Snared (31 page)

Chapter Ninety-Six

F
orrester leaned against the back of Vicky’s chair, now vacant. “Good result back there, Vicky. More charges we can level at her.”

Vicky, standing behind him, nodded. “Still not that much further forward, though.”

MacDonald perched against Vicky’s desk. “Need a bad cop with inexperienced people like her. Poor thing’s way out of her depth.” He shook his head. “Honestly think she’s close to
confessing
.”

Vicky nodded. “She looks like shit.”

“You have sympathy for her?”

“I’ve got a certain amount.”

“Didn’t seem like that in there.”

“So I’m a cold bitch.” Vicky shrugged.

MacDonald laughed as he held up his file from the NCA. “This has got the known MOs of each group she’s a member of, none of which matches ours.”

Forrester tightened his fingers around Vicky’s chair. “What about the press side of things? Can we link them using that?”

“What, how they seem to have picked their targets from
newspapers
?”

“Aye.”

“Don’t know.”

Considine looked round. “Sorry, sir, I couldn’t help but overhear. I just got the media search back. Turns out the SSPCA took out a court action against a company called Red Mountain
Racing
.”

Vicky nodded. “Montrose.
Monte Rose
. Red Mountain, right?”

“French. Get you.”

“It’s Italian, Stephen. Rose is pink in French. I take it Micky Scott owned the company?”

“He did, aye. Supposed to be getting his retired dogs put down instead of rehoming them.”

“Oh, good Christ.”

“Micky Scott isn’t mentioned in the news reports. But if you do a quick Google . . .” Considine nudged Zoë.

Zoë pulled headphones out of her ear. “What is it?”

MacDonald tapped her laptop. “Google Red Mountain Racing for me.”

Zoë’s hands were a blur on the keyboard and the trackpad. “There you go.”

Her screen showed an amateur-looking page, the left side filled with an aggressive shot of a muzzled greyhound mid-race, the right with a panting dog being walked around on a lead by a small boy.

Considine tapped at the bottom of the screen. “Name and address there, see?”

Zoë’s phone rang. She looked at it before answering it.

MacDonald exhaled. “What does that tell us?”

Considine scratched at his scalp. “They haven’t broken the MO? They’re still targeting people from the press. The sighting by Montrose was of a woman on foot. As I pointed out yesterday, us going public with the car sighting means they’ve stopped using it. That’s why we’ve had no more sightings of it.”

“I’ll check it now.” Zoë ended her call. One hand toyed with her headphones, while the other fiddled with her laptop. “You guys might want to look at this.” She dragged a window from her laptop screen to the monitor on her desk.

Vicky wheeled her chair over, snatching it from Forrester’s reach, and sat down. “What’s this?”

Zoë clicked play on a video file. “My guy in the Met’s been monitoring the account that posted the earlier video. It’s just posted this.”

The screen lightened, revealing a figure running on a treadmill. A man, thin and athletic, his gait crooked on the left.

Vicky looked at Forrester. Half of the team was now crowded around Zoë’s machine. “Is that Micky Scott?”

MacDonald nodded. “Looks like it.”

A male voice called out from behind the camera, deep and distorted. “Go faster!”

Scott didn’t, just kept to the same slow pace.

A spark of light flashed in front of the camera before something reached over to Scott. He ran faster, trying to put distance between himself and the device. “Come on — faster, boy, faster!”

Vicky tapped at the screen. “That’s a Taser.”

The act was repeated three further times — slow down, buzz with the Taser, speed up. The final time, Scott fell to his knees, clutching his chest. The running machine pushed him off the back. His left hand stayed stuck in place by the handcuffs as the belt kept turning round.

“Come on, you prick. Get up!” The hand reached over and pressed the Taser into Scott’s back. No reaction. Held it against him for almost a minute. “Shit, I think we killed him.”

Another arm crept into view. “This is going too —”

The sound cut and the camera moved to Scott’s body lying prostrate on the floor. The image froze and text bounced in.

Dog Racing Is Murder.

Officially, 9,000 greyhounds a year retire from racing.

Unofficially, 40,000 are drowned, shot or beaten to death when they don’t make the grade.

Forrester smacked his fist off the back of Vicky’s chair. “So these cases
are
bloody connected.”

