The Innocent and the Dead

by Robert McNeill

  “The man in charge of the investigation is Detective Chief Inspector Ronald Warburton,” Lyon was saying, “with whom we hope to speak in the next couple of minutes.”

  The camera zoomed beyond Lyon’s shoulder at that moment to focus on Warburton, who exited the station and walked towards the reporter.

  “Ah, here comes the Chief Inspector now,” she said, turning.

  Fulton nodded to the television. ‘Here we go,’ he said. ‘Our friendly local inquisitor.’ He turned to Knox. ‘Lyon’s not a Spanish name, is it, boss?’

  Knox grinned. Lyon, a thin-faced woman with an aquiline nose, was renowned for her acerbic Jeremy Paxman-style interviewing technique. He’d seen many a politician wilt under aggressive questioning while watching her weekday programme, Scotland in Focus.

  “The murder of this young woman is of course a most heinous crime, Chief Inspector,” Lyon was saying. “Made worse by the fact that it took place at such an iconic location, which I believe you’ve closed for the duration. Calton Hill is popular with the many tourists in the city at this time of year. Is there any likelihood of an early arrest?”

  Warburton acknowledged this with a nod. “Calton Hill is closed only until we complete our forensic analysis. A Major Investigation Team has been appointed in the meantime and no effort will be spared until the perpetrator is caught.”

  Lyon glanced to camera, then back at Warburton. “This Major Investigation Team, Chief Inspector, am I correct in saying it’s headed by a Detective Inspector Jack Knox?”

  “It is, yes.”

  “The same Inspector Knox who is alleged to have committed an act of brutality on a man he arrested earlier today?”

  Warburton appeared slightly taken aback but soon regained his composure. “Inspector Knox was attacked by a man wielding a knife,” he said. “He acted with reasonable force in order to protect himself.”

  “Really, Chief Inspector?” Lyon said. “Yet we’ve been told that the solicitor acting on the accused’s behalf intends to lodge a complaint. Surely he must feel there’s a case to answer?”

  “That’s something you’d have to ask him,” Warburton said. “I’ve just expressed our position on the matter.”

  “Thank you, Chief Inspector,” Lyon said, then turned to face the camera. “Well, that’s the latest news on this most tragic event here in Edinburgh. We’ll keep you updated throughout the day if there are further developments. Meanwhile, this is Jackie Lyon at Gayfield Square Police Station, handing you back to the studio.”

  ‘Never slow to go for the jugular, is she?’ Fulton said, turning from the bar.

  Knox shook his head. ‘Nature of the beast, I suppose. Didn’t take long for McIntyre’s brief to go public with the accusation, though.’

  ‘You heard the DCI, boss, it’s reasonable force,’ Fulton said. ‘The wee bastard attacked you with a knife. Given the circumstances, you acted as any of us would. “Facts are chiels that winna ding” as Burns said. There’s no case to answer.’

  They left the bar and got into the Passat. Knox started the engine and continued up Elm Row, turning left into Montgomery Street.

  Chapter Five

  Glentyre Terrace was a long cul-de-sac just off Easter Road, part of a busy arterial route running between the eastern end of the Old Town and Leith docks. The Glentyre Sauna was located in the centre of a row of shops halfway along the street, a mix of tenements and commercial buildings.

  Knox guessed the sauna itself had been a shop at one time. Now though, unlike its neighbours, it was decorated in a gaudy shade of pink, and both windows had opaque glass fronted by wire-mesh panels.

  He and Fulton went to the entrance where a card pinned next to an intercom read: “Press for Service.” Knox pushed the buzzer, then moments later a female voice answered: ‘Yes, who is it?’

  ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Kovach, please.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Knox.’

  There was a short period of silence, then the voice spoke again: ‘Mr Kovach wants to know what it’s about.’

  ‘I’ll be in a better position to tell him if you’ll open the door.’

  A moment later the door was opened by a thick-set man in his late forties who had a thick scar on his lower lip. He gave Knox an affronted look and said, ‘Is this a raid?’ He nodded to the street. ‘You come to search? No policewomen with you this time?’

