Murder Mile (7 page)

‘It’s the police, love.’

She shook her head, said, ‘No. It’s not my Lindsey … Have you found her?’

‘It would be better if you sat down, Mrs Sloan,’ said Brennan.

The man in the tracksuit stood up. He was a thin, angular man with outsized hands that sliced the air like rotor blades as he showed he was holding some papers, said, ‘I should probably be on my way now, Mrs Sloan.’ He fumbled with the papers, looked unsure of what to do with them, then bunched them together and placed them on the couch behind him. He seemed at a loss now his large hands were empty, stood rubbing them together in front of Brennan and McGuire.

Mr Sloan spoke, ‘That’s fine, Mr Crawley.’ He turned to the officers standing in his living room. ‘This is, I’m sorry I don’t know your first name …’

‘Colin …’

Mr Sloan took his lead, ‘Colin is from Lindsey’s old school … The kids were putting out posters, with her picture and, well …’ He lost all enthusiasm for his explanation, exhaled slowly, turned to his wife. Mrs Sloan’s lower lip trembled, her husband guided her to a chair, eased her into it. He watched her for a moment, ran a palm over her back and then went to the window ledge and removed a packet of cigarettes. ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

Brennan shook his head.

‘It’s a terrible business,’ said Mr Crawley. He continued rubbing his hands, seemed suddenly conscious of the action, then stopped abruptly and placed them in the pockets of his tracksuit. ‘She was never one of my pupils but the school is a small community and when we heard, well, the kids wanted to do something.’ He turned
to
the couch, leaned over and picked up one of the small posters the pupils had been sticking up in the neighbourhood. ‘They designed them themselves.’ He held it out.

Brennan looked at the man for a moment then reached out a hand to take the poster. He was from Edinburgh High; Brennan knew the school well – his daughter went there – the thought brought the Sloans’ grief even closer to home. ‘Thank you.’

Mr Crawley smiled and nodded, made his way to the door, said, ‘I’ll see myself out, Mrs Sloan. God bless.’

Brennan watched him leave the room, thought about questioning him but knew this wasn’t the time or place; he waited for the sound of the front door closing, the room seemed to bristle with energy. The Sloans focused on the DI as he spoke, ‘I’m afraid I have some very distressing news for you.’

The woman cried out, ‘Oh, no.’

The man watched her lower her head into her hands and sob. ‘Is it … Lindsey?’

Brennan nodded, ‘We found the body of a young woman that we believe to be your daughter this morning.’

The woman started to rock gently on her chair, the man approached her, placed a hand on her head. She buried her face in his side and gripped him round the waist. He continued to pat the back of her head. ‘What happened?’

Brennan caught McGuire’s gaze shifting to meet his, he turned back to the man. ‘We’re still trying to ascertain that; there will be a postmortem later today, or tomorrow.’

The word seemed to pass a bolt through the woman, she sobbed uncontrollably.

The man raised his cigarette to his lips, his face was firm, stoic. ‘I don’t understand. Why?’ He shook his head, ‘I mean, who would want to …’ He looked down towards his sobbing wife, started to rub her back again. His eyes grew red and moist.

Brennan knew they needed time to take in the information. ‘Is there anything we can do … Someone we can call maybe?’

‘No. We’re all that’s left.’

Brennan rose, ‘When you feel ready, I’d appreciate it if you’d get in touch,’ he removed a card from his pocket, passed it to the man, ‘there are one or two formalities.’

He took the card, stared at it. ‘I just don’t understand.’

Brennan stepped back, ‘When you’re ready, just give me a call. I can have you collected.’ He motioned McGuire to the door. ‘Please, we’ll see ourselves out.’ He stalled for a moment as McGuire passed through the door; the man was still holding out his card, staring at him. ‘I’m just so very sorry for your loss, Mr Sloan.’

Outside Brennan removed a packet of Embassy Regal, lit up. He walked to the end of the garden path, closed the gate delicately behind him and peered back into the Sloans’ little home. He knew their lives would never be the same, he felt a hollowness open up inside him as though he’d been presented with all his sins. As he walked back to the car he began to feel queasy, the whole situation weighed on his heart.

‘Everything OK, boss?’ said McGuire.

Brennan closed the car door, inhaled deep on his cigarette. ‘I want everything there is to know about Lindsey Sloan.’

