Snared (15 page)

Chapter Forty-Six

V
icky stood in the car park at Ninewells hospital, watching the ambulance carrying Graeme Hunter arrive, Considine’s Subaru just behind. The rain started up, small droplets dotting the ground, the smell of ozone with it.

As Considine got out, Vicky started off away from the car. “You’re late.”

He jogged to catch up. “Sorry, Sarge. Got stuck with Buchan speaking to these schoolgirls from Fife. Daft wee lassies didn’t really know what posting on that message board actually meant.”

“I see. Bet you enjoyed speaking to young girls again.”

“Not really.” Considine caught up with her. “Heard you were first out at this farm.”

“I wasn’t First Attending Officer but I was the first of our lot out there.”

“Sounds nasty.”

“They burnt his nose off. It’s no worse than what they do to those chickens.”

Considine held open the hospital’s front door for her. “Tell me you’re not sympathising with them.”

Vicky stared at him. “Seeing all those hens, even you’d start to think about it.”

“You’re not involved, are you?”

“Don’t even joke about it.”

Considine called the lift. “What’s the wife’s name?”

“Rhona Hunter. Her daughters are Amelie and Grace.”

“Weird names.”

“You know my daughter’s called Bella. Is that weird?”

“Maybe.” Considine entered the lift. “Which floor?”

“Three. Same ward as Rachel Hay and her brother.”

Considine hammered the button. The lift shuddered as it started to climb. “It’s like we’re getting our own ward here.”

Vicky nodded. “At this rate, we’ll be filling the hospital soon.”

The doors ground open and Dr Rankine was standing at the reception. “DS Dodds, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry we’re late.” Vicky exhaled. “How’s Mr Hunter doing?”

Rankine grimaced, her eyes shut. “He’s in surgery now.”

“He’ll live?”

“Of course. There’s no question of reattaching anything, more a case of seeing what rhinoplasty can do to make him look normal. A lot of the flesh and cartilage has been burnt away. The wound was cauterised with the heat.”

Vicky nodded, torn between sympathy and anger at the way he was treating the birds. “Can we speak to Mrs Hunter yet?”

“I think so. She’s mostly worried about her children. And her husband, of course. She’s suffering from exhaustion and
dehydration
but she’s capable of speaking to you. Just don’t push her too hard.”

“As if I would.”

Rankine led them into the ward. Rhona’s bed was stuck behind a wall of curtain.

Vicky pointed at it. “Isn’t she getting her own room?”

“None free.” Rankine opened the curtain and let them through. “Mrs Hunter? This is the police to speak to you.”

Rhona lay on a bed, a drip entering her arm, eyes looking dead. A hand clasped to her scalp, tiny dots of stubble covering her
cranium
. “How’re my girls?”

“They’re fine. We’re just keeping them in for observation until your husband gets the all-clear.”

“How is he?”

“I’m not entirely sure. He’s in surgery just now.”

“Okay.” Rhona wiped a tear from her face. “Thanks.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear.” Rankine smiled and left them.

Vicky sat next to the bed, Considine on the other side. “Mrs Hunter, I’m investigating what happened to you.” She got out her notebook. “Can you describe what happened yesterday
morning
?”

“I was in the kitchen with the kids while Graeme was sorting out the ducks. I was cooking soup for our lunch. We do that every Sunday morning. He listens to
The Archers
on the radio as he mucks out the duck house — we’ve got about thirty Indian Runners and they get filthy.” Rhona swallowed. “A car pulled up.”

“Do you get that a lot?”

“Aye. People get lost out our way all the time. We’re a bit off the main road, but people don’t realise the dual carriageway to Dundee is a couple of miles up that road.” Rhona’s eyes widened as she took a breath. “Anyway, Graeme went over to this car.”

“What kind was it?”

Rhona shrugged. “Black thing it was. I don’t know much about vehicles without four-wheel drive and tyres weighing thirty stone, I’m afraid.”

Vicky got out the sample photos of the car from Dryburgh Industrial Estate. “Was it like any of these?”

“That sort of thing. Could be any one of them, though. I’m sorry.”

Vicky scribbled it down. “Did you see who was in the car?”

“I didn’t get too close a look at who was behind the wheel.”

“Why?”

“A man grabbed Graeme from behind. I couldn’t see his face or anything. Next I know, the driver’s out of the car, balaclava on and a knife in his hand. They came inside and threatened us.”

“Were they both wearing balaclavas?”

“Aye.”

“Did you see anything at all? Any features?”

“Just their eyes.”

“What colour were they?”

“I can’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. What about a physical description?”

“Like what?”

“Well, were they male?”

“One was definitely a man. The other, I don’t know.” Rhona rubbed at her forehead with her palm, her fingers resting on the stubble. “It could’ve been a woman or maybe a —” She leaned
forward
with great effort and spoke in a whisper, “— a
homosexual
.”

Vicky noted it down. “What makes you say that?”

