The Innocent and the Dead

by Robert McNeill

  Knox shook his head, smiling. ‘Guilt, huh?’

  ‘Like I said, Jack, with some folk that sort of thing runs deep.’

  Knox nodded, then said, ‘And this pastor, McHugh, how old is he? Any inkling of him being close to O’Brian?’

  ‘Around fifty, I’d say. I honestly didn’t get the impression of him being involved with her sexually. Most likely he was just someone she felt she could confide in. I think he took the place of the priest she was afraid of if she returned to Catholicism.’

  ‘He’s married?’

  ‘No. He told us he lived with his sister.’

  ‘Homosexual?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Asexual, perhaps. He says he’s celibate.’

  Knox grunted. ‘There’s many a clergyman who’s made that claim, Yvonne, only to be found out later.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s the case with McHugh, Jack. Though I’ll admit it’s only a gut feeling.’

  ‘Sometimes that’s the most important tool in the job,’ Knox said, gently prodding her stomach. ‘What you feel in here.’ He smiled. ‘Learn to trust it, girl.’

  * * *

  Mason left before seven, and Knox was in the middle of preparing his supper when the telephone rang. He dialled down the oven and went through to the living room, then picked up the cordless handset from its cradle.

  ‘Hello, Knox.’

  ‘Jack? It’s Ed Murray. The forensic report’s just come in, I promised to phone you.’

  ‘Of course. Thanks for getting back to me. Any joy?’

  ‘Yes, there is. A strand of silk thread was found on the neck of O’Brian’s blouse. Didn’t come from any of her own clothes.’

  ‘Great, Ed. Anything else?’

  ‘Yes. Samples of foreign DNA were found both on the thread and on O’Brian’s underwear. Both belong to the same individual. Enough to give us a conclusive match if the killer’s swabbed.’ Murray paused. ‘Anyone in the frame yet?’

  ‘Aye, four possibles. All spoke to O’Brian on Friday evening. The first is the owner of Glentyre Sauna where O’Brian worked two years ago; the second a guy called Murch who she was seeing and who was paying her for sex; the third a former boyfriend who she dumped; and last – but not necessarily least – a clergyman whose church she was a member of.’

  ‘The second one on the list, Murch?’ Murray said. ‘Interesting. We found a MacBook laptop at her boarding house. She was exchanging e-mails with him.’

  ‘Anything significant?’

  ‘Not really, Jack. What they contained more or less backs up what you’ve told me. She was seeing him pretty regularly. The e-mails are short; confirming where they’d meet, at what time, etcetera. I’ve had them printed and sent to the station. You can look them over when you get in tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks, Ed.’

  ‘Oh, and DC Hathaway mentioned her phone was missing. We gave her car a thorough check but didn’t find it. Nothing else of interest in the motor, either.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, Ed. I’m of the opinion that the killer dumped it. I think the DNA will make a difference, though. I’ll make sure the four I’ve just mentioned are swabbed ASAP.’

  Chapter Ten

  The next day, Monday, Knox met with Fulton, Hathaway and Mason at Gayfield Square shortly before 9am and exchanged details of their interviews with Kovach, Bright and McHugh, then brought them up to date on the DNA results.

  ‘Bill and I are going to see Murch – the last of the four she spoke to – at ten this morning,’ Knox said. He picked up a folder from his desk and handed it to Mason. ‘Give these a look in the meantime, will you, Yvonne? They’re e-mails DI Murray obtained from O’Brian’s laptop. Might find something of interest.’

  As Mason took the folder, their eyes met and a look passed between them, a brief but silent acknowledgment of their assignation the previous day. She smiled and replied, ‘Okay, boss.’

  Knox turned to Hathaway. ‘Mark, I’d like you to arrange DNA swabs for Bright, Kovach and McHugh – and make sure McGilvery, the guy who found her, is done while you’re at it. Bill and I’ll arrange Murch’s test when we see him. I’d like them sent to our Dundee testing unit ASAP.’

  Hathaway nodded. ‘Right, boss. Oh, and I meant to say, one of DirectFone’s technicians left a message yesterday. He thinks they can pinpoint the exact locations where O’Brian’s calls were made and received. They’re going to get back to me this morning.’

