“… and we’d like to congratulate you on a swift resolution of the Katherine O’Brian murder case,” Lyon was saying. “I understand the killer was arrested today?”
“Yes,” Warburton replied. “A woman has been arrested and charged with Ms O’Brian’s murder. She was remanded in custody late this afternoon.”
“Are able you give us her name, Chief Inspector?”
Warburton nodded. “I can. Alice Norma Murch, aged 48.”
“Did she confess to killing Ms O’Brian?”
“Mrs Murch made a full confession to my officers, yes.”
“I see. So does the arrest mean Calton Hill has been reopened?”
“Yes, the forensics people have concluded their work and Calton Hill is once again open to the public.”
“Thank you, Detective Chief Inspector,” Lyon said. “Please convey our congratulations to Detective Inspector Knox and his team.”
“Thank you,” Warburton said. “I will.”
Lyon thanked Warburton and turned back to camera. “Well, there you have it. The Calton Hill murderer has been arrested and one of Edinburgh’s leading visitor attractions is open to visitors. Again, our heartfelt thanks go to Detective Inspector Knox and the Major Incident Team at Gayfield Square Police Station here in Edinburgh. This is Jackie Lyon, handing you back to the News Tonight studio…”
Fulton nodded at the television. ‘Changed her tune since Saturday, hasn’t she, boss?’ He lifted his pint glass and added, ‘How’s the saying go? “Success has a thousand fathers, but failure’s an orphan?”’
Knox grinned. ‘I think you’re paraphrasing a wee bit, Bill. I think it was John Kennedy in 1961, at the time of the failed Cuban invasion. He was talking about victory and defeat.’
Fulton took a swig of his beer, then nodded, ‘You’re probably right, boss. Anyway, here’s to a satisfactory conclusion, eh?’
At that moment, Knox’s mobile beeped as a text arrived. He took the phone from his pocket and glanced at the text, which read:
JUST MET MY FRIEND [SEE PICTURE]. OKAY FOR US TO CALL AT YOUR PLACE FOR A WEE SNIFTER – 8PM? YVONNE.
Knox flicked to the picture, which showed Mason’s hand clutching a bottle of Glenmorangie.
Fulton was holding up his glass, awaiting an answer.
‘Sorry, Bill,’ Knox said, ‘I was distracted for a moment. You were saying?’
‘I was saying here’s to a satisfactory conclusion.’
Knox lifted his pint, then clinked glasses with Fulton. ‘A very satisfactory conclusion, Bill,’ he said with a grin. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers, boss.’
The End
THE INNOCENT AND THE DEAD
Book 1 of the DI Jack Knox mysteries
Chapter One
Detective Inspector Jack Knox picked up the phone on the fourth ring. ‘Knox,’ he said.
‘Jack? Ronald Warburton. Sorry to call so early. You know we’re a wee bit shorthanded?’
Knox raised himself on his elbow, bunched one of the pillows against the headboard and leaned into it. ‘Yes sir,’ he said.
‘DC Hathaway’s on paternal leave and DC Mason’s down with flu. The only one of the team on night call is DS Fulton.’
Knox said, ‘Something’s come up?’
There was a pause at the other end of the line, then the DCI said, ‘You know the Lochmore Distillers boss, Sir Nigel Tavener?’
‘I do, sir, yes.’
‘I think his daughter’s been abducted.’
‘Sir?’
‘Last night, a Mr Alan Morrison rang to report a young female being taken to a van parked in Duddingston Road West. Two men exited the nearby cycleway with the girl, bundled her into the vehicle, then drove off at speed. Samantha Tavener’s flatmate rang later to report her missing.’
‘What time did Mr Morrison witness this?’
‘Around 8.30pm. Her flatmate rang later, just before midnight.’
‘Does her father know?’
‘Yes, Sir Nigel’s been notified. Her flatmate got in touch when Samantha failed to arrive. Thought it possible she might have gone to her parents.’
Knox considered the likeliest motive. ‘Anyone else contacted Tavener?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware.’
‘Why was she on the cycleway, do we know?’
