Stranglehold

by Rena George

  Rougvie returned carrying two over-filled pints. The beer slopped on the table as he put the glasses down. 'I'll have to get back after this or my boss will think we've eloped.'

  Drummond reached for his pint. 'That's an idea I won't be dwelling on,' he said.

  Rougvie grinned and they sat in silence for the next few minutes, each man content to give his pint the reverence it deserved.

  'You think there's something different about Emily's murder too, don't you, Jack? That's why you're here in Inverness. Tell me what's going on.'

  'It's a fishing expedition, Nick.' It wasn't a lie. He'd felt that by coming here to where Emily had lived might give him a better idea of who she was. It had, but he was no closer to knowing why she'd been murdered.

  'But I'm not sure it's taken us any further. We still don't know what made Emily up sticks here and head for Glasgow.'

  Rougvie nodded. 'Aye, it's a mystery right enough. I think our young lass has got to you, Jack.'

  Drummond looked away. Rougvie was right. Emily had got to him. He felt guilty. He felt responsible for what had happened to her. He wondered what Rougvie would say if he told him the truth, but now wasn't the time for confessions. He didn't know this man well enough to trust him that much. How could Rougvie possibly understand why Emily had been staying with him when she died?

  Twenty-Two

  Drummond was thinking about the approach they should take when they interviewed Angus McLeod. After what Ian Stranger told them neither of the detectives was in any doubt that McLeod abused his wife, but Rachel hadn't officially accused him. And much as Drummond itched to grill the man about Emily's death there was no scrap of evidence against him, not even circumstantial. They were hunting a killer and found a wife beater.

  'McLeod's a bully and he uses people,' Drummond muttered under his breath.

  But Rougvie heard him. 'Using people isn't a criminal offence.'

  'Murdering them is,' Drummond said grimly. 'Don't lose track of why we're here. I'm not saying McLeod is the Glasgow Strangler, that would be too easy. But there are loose ends that need attention.'

  Drummond's head was full of questions as they walked quickly through the town. The Alba Bank was an impressive old building on the corner of the main pedestrian area. It was ripe to be turned into one of those pubs where they did all day breakfasts. They pushed through the heavy glass doors and went in.

  A young woman in corporate uniform colours of maroon and black came forward smiling.

  Drummond returned the polite smile. 'Could your manager spare us a few minutes?'

  'Do you have an appointment?'

  'No.'

  'He's engaged at the moment. Perhaps there's something I can do?'

  As she spoke, the door to Angus McLeod's office opened and he came out, shaking a customer's hand. The smile on his face vanished when he spotted Drummond and Rougvie.

  'It's fine,' Drummond said. 'He seems to be free now.' The two detectives moved across the bank. 'Mr McLeod, good morning. Can we have a word?'

  The man nodded. Apart from that initial flash of discomfort Drummond registered, the bank manager appeared relaxed. 'Come through please. Can I offer you some tea?' He stepped aside as they entered the room. Both officers refused.

  'Please take a seat.' Angus McLeod indicated the two chairs opposite his own place at the big wooden desk.

  'Do you have more news about Emily?'

  'No.' Drummond shook his head. 'I'm sorry, sir. We're still following enquiries.'

  The man narrowed his eyes at Drummond. 'Enquiries that have brought you all the way from Glasgow?' He waited for a response, but the officers said nothing. 'If you have more information about Emily you must tell me,' he said.

  Drummond mentioned the date Emily died. 'Where were you on that date, Mr McLeod?'

  McLeod stared at him. 'What's this? Why are you asking me this?' His body had stiffened with indignation. 'You're not suggesting I had anything to do with my stepdaughter's death, are you?'

  Drummond smiled. 'Of course not, sir. But you of all people must expect our enquiries to be thorough. We're speaking to everyone who had any connection with Emily.'

  'You think her killer knew her?' McLeod's surprised expression looked genuine. Drummond's heart sank. There was no giveaway guilt in the man's eyes, no suggestion of discomfort. Could he really be such a convincing actor?

