Clare pulled the car into the station car park and came to an abrupt halt in front of a clutch of journalists.
‘Looks like the statement’s gone out.’
Chris jumped out and moved them back to let Clare draw into a vacant space. As soon as the engine died they were round the car again.
‘Are you hunting a serial killer, Inspector?’
‘Is St Andrews in the grip of a crime wave?’
‘Should you be warning residents not to go out after dark, Inspector?’
Clare ignored the barrage of questions and pushed her way, with some difficulty, through the journalists towards the door. But before she could reach it, one of them called out, ‘Inspector, any comment on the Ritchie family’s private prosecution?’
It was like a hammer blow to the chest. She looked at him, opened her mouth to respond but the words would not come. Chris, seeing her confusion, advanced on the journalist.
‘We have a press office, guys. Use it!’
Then he turned, propelling Clare into the station in front of him. He guided her over to a corner, his hand still at her back. ‘You okay?’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘I didn’t realise…’
She didn’t turn round. ‘Yeah. Thanks Chris. I’m fine. Don’t fuss.’
Sara was looking irritated. ‘They still out there?’
Clare raised her face to meet Sara’s. ‘Yep. Hopefully they’ll get bored soon. Any calls?’
Sara, seeing Clare’s expression, hesitated. ‘You’ve just missed Diane from Tech Support. I said you’d call her back.’
Clare nodded and moved away, leaving Chris and Sara to chat. She opened the door to one of the interview rooms, flicking the sign to show it was occupied.
She closed the door behind her and sank down on a chair, phone in hand, and sat for a few minutes, taking deep breaths in and out. They would all know, now. About the Ritchie family. If the Press knew, it would be everywhere. Probably splashed all over tomorrow’s paper.
Killer Cop!
A lump formed in her throat and she put down her phone. Tears welled up in her eyes and began coursing down her cheeks. For the first time since that night – that dreadful night – Clare gave way to her emotions. She didn’t do tears. Never had. After the shooting she had buttoned up her feelings and carried on.
‘It’s not natural,’ the counsellor had said. Clare responded that it was in her nature so it must be natural.
But now, after all this time, with one casual remark from a reporter, the mask had slipped. She felt her throat tighten as she sobbed involuntarily. Her face was soaking now with hot tears, and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. Her shoulders began to shake and she could hold it back no longer. With an overwhelming sense of relief, Clare gave way, sobbing audibly, no longer caring if she was overheard.
She wept for the worry she had caused her family; for the pitying looks from her colleagues – relieved it hadn’t been one of them. She wept for Tom and their lost future, the life in Glasgow she had given up to come here – to this strange town she didn’t know – and most of all she wept because she could feel her life spiralling out of control. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
She had no idea how long she sat there in that room. Gradually the tears subsided and her breathing began to slow. She dried her cheeks and gave her nose a final blow. A tension headache was beginning at the back of her neck so she massaged her temples with her hand. Her heart rate was returning to normal and she moved to the water cooler to pour herself a cup. She drained this then, clearing her throat, picked up her phone and dialled.
‘Diane? Clare here. Sorry to miss your call.’
‘Oh no problem. Hope you’re making progress.’
‘Getting there. We’re up against it, though.’
‘Clare – are you okay? You sound a bit odd…’
‘Yeah, fine, Diane. Think I’ve caught a bit of a cold,’ she said, hoping she sounded convincing.
‘Ach, poor you. Hope it doesn’t come to much.’
‘Thanks Diane. So – any progress?’
‘Think so. I’ve done the photos and added them to your folder on the network. I’ve also recovered some more files from one of those broken laptops and added them too.’
‘Sounds promising. Any that would help us identify the men?’
‘Yeah, possibly. Some good shots. Also, I’ve taken the colour out of a couple. It’s easier to see the background detail in black and white. Walls and so on. They look to be quite unusual so might help you pinpoint the location.’
‘Any location data on the photos?’
‘Sorry, no. Either the camera didn’t have GPS enabled or someone’s used software to remove it. Timestamps on some, though. Mostly in the last six months but I’m not sure that’s any help.’
Clare thanked Diane and ended the call. Out in the front office a cup of coffee and two biscuits were waiting for her. Sara and Chris eyed her and she made an effort to smile.
‘Thanks for this,’ she said, raising the cup to her lips. ‘Don’t suppose either of you have any paracetamol?’
Sara nodded and went to find her bag.
Chris moved to stand next to her. ‘You all right?’ he asked.
‘I will be. Thanks, Chris.’ She took another draught of coffee. ‘Come on. Diane’s uploaded more photos. Let’s see what she’s got for us.’
They went through to the incident room and sat down at a vacant desk. Clare navigated once more to the folder on the network, Chris looking over her shoulder. She found the ones Diane had added and zoomed in on one particular shot.
