Authors: T F Muir
The problem facing Gilchrist now was what to do with this information.
None of them had any doubts that they had to report this. The Chief Constable’s relationship with the accused in an ongoing rape case – a man who also happened to be a suspect in a multiple-murder investigation – could not be ignored. How it had flown under the radar for all these years was the most troubling question.
‘It makes you wonder if Ramsay knows about these,’ said Gilchrist.
‘Maybe it’s not him,’ Jessie said, and when Gilchrist and Stan rounded on her, added, ‘Maybe he’s got a twin brother.’
‘Let’s not try clutching at straws,’ Gilchrist said. ‘This is dynamite. But we have a more immediate problem to resolve, which is that all this evidence has been obtained by false pretence, so is inadmissible in a court of law.’
Stan scratched his head. ‘Sorry, boss. I just thought we should—’
‘Who else knows you have these?’ Gilchrist asked.
Stan shook his head. ‘We’re it.’
‘Right,’ Gilchrist said. ‘We can apply for a warrant to gain access to Anne Mills’s safe-deposit . . .’ But another troubling thought hit him before he finished the sentence. ‘The application for a warrant to search Jason Purvis’s place was turned down.’
‘On what grounds, boss?’
‘Insufficient evidence,’ Gilchrist said, as he paced the room. ‘I was going to talk to Whyte and ask him to reapply for a warrant. But having seen these, I’m not sure I want to do that.’ He looked at Jessie. ‘You agree?’
‘You’re thinking that shit from above drops through the ranks?’ Jessie asked.
‘From the Chief Constable, down to God knows who,’ Gilchrist said. He thought of his recent run-ins with Greaves, and tried to convince himself that the Chief Super was under pressure to meet costs and budgets. In his heart of hearts, Gilchrist believed Greaves to be a man of integrity, but – and here was the problem – considering the decline in their relationship, could Greaves be trusted with this information?
With resignation, Gilchrist thought not. ‘I don’t want to risk a warrant application reaching the eyes and ears of those above us,’ he said, nodding to Stan. ‘So you’re going to use that charm of yours, and advise Ms Mills that it’s in her best interests to hand the images over to the police.’
‘But she’s scared of what Magner might do,’ Jessie said.
‘No, she’s scared of what Magner’s
man
might do. So we need to take him out of the equation.’
‘Boss?’
This was where it became fuzzy for Gilchrist. His instinct was urging him in one direction, while his logic was pushing him in another. He had no proof that Purvis was involved in the murder of Linda James, or the McCulloch massacre, or anything else linked to Thomas Magner. Purvis had not even made so much as a cameo appearance in the swinger images. But sometimes you just have to go with your gut.
Besides, he had nothing else to go on.
‘It’s the same four couples in all of these photographs,’ he said. ‘But we’re missing the man behind the camera.’
‘Or woman,’ Jessie said.
Gilchrist ignored the comment. ‘What if it’s Purvis?’
Was that too much of a stretch of the imagination? Purvis and Magner worked on the rigs together, boyhood friends who had carried that friendship into adulthood? They looked so alike they could be brothers, even twins. Could they have played games with people, switched identities for their own benefit?
‘Here’s what we know,’ he said. ‘Purvis has a BMW registered in his name, identical to the BMW that killed Janice. It’s been lent to Jimmy Watson, or it hasn’t, depending on what you believe. And a pair of Rottweilers guard a barn at the rear of his property.’
Just the mention of the dogs had Jessie wringing her hands. Stan returned Gilchrist’s look with an unblinking stare.
‘So I’m thinking that the BMW’s not in Europe with this Watson. It’s not even on the road. It’s hidden somewhere.’ He raised an eyebrow and held out his hands. ‘Any suggestions?’
‘Purvis’s barn?’ Stan said.
‘That’s what we’re about to find out,’ Gilchrist said.
‘Want me to organise a team, boss?’
Gilchrist shook his head. ‘If Ramsay’s in any way involved, and if I’m right about Purvis, we might end up giving someone a heads up. So . . .’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Jessie said.
‘Yes, dear Jessica. I’m going to check out the barn first.’
‘Alone?’ Jessie asked. ‘What about the dogs?’
‘I’ll take care of them.’
‘Count me in, boss.’
‘I’m about to break the law, Stan. You’ve got your career to think of. You said you only gamble when it’s odds on. And this is anything but.’
