Snared (25 page)

Chapter Seventy-Six

V
icky glanced at MacDonald as they made their way to
Forrester’s
office. “What is it?”

MacDonald smirked. “Brave.”

“What, offering her the deal?”

“Aye, that.”

“Didn’t exactly go for the carrot, did she?”

“You think the PF would go for it?”

“Who knows? It’s been known to happen.” Vicky crossed the office space and shut Forrester’s door behind MacDonald. She sat next to him.

Forrester scowled at them. “I’ve only just seen the pair of you.”

“Need to update you, sir.” Vicky dropped the interview tapes on the desk, the pair skittering across the wooden surface. “We’ve just been in with Marianne Smith again. She’s denying any knowledge of Micky Scott or the attack.”

“Figures. She’s denied everything else so far.”

Vicky brushed back her hair with her hand. “Her lawyer’s
getting
shirty with us.”

“It’s the young female one with the teeth, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“That’s all I need.” Forrester rubbed the back of his neck before pushing a report across the desk. “The DNA check came back. It wasn’t Marianne Smith’s hair at Hunter’s Farm.”

“Interesting.” Vicky crossed her legs. “I’m worried about how long we’re keeping her, sir.”

“Vicky,
you
arrested her. Are you saying she’s not involved?”

“I’m just saying we need to start charging her.”

“Give it another day or two. We’re gathering evidence. It’s all above board.”

“Fine. I’m just concerned we don’t really have anything on her.”

Forrester’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “Have you got any good news for me, Mac?”

“Before we were in with Marianne again, I was digging into Mr Scott’s background.” MacDonald held up a hand, pre-empting Forrester’s interruption. “Passed my findings onto DI Greig’s team already, sir.”

“Good, good.”

“Not that I’ve had anything back, mind.”

“Have you found anything?”

“SSPCA were investigating him for animal cruelty.”

Forrester frowned. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

Vicky stared at the picture over Forrester’s head, a photo of the Tay Rail Bridge in the fog. “The perpetrators seemed to pick their victims based on the media splashing a story. Was it in the press?”

MacDonald flicked through a report. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Well, unless it’s someone on the inside at the SSPCA, the MOs for the other three seem to be based on public knowledge of the crimes. Irene Henderson was on the TV news, Rachel Hay was in the press for the dog with PDE and
The Courier
featured the campaign Phorever Love group instigated against Graeme Hunter.”

Forrester leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Assuming this greyhound death is done by our guy, right?”

“Aye.”

MacDonald wrote something down. “Might be something the Media Office can help with. I’ll get on to them.”

Forrester rested his head on his hands. “What about getting young Zoë to look into it as well?”

“Will do, sir.”

“Right, come on. Let’s see what this latest news conference is going to give us.”

Vicky scowled. “Do you need us both there?”

“Aye. Show of face and all that.”

“Right. At least I won’t be umming and ahing over this one.”

“Don’t worry, Vicky, now we’ve got a murder, Raven won’t let anyone else anywhere near this.”

Chapter Seventy-Seven

V
icky shivered in the early April wind, waiting for the news conference, rubbing at her arms. “Wish I’d brought my jacket.”

MacDonald stood next to her tapping on his phone.

Forrester scowled on the other side. “Never leave the office without it, Vicky.”

“Can I have your attention, please?” The North division’s lead Media Officer, a fat man in his mid-forties with designer glasses and haircut, cupped his hands around his mouth. “DCI Raven is ready to start.”

Raven joined him in front of the station. “Good afternoon and thanks for joining us here in Dundee. I’m joined by
Detective
Superintendent
Gregor Pask, head of the Specialised Crime
Division’s
MIT North, and Assistant Chief Constable Helen Queensberry, head of Local Policing North.”

The other two senior officers, both in full uniform, smiled as their names were announced.

Pask held up a sheet of paper and cleared his throat, hat clutched between arm and torso. He wore a more formal uniform than Queensberry, tassels and buttons gleaming. “This morning, detectives were called out to an address in Montrose in Angus. Upon entering the premises, we discovered the body of one Michael Scott, better known as Micky. While a post mortem has not yet been performed, Mr Scott was declared dead at the scene. Our initial analysis means we believe cause of death was a heart attack sometime yesterday evening. The circumstances surrounding it are highly suspicious. John?”

Raven looked around the audience, focusing on Vicky and Forrester in turn. “We’re appealing to witnesses in the area who may have seen anyone in the vicinity of Mr Scott’s home between the hours of noon yesterday and eleven o’clock this morning.
Additionally
, we are looking to speak to anyone acquainted with Mr Scott’s daughter-in-law, one Julie Scott, believed to now reside in the Carlisle area. Finally, we’re investigating leads in the
vicinity
of Newcastle-upon-Tyne with colleagues in Northumbria Poli
ce. Helen?”

