Snared (18 page)

Chapter Fifty-Four

A
s he marched across the office, Forrester pointed at Vicky then at the whiteboard before going into his room.

“Gather round. Briefing time.” Vicky went over to the whiteboard, waited as the others assembled.

Forrester joined her, one hand stuck in a packet of Quavers, the other clutching a white mug, the odour of burnt coffee wafting up from it. “I’m bloody starving.”

“Don’t they have shops in Livingston?”

“Not so’s you’d notice. Mac managed to get us totally lost there and back. Bloody nightmare, that place. It’s like Glenrothes without the Fifers.”

Vicky laughed. “Did you get anything out of them?”

Forrester lifted the bag up and tapped his nose. “All in good time, Sergeant.”

The rest of the team had assembled around the area, with
MacDonald
perched by the printer, arms folded.

Forrester cleared his throat. “Right. Thanks for staying late. I’ve got an update with Raven in fifteen minutes, so we’ll get through this sharpish, okay?” He nodded at MacDonald. “Mac, do you want to give an update on what we did in Livingston?”

“The National Wildlife Crime Unit were actually pretty
helpful
. Got a couple of officers on secondment from the Met’s National Domestic Extremism and Disorder Intelligence Unit.” A grin
flickered
across MacDonald’s lips. “That’s a mouthful. Few possibles they’re going to email through to us but I’ve not checked my inbox yet.”

Vicky tapped at
Terror?
on the whiteboard. “Are they going to treat this as terrorism?”

Forrester shook his head. “They’re happy with the arm’s-reach approach. They’ve seen what we’ve got and they reckon this is small beer. Until we get evidence of a wider group, or a deeper plot comes out, they’re happy for it to be a ‘CID crime’, like that means
something
.”

“Any idea why?”

MacDonald smirked. “The fact nobody’s dead yet.”

“We’ve got to keep in touch with them over the next couple of weeks. Hopefully this’ll just die out.” Forrester folded his arms. “Anything been happening here?”

Vicky got out her notebook. “A few things. Considine and I went to Cupar to investigate what happened to Irene Henderson, who everyone seems to call ‘Cat Bin Woman’. The sighting of the car is as confirmed as we’ll get it. Looks like it pulled up on her street, some people in balaclavas got out and nabbed her. That’s pretty much it.”

Forrester peered at the whiteboard. “Is there anything else we can get from her?”

Vicky shrugged. “We’ll see. Summers and Kirk’ve been through the case file and I’ve got DC Considine going through it again. That’s pretty much it, as far as I can work it out.”

“Fine.”

Vicky nodded at Karen. “DC Woods, do you want to give an update on the cages?”

“I confirmed that the cage used for Rachel and Paul was from the same manufacturer as the one at the hen farm. There’s only one supplier in the UK. Bad news is there’s no joy with tracing the transaction. It was reported fraudulent by the cardholder in Derby. He doesn’t look like he’s involved.”

“Bugger.” Forrester shoved a few more Quavers in his mouth.

“The good news, sir, is the cages were delivered to the unit at Dryburgh last Monday. That means we know when they started occupying the building and can widen our CCTV search.”

Forrester crumpled up his crisp packet. “Good. What else?”

“We spoke to the delivery driver.” Karen did her tongue thing. “Didn’t get a good look at the person he dropped it to as he was wearing a hoodie and a scarf. Reckons they were about five eleven, maybe six foot. Most likely male.”

“But not definitely?”

Karen shook her head. “Could’ve been female.”

Vicky tapped on the whiteboard above
Male
. “We’ve updated the description and I’ve got some uniform going round the industrial estate again.”

Forrester glared. “Do
any
of the people we’ve interviewed so far meet that description?”

“Not off the top of my head.” Vicky nodded at Considine. “Can you look into that?”

“Will do.” Considine raised an evidence bag. “Just hot off the press — I’ve been through the hate mail she got. Reed had them couriered up from Glenrothes. Ms Henderson got a poison pen letter matching the other four.”

Vicky glowered at him — why not mention it while they waited for Forrester? “Are you serious?”

Considine nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Just sent it off to get analysed but I’m confident it’ll match. Doubt we’ll get anything from it, though.”

“Good work, Constable.” Forrester picked at his teeth for a few seconds. “So these are linked cases, then?”

Considine rolled his shoulders. “Looks that way, sir.”