  ‘Fine, Mark,’ Knox said. ‘Could prove useful.’ He glanced at his watch and nodded to Fulton. ‘Okay, Bill. Time for us to keep our appointment with Murch.’

  * * *

  Morrison Tower on Morrison Street was one of a number of buildings which had gone up in west central Edinburgh in the 1980s and 1990s. Situated on the site of the former Princes Street Station, the huge complex straddled the West Approach Road, a main arterial route from the western suburbs which had been built on the former Caledonian Railway line.

  The side nearest Princes Street was occupied by offices of major insurance companies and investment banks. These stood shoulder to shoulder with the site’s oldest building, the Caledonian Hotel, which opened in 1903 and had been recently renamed the Waldorf Astoria.

  An equally eclectic mix of buildings occupied the area south of the West Approach. These included the Exchange Plaza, the Edinburgh International Conference Centre, and another hotel, the Sheraton Grand, together with a wide selection of shops and restaurants and the world-renowned Filmhouse Cinema.

  Morrison Tower was accessed from Morrison Street, which was located at the southern end of the complex. A semi-circular driveway led from the street to the Tower entrance, over which a large fan-shaped canopy gave shelter. As Knox pulled up, a doorman liveried in grey stepped out from the lobby and signalled for him to roll down the Passat’s nearside window. Knox did so, and the man leaned into the car. ‘I’m sorry, sir. You can’t park in this area,’ he said. ‘It’s for alighting passengers only.’

  Fulton, who was nearest the doorman, indicated a dozen spaces opposite the entrance, which were empty with the exception of one bay where a Mercedes S-Class was parked. ‘What about over there?’

  ‘They’re reserved, I’m afraid.’

  Knox showed the man his warrant card. ‘Police officers,’ he said. ‘We’re here on official business.’

  The doorman gave Knox a conciliatory look. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said. ‘In that case, do you mind parking a wee bit along from the entrance, sir? It’s just that there’s a fair few vehicles coming and going. Your car should be okay there.’

  Knox complied, then he and Fulton walked back to the entrance where the doorman waited. ‘Can you direct us to 128b?’ Knox asked. ‘It’s a company called AN Properties.’

  The doorman nodded. ‘Certainly, sir,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’

  He led them into the reception area, a vast hallway with a vaulted atrium. A young woman seated behind a desk opposite the door looked up from her computer as they entered.

  ‘It’s okay, Lorraine,’ the doorman said, ‘I’m just showing these gentlemen to 128b.’

  The receptionist looked at Knox and smiled. ‘You’re here to see Mr Murch?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  She glanced at her computer screen, then back at Knox. ‘I have a note here, sir. You’re booked in for a ten o’ clock appointment.’ She nodded to the doorman. ‘Jimmy will show you the way.’

  * * *

  Murch was waiting for them at the door of his office. He waved the detectives inside, directed them to two chairs positioned in front of a large, elaborately carved oak desk, then walked to the opposite side and settled into a plush leather armchair. A picture window behind him gave an unrestricted view of the southern ramparts of Edinburgh Castle.

  Murch picked up an engraved cigar box from the desk and proffered it. ‘Would either of you gentlemen care for a cigar?’

  Knox took a moment to study Murch, not sure if the man was exactly what he’d expected. He was around fort
y, five foot eight in height, heavily built and slightly overweight, with a sallow complexion and black curly hair. He was dressed in an expensive-looking suit and wore a gold Rolex watch. Knox noted that he wasn’t wearing a ring.

  ‘Thank you, no,’ Knox replied. ‘Neither of us smoke.’

  Murch nodded and extracted a cigar. ‘You don’t mind if I do?’

  Knox shook his head. ‘No, go ahead.’

  Murch took a lighter from the desk and lit the cigar. ‘I was in London on Saturday when I heard the news about Katy. Needless to say, I was both surprised and saddened.’

  Knox said, ‘We understand you spoke to her on Friday night?’

  Murch waved away a wreath of smoke. ‘On the phone, yes. She called me just after eight.’

  ‘Why was she calling?’

  Murch looked at Knox for a second or two, then said, ‘Sorry, you’re–’

  ‘Detective Inspector Knox,’ Knox replied, then, turning to Fulton, added, ‘this is Detective Sergeant Fulton.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you both. Alice, my wife, made the appointment but didn’t give your names.’ He puffed on the cigar again, then exhaled. ‘You’re aware I was seeing Katy on a fairly regular basis?’

