Snared (32 page)

Chapter One Hundred

C
onsidine tapped at the windscreen. “Which one’s Kyle
Ramsay’s
flat?”

“Let’s find out.” She got out onto Baldovan Terrace and looked down the long row of tenements pockmarked with satellite dishes, the parking bays now mostly filled with work vans. She crossed the road, running her finger down the list of flats in the first of the two possibilities.
K. Ramsay
. Bingo. “Here we go.”

She tried the flat buzzer. No answer.

“Do you hear that, Sarge?”

Vicky frowned. Bird noises, squawking and cooing. Muffled and distant. “Yeah, I do.” She cupped her hands round her eyes, peering into the window of the dark ground-floor flat. Just an unmade bed. The other window showed a settee. An Xbox lay on the floor in front of a TV. “Don’t think it’s coming from inside.”

“Where is it coming from?”

“No idea.” She took a step back and looked up and down the street. Didn’t spot any likely flats, couldn’t hear the noises any more clearly. She pressed the buzzer again and waited.

No answer.

She tried the buzzer next to it,
G. Scrimgeour
.

“Who’s that?”

“It’s the police.” Vicky leaned against the wall, tipping her head towards the microphone. “I’m looking for Kyle Ramsay.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He’s your neighbour. Can we have a word?”

The door buzzed open.

Vicky entered the stairwell, illuminated by shafts of light descending from a roof window.

“Gordon Scrimgeour.” A wiry, grey-haired man wearing a tracksuit and Dundee FC shirt stood across the corridor, arms folded, guarding his flat door. “I’ve not seen him today.”

“Okay. Did you hear anything this morning?”

Scrimgeour frowned. “If I remember rightly, there was a bit of a commotion at about eight o’clock. Got me out of my pit.”

“Did you see anything?”

“Not really.”

“But you heard something?”

“Well, aye. Actually, now you mentioned, might’ve been a van driving off.”

“What kind of van?”

Scrimgeour shrugged. “Dunno. I just heard it. Street’s dark that time of the morning, you know? Could have been one of them cars the kids have buggered about with, I suppose. Loud exhaust on it, anyway.”

“Okay.”

“Mind you, Kyle’s birds have been going mental all morning.”

“Excuse me?”

Scrimgeour waved out to the street. “The laddie keeps them in his van overnight.”

Vicky clenched her jaw. “Show me.”

Scrimgeour shut his door and led out onto the street. A few spaces over from Vicky’s car was an unmarked white van, ventilation equipment sticking out of the back. “Lad keeps the birds in there overnight, I think.”

Vicky peered in the small back window. Rows of tiny cages inside, full of the birds from the display at Fixit DIY, the ones Bella wanted to see. She smiled at Scrimgeour. “Thanks for your tim
e, sir.”

“Is he going to get into trouble, miss?”

“I seriously hope so.” She handed Scrimgeour her card. “Call me if he turns up.”

Scrimgeour wandered inside, scratching at his bottom through the tracksuit.

Considine tapped at the glass. “You see that in there?”

“It’s barbaric.”

“You know, I actually agree with you.”

“Good.” Vicky scowled. “See when we find Ramsay, I’m going to nail his arse to the wall for this.”

“Assuming he’s still alive, Sarge.”

Chapter One Hundred and One

Z
oë pulled the headphones down to rest on her shoulder. The sun was just starting to appear through the window behind her. “I’m struggling to get this list of charity donors, ma’am. Sorry.”

Vicky clicked her tongue a few times. “I’ll sort it out.” She got out her mobile and the business card she’d taken, and dialled Alison McFarlane’s number.

“Tayside Animals!
Alison speaking. How can I help?”

“Ms McFarlane, it’s DS Vicky Dodds here. We spoke the oth
er day?”

A pause. “How can I help?”

“One of my colleagues has been tasked with obtaining a list of donors from you and she called you. We’ve requested it from all animal charities in Tayside. Yours is the only one we’ve still not received it from.”

“I can only apologise.”

“When can we expect it?”

