‘Then you get this phone call?’
‘I was starting to think I’d gotten away with it. With all the drama and confusion, I’m thinking there might be a way to pull this off, that a hunch or whatever led me there. Between you and me, I’m even thinking how fucking great this might be for my career. And then, yes, there’s this call and I’m being rushed to Kate’s desk, and shortly after that I’m confessing like she’s the headmistress and I’m in front of the whole school. I’ve never been so scared and embarrassed in my life.’
‘Maybe if I’d spoken to you a while back, we could still have gotten to this point, but without all the mess.’
‘Don, there is no fucking maybe about it. Now come on.’
The DS was tapping impatiently on the steering wheel as I climbed into the back. Alyson handed her colleague his coffee, which he squeezed into a cup holder without a sip or a thank you.
‘What’s with you?’ said Alyson as she buckled up.
He started the car and pulled out. ‘Nothing’s up, but in case you weren’t paying attention we’ve got a psychopath on the loose and no idea where he is and who he’s after. Coffee’s hardly a priority.’ He slammed through the gears. He had a point, but to me this looked more personal. Just as Aly had been more hurt than furious that I’d gone behind her back, I was guessing this was a similar situation. He must have thought that Aly and I had been secretly working together.
‘I’ve had some ideas about that,’ I said as I gave up trying to drink coffee while this guy was throwing the car around.
‘No offence, Sergeant,’ he began, so I settled myself in on the back seat for some offence. ‘Your role is to stay quiet. Templeton made that quite clear. You’re not here to assist in enquiries. You’re here so that you can’t try to assist in enquiries.’
‘Duncan, give him a break. His balls are already in a sling and if you stop tripping over your bottom lip for a second and be honest with yourself, you’ll admit he pulled this investigation forward on his own.’
Cunningham opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it and shook his head. A silence settled between us until Alyson turned in her seat.
‘Let’s hear it then,’ she said.
I risked a sip now that Cunningham had relaxed his grip on the wheel a little.
‘I was thinking how much he dislikes the police.’
‘Fascinating. Especially since everyone else loves the police,’ said Cunningham in a drone.
‘Point taken. But that incendiary device was set up to go off if someone forced their way in. That’s what you said, Aly?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘So, it was specifically targeting the police, in the off-chance we figured out who this guy was before he’d finished his … work. Also, it was the way he spoke to me on the phone. It didn’t strike me as odd until later. “Where were you all those years ago?”. It made me think he’d been let down maybe? Had there been an investigation at the home?’
‘Do you not think we looked into that? Of course we did, and no. There was none. The Scottish Child Abuse Enquiry was set up in 2015 and St Cuthbert’s was not investigated. Despite what he said on the phone, there were no records or reports of abuse at the school. Police have never been involved,’ said the DS, he sounded almost triumphant.
‘Do you believe what he said about this priest and the janitor?’ asked Alyson.
‘I do. I don’t see why he does all this otherwise.’
‘It’ll be looked at. But not until we get hold of this guy, and that’s where we need to be concentrating,’ said Cunningham. He pulled up to Leith station.
‘What about calls?’ I said, just as he opened his door. He stopped, one foot on the pavement.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Calls from the home to the police? Or, maybe once he was out of the place, did he make a complaint to the police?’
‘I doubt there are any kept records of calls. It would have been what? Mid-to-late nineties? Call logs wouldn’t have been kept that far back,’ he said.
Alyson let me out the back, the child locks on as standard. He was already in the building when I stepped out.
‘Never mind him. He’s actually one of the good ones. I promise.’
The station was alive as I entered, pipped and crowned shoulders everywhere. I probably looked to them like a suspect Alyson had just brought in, and it occurred to me, that I sort of was.
DS Cunningham was on the stairwell calling for Alyson’s attention.
‘Another briefing in an hour, upstairs,’ Alyson gave him a thumb and he disappeared among the throng of suits and uniforms.
It was heavily overcast outside, but warm for late August. Add to that the bunching of bodies and it was unbearable. I motioned to Alyson at the door and she nodded her agreement.
We finished our coffees with a walk through the Leith Links.
‘Maybe I could get into teaching?’ I said.
‘Stop that. You’re still a cop, and a good one at that.’
‘Thanks Aly, but I really need to start thinking about what happens next. If they do charge me with offences, it could make my next step very difficult. With some luck they’ll let me resign instead. Less embarrassing for both parties.’ I could see she wanted to say something reassuring, but came up with nothing. She put her arm around my neck and we walked without saying much.
It was a struggle to get back into the incident room. It was unclear if all these people had been invited or they’d just turned up.
We managed to find a spot by the window and we waited for Kate Templeton to address the room. She held one arm up and eventually the crowd fell silent.
‘As you can see, we’re a bit tight for space, so apologies if you’re struggling to see or hear anything. We’re joined this afternoon by members of various departments. The uncertainty surrounding the next target of our suspect means we are drafting in the assistance of every available resource. We are, just now, finalising plans for the supervision of places of Catholic worship, as well as the home addresses of priests, nuns – anyone attached to the Church. The families of any living member of staff from the St Cuthbert’s School are being contacted and, where possible, we will be posting officers to those addresses.
