Snared (21 page)

Chapter Sixty-Three

M
acDonald pulled his BMW into the car park to the James Hutton Institute, slotting in behind a panda car. “This the place?”

Vicky nodded. “It is, aye.”

“How do you want to play this, Vicky?”

“Let’s just get her to come voluntarily. We need to watch when we caution her.”

“Clock starts ticking, right?”

“Right. Did you and Forrester speak to the Wildlife guys about using terror powers?”

“Didn’t really discuss it. David was going to chat to their DCI today.”

“Given how hard it is to get any evidence, we’ll need every
second
with her.”

MacDonald rubbed his chin. “Not happy cautioning her without Forrester’s say-so.”

“Really?”

“It’s the DI’s case, Vicky. He’s SIO.”

“True.” Vicky watched the two uniformed officers approach. “Come on, then. I’ll lead.”

“No problems with that.”

Vicky got out of the car and nodded recognition at the two uniforms, her grin lingering on Colin Woods. “Afternoon, Colin. I heard Cameron’s not well?”

“Aye.” Woods nodded. “Nightmare. Parenthood affects even police officers.”

Vicky patted MacDonald on the arm. “This is Karen’s sergeant, DS Euan MacDonald. Euan, this is PC Colin Woods.”

MacDonald smiled at him. “I’m not as bad as your wife will tell you.”

“We’ll see.” Woods laughed. “What’s the play here, Vicks?”

“Hopefully, there won’t be one. We just need to speak to her. You’re here to help us out.”

“In case you fuck it up?”

“In case
we
fuck it up.” Vicky shrugged before nodding at the front of the building. “Come on, then.”

As they approached the Living Garden, Vicky could see
Marianne
Smith giving a talk to a group of schoolchildren —
teenagers
by the looks of things. “Great. That’s all we need.”

Marianne stopped talking as they neared, putting on a smile f
or h
er audience. “Can you all take a five-minute break?” She checked her watch. “Back here at three thirty?”

The group dispersed, three of the kids nearest retrieving smartphones from their bags, faces lit up by the screens.

Marianne nodded at Vicky, clenching her jaw as she looked at the flanking uniformed officers. “How can I help today?”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions, Ms Smith.”

“I’m in the middle of something.” Marianne folded her arms, looking at the children. “As you’ll have no doubt heard, you’ve got five minutes.”

“We’ll need longer than that, I’m afraid.”

Marianne settled her gaze on Vicky. “What’s this about?”

“We found some messages posted on the internet in support of certain actions perpetrated over the last few days. We’ve tracked them back to your internet account.”

“I’m sorry?”

Vicky showed her a print. “Do you deny you posted these
messages
?”

“Of course I deny it.” Marianne shook her head. “You can see I’m in the middle of giving a talk. Perhaps you can come back later?”

“Ms Smith, can you please accompany us to the station?”

“And if I refuse?”

“I’ll arrest you.”

Marianne remained silent as her gaze bounced between the two uniformed officers.

Woods stepped forward. “Ms Smith, can you accompany us to the station, please?”

Marianne took a deep breath. “I’ll need to arrange for a
colleague
to finish the talk.”

Chapter Sixty-Four

F
orrester loosened off his tie and put his feet up on the desk. “Think she’s the criminal genius behind all this?”

“Maybe.” Vicky flicked back through her notebook, glancing at MacDonald as he tapped his pen off his own. “Rachel Hay’s dogs wrecked the garden she runs.”

“I remember. Think that’s a motive?”

“I do.”

Forrester frowned. “See this Cupar case — think Smith could be the woman Irene Henderson saw?”

Vicky shrugged. “It’d be worthwhile getting a photo of
Marianne
Smith to her.”

“Mac — thoughts?”

MacDonald clasped his hands behind his head. “Got three people directly involved in these cases. Marianne fits the very loose description we’ve got for one of the assailants, in that she’s a woman.”

“Wasn’t there another woman?”

“Descriptions are ambiguous at best, sir. Won’t stand up
anywhere
.”

“Right, right. So, could it be her?”

Vicky nodded. “It’s possible.”

“Have we got any suspects?”

“The Muirheads.” MacDonald rocked forward in his chair. “Sandy caused a right hullabaloo when we picked him up from his work this morning.”

“Doesn’t imply guilt.”

“Pretty much all we’ve got, sir.”