‘This, I think, is Andy Robb. See there… he has a scar on his left shoulder. If I remember correctly, there was something like that mentioned in the PM report. Let me see if I can call it up.’
Minutes later, they were looking at the post-mortem report on Andy Robb’s body.
‘Gotcha.’ Clare was exultant. ‘See that? Five-centimetre lateral scar on left shoulder. I think there are a couple of photos here we can show to… let’s show them to Angela. She is his next of kin, after all.’
‘And probably more up to looking at them than Vicky,’ Chris agreed. ‘What about the others?’
‘Can you call up a photo of Bruce Gilmartin, maybe from the brewery website? The hair here looks pretty similar but it’s hard to tell when you don’t know him.’
Chris took out his phone and found his way to the brewery website. He clicked on a smiling photo of Bruce Gilmartin. They peered at it, comparing it with the photos Diane had sent. ‘It could be him,’ said Chris. ‘We could always ask the boss.’
Clare sighed. She didn’t relish upsetting the DCI any further by confronting him with evidence that his old friend was involved in a paedophile ring. But it was probably easier than asking the brewery employees. ‘All right. Let’s see what he says.’
Clare put her head round her office door. The DCI looked up. ‘Yes?’
‘Something I’d like you to see, sir.’
DCI Gibson followed Clare over to the computer and sat to look at the images. She pointed out the scar on the shoulder of the man they believed to be Andy Robb and he nodded but made no comment. Then he moved onto the photos of Bruce Gilmartin, examining each closely.
After a while, he relinquished the mouse and rose from the seat. ‘I would be very much obliged if we could keep this from Mrs Gilmartin in the meantime.’
‘You agree these are photos of Mr Gilmartin?’ Clare asked.
He sighed. ‘What do you want me to say, Inspector? You’re right and I’m wrong?’
Clare sat down again and took up the mouse, moving on through the next set of photos. ‘Could these be Nat Dryden?’
Chris peered at the images of a grey-haired man and shook his head. ‘Dryden’s too young.’
Clare moved on through the photos until she found a new subject. ‘This?’
Chris nodded. ‘Yeah, could be. Can we take these up to the hospital to show the sister?’
Clare checked her watch. ‘Yes, we could do that now. Need to check with whoever’s on duty at the hospital that she’s still there, though.’
‘Let’s just stop a minute and go over what we have,’ said DCI Gibson.
Clare sat down at the computer again, next to the DCI and pulled the mouse towards her. ‘I’ll separate them out into folders with possible names.’ She went back to the first of the photos and selected the first six. ‘I think these are all Andy Robb. Most of them show that scar. If we can show these to Angela Robb I think we’ll have a positive ID.’
‘Nothing about why we’re asking,’ the DCI reminded her.
‘No, of course not.’ She moved the photos into a folder named AR. ‘Now the next few we’ll assume are Bruce Gilmartin?’ She looked to the DCI for confirmation and he gave a nod. She dragged these into a folder which she named BG. ‘Then we have grey-haired man who could possibly be our next victim.’ She moved these into another folder. ‘I’ll call this UK1.’
‘As in Unknown?’ Chris asked.
‘Exactly.’ Clare selected another six photos. ‘Now, these could be Nat Dryden. If Chris and I nip over just now we can get the sister to confirm.’
‘Okay,’ said Chris. ‘But there’s someone we’re forgetting.’
‘Who?’
‘Whoever’s behind the camera. Remember we’ve had three victims already, with the grey-haired man a possible fourth. But someone must be taking these pictures. And that person could be our fifth victim if we don’t get a move on.’
Clare turned to the DCI. ‘Is there any way we can alert the public without causing a panic?’
DCI Gibson sat back and considered this. ‘I don’t think it’s the public who are at risk. These attacks aren’t random. They’re clearly targeted at certain individuals. Presumably the men in these photos. If we let the public think there’s a madman mowing down people at random, we’ll have more than the press outside to worry about. Better to step up patrols and ask the public to let us know if they see a dark green Land Rover Defender. Do you have the number plate?’
‘Only a few digits but it may be a false one anyway. The driver could even have access to more plates. But it wouldn’t do any harm to give it out. Let’s get it on the Facebook pages too. If we maximise the publicity we may even put the murderer off coming out tonight. Buy us some time.’
‘It’s a pity, Inspector, that you talked me into that news blackout. We might have struck lucky with the car if we’d gone public earlier.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Nearly five o’clock. It’s late enough as it is.’
‘It won’t be dark for a good few hours yet, sir,’ she pointed out.
‘Better get a move on then.’ He turned on his heel and walked away.
Clare rolled her eyes. ‘That went well.’
‘I reckon you got off lightly, seeing as you just proved his old school buddy’s a paedo,’ Chris said. ‘Ninewells Hospital now?’
