Stranglehold

by Rena George

  He climbed back up the slippery river bank. He needed to find a pub.

  Whisky at this early hour was not a great idea, but he ordered the traditional Glasgow 'hauf an' a hauf' anyway. He watched the blonde, middle-aged barmaid hold the glass to the optic and fill it with a double measure of Bell's. She put it on the bar beside the half pint she'd poured and took the money from him. Then she disappeared to the far side of the bar to continue her conversation with a guy in a tweed jacket and a polo shirt.

  He picked up the whisky glass and threw back half the contents, thinking about where the strangler could have dumped the body in the river. Until they knew that there was no chance of any CCTV. Perhaps this time the killer would be unlucky? Perhaps somebody saw him disposing of it? A witness would be good.

  Drummond drained his glass and held it up for a refill. If the strangler had been acting true to form, he'd killed his victim that morning, sometime in the early hours after having picked her up from a location in Glasgow's red-light district. He went over what they knew.

  He believed the killer had studied how forensic officers retrieved evidence from victims and crime scenes. Could he be a police officer, or just clever enough to do his homework?

  Witnesses had given different descriptions of the cars used to pick up his first two victims. Were they different vehicles? Had he hired cars to hide his tracks? Hiring a car required a valid driver's license and credit card. They were still trawling through every car-hire company in the city for details of who had a hired a car on the relevant nights. But as the hirer could have rented the vehicle for any number of days or weeks – or even months – it was a slow and painstaking job. So far it hadn't thrown up anything useful.

  Drummond sighed. They didn't even know if the strangler was from Glasgow. He certainly knew his way around. The disposal sites where he dumped his victims hadn't been chosen at random. They were diverse, far apart, and appeared to have nothing in common.

  Maggie Burns had been dumped at The Barras, one of the busiest places in town, Bonnie Brennan had been found miles away on open waste ground in Pollockshaws. And now this third woman in the River Kelvin. Why the river? He was missing something.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out. DCI Joey Buchan! 'Where the hell are you, Drummond?' No friendly 'How are things going, Jack?' She was on the warpath.

  'You should be here at the crime scene!'

  'Has something happened?' He felt his heartbeat quicken.

  'We might know where he dumped this body.' He could hear the urgency in her voice. 'Somebody has rung in reporting a fly-tipper. He says he witnessed a bloke heave a heavy bundle into the river upstream from our crime site.'

  'You think this was our man getting rid of the body?'

  'I'm making no assumptions, but it needs checking out. We've already got a couple of uniforms on the way there. Get Gail to pick you up. She has all the details.' He heard her sigh. 'And, Drummond,' she said. 'Stop bloody disappearing!'

  Less than three minutes after telling his DC to meet him at the art galleries he spotted the pool car approaching.

  Gail's nose wrinkled and she shot him a look as he slid in beside her. She was clearly disapproving.

  'What?' Drummond snapped.

  'Am I allowed to mention that you smell like a distillery?'

  'I was working. I do my best thinking in pubs.'

  'I'd still give the DCI a wide berth for a couple of hours,' she said.

  'Just watch the road,' DC Swann. 'Nobody's asked for your opinion.' But he saw her grin as he rolled down the window.

  'You were right, by the way,' she said. 'There was a cat and mouse card in our victim's pocket.'

  A police patrol car was already there when they pulled up and one of the two uniformed officers was talking to a man on the bank of the river. 'This is Mr Fenning. He reported seeing a man fly-tipping here last night.'

  Jason Fenning was a fit-looking thirty-something dressed in a grey tracksuit. 'I hate people who dump their rubbish just anywhere. It's us mugs who have to pay for it,' he complained. 'I tried ringing the council to report it, but I couldn't get through to them last night. I rang you lot because I thought you'd pass it onto them. I wasn't expecting all this fuss.'

  Drummond kept his distance. 'Where did you see this rubbish getting dumped?' The man pointed. Drummond nodded to the other officer. 'Go and help your colleague look for it.'

  Gail pulled a notebook and pen from her bag. 'Can you describe the man you saw?'