  Knox knew that when saunas were raided, policewomen usually accompanied their male colleagues to carry out searches on cubicles, which were most likely to be staffed by masseuses. He showed the man his warrant card. ‘This isn’t a raid and we haven’t come to search. We only want to speak to you for a moment or two. I take it you’re Mr Kovach, the proprietor?’

  The man threw back his head indignantly. ‘Luka Kovach, yes.’

  ‘Can we come in?’

  Kovach shrugged and half-turned, opening the door. ‘Okay,’ he said.

  He took them through the reception area to a small office at the start of a short narrow corridor. Knox glanced beyond Kovach and saw several doors where he assumed the saunas were located.

  Kovach made a sweeping motion with his left hand then and said, ‘Come in. This room is my office.’ Knox noticed that he wore three rings – one on each of his middle, ring, and little fingers.

  They entered the room, which was furnished with a desk, two chairs and a leather sofa. A television sat on top of a table in a corner. The sound had been muted, but Knox saw it was tuned to Lowland Independent Television.

  Kovach saw him looking and indicated the tv. ‘Just been watching them talking about Katherine O’Brian.’ He sat down at his desk, shaking his head. ‘You know this woman used to work for me? How anybody could do this?’ He shook his head again. ‘Terrible, terrible.’

  ‘Actually,’ Knox said, ‘that’s what we’ve come to talk to you about.’

  ‘Katherine?’ he said. He pronounced it Katerine.

  ‘Yes,’ Knox said. ‘Did you speak to her lately?’

  Kovach shook his head. ‘No, why should I speak to her? She hasn’t worked for me for more than two years.’

  ‘You didn’t call her? Talk on the telephone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sure?’

  Kovach studied Knox for a long moment. ‘Why you ask?’

  Knox ignored the question. ‘I hear you are opening a new sauna in the West End.’

  Kovach nodded. ‘Drumsheugh Terrace, yes. I open in six weeks. Strictly high-class.’ He waved to his surroundings. ‘Not like this.’

  ‘I believe you wanted Ms O’Brian to work for you there.’

  ‘Who told you this?’

  Knox looked Kovach in the eye. ‘Just answer the question, please.’

  Kovach studied Knox again, then nodded slowly. ‘I phoned her once. Asked if she want to work for me in new up-market surroundings.’ He snorted. ‘Better money than the bitch Thomson pays in her sunbed business.’

  ‘You called her once, or more than once?’

  Kovach thought about this for a moment. ‘Maybe two, three times.’

  ‘Was she interested in working for you?’

  ‘She say no, but…’

  ‘How did you feel about her turning you down?’

  ‘Feel?’

  ‘Yes, were you annoyed? Angry?’

  Kovach scowled. ‘I know why you say this. You think I might be the man that killed her.’

  Knox ignored this. ‘You haven’t answered the question.’

  ‘What question?’

  ‘Were you angry when Ms O’Brian turned down your job offer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you persist in calling her, then?’

  Kovach shook his head. ‘I try to persuade her, not threaten. She’s a good-looking woman. Nice manners. The right person for type of clientele I want to attract.’

  Knox acknowledged this with a nod, then said, ‘Where were you at 11pm last night, Mr Kovach?’

  Kov
ach thumped his fist on the desk and said, ‘It is like I said. You do think I’m the man who killed her.’ He stood up then and waved his finger in Knox’s face. ‘Why would I want to do this? Okay, I offered a job and she says no. But I accepted this after the last time I spoke to her. I didn’t go after her and argue about it.’

  ‘Where were you at 11pm?’

  Kovach calmed down a little. He shook his head and replied, ‘At home.’

  ‘Anyone with you?’

  ‘I was alone.’

  ‘Nobody else? Wife, girlfriend?’

  Kovach shook his head. ‘I’m not married. No wife, no girlfriend. I’m gay.’

  Knox considered this for a moment, then said, ‘A boyfriend, then?’

  ‘I already told you, I was at home. Alone.’

  ‘Okay, Mr Kovach,’ Knox said. ‘Thank you for your time. We may need to contact you later. I take it you’re not planning to leave Edinburgh?’

  ‘You think maybe I’m guilty,’ Kovach said. ‘That I plan on running away?’

  Knox shook his head. ‘I didn’t say that, sir. We may have to speak to you more than once, as we may have to do with everyone who knew Ms O’Brian.’

