Easy Kill (18 page)

‘I wrote that stuff on the web about Glasgow pussy.’

Gary had barely waited for the tape to start before he began his confession. Magnus, observing through the
one-way glass, saw how taken aback Bill was. But Bill couldn’t have stopped Gary’s verbal diarrhoea, even if he wanted to.

‘It was a joke. Blokes travelling to Glasgow for sex. A blog to tell them what to expect.’

Anger suffused Bill’s face. ‘Mangy crackheads?’ There was a moment’s silence, then Bill’s fist came down hard on the table. ‘Still
fresh
?’

Gary’s face flushed, then went white.

‘That’s a joke?’ The sneer in Bill’s voice sliced through Gary’s remaining veneer like a knife.

‘I copied it from something else I read online, I swear.’

Bill read from a sheet. ‘If you fancy beating up a whore, this class is for you. Nobody gives a shit what happens to them, including the police.’

If Gary had thought confession was good for the soul, he was fast changing his mind. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

Bill’s tone was pure ice. ‘You didn’t mean it? Well I mean this, so listen carefully. I’m going to book you for incitement to violence and conspiracy to commit murder.’

Bill wasn’t faking his anger. Magnus could almost feel it radiating through the glass.

Gary was near blubbering. Bill let him stew for a bit while he sat back in his chair and waited. Finally he said, ‘Did you set up the online auction?’

Gary’s head came up, his face puzzled. ‘Auction?’

Magnus watched Gary intently. Bill’s voice was calm now, circumspect.

‘A murder auction. Highest bidder gets to watch Terri being killed, any way they like.’

Gary’s confusion gave way to horror. ‘I wouldn’t do that. Terri was . . .’

‘Was what?’

He forced the words out. ‘She helped me.’

‘How?’

Magnus thought about Gary’s expression in the waiting room, the furtive embarrassed glances at the other men.

Gary indicated Janice’s presence. No way was he going to say anything more in front of her.

‘Let me get this clear,’ Bill said. ‘You don’t mind publishing web pages that refer to women as mangy crackheads, but you won’t talk sexually in front of my constable.’

Gary’s jaw tensed stubbornly. Magnus wondered if Bill realised the younger man had reached his limit and was about to clam up.

Bill motioned to Janice to leave and stared directly at the glass, indicating he wanted Magnus in there.

Magnus could smell Gary as soon as he entered the room. A mix of perspiration, fear and adrenalin. Gary was like a cornered animal, his eyes darting, his muscles twitching, ready to run, except there was nowhere to go. Magnus could imagine the man’s brain twisting itself into knots. Gary had decided to admit to the blog, only to find himself in even deeper shit.

Bill introduced Magnus as a criminal psychologist assigned to the case. Whatever Gary expected, it wasn’t that. Magnus took his seat next to Bill and
offered Gary his hand. After a moment Gary accepted it, his glance moving between Bill and Magnus, trying to read the scenario.

‘It is imperative we find Terri,’ Magnus said. ‘Can you help us with that?’

‘I wouldn’t hurt her.’

‘I believe you.’

Gary kept his eyes on Magnus now, like a lifeline.

‘She helped you?’ Magnus prompted.

The shifty look was back in Gary’s eye. He was planning a lie or a retraction, then changed his mind.

‘I couldn’t get it up,’ he said flatly. ‘Terri made it work.’

‘You tried others before Terri?’

A spasm of pain crossed Gary’s face. ‘That’s why I wrote that stuff. Who wants to fuck a zombie?’

Bill made a noise between his teeth. Magnus covered it with his next question. ‘How many times did you meet Terri?’

‘Twice a month over the last six months.’

‘What about the night she disappeared?’

‘I came looking for her. She wasn’t there.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Early on. Ten o’clock maybe. I hung around for a bit, then left.’

‘You didn’t go with anyone else?’

Gary shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat. Magnus had been conscious of his scent all through the interview. There was a change now, a subtle one; but to Magnus’s keen nose it was unmistakable.

‘Lucie worked near Terri. You didn’t see her?’

Gary shook his head.

‘When people engage in sexual activity they exchange fluids, skin flakes, even human scent.’

The change in body odour was more distinct now. Gary was sexually aroused. Talking about sex obviously turned him on.

‘You had sex with Lucie Webster?’

