Into the Dark

by Stuart Johnstone

  ‘The lights and siren? We’re only supposed to use them in emergency situations, not for skipping queues,’ I said. I could see he was disappointed. I thought on it for a moment and then pushed the gear stick into first. ‘All right auld-yin, hold on to your hat,’ I said and lit the car up. His mouth formed an ‘O’ as the siren wailed and cars in front began edging to the verge. I cut past the line at sixty, slowing a little for the lights which were the cause of the hold up and cut right towards the coast. ‘You OK?’ I said and cancelled the emergency functions, bringing the car back to a legal thirty.

  ‘Quite all right,’ he said, a wide smile on his face.

  I pulled into the little car park at Cramond Beach, which was as busy as I’d expected with the fine weather. I helped Martin to exit and we walked, slowly, down the path to the promenade where dogwalkers and cyclists made way for one another. We drew a few looks with me in uniform, but if Martin noticed he didn’t seem to care.

  There was a stiff breeze as was almost always the case along the Firth, but the sun overhead made it a welcome one. The tide was out, so a steady stream of bodies could be seen walking the causeway over to Cramond Island.

  ‘I wanted to ask you about a bad night you had a few weeks ago,’ I said.

  ‘You might have to narrow it down, not that I’ll probably remember anyway.’

  ‘It was the day we talked in the garden. Unfortunately, you slipped off and then had a restless evening, mentioning things about God. About not being able to hear the word of God. By all accounts you were extremely upset. Do you recall any of this?’

  He thought on it as we walked. I was aware of people gesturing at us, alerting their own walking companions to the sight of a police officer taking the arm of an old man. I tried to ignore the smiles and one man who’d decided it was worthy of a photograph.

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think I remember this.’

  ‘That’s all right, but you don’t “think” you remember?’

  ‘Well … I remember the day in the garden you mentioned. You asked me about a boy, no, you asked me about a child and I told you it was a boy? Well, it’s like that. You’re asking me about something that is like a dream I had, but it’s so vague, or long ago, and maybe it’s just what you’re telling me that is forming the idea of a memory? I’m sure that all sounds very confusing.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ I said and patted his hand, his arm had stiffened. ‘If you don’t remember, you don’t remember. I could say some things in an attempt to prompt you, but as you say I might just be instilling the idea that you remember something.’

  ‘Would you mind if we turn back? I’m not really used to so much walking, though I very much appreciate you getting me out of that place for a little while.’

  ‘Sure, not a problem. Do you want to sit for a minute?’

  I led him to a nearby bench and we took in the view, the sun was high and Martin raised his face to it. His eyes closed. ‘I don’t mind you asking whatever it is you need to. It seems there’s something important.’

  I looked at him, his eyes remained closed, there was a smile on his face.

  ‘A man was murdered, sometime after the evening I mentioned. The circumstances can very vaguely be associated to what you were saying to the staff in the home that night. In particular you make mention of “hearing” and the injuries have been described as a frenzied attack to both sides of the head, in and around the ears.’

  ‘This man was a priest? Or vicar?’

  He said this so matter-of-factly that I was dumbfounded. Adrenalin surged to my heart and it was a minute before I could speak. ‘You remember something?’

  Eyes still closed he shrugged. ‘Probably as I described. You made mention of “God” … I’m most likely putting two and two together. Or perhaps I’ve read something in a paper? I suppose it has been in the paper?’

  ‘Yes, it has.’

  ‘Probably that then,’ he said and now looked at me. ‘But when you mentioned what it was, I was saying that evening, I did picture a priest. Have you discovered why he was killed?’ He held out his arm and I stood and helped him to his feet. We started back.

  ‘It’s not my case. If Aly … If my colleague knew I was asking you about this, she would probably be less than pleased. It’s a sensitive case, so I’d be grateful if you didn’t discuss anything I’ve mentioned today?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But between you and me, I don’t think they’ve established a motive.’

