Snared (33 page)

Chapter One Hundred and Three

C
onsidine pulled into the virtually empty car park by
Dudhope
Castle, less than a three-minute drive from the station. “Where is it again?”

“Just to the side there.” Vicky opened her door and jogged across the car park. The medieval castle towered over them, its white walls in an L shape.

A group of people surrounded an object beside a patch of
lavender
making a vain attempt at growth, two police officers among the number.

Vicky flashed her warrant card. “DS Dodds. What’s happened here?”

The nearest uniformed officer took off his hat and straightened down his hair. “PC Dean Fleming, Sarge. Think we’ve found your missing person.”

Vicky’s nose twitched. She smelt something, couldn’t quite place it. Shit? “What’s that smell?”

“Better show you.” Fleming barged in and the group parted.

A giant bird cage stood on the cobbles.

Vicky sighed. “This looks similar to the cages in Barry and
Dryburgh
.”

Considine nodded. “It does.”

There was movement. Kyle Ramsay groaned as he sat up in the middle of it, naked. He was covered in human excrement. Underneath, his flesh was heavily bruised, dark purple blotches all over his chest and face. Deep gouges had been taken out of his legs and arms. Dried blood had mixed with the faeces. His hands and feet were tied up in chains, his mouth covered in tape.

A note was stuck to his chest.

Considine squinted at it, reading it aloud.
“Has the egg hatched?”

Vicky covered her eyes with her hands then stared at Fleming. “Are the fire service on their way?”

“Aye.” Fleming sniffed. “Should be here any minute.”

“What happened?”

“Nobody saw anything.” Fleming took a step back and motioned to one of the other men. “Jimmy here’s the caretaker. He’s the one who called us out.”

Jimmy gurned at them, revealing his remaining three teeth. “Turn my back for a second and there’s a bloody great bird cage with a man in it.”

Vicky got out her notebook. “I assume it was longer than a second?”

“Aye, maybe ten minutes.”

“When was this?”

“Back of three?”

Vicky checked her watch. Half an hour ago. Three hours after Calum Urquhart was abducted. “What is this place?”

Jimmy looked up at the white-harled walls of the castle. “
Council
offices. The staff are on an away day. I think that’s what they call it.”

“So there’s nobody here?”

Jimmy gestured around the small group. “Just me and my boys. We look after the park and the offices.”

Fleming’s Airwave buzzed. “Control to PC Fleming.” He walked off. “Receiving.”

Vicky raised her voice. “Did anyone else see anything?”

One of the young lads folded his arms. “We were having ou
r lunch.”

“At three?”

“Aye. Got a problem with that?”

Jimmy scowled at the young man. “I wanted us to blitz the place this morning, so I bought doughnuts and cakes in for when we finished.”

“And that was at three?”

“Aye. We were in our office in the basement. Came out to empty our industrial vacuum. Next thing I know, some bugger’s parked this thing here.”

Fleming reappeared. “The firies are just about here. They’ll help get the poor bugger out. Why’ve they done this to the boy?”

“We think it’s because he runs a birds of prey display at Fixit DIY.” Vicky struggled to look at the cage, her stomach curdling from the smell. “Someone’s taken a bit of a dislike to it.”

“Like this stuff in Barry and Montrose?”

“Amongst others.” Vicky looked around the space. Mature beech and oak surrounded the car park. A silver Audi pulled up near them. “Other than proximity to West Bell Street, it doesn’t mean anything. Why here?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jimmy laughed. “Place used to have a menagerie. Birds and animals in cages. My grandpa used to bring us here.”

“That makes sense.” Vicky spotted Forrester, Raven and Greig heading over. She leaned close to Considine. “Can you and Fleming start getting statements from these men?”

He nodded. “Will do.”

Vicky headed them off by the small picket fence. “Our bird man’s turned up. He’s covered in faeces and it looks like he’s been severely beaten. Someone’s been cutting his arms and legs, too.”

Forrester shook his head. “Christ.”

“There’s a note, too.”

Raven’s face pinched tight. “What about Calum?”

“No sign here, sir. I’ve asked DC Considine and PC Fleming to start taking statements. There’s nobody in the building today.”

“Could Calum be inside?”

“I doubt it.” Vicky shielded her eyes from the sun. “They’ve done a spring clean while the office workers are away at some
function
.”

“So nobody’s seen anything?”

“No, sir.”