  ‘I think we understand the arrangement, sir, yes.’

  Murch studied Knox for a long moment, then said, ‘Yes. Well, I phoned her mobile on Friday afternoon to ask if she’d meet me on Tuesday this week.’ He shook his head. ‘But the call went straight to voicemail. So I left her a message. She was returning my call, confirming she was able to see me.’

  ‘Where were you when she called?’

  ‘On Friday evening?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Murch studied the ceiling. ‘Where?’ he said. ‘Mmm… wait a moment, let me think… ah yes, I was looking over one of my properties in the West End, Great Stuart Street. Recently acquired, needs quite a bit of work.’

  Knox said, ‘And when did you last see Ms O’Brian?’

  Murch took a slim, black-covered notebook from his inside jacket pocket, studied it for a moment or two, then said, ‘Just over two weeks ago, Thursday the eleventh of June, at 7pm.’

  ‘That was the last time? You haven’t seen her since?’

  Murch glanced at his notebook again, then gave confirmatory nod. ‘Yes, Thursday the eleventh.’ He looked up and met Knox’s gaze. ‘No, Inspector Knox,’ he said, ‘that was the last time.’

  ‘I gather you’d been seeing Ms O’Brian for more than two years. Was the relationship between you strictly professional?’

  Murch gave Knox a querying look. ‘Sorry? I’m not sure I understand the question.’

  ‘Did you continue seeing her during that time only for sex, for which you paid,’ Knox said, ‘or was there an emotional involvement – either on your part or hers?’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Murch said, waving his cigar. ‘No, the relationship was purely professional. I paid for her services each time I saw her.’ He shook his head. ‘Not that I didn’t find her attractive, mind. I did, very much so. And she was, ahem, very capable in bed.’

  Knox acknowledged this with a wry smile. ‘Uh-huh. And finally, can you tell us where you were at eleven on Friday night?’

  ‘Of course I can. I was here, in the office. Preparing proposals for clients in London. Left around ten past and was home by eleven-thirty. Caught the first flight down on Saturday morning.’

  ‘Is there anybody who can confirm your being here at eleven?’

  Murch nodded. ‘I think so. Danny Stuart, the night security man, was on duty. I said goodnight to him when I left.’

  ‘Okay, I think that’s all for the moment,’ Knox said, standing up. ‘Thanks for your cooperation.’ He paused and added, ‘Oh, there is one other thing before we go. We’re carrying out DNA tests. We’d like you to take one for the purpose of elimination. I take it you’d have no objection?’

  Murch crushed his cigar into the ashtray. ‘None,’ he said. ‘I’d be happy to.’

  Knox acknowledged this with a nod. ‘Fine. Can I ask you to attend Torphichen Place Police Station sometime today? Just down the road? It’ll only take ten minutes. I’ll tell them to expect you.’

  Murch looked at his watch. ‘I’ll drop down before lunch, around twelve-thirty. Will that be okay?’

  ‘That’d be fine, Mr Murch,’ Knox said. ‘Thank you again.’

  * * *

  Knox and Fulton were exiting a lift when a red BMW i8 sports coupe arrived at Morrison Tower’s entrance and parked in one of the bays opposite. A woman got out of the car and walked into the building, then made her way to the reception desk.

  ‘My husband’s ten o’clock visitors, Lorraine,’ she said when she arrived, ‘have they been yet?’

  Lorraine glanced up just as Knox and Fulton reached the hallway. She nodded in their direction. ‘I think they’re just leaving, Mrs Murch.’

  Mrs Murch turned and said, ‘Oh, pardon me. I didn’t see you gentlemen there.’ She walked over to Knox. ‘I take it you’ve seen Toby?’

  Knox studied her for a moment before answering. Alice Murch looked older than her husband, somewhere in her late forties. She was tall, around five foot nine, with prominent cheekbones and an angular jawline. She was wearing a powder-blue trouser suit, matching chiffon scarf, and wore her strawberry-blonde hair cut short.

  ‘Yes, we have,’ Knox replied. ‘You’re Mrs Alice Murch?’

  She nodded. ‘I am. And you must be Detective Inspector Cox, the officer I spoke to on Saturday.’