  ‘Well I’m no lover of organised religion. It’s my belief that the Church has been responsible for all sorts of atrocities, vindicated by whatever doctrine best suits. Sins of the father, or fathers. Still, murder is murder. Just awful. May I ask, why are you so interested in whatever nonsense I’ve been muttering when … I’m not quite myself?’

  I let out a small laugh. This was a question I’d been asking myself. ‘I’m not, not really. It’s just that I’m not fond of coincidences I suppose. As a cop I’m prone to scepticism when I come across one. Besides, I’m a community police officer, Martin, which means I have too much time on my hands.’

  ‘Do you think it might be all right?’

  I wasn’t sure as to what he was referring at first, then I realised he was looking at the ice-cream van parked at the end of the path. A small queue had formed at its window.

  ‘Oh, I think Michelle wouldn’t mind.’

  Martin didn’t say much on the journey back to Pennywell and I suspected I was losing him. Certainly, by the time Michelle took him from me and I thanked him for his time, I only received a small wave in goodbye.

  ‘What’s that policeman been feeding you, Martin?’ Michelle chuckled. She dabbed at his chin where I’d failed to spot a trail left by his cone.

  ‘She’s just upset we didn’t bring her a ninety-nine, Martin,’ I called after them as they started up the stairs.

  I made my way down the hall, passing the office as I did. I glanced through and saw that shift change was happening, staff taking off and putting on coats. I stopped to say a quick hello to Vicky. I chapped on the open door to get attention and the various conversations halted. Vicky turned as she was removing her arm from a sleeve and immediately looked away. The other faces in the room grew sullen. ‘Uh, would you mind very much if I have a quick word with Vicky?’ I said, and the other staff members quickly shuffled from the room. I closed the door and tried to find the right words to begin, but before I got there Vicky began talking, still facing away from me.

  ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ she said.

  I kept my voice low and calm. ‘What does it look like?’

  She didn’t reply. Her hands were on her hips as she looked out of the window.

  ‘Are you going to tell me it’s been another accident with a resident? I’ve spent quite a bit of time here now and so far, I haven’t seen these marks on anyone else.’

  There was a long pause. One hand remained on a hip while another moved around to her face. I could hear her crying. I let her compose herself. When she finally turned around, I could see what I got a glimpse of. Her lip was badly swollen and there were a few sutures crossing an angry black line that ran down the middle. She wiped at her eyes and let out a heavy breath before taking a seat at her desk.

  ‘I don’t want you to get involved. It would only make things worse,’ she said in a cracked voice.

  I wheeled a chair over beside her. ‘That sort of puts me in an awkward position, morally speaking. It’s not easy to watch someone have to deal with that, but more so, the law is very clear on this sort of thing. If I got a call here with someone concerned about domestic abuse, I would have no choice but to file a report, irrespective of the wishes of the victim.’

  ‘Don, nobody called you. So please.’

  It was heartbreaking to look at her. If one of my officers had come to me with this dilemma my advice would have been easy: report it. But in the face of this lady I had come to know, even just a little, it wasn’t that simple
. ‘Your colleagues. They know what’s going on, you realise that?’

  ‘Course. But we’ve all got our stuff and we know when or if to speak up.’ She dabbed a tear from her cheek.

  There was the growl of an exhaust from outside. I stood to have a look and Vicky stepped in front of me, her hands on my shoulders. ‘Please. Just don’t.’

  It was the blue Subaru.

  ‘Your partner?’

  ‘He just dropped me off. I promise you it’s not always like this. He can be such—Don, no, please.’

  I was already heading for the door. Vicky called after me again and I pushed past the congregation of staff members in the hall. She caught hold of my arm just as I reached the front door. ‘I’m just going to have a word with him, Vicky. Don’t worry.’ I shook her off and stepped up to the Subaru, the driver was just putting the car in gear when I rapped a knuckle on the side window which seemed to startle him. He squinted through the window at me before reapplying the handbrake and switching off the engine. The window slid down with an electric whine.

