Troubled Waters (11 page)

‘So, that’s what we’ve got so far? Nothing else new?’ Alice continued, looking round her squad the next morning. Her eyes caught those of Elaine Bell. The DCI was by the door at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, having slipped in after everyone else as the briefing was coming to close. The others were unaware of her presence.

‘I’ve got the results from the phone check,’ DC Cairns said in a thick voice, another spoonful of cereal hovering at her mouth. ‘Most of them were to her work, oddly enough. The phone was cheap, fairly new, and she didn’t have a single app. Stone-age! The very last call she made was to a Hamish Evans. That number came up few times. I’ve tracked his address down to Raeburn Place in Stock-bridge. Will I check him out?’

‘Yes, well done,’ Alice replied, looking round at the five others present, inviting their contributions, then adding, ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘The force systems, including the intelligence check that we ran on the flat, produced nothing. No hits. None of the neighbours, including Miss Anderson, heard or saw anything either. Two are away. One’s probably not back for a couple of days, and the other’s been away somewhere in France for over a week, not due to return until the beginning of next week or so.’

The speaker was DS Ranald Sharpe, a small, bandy-legged Renfrewshire man seconded from Gayfield Square, who had, Alice knew, applied for the post she had secured. On sight they had disliked each other, and the difference in their respective accents further alienated them from each other. Sharpe identified hers with his view of Edinburgh and its faults: middle-classness, ostensible respectability, a missing heart. She equated his
with her perception of Glasgow’s worst traits: loudness, an aggressive couthiness and shallow, emotional lability.

‘Anything on the CCTV?’ she asked him.

‘Nothing useful has shown up so far, not for the period we’re working on.’

‘Speak to the Forth Ports Authority, would you? They’re based near Rosyth, Port of Rosyth, near the Consortium’s headquarters. Or maybe the Leith harbour master? Thinking about it, he might be a better bet, he might be the man for the job. See if any of them can help at all in pinpointing where she was put in the water. After all, we know where she ended up and, roughly, how long she was in there for. Dr McCrae estimated twenty-four hours at the very most, Helen Cash agreed. See what, if anything, they can give us, eh?’

‘Right. Boss.’

From his mouth, to her ears at least, the epithet had a mocking ring.

‘I spoke to Farrar from the
Evening News
,’ DC Trish Rennie chipped in, a half-eaten apple in her hand. ‘Gave him a few titbits, like you said. They’re going to do a wee piece, and they’ll include the usual stuff about “anyone with any information. Blah, blah”.’

‘Good. Pick up any post from her flat, OK, and get the rest intercepted and sent straight here, please. Check the flat, though, for the first few days – sometimes there’s a bit of a delay with the system. At the same time you could see if that neighbour, holidaying in France, is back.’

‘Don’t bother about that today. She’s not,’ DS Sharpe said, arms crossed. ‘I got her house number from Mrs Anderson, rang it this morning and there was no answer.’

‘Nothing to be lost in checking it again anyway, Trish,’ Alice replied, rising from the desk she had been sitting
on, signalling that they should all be on their way, make a start. The annoying little git, countermanding her orders like that.

‘One other thing,’ DS Sharpe said, also getting to his feet and finding himself, to his surprise, looking up at her, ‘I’ve got the fingerprint results. Apart from the deceased they found the prints of three other individuals. Unfortunately, none of them are on the database.’

‘That was quick,’ Alice said, taken aback, ‘I thought we’d have a couple more days to wait, at least. How on earth did you swing that?’

‘I’ve got friends,’ he said, winking at her, ‘in high places an’ all.’

‘And the DNA results?’

‘Not that high . . .’

The cleaner, a pale weasel of a man, answered the door at the flat in Raeburn Place, Stockbridge. Instantly, Adele’s rich tones floated out of the open door, filling the common stair. Reluctantly, he led the two policewomen into the hall, past his scuffed trainers on the doormat, and then, a little sheepishly, told them to wait while he went to turn the television off. The warm atmosphere inside was scented by a trio of sweet, throat-catching scents: floor-polish, unwashed feet and the fumes given off by an overheated hoover shortly before the motor fails.

‘I wasn’t watching it or anything,’ he remarked, unnecessarily, on his return.

‘We’re looking for Mr Evans, Hamish Evans,’ Alice said.

‘Aren’t we all!’ he replied, looking discontented, ‘Join the club! As usual, he’s not left my money out for me. He
remembers without fail to buy the cleaning stuff, but my money? Forget it!’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘I don’t see him. Well, hardly ever. He leaves notes for me, telling me what to do, like. Lists. Didn’t even bother to do that this time. And the place is a tip today. Drawers out, stuff all over the bedroom floor. I’m not supposed to tidy, just to clean. The boy needs someone here every day to pick things up, do his washing up. But I only come once a week and he leaves it all for me. The kitchen’s not been touched, all his supper things, all his breakfast things left for me to deal with. He’s an animal. He’s a mink.’

