Stranglehold

by Rena George

  The women had all been working as prostitutes. He left their bodies in places where they could be found. And they had all been strangled with similar scarfs. There was a definite pattern to the killings, until Emily Ross. What was different about her? Why had the killer changed tack? Two victims in the same night – and no card found with poor little Emily's body. Why?

  The scene in the dank miserable alley where they'd discovered Emily kept flashing through his mind. He frowned, throwing back the last dregs of his whisky. He didn't believe the one the press had nicknamed the Glasgow Strangler had killed Emily. Or had he? Drummond needed to think more logically about all of this.

  The strangler planned his killings with precision. He was clever, meticulous. But what if he came upon Emily that night after he'd killed Carol Nicholson? Could he have resisted murdering again, even if he hadn't been prepared for it? Drummond sighed. He supposed it was possible, but he wasn't convinced.

  And how did the killer happen to be in that alley? It didn't make any sense. He had already killed that night. Their criminal psychologist Francine Janus could give no good reason why he'd changed his pattern of behaviour. Had he gone looking for another prostitute and found Emily Ross? Maybe she propositioned him for business and he couldn't refuse? But then that didn't fit either because Emily had been killed in the alley where her body had been found and the strangler always removed his victims from the original murder scene and dumped them somewhere else in the city.

  His shoulders jerked up and he blinked. They'd thought the reason the killer moved his victims from the place where he strangled them was to eliminate any chance of them finding forensic evidence. But what if he actually murdered his victims in his car? It was a possibility they had considered and although they were ruling nothing out it wasn't one of their favoured possibilities. Maybe it was worth revisiting? Drummond tried to imagine the scenario. There wouldn't have been much space if the strangler's car was a regular saloon type. None of the witnesses had mentioned seeing a van. The victims had been strangled from behind. According the post-mortem reports the scarf that was used in each case had most likely been placed around the victim's throat and twisted violently from behind.

  Drummond sipped his pint. What would have induced that violence? The strangler clearly hated his victims. But why? Francine Janus would suggest he was murdering the mother he hated. If that was true, where was this mother? Was she still living? Had she been their strangler's first victim – one they didn't even know about? If so, where was the body? He was trying to put himself in the killer's shoes. Why did he hate his mother? Was she a prostitute like his other victims? Had the discovery of that incensed him and turned an already unbalanced mind into something even more sinister?

  Drummond's thoughts kept returning to Emily Ross. Again, he considered the possibility that the killer had gone wandering the city centre streets that night after killing Carol Nicholson and dumping her at the church. The site wasn't that far away from the city centre. Is that how he'd come upon Emily? Had he spotted her by chance and followed her into the alley? He was forcing himself to picture the scene. A shiver raced up his back. In his mind's eye he could see Emily in her short skirt and high heels looking over her shoulder as she disappeared into the alley to inject herself.

  He frowned into his pint. Emily must have looked like easy prey. Is that what had got her murdered? Had the strangler spotted her and been unable to resist taking a second victim that night? Had the urge been so strong that he'd abandoned his usual planned scenario? They had to go over that murder scene again. If Emily's murder hadn't been planned, then the killer could have left evidence.

  Drummond reached slowly for the pint he'd just had refilled. He was still thinking. Emily's body hadn't been moved. Why? Was it because the killer hadn't had time? Most of the night would have been taken up selecting his victim, Carol Nicholson, taking her off and killing her and then dumping her body at the church. His frown deepened. So how did he come to be in that alley?

  The ringing of his mobile phone broke his train of thought. He reached into his jacket pocket. It was Nick Rougvie.

  'Are you still in Inverness?' he asked.

  Drummond's spirits rose. He liked the man. Was he going to suggest they meet up again?

  'I am as it happens.'

  'Great. Come and have supper with us then.'

  Drummond pulled a face. It wasn't what he'd been expecting. 'Thanks, but I'll pass on that if you don't mind. I've got stuff to do.'

  'We all have to eat, Jack. It won't be a three-course meal, nothing fancy. Elaine says there's plenty.'

