Against a Dark Sky (2 page)

Chapter Three

R
ain was lashing down onto the grey pavement outside. Detective Chief Inspector Dani Bevan polished off a single measure of finest Scotch whisky in one gulp.

              ‘I thought you didn’t drink, Ma’am?’ Detective Constable Andy Calder commented.

              ‘Only on occasions like this,’ she responded dryly. 

              Their seats faced the entrance to the pub, so Bevan had the opportunity to watch Detective Sam Sharpe storm down the steps of the Glasgow High Court opposite and make his way over. The man was tall and well-built, so as he shouldered the glass-panelled door open, the entire building seemed to shake.

              He turned towards his British colleagues. ‘Could you please explain to me what the hell just happened in there?’ Sam’s face was scarlet with rage.

              ‘We’re as disappointed as you are,’ Bevan said quietly, lowering her head. ‘Take a seat and Andy will get you a beer.’

              ‘Forget that, I’ll have a Scotch,’ Sam retorted, sliding along the bench beside the DCI who immediately placed a conciliatory arm around his shoulders.

              ‘It’s total crap, I know. But we always thought there was a risk the jury would have no sympathy for Mackie Shaw as a victim. You have to admit, Erskine’s barrister did a fantastic job.’

              Sam shook his head of thick sandy hair. ‘No offence, but it’s Erskine getting off for Gordon Parker’s murder that really bugs me. I can’t believe Richard Erskine was allowed to change his statement like that. In court, he claimed that Parker had attacked
him
and he only pushed the man off the headland in self-defence. You and I both know that’s bullshit.’

              Andy set down Sam’s drink on the dark wood table, lowering himself onto the stool opposite. ‘But there were no witnesses to contradict Erskine. Not with Shaw dead.’

              ‘I’m hoping we’ll be able to demand a re-trial on the Mackie Shaw case,’ Dani added decisively. ‘The jury ignored some highly compelling forensic evidence. It doesn’t matter what they thought of Mackie personally, the facts pointed to Erskine as his killer. That was all they needed to reach a judgment on. I’m afraid it’s unlikely we’ll get a guilty verdict on Parker’s death now. I’m really sorry Sam.’

              The American nodded, ‘my department aren’t going to be happy about this. The Virginia papers will be slamming the so-called British justice system by tomorrow morning.’

              ‘Oh, we’ll get that here too, don’t you worry.’ Dani stared at the bottom of her empty glass.

              The newly trim Andy Calder, only back at work for a matter of weeks since suffering a massive heart attack last year, polished off his mineral water and offered, ‘it was Erskine’s story that really won the jury over. I was watching their faces as he told it. They were full of sympathy for his grandmother. When Murray White delivered his character assessment of Mackie Shaw, the jury members were totally impassive. It hadn’t moved them at all.’

              ‘Since when did the justice system become like a reality T.V show – where we vote for our favourites and completely ignore the cold, hard facts?’ The DCI sighed heavily.

              ‘I think it’s always been like that Ma’am, this is just the first time we’ve been on the wrong side of the outcome.’

              Sam had been silent during this exchange but then he banged down his empty glass. ‘I’m going to head back to the flat, okay?’ He looked at Dani as he stood up and grabbed his coat.

              ‘Fine, I’ll see you back there later.’ Dani gave the man’s arm a squeeze but he didn’t respond. The American detective simply marched straight out of the pub and allowed the door to slam shut behind him.

Dani Bevan’s flat was in Scotstounhill, a residential area lying to the north west of the city. It comprised the ground floor of a late Victorian, mid-terraced house, of the type which dominated this historic district. Dani chose the property because of the kitchen-diner at the rear of the flat which opened out onto a small but un-overlooked garden. This space was her safe-haven from the demands of her job and the frenetic energy of the city.               

              Returning home that evening, Dani found the place in near darkness. The last of the daylight was spilling into the kitchen by way of the French doors, but the atmosphere was gloomy. ‘Sam?’ She ventured, leaving her briefcase and jacket in the hallway, kicking off her low-heeled shoes and padding down the corridor, glancing momentarily at her face in the mirror, checking that her sleek crop of dark hair was in place.

              ‘I’m in here,’ he called back from the dining area, where he was seated in front of a half-empty bottle of Scotch.

              Dani immediately flicked on the lights. Sam seemed to shrink from the unexpected brightness.               ‘Have you eaten?’ She asked.