“So, when was this?”

“Fifteenth of November, sir.”

Forrester’s eyes widened. “So, they’ve been at this six months?”

“Could be.”

“Reckon this cat bin woman’s a trial run, Vicky?”

“Probably. One thing that sticks out for me is there were three people in Cupar. Definitely one female. The most we’ve got at the others is a male and an androgynous person.”

Forrester nodded slowly. “Is there nothing else from the
chicke
n farm?”

Vicky shook her head. “Sadly not. It’s so remote it just doesn’t get a lot of passing traffic. The news conference hasn’t yielded anything yet and the Forensic report isn’t complete.”

“Disappointing. I got a call from that doctor — Rankine, is it?”

“Aye.”

“She says they doubt they’ll be able to repair Hunter’s nose. It’ll take years to make it look human again.”

Vicky swallowed down the sour taste in her mouth. “Jesus.”

“Tell me about it. Did you speak to that journalist?”

Vicky nodded. “Anita Skinner. I did, sir. Wasn’t best pleased with being kept waiting. I doubt she’s involved but we should keep her in until Zoë’s finished with her laptop.”

“Well, Raven’s just let her go.”

“You’re happy with that?”

“Aye. Reckons she’s just a greedy idiot.” Forrester shook his head. “Half of Scotland seems to have got that bloody email. She was the only one daft enough to publish it. That Media Officer boy, can’t mind his name, he’s been going spare trying to keep a lid on it. Had to get the Chief Constable involved, get him speaking to our friends in the fourth estate.”

“So they’re not getting their message out there?”

“Not quite. It’s like bloody Whac-A-Mole — hit one and another pops up.”

“Nice.” Vicky looked at Zoë. “Did you get anywhere with the email she got?”

“I was just about to have a look at it, ma’am. I’ll have an update tomorrow.”

Forrester took a deep breath before checking his watch. “Right, I think we’ve made some good progress today, considering what we’re up against. Dismissed.”

As the team broke up, Forrester cornered Vicky at the whiteboard. “Have you got any food in your desk? I’m starving.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Right. Hell of a business this.” Forrester did up his tie. “Off to get the other bollock toasted by Raven.”

“He’s not that bad, is he?”

Forrester raised his eyebrows. “You heard him after the news conference.” He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Vicky went back to her desk and put her coat on.

Karen winked at her. “Good luck tonight, Vicks.”

MacDonald frowned. “What’s tonight?”

“Nothing.” Vicky scowled at Karen as she picked up her bag. “Goodnight.”

Chapter Fifty-Five

V
icky stopped outside the Stag’s Head and checked her watch — five to seven and no sign of him. She decided to wait for
Robert
outside what used to be the video shop.

The daylight was just starting to die, the stream of traffic on
Carnoustie’s
long High Street navigating the single-file parking
system
that so infuriated her dad. There was a crane a couple of hundred metres away, involved in the demolition of her old
primary
 school.

Vicky looked at the
Evening Telegraph
she’d bought on her way along. The cover featured her face, looking fat, bored and out of her depth at the news conference. The column at the side had head shots of the victims in the case so far — Rachel Hay, Paul Joyce and Graeme and Rhona Hunter. This late edition even had Ire
ne Henderson
.

A Volvo pulled in and flashed its lights.

“Bloody hell.” Vicky leaned into the driver’s side. “Karen, what’re you doing here?”

“Driving home.”

“This isn’t the way to East Haven.”

“Okay. I just wanted to meet this man of yours.”

“He’s not mine.”

“Not yet.” Karen checked her out. “You’re looking smoking hot.”

Vicky held up the paper. “I don’t think so.”

“Forget about that. You look ravishing.” Karen licked a finger and smoothed down Vicky’s hair at the side. “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“Aye, I am.” Vicky looked at the ground. A ball of chewing gum was flattened out at the edge of the pavement. “I can’t handle any more rejection.”

“You’ve had one date with the guy and you’re thinking of when he’ll dump you?”

“I can’t help how my brain works.”

“Sure you can. Just stop thinking things like that.” Karen gripped Vicky’s cheek between thumb and forefinger. “You poor thing. Most men would kill to have you, you know that?”

Vicky laughed. “You’re such a bad liar.”

“I’m not lying. You’re a good person.”