They arrived in Dundee at the back end of the rush hour and navigated their way through the teatime traffic jams. Ninewells was a sprawling teaching hospital in the west end of the city. Built in the 1970s, its medical school and research facilities drew specialists from all over the world. Clare managed to find a parking space in one of the closer car parks and they set off for the main concourse.
Nat Dryden’s room was in the major trauma ward. They followed the signs, taking the stairs down to the lower levels, arriving at a security door. They were buzzed in by a nurse who led them to a large bay with four beds. Teresa, one of the uniformed cops from Cupar station, sat at the end of the bay, newspaper in hand. She rose to greet Clare and Chris.
‘No change,’ she said. ‘Still unconscious.’
‘Get yourself a coffee, or some fresh air,’ Clare said. ‘We’ll be here for a bit.’
Teresa escaped and Clare turned to look round the bay. Nat Dryden’s bed was at the window. It was one of only two which were occupied, the other by an elderly man with an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth.
Nat lay surrounded by machines and monitors, an assortment of lights and digital displays flashing. The bedclothes were elevated by a cage, protecting what remained of his legs. Clare tried not to think about the damage he had sustained. A woman in faded jeans and a pink T-shirt stood at the window, her back to them, taking in the view down and across the River Tay to Fife.
‘Cindy Dryden?’ Clare asked and the woman turned to face them. She looked tired and Clare could see the remains of mascara on her cheeks. Chris fetched an extra chair and they sat down at the end of Nat’s bed.
Cindy seemed quite happy to talk. ‘To be honest, it’s nice to have the company,’ she said. ‘I’ve been sitting here since three in the morning.’
‘Is there anyone you would like us to call?’ Clare asked. ‘Someone who can be here with you?’
She shook her head. ‘My boyfriend, Ronnie, he’s staying with our little girl. Taken the day off to look after her. I’ll be fine. They’ve said Nat’s out of danger.’
Chris offered to fetch her a cup of coffee but she declined. ‘Your guys have been really good. Keeping an eye on Nat while I go for a break.’
‘Are you up to answering a few questions, Cindy?’ Clare asked.
She yawned. ‘Yeah, go for it. Anything that will help.’
Clare began by asking Cindy about Thursday nights but she was clueless.
‘I didn’t even know he went out on Thursdays. He works evenings a lot so I wouldn’t have noticed if he was going out.’
‘I think you told my colleague Nat didn’t have a regular girlfriend.’
She shook her head. ‘Not for a while now. He did have one but she moved away with work. Janey, she was called. She lost her job – end of last year – and I think she hoped Nat would propose but he’s not the settling down kind. So, she found this job in Birmingham and told him she was going.’
‘Was he upset?’
‘Not really. Plenty more fish in the sea, he said.’
‘And was she upset?’
‘To start with, yes. But then when she saw he wasn’t bothered I think she realised she’d be better off without him.’
‘Are you still in touch with her?’
‘Yes, on Facebook. Here, I’ll show you.’ She tapped at her phone then passed it to Clare. ‘See? Janey Flynn.’
‘Do you have an address? In Birmingham?’
‘No but she went to work for the fire service down there so you should be able to find her through them.’
Clare noted this down. ‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm Nat, Cindy?’
Cindy thought. ‘The pub, you know, they don’t always get on; but this is a bit extreme isn’t it? I honestly can’t see anyone there doing this to him.’
‘Who didn’t he get on with?’
‘Oh, just the manager. But, honestly, he’s fine. If he’d an issue with Nat he’d just have fired him. It was a casual contract.’
Chris cleared his throat. ‘Erm, Cindy, we have some photos that we think might be of Nat. They’re taken from the side and behind. But we’re not sure if it is him. Would you feel up to looking at them?’
Cindy nodded and Clare withdrew a sheaf of photos from a brown envelope. She handed them to Cindy and she leafed through them. At length she raised her eyes.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s Nat.’ She picked out one of the photos and held it for them to see. ‘See there? That mole, with the smaller one to the side? That looks familiar. I mean, I wasn’t in the habit of looking at his back without a shirt on but I’m guessing you can check. The nurse might let you turn him over.’
Chris pushed back his chair and went to the nurse’s station. The duty nurse was on the phone and, when the call was finished, Chris asked if it would be possible to move Mr Dryden slightly to examine his back. The nurse looked doubtful and went to fetch a colleague. The charge nurse who came seemed unwilling.
‘It’s a question of privacy,’ she told Chris.
‘I appreciate that but Mr Dryden was the victim of an attempted murder and this may help us track down the culprit who, we believe, has killed twice already.’
‘Does his sister agree?’
‘She does. It was her suggestion.’
In the face of such an argument, the charge nurse relented. ‘But I’ll have to record it formally,’ she told Chris.
Clare took out her phone and was ready with the camera when they raised the unconscious Nat onto his left shoulder. And there it was. The larger mole with the smaller one to the side. She took a couple of photos, checked the quality then nodded to the nurse who lowered Nat gently back down.
