‘Will do, though the kid is only eleven and it’s a nightmare trying to get his mum to stay out of the way.’
‘Do what you can. While you’re out there, you might as well bring back some files from the office. I think we’re here for the long term. And see if you can get my chair back here too, the furniture in this place is a fucking joke.’
‘Do you mind if we swing by my place after? Friend of mine is putting me up in Edinburgh while we’re stuck there and I’d like to grab some things,’ said Alyson.
‘Lucky you. Nice place?’
Duncan was doing just under sixty on the M8, which would have been infuriating if there had been urgency at all to their day. This interview was the one thing they had to do before heading back to Edinburgh and back to sifting through the same old data, so they decided to stretch it out a little.
‘It is, actually. Garden flat in the New Town. My friend’s uniform at Drylaw. We joined together.’
‘Handy. I’m jealous, this drive back west at the end of every day is getting dull. And yeah, no problem, we can get some lunch after we interview the kid and swing by yours.’
Duncan signalled off at the junction for Harthill and they were soon heading south and west, entering into Rickerburn before long. As they pulled onto the new road, Alyson looked out along into the distance. About a mile away stood the bings. The man-made red-ash hills where Callum was discovered. Rickerburn was a nothing of a place, built up when mining was still a thing, but when the times moved on, the people there had not. Grey, blocky terraced homes made up the majority of the residential buildings. An industrial park and a run-down high street were the only other features. They passed what Alyson knew was the old police station, long since sold off and now an end-of-terrace home. She wondered what it would have been like to be a small-town cop here, knowing every face. Policing had become so centralised now.
‘I knew the last cop to work out of there,’ said Duncan, as if reading her mind. ‘He finished up his career here, bit prematurely actually. The official story is that he got injured, but the truth is he got stopped for drink-driving. He used to go to the pub after every shift, that one there, actually.’ Duncan pointed a finger diagonally across the windscreen. A black-and-brown fronted pub stood at the end of the High Street. Mock Tudor panelling on the front, flaking and rotting. ‘The Flying Goose’ emblazoned above the door. ‘He’d get shitfaced and drive home. While he was the merry little town bobby, nobody cared, but then he goes and charges the local big man, some two-bit dealer, for possession of a sad amount of weed. I guess he was getting pressured to get his numbers up. Next thing you know a complaint is called in to the chief constable and he gets pulled over, miles over the limit.’
‘Silly bastard.’
‘Lucky bastard. I’m not sure it would happen now, in fact I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t, but he got pensioned off. Probably down to the fact that he’d been doing this thing in front of the entire town for the best part of a decade, the Force were probably scared that a news story was being readied. Nowadays I reckon Police Scotland would make an example of him. I think this is the street,’ said Duncan, pulling into an estate, a little newer than the grim houses at the other side of town, but not much.
‘It is. The house is just up here on the left.’ It was they who had interviewed the lad the last time, but that was many months ago now.
Duncan pulled up and turned to Alyson as she was opening her door. ‘I want you to do the interview this time.’
‘OK, why?’
‘I’d only be asking the same questions as last time. If there’s any chance of getting anything new out of him, a change of angle might be the only way. Go with your gut, see what you can do.’
‘All right,’ she said and thought, it’s you who’s seeing what I can do. As a young DC, everything was a test and everyone was watching, always.
The scowl on the woman’s face as she opened the door confirmed what Alyson already knew. This was going to be long afternoon.
‘Mrs Beattie, I’m Alyson Kane, we spoke on the phone this morning?’
The woman didn’t reply, but pushed the door wide and stepped aside to let them enter.
The house was as Alyson remembered it. Humble, but tidy. There was a war raging between the smell of cigarettes and the smell of cleaning products. Furniture polish and air freshener did their best to mask the sour reek of the tobacco.
‘He’s in the living room, end of the hall,’ Mrs Beattie said.