“Maybe.” Vicky spotted Robert across the street as he entered the pub, his black leather jacket matching her own. “I’d better go.”

“Was that him?”

“It was.”

“Nice bum.”

“Christ, Kaz, don’t you ever stop?”

“Never.” Karen flicked the indicator. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Vicky stepped back and watched her drive off, mouth dry. She waited for a break in traffic to cross the road and entered the pub.

Robert was standing at the bar, phone in hand. He waved when he saw her. “Was just about to call you.”

Vicky leaned against the bar, unsure whether to offer a hand, peck his cheek or what. She kissed him, lips rasping on his stubble. “I was waiting for you outside, as it happens.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t see you.”

“I spotted someone I knew across the street.”

“Okay.” Robert put his phone away. “You look nice.”

Vicky smiled. “Thanks. You don’t look too shabby yourself.”

He laughed. “What do you want to drink?”

“I’d say a glass of white wine but Carnoustie doesn’t do wine. Bacardi and Coke.”

Robert turned to the barman, who was midway through pouring a pint of IPA. “Bacardi and Coke as well, please.”

“I’ll bring them over, pal.”

Across the empty bar, Vicky spotted a huddle of men her age, all beer bellies and bald spots, as they watched the preamble to some football match on the large TV. She sat diagonally opposite, making sure neither she nor Robert could be distracted by the screen.

Robert perched on a stool and thumbed behind him. “Do you know that lot?”

She shrugged. “I think I recognise a couple of them from school. They’ve filled out a bit.”

“I don’t imagine you have.”

“Hardly.” Vicky looked around the room, frowning. “They’ve done this place up. We used to call it the Slag’s Bed when I was growing up.” She raised her hand in panic. “Not that I was the slag.”

“Wasn’t thinking anything of the sort.”

The barman appeared with their drinks.

“Thanks.” Robert raised his glass before taking a gulp. “So, you grew up in Car-snooty?”

“Not you as well. I hate it when people call it that.”

“It’s what we called it in Arbroath.”

She smirked. “I suppose everything’s relative.”

“So did you?”

“What, have a slag’s bed?”

“No.” He laughed. “Grow up in Carnoustie.”

“Aye. Kinloch Primary then the high school. I went to uni in Aberdeen.”

“And you came back?”

Vicky stared into her glass. “Aye, I did. Lived in Dundee for a bit. Got a job with Tayside Police as was, working up the Hilltown. My boyfriend at the time worked at
The Courier
.”

Robert nodded before taking a drink, eyes locked on Vicky. “I’ve always liked the town.”

“Even though we’re all toffs in Car-snooty?”

“Even though.”

“Is that why you moved here?”

Robert took a drink, staring at the tabletop for a few seconds.
“I m
oved to Carnoustie to get a new start. Aye. His wife died last year.”

Vicky nodded, the nerve in her neck twanging. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was mercifully quick, to be honest. Cancer.” Robert stared into space. “With my uncle, it took years. It felt like we were keeping him alive for my aunt’s sake more than his. He was like a dog that couldn’t stop pissing on the carpet.” He took another drink. “With Moira, it was quick. There was no option of chemo. Died a month after she was diagnosed.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

“Christ, it was.” Tears welled in his eyes. “The hardest part was all the bloody admin I had to do after she’d gone. I just wanted to lie in bed for a month, thinking about the good times and getting used to her being gone. Instead, I had so much crap to do. In the end, I went walking in the Cairngorms for a week. That’s when I decided to sell up and move.”

Vicky really didn’t know how to respond. “Corbie Drive’s a nice street.”

Robert nodded. “I feel lucky. Liz and Dave are really nice. Seems to be a real community there.”

“I wish I could afford to live there.”

Robert finished his pint. “Your house isn’t so bad.”

“Really? I’m a police officer and I live in the worst bit of
Carnoustie
.”

“Not like it’s Arbroath.”

“That’s true.” Vicky checked the bar was free then put her hand round his empty glass, still cold. “Another?”

He nodded. “Get me the Ossian this time.”

“Sure.” Vicky took his glass to the bar, finishing hers as she waited for their drinks.

She watched Robert read her paper. Now she was pretty much sober, she revised his age down. Maybe not even forty. He seemed less nervous than on Saturday. Maybe the text messages and letting him walk her home had helped.

She was a bit freaked out about how serious the conversation had got so quickly. Her instinct was to run away. She stared at the door — she could just leave.