Chapter Ninety-Seven

R
aven leaned back against one of the posts at the front of the incident room, Greig’s and Forrester’s teams scattered around him. “Let me be clear — these cases are now combined.” He thumbed at the screen behind him, the video locked on the final message. “This video is proof of the relationship. Whoever killed Michael Scott is involved in the abductions of Irene Henderson, Rachel Hay and Paul Joyce and the barbaric crime they perpetrated on Graeme Hunter and his family, namely Rhona, Amelie and Grace.” He
gestured
at MacDonald. “DS MacDonald was central to establishing the relationships among the many cases we have under investigation. Solid work, Sergeant.”

MacDonald nodded. “Thanks.”

Zoë raised her eyebrows at Vicky then stared at her fingernails.

“As of now, DI Greig’s in charge of the inquiry teams, supported by DI Forrester. Can I ask David’s team to move everything pertaining to this investigation into the incident room and report directly to my Office Manager, DS Kelly, for actions?”

He straightened his tie. “We’re actively investigating the use of a Taser as an MO. Anyone in the UK who’s ever used one in anger’s going to get brought in over the next couple of days to explain their actions and the current whereabouts of their weapon. Any
questions
?”

MacDonald raised a hand. “Already got a suspect in custody, sir. Marianne Smith.”

“And?”

“Ms Smith can’t have committed the last four crimes. Had sightings of three people in the first two cases but only two in the Hay and Hunter cases.”

“Okay. I want her kept in. We’re still well within our rights to keep her here given what she’s done, regardless of whether she’s involved. She might lead us to the others.” Raven looked around the room. “Right, dismissed.”

Vicky grinned at MacDonald as he turned to leave. “That you rocking the boat a bit there?”

“Made a valid point.” He shrugged. “John told me he likes officers who express an opinion.”

“That the case?”

“Aye.”

“I’ll catch you later.” Vicky walked off, stopping in the middle of the room to speak to Laing. “Looks like we’re working together again, Johnny.”

Laing sniffed. “We’ll all be working for Big Time Charlie soon enough.”

“You reckon?”

“Fiver says he’s a DI by Christmas.”

Vicky nodded in Raven’s direction. “Any idea what Kelly’s got me down for?”

“Leading six DCs is what I’ve heard, Vicky. Street teams out in Montrose.”

“Bloody hell.” Vicky’s phone rang. Unknown caller. “Better take this.”

“Vicky, it’s Tommy Davies at the front desk here. I’ve got someone here for you.”

“Who?”

“A Robert Hamilton.”

Chapter Ninety-Eight

V
icky entered the Old Mill Café and looked for a table. One in the window, covered in junk. She made her way towards it. “You can’t just show up like this.”

Robert scratched at his temple. “Sorry, Vicky. I wanted to
surprise
you. I’ve got a few free periods today.”

“I’m coming to yours for dinner tonight.” She sat down, arms folded. “Sure you won’t get fed up of me?”

“No way. I’m looking forward to it.” Robert smiled. “How’s your head?”

“Needing something to eat.”

“What can I get you?”

She stared at the board above the counter. “Lentil soup, thanks.”

“Back in a sec.” Robert got up and went over to the counter. His black tracksuit was more casual than anything she’d seen him wear so far.

She put her head in her hands, catching her sleeve in a puddle of tea. What the hell was she getting herself into? The case had just gone mental and Bella was playing up.

Why had she slept with Robert? He was probably still grieving. Had she led him on? Was it her fault?

She piled up the empty plates on the table, pushed them to the side, the spoons chinking in the cups.

Where was the relationship heading? Nowhere, if her track record was anything to go by.

Robert carried the tray over — two cans of full-fat Coke alongside two bowls of soup with a large hunk of white bread on the side. He sat and passed her lunch across, leaving his on the tray. “This smells good.”

Vicky tried not to smile as she picked up her spoon and stirred. “Thanks.”

“It’s good seeing you.” Robert dunked his bread in the soup. “I enjoyed last night.”

“Me too.” Vicky slurped at the soup. It was just the right temperature to let her blast through it.

“You seem a bit distant, Vicky.”

“I get like this.”

“Is it something I’ve done?”

She reached across the table, touching his hand. “I like you, Robert. I really do.”

“This is an ‘it’s just’, isn’t it?”

“It’s just I’m really busy today.”

“I knew it was an ‘it’s just’.”

Vicky laughed. “I’m serious.” She pulled her ponytail over her shoulder. “Just bear with me, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thanks.”