“Just the way they walked.”

“Could it’ve been a woman?”

“Well, maybe. I got the impression it was a man, though.”

Vicky made a note. “And you were in the kitchen?”

“I was. I just stood there, couldn’t do anything.” Rhona rubbed at the tear sliding down her cheek. “If only I’d got Graeme
shotgun
 . . .”

“Did they speak to you at all?”

“They barely said a word. Everything they did say sounded
garbled
. It was really deep and sounded rough.”

“What happened next?”

“It happened so fast. They brought Graeme inside the house and shoved us in the kitchen. They got me and kids at knifepoint. The driver held us in the barn for half an hour.”

“What were they doing?”

Rhona’s hand started shaking. “The man got these cages out of the car and put them in one of our barns. Must’ve taken all that time to assemble them. The other one took us over there and shaved our heads.”

“What did they do next?”

Tears welled in Rhona’s eyes. “They shoved the girls inside a cage then welded the door shut.”

“Did they look like professional welders?”

“I wouldn’t know. Next, they put me in a different the cage. One of them held me at knifepoint, while the other —” She broke off, her red eyes screwed up, tears flowing down her face. “I’m sorry, I —”

“It’s okay.” Vicky smiled at her but kept her distance. “Take your time.”

“They had Graeme hot knife on.” Rhona clenched her jaw. “Stuck his head against it.” She shut her eyes. “The sound of him screaming, the smell, it’ll go with me to the grave.”

“Did they say anything to you while this was happening?”

“Nothing. They just shoved Graeme in the cage with me and welded it shut. He’d passed out by then. They left us in the dark with the hens.”

Vicky noted it down. “Did they video this, do you know?”

“I don’t think so.”

Vicky closed her notebook. “Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch.”

“Get these bastards for me.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

C
heers, Vicky. Thanks for the update. I appreciate how difficult it is.” Forrester stood at the front of the gathering of officers. “This looks like another crime perpetrated by the same criminals behind the attack on Rachel Hay and Paul Joyce. I’ll be honest, these people are impressive — two kidnappings in the space of four days.”

DCI John Raven entered the room, standing off to the side and leaning against a laser printer. Not the tallest of men, he focused on personal image instead — shiny grey suit, striped shirt and black tie. He nodded at Forrester then focused on his BlackBerry, his stubby thumbs hammering the keys.

Forrester exhaled slowly. “Right, then. To summarise, we’re looking at two cases, potentially linked by these notes. We need to dig deeper into the sightings of a black car. Mac, can you take lead on that?”

MacDonald slurped at a navy mug. “Will do, sir.”

Forrester looked around the room. “This family were abducted and locked in cages. They look similar to the cages we found Rach
el an
d Paul in. I want them looked into as well.”

MacDonald noted it down. “DC Woods already has that on her work stack.”

“Excellent.”

Considine walked in, gaze darting between Forrester and Raven. “Sorry I’m late, sir.”

“What’s kept you, Constable?”

“I was just over at the Forensics lab.” Considine held up photocopies of the notes retrieved from all four locations. “The notes match. Typography, paper stock, even the newspapers they were taken from,
The Sun
and the
Daily Mail
. Printer used was a Brother MFCJ4510DW with recycled ink cartridges.”

“I thought this was a glue job?”

Considine leaned against a desk. “It is but there are some printed elements there. They reckon they printed the message out before sticking the letters on.”

“Can we trace it to a sale?”

“PC World had the printer on special a few weeks ago. There’ll be thousands of them across Tayside by now.” Considine checked his dark grey notebook. “Some better news, though, sir — they reckon the paper was unbleached recycled. Quite unusual in these parts.”

“That’s useful, I suppose.”

MacDonald set his mug down. A dribble of coffee slid down the outside, a black smear on the navy blue. “Do you think these people are terrorists, sir?”

Raven looked up from his mobile. “Aren’t the NCA interested in taking it off us?”

MacDonald shook his head. “Tried and failed that, sir, though we just had the one case at the time.”

“What was their justification, Sergeant?”

“They deem it a vigilante action targeted against specific individuals. We don’t know who’s behind it and their watch lists are all Irish and Islamic, no active animal rights cells at present. They reckoned there’s not much of a threat to the general public unless you’ve been caught doing something bad to animals.”

Raven scowled. “They said that?”

MacDonald blushed. “That’s me paraphrasing, sir. More interested in people poisoning reservoirs, blowing up hotels, sending anthrax to abortion clinics, that kind of thing.”

“Given this morning’s events, Sergeant, it’s worth picking up with them again. A man losing his nose is a tad more serious than what’s happened previously.”

“Will do, sir.”

Forrester glowered at Raven. “I reckon we’re capable of solving this.”

“Prove it, then.”

“Certainly.” Forrester straightened his navy tie, adjusting his white tie pin in the process. “Additionally, we’ve got the case in Fife with the woman in the bin, which may or may not be linked. How’s that going, Mac?”