“How the bloody hell could nobody see anything?” Raven folded his arms. “This is the middle of the town!”

“I’ll get my team down here, sir.” Greig nodded at Raven. “We need people going door-to-door.”

Raven rubbed at his eyes. “We’re still nowhere with Calum. I don’t want to have to call Pask and get some of his Aberdeen lads down here.”

Greig glowered at Forrester. “I’ll need all your DCs, David.”

Forrester shrugged. “You’ve already got them, haven’t you?”

Chapter One Hundred and Four

M
acDonald sat next to Vicky and passed her a can of Diet Coke. “Here you go.”

“Cheers.” Vicky opened it and took a sip, looking around the near-empty office. There was just Zoë nodding her head to music, Beats headphones clamped to her skull. “It’s very quiet having the children away, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Tell me about it. Covered virtually every shop in the city centre and nobody saw anything. Calum’s just disappeared.”

“Think he’s dead?”

He paused before taking a sip of coffee. “Hope not. They killed Micky Scott.”

“I know that.” Vicky frowned. “On that video, though, it sounds like an accident.”

“Putting a man in his fifties on a treadmill and forcing him to run is hardly an accidental death.”

“Agreed, but it’s not like Willis Stewart’s received a finger in the post, is it?”

“True.” He took a drink of coffee. “Pain in the arse. Lost our DCs and now we’re sidelined while Greig and Laing run off with the case.”

“It’s Friday afternoon. Think of it that way.”

“Don’t like not being at the centre of things.” MacDonald raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think you do, either.”

“You’re right.” Vicky finished the can and crushed it. “Heard back from Vice yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Thanks for the drink.” Vicky got up and wandered over to Zoë’s desk. “How’s that list of donors going?”

“Just got them through now, ma’am.”

“Zoë, you don’t have to call me ‘ma’am’, okay?”

“I know, it’s just . . .” Zoë shrugged. “Force of habit.”

“Never mind.”

“Shall I just email you the list?”

“Can’t you print it?”

“That’s pretty old-fashioned.”

Vicky shrugged. “Old dog, new tricks.”

Zoë clicked her mouse. “That’s it.”

“Cheers.” Vicky stood over the printer as it worked through the sheets, the stench of ozone rising up. She picked up the first page — it was still hot. Her tired eyes scanned the list. She spotted a healthy donation from Polly Muirhead just above Gary Black’s two grand — the refund from Rachel Hay. The next name made her stop. “Shit.”

Robert Hamilton.

Chapter One Hundred and Five

V
icky sat on the toilet seat lid, elbows on her knees. “Shit, sh
it, s
hit.”

She clutched the sheet in front of her. The more she looked at it, the more it stayed there.

Robert Hamilton, Corbie Drive, Carnoustie.

She made it past the name and address for the first time — the donation was for ten grand.

She tried to keep her breathing under control. Robert was a good bloke, wasn’t he? A goodie?

Asking the waiter in the Gulistan for free-range chicken then ordering a vegetable curry.

His retired greyhounds, rescued from the likes of Micky Scott. He knew Scott from his youth — they both played for Dundee.

Asking all those questions about the case . . . 

Meeting her for lunch just before Calum was taken.

Was all that enough?

She bit her lip. What the hell was she going to do with this?

“Sorry, sir, my sort-of boyfriend might be behind this.”

“Why, Vicky?”

“He gave a load of cash to the animal rescue place down the road
.
”

“That’s less than we’ve got on the Muirheads
.
”

She laughed. Playing the conversation out like that helped.

Her watch told her she’d two hours before she went round to his house. What the hell was she going to do? “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Are you all right in there?”

Vicky sighed, recognising the voice. “I’m fine, Zoë.”

“You don’t sound it.”

“Too much Diet Coke, I think.”

“Okay. Too much information.”

The door shut.

Had Zoë heard her conversation with herself ? She didn’t even know if she’d spoken it aloud or not.

She got to her feet and straightened her skirt, pulling it back above her hips, and tugged her blouse down. Need to be
professional
. Go through the rest of the list, see if there’s anything else on there.

Chapter One Hundred and Six

F
orrester leaned back in his chair. Sunlight streamed through his office window and the open door. “It’s just us three again. I kind of miss all those DCs. Poor buggers are out in Dudhope Castle and the Park, or still in the city centre.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, just out of Greig’s briefing. The latest news conference is getting broadcast everywhere. It’s going to be on the BBC and Channel Four, I think. Sky have already run it.”