“So.” Robert leaned back. “Have you had a fun-filled
morning
?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Politics, mostly. Christ knows what’s happening with this case. Always feels like second fiddle when the big boys and girls get involved.”

“And here was me thinking the police wouldn’t have any
politics
.”

“Are you serious?”

“I thought you’d all be too busy catching baddies.”

Vicky laughed. “I wish.” Vicky pushed her empty bowl to the side just as her mobile buzzed in her bag. “Sorry, Robert.” She rummaged around and found it. Forrester. “DS Dodds.”

“Vicky, where did you go?”

“I’m meeting a friend for lunch.”

A pause. “Right.”

“What’s up, sir?”

“Some kid’s been abducted from school. We’re on our way there. Need you to go to the house and speak to his parents.”

“Think it’s another one?”

“Well, his father’s Gordon Urquhart. Owns uqTech.”

Vicky slapped a hand to her forehead. “The vivisectionists?”

Chapter Ninety-Nine

C
onsidine parked just off Claypotts Road in Broughty Ferry. The Urquhart mansion was surrounded by ten-foot stone walls with jagged glass on the top. He led up the drive and rang the bell. “I heard the boy’s at Dundee High?”

Vicky nodded. “Only private school for miles around. That’s where Forrester’s gone just now.”

Considine scowled. “There’s a decent school just down the road from here, though.”

“The sort of people who live in a house with walls like that aren’t going to send their kids just anywhere, are they?”

A man answered the door, his eyes moist. Quiff sculpted from grey hair, black designer specs, grey suit trousers and matching waistcoat, dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves. “Can I help?”

Vicky frowned. “Gordon Urquhart?”

“Yes.”

She flashed her warrant card. “DS Dodds. This is DC
Considine
.”

“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Urquhart led them into the living room, a colossal space looking out to the front. Heavy antique furniture filled the place. A few tall pot plants sat in the window. “This is my wife, Heather.”

She sat on an armchair clutching a hankie, her face red with tears. Wide hips gave way to a narrow chest, spiky hair poked out at oblique angles. She got to her feet, letting the tissue fall to the floor. “Have you found Calum?”

Vicky shook her head as she sat. “Not yet. There’s a team in the centre of Dundee searching for him. We’re here to ask you a few questions.”

Heather nodded before perching on the arm of the chair. “Go on.”

“Is it possible Calum could’ve run away?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What makes you think he’s not just run away?”

Urquhart scowled before nodding. “Just a second.” He retrieved a sheet from a table at the back of the room. “Heather got this earlier this morning.”

Vicky read it.
“We’ve got your chick. We’re moving to clinical
trials
.”

Heather pressed at her temples. “Does this mean he’s been
kidnapped
?”

“We don’t know yet.” Vicky got out her notebook. “Let’s start with the basics. How old is Calum?”

“How’s this supposed to be helping?”

“We need to understand the boy and his likely movements. How old is he?”

“Thirteen. He’s at Dundee High.” Heather kneaded her forehead with her left hand. “He’s supposed to be going to the dentist up at Panmuirefield village this afternoon. He was coming home for lunch. I was going to drive him up before taking him back to school. He didn’t turn up.”

“What time did he leave?”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve exactly?”

“The school said he left the main building two minutes before, by their clock.”

“How far would he have to walk for the nearest bus stop?”

“There’s one just across the road.”

“When should he have got here?”

“About half twelve?”

Vicky checked her watch. “That’s over an hour ago. I take it nobody at the school has seen him since he left?”

“No.”

“Thanks.” Vicky nodded at Considine, making sure he noted it down. “No answer on his mobile?”

“None.”

“What bus would he be getting?”

“A twelve or a seventy-three, I think. He should get off just at the end of the road.”

Considine nodded before leaving the room. “I’ll get on it.”

“Is there anyone you can think of who would have taken Calum as a way of getting at either of you?”

Urquhart took a deep breath. “No, there’s not.”

Vicky held his gaze, waiting for him to look away. “I know what you do for a living.”

Urquhart let out a deep breath. “I run uqTech, yes. We’re a biosciences business with strong links to Dundee University and St Andrews. Nothing sinister.”

Vicky squinted at him. “Not vivisection?”

“We do
not
do vivisection.”

“So what do you do?”

“We’re leading the way in a whole new world of transplants.”

“And you don’t perform animal experiments?”