‘Any idea when he might wake up?’ Clare asked the charge nurse.
‘The doctor said he’ll review it in the morning. The plan was Friday but it’s possible they might start to reduce sedation tomorrow. Depends how he is overnight but he’s doing well, so far.’
‘We need to speak to him as soon as possible,’ Clare said. ‘He may have vital evidence that will help us prevent another murder.’
The charge nurse said she would let the cop on duty know as soon as there was any change.
The nurses left and Clare thanked Cindy. ‘You’ve been so helpful.’
‘Wait…’
‘Yes?’
‘Those photos. Where did you get them? I mean, where were they taken? Why is his shirt off?’
Clare smiled. ‘At the moment, Cindy, I can’t say any more. But we will let you know, once things become clearer.’
She looked at them, her eyes brimming with tears. She knows, Clare thought, as they walked back down the corridor to the exit. She knows he’s been up to something. And her heart went out to Cindy. To her, to Jennifer Gilmartin and to Vicky Gallagher. Losing a loved one would be the least of their problems when it all came out.
They were on their way back to St Andrews when Diane phoned. Clare was driving and Chris switched the speaker on.
‘Diane?’
‘Hi again, Clare. Another bit of information for you. It’s not much but might help fill in some of the blanks.’
‘Go on.’
‘Nat Dryden’s laptop has been hacked. There’s a keylogger installed.’
‘A keylogger?’
‘It’s a piece of software that records any keystrokes used when accessing websites; then it sends them back to whoever tricked the user into installing it.’
‘Would that include passwords?’
‘Oh yes. And it would tell the hacker which websites the passwords related to.’
‘So the hacker would be able to use that info to log in as Nat?’
‘Precisely.’
‘But why? What would the hacker get out of it?’
‘Sometimes it’s money,’ Diane said. ‘They impersonate the person they’ve hacked to order stuff, or even access their bank account. But in this case, I’d say the hacker was after information.’
‘Such as?’
‘Okay – I’m not the detective, Clare. That’s down to you. But, having looked at the laptops from Mr Robb and Mr Gilmartin, they were much more careful about their security. Mr Dryden, on the other hand, is the weak link. He didn’t even have up-to-date security software installed. It was nearly two years out-of-date. So if the hacker was trawling the web for guys involved in porn and the like, Nat Dryden would be easy to find. Send him an email with some porno photos taken from the internet.’
‘And the email has this keylogger attached?’ Clare was starting to see what Diane meant.
‘You’ve got it. Once the keylogger was on Nat’s laptop, the hacker could see his usernames and passwords and, crucially, all his email contacts, Facebook friends and so on.’
Clare was turning this over in her mind as she drove. ‘But, if the other two – Andy Robb and Bruce Gilmartin – if their security software was better than Nat’s, how could the keylogger get past that?’
‘It depends on how sophisticated the keylogger is. A clever hacker can find ways. And I think you’re dealing with a very clever hacker here. It only takes one innocent-looking email and the damage is done.
‘So, our hacker – whoever he or she is – found Nat through his online browsing, sent him an email with the keylogger and was able to find the Playroom by stealing Nat’s username and password?’
‘You’ve got it.’
‘And would that let the hacker find the other Playroom users?’
‘Probably. Now, I’m guessing the other Playroom members use untraceable email addresses – if they’re breaking the law, they’d be daft not to. But all our hacker needs is one weak link, one scrap of identifying information, and he’s in. He could have been monitoring the Playroom for weeks, months even. A bit of patience on the hacker’s part and one slip up by the others.’
‘I don’t suppose you can identify the hacker?’
‘I wish. One day maybe but not at the moment.’
‘Did you manage to log into Dryden’s Playroom account?’
‘I did. It looks like he downloaded the photos from the Playroom, but that’s it. The members aren’t identified by name, only by a number.’
‘Let me guess,’ Clare said, ‘one to five?’
‘You’ve got it.’
‘Nothing about the location of the Playroom? God, what a name…’
‘I know,’ Diane said. ‘But no, sorry, nothing like that. The only other thing is a list of dates – all Thursdays. But I’m guessing that’s not a surprise.’
‘It just confirms what we suspected,’ Clare said. ‘Listen, Diane, thanks so much for all this. I really appreciate it.’
‘Just let me know if you need anything else. We’ll keep trying the other laptops from Andy Robb but I’m not expecting to find much more now.’
Clare drove on, lost in thought. She knew now why the victims were being targeted and that another two men were in danger. But she hadn’t a clue how to set about finding them. They had two sets of fingerprints, neither of them on the system, a woman’s shoe print and a Land Rover no one could find. Was that it? Were they just going to have to wait until their murderer struck again? Was he or she planning another hit tonight? She felt sick at the thought of it. She really needed a break.