Clare turned the car back towards town and made for Hepburn Gardens, the site of last night’s hit-and-run. There was little evidence of the accident now, other than a dark stain on the pavement and the damaged lamp post. She stopped for a minute to see if it made any more sense in daylight than it had last night. Then she pulled away and continued along, passing the roundabout where she had turned off to Nat Dryden’s house. She realised now that she had joined the same road Chris had taken on Monday on their way to Fergus Bain’s cottage.
‘I’ll get the hang of this place yet,’ she muttered, slowing down as she neared the cottages. There was no sign of life and she carried on, passing rich farmland peppered with areas dense with trees. It was an attractive road and, in spite of the horrors of the current investigation, she thought how lucky she was to have found this little corner of Fife. If only she knew what the Lord Advocate’s decision would be, she could start to make plans. Find a house she could call home.
Further along the road she noticed a large marquee erected in a field just off the road. A billboard reminded her that the Fife Beer Bonanza was taking place this coming weekend.
‘Not much chance of going to that, now,’ she said. But, as she passed the end of the field, another sign caught her eye. It read:
24-hour security – Cameras in Use.
Clare glanced in the rear-view mirror. A car was on her tail and there was a bend up ahead, making it difficult for her to pull in. She decided to turn round at the first opportunity and go back to the Beer Bonanza field. And then, as she rounded the bend, she saw a For Sale sign. It had been erected at the roadside near a gap in the trees and, as she passed, she saw a short drive leading to a property. She was on a straight stretch of the road now. With a glance in the rear-view mirror, she indicated and pulled in, allowing the car behind to pass her. Then she reversed back along until she came to the estate agent’s board and turned the car into the drive. There was no sign of life and she wondered if the house might be empty. She parked in front of the door which was sheltered by a pretty wooden portico painted in a soft green. The windows looked to be new but in sympathy with the 1930s red brick walls. Clare stepped out of the car and walked to a window. She peered in, trying to see if there was any furniture. It was a bright day which made it hard to see inside but she thought it looked empty. As her eyes adjusted to the light inside the cottage she saw a fireplace and French doors, leading into another room which she thought might be a dining room. The land fell as she walked round the house making it difficult to reach the other windows. A high wooden gate leading to the back garden was locked and she decided against trying to open it. A stone trough stood beside it, bearing some late-flowering tulips, their heads just beginning to droop. It seemed substantial enough so Clare hoisted herself up onto it, clinging to the side gate to help her balance. Over the top of the gate she saw a grass lawn, bordered on one side by mature shrubs. On the other side, a path of flagstones led to a garden shed, painted in the same soft green as the gate and the portico. Clare jumped down and walked back round, past the front door to the other side of the property where a single garage stood. It had also been built in red brick, but was clearly a newer addition.
She couldn’t see much more than that but what she had seen intrigued her. The sun was glinting through nearby trees, warming the walls, and for a few moments she forgot about Andy Robb, Bruce Gilmartin and Nat Dryden. She forgot that Jennifer Gilmartin was probably on the phone to DCI Gibson right now, complaining about her; most of all, she forgot that the family of the late Francis Ritchie were attempting to pursue her through the courts with every ounce of strength they possessed.
‘I want to see more of you,’ she told the house and she took out her phone to photograph the estate agent’s board.
She returned to the car and reversed out onto the road, turning back towards St Andrews. Up ahead, a lorry bearing the name Gilmartin’s Brewery was easing its way into the field where the Beer Bonanza was to take place and Clare followed it in. She could see that McMillan’s Brewery also had a lorry there, the driver busy unloading kegs and crates. A Portakabin sat off to the side. Clare parked the car and knocked on the door. It was opened by a tall man wearing a security uniform. He stooped under the doorway which had clearly not been built for someone his size. He scrutinised Clare. ‘Aye?’
An ID badge swung from a clip on his shirt pocket. Clare read the name – Iain Beharrie. She introduced herself, showed him her warrant card and he ushered her in. He pulled out two grey plastic bucket chairs and invited Clare to sit.
‘You here about Mr Gilmartin?’ he asked. ‘Terrible business.’
Clare ignored the question. ‘I’m after some information, Mr Beharrie.’
‘Aye?’