‘We’re working with a broad brush until intelligence can narrow our field of vision. On the matter of our suspect himself, we are turning over every stone, however, not a great deal is known about him. Anyone not connected to the victim side of this investigation should be working around the clock to establish his whereabouts. We applied for banking information on him and that has just been returned. So, I can confirm the following: on the seventh of April Michael Halfpenny had a little over £7,000 in his bank account. More than half of it was withdrawn, leaving £3,100. This would equate to five months’ rent. No activity on his account since. It’s clear that he was serious about bringing this to an end, one way or another, so we are dealing with a very desperate man at this point. Speed is absolutely of the essence at this stage. Any new information should be brought to my attention the moment it is received.
‘That’s what we’re working with. At this stage, if anyone has any other ideas about where or what we should be looking at, let’s hear it. I’m not afraid to admit that we’re feeling around in the dark here and so there are no stupid suggestions. No?’
Everyone in the room was looking around at everyone else. Then one solitary hand stretched slowly towards the ceiling.
‘Yes, Duncan.’
DS Cunningham stood and cleared his throat. ‘Ma’am, I was thinking about this, about where else we might be looking. This detail that he left enough money to cover his rent while he executed his plan only serves to back up a sort of hunch. He didn’t want his landlord breaking down his door – hence the rent. No, if someone was going in there to trigger the device, he wanted it to be a cop. Anyway, on this hunch,’ he paused to clear his throat again and there was a glance towards myself and Alyson.
‘I asked the area contro
l room to run a historical search of the old Command and Control system for any calls logged from the St Cuthbert’s School. This is going back to the initial implementation of the digital system in the mid-nineties. Information back that far isn’t great, but I did get a report that confirms there were three calls from around the period we know the suspect to be resident at the school. Two of these calls were from staff complaining of petty vandalisms, but one was from a resident complaining of assault.’
Alyson gripped my hand.
‘What does the log detail?’
‘There’s not much. It was written off as a false complaint.’
‘Do we know who made the call?’
‘No, ma’am. Either the officer attending didn’t provide much information, or the call handlers didn’t note it. It was a brand-new system at that time.’
‘Do we at least know who the officer attending was?’
‘A shoulder number, ma’am, but I can get personnel to retrieve the details, I’m sure.’
‘All right, get on it, Duncan, and keep me informed.’
‘Ma’am.’
‘I’ll now see heads of departments downstairs. Thank you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Micky Halfpint
There was no apology for hijacking my idea, but I didn’t need one. If it meant this guy trusted me a little more and might let me take a swing at then occasional ball, then it was a good trade.
There were no unmarked pool cars to be had. A lot of officers were following leads around the city on foot, or jumping on maroon buses. We had managed to secure a response vehicle and DS Cunningham was putting it to good use, doing a hundred-and-ten on the outside lane of the M8.
‘What did he say on the phone?’ I asked Alyson.
‘That he’s not sure if he remembers. He’s been retired seventeen years.’
‘It’s a long shot,’ Cunningham said. ‘I don’t even remember calls I attended last year.’
He cut the flashing lights and slowed to eighty to take the slip road. He put them on again with the siren and we were suddenly entering Bellshill.
‘Third right along here, Duncan, then go to the end of the road and it’s a left,’ said Alyson, studying her phone.
Minutes later we were entering a housing estate and cancelling the emergency functions. The street could have been anywhere in the UK. A mix of detached and semis, all remarkably similar.
‘What number are we looking for?’ I said.
‘Sixty-seven. There, I think,’ Cunningham said and pulled to the kerb.
A large man was standing in the doorway when I stepped out. The sky was a bruise of purple as the sun was dipping.
‘Ian? Ian Telfer?’ Cunningham said.
The man nodded and looked around at the street.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry about the marked car. It’s all we could get hold of,’ said Cunningham.
‘It’s all right. Come on in,’ the man replied.
We stepped into the living room. I stood while the other three settled into the only available chairs. The retired officer, Ian, sat in an armchair by the window opposite the large television. Alyson and Cunningham sat on a green leather sofa that had seen better days. There was a smell of polish in the air and I suspected this man had tried to make the place presentable before our arrival.
‘Just to confirm, you’re Ian Telfer, retired from Strathclyde police in 2003, and your shoulder number was Q743?’ Cunningham asked.
‘Aye, that’s right.’
‘So, that tells me you retired as a constable?’
‘Aye. I wasnae the most ambitious of cops.’
Ian Telfer sat forward in his chair, hands clasped, elbows on his knees. He would have been a powerful man in his day judging by those shoulders, though time had relaxed everything else. His hair was shaved short, almost military in appearance, grey at the temples, salt and pepper on top.
‘Again, I’m sorry for having to come here, but we’re dealing with something quite urgent and I thought it best if we chat face to face, see if we can’t jog your memory. Where would you have been working in March ninety-seven?’
Ian rubbed at the back of his neck as he thought. ‘I would have been the community man for Strathaven. Saw out my last five years there.’