No way could she do that.

The barman put the drinks in front of her. She paid and returned to the table.

Robert held up his glass of ale, almost clear. “Cheers.”

They clinked glasses.

Vicky took a decent sip. “Billy Connolly’s first gig was supposed to be in here.”

“Really?”

“Aye. He was in the Territorial Army, staying at the camp at Barry.”

“Never knew that.” Robert picked up her
Tele
. “I saw you on TV. Impressive.”

“You think so? I kept stumbling over my words. My boss’s boss has made me book a media training course. A whole week.”

“You didn’t look like you needed it.”

“Thanks, but that course will cost hundreds and, with the cost-cutting going on, it wouldn’t have been agreed if I hadn’t made a complete mess of things.” She took a drink. “I don’t know what happens to me. When I’ve got my warrant card, I’m really confident, but outside of work, I’m a total mess. Talking to the press kind of blurred the lines. I become a wreck in front of a camera.”

“It’s never easy talking to a camera.”

“Have you had training?”

Robert nodded. “I was involved in a community outreach thing Arbroath Football Club did with the schools in Arbroath and
Carnoustie
. We did a video. I
hated
it. Absolutely detested it.”

“Sounds like a good thing to do, though.”

“It was. I’m more into animal welfare, though.”

“Really?”

He held up the paper. “I’m not involved in this case, before you ask.”

Vicky laughed. “Wasn’t going to suggest it.”

“How’s that going?”

“Well, I’m not really supposed to talk about it but that’s three cases we’ve got now.”

“Three? It was just two on the telly.”

Vicky rested a finger on the photo of Irene Henderson in the
Tele
. “We found one in Fife. The woman who got stuck in a bin l
ast yea
r?”

Robert took a drink. “I read about that.” He shook his head. “What she did made me really angry.”

“Me too. And that was before I met her. We think it might be vigilantes.”

“Wouldn’t blame them if it was.” Robert flipped the paper back to the sport pages. “Have you got any pets?”

“Just a scraggly little cat.”

“What’s he called?”

“Tinkle. It’s a she.” Vicky took a big drink. “How about you?”

“Two dogs. Retired greyhounds. They’re lovely but I have to come home to walk them every lunchtime. That’s all the exercise they need but one of them doesn’t like being left alone.” He laughed. “That’s why we got the other one.”

“Have you had them long?”

“A few years. Moira loved the dogs.” He sat back and held up his hands. “Sorry, I keep going on about her. I swear I’m over it. As over as I can be . . .”

“I wasn’t saying anything.”

He smiled. “I don’t want to give the wrong impression. Dave and Liz kind of forced us into this blind date business.”

“They did.”

Robert stared at the tabletop. “I didn’t feel forced is what I’m trying to say. It’s why I texted you. It’s why I’m here.”

“That’s why I texted you back. It’s why I gave you my card in the first place.”

Robert finished his pint, still avoiding eye contact. He tapped her half-full glass, touching her finger. “Another?”

Vicky bit her lip. “Sorry, I’ve to go back to see Bella, my
daughter
.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Is she a problem?”

“No, not at all.” Robert shook his head, his lip out. “Did you get her name from
Twilight
?”

Vicky pointed a finger at him. “No, and before you start, I hadn’t even heard of that bloody book when I had her.”

“What’s she like?”

“She’s good.” Vicky tugged her ponytail tight, the knot in her neck now a dull ache. “She’s a bit too much like me. Prone to tantrums, shall we say. She’s really friendly, though, so she’ll be okay.” She finished her glass. “I do worry I’m fucking her up, though.”

Robert frowned. “Why on Earth? You seem like you’d be a good mother.”

“You hardly know me.”

“Even so.”

Vicky sighed. “It’s just the amount I have to rely on my own parents to look after her.”

“I know the feeling. I’ve got a boy myself. Jamie.”

Vicky nodded. “I like that name.”

“His mother did, too.” Robert cleared his throat. “This was good. Let’s do it again soon.”

“Definitely.”

“Absolutely. Let’s do dinner sometime.”

Vicky thought quickly. “Wednesday. My place.”

Robert grinned. “Wednesday’s good for me.”

“You can bring Jamie if you want.”

“He’s with his gran on a Wednesday.”

Vicky leaned across the table and pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll see you then. You know where I live.”