Charlie stomped into his office and slammed the door behind him. Stripping off his coat, he threw it onto the desk and collapsed in his chair. He flicked the intercom. ‘Find Tony O’Sullivan, Pauline. I need to see him straight away.’
‘I’m glad you’re back, sir,’ O’Sullivan said as he breezed into the office. ‘There’s been a development.’
‘Fire away.’
‘It’s concerning McFarlane. You recall that he gave us the slip in Paisley on Tuesday?’
‘How could I ever forget?’
O’Sullivan let the heavy-handed sarcasm wash over him. ‘A taxi driver’s come forward. He picked up someone answering McFarlane’s description in Paisley round about five-thirty – which was just after McGinley lost him. And – wait for it – he asked to be taken to Dalgleish Tower.’
Charlie let out a low whistle. ‘Dalgleish Tower? Tuesday evening? The night Anne Gibson was murdered?’
‘There’s more. I checked with the drivers who service the rank outside Dalgleish Tower. One of them recalls picking up someone answering McFarlane’s description outside the building later that same evening, round about eleven o’clock.’
‘To go where?’
‘He was dropped off in the city centre.’
‘Do we know where he is now?’
O’Sullivan shook his head. ‘He hasn’t been seen since. We’re still watching McWilliam’s place but he hasn’t been back there.’
‘I want him found.’
‘We’ve got every man we can spare working on it.’
‘Anything else?’
‘That’s it.’
‘I’ve got a couple of things for you. First, there’s the Gibson boy – Paul. He needs to be told that his mother’s body’s been found. Would you handle that? I realise it’s not the nicest job in the world, but someone has to do it.’
‘I suppose so…’
‘You know where he lives?’
‘Yes. Saltoun Street. I dropped Renton off there last week when he went to talk to Paul about his mother’s disappearance.’
‘I want to break the news to Gibson’s girlfriend personally. What did you say her name was?’
‘Philippa Scott.’
‘Have you got her address?’ O’Sullivan reached into his pocket for his notebook and handed across the slip of paper with Philippa’s address and phone number. ‘What impression did you form of her?’ Charlie asked.
‘Sophisticated, intelligent, sexy – a right cracker, in fact. As Renton said – the longest pair of legs you’re ever likely to see. But there was something about her manner that didn’t quite gel. We got the impression she was holding back on something.’
‘One more thing,’ Charlie said. ‘Gibson told me he left his office at six-thirty on Tuesday evening. Get someone to check out what time he arrived in the office that morning – and also find out if he was out of the building at any time during the day. Also, get the word out,’ Charlie added casually, ‘that we’re looking for Gibson. He did a bunk from the Marriott and I want him picked up as soon as possible.’
O’Sullivan looked quizzical. ‘Did a bunk? How could that have happened?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I thought Renton was supposed to be keeping an eye on him?’
‘Renton didn’t lose him,’ Charlie growled. ‘I bloody-well did. Gibson told me he wanted to go up to his room to get his things. I went into the lift with him, then the bastard stepped out just as the doors were closing. By the time I fumbled around to find the button to hold the lift doors open, I was halfway to the first floor.’
‘Unlucky, sir.’ O’Sullivan did his best to suppress a grin. ‘Could have happened to anyone.’
‘I’m warning you, if one word of this gets out around the office I’ll have your stripes.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
‘Get out of here.’
As O’Sullivan was leaving, Charlie’s intercom buzzed. ‘Two messages for you, sir,’ Pauline said. ‘Sergeant McLaughlin from forensics would like to see you urgently. It’s regarding Anne Gibson’s autopsy. And there was a call from a Sergeant Hudd in Aberdeen. He asked if you would phone him back as soon as possible.’
‘What it is to be popular,’ Charlie sighed. ‘Tell Eddie he can come over now, then try to get Hudd on the phone for me.’
Pauline buzzed back straight away with Hudd on the line.
‘A bit of a strange one for you, sir. It’s about the Gibson case.’
‘Go on.’
‘I drew the short straw this morning. I got the job of breaking the news of Anne Gibson’s murder to her parents, Mr and Mrs Jackson. As you’d expect, they were distraught when they heard the news. However, it transpires that, during the period Anne Gibson was supposedly missing – that’s to say, from Thursday March 10th until Tuesday March 15th – she wasn’t missing at all. According to Mr Jackson, she was hiding out at her parents’ house near Aberdeen.’
‘What?’
‘She told her parents she needed to get away from her husband and she didn’t want him to know where she was.’
‘I don’t understand any of this, Sergeant.’ Charlie stopped to consider. ‘I think I’ll need to talk to the Jacksons.’
‘That would certainly be best, sir. I didn’t know what questions to ask.’
‘I’ll come up to Aberdeen as soon as I can. I’ll try to make it tomorrow. I’ll call you back when I’ve set up the arrangements.’
‘Very good, sir. I’ll wait to hear from you.’
Charlie’s thoughts were interrupted by the buzzer. ‘Sergeant McLaughlin is waiting to see you.’
‘Send him in.’
‘What have you got for me, Eddie?’ Charlie asked.
‘The post-mortem confirmed what I told you this morning. Anne Gibson was murdered between four p.m. and eight p.m. on Tuesday. The cause of death was twelve slashes to the throat with a sharp blade – it was a pretty frenzied attack.’
‘Could the wounds have been made by a cut-throat razor?’
‘Possibly. There are severe rope burns on the victim’s wrists and ankles which indicate that she struggled violently before she died. However, there was no sexual assault. And robbery wasn’t the motive either – her watch wasn’t taken and neither were her rings, which must be worth a small fortune. You asked me to establish whether or not the murder took place in the woods.’
‘And?’
‘As I said earlier, it’s not going to be possible to determine that with any degree of certainty. Based on the earth samples I took, I’d say the body was brought to the copse some time after the murder, but that’s just an educated guess, not something that would stand up in a court of law.’
‘Is that it?’
‘A couple more things. There was an inordinate amount of make-up mingled with the blood around her throat – hard to be sure, but it seemed to be some kind of theatrical make-up, mostly red and black. And if you think that’s weird, wait till you hear this. The blood samples I analysed – from her throat, her blouse and her skirt. They’re all a mixture.’
‘What are you talking about, man?’
‘They’re a mixture of bloods – her own blood and animal blood. It appears to be sheep’s blood.’