‘Ms Tavener studies law at the Old College at the Southside. Apparently, she called after seven to say she was on her way home. Her flatmate, a Ms Claudia Wright, told us she made a habit of jogging back via the path.’
‘Where’s their flat located?’
‘62a The Causeway, Duddingston Village.’ Knox heard the shuffle of paper as Warburton consulted his notes, then his boss added, ‘Look, Jack, just to bring you up to speed: DS Fulton is at the locus of the abduction together with DI Murray, the SPA officer. I told Fulton I’d ring and ask you to join them ASAP. You’re not that far away?’
‘No, sir.’ Knox replied. ‘East Parkside, a ten-minute drive.’
‘Fine, Jack. I’ll leave it with you. You can update me later.’
* * *
DS Fulton indicated the path as Knox approached. ‘Innocent,’ he said. ‘Quite a moniker to give a railway, isn’t it, boss?’
Knox frowned. ‘Sorry, Bill, I don’t follow you.’
‘This cycleway,’ Fulton said, ‘used to be known as the Innocent Railway. One of Britain’s first. Horse drawn originally, built in 1831. Said to have got its name from the fact no fatalities happened when building it, unusual during the Industrial Revolution.’
Knox grinned. Fulton was heavy-built and in his early fifties, and had partnered Knox for more than three years. His sergeant was a fount of knowledge on Edinburgh’s history.
Knox pointed to the area beyond Fulton, where a man in protective clothing was on his knees, examining the scene.
‘Nothing innocent about what happened here, apparently.’
Fulton pursed his lips, suddenly serious. ‘No, boss.’
The man in the overalls was DI Ed Murray, a member of the Scottish Police Authority forensics team. He looked around on Knox’s approach and smiled.
‘Morning, Jack,’ he said. ‘Did we get you out of bed?’
Knox said, ‘Morning, Ed,’ then shrugged. ‘Inevitable. Hathaway’s on leave, Mason’s off with flu.’
Murray nodded. ‘So I heard.’
Knox gestured to the area where Murray was working, then said, ‘Find anything interesting?’
‘A couple of things, yes.’ Murray pointed to a clump of bushes nearby. ‘Two bicycles over there. A modern racing bike and an older one with sit-up-and-beg handlebars. One of its tyres is flat. Found a pannier and tools lying nearby.’
Knox acknowledged this and said, ‘And the other?’
Murray indicated cloths which had been placed in evidence bags and lay on the verge. ‘Couple of rags, one soaked in chloroform.’
‘Any prints?’
Murray shook his head and thumbed to the sky. ‘Wasn’t fully light when DS Fulton and I arrived. I took a quick look but it doesn’t appear we’ll find any. Everything seems to have been wiped clean.’ Murray paused for a moment, then added, ‘Oh, I meant to say, marks at the side of the track indicate one of the bikes was upended.’
Knox considered this for a long moment, then said, ‘Looks like one of the two pretended to have a puncture and got Tavener to stop and lend a hand.’ He indicated the evidence bags. ‘Managed to distract her, then rendered her unconscious.’
‘Where was the second cyclist while this was happening?’ Fulton said.
Knox pondered this a second or two longer, then said, ‘My guess is he passed her further up the track, then phoned his accomplice to tell him she was on her way.’
Murray nodded. ‘He’d be in a better position to survey the track between St Leonards and here. Make sure no one else was about.’
Knox took out his notebook and turned to Fulton. ‘This Mr Morrison, Bill. You got his statement?’
‘Aye,’ Fulton replied. ‘Told me he had played a round at Duddingston Golf Club, situated almost opposite. He was walking home to Peffer Place, a short distance away, when he saw a van parked at the cycleway entrance.’
‘What make of van?’
‘A Ford Transit, dark blue. He didn’t get a number, but we’ll likely find it was stolen.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Knox said. ‘Then?’
‘Morrison was almost level with the van – which was on the opposite side of the road, facing Duddingston – when two men appeared with the girl. He says they only took a moment to open the rear doors and bundle her inside.’
‘Description?’ Knox said.
‘Late twenties, early thirties. One medium build, around five-eight. The other skinny, slightly taller.’
‘What did he say about the girl?’
Fulton consulted his notes. ‘Thought she was drunk at first, the men were supporting her.’