Alyson thought about removing her boots, or at least offering to, but then spotted Mrs Beattie was wearing outdoor shoes. She pushed the door at the end of the hall and found Mr Beattie sitting at a dining table. He was reading a newspaper, a hand-rolled cigarette burning between two fingers clutching the pages. He moved the paper aside for a moment to look at them, then returned to his sheets. William Beattie was sitting on a rug watching cartoons and likely oblivious to their arrival.
‘David, they’ll want to sit at the table. Move that stuff away,’ said Mrs Beattie.
The ‘stuff’ was an ashtray, cigarette papers and a large pouch of tobacco.
‘Aye, OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on then?’ He folder his paper and gathered up the other items.
‘They’re just here to speak to Billy, they’re not stayin’ long. That’s right, eh?’
‘We’ll be as quick as we can, Mrs Beattie. I promise,’ said Duncan. This is what Alyson had promised the woman this morning on the phone as well.
‘Love, we can at least offer them a cup of—’
‘I spoke to Citizen’s Advice you know. Billy doesnae have to give a statement, let alone … what is it now? Three? It’s no good for him. He’s had nightmares.’
‘Love,’ said Mr Beattie, his free hand now on her shoulder. She was red in the face and her eyes glistened. She’d been rehearsing this, Alyson thought, working herself into a bit of a state.
‘You’re right, Mrs, Beattie,’ Alyson said. ‘He doesn’t have to help us any further. And we’re very grateful for the information Billy has provided. But a wee boy is dead.’ This she said leaning in towards the irked woman, out of earshot of her son. ‘We want to catch the person responsible so that it doesn’t happen again. To do that we need a bit of help. We need any witnesses to provide every detail they can, however small, so that we can build up as clear an understanding as we can. Sometimes that takes a few visits. Now, I am very sorry to be coming here again, I hope it will be the last time—’
‘It will be the last time,’ she said and folded her arms across her chest.
‘Fair enough. We’ll be as quick as we can.’ Alyson placed her folder on the table and walked over to Billy who hadn’t seemed to have been aware of the exchange. ‘What are you watching?’ she said.
‘Clone Wars,’ he said to the screen. He was the image of his mother. Small, slightly upturned nose below round-framed glasses. His reddish-brown hair stuck up in places.
‘That’s a Star Wars thing, isn’t it?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘You remember me, Billy?’
This time he did look at her, but only for a moment. ‘Police lady.’
‘That’s right. Would you mind if we pause the show and go have a little talk at the table? Would that be all right?’
‘Uh …’
He looked over to his mum who looked like she might protest again, but Mr Beattie said, ‘It’s fine, Billy. ’Mon up to the table, won’t take long.’
‘’Kay,’ he said and found the button on the remote.
Alyson produced statement paper and took a brief affirmation from Mr Beattie that he was Billy’s legal guardian and that he would be present while Billy gave an account of what happened on the day in question. Then it was down to Billy, sitting at the table, his legs swinging between those of the chair, nervously. Alyson decided it would be pointless to have him go through every single point in minute detail as before. Mrs Beattie loomed somewhere behind her and was likely to pull the plug if thi
ngs dragged out too long. Instead, Alyson asked Billy if he would give a quick account and then she’d pick just a few points to focus on.
‘I saw Callum at school and we’d said we’d meet up later, on our bikes. So, I got home and got changed and cycled up to the Drummy.’
‘This is the old abandoned road at the edge of town. Drumshore Road, but you call it the Drummy?’ said Alyson. This she already knew from previous statements, but wanted to clarify for the record.
‘Uh-huh. You can cycle dead fast on it, ’cause there’s no cars. Loads of glass but, so you sometimes get a puncture.’
‘How long were you there?’
‘Not sure. Few hours?’
‘You went there as soon as you got home from school and after getting changed. You didn’t watch TV or play videogames?’
‘No, went straight there.’
Billy and Callum’s school let out at 4 p.m. on a Thursday, this had been checked. It was a fourteen-minute walk with adult legs, so perhaps eighteen to twenty minutes with kids fooling around on the way. ‘What time do you have your dinner?’