“We . . . may do.”

“Does anyone have any grievances against you?”

“No.”

“No ex-employees who left under a cloud?”

“No.”

“No animal rights groups sending you packages?”

Urquhart let out a deep breath. “We’ve had our fair share of aggro from those freaks over the years but, believe me, nobody who would have done this.”

“I need you to think carefully.”

“I’ve told you, there’s nobody.”

“Please. Think about it,
sir
.”

“I’ve told you, there’s nobody.”

Vicky noted it down.

Considine reappeared. “Just spoke to the bus company, Sarge. They checked the cameras on the bus for me. There’s a five he could have got on as well but the roadworks on Ward Road are slowing down the buses getting up there. Only one stopped within ten minutes of when Calum was supposed to have’ been waiting there. He didn’t get on.”

Heather got to her feet. “So someone’s taken him?”

“Maybe.” Vicky held up the note. “Have you seen anything like this before?”

Urquhart stared at his wife, then looked away.

Vicky inched forward in her seat. “Have you?”

Urquhart nodded. “I got one yesterday.”

“Where is it?”

“I threw it away.”

Vicky exhaled. “You should’ve called us. Did you see the news?”

Heather tugged at Urquhart’s waistcoat. “Gordon, is this like that farmer without the nose?”

“It can’t be.”

Vicky sighed. “We believe it is.”

“Oh my God.” Heather clasped a hand to her mouth, eyes clamped shut.

“What did it say?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did it warn you?”

“It said something like,
‘What you do is wrong. Stop it or we’ll see what happens.
’”

“And you ignored it?”

“Of course I bloody did.”

There was a knock at the front door. Urquhart clenched his jaw as he headed off to answer it.

Heather collapsed into the chair, letting the arm slowly regain its shape. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I can understand.”

Urquhart appeared, leading Forrester towards them. “Is that so? My son’s been abducted and you’ve got officers here standing around chatting? I expect you to have
all
of your officers out searching for him!”

“Mr Urquhart, I’ve got over twenty officers on the case.”
Forrester
folded his arms, his thick winter coat puckering at the sleeves. “We believe we’ll find him.”

Urquhart stabbed his finger in the middle of Forrester’s chest. “I sincerely hope you’re trying to figure out what you can charge Willis Stewart with.”

Forrester pushed his hand away. “What’s Mr Stewart got to do with this?”

“This is all his fault.”

“That’s a fairly serious accusation.”

“Look, I know Willis from the Chamber of Commerce.”
Urquhart
scowled at Vicky. “I believe he received a note warning of reprisals if he didn’t remove a display at one of his stores.”

“How the hell did you find that out?”

“I know people, David. This is all his fault. Willis wilfully ignored the note and this is what happened. It’s his fault my boy’s been taken!”

“Mr Urquhart, if you cou —”

Vicky muscled in between them. “Mr Urquhart, you just told me you received a note yesterday.”

Urquhart flared his nostrils. “I want Willis charged with
something
.”

“You both received notes. If we charge him, we’ll have to charge you. You understand that, right?”

“Do you want me to phone Helen Queensberry? I believe she’s the Assistant Chief Constable? We go back a long way.”

“I’m not sure I understand your threat, sir.” Vicky licked her lips. “Neither I nor DI Forrester report to her.”

“I’ll bloody do it, I’m warning you.”

“Phoning her isn’t going to find your son, Mr Urquhart. I suggest you try to think of someone who could’ve done this. Someone who maybe disliked you cutting up animals.”

“I’m not a vivisectionist!” Urquhart glowered at her as he folded his arms. “I suggest you focus your efforts on finding Calum and not on insulting me!”

“Very well.” Vicky left the room and stomped down the hall to the front door before holding it open for Forrester.

Looking back the way they’d come, Forrester made a sucking sound with his teeth. “That’s a guilty man if ever I saw one.”

“Tell me about it. I bet that note said something a bit stronger.” Vicky followed him outside. “I take it there’s been no progress?”

“None. I’ve lost MacDonald to the street team. Last I heard, he was in the Wellgate asking questions like he’s selling satellite telly. I’ve got to head back. Raven’s leading another news conference at half three.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“The bird of prey guy might’ve disappeared from Fixit.”

“Kyle Ramsay?”

“Aye. Having the manager in hospital seems to have knackered the entire company. Ramsay didn’t show up there this morning.”