Vicky pointed her pen at Forrester. “Did you speak to the Domestic Extremism guys about using terror laws against these people?”

“I have done, aye.”

“Do you want us to use them?”

“If you need to.”

Considine rapped on the door. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but DS MacDonald asked me to do some background checks on
Marianne Smith.”

Forrester beckoned him in. “Go on.”

Considine shut the door behind him. “This is just preliminary stuff, sir, but she’s known to be a bit of an agitator. Been moved on from protesting down the Murraygate on a Saturday afternoon a couple of times. Handing out flyers, collecting signatures, shouting on a megaphone.” He held up a sheet of paper. “Plus, she lives in Cupar.”

“Where this Henderson woman was chucked in a bin?”

“Aye, sir.”

Forrester tapped his desk for a few seconds. “Mac, can you speak to your contacts at the NCA and see if they’ve got her on file? From what young Considine says, she’s got to be known to them.”

“Will do.”

“Vicky, get her under caution and bring a lawyer in. You know better than me which sections of the laws to use. See what she knows.”

Chapter Sixty-Five

K
elly Nelson-Caird sat back in her chair, a hand moving in front of Marianne Smith. “My client has answered the question.”

Vicky cleared her throat and glanced at Considine, who was
sitting
next to her, writing everything in his grey notebook. “I need to ask again, Ms Smith. We found some messages in support of three crimes we’re currently investigating. Do you deny postin
g them?”

“Of course I do. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Vicky pushed a sheet across the desk, visible to both Marianne and Nelson-Caird. “This is a message posted by the user tree_lady on the
Animal Rites
thread on the xbeast forum.” She pushed a
second
sheet over. “This is the output of some software we have. It traces a user on that forum through to an IP address, which led us to a Virgin Media account.” She gave them another sheet. “Can you confirm this is your address?”

Marianne swallowed. “Yes, it is.”

Vicky pushed another two sheets over. “These are other messages posted by the user. They were traced to the same IP address and the same user at Virgin Media. This was you, wasn’t it?”

“No comment.”

Vicky leaned back in her chair. “Ms Smith, can you confirm your movements on Sunday the thirtieth of March?”

“What times?”

“The whole day.”

Marianne glanced at Nelson-Caird, who motioned for her to continue. She scratched at the desk with a fingernail, her breathing fast. “It was raining, so I just stayed in.”

“And what did you do?”

“I read a book, I think.”

“Can anyone confirm this?”

Marianne shook her head. “I live alone.”

“What about the fifteenth of November last year?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“It was a Friday.”

“I’ll have been at work, most probably.”

“We need to know for sure. Can anyone else confirm your whereabouts?”

“My manager at the Hutton Institute would be able to.”

Vicky nodded to Considine, who scribbled it down. She turned back to Marianne. “Was there a lot of work to do in a garden in Dundee in the middle of November?”

“It’s one of the busiest times, believe it or not. We’re preparing the soil for the next season. We’ve a tight schedule, so when it comes round to planting in late February, everything must be ready.”

“And in the evening?”

Marianne laughed, eyes burning. “You’re asking me to recall what I did on a Friday night in November?”

Vicky nodded. “We are.”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Nelson-Caird bobbed forward on her chair, elbow clattering off the table. “Sergeant, I don’t appreciate your insinuation. My client’s been more than helpful.”

“Then please confirm what you did on the fifteenth of
November
.”

“I don’t know.”

Vicky pointed to the sheets in front of them. “Do you deny making those comments?”

“No comment.”

Vicky took a deep breath before checking the Post-It she’d stuck to her notebook. “Marianne Smith, I’m arresting you under sections one and two of the Terrorist Act 2006, namely ‘Encouragement of terrorism’ and ‘Disseminating terrorist publications’. You are not obliged to say anything but anything you do say will be noted down and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?”

Marianne shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Ms Smith, do you understand the fact you’re being cautioned?”

“I do.”

“Do you have anything to say?”

Marianne slumped in her chair. “I made those comments.”

“Why?”

Marianne shrugged. “I’m involved in animal rights groups. So what? It’s not a crime.”

“People have been harmed in the execution of these acts.”

“Are these people innocent?”

“Did Rachel Hay being a dog breeder have anything to do wi
th it?”

Marianne licked her lips. “They’re infernal dogs but, believe me, I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened to her.”

“You’re denying your involvement in the abduction of Rache
l Hay?”

“My client is.”

