Old bones lie, p.8
Old Bones Lie, page 8
‘Yeah, I think so.’
‘Okay. Is he back in the house now?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Thanks, Liv. Stick on his tail; and let me know if he heads out again.’
‘Could be things for the car,’ Max said when Clare relayed the conversation. ‘Windscreen wash and the like.’
‘It could,’ Clare conceded. ‘But how likely is it he’d put something like that in a carrier bag? Most folk buy those jerry cans.’
‘You’re thinking he’s bought extra food for someone else? Like his brother?’
‘I am. And if he heads out tonight we’ll be ready for him.’
* * *
It was late afternoon when Raymond called to let Clare know they’d finished in Maggie’s cottage.
‘We’re still working on the shed, though,’ he said. ‘And the field margin. But we’ve taken fingerprints from around the house doors and so on; and we found a partial footprint in the bedroom so we’ll compare it with the victim’s shoes. No sign of blood spatter in the house, though. It all points to her having been attacked just outside the shed.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. There was a set of keys hidden under a plant pot. So anyone could have been in the house.’
Clare thanked Raymond and went to find Max. ‘Come on. I want a proper look round that cottage.’
The SOCO team were carrying out a fingertip search of the field margin when Clare drew into the verge behind their van. She handed Max a bundle of evidence bags and walked round to the garden, waving to Raymond as she entered the kitchen for the second time.
‘Gloves,’ she said to Max, ‘in case we find something,’ and he fished a pair of gloves out of his pocket.
The fluorescent tube light had given up and Clare went round the units, feeling under the cupboards for concealed lights, but there were none. SOCO had left a free-standing lamp in a corner and Clare bent to plug this into a socket on the skirting board. The room was flooded with light and she moved round, checking drawers and cupboards. But she found nothing unusual.
The sitting room was as she remembered it and she moved to a small desk under the window. The top drawer held a sheaf of bills and letters secured by a bulldog clip and she handed these to Max to drop in one of the bags. She scanned the room, checking the sockets for chargers, but there was no sign of a mobile phone.
They moved on to the bathroom which revealed nothing other than the usual toiletries and over-the-counter medicines. Entering the bedroom, Clare’s eye was drawn to some mud on the light grey linoleum. It didn’t look clear enough for the partial footprint Raymond had taken. She looked back towards the bedroom door and saw another clearer mark. The partial print. There was something nagging at her but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
‘Check for jewellery,’ she said to Max, and he began opening and closing bedroom drawers.
As he busied himself, Clare studied the room, trying to get a sense of Maggie White. Who she had been, what she’d been like. The bed was neatly spread with an old-fashioned candlewick cover in a soft pink colour. Clare hadn’t seen one of these for years, not since she’d helped clear out her grandparents’ house. Perhaps it had been a family heirloom, kept for sentimental value. A small table sat to the side of the bed, home to a lamp and a framed photo. Clare picked the photo up and immediately recognised the backdrop as Inveraray Castle, near Loch Fyne. Two women stood in front of it, happy and smiling, but rain-soaked in their see-through plastic ponchos and colourful wellies. From the difference in their ages, she thought it must be Maggie and her mother. The younger one had dark curly hair and was recognisable as a younger version of the woman in the jeweller’s shop photo. The resemblance to the older woman was unmistakable, although her curls tended to grey.
And then Clare remembered a music festival she’d been to at Inveraray. Years ago. She’d forgotten all about it but now, looking at the photo of the two women, she remembered. Probably the wettest she’d ever been in her life. Suddenly it dawned on Clare that she might have been at the very same festival. It had only run for two years so there was every chance she’d seen the pair, maybe stood behind them in the queue for the bar – or the toilets!
It was hard to connect the smiling young woman in the photo with the body they’d found in the garden shed, a sad end for this happier younger Maggie. She put the photo down and turned to the wardrobe.
Max had stopped searching and seemed lost in thought.
‘Max?’
‘Odd thing,’ he said. ‘There’s lots of jewellery in this top drawer here. Some of it’s hallmarked. But the drawer itself’s in a bit of a mess.’
Clare glanced across. ‘Maybe she lost something. Looking for it in a hurry.’
‘I’d say someone was. Look at the rest of the place. It’s pretty tidy, yeah?’
Clare looked round the room. He was right. There were cushions on the bedspread, neatly arranged against the headboard, and the dressing table was almost free of clutter. She moved to the wardrobe and opened it. Maggie’s clothes were draped on identical wooden hangers, the order methodical: trousers and skirts to one side, tops and blouses at the other. She leafed through them. ‘Some nice stuff, here,’ she said. ‘Not designer but not Primark either.’ She closed the wardrobe doors and turned back to survey the room again. ‘It is tidy,’ she said, thinking of her bedroom at Daisy Cottage. Or her side of the bed at least.
‘Now come and see these drawers,’ Max said. He indicated the top drawer and Clare peered in. There was a large jewellery box and several smaller ones which she presumed held earrings or rings. The large box stood open revealing necklaces and bangles while the smaller ones were in disarray.
‘And this,’ Max pulled open another drawer of tops and T-shirts, the mess of clothes quite unlike the orderliness of the wardrobe. ‘See what I mean? Someone’s been looking through these.’
Clare nodded. ‘I agree. Good spot, Max.’ She realised suddenly what was bothering her. ‘That mud,’ she said, studying the floor. ‘Follow me.’ She led him back through to the kitchen and indicated Maggie’s slippers standing by the door. Then she pointed to a shoe rack against the opposite wall. It held an assortment of trainers, walking boots and a pair of smart brown brogues. ‘She doesn’t wear her shoes in the house, does she? There were none in the bedroom. So who’s left the muddy footprint? And what were they looking for?’