‘Six. Gets his tea at six,’ came Mrs Beattie’s voice from behind her.
Alyson turned, ‘Thanks Mrs Beattie. I really do need Billy to answer these questions though. His truth might be a little different from yours and that could be important.’
The woman didn’t reply to this, but her eyebrows said enough.
‘You said previously that you left Callum playing there because you didn’t want to be late for dinner. Do you remember if you were late that day?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Mrs Beattie, do you recall if Billy was on time that day?’
Again the eyebrows, seeming to say Oh, now you want my input? ‘I can’t be sure, but I don’t remember him being late. He gets a row if he’s late, so if he doesn’t remember it either, I guess not.’
The boys then had been playing at the Drummy for about one hour and forty minutes as the cycle home took all of six minutes, being largely downhill. ‘What do you remember about cycling home that day?’ Alyson knew what he saw, but wanted the boy to bring it to mind naturally.
He shrugged. ‘Don’t remember.’
Alyson breathed out a little frustration. ‘Think about it for a minute, Billy. You said goodbye to Callum?’
‘He was doing wheelies, but yeah I shouted that I was away home. He waved. I remember he nearly came off his bike when he waved.’
This is the moment Callum Bradley had last been seen alive. ‘And then which way did you cycle home? The quickest way is down to Main Street, did you go that way?’ She knew that he hadn’t, but again she wanted to start to fill his head with these important moments.
‘No. Main Street’s too busy. Mum doesn’t want me cycling on the roads. Came down through Pine Walk, there’s a path takes you along past the football fields, but you don’t have to cross any roads.’
‘Good. Now, tell me about cycling through Pine Walk.’
‘Oh, the van? There was a van there.’
Good lad, Alyson thought. Pine Grove was the nearest residential street to the Drummy. Every door had been canvassed, but the only person to have seen this van, was Billy Beattie.
‘Tell me again about the van, Billy.’
His legs started swinging again. His mouth was twisted to the left, his eyes searching the ceiling to his right. ‘Well, I don’t know really. It was white, had something on the side?’ He shrugged again. Alyson let a moment of silence sit, to see if he might offer anything else, but nothing was forthcoming.
‘OK Billy. I wonder if we might try something, sort of like a game.’ She didn’t mean to, but her eyes searched out Duncan, who was perched on the arm of the sofa, watching. She felt a little silly for doing what she was about to, but she’d seen it work. Duncan was letting her get on with it. ‘I want you to picture that little bit of your journey. Imagine it’s like a movie. Can you do that?’
‘Can I close my eyes?’ He seemed quite excited by the idea.
‘Sure you can. I want you to start at the point where you come into Pine Walk, then slow it down a little and watch it until you’re out of the street again.’
‘OK.’ His lips were pursed and the fingers of his right hand rubbed at the surface of the table. His eyes were held tightly closed.
‘Are you done?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Now I want you to do it again, slow it down even more and this time tell me what you’re seeing.’
‘Um, I’m cycling. You come off the path onto the road and it goes sorta down hill and to the right. I’m cycling pretty fast, ’cause I don’t wanna be late. There’s cars parked on the road and I’m peddling and normally you can do like a wee bunny-hop up onto the kerb at the far side of the street where there’s another path, but there’s this van there, a white van, and I have to slow down. I pull the bike up onto the path and start cycling again.’
‘That’s good, Billy. Now just rewind a little to where you realise you can’t jump your bike onto the path. Can you see if anyone is inside the van?’
‘No, I don’t know.’
‘Take your time. You can rewind or play the movie as much as you like.’
‘No, I really don’t know, there’s a shine off the windows and you can’t see inside.’
‘All right Billy, that’s good. Now, are you going in front of the van, or behind it?’
His eyelids were closed, his eyes were moving beneath them. ‘Behind the van, the path is closer to the back.’
‘Slow it right down now. As you put your feet down to pull your bike onto the path, what can you smell?’
‘Smoke. I can smell smoke.’