‘Okay,’ Knox said, then glanced at Murray. ‘Ed, while we’re in the area, Bill and I had better head down to Duddingston Village and talk to Samantha’s flatmate. Is it okay if we leave you to it?’
‘No problem, Jack. I’m nearly done. I’ll have uniforms secure the scene. Any developments, I’ll get back to you.’
Knox nodded. ‘Thanks, Ed.’
* * *
62a The Causeway was a whitewashed two-storey building situated at the edge of Duddingston Village. The entrance door abutted the pavement at street level, and an intercom alongside the letterbox bore the names of the residents of both flats. The top one read: S. Tavener & C. Wright.
Knox thumbed the button and moments later a voice said, ‘Yes?’
‘Ms Wright? Ms Claudia Wright?’
‘Yes.’
‘Detective Inspector Knox and Detective Sergeant Fulton. It’s about Ms Tavener. May we speak to you, please?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Wright replied. ‘Sorry, I’ll let you in. It’s the upper flat.’
A buzzer sounded, then Knox and Fulton entered a small courtyard and ascended a flight of steps to the upper storey.
They were met by a slight, dark-haired woman in her late twenties. She held the door open and said, ‘Won’t you come in?’
Wright escorted the detectives into the sitting room, where she motioned to a floral-patterned sofa. ‘Please, take a seat,’ she said. ‘I was just about to make tea. Would you gentlemen like a cup?’
Knox had left his flat in a hurry, barely managing a gulp of orange juice. The prospect of a hot cup of tea was very welcome.
‘I wouldn’t mind, thanks,’ he said.
Fulton nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, please.’
Five minutes later, Wright placed three cups on a coffee table in front of the settee, filled each from a copper teapot, then indicated a bowl and jug. ‘Help yourself to milk and sugar.’ She settled into an armchair opposite and added, ‘I’ve hardly slept worrying about Samantha. Has anyone heard from her yet?’
Knox took a sip of tea and placed the cup back on the saucer. ‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’ He paused for a long moment, then added, ‘You said when you spoke to us earlier that she was in the habit of jogging home via the old railway path?’
Wright nodded. ‘Yes, Samantha likes to keep fit. On weekdays when she attends a law course at the Old College, she jogs home via St Leonards and Duddingston Road West.’
Knox took his notebook from his pocket and glanced at it. ‘She’d called to let you know she was on her way?’
‘Yes. She’d stopped off at the Commonwealth Pool after leaving college. She was phoning from Holyrood Park Road.’
‘What time was that?’
Wright thought for a moment, then straightened her cup and said, ‘Around quarter to eight. I remember because I was in the middle of an episode of Eastenders.’
Knox said, ‘Does she usually phone when she’s coming home?’
‘No,’ Wright replied. ‘Only on alternate weeks when she knows I’m here. I’m a hotel receptionist and work shifts. This is my early week.’ Wright paused briefly, then continued, ‘Samantha and I have a little arrangement. On my early shift, I do the cooking. When she rings, I know it’s time to switch on the oven.’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing elaborate. Just a ready meal or something that can be microwaved. She’ll do the same for me when I’m on late shift.’
Knox said, ‘And when she didn’t arrive you phoned her parents?’
‘I waited until ten-thirty. I thought maybe she’d bumped into some friends or that her parents had turned up unexpectedly.’
‘And?’ Knox said.
‘As I say, when ten-thirty came and I hadn’t heard from her, I was a bit worried. I phoned her mobile, but the call went straight to voicemail.’
‘If she was late for any reason, wouldn’t she have given you a call?’ Fulton asked.
‘That happened only once,’ Wright replied. ‘A month or so back she’d called to say she was on her way home, again around eight-thirty. Rang back a half-hour later to say she’d changed her plans, she was meeting a friend for a drink.’
‘This friend… a woman, a man, do you know?’
‘A woman,’ Wright replied. ‘She’s a law student too, around Samantha’s age. Attends the same lectures.’
‘You know her name?’
‘Yes, Lorna Watt. Samantha’s mentioned her often.’
‘She’s known her long?’
‘For as long as they’ve been at college, I think.’