  'Like I said, sir,' Drummond continued. 'We're just ticking boxes, eliminating people. It's tedious I know but it has to be done. So, if you could just tell us where you were on that date?'

  The bank manager rolled his eyes to the ceiling. They knew he was playing for time, probably weighing up whether they had already spoken to Rachel or not.

  'I can double-check my diary but I'm pretty sure I was at home with my family that weekend.'

  He didn't see the look that flashed between the detectives. The man was lying. Drummond just knew it. Suggesting checking his diary was clever. It was a way out for him if Rachel said he hadn't been at home that weekend. Drummond pursed his lips, nodding. His expression gave nothing away, but inside him his heart missed a beat. Who wouldn't remember what they were doing on the weekend a member of their family was murdered? It would be ingrained in their head. They would remember everything, who they were with, what was said, what they did, that knock on the door when the police called to break the news.

  'If you could just check your diary then, sir,' Drummond said. He was already picturing the formal interview when they got the man down to the nick.

  Angus McLeod reached into his jacket and produced a small black leather pocket diary. He flicked through the pages and nodded. 'Yes, here it is. That was the weekend we repainted the nursery.' He pushed the diary across the desk, indicating the entry. Drummond's eyebrow arched as he glanced down at the book. The entry was there, but it was hardly proof the decorating had happened on that weekend.

  McLeod was already dismissing them. 'I wish I could have been of more help, Inspector. No one wants you to find Emily's killer more than my wife and I.'

  'You have helped, sir.' Drummond and Rougvie got to their feet. 'We hope to have more positive news for you and your wife very soon.'

  The man's eyes narrowed a fraction, hardly a response but something. 'We'll look forward to hearing from you,' he said, rising as the officers left the room. Drummond wondered how long it would be before McLeod was on the phone to Rachel. He would know they would question her. He'd want them to get their stories right.

  Rougvie had to pick up his pace as he strode after Drummond. 'We need to be all over this man's life. I want to know everything about him. Emails, phone calls, social media, the whole shebang.' Drummond sounded like he was breathing fire. 'I want to know every step he takes, every person he meets, every thought that passes through his head. He's a killer, Nick. I know he is!'

  Twenty-Three

  The detectives tracking him down to his office like that had unnerved Angus. They made him feel they knew more than they'd said. Rachel was the problem. She was like a loose cannon these days and he was no longer confident he could still exercise his control over her. And that was no good at all. There was no telling what she might accuse him of, or who she might confide in. And now that the police were investigating Emily's murder, he couldn't take any chances.

  Elizabeth Begg Guthrie had sparked his interest the first time he'd met her. The fact that she and her husband, the Free Church minister, the Rev Andrew Guthrie, were new to the area was even better.

  He thought back to the evening when Andrew and Elizabeth had invited Rachel and himself to have supper with them at the manse.

  Rachel had been reluctant to accept the invitation, but they could hardly turn it down. So, she had sat at the table with a disinterested expression, not engaging in conversation and hardly touching the roast chicken.

  Andrew and Elizabeth Guthrie were a particularly dull and boring couple, but Rachel could have made an effort.

  Later in the evening when they were l
eaving, Elizabeth Guthrie had drawn Angus aside and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. 'You must look after your poor wife, Angus. Andrew has told me what happened to your daughter. I can't imagine the kind of nightmare you must both be enduring.'

  He'd looked away, making sure she'd think he was blinking back tears. Elizabeth touched his arm. 'If there is anything Andrew or I can do to help, you must tell us. We're here for you, both of us.'

  He had swallowed hard so that his voice sounded emotional when he thanked her. But inside Angus was smiling. Elizabeth Guthrie was exactly the kind of gullible woman who could be useful, so long as he played his cards right.

  He hadn't imposed himself on Rachel that night. She never wanted to have sex with him, but in the past she would put up a spirited struggle. He sensed there was no fight in her anymore and he didn't like that. Angus had little interest in submissive women. Elizabeth Guthrie's pale, thin face came into his mind. He tried to imagine what she and Andrew did in bed. He couldn't visualize it would be anything erotic, but you never could tell, not that it mattered. He had other plans for Elizabeth.