  Jason was slipping his phone from his pocket. 'I can do better than that,' he said, bringing up a video he'd made of the incident.

  Drummond shot out his hand. 'Can I see?'

  The man handed over the phone. 'Be my guest.'

  Drummond played the short video several times. It showed a man in a hoody heave a large plastic sack into the river. Their victim hadn't been in a bag when she was found. His spirits sank. Whatever was in this sack he doubted if it was a body. He emailed the video to his own mobile before handing the man's phone back.

  'There's something here, sir.' The call came from the river bank. 'I think we've found it,' the PC shouted.

  Drummond hurried down. The officer was using a long branch he'd found to make a grab for the bag that had become tangled amongst the weeds. Drummond helped the two officers pull the thing from the water.

  'What d'you think it is?' The younger of the two officers looked unsure about finding out.

  'Untie it,' Drummond ordered. They had been joined by Gail and Jason Fenning. The officer untied the bag at arm's length as though he thought it might explode.

  'What is it?' Fenning said as the contents spilled out over the bank. Gail clapped a hand to her mouth and turned away, retching.

  'Jesus Christ. It's a dog and puppies.' Fenning looked up at Drummond, frowning. 'Did that bastard drown them?'

  The sight disgusted Drummond too, but it had nothing to do with the strangler. They went back to the pool car and he reached for his phone to pass the depressing news on to Joey Buchan. He heard her mutter a curse. 'I was hoping we had something there. You'd better turn it over to the council. Let them deal with it now.' There was a pause. Drummond could hear her speak to someone in the room with her. She came back to him. 'The forensic boys recovered an address from the body,' she said. 'You and DC Swann can check it out. The mobile phone we recovered was registered to a Lena Murray. I'll message you the details.'

  'Fine,' he said, as she clicked off the call. The name meant nothing to him, but then he hadn't recognized the victim. He turned to Gail. 'Who found the body?'

  She flicked through her notebook. 'An Olivia Ryder. She was out jogging when she spotted the body in the river.'

  'Have you taken a statement?'

  'Not an official one. To be honest she didn't really have anything useful to tell us. She jogs around the park every morning. The body caught her eye as she came across the bridge. It was tangled in weeds by the bank.' Gail looked up. 'That's about it. She's going to call in at the station later today.'

  'How about an address?'

  Gail flipped through her notes. 'She has a flat in South Woodside Road, but she'll be at work now. She's an auctioneer for an antiques centre in Dumbarton Road.'

  He gave a thoughtful nod as Joey's message buzzed in.

  'We'll try this one first,' he said. Gail reached for the satnav on the dashboard of the pool car waiting for him to tell her the postcode, but he shook his head. 'We won't need that. It's Hill Street. I could take you there with my eyes closed.'

  'Of course,' Gail said, remembering what he'd once let slip. 'You were brought up around there.'

  'Let's just get going,' he said. He had no intention of discussing his upbringing or sharing small talk about his family with his detective constable. Not that he'd had a difficult childhood, but it had been tough. It had shaped him into the man he now was, he just wasn't sure that was a good thing. He knew he still had anger issues. He had never fully dealt with his obsession fo
r revenge on the hit and run driver who had killed his beloved mother less than twenty yards from their close. That driver had never been found, had never been brought to justice. No ten-year-old should have to deal with that.

  Eight

  Despite the dramatic changes in the city's topography over the years, Glasgow's Garnethill area was still recognizable from Drummond's stamping ground days. The corner shop where local people bought their morning rolls and newspaper was still run by his father. It was only a stone's throw from the address they had for Lena Murray.

  Gail parked in front of the new flats and gazed up at the glass frontage. 'Are you sure you've got the right address.'

  'Nope,' Drummond said. 'But for the moment it's all we've got.'

  Doing the death knock was probably the worst job any officer had to do. He tried to harden himself against the experience but how could telling someone that the person they loved was now dead not affect you?

  And here they were, about to do it all over again.

  The door was opened by a middle-aged man in a grey cardigan and needlecord trousers. The look of dread that filled his eyes as he stared at them made Drummond want to reach out for him.