‘Can I ask about your security? On the site here. Do you have camera footage from last night? Say between eleven and one in the morning?’
Iain Beharrie shook his head. ‘Sorry, no. The stock only started arriving last night so we’ve not switched the cameras on yet.’
Clare tried not to let her disappointment show. She tried again. ‘Would there have been anyone on duty last night?’
The man moved to a chart on the wall. He traced along the dates. ‘That would be Ralph. Ralph Paterson.’
‘Times?’
‘Started at ten and finished at eight this morning. He’ll be in again tonight, probably the back of nine.’
‘I could do with speaking to him sooner, if possible.’
The man moved to the computer and tapped a few keys. ‘Just along the road in Strathkinness. I’ll write the address down. He’ll be asleep, mind.’
Clare smiled. ‘I’ll leave him as long as I can. Thanks for your help.’
‘No problem. I hope you catch the driver. Good man, Mr Gilmartin.’
Clare thanked him and headed back to the station where she found the DCI had left to escort Jennifer Gilmartin back to her house. She could just imagine a furious Jennifer telling him about Clare’s visit but she put this to the back of her mind. Time enough for that when he came back. She ruffled Benjy’s neck and was rewarded with a lick. Chris was making himself a mug of coffee.
‘Good news on the card SOCO found last night. There’s a thumb print on the underside and it matches with the number five card. Nothing on the top though – the card was starting to disintegrate with the rain.’
‘That’s something,’ Clare said. ‘Paint?’
‘Still working on it. They think it’ll be an older model but that’s not confirmed.’
She nodded. ‘Anyone with missing fingertips or likely Land Rover drivers?’
‘Sorry, boss, nothing concrete.’
She pulled a chair over and sank down. ‘I’ve upset Jennifer Gilmartin.’
Chris gave a low whistle and sat beside her. ‘DCI’s going to love you. What have you done?’
‘I asked if her husband might be involved in criminal activity. She took exception to that.’
‘Straight in with both feet, then?’
‘Yeah. But I wanted to speak to her without him hovering. Gauge her reaction.’
‘Maybe he’ll see your point of view. He is a detective, after all.’
‘Yeah and pigs might fly. Tell you what, Chris, I think we need to have a closer look at our victims’ significant others. Could you check if any of them have any previous? Cautions, even? Close relatives too. You were checking on Billy Dodds, weren’t you? Anything there?’
‘Sorry – got distracted. But I’ll get that done now.’
‘Quick as you can.’
Chris got to his feet. ‘Just previous? Or do you want background as well?’
Clare thought about this. ‘Hmm. Depends what you turn up. Maybe see where they grew up, went to school, that sort of thing. I’m pretty sure they’re all entirely innocent and that there’s some other connection between these men but we do need to check everything.’
‘So just Billy and the wives? Angela Robb and the lovely Jennifer?’
‘Let’s do Nat Dryden too. Does he have a girlfriend? Ex-wife?’
‘Not sure. I’ll phone Sara and get her to check with the sister. I’ll do her, too, while I’m at it.’
Chris went off to the incident room to find a vacant desk. Clare took out her phone and dialled Tech Support.
Diane answered. ‘Ah Clare. Not worked through all the old laptops yet but definitely some dodgy stuff on Mr Dryden’s machine.’
‘How dodgy?’
‘Photos. And not the kind you share on Facebook either.’
‘Criminal?’
‘Definitely.’
Clare whispered ‘Yes’ under her breath. ‘Diane, can you get them to me?’
‘I’m doing it now, Clare. You’ll find them in a folder with your name on the network. Password set to “patchwork”, all lower case. Change it immediately. I’ve given you editing permissions.’
‘Thanks Diane. I really appreciate it.’
‘I have to say, Clare, it would be really nice if you could pick these people up.’
‘That bad?’
‘That bad.’
Clare felt mildly sick at the prospect of what she would find in the photos. ‘I’ll do my very best, Diane.’ Then she remembered the website address. ‘Any joy on that website?’
‘Not yet, but I’m hopeful. It’s a site called Playroom. Mr Dryden’s username is his email address – the numpty – so that was easy enough; but we’re still trying to crack his password. The software’s running now. If that doesn’t work I’ve another couple of tools I can try. There might be something else too, Clare, but I’ll let you know when I’m sure.’