‘But you’re not sure Samantha was meeting her last night?’
‘No.’
‘I see,’ Knox said. ‘So, could you tell me why you waited until ten-thirty to give her a ring?’
‘Most likely because I thought it possible she had run into Lorna again. You see, although we share a flat, we’re not really that close. The flat share is an arrangement that suits us both. I originally rented the property four months ago but, to be honest, I couldn’t really afford it. It has two bedrooms, so I decided to advertise in the local paper for someone to share. That’s when I met Samantha.’ She reflected for a moment, then added, ‘Why didn’t I phone her sooner? Perhaps I didn’t want to appear intrusive.’
‘You’re not that close,’ Knox said, ‘yet you have her father’s phone number?’
‘It was something we agreed at the beginning,’ Wright said. ‘That we’d have our families’ contact details in case of emergencies.’
‘So, when did you decide to give Sir Nigel a ring?’ Knox asked.
‘When I phoned Samantha’s mobile at ten-thirty, I left a message asking her to get back to me. When another hour passed and I heard nothing, I decided to phone her parents.’
‘What did Sir Nigel say?’
‘He was a little perturbed,’ Wright said. ‘Samantha had arranged to give her mother a ring last night, but didn’t. He said he’d check with friends and relatives and phone me back.’
‘And did he?’
‘Yes. Said nobody had heard from her and he was contacting the police. He advised me to do the same.’
Knox acknowledged this, then drained his cup and stood. Fulton followed his lead.
‘Thanks, Ms Wright, you’ve been very helpful,’ Knox said, ‘and thank you for the tea.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ Wright said. ‘I hope you find Samantha soon.’
Chapter Two
Samantha came to slowly. Hearing was the first sense to register, her ears picking up what sounded like a wail in an echo chamber – weh-wah, weh-wah.
Soon her vision returned, too; objects were indistinct at first, and after several minutes her ability to focus was almost normal.
She tried to move her hands, without success: her wrists were bound to the arms of the wooden chair she was seated on. An attempt to shift her legs also met resistance, then she realised her feet were tied at the ankles.
The final impediment was a gag – a strip of duct tape stretched across her face from one side of her jaw to the other.
She remembered the tw
o cyclists then. One who’d passed her at the start of the track, and the other who’d asked for help with a puncture. A valve had got stuck in the rim, he’d told her. If she’d steady the wheel, he’d manage to free it with pliers. Like a fool she had agreed, turning her back to him. At that moment, he’d reached over and clamped a chloroform-soaked rag over her mouth.
Samantha came out of her reverie and surveyed her surroundings. She was in a room that appeared to be a basement. Almost square, with green-painted walls. She guessed its dimensions at thirty by thirty feet.
A door faced her, light entering from a window at her back. She craned her neck to check, and saw that the window was actually a fanlight, which almost touched the ceiling and was open just a fraction.
There must be a busy road nearby, she thought, as she could hear the sound of traffic. The noise she’d heard when coming to must have been the siren of an ambulance or fire engine.
The door opened at that moment and a man entered. He wore a ski mask and she could only see his mouth and eyes.
He walked over, pulled the tape from her mouth, then stood back and faced her.
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘You’re awake.’
Samantha immediately recognised the voice.
‘You’re the one who stopped me on the cycleway,’ she said. ‘Why have you brought me here? And where the hell is here?’
The man touched the side of his nose. ‘Where?’ A beat. ‘That’s a secret. Why?’ He laughed. ‘Surely an intelligent girl like yourself can make a pretty good guess.’
‘You’re holding me for ransom?’ She shook her head. ‘I can tell you now, my father won’t agree to any demands. You’ll be arrested.’
The man stared at her for a long moment, then said, ‘I know you’re a law student, sweetie. So, please tell me, how often does the family of a kidnapped offspring pay up?’
Samantha shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Then I’ll tell you, shall I?’ He moved closer and caressed her chin with his finger. ‘In cases where the police aren’t active – that’s to say where the family doesn’t involve them in the proceedings – 70 to 80 per cent pay and the kidnappers get away with it. The important factor? Convincing parents that involving the police is a bad idea.’
The Innocent and the Dead Page 9