  It was almost a week later before Angus was able to put his scheme into action. He'd paid attention when Elizabeth had talked about her daily routine and the times she went into the centre of Inverness on shopping trips. It had meant keeping an eye on the manse to watch for her leaving in the morning, but that was no problem, as manager of the Alba Bank he could come and go as he pleased, and no member of staff dared question him.

  It was Wednesday morning when he found himself trailing the minister's wife into the shopping centre car park. She spent more than an hour wandering around the shops before going into a tea room in Station Road. He had his fingers crossed that she wouldn't be meeting someone there. That would put the skids on his plan. But no one joined her. This was his moment.

  Angus deliberately let his shoulders slump and blinked hard as he entered the cafe, assuming the distracted body image he'd been practising. He made for the counter and ordered a pot of tea. Negotiating the occupied tables, he carried his tray to the far corner of the tea room, carefully avoiding making eye contact with anyone. He felt sure Elizabeth had seen him.

  He sat with his back to the room. Had he done enough to elicit her sympathy? What if she had seen him and slipped out of the cafe, not wanting to get involved? It was the chance he was taking.

  'Angus. I thought it was you.' Elizabeth Guthrie was suddenly smiling down at him.

  Angus jumped to his feet, hoping he was looking sufficiently embarrassed. 'Mrs Guthrie! Sorry, I was in a world of my own there. I didn't see you coming in.'

  'Elizabeth…please.' She smiled at him. 'I was already here when you came in. I have a table over there.' She hesitated. 'I was wondering if you might care to join me, but of course if you want to be on your own, I would completely understand.'

  Angus gave a resigned sigh. 'I'm not very good company today I'm afraid.'

  'Andrew told me the sad news about poor Emily. I am so sorry,' Elizabeth said, her blue eyes full of concern. 'Is there anything I can do?'

  Angus shook his head. 'Not really, but I thank you for your kindness.'

  'We are one family, Angus and our problems are for sharing.' She had slipped quietly into the seat opposite. 'I just want you to know you are not on your own. Andrew and I are here to help.' She glanced at his untouched drink. 'That must be cold. Let me get you another.' She made to stand up, but Angus put a hand on her arm. 'No, please, allow me to do this. You're being very kind to give me your time.' He resisted the urge to turn and smile. Things were going exactly as he'd planned, so he kept a stern face as he went to the counter and ordered more tea for the two of them. It was beginning to feel cosy.

  The minister's wife gave him another one of her sympathetic looks as he returned with the tray and sat down. She put a hand over his. 'Only when you're ready,' she said softly.

  Angus cleared his throat. 'It's Rachel. I'm nearly out of my mind with worry about her.' He paused, blinking. 'She's behaving so irrationally, and I don't know what to do.'

  Elizabeth's brow furrowed with concern. 'In what way irrational?'

  'It's difficult to talk about. She seems to have no control over her temper. It feels like she's lashing out at me all the time. I know women sometimes have emotional issues after a baby, but Archie is almost a year old now.' He glanced up. 'Surely she should be over that by now?'

  Elizabeth squeezed his hand. 'You must be patient with her, Angus, especially now there's another little one on the way. You've both suffered a terrible loss. Your daughter died in a particularly cruel way. It's a dreadful thing to have to live with. Andrew and I admire both of you so much for the way you're coping with it, but maybe your wife needs an extra bit of support.'

  Angus frowned. 'What kind of support?'

  'I mean counselling. I think Rachel needs to talk to someone.'

  'She can talk to me,' Angus snapped back.

  'Can she, Angus?' Elizabeth tilted her head, watching him.

  He glanced away. 'You think this is my fault…that I'm letting her down?'

  'Of course not, but these situations can be difficult, and you are not a trained counsellor, are you?'

  Angus's shoulders rose in a shrug. 'No, but I'm a bank manager. I listen to people's problems all the time.'

  'That's different though, isn't it? The people you are dealing with are probably strangers. Rachel is your wife, the mother of your children. You can support her, certainly, but you can't give her the professional help I think she may need.'