  ‘Afternoon,’ I said to the man. He was around my age, maybe a few years older, judging by a little grey at his temples. There was a strange caramel or butterscotch smell from the interior. There was a vape-pen sitting on the passenger seat and I wondered if that was the source. ‘We haven’t been introduced. I’m Sergeant Colyear, I work out of Drylaw.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ he said. He gave me a good look and then moved his eyes to the windscreen.

  ‘And you are?’

  He breathed a sigh, which ended with ‘Darren’.

  ‘Darren what?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ he said and looked at me again before returning his eyes forward.

  ‘So, you’re Vicky’s other half then?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘What do you do for a living, Darren?’

  ‘I’ve got a garage. What’s this about? I need to get to work.’

  I stepped away from the window and walked to the front of car. ‘Control from three-four with a vehicle check, over.’

  ‘Go ahead with your check, over,’ came the reply from the radio.

  I gave over the registration and my location and was told to stand-by. Meanwhile I returned to Darren’s window. ‘Garage, aye? You’re a mechanic? That explains the fancy motor then. Bet she’s no cheap to run.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Three-four with your check, over.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Roger. Blue Subaru Impreza. Registered and insured to a Darren Henderson. No reports. Do you need a licence check done on Henderson, over?’

  ‘I looked in through the window. Mr Henderson was looking impatient. ‘Negative. That’s all received. Thanks.’ I placed the elbow of my arm on the sill of his window and tried to get some eye contact with him, but he was having none of it. He gripped his wheel like he might tear it from the dash and beat me with it. His eyes remained on the screen. ‘You asked what this was about, Darren, well it’s about me getting to see the man who lives with Vicky. She’s a nice lady, been helping me with an inquiry I have down here. She might have mentioned it? You might even say we’ve become friends. Anyway. Friends, they watch out for one another, that’s how it’s supposed to work, right?’

  He cleared his throat by way of a response.

  ‘See, I’ve noticed Vicky’s been coming to work with the odd injury. She tells me they happen when she moving residents around and I can see how that might happen, occasionally. Only it seems to me like she’s got a fresh one every week. Now if Vicky insists that’s how she comes by them, then I’m not about to call her a liar. But at the same time, it’s my job, as a friend, to make sure she’s all right. Then it’s my job as a police officer to step in if she’s not all right. You understand?’

  There was another throaty grunt.

  ‘So, I thought it best to highlight this to you. It’s also your job, as her partner, to make sure she’s all right, so I thought by bringing it to your attention we can both keep an eye out. All right?’ There was no response. I stood and tapped the top of the car. The engine roared into life. I was stepping away when he leaned out of the window.

  ‘Can I ask you, officer. Did she report anything to you? Make any sort of complaint?’

  ‘No, but she—’

  ‘No, I thought not. Until she does you can go ahead and keep your fucking nose out of things that don’t concern you,’ he snarled. I only just caught what he said over the noise as he drove off.

  Alyson yawned and stretched, checking her watch at the same time. She’d knock off in an hour or so, but she liked this time, this calm period that always felt like the warm-down after a long run. It was a chance to look at things without the distracting buzz of the office – especially without the stress that came off DCI Templeton like steam, which was difficult not to breathe in.

  The DCI left twenty minutes ago. Alyson could safely leave at any time now that she was gone. It wasn’t presenteeism that had her here after most, if not all, had left. Although it probably didn’t do her career any harm to hear the DCI saying goodnight most days. She stayed because if she was going to figure this out, it would only happen with a bit of quiet.

