Into the Dark

by Stuart Johnstone

  ‘That’s the manse, where the priest lives … lived,’ said Duncan.

  ‘I know what a manse is,’ Alyson said, then opened her eyes to look at it. It was about twenty metres from the rear door of the church. A grey stone building, nearly as impressive as the church itself.

  ‘Right. Well, we’ll move on to there after we deal with the locus, though our witness also cleaned inside. Here, you’re on camera duty.’ Duncan had reached into a box and handed Alyson a small video camera. It seemed to her that Edinburgh had a better budget for gadgets than the west. It was a neat little thing. ‘You know how to work it?’

  ‘I’ll figure it out. They’re all pretty much the same,’ she said and powered it up.

  Duncan cleared his throat, bringing an end to the various little conversations amongst those present. ‘All right everyone, suit up please, including footwear covers, thanks. This outdoor area has already been examined and photographed, but still, try not to disturb anything. DC Kane and I will do an initial sweep and recording. Thereafter we will begin collecting evidence as discussed.’

  Alyson opened her pack and stepped into her suit. She applied her gloves, shoe protectors and mask before setting up the camera. With a nod from Duncan she drew a long breath, released it and hit record. Another young, uniformed officer guarded the rear door to the church. She insisted on noting their details before stepping aside. Duncan drew back the door and Alyson raised the camera before entering.

  Duncan motioned for Alyson to move to the left and into a small kitchen area. She drew the camera across the surfaces and into the sink, though it all seemed pretty sterile. The smell of disinfectant was strong, even through the mask. She aimed the lens at the floor and around the edge of the a window. Duncan then guided Alyson by the shoulders back into the main area. A long aisle lay in front with a thin, red piece of carpet drawing the eye down to the end where a set of white steps rose up to the altar area. At the foot of the steps, something lay very still. She tried not to look at it, at least not while they made their way down the aisle, keeping to the left of the carpet as they’d discussed at the meeting. Alyson trained the camera at the rows of pews, sweeping left and right; there was a soft swooshing from her paper suit as her elbows brushed her sides, otherwise there was no sound. There was a very churchy smell about the place, nothing unpleasant, as she’d experienced in other crime scenes.

  Duncan gave her a tap on the shoulder and pointed to the top of a pew. She drew the camera down and allowed the lens to focus on what he’d found. Three arcs of smeared blood. Duncan motioned to the next pew with similar marks, this time a little heavier and then again and again. Five pews in a row where bloody fingers had been drawn across the top, as if the killer had used them to clean his hands. DCI Templeton was right, it was a playground of evidence.

  And there was the victim, dressed in white and green priest’s robes. He lay face down, diagonally across the floor, his feet pointing at the pews, one outstretched arm reaching towards the steps, as if they might be his rescue. A thick and sickening puddle of crimson pooled around the body from above the head to his lower chest. Alyson could feel her pulse quickening as she bent closer. She started at the feet, at his black shoes, one of which was only just clinging to the foot at the toes. She worked her way up the back of his robe, silver Celtic embroidery around the deep green stripe up the back. Beyond the waist, blood had soaked into the cloth and had been working its way up his flanks. On his outstretched arm, the left one, was a single stab wound, with a circle of blood around the hole at his shoulder. Though this was not what had killed him. You didn’t need to be a pathologist or even a lowly DC to know why this man had stopped breathing. Alyson’s hand shook a little as she moved the camera to the man’s head.

  Were it not for the rest of the body, it might have been hard to say exactly what you were looking at. She focused on the view panel of the camera and tried to imagine she was only watching television. The man’s silver hair was stained pink. To each side of his head was just a pulp of flesh.

  ‘Jesus,’ she said. It came out involuntarily. Unprofessional, and in this place, wholly inappropriate. She rotated around the head, the face buried into the floor. Each side was the same; stab wounds, but so many stab wounds in and around each ear that the skin hung from the sides of the skull in tatters.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Your Place Or Dad’s?

  ‘Ten quid? Really? I remember when it was a fiver, and that wasn’t too long ago,’ I said and fished the note from my wallet before stuffing it into the glass Vikram was holding.