‘By “smoke”, do you mean fumes from the exhaust?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So, the van is running?’
‘I don’t know, I suppose so.’
‘That’s good, Billy. Now one more thing and we can stop. Keep your eyes closed and rewind the movie just a few seconds when you pass the side of the white van. Is there a moment where you can see the side of the van best? Take your time.’
‘Yeah. I have to press my breaks pretty hard just as I get to the side.’
‘Now, just there, I want you to pause the movie. The point where you can see it best, just hold it there. Now, what’s on the side of the van?’
He took his time and again his face twisted up as he really tried. After thirty seconds or so, Alyson was reaching out her hand to place on his shoulder to assure him he’d done well, but they could stop now.
‘It’s a hammer I think.’
Her hand froze. ‘You think you see a hammer on the side of the van?’
‘Yeah, like a drawing of one. There’s more stuff and it’s mostly yellow, but all I can remember is that I think it’s a hammer.’
‘That’s really good, Billy. You can open your eyes now. You did really well.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Colander
‘There you are Mr White. These gentlemen will drop you back home,’ said the civilian staff, a woman around my age with a geniality about her that would have marked her as a civilian even without the ID hanging around her neck. I’d forgotten her name but had bumped into her a couple of times for this very purpose.
‘Thank you, dear,’ he said.
Morgan stood to allow the old man to sit in the public reception area of St Leonard’s station. The lady let go of his elbow and then motioned to me with a sideways nod of the head. I walked with her through the secure door.
‘He couldn’t pick him out,’ she said softly.
‘Shit. Well, it was more out of hope than expectation anyway.’
‘Are you sure you’ve got the right guy?’
‘Not fully, no, but if he’d picked this guy out, we’d have solid ground to start pushing hard.’
‘Well, sorry I couldn’t help.’
She’d just turned to walk off when something occurred to me. ‘Hey, my probationer’s never seen a VIPER parade. I
appreciate you’re probably run off your feet, but I just wondered …’
She smiled and said: ‘Sure, it’s still loaded up, do you want to bring him down?’
We left Mr White with a cup of tea at reception and followed the civilian staff down to a dark room, the VIPER suite. Three chairs sat around a table, pushed against the wall. On it a large television stood. Nothing else.
‘Do you want me to run through the usual spiel as if this is for real?’ she said.
‘Why not. That way Morgan will get to see what a witness goes through. Stand over here,’ I said to Morgan and directed him at the screen.
‘All right, Morgan. This is a VIPER presentation. VIPER stands for Video Identification Parade Electronic Recording.’ Like so many acronyms, I suspected they’d appended letters, in this case the E and the R, to successfully complete a dramatic moniker. Like the government advice-giving organisation SAGE, the Scientific Advisory Group for Emergencies. ‘Emergencies’ was a bit redundant, but without it, the name became a lot less wise and a lot more droopy. ‘VIPER replaces the need to have real-life suspects and stand-ins attend at a police station and is therefore less intimidating for a witness. You’re going to be shown a series of short videos, where a subject will look straight at the camera and then to the left and right, before returning to camera. A number will appear before each is shown. If you see the person responsible for the crime, remember the number but allow the video to play to the end. At that point if you wish to see any or all of the subjects again, we can. You understand?’
‘Aye, crack on,’ the lad said. He seemed to be enjoying himself. We hadn’t been allowed to watch this while Mr White was being shown the reel. It was vital for court purposes that it was done independently, with investigating officers excluded from the process. It was common for an officer to have any number of these parades organised in their career and never actually see one themselves.
The lady lifted a remote and the parade began. I knew it was an automated system, the physical attributes of thousands of volunteer stand-ins catalogued. All you needed to do was list the characteristics of your accused and the computer would produce this reel, with the suspect placed at random amongst them. A series of men, all bald and bullish, appeared in front of an identical grey background, turning this way then that and then on to the next one. I’d seen pictures of Colander McStay just yesterday and still it was hard to pick him from the others.
Into the Dark Page 13