Queensberry smiled at their audience, taking a few seconds before she started, running a hand through her curly red locks. Her black short-sleeved shirt made her look like she’d just been round Fintry or the Hilltown. A fluorescent yellow jacket was tucked under one arm. “As the head of Local Policing in the North division of Police Scotland, I’d like to stress the importance of tracking down Mr Scott’s killer or killers. This is an unusual crime and we believe attempts have been made to mask it. I’d echo DCI Raven’s request for information. A safer Scotland is greatly helped by people coming forward with information, no matter how insignificant it may appear.” She paused for a few seconds. “Any
questions
?”

MacDonald whispered in Vicky’s ear. “Looks like they’re nowhere.”

She nodded, noticing Considine heading their way. “Here he comes. Better keep himself off the TV.” She frowned at another face in the crowd — Anita Skinner.

Skinner raised her hand. “Is this linked to the other cases we were briefed on the other day?”

Pask grinned, patting Raven on the back. “I’ve appointed DCI Raven Senior Investigating Officer on both cases, so he’s best placed to answer. John?”

Raven nodded. “I’d say it’s a possibility. I’ve asked DI
Forrester
and his team to continue to investigate those cases for me. We’re following best practice and treating this as a separate investigation, sharing intelligence where appropriate on a regular basis. Two
officers
are fully allocated to proving or disproving any links between the cases.”

“When you spoke to us on Monday morning, you said it was two cases.”

“That’s correct.”

“It’s three, though, isn’t it? Four if you count this one.”

Raven screwed up his eyes at her. “We’re investigating whether this is connected to the other three.”

Another journalist raised his hand, looking lost in his thick wool jacket. “You’ve got a body on your hands now. First you had a kidnapping then a farmer had his nose burnt off. A murder surely represents an escalation, does it not?”

Raven held out his hands. “It may or may not be related. As it stands, we’ve no further leads or links between them. That’s all I’ll say on the matter with the information I’ve been given.”

Queensberry smiled at the journalist. “We’re asking those living in the north of Scotland, particularly Tayside, Fife and Angus, to be extra vigilant over the coming days.”

Raven held up his hands. “That’s all we have time for. Than
k you.”

Considine went straight for Forrester. “Excuse me, sir. I’ve got something you need to see.”

“Go on.”

“It’s about the Muirheads’ alibi. Kirk checked with the Rep.”

“And?”

“Doesn’t look like they were there, sir. He got the CCTV. It shows their friends getting there but they were on their own. No sign of either Sandy or Polly.”

Forrester glared at Vicky. “Get them back in here. I don’t care whatever malarkey their lawyer’s up to. And get the buggers und
er arrest.”

Chapter Seventy-Eight

I
still can’t believe Tommy Davies allowed that slimy creep to take his client into a private conference before speaking to us.” Vicky checked her watch as she waited in the interview room. “I’ll give them a minute, then they’re getting dragged in here.”

MacDonald looked up from his notebook. “Think they’re actually involved?”

“Having their alibis shot to bits isn’t looking good for them.”

MacDonald rubbed his forehead. “No, it’s not.”

The door opened and Sandy Muirhead traipsed in, sitting opposite.

Fergus Duncan wagged a finger at Vicky. “A word in private, Sergeant?”

Vicky sighed as she got to her feet. She joined the lawyer in the corridor, leaving the door wide open. “What?”

“I assume you’re comfortable interviewing just one of my
clients
today?”

“Where’s Mrs Muirhead?”

“In court.”

“And if I’m not happy?”

“I’ll need to arrange for cover.” Duncan checked his own watch. “I’m due in court myself in an hour.”

“Didn’t stop you having a fairly lengthy meeting with your
client
.”

Duncan produced his mobile phone, an expensive-looking Samsung in a bright orange case. “I’ve got your Chief Constable’s number on this little baby. Don’t make me phone him.”

“We’ve given you a fair amount of latitude so far, Mr Duncan. What were you discussing in the meeting room?”

“My fee structure. My clients have been relying on Mr
s Muirhead’s
status as an employee of Gray and Leech to cover my costs thus far. We’ve a fairly generous allowance — all taxed, of course — but they’ve exceeded it. I wanted to keep Mr Muirhead apprised of the situation.”

“Nothing to do with why your clients have been brought here?”

Duncan smirked. “I’m still in the dark.”

“Are you really?”

“Of course.” Duncan’s finger hovered over the touchscreen of the phone. “Remember — one press and I’m through to your Chief Constable.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m trying to ensure the course of justice is allowed to flow freely.”