  ‘There’s only five of us on the team, four if you consider Cathy’s going to be out with her back for the foreseeable; but don’t worry, the tradition is to put it all into the kitty anyway. You are coming tonight? It’s Morgan’s birthday,’ said Vikram.

  ‘Ah, I don’t know. I never was one for work nights out,’ I said, and it wasn’t a lie. I was never that interested, but the fuller truth was that for a long time I was despised on the shift and so invites like this one never came my way.

  ‘Oh, come on, Sarge. The team’s too small for no-shows. If you don’t come, you’ll be leaving me with the two youngsters and Vik here’ll piss off home to his bairns before midnight,’ said Mandy.

  Mandy was in her early forties, divorced and pushing for promotion. She had a kid herself, but was pretty private about it. Vikram on the other hand, despite only having just turned thirty, had four and never missed an opportunity to push his phone into your face to show you one of them with the latest smile or loss of balance, prompting you to feign interest and amusement.

  ‘All right, fine, but I may well be pissing off around the same time as Vikram here.’

  Vikram hid the glass of cash as Morgan came into my office, his head buried in his probationer progress folder.

  ‘OK, grab a seat,’ I said and propped myself on the edge of my desk to face the three of them. ‘As you know, a murder inquiry is under way in Leith. While it doesn’t affect us directly, I think we can anticipate some resource back-filling as things progress. It’s likely the shifts will be called upon to protect the locus and such and then we’ll likely be required to tidy up more calls. This is just fair warning. Meantime, I need to do a monthly report to the inspector, so as much as I hate to have to do this, we need to play Justify-My-Existence.’

  There was a groan from Mandy and Vikram. Morgan simply sat there looking confused. I grabbed a pad of paper from the desk. ‘So, in the last month, what can you give me? Anything at all.’ I looked to Cathy first, though as she worked only with Vikram, she was talking for both of them.

  ‘To be honest, Sarge, we’ve mainly been doing boring follow up for the shift. There’s not an awful lot to report.’

  ‘How about that spate of vandalisms you’ve all been doing door to door for, did we get anyone for that?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. Someone will just write it off before long,’ said Vikram.

  I dropped the pad and pen onto my desk. ‘Right, screw this. Everyone at the back door,’ I pulled on my armour and walked to the front desk, where I grabbed keys for the cell van, something I would normally have to book out in advance, but I was hoping this wouldn’t take long. I pulled the van, a modified Transit, up to the back door. Now the other two had the same confused look as Morgan. I rolled down the window and said, ‘Mandy, Vikram, in the front with me. Morgan, sorry mate, but you’re in the back.’

  ‘What back? There is no back. Just the …’ It dawned on him, and to his credit he didn’t complain, as Vikram opened the door to the cell with a smile and let the lad climb in before slamming the door.

  ‘Are you going to tell us what we’re doing here, Sarge?’ said Mandy as I slowed up a little after tearing into the housing schemes of Muirhouse. Morgan had rolled around in the back for a while, but had apparently figured out how to brace himself since the thudding had stopped.

  ‘I will, but right now just keep your eyes peeled for any little shits you see on bi
kes.’

  It was four in the afternoon, we were due to finish at six and since it was Morgan’s birthday, I didn’t want them staying on late. It would risk messing up this night out I was dreading, which meant if this thing was going to happen, it would have to happen soon.

  ‘There,’ said Vikram, pointing out to the left.

  I slowed the van to a crawl and approached the group. Two sat on bikes, three or four others on a wall outside an off-licence grocery store, most likely trying to convince passers-by to assist them in a spot of underage drinking. Like a pack of spooked animals, they scattered as we were spotted.

  ‘There he is,’ I said and put my foot down. They went in all directions, but I stayed on the little shit on the red bike. He was quick, but pedals are no match for an internal combustion engine. He cut left across a field and I couldn’t follow. I drove to the next junction and pulled into a series of tight streets. Again, I slowed. I wound down the windows. I pulled up to an intersection of adjoining residential roads and turned off the engine.

  ‘Vikram,’ I whispered. ‘Get ready.’