Vicky kept her gaze locked on Marianne. “And at Hunter’s Farm?”

“Where?”

“It’s near Barry in Angus.”

“I have no idea where that is.”

“Do you have any connections to the Phorever Love commune near Redford in Angus?”

“No.”

“Do you deny being involved in the abduction and entrapment of Irene Henderson in Cupar, Fife on the fifteenth of November last year?”

“No comment.”

Vicky sat back and fiddled with her pen — lots of denials but only one ‘no comment’. “Do you deny involvement in
Ms Henderson’s
abduction?”

“No comment.”

Vicky dropped the pen — two now.

Nelson-Caird puckered her lips. “Sergeant, as you yourself stated, my client has the right to remain silent.”

Vicky leaned across to the recorder. “Interview terminated at five thirty p.m.” She got up and led Considine out into the corridor.

Forrester held open the door to the observation suite, next door to the interview room. “In here.”

Vicky followed him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Stephen.”

“Oh, okay.” Considine frowned as he nodded before slouching off down the corridor.

Vicky leaned against the far wall, watching Marianne and Nelson-Caird whisper in each other’s ears as the PCSO hovered by them. “I take it you two watched that?”

“Aye.” Forrester creaked back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table, eyes on MacDonald. “I’m trying not to read too much into her having the same lawyer as Brian Morton.”

MacDonald frowned. “Think there’s something in that?”

“Maybe. Let’s keep an eye on it.” Forrester stopped the drumming, cracking his knuckles instead. “We’ve got her under
prevention
of terrorism powers so we’re not going to get caught in any thirty-six-hour nonsense with that lawyer of hers. Now she’s under arrest, we can search her property. I expect we’ll find sufficient
evidence
to convict.”

MacDonald frowned. “Think she’s the one emailing these
journalists
?”

“We’ll soon find out. The Media Office’s been working double time trying to stop anyone publishing it all over again.” Forrester looked over at Vicky. “I’m going to catch up with the NCA guys just now.”

MacDonald creased his brow. “Thought I was doing that, sir?”

“I need you focusing on operational matters, Mac. I’ve rustled up twenty officers to go round her house, even though half of them are Fifers.”

“I’ll forgive you.”

Forrester laughed. “Fine. I just hope we find something.”

Vicky raised a hand. “Do you need me in Cupar?”

“No. Off you scoot. My morning’s now going to be filled with a two-hour conference with Raven and people more important than us so I want you back here at eight tomorrow, fresh as a daisy.”

Wednesday

2nd April 2014

Chapter Sixty-Six

C
oming up later on
Good Morning Scotland
, we’ll have a
Scottish
writer who moved to Australia fifteen years ago in search of his long-lost cousin. The time’s approaching five minutes to eight.”

Vicky snapped the radio off. Five minutes of chill time. She looked around the car park, the tarmac patchy with drying rain. The sky was clear, a dark orange to the south. Edinburgh. A thud in her neck.

MacDonald’s blue 1-Series pulled into its own reserved space. Quick work. MacDonald got out of the car, tearing off a pair of sunglasses, then headed away from the station. The café.

She let her seatbelt slide up, tempted to join him. Her phone rang. She checked the display. Didn’t recognise the number but answered it anyway. “Hello?”

“Is that DS Dodds?”

“It is.”

“Hi. It’s John Morton.”

“Good morning.”

“So, I’m just calling about my brother, Brian. I spoke to him like we discussed.”

“And?”

“I didn’t get anything from him. He refused to even speak to me.”

“Relax — we’ve got a suspect.”

“Oh. That’s good. Does that mean you’ll leave Brian alone?”

“If he keeps himself off the internet, yes.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“It’d be appreciated.” Vicky ended the call, stuffing her phone back in her handbag. She spotted MacDonald striding past,
clutching
a dark blue beaker of coffee.

Vicky waved as she got out of the car. “What’s wrong with
Forrester’s
machine?”

MacDonald stared at his cup. “Found out he reuses the coffee grounds. Gets pretty minging by the end of the day.”

She laughed. “You look tired.”

“I am tired. That’s the last time I volunteer for searching a house after a full day shift.”

“You volunteered? Thought Forrester asked you?”

He shrugged. “Volunteered just before last night’s briefing. Regret it now.”

“Did you get anything?”

“A couple of bits and pieces.” He checked his watch. “Come on, we’re late.”

“Don’t want people talking about us turning up together, do we?”