“Is that right?”

Duncan tapped his watch. “Clock’s ticking.”

“Cancel whatever appointment you have and get Mrs
Muirhead
in here
immediately
, otherwise I’m sending some uniform to pick her up from the court.”

Duncan stared at her for a few seconds before looking away. He pressed a button on his phone and put it to his ear, gaze locked on Vicky. “Hello? Yeah. Two things. Yeah, sorry to have to do this. Aye, I know.”

Vicky folded her arms, her mouth now dry.

“First, can you get down here? I know, Polly, but I need you to come down as soon as you can.”

Vicky exhaled before pushing past him into the interview room. She leaned over and whispered into MacDonald’s ear. “He’s threatening to call the Chief.”

“Wanker.”

Vicky sat down and straightened her clothes, vaguely aware of Muirhead looking down her low-cut black top. Should’ve worn the blouse.

Duncan sat opposite, placing his mobile in front of him. “She’s on her way here and you’ve got the pleasure of my company for the next two hours, should it be required.”

“Nice to see justice being able to flow a bit more freely.” Vicky started the interview. “Mr Muirhead, can you confirm your whereabouts on the evening of Wednesday the twenty-sixth of March?”

“We’ve already been through this.” Muirhead frowned. “My wife and I were at the Rep with friends.”

“You’re sticking to that, are you?”

Muirhead scowled. “Are you accusing us of lying?”

Vicky handed an A4-sized photo over the table, tagged as evidence. It was a freeze-frame of CCTV footage from the Rep theatre, showing a large crowd of people either queuing at the bar or chatting, a middle-aged couple in the centre of the shot staring straight at the camera. “We’ve evidence suggesting you weren’t at the theatre that night, Mr Muirhead. Please can you confirm Mr Simon
Hagger
and Mrs Emma Hagger are present in these photographs. For the record, I’ve presented evidence items P01 through to P04.”

“That’s correct. They’re in the middle, looking at the camera.”

“Mr Muirhead, can you confirm neither you nor your wife is present in these photos?”

“We’re not.”

“Why would that be?”

Muirhead swallowed. “Camera angle?”

Vicky fanned out another three shots. “In summary, these are from four cameras placed around the foyer of the theatre, taken over a fifteen-minute interval.”

“Maybe we went to the toilet.”

Vicky handed over a printed document with a passage highlighted in orange. “Mr Muirhead, on Friday evening you stated you went for dinner with Mr and Mrs Hagger. This is from the transcript of your wife’s statement, an exact match of yours, except for providing more detail about what show you went to.”

“We went to see that play.” Muirhead placed the sheet on the table. “I assume you’ve still got the ticket stubs Polly gave you?”

Vicky nodded. “We do. But you weren’t there, were you?”

“No comment.”

“Mr Muirhead, you may wish to consult with your solicitor on this matter. You’re being formally interviewed. Your friends can be charged with providing a false alibi.”

Muirhead swallowed hard, eyes bulging as he stared at the table. He leaned in close and whispered to his lawyer.

Duncan peered at Vicky. “DS Dodds, may I have a word with my client in private?”

“I’d appreciate it if your client answered my question first.”

“It pertains to that matter.” Duncan placed his mobile on the table, finger poised over the screen. “Please confirm that’s how you wish to progress.”

“Mr Muirhead, why did you lie about your whereabouts?”

Muirhead licked his lips. “My wife and I are having . . . marital difficulties, shall we say. We had a raging argument last Wednesday. We were supposed to meet Simon and Emma for dinner but we never made it.”

“So why did you lie?”

Muirhead placed his hands on his bald head. “We wanted cover from the argument. We didn’t want any of that dredged up by the police or for any of our friends to know about it.”

“This is a murder case.”

Duncan moved his finger away from his phone. “Murder?”

Vicky nodded. “Mr Muirhead, can you confirm your actual whereabouts last Wednesday evening?”

Muirhead shut his eyes. “My wife and I were at home, arguing.”

“What about, say, Sunday morning?”

“No comment.”

“No comment?”

Muirhead nodded.

“What about yesterday afternoon?”

Muirhead opened his eyes. “Yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“I was at work.”

“And after?”

“I went home. We’d been in here and I was quite stressed by it, as was my wife.”

“And this morning?”

“I was back at work, trying to catch up.”

“And what do you do, Mr Muirhead?”

“I’m an accountant.”

“Where do you work?”

“Whitehall Crescent.”

“Were you in the office this morning?”

“I was.”

“Can anyone vouch for that?”

“My secretary, I suppose. I had some client meetings.”

“You do realise the seriousness of this, don’t you?”

Muirhead nodded. “I understand. But we haven’t done
anything
.”