  He took off his seat belt just in time, as the sound of a bike chain grew rapidly. The red bike flew out in front of us. The rider clocked us and almost lost it. He skidded to a halt just as Vikram’s feet hit the tarmac. The boy struggled to get his feet connected to the pedals and was just about getting the bike back up to speed when Vikram caught up to him.

  ‘Damn, he’s fast,’ said Mandy.

  I drove the short distance to our capture and jumped out to meet him.

  ‘Good evening, Mikey,’ I said. Vikram had the lad by the shoulder, his legs were still either side of the bike frame, but he was going nowhere.

  ‘I’ve no done nothin’,’ Mikey Denholm said. He looked from me to Vikram and Mandy.

  ‘That right? Then why are you running, Mikey?’ I said. I took his shoulder from Vikram and urged him off the bike.

  ‘Everyone was running, so I just … I’ve no done nothin’.’

  ‘That’s not what I’ve been hearing. I hear that you’ve been putting bricks through car windows, lots of them. I think I’ve got you for seven, no – eight, in the past few weeks.’ I walked him to the van, pushing him firmly, but not too firmly, against the rear doors. His white tracksuit squirmed under my grip. I had no idea if he was involved in this spate of vandalisms, but it was worth digging around, and the little encounter I had with him and his pals had not slipped into memory by the sounds of what he said next. I just hit gold.

  ‘What? That’s no me. Why would I be throwin’ bricks through windaes?’

  ‘“That’s no me?” So you do know who’s been doing it?’ I said.

  Vikram brought the lad’s bike around and Mandy looked on with interest.

  Again, the twitchy little fella’s eyes darted around from face to face. ‘I don’t know who’s been doin’ it. ’N I wouldnae tell yous if I did.’

  ‘Ah, Mikey. That’s just about the worst answer you could have given, wee man. Listen, I’m sorry about what comes next. Well, not that sorry, obviously, but you’ve left me no choice. If you tell anyone about this, I’ll just deny it. Frankly, I think your mum’s more likely to believe me than you anyway. Get the door,’ I said to Mandy.

  She walked around us and I pulled Mikey off the van. She opened one door wide, then the other. Then she reached for the handle of the cage and pulled. Mikey jumped when he saw Morgan stooped over in there. Mikey tried to back away, but I held him firm.

  ‘Another one for you, Morgan. And listen, this time try not to leave any marks on the face will ye,’ I pulled Mikey towards the cage and he immediately went into a panic.

  ‘Noooo!’ he squealed.

  ‘Just get in,’ I said. ‘If you’re not gonna talk, then you’re goin’ in.’

  ‘Please … It wisnae me. It wisnae—’

  ‘Then who? You’ve got one chance or you’re goin’ in with him. I’m no fuckin’ around,’ I growled.

  ‘It’s … There’s a few, but I never. Look, I’m no a grass.’

  ‘It’s you or them, Mikey. Tell me.’ Now his eyes were locked firmly on Morgan. I knew I had him. ‘Your tall pal, the one I put on his arse the last time I saw you. Is he one of them?’

  ‘Please. I don’t want to say.’

  ‘Look Mikey. This is the situation. Either you give me a statement, or I hope you’re tougher than you look.’

  What he did look was utterly defeated. ‘You can’t make me.’

  ‘You’re right, I can’t. But look, this isn’t going to see a court room. I’ll take you home and get a statement and your pal gets charged, probably a fine. He needn’t know you told me, but I need a yes from you right now.’

  His eyes were still on Morgan, but he was nodding his head.

  ‘I don’t know who was more terrified, the kid or Morgan,’ Vikram laughed, and we all joined him, except Morgan.

  ‘I wasn’t scared, like. I just didn’t know what the hell was goin’ on. I honestly thought you did want me to beat him up.’