  Kovach offered an insouciant shrug. ‘You’ll find me here, Mr Detective. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.’

  Knox and Fulton took their leave and walked to the Passat. ‘Bit of a strange one, don’t you think?’ Fulton said when they were back in the car. ‘You see his rings?’

  ‘Yes,’ Knox said. ‘Almost the first thing I noticed.’

  ‘You told me Turley said the killer was likely to have been someone wearing one.’

  ‘Yes, I did. And Kovach’s got a bit of a temper, too. But was Katy’s turning him down enough of a motive for murder?’

  ‘We’ve put folk away that have committed it for less, boss. Don’t forget he lied when you first asked him about the calls.’

  Knox nodded. ‘I know, I’m not ruling him out. But we’ll have the forensics report by tomorrow. Maybe that’ll give us something more concrete to work with.’

  At that moment Knox’s phone rang and he glanced at the screen. It was Hathaway.

  ‘Mark?’

  ‘The DirectFone team has just been in touch, boss.’

  ‘Good news?’

  ‘Well, they tell me there’s currently no signal from O’Brian’s mobile – and hasn’t been since last night. It was last active at 10.47pm.’

  ‘Which means it was switched off?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Looks like I was right. It was taken from her and dumped. Were they able to track any of her calls before then?’

  ‘Yes. They’ve been able to carry out a full trace on her mobile phone usage for the last two days.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She received three calls on Friday evening and made one. Two of the three she received were from landline numbers. The one she made was to a mobile.’

  Knox took a notebook and pen from his pocket. ‘Details?’

  ‘The calls were received at 6.15pm, 6.52pm and 7.27pm. The first from a mobile, the other two from landlines. The outgoing call was made at 8.20pm. The first was from Gary Bright, 132 North Park, Clermiston. I checked the voters’ roll; he stays with his mother, she’s a widow. The second was from Luka Kovach, 27 Glentyre Terrace, and the third from Pastor Patrick McHugh, Church of the Hallowed Messiah, 18 Meadowbank Grove.’

  ‘And the one she made?’

  ‘A mobile belonging to Tobias Murch. I’ve two numbers and addresses. His mobile is registered to his business at 28b Morrison Tower, and a home address I got through his landline number. It’s 31 Laird Avenue, Colinton.’

  ‘The call at 8.20, was it to his mobile?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘Right, Mark, thanks. The others have been mentioned in our inquiries so far. This Pastor McHugh, though, he’s new. Discover anything about him?’

  ‘Only that he founded the Church of the Hallowed Messiah six years ago, and that it’s non-denominational.’

  ‘Okay, Mark. You and Yvonne drive down to Meadowbank and have a word with him, will you? Bill and I will go up to Clermiston and speak to Bright.’

  Chapter Six

  The Church of the Hallowed Messiah was a squat, prefabricated structure with pebble-dashed walls and a large crucifix above the entrance. The building stood in a half-acre of grounds surrounded by a low fence with a centre gate, which was open.

  The driveway led to a small car park where Hathaway drew up alongside a battered Cortina. He switched off the engine, then said, ‘Looks like somebody’s in, at least.’

  Mason nodded to the Ford and grinned. ‘If that belongs to the pastor, the church must be awfully short of funds.’

  Hathaway smiled, then adopted a mock-pious voice. ‘Be content with what you have, for He has said, “I will never leave you, or forsake you”.’

  Mason looked at him, open mouthed. ‘Listen to Mr Holy Willie.’

  ‘Had a close aunt who was very religious. Gone to meet her maker now, alas. She loved to quote all that bible stuff.’ He tapped the side of his temple. ‘A lot of it’s still in here, unfortunately.’

  Hathaway and Mason got out of the car and were approaching the entrance when a middle-aged man exited and held open the door. ‘Good afternoon, I’m Patrick McHugh,’ he said in a soft Irish brogue. ‘I take it you’re police officers? You’ve come to ask me about Ms O’Brian?’

  Hathaway and Mason took out their warrant cards. ‘Yes,’ Hathaway said. ‘I’m DC Hathaway and my colleague here is DC Mason.’