  They produced their warrant cards and the man bit his lip. 'It's Lena, isn't it? What's happened to her?'

  'May we come in, sir?' Drummond said quietly.

  The man stood back, and the detectives followed his directions to the front room. The flat was smart and clean. There was no sign of children but that didn't mean their victim was not a mother.

  'Can we ask who you are, sir?' Drummond said.

  'I'm Derek Murray, Lena's husband. Just tell me what's happened.'

  Drummond swallowed. No point in beating about the bush. 'We've found a body. She had this address in an envelope in her bag.'

  The man looked like he was going to faint, and Gail rushed forward to guide him to a chair.

  'Is it my Lena?' He was gazing from one to the other as though imploring them to tell him they'd made a mistake.

  'We won't know that for sure until she's been identified.'

  Derek Murray stared at them. 'You want me to identify her?' He sounded horrified.

  'There's no hurry,' Drummond said, but he knew this wasn't true. No proper investigation could begin until they had an ID on the victim.

  'You haven't told me what happened to her. Was she in an accident?'

  Drummond glanced away. 'The body we found this morning was taken from the River Kelvin.'

  'She drowned?' Derek blinked.

  'There's no easy way to say this, Mr Murray. The woman we found had been…' He hesitated. 'We believe someone put her in the river.'

  The man stared at them with horrified eyes. 'You mean Lena was murdered?' He let out a wail and began rocking his head in his hands. Drummond and Gail watched him uneasily. They were both aware of the statistics that most murders were committed by someone who knew the victim. If this man was putting on an act of grief, then he was very good at it.

  'Can you tell us where your wife was last night?'

  Derek Murray was now wringing his hands. He began pacing the room. 'I warned her to stop, but she wouldn't. We could manage on my wages, there was no need for her to do that…not that.'

  Drummond shot Gail a look. 'What are you talking about, Mr Murray? What did Lena do?' But he already knew what the man was going to say.

  Derek Murray gave an almighty sob. 'Lena was selling her body,' he said miserably. 'Prostituting herself to buy this stuff.' He opened his arms and gestured around the room to the stylish furniture. 'As if we needed stuff like this.'

  Gail frowned. 'You weren't able to stop her?'

  'You didn't know Lena. When she made her mind up about something there was nothing that would stop her.'

  'Have you been married long?' she asked gently.

  'Ten years.' He gave a hopeless sigh. 'If we'd had children things might have been different. Lena really wanted children, but it didn't happen.' He looked up. 'My fault. I couldn't even do that right.'

  Drummond suppressed his own sigh. If their body really was Lena Murray and she had been soliciting, then she fitted the profile of the strangler's other victims. It didn't really take them any further though.

  'You mentioned your wages. What do you do, Mr Murray?' Gail asked.

  'I'm a bus driver.'

  'And Lena? Did she have a job?'

  'Lena worked in a cafe in Sauchiehall Street. The Tea Cosy.'

  Gail scribbled the name into her notebook.

  'Will you be all right?' Drummond asked. It was a ridiculous question because the man clearly wasn't. 'Can we call anyone for you, a member of your family?'

  Derek shook his head. 'There was only Lena…' His voice trailed into silence.

  'If you can give us a telephone number, we'll contact you about coming in to identify your wife,' Gail said, and jotted down the number she was given.

  'Are you sure we can't call someone?' Drummond asked again. 'We have specially trained support officers to help at times like this.'

  Derek Murray shook his head and slumped onto the expensive brown leather sofa. Drummond felt uneasy about leaving him on his own, but he couldn't make the man accept help.

  'What now, sir? That cafe?' Gail asked as they left the building and went back to the car.

  'Yes, the cafe. Can you check that out?' Drummond said. 'It's just around the corner and you can walk back to the nick from there. I'll go and see our jogger friend. What's she like?'

  'Pretty level headed I would say, not that I questioned her in detail.'

  Drummond nodded. He suspected interviewing this witness would simply be ticking another box, but it had to be done and didn't require two detectives wasting their time.