              ‘Nope,’ he replied sulkily.                   

              Dani opened the large fridge and rummaged around inside, pulling out a bowl of pasta sauce and a plastic container filled with salad. ‘There wasn’t anything else we could have done, you know.’ She closed the door, sensing Sam’s presence behind her. Dani smelt the whisky fumes on his breath as he hooked his arms around her and buried his face into her neck. He ran a hand down the slim contours of her boyish form, resting it on her stomach, the one area of softer, more rounded flesh. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’

              Sam chuckled, turning her around and pressing his lips onto hers, perhaps a little too hard. Dani knew he was drunk and pissed off about the trial, but she also knew Sam was a good man and a decent detective. They’d both worked hard to create what they thought was a water-tight case against Erskine. She understood his frustrations and hoped it wouldn’t drive a wedge between them. There were already enough odds stacked against the two of them making a go of things without any more being added to the pile.

              Dani was tired and not particularly hungry herself so she allowed Sam to lead her by the hand to the bedroom just off the hall, where they could banish all thoughts of Richard Erskine walking out of that courtroom scot free, for a couple of hours at least.

Chapter Four

I
t was a perfectly respectable hour when Dani’s phone began to ring. She and Sam were enjoying a relaxed breakfast. The American was nursing a mild hangover and had scorned his bacon and eggs for a strong coffee and a litre carton of orange juice. The atmosphere was less tense than it had been the previous day.

              Dani lifted the receiver and listened in silence as the Detective Chief Superintendent outlined the case to her.

              ‘Why do Central Scotland Police need a DCI for a mountain rescue death and a miss-per?’ Bevan finally asked.

              ‘At first it seemed as if the woman, Joanna Endicott, had fallen to her death from the Ptarmigan ridge in bad weather. But when the pathologist reached the scene, she pointed out the evidence of bruising around her neck. Apparently, she’d been strangled,’ explained DCS Nicholson.

              ‘And the man who’s still missing – this Daniel Goff?’

              ‘He’s our chief suspect.’

              ‘Right. I’ll be there in a couple of hours Sir, and I’ll bring Calder.’

              ‘Do you think he’s ready?’

              ‘Yes, I do.’

              ‘Then it’s your call, Detective.’

              Dani returned to the kitchen and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

              ‘I’ll get a flight home to Richmond later today. No point in me sticking around now, you could be gone for days.’ He said this matter-of-factly, without any trace of bad feeling.

              Dani leant down and kissed him on the lips. ‘It’s been great to see you. I really am sorry about the court case.’

              ‘I know,’ Sam replied, giving her the benefit of his unsettlingly attractive smile.              

              The two of them finished their breakfast without undue haste, but neither made a comment on when they might be able to see one another again.

Calder drove his senior officer along part of the route taken by the West Highland Way, into the Queen Elizabeth Forest Park and past the banks of Loch Lomond.

              ‘We’re in Rob Roy country now,’ Bevan commented idly, staring out of the passenger window at the endless rows of densely packed trees, which fell away every so often to reveal an impressive expanse of clear blue water.

              Calder looked puzzled.

              ‘Did you never read Walter Scott at school?’ Bevan enquired, shooting a sideways glance at her colleague. Every time she took in Andy’s appearance these days, since his hospitalisation and the post-heart attack regime that had seen him shed at least three stone in the space of a year, she was momentarily shocked. Andy was one of those people who when they lose a considerable amount of weight, seem suddenly like a totally different person. She wondered how Andy’s wife had reacted to the change.

              ‘I wasn’t a great one for reading when I was younger, Ma’am. I’m still not, to be honest.’

              ‘My Dad is a big fan of Scott. ‘‘The Lady of the Lake’’ was set around here too, I think. We walked this section of the West Highland Way together about five years back. Dad insisted we take a detour up to Loch Katrine. There’s a steam boat which does day trips called the S.S Sir Walter Scott, if you can believe it.’

              ‘You know the area well then? That could be a real advantage to us,’ Andy noted.

              ‘Aye, a little. But we never climbed Ben Lomond. I’m hoping the mountain rescue guys can provide us with all the expertise we need there.’