“Our accountant’s on holiday just now. It’s not something we organise ourselves, I’m afraid. I’ve got Yvonne running off the copy we just received. It shouldn’t be too much longer. I’ll send it through once we’ve got it. Zoë Jones, is it?”

“It is. Thanks for that.” Vicky ended the call and looked over at Zoë. “Should be through soon. I should’ve got a DC to do i
t. Sorry.”

Zoë nodded. “Thanks.” She stuck her headphones on again.

Vicky looked across the almost-empty office at Considine, who was poring through a file, his thumb sticking out. “How are you getting on, Stephen?”

“Getting there, Sarge.” Considine closed the file then got up and stretched his back. “Back in a minute. I need to do some
chasing
.”

“Okay.” Vicky watched him leave, sighing as he closed the door. Time to focus. She shuffled the papers on her desk, the transcripts of the witness statements and interviews. Christ.

She leaned back in her chair. It gave a squeak as she spun round to look through the smudges of the window, the jute mill opposite now lit up.

If Marianne Smith was involved, the evidence had to be in the files.

She had to be working with the Muirheads. The number of times Sandy and Polly Muirhead kept popping up . . . 

She got up and unhooked the printer’s drawer, nabbed a couple of sheets of A3. She knelt on the chair and started drawing a timeline of the case, focusing on the Muirheads’ involvement.

15/Nov. Irene Henderson stuck in bin by three people driving black car. Note lost amongst hate mail.

19/Feb. Cameron Lethnot trapped in snare by three people driving black car. Note posted through letterbox.

Then, what? It paused for five weeks and someone dropped out.

26/Mar. Rachel Hay and Paul Joyce trapped in cage in industrial unit by only two people. Black car. Notes delivered with newspapers and pinned to cage. Tried to force them to have sex. Filmed and posted online.

30/Mar. Graeme Hunter and family trapped in small cages in
battery
hen farm. Black car. Note in kitchen.

1/Apr. Micky Scott handcuffed to treadmill. Forced to run. Death — heart attack. No car but sighting of woman, who might have nothing to do with it. No note but video posted by the same account as Rachel and Paul’s.

2/Apr. Graeme Christie abducted outside store and chained up like birds of prey. No car. Note inside the store. Sighting of man.

3/Apr. Today. Kyle Ramsay abducted from home, most likely at 8 a.m. Warning delivered 2/Apr, ignored.

3/Apr. Today. Calum Urquhart abducted from school just before 12. Note delivered to parents. Warning delivered 2/Apr, ignored.

She sat back in the chair, rubbing at her thigh through the tights, trying to ease out the pins and needles.

Whoever it was had balls.

Despite a major police investigation being underway, they were still committing crimes, and getting quicker too — months between incidents had become weeks and then days, until two had been done that morning.

There was an intelligence to it, almost an art — inflicting cruelty back on people who themselves inflicted cruelty.

Victims were being chosen based on public information. The press had been sent links to the letters and videos. Only thin slivers of the case had been featured by the mainstream press, as the files were hidden in the dark net.

In all cases, the victims had been featured in the news. Except for Fixit DIY. They hadn’t been in the press. Had uqTech?

Considine sat on the corner of the desk, holding up the latest note. “Jenny Morgan confirmed these are from the same printer and paper stock.”

“Feels like we’re past that now, Stephen.” Vicky took the note, focused on each letter. Nothing there. She looked up at Considine. “Did you look into uqTech?”

“I did, aye.” Considine nodded at her computer. “Go and get their website up.”

Vicky found the uqTech website. The theme was grey with transparent images — a black man and an Asian woman in white lab coats, a white man between them resting arms on their shoulders, all showing white teeth in their smiles. “What’s this supposed to show me?”

“Exactly. Pretty generic site. From that you’d get no idea what they actually did.”

“Why are they being targeted?”

“I did a quick Google and I got some news stories.”

“Go on.”

“Heard of xenotransplantation?”

“What do you think?”

Considine grinned. “It’s pretty grim, Sarge. They’ve been taking livers from pigs and sticking them in baboons.”

“Christ.”

“Aye. Supposed to show they can grow pig livers in another
species
so they can give them to people who need transplants.”

