The Birdwatcher (22 page)

Changing his clothes made him even later than he would have been for the morning briefing. The sergeant in charge raised an eyebrow as South appeared at the back of the parade room, but didn’t say anything.

It was almost over. The sergeant was mumbling through his list: police cars parking inappropriately outside the takeaway; a rambler attacked by a Staffordshire terrier, and, of course, the body found in the old Cadet Force hall.

‘No signs of anything suspicious, but CID have asked us to keep our ears peeled.’

There was a weary snigger.

‘We have reason to believe the deceased was the person who killed Robert Rayner but investigations are ongoing.’

South’s head was fuzzy. The day had started all wrong; Cupidi had, at least, taken seriously his suggestion that it might not have been a suicide. She must have if she had sent the Scene of Crime Officer back to the hall and briefed the shift sergeant.

‘Anything else?’

South knew there was something he’d been meaning to raise but he couldn’t remember what. He needed tea. Between heading home to change and driving to the station there had not been time for a cup.

‘Right then,’ said the sergeant, picking up his notes. His lips looked pink and sore.

South remembered what he had wanted to ask. ‘What about the chemist shops? Anything else there? Any other break-ins?’

The men were already pushing out of the double doors behind him, eager to get away. ‘Not as far as I know,’ the sergeant said. ‘Not for a couple of days. It seems to have calmed down a bit on that front, at least. Got any ideas on that?’

As the sergeant approached, he lifted a small white stick to his mouth. South realised his lips were badly chapped. The raw season was starting, the north wind coming across the weald.

‘Judy Farouk disappeared a week back. And the break-ins started after she’d gone. My guess was that all the users were desperate after she’d gone.’

‘Well, they stopped now, at least.’

‘Only Judy isn’t back. Not at her caravan, at least.’

‘Maybe she’s just moved the operation somewhere else. My guess, anyway. Tired of coppers like you knocking on her door.’

‘Maybe,’ said South.

In the hallway, he made tea from the machine and was so desperate for it he burned his tongue on the first sip.

The morning was the first chance he’d had to update his notebook, so he found an empty desk in the back office and wrote up everything he could remember from yesterday afternoon. ‘
Donny Fraser
’, he wrote. Underlined the name three times. Added a question mark.

The office was quiet, which was good.

At the desk next to him, a woman constable South knew vaguely was scrolling through Facebook pages.

‘You don’t have an aspirin, do you?’ he asked her.

‘Not aspirin,’ she said, eyes glued to the screen. South tried to remember her name, but couldn’t.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘Cyber-bullying,’ she said. ‘Some kids from the High School. Posting photos online. Revenge porn. I got Feminax.’ She reached down and lifted up her handbag and pulled out a packet.

South took it, hesitated. The box was pink. ‘Faster relief for period pain?’

The woman laughed. She had ginger hair and a round, friendly face. She was pretty, he realised, even with a strawberry birthmark on her cheek. ‘It won’t turn you into a nancy,’ she said. ‘It’s just ibuprofen.’

He returned to his notebooks. Flicking back through the earlier pages, he saw the number plate he’d noted down. There was no computer on his desk, so he turned to the woman constable and said, ‘You got the PNC on that thing? Can you look up a car number plate for me?’

He held out his notebook for her to read. ‘Is that a P? Your writing is atrocious.’ She keyed in her password, then the number. Within a minute she was writing something down on a Post-it note. ‘Red Smart car registered to a Mr Steven Kriwazek, Durham. No outstanding notices.’

‘That’s funny. Because I saw it on a white four-wheel-drive down in Lydd.’

‘Sure about the number?’

‘A hundred per cent.’

He pressed one of her pills out of its bubble and gulped it down with the last of his tea.

‘Fake plates,’ she said.

He nodded.

The door to the back office swung open. ‘There you are,’ said DS Cupidi. ‘I’ve been trying to call you.’

South picked his phone out of his pocket. It was on silent, he realised.

Cupidi was standing, arms crossed, looking angry. ‘What were you doing at the Cadet Force hall?’

‘I was just passing by.’

‘Really? I had SOCO on the phone complaining that you were tramping around the crime scene.’

‘Actually, your officer didn’t seem to be that interested in whether it was a crime scene or not.’

‘You can’t do that, William. You’re not even on the case any more. If . . .’ She looked at the woman officer. ‘After what you told me last night, I can’t have you anywhere near this investigation. You would compromise it. Do you understand why?’

The younger woman concentrated on her screen, pretending not to listen.

‘I didn’t even know you were taking that seriously,’ said South. ‘There wasn’t anyone at the hall when I arrived. The place was deserted. Anyone could have got in.’

‘I sent someone there first thing this bloody morning. And you need to stay away. OK? Well away. For operational reasons. I can’t afford to have this mixed up with the fact that I’m your friend. I’ve had enough crap with that already in my career. As my daughter seems to have told you.’

‘So you are taking it seriously, then? What I said. About it not being a suicide?’

She picked up the box of pills next to his desk. ‘Your time of the month, William?’

‘Headache. Drank too much of your wine.’

‘Lightweight,’ she said. She sighed. ‘Do you want to know what I found out about Donald Fraser?’ she asked, holding out a folder.

He hesitated, then said, ‘OK.’

‘Can we have a minute, Constable?’ Cupidi said to the WPC.

‘Don’t mind me,’ said the young woman.

‘In private, actually,’ said Cupidi.

Pushing her chair back noisily, the woman huffed, then left the room without another word.