  Drummond hesitated. Apart from family gatherings, which he couldn't get out of, and the occasional meal he shared with Pete, he didn't get too many invitations to people's homes. 'Honestly, Nick. I'm fine,' he persisted.

  But Rougvie had caught the hesitation in his response. 'My wife will take your refusal as a slight on her cooking skills. Come on, Jack. You only need to stay for an hour. I'll pick you up.'

  Drummond gave a deep sigh. He could tell he wasn't going to get out of this. 'OK, I give up. Tell your missus I'll be there, but you don't have to pick me up. Give me your address and I'll get a taxi.'

  Drummond scribbled down the details and went back to his drink. He had no idea why he'd allowed himself to be talked into this. A fish supper from the nearest chippy would have done him, but it was his last night in Inverness and probably the last time he would see Rougvie. The man had gone the extra mile to help him. Having a meal with his family was the least he could do. He picked up his glass again and sighed.

  The taxi pulled up outside a smart semi-detached villa, not far from the town centre. 'Is this it?' Drummond said, looking along the street.

  'It's the address you gave me,' the driver said as Drummond got out of the car and searched his pockets for cash to pay the fare.

  Nick Rougvie must have been watching for him because the front door opened as the taxi drove off and he stood there grinning. He had changed from his shirt and tie of earlier into jeans and a red V-necked sweater. 'Come through, Jack. We're in the kitchen.'

  The delicious aroma that greeted him set Drummond's juices going. 'This is Elaine,' he said, as the woman stacking plates into the oven to warm turned and smiled. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the oven, which made the green of her eyes even more intense. 'Hello, Jack,' she said, pushing away shiny black hair with the back of her hand. 'Sit yourself down.' She nodded to the table that had been set for the three of them.

  'Smells great,' Drummond said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Elaine Rougvie was considerably younger than her husband…and attractive.

  'Red or white?' Rougvie had a bottle of wine in each hand. ‘We give ourselves permission to have a glass of wine once the kids are in bed.'

  'Red would be great, thanks.'

  'You don't mind eating in the kitchen, do you?' Elaine took the glass Nick was offering.

  'It's fine by me.' Drummond took a gulp of his wine then reminded himself he wasn't in the pub any more. He needed to watch his manners. Rougvie wouldn't be bothered, but he suspected his wife might be more critical.

  'I wasn't sure you'd still be in Inverness,' Rougvie said. 'Are you staying on for a while then?'

  Drummond shook his head. 'No, I'll be on my way first thing in the morning. I should really have gone back today but the room's already booked and paid for.'

  He was aware of Elaine watching him over the rim of her glass. 'Is this your first time in the Highlands, Jack?' she asked.

  'Pretty much. I was here with my folks when I was young. I remember being on a boat but that's about all.'

  'That would be Loch Ness,' she said. 'We took the kids out for a trip during the school holidays. They loved it.' A timer went off and Elaine turned back to the cooker.

  'Was it worth your while coming up here?' Rougvie asked. 'We didn't exactly discover much.'

  'No, but it helps to be able to fill in some background.' He knew more about Emily now, only
it had been like people were describing another girl from the one he had known as Evie.

  Elaine had been serving out their food on the worktop beside the cooker and was now placing Drummond's plate in front of him. 'Only mince and tatties I'm afraid,' she said.

  If he had been in any doubt about how famished he was, that had long gone. The mince and tatties looked fabulously appetizing.

  'Tuck in, don't wait for us,' she said.

  Drummond took her at her word. This kind of homely food beat what was served in the high-class Glasgow restaurants any day. It reminded him of school dinners and sitting around the kitchen table at home when he was a kid. His mother had prided herself on her mince and tatties. She got no complaints from him or his older brother, Daniel. Elaine's cooking matched up to that just fine. He'd cleared his plate in no time and accepted second helpings.

  'There's an apple crumble in the oven if you have room for it.' Elaine smiled.

  'You're spoiling me.' Drummond sat back feeling pleasantly full.

  'I'm glad you enjoyed it,' she said, collecting their empty plates. 'Nick doesn't often bring colleagues home.'