“Fuck.” Vicky swallowed hard. “Tell me that’s not what’s in store for Calum Urquhart?”

“Wish I could.”

Vicky held her head in her hands. “Is this the escalation?”

“Maybe.”

She picked up her phone and dialled the Urquhart house.

Heather answered. “Hello?”

“Mrs Urquhart, it’s DS Vicky Dodds.”

“Has something happened?”

“I’m sorry, we’ve got no update on your son’s whereabouts.”

A sigh. “I see.”

“Can I speak to your husband, please?”

Pause. “Gordon’s out, I’m afraid.”

“When will he be back?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Vicky ended the call. “He’s not there. That’s the end of that, I suppose.”

“What next?”

“I’m still not buying the Fixit DIY angle. There’s just some —”

“Ma’am, you need to see this.” Zoë dropped her headphones to her desk. “The video’s been posted on YouTube.”

Vicky shut her eyes for a few seconds. “What?”

“Aye, just got an IM from one of the Met guys. They’ve taken down about ten in the last half an hour.”

Vicky pinched the bridge of her nose, the nerve digging at her neck. “The greyhound one’s technically a snuff movie.”

“Aye. You should see the hits they’re getting, though. Every time one goes up, thousands are watching it within minutes.”

Vicky rubbed her forehead. “So the message is finally getting out there now.”

Considine raised an eyebrow. “Can’t believe people want to watch a greyhound trainer die on a treadmill.”

“Who’s posting them, Zoë?”

“That’s the thing — we just don’t know. The audit trails are totally masked. I think they’re getting better at it. They’re clearly learning from what we’re doing.”

“Right.” Vicky looked over to see Sergeant Tommy Davies heading her way. She straightened herself up. “I thought you were umbilically connected to your desk.”

Tommy smirked. “Wish that were the case. The boss has asked for your presence upstairs.”

“Pask’s based in Aberdeen?”

Tommy shook his head. “Not your boss. My boss. ACC Queensberry.”

Chapter One Hundred and Two

A
secretary guarded the entrance to Queensberry’s office.

Vicky flashed her ID to him, her mouth dry. “I’ve got an appointment with ACC Queensberry.”

He nudged the office door open with his foot. “Please wait in here for her.”

“Do you know what it’s about?”

He shrugged. “I know even less than you.”

Vicky went inside the large room. Forrester sat at the meeting table, head in his hands. “Sir?”

Forrester looked up. “Vicky. Right.”

“What’s going on?”

“No idea.”

“Have you seen Queensberry?”

“No.”

Vicky looked out of the window across the car park. Two over from her own car, she spotted a Bentley, licence plate UQT1. “
Gordon
Urquhart, right?”

“Aye. Must be related to the threat he made against us.”

“Like we’ve got time for this.” Vicky slumped in the seat next to him, catching her knee on the underside of the table. “I take it there’s no news?”

“None.”

The door opened. Helen Queensberry showed Urquhart into the room. Both held coffee mugs in their hands. “Please, have a seat.” She took off her uniform jacket, rested it on the back of the chair behind her desk. She sat in the meeting room chair between Vicky and Urquhart. “Thanks for joining us, David. DS Dodds, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure?”

“I don’t believe so, either.” Vicky offered her hand, tensing her wrist to control the trembling.

Queensberry shook it before leaning on her elbows, her hands clasped. “Okay, let’s get started. I received a call from Gordon about an hour ago regarding your investigation into the disappearance of his son, Calum.” She smiled before taking a sip of coffee. “How are you getting on, David?”

Forrester leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “DCI Raven is the SIO on this case, ma’am, I’m not sure why —”

Queensberry held up a hand. “John’s sent you along to deputise. You’ve been running this case longer than he has, I believe?”

“That’s true.”

“So, have you got anywhere?”

“It’s early days, ma’am. We’re making some progress.”

Urquhart sighed, eyes pleading with Queensberry. “See, I told you, Helen, these officers just aren’t up to it.”

“You’ve raised a concern, Gordon, and I’m trying to assure you of the steps being taken to safeguard your son.”

“These officers are spreading vile innuendo about my company.”

