comes in twice a week, the letting agent who handles lets when I’m away from home… I think that’s all.’

  The solicitor leaned forward. ‘So you see, Inspector, my client’s trusting nature means his home could have been used for other purposes, without his knowledge or permission. I really think you have little on which to hold him any further.’

  Outside the room, DCI Gibson said, ‘He’s right, you know, Inspector. We don’t have anything concrete.’

  ‘It’s possible Nat Dryden will be well enough to give a statement. But I’d have to make sure he has a solicitor present. Leave it with me, sir. I’ll find something on the weasely bastard if it kills me.’

  * * *

  The DCI was happy for Clare and Chris to interview Fergus and they made their way to the interview room where he was waiting. Fergus was subdued, mostly staring down at the table in front of him. He had declined a solicitor. Clare cautioned him and he acknowledged the caution. She started the recording and, after a long continuous beep, the interview began.

  ‘Fergus,’ she said, ‘you will shortly be charged with the murders of Bruce Gilmartin and Professor Bertram Harris, and with conspiracy to murder Edward Collinson. You will also be charged as a co-conspirator in the murder of Andy Robb and the attempted murder of Nat Dryden; finally you will be charged with abduction and with the attempted murder of a police officer last night. But before we proceed with charges, I would like to ask about your accomplice. Because you did have an accomplice, didn’t you, Fergus?’

  He continued staring at the table.

  ‘We fully expect to find your DNA and fingerprints on the numbered cards found at the murder scene. It’s highly likely you’ll be convicted, even if you deny the charges. But someone else must have carried out at least two of the attacks; and we need to bring that person to justice.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘Last night, in the kitchen at Mortaine Castle,’ Clare went on, ‘you stated she said it hadn’t gone according to plan. Who did you mean? Was that your accomplice? A woman friend? Someone from Garthley House, perhaps?’

  His eyes flicked a glance at her then away again. Was that the way in, Clare wondered? She decided to carry on.

  ‘Okay, Fergus. I’ll tell you what I think and maybe you can agree if I’m right.’ She glanced at him and he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. She went on.

  ‘Fergus, I think you were the victim of abuse, when you were living at Garthley House. I think you were abused by people you should have been able to trust. And experiences like that, well, they never leave you, do they?’

  Clare paused but Fergus’s head was still bent.

  ‘I think that you’re pretty good with computers, and that you were able to find people online who were also abusers. Perhaps not the men who abused you but abusers all the same. I believe you wanted to stop the abuse and to stop the men, and that’s why you embarked on these killings. Fergus,’ Clare softened her tone, ‘if I’m right then you are as much a victim as the men you killed.’

  Fergus’s face was growing red and he drew a hand across his eyes. Clare pushed a box of tissues across the desk but he ignored this.

  Clare went on. ‘I can’t do much about the charges that will be preferred. We have enough evidence for a conviction; but we would like your help to bring the two men who remain alive to justice. There are specialist crime officers in the station who would like to interview you in connection with that. And, while I can’t promise anything, if you help us with this, I will make sure it’s mentioned in court.’

  He raised his gaze to meet Clare’s. For a moment, she was transported back to the kitchen of Mortaine Castle the previous night and she shivered involuntarily.

  ‘They give you stuff,’ he said suddenly, his voice gruff. ‘Fags, chocolate, vodka. Stuff to keep you sweet. But they’d do it anyway, even if you dinnae take the stuff so you’re as well taking it. The older lads – the ones who’d been there a while – they told us what to expect, like. What they’d do – what we had to do.’ He cleared his throat and paused.

  Clare rose from the table and went to the water cooler, pouring him a cup of water. He drank from this, pushed his fringe back over his head, then went on.

  ‘Couldnae take it in at first. What the lads said they’d do. But they said you get used to it. After the first couple of times. Doesnae hurt after a while.’ He raised his eyes. Clare noticed for the first time that they weren’t dark at all. They were a piercing blue. It was his thick lashes, hooded by the fringe that made them seem dark. She pictured him as a dark-haired, blue-eyed boy and thought it was no wonder the abusers had picked him. He must have been so appealing and she felt sick, imagining what he had endured.

  ‘They were right,’ he said, ‘sort of. It was okay. Got used to it. Knew what they wanted, even learned how to get them to slip me a few extra quid. But then they got wise to that, the folk at the home. Took it off me.’

  Clare glanced at Chris and he took the cue.

  ‘Was there no one you could tell?’

  Fergus shook his head. ‘They warned us about that, the older lads. Tell, and you get beaten. One lad had his ribs broken.’ He glanced up at Chris. ‘They told us it was a privilege. That we were special for being chosen.’ He took another drink then went on. Now he had started, he seemed almost relieved to talk. ‘I said to one of them that I liked computers. Next week we got a new laptop and every few weeks they’d give us games and that.’