MacDonald sniffed. “Promising.”

“Here’s hoping. They put out a new information request for the car, looking for any black cars parked off road since Tuesday.”

“Think they’ll get anything?”

“It’ll be a mountain of admin.” Forrester nodded at Vicky. “The boy you found at the castle’s doing better in hospital now. Not likely to be released for a while, though. He’s got an infection in his legs and arms — can’t remember the name.”

Vicky clenched her jaw. “Is Raven going to charge Stewart or Urquhart?”

Forrester shrugged. “Hard to work out what to charge them with, I’m afraid. In Stewart’s case, the boy didn’t pitch up this morning, so he didn’t
technically
disobey our advice.”

“Come on. Of course he did. He was a complete nightmare about it.”

“Anyway, Queensberry’s not going to even think about charging Urquhart until his son shows up.” Forrester checked his watch. “Last thing from the briefing. Raven’s pushed us three off early. We’re supposed to be back in early doors tomorrow. If there’s still a case, we’re to pick it up from Laing and Greig.”

MacDonald sat there, open-mouthed. “Seriously?”

“Boss’s orders, Mac. What’ve you been up to?”

“Mostly been going through the background checks on the Muirheads. Considine got them for me before he got nabbed. Not got much, I’m afraid — give me back the DCs and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Vice got back to you?”

“Not yet.”

“This isn’t good, is it, Mac?”

“Not really.” MacDonald rubbed his chin. “Karen Woods spoke to Gray and Leech about the
pro bono
work. Backed up what
Duncan
told us. Need a warrant if we want specific case details.”

Vicky raised an eyebrow. “Corporate sensitivity?”

“Aye.”

“I’ll have to get onto Raven for that.” Forrester finished his coffee. “What have you been doing, Vicky?”

“Zoë got me that list of donors Raven was after. There are pages of it. It validates stories we’ve had from Polly Muirhead and Gary Black, the man who bought a pug from Rachel Hay. I need Zoë to do some more checks.”

“Right.” Forrester leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve bloody lost her, too. Raven’s got her checking the IP address of whoever’s posting these videos.”

Vicky frowned. “See this press angle we’ve been thinking about? Doesn’t seem to be part of the MO for Fixit DIY.”

“Explain?”

“Well, I haven’t seen anything in the press about Kyle Ramsay’s display.”

MacDonald scowled. “Fixit’s logo’s a red kite.”

“Can’t be that, surely?”

MacDonald shrugged. “Ramsay’s employed by Stewart. All their stores have birds of prey.”

Forrester leaned forward on the desk, spinning his mug around. “He took a pretty severe beating, didn’t he? Has he been done for violence to his birds or anything?”

“I’ll check it out, sir.” MacDonald made a note.

“Aye, good.” Forrester sniffed. “Raven reckoned two of the birds have gone missing from the boy’s van. Pair of owls. Supposed to have twenty, but we only found eighteen.”

“The wounds on his legs and arms . . .” Vicky clenched her fists. “He’s been pecked by his own birds, hasn’t he?”

“Aye. And covered in his own shite, too. Smeared all over him.” Forrester got to his feet. “Right, come on. It’s time for a beer.”

MacDonald hopped up. “Excellent.”

“Vicky?”

She stared into space. “I can only stay for the one.”

Forrester winked. “Aye, we’ll see.”

Chapter One Hundred and Seven

V
icky leaned back in the booth in the Old Bank Bar, watching MacDonald ease through the crowded bar area to the toilet. “I’m sure Euan’s been buying me doubles.”

“No doubt.” Forrester fiddled with his mobile. “Oh, bloody hell.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Gordon Urquhart’s just lamped Willis Stewart.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Wish I was. Raven’s asking me to head out to Broughty Ferry.” He started tapping at his phone. “
Sorry, sir. Gillian’s at swimming.
”

“Are you telling me you’re taking your daughter swimming when you get home?”

Forrester shrugged. “I’m not lying. She is at swimming. Just because I’m not there doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

Vicky laughed. “I’m sure Raven will love that when he finds out, sir.”

“He’s not going to, though, is he?” Forrester pocketed the phone. “And quit it with the ‘sir’, Vicky. I told Mac when you were in the toilet. We’re out of the office. I like to have a clear hierarchy at work, but in the pub, forget it.”

“I’ll try and remember.” Vicky took a sip of Bacardi, trying to suss out whether it was double-strength. “Why are we being pushed to the side?”

