Witness the Dead (26 page)

It didn’t seem quite so clever now. Winter and Danny were in separate interview rooms in Stewart Street and had already been thrown into separate cells, staring at four walls and wondering what the hell was going on.

Rachel had sat in the front seat of the patrol car that had driven Winter to Cowcaddens, he slung in the back, she staring silently straight ahead, not once catching his eye in the rear-view mirror.

The look on the booking sergeant’s face had been priceless. Winter got the distinct feeling that all the photographs he’d snatched of cops on duty over the years was fuel to the fire of the sergeant’s pen. He was booked in with some enthusiasm and left to stew.

Winter’s sullen silence when he was dragged into the interview room was driven by not knowing what Danny was saying when he was sitting before Narey and Addison. His loyalty to his uncle and his determination not to let him down was taking precedence over his ties to the two cops who were interrogating him.

Maybe that was why, after unsuccessful attempts at interviewing them separately, Winter and Danny found themselves sitting at the same side of a wooden table, Addison and Narey on the other, two uniforms standing by the door.

‘I think you must have got your wires crossed, son,’ Danny told Addison sternly. ‘In my day we called this unlawful arrest.’

Addison laughed bitterly. ‘In your day? In your day cops were allowed to give kids a cuff round the ear and smoke in their panda cars. Must have been great. But times have moved on. And the only thing I’ve got crossed is my fingers that you two aren’t as big a pair of fuck-ups as you seem to be.’

‘Piss off.’

Addison’s face went within an inch of Danny’s. ‘Wrong answer, old man. I want to know what you two have been up to, and I’m not taking any of your shit in the meantime.’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Do it the hard way, right? Okay, fair enough. You’re old and probably a wee bit muddled, so you might think that’s a good idea, but young Tony here knows making me even more pissed off than I currently am isn’t the best plan I’ve ever heard. Don’t you, Tony?’

Winter looked from his pal to his uncle to his ex-girlfriend and knew he couldn’t win. He opted to do what he usually did when he was in a hole: he kept digging. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Let’s just charge them,’ Narey scowled.

‘A good idea, DS Narey, but I’m nothing if not famously fair. Right, time for a very quick story. Then I want answers.’

Danny and Winter sighed, the inevitability of what was coming next settling on them.

‘First of all, I have a conversation with DS Andy Teven. He tells me that he had some ex-copper come into the station wanting to talk about the cemetery killings. Says the old boy was up to high doh and said the murders were linked to the Red Silk killings of the seventies. That we should be looking at Archibald Atto. Andy reckoned the old boy had been at the cooking sherry a wee bit early in the day. Sounded like a crank to me, too, but I asked for the ex-cop’s name. Danny Neilson, he says. Well, well, says me. Not only a well-respected former polisman but the uncle of one Anthony Winter of this parish. Interesting, I thought. Particularly interesting that said Anthony Winter, despite being an acquaintance of mine, never thought to mention it. With me so far?’

The two men said nothing but took a close interest in their shoes.

‘So I spoke to DS Narey here. She also thought it a bit odd that Tony hadn’t said anything. She and Tony are, I believe, on good speaking terms and yet he hadn’t mentioned it to her either. So, unlikely as it seemed, what with Archibald Atto having been locked up in prison for the past fourteen years, we thought we’d check it out. Sure enough, he was safely tucked up in his cell. But we also asked if he had had any visitors recently. Funnily enough, he had two just today. Want to guess who?’

Winter and Danny swapped weary glances but didn’t speak.

‘I asked if you wanted to guess,’ Addison roared. ‘And you better make sure it’s a good guess because you only get three lives each.’

‘And you’re about to use at least one of them up,’ Narey seethed beside him.

‘Jesus, what do you want us to say, Addy? You obviously know we were there.’

‘What do I want you to say? Let me think. Maybe what will win the three-thirty at Haydock or why women talk so much without actually saying anything. Or hang on, I know: maybe you could fucking tell me why you were visiting a serial killer who you seem to think is involved with an active murder case?’

‘Because he’s involved in your bloody murder case!’

Danny’s blurted reply brought a smile to Addison’s face and caused Narey’s grimace to deepen.

‘Okay, so now we’re getting somewhere. Not anywhere sane but at least it’s a start. Right, Danny, so tell me why you think he’s involved. And how the bloody hell he can be.’