  ‘You had no family?’ Chris asked.

  Fergus shook his head.
‘Never kent ma dad. Then ma mum died. Some sort of cancer. They never told me. Next thing, they’re taking me off to this place. Garthley. Never heard of it and suddenly it was ma home.’

  Clare said, ‘Your employer, Fergus…’

  ‘Sam?’ He seemed surprised. ‘What about him?’

  ‘When we spoke to him he mentioned you had an aunt – somewhere in St Andrews. Could you not…’

  ‘No!’

  They were surprised by his sharp tone.

  ‘No?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. She wasn’t a real aunty. Friend of ma gran’s. One of those family friends. Didnae have anyone herself.’

  ‘Could she not have taken you in?’

  ‘Naw. Too old and not a blood relative. She came to see me a few times. For a visit, like.’

  ‘And you couldn’t tell her – what was happening?’

  He shrugged. ‘No point. They wouldnae believe me; wouldnae let her take me home with her and I’ve have got a walloping for speaking out. She was nice, though. Still see her now and then.’

  Clare wondered at a system that wouldn’t allow a kind elderly lady to look after a young lad she knew, preferring to put him in a home where he was at the mercy of those in charge. She wondered if things had improved since Fergus’s time.

  Cutting across her thoughts, Chris asked, ‘How long did it carry on for, Fergus?’

  He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Pretty much all the time I was there. A good few years. Thing is,’ he said, meeting their eyes, ‘after a while, you forget. Forget what’s wrong and what’s right. It’s just what you do. And then suddenly, you’re sixteen and you’re out in the world. And it stops. They only want the young ones anyway. All those lads I left behind.’ He looked at them. ‘Day I left, there was a young lad brought in. Wee red-head. Cute wee thing. I wanted to tell him, but what would be the point? I couldnae have saved him.’

  Clare closed her eyes for a moment. It was almost more than she could bear, the thought of all these young boys. Girls too, probably. Then she gave herself a shake.

  ‘What happened when you left the home, Fergus?’

  ‘I walked around. Walked anywhere and everywhere. You can’t imagine the feeling of freedom, knowing I didnae have to go back. They gave me a few quid to get started and the address of a hostel. But I didnae fancy that. Had enough of being in institutions. So I walked to the edge of town and I came to a farm. Offered to work, for ma keep, like. Farmer’s wife was good to me. Paid me a bit and gave me a caravan to sleep in. First time I’d ever had somewhere that was mine. Oh, it was draughty, leaked at one end, but it was mine.’ He paused then shook his head. ‘You never lose the fear of someone coming into your bed at night. I used to barricade the door. Still put a chair under ma bedroom door handle at the cottage.’ He took another drink of water, draining the cup and sat back, his story told.

  ‘Do you know what happened to the men who abused you, Fergus?’ Chris asked.

  Fergus flicked a glance at Chris then away again. ‘Naw. To be honest, I never knew who they were. Some of them seemed old to me. Probably dead now.’

  Clare said, ‘Fergus?’ and waited until he met her eye. ‘You know we have to question you now about criminal charges. I can’t stop that happening. But what I can do is to ask for you to be seen by a psychologist. They can recommend help – treatment. To help you deal with what’s happened.’

  Fergus simply shrugged. Clare said, ‘I think we’ll take a short break just now, Fergus. Get us all a coffee. And when we come back I’d like to ask you about the attacks on the four men.’

  They left the room, closing the door behind them. Clare exhaled and leaned against the wall. ‘Jesus, Chris. How do Vice do this, day in, day out?’

  He shook his head. ‘Poor bastard. No wonder he’s gone off the rails.’

  DCI Gibson approached. ‘How’s it going?’

  Clare sighed. ‘Pretty awful, sir, to be honest. He’s just taken us through the abuse he suffered as a kid.’

  DCI Gibson nodded. ‘Doesn’t change what we have to do, though. We still need to question him about the attacks.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Chris, could you do three coffees then we’ll carry on. Sooner we get it done, the better.’

  ‘Remember we still have Collinson in the other room,’ the DCI reminded her. ‘You need to get up to Ninewells to see if Dryden will implicate him.’

  ‘Okay, sir. Soon as Chris does the coffees we’ll resume questioning Fergus.’

  When they re-entered the room, Clare thought Fergus looked different. Lighter. As if unburdening himself had somehow lifted years of tension from his body.

  ‘Fergus,’ she began, ‘I would remind you that you’re still under caution. I must also tell you that you are likely to be convicted of the attempted murder of a police officer at Mortaine Castle last night, an offence which carries a custodial sentence.’