  Drummond's nose twitched as he stepped into the antiques centre. The place smelled of wealth. He looked around him. Everything was old, and expensive. There were no antiques in his flat, only second-hand furniture and none of that came with the kind of price tag he suspected the pieces here would fetch at auction. From the reception window he could see into the office. It was a frenzy of activity. He pressed the brass bell and a grey-haired woman in a cherry red cardigan approached. 'Sorry about all this. It's not really as chaotic as it looks.' She smiled. 'How can I help you?'

  Drummond gave his name and showed his warrant card. 'I'd like to see Olivia Ryder.'

  'Olivia? She's on the rostrum at the moment, but I think they're coming to the end of the list. Can you wait?'

  He nodded. The woman indicated a customers' bench, but Drummond ignored it, following the signs to the auction room. He'd expected Olivia Ryder to be spectacled and bookish, but the young woman brandishing the gavel was a Titian-haired beauty who appeared to have the audience in her thrall. He had no problem standing there watching her.

  The silver box she was currently auctioning was displayed on a screen. 'This is the one you've all been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen. Can I start at £100?' Her green eyes searched the room. 'How about £80 then? Just think how beautiful this would look on your dressing table, madam.' Her lovely face broke into a dazzling smile. 'A gift for your lady, sir. Just imagine how popular you would be.'

  Hands began to shoot up: £80…£90…£100…£110. The gavel came down at £210. Two more items sold equally well, and the room began to clear as the auction came to an end. Drummond approached Olivia Ryder as she left the rostrum and again produced his ID. She looked surprised. 'I told the officer this morning that I would come to the station to give my statement.'

  'You can still do that. This is just an informal chat.' He smiled. 'I promise not to keep you long.' Her eyes lingered on him as she returned his smile. 'I'm about to go on a break. There's a pub around the corner.'

  Drummond was trying not to be mesmerized by those emerald eyes. 'Good idea,' he said. He went with her while she collected her jacket and they walked together to the Rope and Anchor. She ordered a glass of white wine and a prawn sandwich. Drummond stuck to beer.

 
; 'You found the body, I believe,' he said, not taking his eyes from her.

  She broke off a piece of her sandwich and dropped it on her plate. 'It was horrible.' He saw her shiver and wanted to put an arm around her. 'I jog over that bridge every morning and the scene never changes. That's why I spotted the thing.' She looked up at him. 'It was out of place, you see.'

  He nodded. 'Go on.'

  Olivia lifted her glass and took a sip of her wine. She had abandoned the sandwich. 'It was caught up in something by the bank and the current was tugging at it, making it move about. I was in two minds about going to the side of the bridge for a closer look or jogging on.' She paused, her gaze darting about as she remembered the horror of what she'd seen that morning. 'I thought at first that it was rubbish someone had dumped in the river.' She turned to Drummond. 'Why do people choose the loveliest places to fly-tip their junk?'

  Drummond's shoulders lifted in a shrug.

  She carried on. 'It wasn't rubbish. I took out my phone and punched in 999.'

  'What time was that?'

  'Let me see.' Olivia's brow wrinkled as she worked it out. 'I left the flat at 6.30 and it takes me about ten minutes to get to the bridge, so 6.40.'

  'Did you see anyone else about at that time of day?'

  She thought about that. 'You mean like another jogger?'

  'Not necessarily,' he said. 'Just anyone else out and about.'

  'I didn't see who put the thing there, Inspector, if that's what you mean.'

  Drummond finished off his pint. That would have been too much to hope for. Despite how much he was enjoying this woman's company he'd been right in the first place. It was a box-ticking exercise.

  Olivia was leaning in closer. 'Look, I can't go on calling you "Inspector". What's your first name?'

  Jesus, he was flushing! Her directness unnerved him. He cleared his throat. 'It's Jack,' he said.

  'Like I said, Jack, I didn't see anyone, but you've made me think. There was a car.'

  'A car?' He was instantly a policeman again.

  She nodded. 'Through the trees. It was a dark saloon car. I didn't give it much thought at the time. I was so traumatized by seeing that body in the water.'