  McHugh nodded. ‘I’m sorry to make your acquaintance in such tragic circumstances,’ he said. ‘I only heard about Katherine on the radio a half hour ago, on my way here. Devastating news.’ He shook his head solemnly. ‘Ms O’Brian was both a parishioner and a friend.’ He waved to the church’s interior. ‘Won’t you both come in?’

  They entered and followed the pastor to a room at the far end of the church which was furnished with a large bookcase, an oval pedestal table, and six straight-backed chairs arranged in a semi-circle. McHugh indicated these and said, ‘Please, take a seat.’

  Mason and Hathaway took the two nearest, then McHugh pulled a chair from the other end and sat opposite. The pastor clasped his hands together and bowed his head, and for a moment Mason thought he was about to intone a prayer.

  A moment later he straightened, and said, ‘Well, detectives, how can I help?’

  Mason took out her notebook. ‘Could you tell us when you last saw Ms O’Brian?’ she asked.

  McHugh nodded. ‘I can, yes. Last Wednesday at 10.30pm, when she left to drive home. Katherine was here for the midweek service.’

  ‘She regularly attended your meetings?’

  ‘Yes, Wednesdays and Sundays for the last three years.’

  ‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’ Hathaway said.

  ‘I think it would be around 7.30 yesterday evening. I phoned her on her mobile.’

  Hathaway nodded. ‘Can you tell me the reason for your call?’

  ‘Indeed, I can. We hold the Sunday service here at 10.30am. In addition to attending as a parishioner, Ms O’Brian was one of the church’s volunteers. She helped out by placing prayer books on seats prior to services. Setting up for meetings, that sort of thing. I phoned to confirm that she’d be able to come in early on Sunday.’

  ‘And was she?’ Hathaway said. ‘Able to come in early, I mean?’

  ‘Yes,’ McHugh replied. ‘She said she’d manage.’

  ‘This voluntary work,’ Mason said, ‘did she carry it out on a regular basis?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For as long as she’d been a member of the church?’

  ‘Almost from the beginning, yes.’

  ‘Was there a reason, then, that you had to call her to confirm? Wouldn’t it be more likely for her to call you if she couldn’t manage?’

  McHugh considered this for a long moment and said, ‘Katherine came to the Church of t
he Hallowed Messiah in 2012 because we’re non-denominational. Soon after joining, she confided to me that she was a sex worker. She explained she was a staunch Catholic, but was afraid if she confessed that to a priest – even in the secrecy of the confessional box – she wouldn’t receive absolution. She was absolutely convinced of this, in fact, and terrified of excommunication.

  ‘Her sins – she believed the Catholic Church would perceive them as such – caused Katherine to suffer from depression and anxiety. Although worship and prayers here helped, there were occasions when everything seemed to overwhelm her.

  ‘I assured her of Christ’s forgiveness and, although she appeared to take comfort from this in the main, there were occasions when she would lapse into despondency. That was the reason I called her – to determine her mood and offer reassurance if necessary. I wasn’t really concerned about her being early on Sunday. She always was.’

  ‘But Ms O’Brian hadn’t been employed as a sex worker for two years,’ Hathaway said. ‘She’d been working in a tanning salon.’

  ‘You’re wondering why concerns over her former life should have continued to affect her?’ McHugh said.

  Hathaway nodded.

  ‘In all good conscience, I can’t give you a definitive answer to that. You may know that her mother and father were killed when she was only four, and she was brought up by her grandparents, both of whom were strict Catholics. I think they inculcated a fear of sinning, and its consequences in the eyes of the Church. I’m sure for this reason some feelings of guilt remained with her.’

  ‘But she did willingly offer her sexual services when she came to Edinburgh,’ Mason said. ‘We know she’d been working in a sauna since 2011.’

  ‘A little before that, actually,’ McHugh said. ‘Katherine told me she’d been at the Glentyre since 2008, a year after she arrived in the city.’ He shook his head. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘It appears a contradiction. On the one hand, you have a young, perhaps naïve, girl who arrives in a city having had a strict religious upbringing in the town where she grew up. Yet, within a short period, she’s changed her outlook completely. Rebellion against her grandparents? A hurry to possess material things a nine-to-five job mightn’t have brought so quickly?’ He shook his head again. ‘I honestly can’t say.’