  Fergus nodded. ‘Aye, I ken that.’

  ‘So, with that knowledge,’ Clare went on, ‘would you tell us please about the attacks with your vehicle? Any co-operation you give will be taken into account when you are sentenced.’

  He looked at Clare, as though weighing his options. Then, finally, he said, ‘Aye okay. I’ll tell you.’ He took a couple of breaths in and out then began. ‘I did the brewery lad and that professor over in Dairsie. I hit them both with my Land Rover. Hit them and killed them.’

  Clare looked back at him. ‘Just to be clear, you are confessing to killing Bruce Gilmartin and Bertram Harris.’

  Fergus nodded.

  ‘For the tape please?’

  He cleared his throat then said. ‘Aye, that’s right. I killed them both.’

  Clare glanced at Chris. They had done it. They had him in the station and he had confessed. To two of the killings at least.

  Chris took over. ‘Fergus, can we ask you now about the other two attacks? Andy Robb was killed while you were playing accordion at his sister’s wedding. And Nat Dryden was almost killed while you were playing at a rugby club ceilidh in Kirkcaldy. So who was responsible for these killings?’

  The shutters came down again. Fergus allowed his fringe to fall over his eyes and he sat back, folding his arms. ‘No comment.’

  ‘But surely you must know?’ Chris went on. ‘We know it was your vehicle and we also have reason to believe the driver was a woman.’

  Fergus closed his eyes but said nothing. Clare and Chris made a few more attempts to draw him back into the conversation but he sat mutely. Finally, Clare said, ‘All right, Fergus. We’ll leave the other two attacks for now. But there is something else you could do for us.’

  His eyes widened a little but he said nothing.

  ‘Fergus, we believe you hacked into at least one of the victims’ laptops. Nat Dryden. Is that correct?’

  Fergus laughed. ‘Muppet. He didnae even have basic security software. A twelve-year-old could’ve done it.’

  ‘And that led you to a site on the dark web?’

  ‘Yeah. That and plenty of others.’

  Clare swallowed. Had he just said plenty of others?

  ‘We have colleagues from the specialist crime division in the station today. They specialise in breaking paedophile rings. Fergus – would you help them? Help them find any others who are out there?’

  ‘Ma laptop. I’ll need ma laptop,’ he said.

  Clare rose from her seat. ‘I’ll arrange for that,’ she said. ‘And I’m terminating this interview now.’

  Chris leaned forward. ‘Inspector, before you do, I’d like to ask Fergus one more question.’

  Clare sat down again and looked at Chris. He glanced at her, then said, ‘Fergus, I have to ask, we had men all round the grounds of Mortaine Castle last night and we searched the house. How did you get into the kitchen?’

  A ghost of a smile crept across his face. ‘I got you there, didn’t I?’

  Chris nodded. ‘You did. So?’

  ‘The Jag. I was in the Jag. Your lads checked the garage. I heard them open the door
s, had a quick look round but they didnae think of opening up the car boot. Soon as they’d gone I was out and up the back stairs to the passage behind the kitchen. Kids’ play.’

  Chris sat back in his seat. He had to hand it to Fergus. He’d worked it all out.

  Clare rose again. ‘I’m terminating this interview now, Fergus. I’ll let you speak to my colleagues then we will charge you and you will be remanded in custody. Maybe you should think about that solicitor now.’

  Out in the main office, Clare telephoned Tech Support and asked them to find a local officer to bring Fergus’s laptop up to St Andrews without delay. Then she called the specialist crime officers into the DCI’s office to update them all together.

  ‘Fergus Bain has agreed to talk to the Vice cops. But he wants his laptop, lads. So you’ll have to wait for that to arrive. Tech Support are sending a cop up with it now.’

  ‘What about the murders?’ the DCI asked.

  ‘He’s coughed to Bruce Gilmartin and Professor Harris. But he won’t say anything about the other two or who his accomplice is.’

  ‘Have you charged him?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ll wait to see what else he comes up with once he has his laptop. But I’ll be charging him with two murders and the attempted murder at Mortaine last night. We’ll take his prints and hopefully match them to a couple of the white cards. But it looks as if he’s staying quiet about his accomplice.’

  ‘What about the home? Garthley House,’ the DCI suggested. ‘Could it be someone from back then?’

  ‘Yes, good point, sir, but it might be a needle in a haystack, given the number of kids who pass through a place like that.’

  ‘Worth looking into, though, Inspector. Given how few friends he seems to have it’s a strong possibility.’

  ‘I’ll get some of the cops onto it, sir.’

  They began to file out of Clare’s office and the DCI called Clare back. When the Vice cops had left, he said, ‘How are you today anyway, Inspector?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, sir.’