‘No.’

The ‘no’ was emphatic and probably true, but there was something that linked Gary to Lucie. Magnus took a shot in the dark.

‘You watched someone have sex with Lucie.’ Gary’s eye twitched and Magnus knew he was right. Bill was itching to interrupt. Magnus begged him silently to say nothing. Gary’s swab would not link him to Lucie, but he had been there that night.

‘I
paid
to watch her,’ Gary emphasised the ‘paid’ as though that made it all right.

‘And?’

‘She showed me where to stand so the punters wouldn’t notice. After a couple of times, she asked me for more money.’ He sounded peeved. ‘I said no. We argued for a bit. A big guy turned up. She called him Minty. He told me to fuck off. I left.’

Bill came in. ‘What time was that?’

‘I don’t know, before midnight.’

‘You fix boat engines as well as cars?’

Gary wasn’t happy with the change in interviewer. He threw Magnus a pleading look. Magnus didn’t respond.

‘I don’t know anything about boats.’

There was a knock at the door. DC Clark’s expression was grim – bad news. Bill terminated the interview.

‘Can I go home now?’ Gary’s wail followed them out.

‘It’s Geordie,’ Janice said, once Bill closed the door behind them.

The old man lay under a white sheet, wires leading from his chest to a monitor that bleeped steadily.

‘The car hit him full force from behind,’ the doctor said.

‘Will he live?’

‘The internal injuries are extensive. A younger, healthier man might survive them but . . .’

‘Geordie isn’t a young healthy man.’

Bill felt a rush of pity. If he hadn’t let the old man leave the station, Geordie might be there now, eating chocolate biscuits, drinking tea and stinking everyone out.

‘Did you keep the clothes?’

The doctor pointed to a white, sealed plastic bag. ‘They smell pretty bad.’

‘Forensic will need to examine them.’

Bill sat for a bit beside the bed, knowing he was wasting his time, but staying anyway. The PC attending the scene was convinced Geordie had been knocked down on purpose. ‘You don’t drive that fast down a narrow lane with an old man in full view.’

Geordie had told Bill he’d seen a fancy black car take Terri away, but couldn’t recall the number plate.

It wasn’t worth killing for.

Of course it could have been a kid driving a stolen vehicle, accelerating through a lane where Geordie just happened to be, but that would have been coincidence. Bill didn’t hold with coincidence.

If Geordie had seen the car that lifted Terri, then the driver had probably seen him.

CATHY’S KILLER SHOULD
have removed her boots before he disposed of the body. Sand gets everywhere. You don’t have to be a beach lover to know that.

Rhona peered through the microscope at the mix of sand and water. Sand particles ranged in diameter from 0.0625mm to 2mm, their shape and composition dependent on age and origin. But that wasn’t all. The watery cushion that surrounded sand was a natural habitat for bacteria, algae and tiny animals. Cathy had brought a microscopic world back in her boots. A world that could tell Rhona where she first entered the water.

According to Judy, horned wrack was found only in brackish water. In the Clyde estuary, it grew on the northern shore, notably at the village of Cardross. The village itself didn’t have a sailing club, but there was a marina at nearby Rhu. The MO might be different, but Cathy’s death looked suspiciously linked to the watery world of their killer.

Rhona tried Bill’s mobile. When it rang unanswered, she called the main desk and asked if he was still about. The sergeant told her the DI was at the hospital. Rhona immediately thought something had happened to Margaret, but the sergeant put her right.

‘An old guy, pulled in for questioning on the Necropolis case, was knocked down near Duke Street.’

‘Geordie Wilkins?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Is he alive?’

The sergeant didn’t know. Rhona had to be content with his promise to tell the DI she’d called.

A smell of cooking greeted Rhona’s entrance to the flat, lifting her spirits. Then she heard voices, and realised Sean had a visitor. Rhona wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Sean was easy if she didn’t want to chat, and there were plenty of other ways to take your mind off the job. Rhona had been thinking of one in particular as she climbed the stairs.

She listened in the hall, wondering if she could head for the shower in the hope that the visitor would have left by the time she’d finished. The voices were low, but quite intense, and for a frightening moment Rhona thought it might be something to do with Sam. She opened the kitchen door to find Sean and his visitor at the table. They were drinking red wine.