Chapter 9

DI ROB BRENNAN
chose to remain silent on the drive back to Fettes Police Station. He had allowed himself a rare moment of introspection after revealing to the Sloans that their daughter was dead. He felt their grief, but didn’t want to lug it around with him. There was sympathy and there was empathy; the latter meant taking on too much of the grief and he needed to keep a clear head if he was to catch their daughter’s killer. Though he knew it wasn’t healthy, he locked away the meeting with the Sloans; he would address his true feelings about what had happened at a later date. Of that he had no doubt.

When they reached the station Brennan realised he was holding the stub of a cigarette he had forgotten to smoke; it had burnt down to the filter tip and there was a dusting of ash on his trouser leg. He quickly brushed it off, placed the dowp in the ashtray as McGuire parked up.

‘What now?’ said the DS once he’d stopped the car, removed the key from the ignition.

Brennan felt his brain itch, ‘Did you get hold of Lorrimer?’

McGuire raised an eyebrow, looked ready to say ‘
Who
?’ then, ‘Oh, profiler, Strathclyde … aye, he’s coming through.’

‘When?’

The DS turned away, exhaled. ‘Well, he said soon as … I’m hoping tonight or tomorrow.’

‘Call him, get a definite time. And don’t tell Benny, we’ll wait until Lorrimer’s on the job before we do that.’

‘Yes, boss … anything else?’

Brennan released his seatbelt, ‘I’m sure there will be, just let me get a look at the files before we plan the next move.’

The pair left the car, headed for the front door. Charlie was manning the desk again, nodded to them from behind the pages of the
News
. He seemed unchallenged, content. Brennan didn’t know whether to envy him or feel sorry for him. He had his foot on the first step as his mobile started to ring. He looked at the caller ID, it was Joyce.

‘I’ll catch you up there, Stevie.’

Ringing.

‘Hello.’

‘I want you out tonight,’ she sounded nervy, distraught.

‘Joyce, what are you on about?’ Brennan turned around, passed Charlie and headed out to the car park.

‘I want you out of our house and our lives.’

A vision of Sophie flashed before Brennan’s eyes, ‘Well, that’s never going to happen and you know it.’

‘We’ll see about that … How well do you think your affair will go down with the divorce courts?’

‘Joyce …’ His affair was almost a year ago, he hadn’t seen Lorraine in that time and he had no intention of changing that. ‘Why are you bringing that up now?’

There was a gap on the line, some shuffling. He heard her inhale a cigarette. ‘I’ve changed the locks.’

‘
What
?’

‘You heard … And I’ve packed up your things. There’s two suitcases sitting in the garage, you can come and collect them when you like, but don’t try coming to the house.’

‘I want to see Sophie.’

Joyce tutted, ‘Since when? You don’t normally have any time for her.’

Brennan felt confused, his thoughts spiralled. Of course he had
time
for her, it was the job alone that kept him from seeing her. ‘You’ve no right to do this … You’ve just no …’

‘I’ve every fucking right. Every fucking right after what you did to us!’

‘Joyce, get a hold of yourself.’

‘I’m perfectly fucking together,’ she was roaring now, roaring into the phone.

‘Can we talk about this at least? I mean, where am I supposed to go?’

‘Why don’t you go to your slut, Rob? … Huh? Why don’t you go there?’

She hung up.

Brennan stared at the phone for a moment, then quickly turned towards the station. He hoped no one had seen him engaged in the call; his home life was something to keep separate, the two worlds could never mix. He pocketed the mobile and started to walk back towards the building. His thoughts filled with Sophie. How would she feel? How would she react? He tried to press delete on those thoughts but their impressions remained. He felt hollowed out like the hull of a shipwreck. He halted in mid-stride for a moment and tried to gather himself; a blackbird swooped on the car park, raised its yellow beak and set off again. Brennan watched the bird, wings spread, as it crossed the cloud-covered sky and felt he was watching a part of himself being carried away.

The DI steadied himself some more; this wasn’t the time or place for ratiocination, for dissecting the failure of his marriage. The job always had to come first, always. He returned to the station, his gait slow, but sure.

Upstairs, in Incident Room One, there was some activity but Brennan’s gaze alighted on McGuire and WPC Elaine Docherty smiling at each other like there was no one else in the room; he approached the whiteboard, turned to DS Collins, ‘This all we have on the Sloan girl?’