  The first floor at Leith Police Station had steadily filled. It wasn’t as crazy as things had been at the beginning of the Bradley case, but it was getting there. Her own role had changed, and that was a good thing. Before, she felt like an office junior, and now she was part of the core team. Duncan’s advice had been sound: ‘Stay involved’. There were four new members of the enquiry team, pulled from a pro-active unit who worked out of Fettes, whose only job was to trawl through city CCTV now that they had a more accurate description of the van that may or may not have been involved. DCI Templeton had been happy about that development and Alyson was pleased that Duncan had been sure to let her know Alyson had been responsible for it. The mind-numbing CCTV job might have been hers if she hadn’t stayed so close to Duncan and the DCI. It didn’t hurt either that she was HOLMES trained. Another reason to keep her from the grunt work.

  She recalled when she’d undertaken the training. As interesting as it was, she was also certain as to its futility. They’d used the example of Peter Tobin to show how the system works from a Scottish perspective, but how many Peter Tobins was she likely to encounter in her career? Serial killers were not common in the UK and a rare species indeed in Scotland, yet here she was, using the system she’d been sure she never would. The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System was software designed to take, store, evaluate and crucially link massive amounts of data collated during any large inquiry, its necessity highlighted during the evaluation and review of the Peter Sutcliffe conviction in 1981. West Yorkshire Police had missed several opportunities to link the Yorkshire Ripper to his victims due to the antiquated card-index system they had used.

  Still, she’d sat in front of the computer day after day inputting data and running analysis and still no link had been thrown up between a ten-year-old boy and a seventy-one-year-old priest. If you’d started a joke with these two victims, there would have been some grim punchline laying into the Church’s deplorable record of child abuse. But these two people, as far as anyone or any piece of software could detect, did not know each other, had never come into contact with one another and there was no person between them, identified thus far, that could bridge the gap. No one, other than the killer.

  Alyson sipped her coffee and calmly looked at the information in front of her. Not at the computer screen, but the wall behind the DCI’s desk. For all the technology available, this was still the easiest way to think. Three large tack-boards. The one to the left was littered with information on Callum Bradley, the one to the right a little less busy, but still full of information on Father Brian McCauley. The board between them was empty, but for a few scraps of ideas. ‘Bible Class?’, ‘School connection?’, ‘Takeaway driver?’, ‘Tradesman?’ were a few of the suggestions thrown up there, but nothing yielding a fresh lead. Billy Beattie’
s fresh description of the van had meant plenty of work for Alyson’s Edinburgh-based colleagues who now had the unenviable task of painstakingly going through websites and the Yellow Pages for tradesmen in the central belt, visiting them and taking pictures of vans which might later be shown to Billy. Another shit job she was glad to be avoiding.

  Ten-year-old boy, Catholic priest? Callum Bradley’s parents were not religious, they came from a long line of take-it-or-leave-it Church of Scotland protestants. Their only legacy was to ensure Callum had been a Rangers fan. None of the family had seen the inside of a church in years, except for a cousin who had been married in Bathgate and, again, that was Church of Scotland.

  What if there was no connection? What if this truly was two unrelated random attacks? At a morning meeting a few days ago, Danny Halliday had presented that very idea. The DCI all but took his head off. Everyone around the table sank into their chairs while she berated him, ensuring nobody going forward would utter the idea again in her presence. But alone, here, she could consider it. It was a chilling thought, it made the job of identifying the person responsible much harder, maybe impossible.

  The murder of Father McCauley was a fresh opportunity for DCI Templeton and her team. The Bradley enquiry had been reduced, since it was clear some external influence was the only realistic way forward. An anonymous tip, a stroke of luck, a sudden urge for the killer to confess his crime. That same line in the sand was not too far away. The DCI had kept the team relatively small and Alyson was beginning to believe the reason for it was to keep that line as far in the distance as she could.

  She perched herself on Templeton’s desk, stared at the board and sipped. Ten-year-old boy and Catholic priest?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Work History

  ‘You look like you need this more than I do,’ Alyson said and held out her wine glass. If that was true, I must have looked pretty awful, since Alyson’s eyes bore deep, dark circles. She sat at the kitchen table in her work clothes, her ID still hanging from her neck.