  We were conversing at a low yell, which might have been dangerous given the unlawful nature of the topic, but nobody was going to overhear a thing with the music blaring. Morgan had seemed really touched by the birthday card stuffed full of money, until Mandy snatched it from him and went to the bar. We stood at a table in the corner of the bar on Hannover Street. It had been a while since I’d been somewhere that might qualify as trendy, with only the occasional visit to the St Vincent or the Cumberland Bar near to the house since my move to the capital. I had noticed a few things: one, while I wasn’t the oldest in the bar at thirty-five, I was in the upper percentile, and two, that birthday present of Morgan’s wasn’t going to last long with the city centre prices here. It wasn’t so bad that I felt uncomfortable, however. There was some DJ opposite our table, mixing the music on a table smaller than ours and it wasn’t as terrible as I feared; a mix of dance and some soul classics interwoven with some skill. The interior was dark, but not night-club dark and although it seemed busy for a Thursday, we’d snatched a table without having to hover. All in all, not a bad choice of Mandy’s.

  ‘It was just a ploy. Sorry, I should have let you in on it, but honestly I was just making it up as I went along. You’re all OK with what happened?’

  The three of them were nodding.

  ‘Fuck aye. Seven vandalisms cleared up in an hour and a half? Who cares if you bent a few rules? That was impressive,’ said Mandy. I had a sudden sense that maybe she’d been reserving judgement about me, perhaps Vikram too, who stood holding his pint with a big grin on his face. Tonight I reckoned they’d decided I was all right after all. I didn’t know if stories of my past had reached them, or if they cared.

  ‘Just leaves getting round to Mikey’s pal’s house on Monday to charge him. I’ll take you along, Morgan, but I’m afraid the pleasure will be all mine,’ I said.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘By the way, did you get any response from that picture you circulated of our bald thug at the cashpoint?’

  ‘Just the one. Someone from St Leonard’s emailed me, suggesting I might look at some fella.’

  ‘Do you remember the name?’ I asked.

  Morgan sipped from his pint while he thought. He was drinking cider and the smell always made me gag. ‘Colin, something. Mc-something-or-other.’

  ‘McStay?’ offered Vikram.

  ‘Aye, maybe. Sounds right.’

  ‘Colander McStay?’ said Mandy, almost choking on her own drink.

  ‘Colander?’ I asked.

  ‘I never thought about it. It’s not a great picture,’ Mandy went on. ‘But I suppose it could be. Colin McStay’s a meathead from out Wester Hailes. Used to work doors and run around as part of a crew. Fancied himself as the biggest, baddest gorilla in the jungle. Right up until he picked a fight with someone better. A knife gets pulled and Colin ends up with enough holes in him to drain pasta. Just don’t call him “Colander” to his face.’

  ‘We
can check SID when we’re back on, see if there’s anything on him running a business,’ I said. The Scottish Intelligence Database was a handy tool, particularly if you planned on getting involved with someone you hadn’t yet encountered. It was an open intelligence gathering format that any officer could access and contribute to. If you were lucky, you could find everything from a new telephone number to someone’s most recent relationship, to give you a bit of an advantage.

  ‘Right, enough shop talk,’ said Mandy as three people approached us, removing their coats. ‘This is Lynsey and her husband Dave. I’ve known Lynsey since high school, and this is Marcella from my yoga class. I hope you don’t mind me inviting a few friends along, I thought a few more faces wouldn’t hurt.’

  She was right. If her friends hadn’t arrived to dilute the conversation, we’d have talked about work for an hour or so and then run out of topics. We sent Morgan to the bar as we said our hellos. I got talking to Dave for some time, learning about his job. He was a contractor for the Ministry of Defence. He operated drones for the army and the air force to shoot down. It was nice not to be the one talking about my job for a change. It was a strange fact that as a police officer, if you are invited to a dinner party, you tend to find that you’re the only one whose occupation is mentioned after your name as you go around the table.

  As predicted, Vikram, a little shaky on his heels, bid the everyone farewell just after eleven, leaving the rest of us to finish off Morgan’s birthday present.

  ‘Where is Morgan anyway?’ I asked Mandy as she placed an elbow on my shoulder for support. She was rocking a little herself.

  ‘I was gonna ask you that. I was thinking about setting him up with Marcella. Whaddya think?’

  Marcella was talking to Lynsey, sharing a laugh. She was late twenties or early thirties. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders either side of a pretty, round face.