‘As you said, he was arrested for murder in 1978,’ said Cupidi when she’d gone. ‘For the murder of William “Billy” McGowan.’

‘My father,’ said South.

‘Right,’ Cupidi said quietly. ‘Fraser was convicted, and released in 1991 on licence, before the Good Friday Agreement.’

‘I know. They wrote to us and told us that. What about afterwards?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Had he been an alkie all this time?’ South asked. ‘Since he got out?’

‘It looks like it. When he came out of The Maze, he was put in a hostel for a while and then he was given a council flat in Belfast. Evicted three years later for non-payment of rent and abusing the property. Then he turned up in Aberdeen, London, Birmingham, Wales . . . pretty much everywhere. But he’s been arrested for something pretty much every year since then.’

‘Burglary?’

‘Once or twice.’

‘What about assault?’

‘Actually . . . no. I looked for that. Begging, antisocial behaviour, breaking and entering, possession. No violence. Not since your father. Not until now.’

‘Nothing like what he’s supposed to have done to Bob?’

She frowned. ‘He was alcoholic. An addict. All addicts behave irrationally to feed their addiction. I’d guess he was getting pretty close to the bottom.’

‘What if it wasn’t him that killed Bob?’ he said.

She picked at a nail, where the polish was cracked. ‘Last night you said you didn’t think he killed himself. Now you don’t think he killed Bob, either?’

‘I’m just saying, what if?’

‘Know what? His prints have been matched to ones on the broken bottle you found. One hundred per cent accuracy. There aren’t any distinct prints on the axe handle but I bet you good money we’ll get a DNA match back this afternoon. And the hair on it is almost certainly Rayner’s. We’ll have that confirmed in a day or two as well.’ She sat on his desk. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? This is the man who killed your father. He one hundred per cent fits the profile. If it was me, I’d be pleased, at least. I mean, I know it’s been a shock, but . . .’

South hesitated. ‘It doesn’t feel right, that’s all.’

She paused. Frowned. ‘Do you know something you’re not telling me, William?’

He looked away. She was not stupid, he thought. She could tell he was holding something back. He had never told anyone the truth about what happened to his father. It wouldn’t be easy to start now. ‘What do you mean?’ he said.

‘Bob Rayner.’

‘What?’

‘Do you know something about Bob that you haven’t told me?’

Now it was his turn to look puzzled. ‘What are you on about?’

‘Do you swear?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong? Tell me.’

‘Because it turns out not only does Robert Rayner’s sister not exist, as I was saying, but pretty much everything about your pal Robert Rayner is a fabrication.’

‘Sorry?’

‘One. The school he supposedly taught at have never heard of him. Two. Actually, I can’t find any record of him teaching anywhere, in fact. Yes, he exists. He has a National Insurance number and a birth certificate. He was all paid up in tax and NI, but God knows how because there’s no record of him having worked anywhere at all since 1997.’

South took a while to take this in. He had been a friend; he had trusted him.

He asked, ‘Where was his income coming from then? He must have been pretty well-off to buy that cottage. They cost a fortune these days.’

‘That’s it. His bank account had regular sums being deposited into it from a private account in Switzerland. What sort of schoolteacher has a private account in Switzerland?’

‘Somebody was paying him via a Swiss bank account?’

‘I think he was paying himself. The account was in the name of Mrs Rayner. Who doesn’t appear to exist. Bloody hell. And say you had no idea at all about this?’

‘Nothing. I promise. He just didn’t talk about anything.’

‘I thought you were supposed to be the observant one?’

‘He lied to me,’ said South.

‘It looks like it. How does that make you feel?’

‘Angry, I suppose.’ Though he had no right to be.

Cupidi’s shoulders were down. ‘And because he was your mate I just assumed he was straight. I shouldn’t have assumed anything.’

‘He had me fooled, too,’ said South.

She sat on the desk next to him. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.’

South stood, paced up and down the small room. ‘I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. But you’re agreeing with me now. You think there’s more to this, too.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t see what it has to do with Donald Fraser.’

‘Did you tell any of this to McAdam?’ Her boss, the Detective Inspector.

‘Of course I did.’

‘What did he say?’

She picked up the folder, looked at her watch. ‘He was interested, but he doesn’t think any of this is relevant. We have a suspect with a previous history of murder. We have evidence that places him at the scene of the crime. That’s all we need. He says I don’t need to spend any more time on it right now.’

‘What do you think?’ said South.

‘I think I need to get on with my caseload,’ she said, standing. ‘Keep my head down. But please, William. Keep your nose out of this. If there is more to this than meets the eye, it won’t help if you’re involved. Not with your history with Donald Fraser. It will only make things harder.’ And she went, leaving the door open behind her.

South sat back in his chair, hoping the painkillers would start to take effect soon.

‘Ooh. You were round at her house last night, then?’ said the WPC, after she’d returned to her chores at the computer.

‘Fuck off,’ said South.

‘Charmer.’

‘Don’t go gossiping. It was nothing like that. I swear. I had something pretty bad happen to me last night and she was there for me. She just held my hand.’

‘Message received.’

South looked at the registration number in his notebook again.

‘Can you do me something else? Can you access the Automatic Number Plate thing on that machine?’

‘I’ve got my own work to do.’

‘What? Looking at Facebook?’

‘Give it here. If you fuck off and leave me alone I might see if there’s time to do it in my lunch break. If I feel like it.’ She winked at him. And for a second he thought she was flirting with him; but then he realised that it was just a pretty young woman teasing a man twice her age.