“Too many chiefs, I reckon.” Forrester looked around the bar before speaking in an undertone. “Greig’s achieved the square root of bugger all with this. You might think I’m a jobsworth but, Christ, you saw what it was like in Queensberry’s office earlier? That shit will stick with me, just you watch it.”

“I can’t imagine it will, sir.”

Forrester shook his head. “You know I had to pull MacDonald and Laing apart earlier?”

“No?”

“Aye. I hope we’ve not got another cowboy on our hands.”

“I doubt he’s as bad as Ennis.”

“Maybe. Him going off on the sick meant we didn’t have to sack him. Raven and I’d had a few meetings about it.”

“Sure you should be telling me this, si — David?”

“Aye, I know I can trust you.”

Vicky glanced over the pub. MacDonald was snaking his way to the bar. The clock on the wall read quarter to eight. “Shite, is that the time?”

Forrester grinned at her. “Told you it wouldn’t be just th
e one.”

Vicky grabbed her phone and stormed out of the front of the pub, joining the throng of dolled-up smokers. She dialled Robert’s
number
.

“Hello?”

“Robert, it’s Vicky. Look, something’s come up at work. Sorry to have to bail out on you like this.”

“Oh, I understand.” He left a long pause. “I saw something on the news. Are you involved in that?”

Vicky locked eyes with a woman roughly her age, tarted up for a Thursday night out on the town. “Yeah. I thought I’d still be able to make it, but I’ve got to interview a suspect.”

“I understand. Give me a call later when it’s all died down.”

“It’ll probably be tomorrow, I reckon. These things have a habit of drawing out.”

“Oh, okay. Good luck.”

Vicky closed her phone and looked through the window at their seats, where MacDonald was putting more drinks on the table. What the hell was she doing?

The smoker next to her, her chubby face encased in make-up, nudged her elbow into Vicky’s arm. “You’ve got some style, honey.”

Vicky vaguely recognised her from an adjacent table. “Excuse me?”

“Lying like that.” She exhaled a cloud of smoke and nodded at the window. MacDonald was laughing at some joke as Forrester got to his feet. “You trying to let that one over there get in your knickers?”

Vicky gave her a polite smile. “Something like that.”

“Damn. Had my eyes on him. Nice arse.”

Vicky chuckled then went back inside. She dumped her phone in her handbag as she sat.

MacDonald nodded at her bag. “Who was that?”

“Just a friend.”

“Right.”

“Where’s Forrester?”

“Toilet.”

MacDonald pushed over a glass filled with dark liquid. “Here you go.”

Vicky finished her previous Bacardi and wrapped her hands around the new one. “I
was
going to head.”

“Come on — night’s still young.”

“We do have to work tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know. Just out of interest, where’s the best club in Dundee?”

Vicky shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong girl.”

“Thought you’d be into dancing?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just I’m a bit old for that now.”

MacDonald licked his lips. “You’re what, thirty, thirty-one?”

Vicky chuckled. “You’ve been trying to guess my age, haven’
t you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You missed out the fact I went to university.”

“Got me.” MacDonald finished his pint of lager, pu
shed th
e empty glass over to touch Vicky’s previous one. “Where’s th
e co
ol place these days? Dundee usually has one or two decent club
s, right?”

“Right. I think it’s Liquid or Fat Sam’s just now. In my day, it would have been the Mardi, but that’s long gone.”

“Mardi Gras.” MacDonald laughed as he wrapped his fingers around the new pint glass. “Been there a few times.”

Vicky crossed her legs. “I forgot you were from around
th
ese parts.”

“The accent, right?”

“Right. Where do you come from?”

“Coupar Angus.”

Forrester bumped down on the bench, sending vibrations along it. “Bloody carnage in there. Some boy was snorting coke. Can you believe it?”

“Dundee on a Thursday.” Vicky took a sip. Definitely a double.

Forrester took a drink of whisky, swilling it around his mouth. “So, Mac, you’re pissed off at getting booted to the side, right?”

MacDonald knocked back some of his lager. “Could wipe the floor with Greig’s lads. Laing’s a useless prick.”

“You burned out in Strathclyde, Mac. That’s why you’re here.”

“
Burned out?”
MacDonald scowled at him. “I’m trying to progress my career by other means, David.”

“I see.” Forrester picked up a menu on the table. “Should we get some food? I’m bloody starving.”