  Angus allowed his shoulders to slump. This was going even better than he'd hoped. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. 'I think Rachel is telling people I abuse her.'

  Elizabeth stared at him. Angus swallowed. Had he gone too far? He shook his head as though in despair. 'I love my wife. She knows that. I would never lift my hand to her, or any woman.'

  'Of course, you wouldn't,' Elizabeth said quickly. She hesitated. 'What exactly do you believe she accuses you of?'

  'Striking her.' Angus drew in his breath. 'The thing is…she has bruises.'

  'Bruises?' Elizabeth frowned.

  Angus nodded. 'I can hardly bear to even say it, but on top of everything else…I think my wife is self-harming.'

  Elizabeth gave him another wide-eyed stare. 'But that's awful!'

  'I'm not concerned for myself, but we have three young children and as you say, another on the way,' Angus said. 'Rachel is like a loose cannon at the moment.'

  The woman looked genuinely shocked. 'I had no idea. I'm so sorry. You must definitely seek help for your wife.'

  Angus reached across the table and took Elizabeth's hands in his. She looked a little uncomfortable, but she didn't withdraw her hands. 'Thank you, Elizabeth. I just needed the courage to take the next step.'

  'And you will seek help?'

  'Absolutely,' he said, making a show of just having noticed the time. 'I must get back to the bank. My staff will be wondering where I've got to. Will you excuse me, Elizabeth?' He started to rise and then stopped, meeting her eyes. 'Can we keep this just between ourselves for the moment?' He let her slip her hands out of his.

  She lowered her eyes. 'Of course.'

  'Thank you so much,' he said. But as he turned to walk away Angus McLeod was smiling. He knew the woman wouldn't be able to resist sharing everything they had discussed with her husband. And that was exactly what he wanted. Rachel could do her worst now for he was confident that no matter how much she accused him of abusing her, no one would believe her.

  Twenty-Four

  Drummond feared that if DCI Joey Buchan had been expecting this trip to the Highlands to throw any new light on the strangler murders, she was in for a disappointment. He now had to justify his reason for coming back to Inverness.

  He'd parked up at his digs after leaving Nick Rougvie back at the station and gone for a wander. The pub he found in Academy Street was quiet enough to give him thinking time. Drummond knew he would be facing
the music when he got back to Glasgow. He had no good reason to stay on here and yet he was reluctant to leave. Was that because he felt there was more to learn here in Inverness, or simply because he had no Joey Buchan on his back? The DCI was definitely easier to deal with at a distance. He ordered another pint and a whisky chaser as he sat morosely at a corner table trying not to remind himself that Emily's murder might be his fault. But it was no good. The girl had been murdered and if it was the last thing he ever did he would find her killer.

  Going over each murder in his head hadn't helped in the past, but he found himself doing just that again.

  The women's faces scrolled past his eyes. Maggie Burns' body had been dumped in one of the lanes behind The Barras in the centre of Glasgow. The killer couldn't have found a busier spot if he'd tried. They almost missed the card with the silhouette images of the cat and mouse. It had been under the body. At the time they considered it was something that could have fallen from the killer's pocket, but there had been no fingerprints on it, no DNA clues. The card had been put there on purpose. But why?

  Bonnie Brennan, the second victim, had been found miles away on open waste ground in Pollockshaws. The discovery of the cat and mouse card confirmed the killer was taunting them, challenging them to catch him. Drummond conceded it was the part of the investigation that wound him up most. The killer was playing with them. And that was personal!

  He thought about Lena Murray. She too had been strangled and her body tossed into the River Kelvin. Why the river? Was the strangler smart enough to work out that water destroyed evidence? It hadn't destroyed the killer's cat and mouse calling card that had later been found in her pocket.

  And then there was Carol Nicholson, victim number four. As before, the card had been left for them to discover. The body had been found in the grounds of a Gorbals' church, only a few hundred metres from her home. Had that been deliberate? Had the strangler known these women before he selected them for his victims?