‘Then it’s time I learned how to take a bit of a punt, isn’t it?’
Gilchrist groaned. If Purvis caught the pair of them on his property, at night, breaking into the barn without a warrant, it would be the end of both their careers. But if this long shot proved to be correct, then Purvis had a lot of explaining to do.
‘That makes two of us,’ Jessie said.
Gilchrist jerked a look at her. ‘Out of the question.’
‘I’m not asking. I’m telling.’
‘You’re forgetting who the senior officer is here.’
‘And you’re forgetting that the pair of you are about to break the law. If you go ahead with your half-baked scheme, I’ll arrest both of you.’
Stan chuckled with disbelief.
Gilchrist returned Jessie’s stare. ‘You’re scared of the dogs.’
‘You said you’ll take care of them.’
Gilchrist continued to hold her hard gaze. She didn’t flinch. He thought of abandoning the idea and just initiating another formal warrant application. But that would probably be refused or – worse – granted, only for them to discover that his instinct was wrong and the car was not on the property.
He really had only one option. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But wipe that smug look off your face.’
Jessie ran the flat of her hand from forehead to chin to reveal a scowl.
Gilchrist shook his head, but in a strange way he was pleased that Jessie had wriggled in. He could use her as a lookout, or as back-up in the event of something going wrong.
‘We’ll do it this evening,’ he said. ‘And I’ll take care of the dogs.’
‘How’re you going to do that?’ Jessie asked.
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘Then Stan will use his locksmith skills to pick the padlocks for the barn.’
‘Didn’t know you were a safe-cracker, Stan.’
‘Just plain old locks,’ he said. ‘Nothing fancy.’
‘Then we enter the barn and find the car,’ Gilchrist said.
‘Then what?’ Jessie asked. ‘We call the cops?’
‘No, we photograph it. After that, we’re home and dry.’
‘I’ll bring my new camera, boss.’
But Jessie persisted. ‘And how do you explain our presence in Purvis’s barn?’ she asked.
‘I’ll think of something. But we need you as a lookout.’
‘Why can’t Stan be the lookout?’
‘Because you don’t like the dogs.’
‘And Stan does?’
‘No one does,’ Gilchrist said, ‘but I saw how you reacted last time. And if Purvis steps outside, we need to know about it. Maybe he checks up on the dogs every night before going to bed. Maybe he stalks around his boundary. Who knows.’
‘Won’t the barn have an alarm system?’ Stan asked.
Gilchrist had already dismissed that. ‘It’s about two hundred yards from the cottage. It would cost a fortune to run wires all that way to provide electricity.’
‘Wi-fi, boss. They have that now. Security cameras and alarms that work off wi-fi. No wires, just clip them on and set them up on your laptop. Motion activated. Not sure of the cost, but I’m thinking for less than a few hundred quid you could set webcams and motion sensors all over the place.’
Gilchrist felt a hot rush of doubt, then found the answer. ‘Not with the dogs running around, Stan. They’d set off motion sensors all night long.’
‘But the sensors might be
inside
the barn. The dogs are locked outside.’
‘So why does he need the dogs in the first place?’
‘As a deterrent?’
‘Maybe. But I still think it’s a risk worth taking.’ He looked at Jessie and Stan, and they both nodded. ‘Right, we head out as soon as it’s dark. And no airwave sets. We’ll use our mobiles. I’ll pick Jessie up from home, then we’ll take Stan’s car.’
‘One last thing,’ Jessie said. ‘What about the guns? Purvis has access to them.’
‘What guns?’ Stan asked.
‘There’s a cache in the cottage,’ Gilchrist said. ‘A couple of shotguns and a rifle, all registered in the name of James Watson.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘Good question.’
‘Just playing devil’s advocate,’ Jessie said, ‘but what do you want me to do if I see Purvis walking towards the barn with a loaded shotgun?’
What indeed, Gilchrist thought. Running into the night could be their best option. On the other hand, they could remind Purvis that shooting police officers was still a criminal offence, no matter whose land you were trespassing. Although the fact that there are no trespass laws in Scotland would likely mean nothing to a man like Purvis.
At length, Gilchrist said, ‘Warn us, then call for back-up.’
‘Want me to organise back-up before we go, boss?’