              Calder pulled up outside the main hotel in the small town of Ardyle. It was a pleasant place which lay on the banks of Loch Lomond, just on the outskirts of the Ben Lomond National Park. The main footpath up to the mountain started from Ardyle. Its economy revolved around the walkers who came to stay here in their droves each year in order to conquer the Munro.

              The two detectives checked in and deposited their bags before setting off for the Town Hall, where the local constabulary had set up their incident room. They were greeted by a smallish man in his early fifties, who introduced himself as DS Dave Driscoll of the central division. He seemed relieved to see them.

              Several trestle tables lined the centre of the hall, with items of clothing and personal effects laid out neatly upon them. Driscoll led the two detectives in a solemn procession up and down the rows of evidence.

              ‘We’ve got Joanna Endicott’s possessions on this side, including the clothes she was wearing when she was killed. This other table is for Goff. It’s all the stuff he’d left at the bothy they’d rented for the week. I’ve got a couple of DCs doing a background check on the guy. To see if someone nearby might be sheltering him.’

              ‘Are we certain Daniel Goff didn’t die out there on the mountain with Joanna?’ Bevan inquired.

              ‘We can’t be certain of that Ma’am, no. There are still men out searching the hills. He could have got lost and wandered miles off the designated walking routes. We’re talking about maybe fifty or sixty square miles of incredibly tough terrain. His body could be lying at the base of a rock face somewhere.’

              ‘In which case, we’re wasting valuable time and resources on a man hunt which is leading us nowhere.’

              Driscoll shrugged his shoulders, as if to suggest, ‘that’s where you come in’. Instead he said, ‘we’ve taken statements from the mountain rescue volunteers who found the body. They didn’t disturb Joanna in any way. The white coats took a raft of photographs
in
situ
, but we had to move the body out, I’m afraid. There was too much of a risk from wild animals to leave her.’

              ‘That’s fine. I’d like to speak to the other members of the walking party. They’re still in the area I take it?’

              ‘Aye, the chap who spent the night on the hillside, Amit Batra, was discharged from hospital this morning. They’re all back at the bothy now. I told them they couldn’t return home until they’d got your say so.’

              ‘Very good. Andy and I will head over there now. Continue looking into Goff, will you. But put a couple of the team on Joanna Endicott. I’d like to know everything I can about her. Have her family been notified yet?’

              ‘Yes, the next of kin have; an aunt and a couple of cousins. Her parents are no longer alive but I’ll see if we can find out anything else. Oh, have you brought a 4X4 Ma’am?’

              Dani shook her head.

              ‘Then I’ll get a uniform to drive you both to the holiday cottage. You’ll find it’s a little bit out of the way.’

Chapter Five

D
riscoll wasn’t exaggerating. From a distance, the tiny stone building looked derelict. Only as they bumped and juddered closer along the rocky track could they make out the wisp of smoke snaking from a chimney and the glint of expensive, thickened glass at the small windows.

              Calder banged loudly on the door. A tall man, with dark hair and a muscular build, whom Dani placed in his mid-thirties, opened up. She immediately evaluated him in her mind: professional, well-off, south of England, possibly private school educated. So it surprised her when he used a reasonably broad Scottish accent to invite them in.

              The interior of the bothy had been kitted out to the highest spec. Staying here was an opportunity to get closer to nature for only the most sophisticated of clientele. A wood burner was pumping out heat in the open plan kitchen-diner. Dani had to take off her suit jacket straightaway and was tempted to suggest they open a window.

              ‘My name is James Irving.’ The man held out his hand. ‘I worked with Joanna. She and I are lawyers –
were
lawyers, in the same office in London. Sorry, I’m still getting my head around the situation.’

              Andy brought out his notebook and signalled for James to take a seat. ‘Could you tell us a little about Joanna and the reason why you were holidaying here at Loch Lomond, Mr Irving?’

              ‘Yes, of course. I’d known Jo for about three years. We hit it off as soon as we met. Not romantically, but as friends. We had a similar sense of humour. We both enjoyed walking and climbing. It gave us something to talk about other than corporate deals and the London property market.’ He tried a smile but it died, half-formed on his face. ‘Jo was great, really good fun and independent. That’s the kind of woman chaps like me are drawn to. They aren’t going to start getting all clingy on you.’ He looked up at Andy. ‘Is this the kind of thing you want to hear?’

              Andy nodded, not interrupting the man’s flow.

