Clare just missed Jennifer’s arrival.
‘She’s in your office with the DCI now,’ Jim told her.
Clare looked over Jim’s shoulder towards her office. The door was closed. ‘How was she?’
‘Shocked. Almost had a panic attack in the car.’
‘Genuine?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘And her flights? Did she go?’
‘They confirmed she was on the outgoing flight and didn’t check back in at Schiphol until this morning.’
‘Suppose we can rule her out then.’
‘I think so. She seems genuinely heartbroken.’
‘Okay, Jim. Thanks for that. Don’t suppose you could do me another favour?’
‘Aye?’
‘I know you’re just back but would you mind running a carload of laptops down to Tech Support? Angela Robb unearthed them from the attic. Andy’s old ones. Might be something on them that’ll help us.’
Jim went to transfer the laptops from the boot of Clare’s car to one of the pool cars.
Sara appeared with Connor and Steve in tow. Clare looked at her hopefully.
‘Sorry, boss. Nothing yet. We’re back for a quick break. Phil’s still out, checking clubs.’
Clare frowned. They weren’t having much luck. They really needed a break. She looked at the clock. Just gone four. She was keen to hang about until the DCI and Mrs Gilmartin came out of her office. Pound to a penny, the minute she started doing something else, they would appear. At that, her phone began to ring. She glanced at the display. A withheld number. She clicked to take the call.
‘Hello, Clare. I’m glad I caught you. We need to talk.’
Elaine Carter.
Clare sank down in a chair and made an effort to sound bright. ‘Elaine. What can I do for you?’
‘I think we should meet urgently, Clare. I’ve just been made aware that Francis Ritchie’s family have applied to prosecute you privately.’
‘Yes, I know that.’
‘You should have come to me about this immediately. Do I need to remind you it is your duty to keep me, as the force welfare officer, fully informed of anything that might impact on your role, to say nothing of your wellbeing?’
Clare sighed. Elaine was like one of those little dogs you couldn’t shake off your ankle. She would not let anything go.
‘Well, it hasn’t happened yet, Elaine. Maybe we should wait to hear what the Lord Advocate thinks first?’
‘That’s all well and good, Clare, but you have to be prepared in case the application is successful. So, let’s see. Mm – I could come up on Thursday?’
Thursday. It sounded like a siren in Clare’s head. If Andy Robb and Bruce Gilmartin were attending some sort of function or meeting on Thursday nights, perhaps there would be one this Thursday. Today was Tuesday. Andy and Bruce were dead, but was there a chance she could still find out what happened on Thursday nights?
‘Sorry, Elaine, Thursday’s out.’
‘Friday then?’
Clare’s office door opened and Jennifer Gilmartin emerged with DCI Gibson’s hand on her shoulder. She cut a striking figure in the office, her shoulder-length hair blonde with a few silver highlights. She was simply dressed in designer jeans, soft grey T-shirt and a pale red jacquard jacket, a Michael Kors handbag dangling from one hand. She was almost as tall as the DCI. Clare thought briefly that they would have made a handsome couple and she wondered if there was any history there.
Benjy trotted at her heels, gazing up at her.
‘Inspector,’ the DCI began, then seeing she was on the phone, raised an eyebrow.
For once, Clare was glad of the interruption. ‘I’ll call you soon, Elaine,’ she promised and ended the call. She smiled at the DCI. He didn’t smile back.
‘Elaine?’
‘Elaine Carter.’
‘Hm. The touchy-feely woman?’
‘The welfare officer, yes.’
He rolled his eyes but said no more. ‘Perhaps you would be kind enough to take Mrs Gilmartin round to the hotel? Check her in and go up to the room. Make sure everything is in order.’
‘Of course. But what about Benjy?’
No one had thought about that.
‘Not a clue,’ DCI Gibson said. ‘Do hotels usually take dogs?’
‘A few do but most don’t, I think,’ Clare said. ‘I can phone them to check if you like?’
Jennifer Gilmartin looked troubled. ‘I’m not sure how he would be. If he barked…’
‘It’s okay.’ Clare said. ‘I’ve been looking after him since yesterday and he’s no trouble at all. Would you like me to take him home again tonight? We should have you back in your own house tomorrow.’
Jennifer’s eyes began to fill with tears. ‘That would be kind, Inspector. I’d be very grateful.’
Jennifer handed Benjy’s lead to the DCI who seemed more than a little uncomfortable with it.
‘Don’t take all afternoon, Inspector,’ he said uncertainly. He looked round and his eye fell on Chris who turned quickly back to his computer. He walked over to Chris’s desk and held Benjy’s lead out to him. ‘Job for you, Sergeant…’
Chris took the lead and stared at the DCI’s retreating back. ‘So now I’m the station dog-sitter?’