  Drummond threw Rougvie a look, watching him sip his wine. 'He's been a great help today.'

  The man shrugged. 'Just doing my job.'

  'And the rest,' Drummond said.

  Elaine had put the dishes on the worktop and was busy stirring a pan of custard to go with their crumble. Rougvie leaned forward. 'Can I have a word before you go, Jack? I want to run something past you.'

  'Of course,' Drummond said, his curiosity stirred.

  The pudding Elaine produced was as delicious as it looked. 'That was just great. Thank you, Elaine,' Drummond said, not sure if he should offer to help with the washing up. But Rougvie came to the rescue.

  'You go through and put your feet up, love. Jack and I will clear up.'

  'I was going to make coffee,' Elaine protested.

  'We'll do that too,' he said.

  'Well, if you're sure.' She left the room with a backward glance.

  Rougvie began clattering plates into the dishwasher.

  'So, what's this thing you wanted to run past me?' Drummond asked, scraping a pot into the bin before handing it over.

  'It's about Ian Stranger. He made out he was shocked when you asked if he suspected Emily Ross had been taking drugs.'

  Drummond gave him a look. 'You thought he was acting?'

  'I don't know, but we should take another look at him.'

  'Fine by me,' Drummond said. 'What did you make of Angus McLeod?'

  Rougvie stacked the final plate into the dishwasher and turned it on. He straightened up. 'Nasty man. After what Stranger told us I wouldn't be surprised if he was the reason Emily left.'

  'Do you think he could have killed her?' Drummond raised an eyebrow.

  'It's possible I suppose, if we've definitely ruled out the strangler. Maybe Angus tracked Emily down to Glasgow and lost the rag when she refused to return home with him.' He caught Drummond's expression. 'I take it we have ruled out the strangler?'

  'Not entirely,' Drummond said. 'What if we've been looking at this the wrong way round? We've been thinking the strangler killed the four prostitutes and that Emily's murder was different and therefore we had a different killer. What if it was the strangler who killed Emily and it's the other murders that are different?'

  Rougvie screwed up his face. 'You think it might be the same killer? Are you saying the first four murders were just a cover-up for the killer's real intention to kill Emily Ross?' He flashed a look back to Drummond. 'You still suspect Angus McLeod is our man, don't you, Jack?'

  Twenty-Five

  When Drummond rang DCI Joey Buchan next morning she wasn't buying his reasoning for why he should stay on in Inverness. Not even when he told her his theory about Angus McLeod.

  'You're fanaticizing, Jack,' she spat at him. 'Get yourself back here. This is where the killer's operating, not up there in the highlands.'

  'I have a gut feeling about this man, Joey. You have to let me stay on here and do some more digging.'

  He could hear her irritated sigh over the phone. 'Didn't you hear me? I said come back and that's my last word on it.'

  Drummond stared out across the fast-moving River Ness for a few seconds after Joey cut the call. The water looked black and angry this morning. Joey Buchan was wrong, but it wouldn't help to be ruffling her feathers, not when he was still planning to turn up the heat. He would do as she said. He would return to Glasgow, but only for now. Angus was still a person of serious interest in this case. He just needed to convince his DCI of that.

  He left Inverness after a hearty breakfast at the River Inn, pleased that the road out of town was quiet. His last conversation with Rougvie kept circling through his mind. He was sure Angus McLeod was their killer, but as he'd told Joey, it was a gut feeling and you didn't get convictions on that. He needed evidence. He needed to speak to Rachel again.

  Drummond was scowling as he strutted into the incident room early that afternoon. A few colleagues looked up from their work and nodded as he passed.

  'Nice of you to join us, Inspector,' Joey Buchan said over his shoulder as he reached his desk.

  'Anything new I need to know about?' Drummond asked.

  Joey shook her head. 'That's why I need you back here. I expect you to dig out something new for us.' She glanced at his desk. 'There's also a bit of paperwork to catch up on.' Her smile wasn't warm. 'I should get started if I were you.'

  Drummond stared sullenly at the papers spilling from his in-tray and cursed. As far as he could see, the team had made no headway on the case since he'd been away, but at least the killer hadn't been busy again. There had been no new murders.