Sean spotted her, and both men stood up together. When the other man turned, Rhona’s heart leapt in recognition.

‘Liam!’

Rhona’s eyes ranged over her son. He seemed taller, or thinner, or both. His skin was burnt brown, his hair bleached by the sun. Africa had changed him, just as it had changed her the first time she’d gone there. He had
an air of confidence she didn’t remember from their last meeting.

Neither seemed sure what to do next. At last Liam stepped forward. He smiled, but made no move to embrace her. Rhona would have given anything to put her arms around her son, but felt that wasn’t possible – not yet.

‘I tried calling you,’ Sean said.

‘Sorry, I switched the mobile off while I was in the lab.’

‘I’ve asked Liam to join us for dinner.’ A forced smile turned Sean’s bruised face into that of a circus clown. ‘I told Liam about falling into the cellar in the jazz club. How it spoiled my good looks.’

Rhona nodded, glad Sean had warned her. No point freaking Liam out with tales of the Suleimans. She asked if Liam minded if she went for a shower before eating, deciding they could both do with a few moments’ grace. Now her son was here, Rhona had no idea what to say to him, how to treat him. She only wished she could be as relaxed as Sean obviously was.

Standing in the shower, the water beating down on her head, Rhona shut her eyes and allowed herself to acknowledge a feeling of intense happiness. Her son had sought her out. He was sitting in her kitchen, talking to Sean. She would share a meal with him, hear about his time with the VSO in Nigeria.

Rhona stepped out of the shower and took a mouthful of wine. Already nerves had begun flickering in her stomach, thoughts of how she might screw up. How Liam might never return after tonight. Rhona fought
her growing anxiety as she dressed. Part of her wished that Sean wasn’t there, and that she could have Liam all to herself. Another part was relieved he was, so she and Liam might avoid long empty silences where they realised they were strangers to one another.

She couldn’t help but think of Nora Docherty, sitting in an empty house with the ghosts of her children. Nora deserved to get her daughter back. Rhona didn’t deserve her son. Sean would dismiss such ideas as fanciful, and not worth talking about. But then again, he hadn’t given away a son. Rhona took herself through to the kitchen, before her moment of happiness was completely extinguished by guilt.

Liam was setting the table. Sean had put on some jazz, something Rhona recognised for once. A second bottle of wine was open and taking the air. Rhona suspected Sean had raided his ‘cellar’ and brought out the best. She felt a rush of affection for his thoughtfulness.

They ate in comfortable semi-silence. Rhona realised Sean’s laid-back attitude had put Liam at ease. Sean peppered the intermittent silences with Irish charm and craic, while Rhona spent her time surreptitiously studying Liam’s face, as though he were a painting.

She imagined she saw Edward in the young man’s jaw line, herself in his eyes. She’d been Liam’s age, no, younger, when he was born. Edward was only a few years older. The years flowed backwards and Rhona saw herself then, burdened by a desperate desire to hang on to Edward. Confused, frightened and guilt-ridden.

Liam looked up, sensing her eyes on him, and Rhona rose from the table, ostensibly to fetch a glass of water. Behind her Liam muttered something about having to go soon, and Rhona was seized by a panic that she would never see him again. Then she heard Sean urging him to stay for coffee, as there was a tune he wanted to play for him. By the time she sat back down, Sean had gone to fetch his saxophone.

‘I’m glad you came,’ Rhona managed to say.

Liam smiled. ‘So am I.’

It was enough to be going on with.

They finished with coffee and an Afro-jazz number. Then it was time for Liam to leave. Watching the two men shake hands, Rhona silently acknowledged that Sean would make a good father, better than Edward could ever be.

Sean busied himself clearing the table, leaving Rhona to take Liam to the door. They were only there a moment. Liam struggled between offering his hand or giving her a hug. Rhona wondered what happened between her son and his adoptive mother, at such a time. If he usually hugged her, doing the same to Rhona might feel like betrayal. She solved his dilemma by putting her hand lightly on his arm and telling him he was welcome any time. Liam nodded, an awkward teenager again.

Rhona stood listening to his footfalls on the stairs, then the sound of the outside door clicking closed behind him. When she eventually turned to go inside, Sean was waiting in the hall.

‘He’s a great kid.’

‘All the better for having been brought up by someone other than me.’

Sean didn’t rise to her challenge.