Pawel Nowicki was again on the reception desk at the Kenlybank Hotel when Clare and Jennifer Gilmartin arrived. DCI Gibson had made the hotel aware of Jennifer’s circumstances and Pawel greeted them with quiet courtesy, assuring her of their prompt attention should she require anything. Clare went with her to the room, which was one of the superior doubles. It was comfortably furnished with a view over fields of yellow and green. She looked anxiously at Jennifer.
‘Will this be all right? Just for tonight?’
Jennifer attempted at a smile. ‘It’s lovely, thank you. And please thank Alastair for me. It was kind of him to arrange it.’
‘I will. And, if there’s anything else you need, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call.’
‘Just look after my Benjy, please.’
‘I will. He’ll be back with you tomorrow.’
As she walked down the broad staircase, feeling the plush carpet beneath her feet, Clare wondered if the DCI would have done the same for Angela Robb if her house had been a crime scene.
Somehow, she doubted it.
By the time Clare returned to the station the DCI had gone home for the night. Sara and the Edinburgh lads had also gone. Jim had returned from Tech Support and was catching up on paperwork, and Chris had taken Benjy for a walk. There was a note for Clare from Gillian to say that no Land Rovers or Range Rovers had passed any of the St Andrews ANPR cameras between eleven and one on Saturday night. Clare sighed. Another dead end.
The incident room was blissfully quiet, the extra desks and chairs abandoned, the laptops closed. She sat down to think over what they had learned so far. There was a connection between the two victims. She was convinced of that but didn’t yet know what it was, and hoped that good, solid police work would throw up some results for Thursday evenings. She moved to the whiteboard and wrote herself a note to review possible connections between the victims in the morning. There were casinos and betting shops – they still needed checking, and she continued scribbling on the board. Stolen cars – that was a priority – she wrote this up, too. Bruce Gilmartin seemed to have no enemies and his wife was at a loss to make sense of his murder. Even Andy Robb’s womanising seemed a thin motive. Chris had said Andy’s phone calls and texts were mostly to people they had already checked out. There were a few rogue numbers but they didn’t seem hopeful. She added phone numbers to the board, just in case. His stash of broken laptops might help, though, and she noted this as well. A bark alerted her to Chris and Benjy’s return and she went to meet them.
‘Any more news, Chris?’
He shook his head.
‘Get off home, then. Back in at eight tomorrow.’
Chris didn’t need to be told twice and headed out of the door, leaving Clare and Benjy alone in the incident room. Clare looked down at the dog and decided he was a good excuse for going home. She picked up her jacket and car keys, called good night to Jim and headed out into the car park. She unlocked the car and Benjy jumped up, perching on the passenger seat.
‘Strictly speaking,’ she told him, ‘you should be restrained.’
His only response was to wag his tail. She smiled at him and pulled out of the car park. It was home time.
Mindful that Benjy would wake as soon as it was light, Clare decided to have an early night. Oddly enough, she was glad to have the little dog for company. She settled him down in the makeshift duvet bed at the top of the stairs and went into her bedroom, climbing straight into bed. But, tired as she was, sleep eluded her. Thoughts ran round her head. She needed a distraction from the Ritchies and their private prosecution. Something more than a double murder investigation. Maybe a visit to one of the estate agents to see what they had? This house in the Canongate side of town was fine for now. But it wasn’t really her style. Maybe she could find an older property. A project. Something to spend her weekends doing up. She had done a few running repairs to her flat in Glasgow.
And then there was all her stuff from Glasgow. Some of it still in boxes. She resolved to start going through her clothes. There were plenty of things she just didn’t wear any more. They could be bagged up and handed in to one of the many charity shops in town. It was time to put down roots and start afresh. Time for a new Clare.
But then fifteen-year-old Francis Ritchie’s face loomed up out of the darkness. Would he be her undoing? She started to work out what age she would be when she was released from prison, assuming she was eligible for parole. Would the sentencing judge be lenient? Take into account her exemplary record? Her commendations? She began to think of all the times she had visited prisons. What would it be like to be on the other side of the locked doors? How would her parents cope with the shame?
Clare must have fallen asleep; she was surprised to hear her alarm going off so soon and fiddled with it but couldn’t make it go off. Then she realised it wasn’t her alarm but her phone ringing. She glanced at the clock, saw that it was just past midnight and her heart sank.
Even before she answered the call, she knew it had happened again. There could be no doubt now. She was hunting a cold-hearted, systematic, serial killer.