‘No. The fewer people who know about this, the better.’ Which all sounded good and well, except that they would be unarmed. Securing weapons needed the signature of the Control Room Inspector after approval from the Silver Tactical Commander. But if they kept away from the cottage, Purvis would be none the wiser. At least, that was the theory. ‘Once the dogs are taken out of it, we’ll be safe,’ Gilchrist pressed on. ‘So dress appropriately. Black everything. And wear body armour.’
Stan nodded. ‘Okay, boss. Let’s do it.’
Gilchrist raised an eyebrow at Jessie.
‘I like wearing black. It makes me look slimmer.’
‘Right,’ Gilchrist said. ‘We’re on.’
But as he watched Stan shut down the computer and remove his memory stick, he could not rid himself of the dark feeling that he had overlooked something.
Back in Fisherman’s Cottage, Gilchrist was surprised to see his old answering machine blinking. No one other than cold-callers phoned his landline these days, so he switched on the kettle, popped two slices of bread into the toaster, and opened a tin of tuna.
He sat down with his sandwich and a cup of tea and played the messages back.
The automated voice announced the time and date of the first call, then he jumped at the sound of Cooper’s voice. ‘Andy, can you give me a call on my new mobile number?’ As she read it out, he thought her voice sounded strained, as if she’d been crying. ‘I can’t talk now,’ she said, rushing. ‘I’ve got to go.’
The call ended.
He stared at the machine as the next message kicked in – same number, same date, but two hours later. This time Cooper said, ‘Just calling to let you know that Max has decided to leave.’ Maxwell now shortened to Max. ‘I can’t really talk over the phone, but we’ve tried to work it out, and we both realise that what we used to share we now no longer have.’ The distant call of a seagull told him she was probably walking along the beach, which she liked to do to clear her mind. ‘Of course, if you’d rather not call, then I understand. Maybe this is a chance for all of us to make a clean break.’ A sniff, then, ‘But I think you have the right to know.’
The message ended.
Gilchrist jolted back to life and found a pen. He replayed the first message and wrote down Cooper’s new number. Her voice sounded stronger on the second message, as if she had already accepted a life of separation. But her parting comment brought a frown to his forehead.
I think you have the right to know.
Know what? That Mr Cooper was leaving? That her marriage was over?
He played the message one more time, but it still failed to make sense.
I think you have the right to know.
At the far end of the lounge Gilchrist peeled back the curtains. Light spilled over the bed of crocuses, now past their best, the hard green stems of daffodils competing for space. A glance at his watch confirmed the second message was already an hour old. But why had she phoned his landline, and not his mobile? Because she had not wanted to talk to him, came the answer, just to leave a message to see if he would call back. It was a test, of sorts, to measure the strength of his feelings for her, perhaps.
The sound of the doorbell brought him back to the present.
He opened the door to a skinny man with long hair and a pasty face. Black jeans, worn grey, hid pipe-cleaner legs. A loose combat jacket with holes in the sleeves covered a skeletal frame. Every time Gilchrist met Jakie he was left with the impression that the man did not have long to live. He stood aside to let him in, feeling the rush of cold air as he brushed past into the warmth of the hallway.
In the lounge, Jakie scanned the walls, the floor, even the ceiling, as if surprised to find himself still standing – or maybe alive. ‘Nice house,’ he said.
Silent, Gilchrist closed the door behind him.
Jakie sniffed and retrieved a brown-paper package from the innards of his combat jacket. ‘Twa steaks with enough thiopental to give you at least sixty minutes, Mr Gilchrist, sir.’
Thiopental was a fast-acting barbiturate. Gilchrist took the package. It felt supple, pliable, and probably weighed less than a couple of pounds. ‘Without killing them?’
Jakie sniffed, gave a nervous twitch. ‘
Should
be all right.’
‘I don’t want to kill them.’
Another sniff. ‘That’ll knock them out, no kill them. But you don’t want tae fuck around when it comes to they Rottweilers.’
‘How quickly will it kick in?’
‘It’ll shut them up within a few minutes, yeah? Then they’ll start going wobbly like, and keel over.’
Gilchrist raised his eyebrows. ‘How much?’
Another sniff. ‘Spot me forty,’ he said, and looked to the floor.
Gilchrist knew he was being ripped off, but Jakie looked as if he could use the money, maybe food, too. ‘You cold?’ he said, handing over two twenties.
Jakie snatched the money, stuffed both hands into his pockets. ‘S’fucking freezing.’
Gilchrist smiled. ‘I can give you a sandwich,’ he offered, ‘and a cup of tea to heat you up.’