  Knox smiled. ‘Knox,’ he said.

  ‘I stand corrected,’ she replied. ‘And my husband’s been able to… how do you policemen phrase it? Help with your inquiries?’

  Knox noted the sarcasm in her voice. ‘For the moment, yes.’

  ‘You mean you may have to speak to him again?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  She shook her head, then lowered her voice and said, ‘I’m aware of the reason for your visit, detectives. Toby was seeing the young woman who was murdered.’

  Knox shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Murch. That’s something you’d have to ask him.’

  She gave him a sardonic smile. ‘I was speaking rhetorically, Inspector Knox – it wasn’t a question. I know all about Toby and his liaisons, have done for some time. He was seeing her.’

  Knox said nothing in reply.

  Alice Murch turned on her heel then and began walking towards the lifts. ‘What the hell,’ she said with a dispassionate shrug, ‘he won’t be seeing any more of her now.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Callous bitch,’ Fulton said when they were back in the car. ‘That and her condescending manner.’ He shook his head. ‘The outfit she was wearing suits her to a “T” – bloody ice queen.’

  ‘Takes all sorts, Bill.’

  ‘No surprise Murch plays away from home, though, is it, boss?’

  Knox smiled and shook his head. ‘You know the saying, Bill?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Marriage is an institution–’

  ‘– But who wants to live in an institution, right?’ Fulton snorted derisively. ‘They’re an odd pair, right enough.’

  ‘Tobias Murch, though,’ Knox said, ‘not sure he’s telling us the truth.’

  ‘About his whereabouts on Friday night?’ Fulton said. ‘I got that impression myself.’

  ‘Aye. The way he answered when he looked up from that wee black book of his.’

  Fulton nodded. ‘You were asking about his relationship with O’Brian. More to it than he’s letting on?’

  Knox pulled out of the Morrison Tower driveway and began heading towards the city centre. ‘I think so. Nothing concrete, just a feeling.’

  Knox activated the car’s hands-free unit then and dialled Hathaway’s number. ‘I’m giving Mark a ring,’ he said. ‘See if DirectFone’s been in touch.’

  The speaker crackled for a second as the call connected, then a voice said, ‘DC Hathaway.’

  ‘Mark?
It’s Jack. The phone engineers, they get back to you yet?’

  ‘Yes, boss. Ten minutes ago.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Good news. They’ve been able to pinpoint exactly where each call was made and received.’

  ‘Okay,’ Knox said. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Bright told you he was on a bus when he called O’Brian. That checks out. The call was made in Stenhouse Grove, received at Restalrig Terrace. Kovach and McHugh’s calls were also received at Restalrig; both made from landlines. Kovach’s from Glentyre Terrace, McHugh’s from Meadowbank.’

  ‘And Murch, he took her call at the West End?’

  ‘No, boss. Again, her call was made from Restalrig, but he was at 47 Royal Terrace when they spoke.’

  ‘Whose address is 47 Royal Terrace?’

  ‘I checked just before you rang, boss. It’s the Taj Mahal Club.’

  Knox glanced at Fulton. ‘He was lying.’ Then to Hathaway, ‘Bit of a conflict with what Murch told us, Mark. We’re heading down to Royal Terrace.’

  ‘Okay, boss.’

  ‘And Mark–’

  ‘Yes, boss?’

  ‘Get in touch with security at Morrison Tower. Find an address for a Danny Stuart, one of their night security men. Go have a word with him. He works night shift, so you might have to roust him out of bed. Murch tells us he was at his office around eleven on Friday, left at ten past. See if Stuart agrees.’

  ‘Right, boss. You want Yvonne to go with me?’

  ‘If she’s finished with the e-mails, yes.’

  ‘She has. Says to tell you there was nothing of interest. Just routine stuff, as DI Murray said.’

  ‘Okay, Mark,’ Knox said. ‘And one more thing – get back to DirectFone before you go. Murch says he called O’Brian on Friday afternoon. I’d like to discover if he’s telling the truth.’

  * * *

  The Taj Mahal Club had been converted from one of a row of Georgian houses erected in the early nineteenth century. Royal Terrace, together with Regent Terrace and Calton Terrace, had been built on the northern, eastern and southern flanks of Calton Hill by William Playfair, an architect responsible for many of Edinburgh’s neo-classical structures.