Clare thanked Diane and looked round to see if Chris was still on the phone.
‘I’m on hold…’ he mouthed then he began speaking, ‘Yes, DS Chris West. Yes, it is a serious matter. It’s a murder enquiry…’
Clare left him to it and went to log onto a nearby PC. She navigated her way to where Diane had said she would upload the photos. Nothing there. She refreshed the drive a few times until finally the folder with her name appeared. She glanced over to Chris. He was still talking. She nodded her head to indicate he should come over and she opened the folder. As she was changing the password, Chris walked over, a printout in his hand.
‘Angela Robb,’ he was saying, ‘cautioned for a breach of the peace. Looks like a girls’ night gone wrong. But I don’t think…’
Clare could hear his voice in the background, as she entered the new password and set the photos to play as a slide show. And then she heard no more as the images moved across the screen. A wave of revulsion swept over her and she instinctively clasped her arms across her chest.
They were all young. Not just young, but children. Perhaps some of the girls looked older but not by much. Four men in varying stages of undress were seen in an assortment of positions and poses, their faces carefully turned away from the camera. Clare leaned forward to look more closely at the men but it was impossible to tell who they were. She looked at the background detail. Hard to see clearly, but she didn’t think it looked like a hotel room. Or a normal room, come to that. She could see wood panelling in the background but mainly the photos were focused on the men and on what they were doing to the children. One girl who looked barely pubescent was caught between two men, one front, one back. A boy who looked no more than twelve or thirteen, was being pawed by three of the men. He wore an expression so haunting that Clare could hardly bear to look.
‘Shit…’ Chris muttered, putting down the printout. For a few minutes he said nothing, watching as one image followed another. When he found his voice, it sounded hoarse. ‘Clare, we have to nail these bastards.’
Clare hadn’t heard him. She was looking closely at the photos, zooming in on one of the men. ‘Does that one look like Andy Robb to you?’
‘Could be. Is there a way we could crop out everything else and see if his wife or girlfriend recognises him?’
‘Worth a go.’ She picked up her phone and scrolled to Diane’s number. ‘What about the others?’
Chris peered at the photos as they moved across the screen. It was hard to tell. No distinguishing features were on show. It was clear the participants had taken care not to be identified. ‘Not sure.’
Clare dialled Diane’s number and she answered straight away.
‘Hi Clare, you got the photos okay?’
‘Yes, thanks, although I kind of wish I hadn’t seen them.’
‘I know what you mean. Desperate stuff.’
‘Yep. No argument there. Listen, Diane, would you have time to crop the kids out of the photos? If you can, we might be able to have the men identified. I think three of them could be our hit-and-run victims.’
‘Sure. That’s a quick job. Give me the new password and, let’s say, half an hour or so and I’ll add the best ones to the folder.’
As Clare hung up the phone it rang again. It was Raymond from SOCO. She switched on the speaker so Chris could hear the call. ‘Hi Raymond. Got anything for us?’
‘The paint from the lamp post,’ he said. ‘Definitely Land Rover Defender. Ten or eleven years old.’
‘That’s great. Thanks Raymond. I appreciate the quick turnaround.’
‘I’ll check through the lists,’ Chris said.
‘And there’s something else too,’ Raymond went on.
The station door opened and DCI Gibson strode in. From his expression, Clare knew Jennifer Gilmartin had been crying on his shoulder.
‘A word, Inspector.’
Clare covered the phone with her other hand. ‘I’m just speaking to…’
‘I don’t care who you’re speaking to. Call them back!’
Clare made her apologies to Raymond and followed the DCI into her office. She had barely closed the door when he started.
‘What part of go gently don’t you understand? I’ve just left a devastated Jennifer Gilmartin. It’s not enough that she’s lost her husband in a deliberate hit-and-run. Then you go crashing in with your great size tens telling her that her husband’s a criminal! What were you thinking?’
Clare swallowed. ‘I’m thinking he is a criminal.’
‘And I suppose you have evidence to that effect?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Possibly?’
‘We’ve recovered evidence of what looks like a paedophile ring.’