Danny sighed and rubbed at his eyes, a rueful frown stealing its way onto his face. He shook his head and sank into his chair.

‘I’ve already been through this with your DS Teven. I told him chapter and verse and he wasn’t prepared to listen.’

‘Obviously he did listen and obviously he told me. And I’m listening now. But it better be good.’

‘No, it isn’t good, son. If I’m right, it’s all bad. These killings stink of the Klass case. Stink to high heaven of it. Jesus Christ, do your computers not tell you that? The way the victims were laid out, the positions they were in? Pure Atto.’

Addison turned to look at Winter. ‘Aye? And how exactly do you know the positions they were laid out in? If it involves crime-scene photographs, then someone is in deep shit.’

‘Never mind that,’ Danny came back at him. ‘The point is they are so similar. The positions of subservience, begging, praying. The killer making out he is all-powerful and taking the piss out of the victim and the cops. The age of the victims. The time-frame between killings, the city-centre locations. It’s either Atto or someone copying him. It’s too pat to be a coincidence.’

Addison stared at Danny, thoughtfully though, rather than with the angry bemusement of earlier. He turned to Narey and the pair shrugged at each other, too smart to dismiss what the old cop said but too smart to think it could be true.

‘Okay, copycat I can just about buy,’ he said finally. ‘That’s worth looking at. But Atto being involved? That’s just nuts.’

Danny’s eyebrows rose furiously. ‘Son, I’ve already had your DS Teven dismiss me as crazy. I’m not keen on it happening twice.’

‘Right, haud your horses. It was a turn of phrase. I know you’re not nuts. But this whole situation is. How the . . .? How can Atto be involved with this?’

‘Because he’s devious. Because he is highly intelligent and twisted beyond belief. Because he’s always had a way of manipulating people to do things that he wants. DI Addison, I don’t know how he’s involved. But I’m sure he is.’

‘Jesus, I can’t believe this.’ Narey’s patience had snapped. ‘Danny, the guy’s been locked up for fourteen years. Seriously?’

‘Rach, I know how hard it is to believe but trust me: this guy is capable of just about anything. You can rule nothing out where he’s concerned.’

Addison’s brows furrowed slightly and Winter recognised a familiar mischievous look in his eyes, a look that usually spelled trouble for someone.

‘
Rach?
So how well do you two know each other?’

Narey didn’t blink. ‘We’ve met.’

‘Hmm. Cosy. Okay, here’s how it is, Danny – and dickhead. We will look into Atto and any link to this case. But you two idiots have way overstepped the mark. I have to decide whether you’ll face charges. In the meantime, you’re going back in those cells. But if I do decide you will be let out then you will not go anywhere near Atto again. Understood?’

Winter looked to Danny but his uncle looked straight back at Addison, deadpan and determined. ‘I can’t promise that, DI Addison. I’m sorry but I can’t. This means too much to me.’

Addison returned the look. ‘In that case I can’t promise I won’t arrest you again and put you away.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘No, it bloody isn’t,’ Narey said, standing, exasperated. ‘This is stupid. Two women have been murdered and we’ve not got time either to go on wild-goose chases or to run after these two idiots. We need to get this nipped in the bud here and now. Just charge them.’

‘Rachel, Atto is involved in this, believe me.’ Danny had both hands flat on the table, ready to push himself to his feet. ‘He told us as much when we spoke to him. Don’t dismiss this because it seems unlikely. You’re better than that.’

‘What did he say, Danny? What do you mean he told you as much?’

‘He said he knew a lot about what had happened. I asked him what he knew about the cemetery killings and he said he knew a lot. And it wasn’t just what he said: it was the way he said it.’

Addison dropped his head into his hands while Narey wheeled away, shaking hers, unable to stand in one place and take in what she was hearing. Addison looked up, a pained expression writ large. ‘The way he said it? Jesus, Danny. How do you know he wasn’t just winding you up? The guy’s famous for pissing people about with his stories.’

‘I heard him, son. He knows about these killings. He knows way more than he’s telling.’

‘Tony?’

Winter nodded. ‘I agree. I didn’t want to be any part of this and I didn’t want it to be true. But Danny’s right. The way Atto said what he did? I’d say he meant it. I know how crazy it sounds and I’m not telling you I’ve got the first idea of how he’s involved, but I’d say he is.’