              ‘Jo had her own flat, near the Barbican. I don’t think there was a man on the scene right now. I can give you a list of the guys she’d been involved with in the last few years. Not many, just a handful, really. Jo never gave the impression of being the settling down type.’

              ‘Was the holiday Jo’s idea?’ Andy prompted.

              ‘Yes, definitely. Jo planned the whole thing. I was the first on board because it’s my kind of trip. Jo invited her flat-mate, well – lodger, Philippa Graves. And it was Jo who asked Daniel Goff along. He’d been to university with her. Exeter, they both went to. Goff was now living in London. He and Jo had hooked up a few times for drinks. I invited Amit, because I knew he wanted to climb a Munro and doesn’t often get away from home. His children are very young.’

              ‘Did Amit Batra know Joanna well?’ Dani asked.

              James considered this. ‘Yes, a little. Amit is a really good friend of mine. We’ve all been round for dinner at my place, along with Amit’s wife, Tanisha. The person who none of us really knew was Goff. I don’t even think Joanna knew him all that well either.’

              At this point, a young woman stepped timidly into the room. She was pretty, with dark brown hair worn straight to her shoulders and large, hazel eyes under heavy lashes.

              ‘Philippa Graves?’ Bevan enquired.

              The girl nodded cautiously.

              ‘I am DCI Bevan and this is my colleague, DC Calder. We need to ask you some questions.’

              Philippa slipped onto a chair next to Irving, beside whom she looked almost childlike. Bevan wondered if the woman could possibly be as meek as she appeared.

              ‘I was just about to explain your relationship to Jo, but as you’re here, you can do it yourself,’ Irving stated flatly.

              ‘Jo was my landlady, I suppose. But we were also friends. I needed somewhere to stay whilst I studied for my teacher training at the University of London. I went to school with Jo’s cousin and she suggested renting a room to me. It worked out pretty well. I finished my training a couple of years back. I’ve done a term’s maternity cover but haven’t found anything permanent yet.’

              ‘I thought they were crying out for teachers in London?’ Andy asked, a note of scepticism in his tone.

              ‘Oh, that’s Secondary. I teach Reception, you know, the tiny ones. I wouldn’t be able to handle them any older than that.’ The woman snorted out a chuckle.

              ‘What happened on the day you planned to climb Ben Lomond?’

              James took the lead again. ‘We’d checked the forecast and it was good. Jo wanted to avoid the tourist path, which she said would be packed with men in flip-flops and girls in high-heels. There’s a trail that leads into the National Park from along the glen just behind the cottage. It takes you up Ben Lomond via the Ptarmigan Ridge. It’s a perfectly well-trodden and safe route. But it can be arduous in places. Philippa was finding the going tough. I dropped back with her, just at the point where we passed between Tom Fithich and Tom Eas. By 2,000 feet, the weather had begun to close in on us. It really came on without warning. I tried to call ahead to Jo on my phone but there was no signal. We decided to move to lower ground, where we might find a better reception.’ James cleared his throat and looked a little awkward.

              ‘So you had become separated from the rest of the group, even by that early stage?’ Andy probed, ‘and what time was this, exactly?

              ‘The others were still visible up ahead, right until the last moment,’ Philippa chipped in. ‘The mist just seemed to suddenly descend and then we could barely see a thing. It all happened so quickly.’

              ‘It must have been about quarter to three,’ James answered, as if the young woman next to him hadn’t spoken. ‘We’d set out in plenty of time to reach the summit and get back down again. Jo and I are experienced climbers.’

              ‘Then why didn’t the group stick together?’ Bevan queried acidly, ‘you aren’t supposed to leave the slowest one behind.’

              James’ cheeks flushed pink. ‘I’ve no idea why Jo didn’t lead them back down the mountain, especially when the visibility became so poor. I was a little angry with her for charging on ahead, if I’m perfectly honest.’

              ‘Perhaps Mr Batra can tell us some more about the reason for that,’ Andy added, letting his eyes sweep through the ground floor of the cottage, spotting no other signs of life.

              ‘Sure, I’ll go up to the bedroom and fetch him,’ James offered. ‘But look, go easy on Amit will you? The night he spent out there on the moors really shook him up. He’s fairly jittery. I haven’t been able to get much out of him myself.’

              ‘Don’t worry Mr Irving,’ Bevan replied dryly. ‘We’ll be very gentle.’