“What sort of thing?”

Vicky raised her hand, smiling. “Ma’am, if I may?”

Queensberry shook her head. “Gordon, please continue.”

“They’re trying to imply Calum’s been taken as some sort of
vigilante
action against my company. I take such slander very
seriously
.”

“I see.” Queensberry nodded at Vicky. “DS Dodds?”

“This is related to the crimes DCI Raven is investigating. You gave the news conference the other day, so you should know that the perpetrators of these crimes are targeting people with a history of animal cruelty.”

Urquhart looked away. “My company doesn’t commit crimes against animals.”

Vicky leaned across the desk. “Regardless, there’s a public perception of certain animal experiments being undertaken by your company and that seems to be enough for these criminals.”

Urquhart shook his head vigorously. “Helen, this is
poppycock
. My company’s listed on the FTSE 250. I can’t just sit here and listen to this!”

“Gordon, do you conduct any trials involving animals?”

Urquhart looked away. “That’s sensitive information.”

“I’ll rephrase that. Are you aware of anyone making allegations of your company conducting trials involving animals?”

“One or two.” Fire burned in Urquhart’s eyes, locked onto Vicky. “My legal division take regular action against websites who make such slander, believe you me.”

“Mr Urquhart, you were warned.” Vicky licked her dry lips. “Why did you do nothing about it?”

“This whole thing is
nothing
to do with my company. Willis Stewart is entirely to blame for this.”

“Willis Stewart?” Queensberry frowned. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“It’s his fault Calum’s missing.
His
fault!”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“It was in the paper this morning. He received a note warning something like this was going to happen.”

Queensberry raised an eyebrow.

Vicky gripped the edge of the table. “Mr Stewart’s company has been attacked again. Twice. One of his employees was chained up outside the store and another’s gone missing.”

Urquhart laughed as he turned his head to Queensberry. “So you see, Helen? My company’s not the target here.”

“But Calum went missing after you received a note.” Queensberry inspected her nails before smiling at him. “I’m afraid I agree with my colleagues. These crimes are perpetrated by people who believe animal cruelty has taken place at your company. Innuendo seems to be enough for them.”

Urquhart got to his feet. “So you’re joining in with this?”

Queensberry put a hand on his arm. “Gordon, have a seat.”

Urquhart shook his head before complying.

Queensberry narrowed her eyes at him. “Willis Stewart received a warning, which he ignored. Is what DS Dodds saying true? That you received one yourself?”

Urquhart nodded, nostrils flared. “Yes.”

“And you did nothing with it.”

“I don’t have the time to deal with meaningless notes, Helen. We get one or two
every day
.”

“Gordon, our time’s going to be better spent looking for Calum than sitting here.”

“I want Willis Stewart charged.”

“Gordon, if I charge Willis, I’ll have to charge you. You both ignored notes from these people. Willis at least had the decency to get in touch with us about it.”

“It’s not
his
son out there.” Urquhart stabbed a finger against his chest, eyes filling with tears. “These people have got my Calum.”

“Mr Urquhart —”

“No, just you listen to me, Helen. You told me when we were getting coffee that Willis ignored the advice you
personally
gave him. He’s culpable here.”

Queensberry raised her chin. “Mr Urquhart, the reason I was able to advise Mr Stewart is because we knew he’d received a note. You never told us.”

Urquhart got to his feet, adjusting his waistcoat as he stood. “This isn’t the end of the matter. If anything’s happened to Calum, you’ll —”

Queensberry waved a hand to the door. “My secretary will show you out, Mr Urquhart.”

Urquhart shook his head then left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Queensberry folded her arms. “Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

Forrester tugged at his shirt collar. “We can charge him, if you want.”

“I’m not sure what that would solve, David.” Queensberry finished her own coffee. “Just find his boy and we’ll deal with the fallout afterwards.”

Vicky was out of the room first. “What an idiot.”

Her Airwave sounded. “Control to DS Dodds. Over.”

Vicky held it up. “Receiving.”

“You’re looking for a Kyle Ramsay, right?”

“Correct.”

“He’s been found in Dudhope Park.”