“Still in the analysis phase, sir. The resources looking at it were on surveillance for the Muirheads and the Morton brothers over the weekend.”

Forrester pursed his lips. “They’re still doing that?”

“Yes.”

“Let me think about it.” Forrester stared at Considine. “Did you ever verify the Muirheads’ alibi?”

“I did, sir. I spoke to the friends and they confirmed it. They went for dinner, then to the Rep to see some play. Think we’ve got the ticket stubs from the wife.”

“Fine.” Forrester licked his lips. “Last thing, DCI Raven and I are giving a news conference. Vicky, since you’ve led most of the investigation so far, can you be on hand?”

Vicky swallowed hard, butterflies flapping in her stomach. “Certainly, sir.”

Forrester smiled at Raven. “Do you want to say anything, boss?”

Raven joined Forrester at the front, smirking as he nodded his head. “No, that just about covers it, David. I just need to be able to brief the Super and the Chief Super. That’s the main thing at the moment. While they’re comfortable with your approach so far, it’s key to note we’re not dealing with a murder here. This is a
reasonably
well-organised collection of individuals with an agenda as yet unknown. We progress as you’ve been doing so far until we obtain any intelligence that we’re dealing with a known group.”

“Thanks, boss.” Forrester nodded around the group. “
Dismissed
.”

Chapter Forty-Eight

V
icky sat in the canteen, playing with the last two leaves of her salad. Sticky dressing pooled in the centre of her plate.

Karen waved her hands in front of Vicky’s face. “Feels like I’m having lunch on my own.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m just distracted. I hate doing news conferences.”

Karen pointed at the screen in the corner. Vicky was talking to the camera, the sheet of paper in front of her shaking. “You look good on the TV, Vicks.”

Vicky scowled at her. “Shut up. I look like I’m twenty stone.”

Karen leaned forward. “You look good.”

“For my age?”

“No, generally. Tying your hair up really suits you.”

“Right.” Vicky fiddled with her ponytail. “I hate doing those things. I doubt anything’ll come from it, anyway.” She rubbed at her neck. “My neck’s killing me again.”

“Did you try those bras I recommended?”

“Didn’t make any difference at all. I think it’s stress related.”

Karen set her cutlery down on her plate. “This is the first time I’ve spoken to you today. Spill.”

“I saw you yesterday when you dropped Bella off.”

“And I was in a rush. Spill.”

“Kaz, there’s nothing to spill. We had a nice meal in the Ferry, then went back to Liz’s house for some drinks. That’s it.”

“Did you . . . ?”

“No.”

“No?”

“
No
.”

“Vicky . . .”

“What?”

“Come on, Vicks. Are you losing your juju?”

Vicky folded her arms. “Robert walked me home, if you
must know.”

“But he lives next door to them!” Karen laughed. “Did you ask him in for coffee?”

“I gave him my number.”

“Oh good.” Karen stretched out her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “You seriously didn’t shag him?”

“No! I’m not that sort of girl.” Vicky crossed her arms. “You know I’m not.”

“Did he do anything with your number?”

“He texted me his.”

“So are you seeing him again?”

“Going for a drink tonight in the Stag’s Head.”

Karen started waving her arms in the air. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it.”

Vicky clocked MacDonald approaching. She leaned forward. “Karen, stop shouting.”

“Can’t believe what?” MacDonald stood over them, frowning.

Vicky glared at Karen. “This case.”

“Really?”

Karen screwed up her eyes. “Aye.”

“It’s a bugger, that’s for sure.” MacDonald gestured at one of the spare chairs. “Mind if I sit here, ladies?”

Karen shifted her tray to one side. “Not at all.”

Vicky pulled her ponytail over one shoulder. “How do you think the news conference went?”

MacDonald shrugged as he chewed a mouthful of salmon and broccoli. “Seen worse.”

Vicky glared at her can. “You mean my performance?”

“You were fine.” MacDonald shook his head. “This is a nation of animal lovers. It’s going to be hard to get them motivated to punish vigilantes tracking down animal cruelty.”

“Tell me about it.”

“This can be a tough job at times.”

Karen leaned on one hand. “You got any pets, Sarge?”

“I’d love a dog one day, but it’d be cruel keeping it in a flat.” MacDonald ate a mouthful of couscous. “Have you been busy this morning?”

Karen sat up. “Aye. Been looking into these cages.”

Vicky slid her seat back as she stood up, noticing a few extra eyes on her, none looking away. “I’ve got to prep for the briefing at one. You coming?”

Karen nodded.

MacDonald rested his fork on the plate. “I’ll be there after I finish this.”

Vicky left him to his lunch.

Karen tapped her shoulder as she caught up. “Christ, Vicky, wait up.”

“What?”

“Why don’t you want him to know about your date?”

Vicky shrugged, biting at her bottom lip. “I wish I knew what went on in my head sometimes.”