‘That makes sense,’ said the DS. He produced a sheet of paper from his folder. ‘This is the log from the call handling system. It’s now a system called STORM, but in your day it was called Command and Control.’
‘Aye, that’s right.’
‘This says you attended a call to St Cuthbert’s boarding school. Do you remember the place?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that since you called. I think so. Priest-run place?’
‘And nuns, yes.’
‘Aye. Had its windows put in a few times. Probably Rangers supporters, you know?’
‘On this occasion, the log says a resident had called, making a complaint of assault against a staff member. Do you remember this one?’
‘God, now you’re asking. It does ring a vague bell. Look, before we go any further, should I be worried? This isn’t some professional standards thing is it?’
‘No, not at all. We just need your help, that’s all,’ said Alyson.
Ian’s fingernails rasped against his stubbled chin and cheek as he tried to recall. ‘All right. Well, I might be confusing this with something else, but I do remember going to that school, or maybe one like it. A call’s been made and the staff don’t know anything about it. I explain I can’t leave until I bottom it out and they don’t like that. Anyway, they start rounding up the kids and there’s this big fuss with one of them. He’s shouting and screaming. We get him in a room but he’s not making a lot of sense. He’s complaining about the staff being “beasts”. I try to calm him down and I don’t remember exactly what was said, but he ends up spitting at me.’
‘How was the call completed?’ I said.
Ian blew air out the side of his mouth and raised his palms. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘The log says it was finalised as a false complaint?’
‘Maybe, aye. I mean if I couldn’t get any sense out of him, then maybe, aye.’
‘Would there have been any follow-up?’ Alyson asked.
‘I imagine so. I’m sure I would have done a child referral for the reporter for the children’s panel.’
‘There’s no mention of that on the log,’ Cunningham said. ‘Nowadays that would have to be logged.’
‘Honestly, I don’t know.’
‘Is it possible you forgot to put one in? I mean the digital system was brand new. If you forgot and the call was written off without looking for one, it’s possible right?’ said Alyson.
‘I suppose so.’
‘I know it’s asking a lot, but you wouldn’t happen to remember the boy’s name, would you?’ Cunningham asked.
Ian shook his head.
‘Michael Halfpenny?’
‘I’m sorry, I really have no idea.’
‘The other kids called him Micky Halfpint,’ I said.
Ian’s eyes narrowed. ‘Halfpint?’ He planted his elbows back on his knees and wrung his hands, his head shaking a little. ‘It was a long time ago, but maybe. There was a point where this boy’s throwing his arms and legs and we’re getting him into a room. There’s all these other boys on the stairs getting a good look and laughing and shouting … Halfpint? Aye, maybe. What’s this about? Are you able to tell me?’
Cunningham looked over at me and Alyson. ‘I think I have to, Ian,’ he said.
Ian sat and listened, occasionally his big paw rubbed the back of his neck.
‘Do you have any family?’ Alyson said, when the Cunningham had finished.
‘Two sons. Both grown up.’
‘Do they have children?’
‘No, no grandkids as yet.’
‘I think it’s best if you give me their addresses. I’ll make sure we get a car round, just in case.’
‘Do you really think that�
��s necessary?’
Alyson’s face was solemn as she nodded.
Ian went to the hall and came back with an address book. Alyson noted details and went outside to call it in.
‘Have you seen anyone hanging around? Male, around five-six, early forties?’ asked Cunningham.
Ian shook his head. ‘No. I like to think I’d have spotted someone if they were creeping around. Those old instincts don’t die.’
‘Do we know how this guy selects the target? I mean, how does he decide which loved one to go after?’ I said. I was thinking about the fact that this man had two sons and what it was Martin had been wailing: ‘Bastard cut out her tongue!’ Though I had to concede that it was equally likely that the thing with Martin had been a string of coincidences, or that Ian here was the wrong target.
‘We’re not sure,’ said Cunningham. ‘We haven’t had the time to bottom that out. The priest’s relationship with the second target was a closely kept secret so there must have been some tailing involved. As for the janitor, again it’s not clear. He could have been watching the house, he had regular visits from his grandson.’
‘How about social media? Maybe not the priest, but the old man?’ I said.
‘I don’t know. We never considered the janitor to be the target until very recently. I’ll check it in,’ said Cunningham. He lifted his phone.
‘How about you, Ian? Are you active online? Do you have much personal stuff out there?’
‘No, not at all. I don’t do any of that anymore.’
‘Anymore? So, you have had an online presence at one time?’
‘Aye, ages ago. Facebook, I mean who hasn’t? But I haven’t touched it in forever.’
‘I called my boss. There will be a car round at both addresses within minutes. What’s going on?’ said Alyson, thumbing at Cunningham, who was now in conversation with someone on his phone.
‘We’re just checking something. We’re wondering if social media might be a tool the suspect has been using to identify who to go after, but Ian’s not active. Not for a long time,’ I said.
‘Did you deactivate your account? Or just stop using it?’ asked Alyson.
Into the Dark Page 27