Collins leaned back in his seat, ‘Sally, anything to stick up?’

‘No, not yet. Once they’ve done the postmortem there will be.’

Collins returned to the DI, ‘That’s it for now, sir.’

‘What about Smeeton’s door-to-door?’

A shrug of shoulders, ‘There weren’t any doors really, nearest house was a couple of miles away … and it was a pitch-black night, remember.’

Brennan shook his head, returned to the board. The background details were sketchy, they had an address and a place of work but there were no friends, boyfriend listed. ‘Collins, what’s happening with all this fucking white space?’

The DS rose, approached the board. ‘Well, Lou is down at the travel agent where she worked, talking to her colleagues, and he’s going to follow up any names that come from there. And Bri is going through her history, school and previous jobs … There’s nothing standing out, though. She seemed very ordinary.’

‘Check out everybody she’s had contact with in recent years – youth club, local pub … if she knew a bus driver with a fucking speeding ticket I want him brought in. Got me?’

‘Sir.’

‘And Collins …’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Interview her classmates from school … She’s not long out the place, she’s likely kept in contact … Facebook generation and all that. Anything, no matter how insignificant, fire it up to me.’

Collins nodded, he looked as if he was about to say something, raised a finger towards the board, but Brennan cut him off. He spoke in hushed tones, ‘What the bloody hell is going on here?’

Collins turned round, Brennan watched over the DS’s shoulder as the Chief Super and DI Jim Gallagher walked down through the incident room.

Gallagher nodded, ‘Rob, how’s it going?’

‘Fine, Jim … is this a social call?’

The Chief Super hitched his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose as he looked at the board. ‘Everything ticking along all right, Rob?’

Brennan nodded, ‘Yes. Just fine.’ He watched the Chief Super
peer
over the details that had been written up in marker pen then quickly remove his gaze as he caught sight of the bloody photographs.

‘Right, well, got a moment, Rob? Something Jim and I would like to talk to you about?’

Brennan felt his spirit shrivel inside him; he looked over at Gallagher, he was smiling. Not a real smile, a false, painted-on one. They were up to something and Brennan knew it. He pointed towards his glassed-off section at the other end of the room.

‘This way, then,’ he said.

The Chief Super headed for the office, Gallagher laid up behind Brennan and let him go first, motioning him to go ahead with the palm of his hand. Brennan paced out, but he didn’t like the thought of Gallagher descending into obvious politesse – it made him feel wary.

The Chief Super took Brennan’s chair, sat. The two DIs stood there like schoolboys before the headmaster.

‘Is somebody going to tell me what this is about?’ said Brennan.

Gallagher laid a blue folder down on the desk, ‘You better take a look at this.’

Brennan reached forward, picked it up; it contained details of an unsolved murder case. There were pictures of the victim, bound and tied, her name was Fiona Gow. As Brennan scanned the files he immediately saw the similarities to the murder of Lindsey Sloan.

He said, ‘These deaths are five years apart … you think they’re connected?’

Gallagher readied himself to reply; the Chief Super stepped over him. ‘We don’t know, Rob.’

Brennan bristled, ‘Then why are you showing them to me?’

‘We believe,’ said Gallagher, ‘there may be a connection.’ He leaned forward, plucked a photograph from the file. ‘Look at the ligatures, the genital mutilation … and the eyes.’

‘It’s almost identical,’ said the Chief Super.

Brennan had to agree, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He could see where this was going; he now knew why Gallagher had
been
snooping around in his earlier briefing. ‘I’ll need this confirmed by the lab.’

‘Of course. But I can tell you now, this was my case, Rob, and the killings are identical,’ said Gallagher.

The Chief Super edged an opinion in, ‘I would have thought you’d welcome Jim’s input in this situation, Rob.’

Brennan leaned forward, closed the file. He was staring at Gallagher, but talking to the Chief Super when he replied, ‘You never solved this case, did you, Jim?’

Gallagher faltered, his mouth opened but no words came out. He seemed to recover quickly though. ‘We came close.’

‘Not close enough, Jim. If you had we might not have Lindsey Sloan’s name chalked up out there.’

Gallagher’s face flushed, he seemed to inflate. The Chief Super rose, stepped between the two men. ‘Right, well, I was going to suggest some co-operation on this case between you both, given the undeniable similarities …’