‘Enough,’ Addison shouted, waving his arms at the two uniformed cops. ‘I’ve had enough. Take them back to the cells. If only you two eejits had the brains to make life easier for yourselves.’

Winter and Danny trooped out, the interview room door closing behind them. Addison pinched the top of his nose, his eyes screwed shut. ‘Christ, if this is even half . . . This is all I need. Rachel, do you have any idea where the circus is these days, because I’m going to run off and join one. These two clowns should probably do the same. Archibald Atto? My arse. It just can’t be.’

The tirade that was just building up a head of steam was abruptly curtailed by Addison’s phone ringing in his pocket. He pulled it out irritably and stared at the screen, clearly not knowing who was calling.

‘Yeah?’

Whoever was on the other end of the phone, their voice made Addison’s face change. ‘Oh, hi . . . Miss, um . . . Sam. Hi.’

Narey could hear the soft lilt of a female voice escaping from Addison’s mobile and watched his face, as he was obviously self-conscious about speaking in front of her.

‘I’m very well, thank you. And you? Good, um . . . You do? Well that’s . . . What do you mean? I don’t see how it can’t . . . What? You’re fucking joking me. You seriously have to be fucking joking me. No . . . sorry . . . I know you’re not . . . and there’s no doubt . . . Fuck me gently. No . . . I mean . . . I’ll call into the lab. Yes, yes, bye.’

Addison thrust his phone back into his pocket, his face perplexed and clearly none too happy. His mouth was tight and skewed to one side. He looked at Narey looking at him and shook his head despairingly.

‘That was Sam Guthrie at the lab. The DNA results from the trace evidence that Baxter’s people picked up at the side of the church have come back in. She wanted to give me a heads-up on this before it got to Kelbie and Shirley. They’ve got a match.’

Narey’s features crossed into some bewilderment of her own. ‘Great . . . Isn’t it?’

Addison’s head tilted to one side and his mouth turned upside down. ‘Maybe not so great. The DNA they found was a match to Archibald Atto.’

Chapter 31

1972

It sounds awful, but when you go into the station on a Sunday morning, probably nursing a head from the night before, the last thing you need to be told is that some wee lassie has been murdered. Actually, the last thing you need is to be told that you’re the one that’s been landed with investigating it.

Look, it’s human nature. Maybe not exactly at its best but it’s the way it is. You’ve already got enough on your plate, maybe juggling fifty cases, and there’s a good chance there’s already a murder or two among them. It’s Glasgow, those are the odds. Then the CID clerk welcomes you through the door and hands you another one.

You might huff, probably sigh, complain about the lazy sods on the night shift or moan about why some other bugger couldn’t do it. Anything, everything, except thinking what you should think. A wee lassie’s been murdered.

You become hardened to bad news in the morning so that even such a terrible thing becomes another number, a form 3:24:1 to be filled in and handed over. A crime that will become a 3:24:2 if it’s cleared. One piece of paper that gets turned into another.

The CID clerk tells you that the wee lassie has been raped and strangled. God help you but the first thing you think isn’t that it’s the end of the world. Of course, inside, you know that it’s the end of someone’s world and those who knew her. But, outside, those pieces of paper have to keep getting filled in.

You tell yourself that wee lassies get killed in big cities and you can’t save the world by treating each one as if she’s your daughter or sister. That can only lead to the nuthouse or the bottom of a bottle. You give them your best. Everything else you keep for the people at home. Those are the rules for survival.

And sometimes you break them.

Sometimes they sneak past your defences, coming to whisper to you in the night. Not ghosts as such but just as capable of haunting you. They get under your skin, smiling up at you from collect photographs, calling out to you in the voice of their mother or sister, demanding justice. Demanding that you deliver it.

That’s how it was with him and Brenda MacFarlane. Eventually.

Looking back, of course, there was guilt at the indifference he felt when George Scott, the CID clerk, first handed her over to him. The old boy stood at the uniform bar and called him over with a conspiratorial wave, as if he were doing him a favour. And he probably thought he was. In the morning, the clerk was armed with every crime that’s happened on the night shift – maybe thirty or forty in a city-centre station like Cranstonhill – and, if he liked you, he might just give you the good stuff to work on. If he didn’t like you or you’d pissed him off, you’d get the crappy jobs that no one wanted. This was George giving him a good one but for him it was just yet another case and another job to do.