‘And you think Bruce Gilmartin’s involved?’ He was almost spluttering with rage. ‘What evidence?’
‘Photographs. Quite clear, sir. They’re on my computer now.’
‘Then you’d better show me, Inspector.’
They emerged from the office and Clare led the DCI to the computer she had been using. She clicked to restart the slide show. There was a pause while the DCI took in what he was seeing.
‘Where did these come from?’
‘Nat Dryden, last night’s victim. They were on his laptop. Diane at Tech Support said he’d hidden the folder but obviously not very well.’
DCI Gibson watched the images wordlessly for a few minutes. ‘You can’t seriously think Bruce Gilmartin is involved in this? I don’t think you can identify anyone from these photos. They’re not clear enough.’
Clare clicked until she came to the photo that looked like Andy Robb. ‘Chris and I think this could be the first victim. The shape of the head and the build are the same.’
‘You could say that about a lot of big lads.’
‘Yes, that’s true. I’ve asked Diane to see what she can do with the photos. If she can make them presentable, head and shoulders, say, I’ll show them to relatives.’
DCI Gibson looked at Clare. ‘You are not – repeat, not – to show any of these to Jennifer. If anyone’s going to speak to her about – this – it’ll be me.’
‘With respect, sir, are you not too close?’
‘You’re suggesting I can’t be objective?’
‘Only that your fondness for Mrs Gilmartin might make it difficult to ask the right questions.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that, Inspector.’ He turned to walk back to Clare’s office then stopped. ‘In future, I want everything run past me first. And I’ll be bringing in a separate team to handle’ – he waved a finger at the computer – ‘this business. You can’t possibly run a murder investigation and crack a paedophile ring with the resources you have here.’
Clare stood her ground. ‘I believe it’s the same enquiry, sir. I think our victims are possibly the men in these photos and that they are being picked off by our Land Rover driver, one by one.’
The DCI glared at her. He seemed about to argue. Then he shook his head. ‘I knew you weren’t up to this, Inspector. I’ll have another team up here tomorrow. Friday at the latest.’
He marched into Clare’s office and slammed the door.
A few of the cops who had witnessed the exchange stood watching Clare. She looked round at them, her cheeks burning.
‘Okay, guys. Show’s over. Back to work.’
They drifted off and Clare resumed her seat at the computer.
Chris hovered for a moment then, seeing Clare glance up, said, ‘So, we have until Friday.’
‘At the most. Better get to it then.’ Her eye fell on the printout Chris had been holding. ‘Sorry, Chris – you were saying?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s hard to think when you’ve just seen…’
‘Yeah, I know. But we have work to do.’ She looked at his face. ‘Look, go outside for five minutes. Get some air. Clear your head. Then I want you back to checking those wives and relatives. It’s more important than ever. I’ll call Raymond back.’
Raymond answered immediately and asked Clare to wait while he reopened the case file. ‘Ah yes,’ he said, after a minute or two. ‘The footprint on the first victim’s shirt – Andrew Robb.’
‘Have you managed to narrow it down?’ Clare asked.
‘Not to the type of shoe, no. But I’ve blown it up and examined it on the big screen.’
‘And?’
‘Well now, I can’t be certain. But it does look to me as if it’s a woman’s shoe.’
Clare frowned. ‘Really?’
‘Pretty sure. It’s much narrower at the toes than a man’s shoe would be. Bit of luck, really. It’s like the driver pressed a foot down on him to see if he was dead.’
Clare thought it hadn’t been so lucky for Andy Robb but she thanked Raymond and went to relay the conversation to Chris. ‘Funny, though,’ she said. ‘I didn’t associate this one with a woman.’
‘No reason it wouldn’t be,’ said Chris. ‘It’s the car that did the damage, not the driver.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so. But we have two sets of prints, remember.’
‘Doesn’t mean we have two drivers, though,’ Chris said.
A bark from the counter reminded Clare that Benjy was still there.
‘I’d better take him back to Mrs Gilmartin,’ said Clare. ‘Get it over with.’
‘Good luck.’
Clare looked at Benjy and patted her leg. He hopped from the counter and she slipped the lead over his neck. ‘Hopefully she’ll be so glad to see you she’ll have forgotten she’s angry with me.’