‘Is it unusually messy?’

‘No – why?’

‘So when did you last see him?’

‘Sometime last month. He came back while I was still here.’

‘Is something burning?’ DC Cairns said, sniffing the air loudly.

‘Shit!’ the man exclaimed, turning on the spot and racing into the galley kitchen. He returned less than a minute later, a crumpled dishcloth over one thin shoulder.

‘My breakfast sausage roll,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘Cinders.’

‘Where does Mr Evans work?’ Alice asked.

‘At a solicitor’s office in Howe Street – McPhees, I think it’s called.’

He giggled, and when they did not join in, he added weakly, ‘McPhees, get it! They’re lawyers! I only just thought of that. He’s not a solicitor or anything, he just helps out in the property shop, shows folk round, that kind of thing. He’s not qualified.’

On the wall opposite them was a photograph of a young man, tanned and smiling, with a pair of skis over his shoulder.

‘Is that him?’ Alice asked.

‘Hamish?’

‘Yes.’

‘Aye.’

‘Can we borrow it?’

‘Help yourselves, you’re the police, aren’t youse?’

Noticing a thin stream of water working its way along the floor of the narrow hallway, DC Cairns tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to it.

‘Oh God, that’s all I need, that’s the bath overflowing now!’ he shouted, dashing towards the bathroom.

‘Jesus!’ he said, breathless on his return. ‘I just had the tap on, cleaning it and everything. I didn’t realise the plug was still in. You’ll have to go, the pair of you, I can’t do everything myself when you’re around. I’ve a job to do.’

He raised his left foot, inspecting the sole through a hole in his grey sock and muttering crossly, ‘Now I’ve got a skelf off the floorboards . . .’

‘One final thing,’ Alice said. ‘Did he have a girlfriend?’

‘Him?’

‘Yes,’ she said patiently, ‘him.’

‘Maybe, must have. I found a pair of panties recently and they weren’t his. Far too small for that. Scanty, if you know what I mean.’

‘Could you describe her?’ DC Cairns asked, pushing her gold-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of her nose.

‘Aye. A size 10. I never seen her, just her panties.’

The conversation between the police inspector and the manager of the property shop, a Mr Penny, was short and to the point. Hamish Evans had not turned up for work that week, although he had been expected from Tuesday onwards. Prior to that he had been in London for a week, seeing a sick relative, and the firm had sanctioned that absence. They had left phone messages for him three times, but had received no response. Looking affronted at the question, Mr Penny told them that he had no idea whether the lad had a girlfriend or not. He suggested that they speak instead to Lorna, the ‘wee girl’ in the front office. She, a trim, petite figure with a black bob and long, highly manicured nails, blushed continuously as she spoke, confiding that he did have a girlfriend, a new one. One called Mandy.

‘It’s him,’ DC Cairns said gleefully as soon as they were both back in the car. ‘It all makes sense, give or take. He’d have time to get back from London, have a lover’s tiff – maybe they even had the tiff on the phone.’

‘Don’t you think that’s a bit premature?’ Alice answered, checking her mirror before joining the traffic, and signalling to turn left onto George Street.

‘Well, he is missing, isn’t he? Why else would he go missing? He seems respectable, has a cleaner, works in a property shop, he’s not exactly a vagrant. And why didn’t he report her as missing? She was missing, after all, she didn’t turn up for work.’

‘Maybe he didn’t know, maybe they weren’t due to meet. This was a new relationship. Maybe they hadn’t arranged anything until the weekend or something.’

‘But she wouldn’t be answering her phone either.
They’d be bound to be phoning each other, surely! Texting, Facebooking or whatever. Tweeting even. He’d leave messages. No, he’s done a bunk . . .’

‘But she’d no apps, no computer, remember? Maybe they’d had a row?’

‘Exactly!’

As Alice tried to remember what new, young love was like, the excitable constable continued talking, arguing with herself as well as her superior, picturing the whole thing and concluding, satisfied, ‘It’s always their nearest and dearest, isn’t it? That’s the rule.’

‘You get out here. Find out,’ Alice said, turning the car into the pound at St Leonard’s Street, coming to a halt but keeping the engine running ‘whether he caught a flight back from London. Get the time of all the evening flights. We know they spoke on Monday night. Speak to our people at Edinburgh Airport, get them to check BA, easyJet, Flybe, Virgin . . . whoever they are, all the airlines who run flights between London and Edinburgh, the whole lot. Better check the trains too, he might have used them for all we know. Oh, and check if he had a car, and if he did, find it. Make sure everyone’s on the lookout for it.’