  DC Gail Swann was smiling as she walked up to his desk. 'Good trip, sir?'

  'Feels like I've never been away,' he said. 'Actually, if you've got a minute, I'd like to run something past you.'

  'Go on,' she said.

  'Not here. Come on, I'll stand you a coffee.'

  The lunchtime rush was over, and the canteen was quiet as they walked in. 'Grab a table,' he said, heading off to buy their drinks.

  He came back with them and watched Gail reach for one and take a sip, screwing up her nose.

  'Horrible, eh?' he grinned.

  She nodded, leaning in towards him. 'So, what's this thing you wanted to run past me?'

  'What was your impression of Angus McLeod?'

  'McLeod? Domineering, a bit of a bully I suppose.'

  'Do you think he could be the strangler?'

  She stared at him. 'Well, no. I don't see how he could be. Surely our killer is right here in Glasgow?'

  'It's only a four-hour drive,' Drummond said.

  'Well, yes, but why McLeod? Is there any evidence that points at him?'

  'None whatsoever,' Drummond said. 'But it's him. I feel it in my bones. The man's a killer – and he's done it more than once.'

  Gail put up a hand. 'Wait, let me get this straight. You're saying Angus McLeod is the Glasgow Strangler because you have a feeling he is?'

  'OK, I know it won't stand up in court, but I'll get the evidence. What I really want from you, Gail, is support. I want you to back me up when I try to impress on Joey the importance of going back to Inverness. It's up there I need to be digging.'

  'Well, yes, I agree. If you're right about McLeod, you need the evidence.' She paused, thinking. 'The girl in the alley didn't fit the profile though. Surely that had to be a completely different killer.'

  'Or the same one trying to throw us off the track,' he said, meeting her eyes. 'So, what do you say? Are you with me on this, Gail?'

  She shrugged and pushed the remains of her coffee away. 'Why not? What do you want me to do?'

  'Just back me up when I speak to Joey.'

  The DCI was waiting for them when they got back to the incident room. 'A word please,' she said, beckoning Drummond over. 'If Mohammed can't go to the mountain, we bring the mountain to Mohammed.' She
smiled as though she was enjoying herself. 'I know this isn't maybe what you had in mind given this fixation you have about the strangler living in Inverness, but it's the best I could do.' She called out to the door. 'You can come in now, DS Rougvie.'

  Drummond's mouth fell open as he watched the big man approach. Rougvie's expression was sheepish.

  'I warned DS Rougvie not to tell you he had been seconded to the team, DI Drummond.' She smiled. 'Surprises are always better, don't you think?'

  Rougvie raised his wide shoulders in a shrug. 'Sorry, sir. I was under orders.'

  Drummond got up and offered his hand. 'No, it's fine. Good to have you on board.' He raised an eyebrow at Joey. She smiled.

  'Right, if everybody is happy then maybe we can get on with some work.'

  The morning briefing didn't throw up any new leads. It seemed to Drummond that they were all floundering in the dark. 'What about the killer's calling cards? Still nothing on them?' Drummond asked.

  Joey looked at DC Dale McQueen.

  'Nothing,' the man said. 'The cards are on sale all over the UK. Every branch of Tesco sells them. The ink the killer used to draw the silhouettes is just a cheap marker pen, also available everywhere.'

  'Still no fingerprints or DNA?' Drummond interrupted.

  The detective shook his head. 'Nothing. Our strangler is too clever to leave evidence like that.'

  'He'll slip up. They always do,' Gail said.

  Joey moved her bottom off the desk she had perched on. 'Well he needs to do it pretty damn quick because right now he's making us all look like charlies.'

  A murmur went around the incident room as the briefing came to an end. Rougvie came up to him.

  'Are you pissed off with me for not telling you I was coming down?'

  'Don't worry about it. The DCI's just playing games. How long are you here for?'

  'Days rather than weeks. Truth be told I could be called back at any time. As soon as work picks up again in Inverness, I'll be off.' He glanced around him at all the empty desks.