As they headed for the car Raymond called them over. He held out a clear evidence bag. ‘Just picked this up on the field margin, near that gap in the fence.’
Clare peered at the object in the bag. It seemed to be a round piece of plastic. She’d seen something like it before but she couldn’t remember where. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s called a basket. Fits on the bottom of a walking pole to stop the pole sinking into soft ground.’
‘The farmer down the hill said Maggie was a walker. Could it be from one of her poles?’
‘It’s possible,’ Raymond said. ‘We’re still going through the contents of the shed looking for a likely weapon so we may yet find her poles.’
Clare thanked him and they walked back to the car. ‘Come on,’ she said to Max. ‘My turn to make you a coffee.’
* * *
‘Liv’s been back on the phone,’ Jim said as Clare made for her office.
‘And?’
‘Couple of things. Anthony Devine came out again and drove to work. He’s been at the funeral home since then. Must be doing a late shift.’
Clare stopped in her tracks. ‘Did he take anything out of the car boot?’
‘Liv says not.’
‘Okay. And the other thing?’
‘Might be something or nothing,’ Jim said. ‘But he had a delivery. Package put through the door. Young lad, dark clothing.’
‘After he’d left for work?’
‘No. That’s the odd thing. Devine was at home but the lad didn’t ring the bell.’
‘Was he driving – the lad?’
‘On foot.’
Alarm bells were ringing in Clare’s head. ‘Does Anthony have any previous?’
‘Aye. He was cautioned a while back for possession of Class C. There were rumours he was dealing other stuff as well, but it was never proved.’
‘They’re a delightful pair, aren’t they?’
‘No argument there,’ Jim said. ‘Do you want it checked out?’
She shook her head. ‘We’d never get a warrant on the strength of a lad delivering a package. He might have been a neighbour. Something delivered to the wrong house.’
‘Odd he didn’t ring the bell, though.’
‘Not really,’ Clare said. ‘Some folk are shy. Young lads don’t always have the social skills to chat to their neighbours.’
‘Suppose you’re right.’
‘That it?’
‘For the moment. The phone and bank records came through so a couple of the lads are going through them now. Nothing so far, I gather.’
‘Thanks, Jim. Keep me posted.’
Clare’s phone began to ring and she clicked to take the call. Neil Grant.
‘Just finished your post-mortem.’
‘And?’
‘No surprises. She was the victim of a violent attack with a blunt instrument. Death was due to a brain haemorrhage caused by at least six blows to the head. Otherwise she was fit and healthy.’
‘Blunt instrument – can you be any more specific?’
‘It’s hard to say but could be a hammer with a fairly big head.’
‘Like a club hammer?’
‘Aye, that sort of thing. From the direction of the blows I’d say the assailant was right-handed. That’s certainly consistent with the way she fell.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Only that he or she was probably a bit taller than your victim. She was about one metre sixty-five, or five foot five if you want it in old money. So you’re looking for someone at least a couple of inches taller. I’ve still to write up my report and I can run tox tests if you like but that’ll take much longer. I thought you’d want the basics for now.’
Clare ended the call and sat weighing this up. Then she went in search of Max who was in the kitchen.
‘Just boiled the kettle,’ he said.
‘Forget that. Come on. We’ve a call to pay.’
Chapter 10
Anthony Devine made no effort to conceal his irritation at another visit from Clare and Max.
‘I don’t know what you expect me to say,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t know where Paul is and there’s nothing else I can tell you.’
‘I’d like you to show us what’s in the boot of your car,’ Clare said.
He stared at her. ‘You what?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Got a warrant?’
She met his gaze. ‘Nope.’
‘So I’m within my rights to refuse.’
‘You are. But your refusal would be noted and a jury – if it came to it – would be entitled to draw their own conclusions.’
He exhaled audibly. ‘Fucksake.’ Then he turned on his heel. ‘C’mon then, if you’re coming. But don’t blame me if you get oil on your posh suits.’
It had grown dull and Clare felt the first spits of rain carried on the wind. She pulled her coat round her as he led them out to the car park behind the building. He clicked the remote control and the car’s interior lights came on. He fumbled around at the back and the boot rose up. They peered inside and Clare’s eyes ran across the contents: a grey plastic petrol can, foot pump, can of oil and the Tesco carrier bag.
‘I’d like to see what’s in the bag please.’
‘Help yourself.’
‘I’d prefer if you emptied it.’
He rolled his eyes and reached for the carrier bag, removing the items one at a time. ‘Coffee, teabags, Custard Creams, sugar, Hobnobs and a box of Quality Street for the girl on Reception ’cause it’s her birthday tomorrow.’ He upended the carrier bag to prove it was empty. ‘It was my turn to buy the tea and coffee stuff. Satisfied?’
‘That’s fine,’ Clare said. ‘But why leave it in the boot?’
He shrugged. ‘Forgot about it. I was running late. Needed to get in.’ He began repacking the carrier bag. ‘So, if that’s all?’
‘Not quite,’ Clare said. ‘I understand a package was dropped off at your house this morning.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You been spying on me?’
‘One of my officers was out on patrol. Obviously, with Paul going missing, it makes sense to take a turn past your house. So, was there a package?’
He began repacking the Tesco bag then he shut the boot again. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, not meeting Clare’s eye. ‘It was a DVD. Lent it to a mate months back. That was him just getting it back to me now.’
Clare watched him for a moment. ‘Name?’
‘Reservoir Dogs.’
‘The mate!’
‘To be honest, I can’t remember. I’ve lots of mates, lots of DVDs. We all borrow from each other.’
‘You can’t remember who borrowed it.’
‘Sorry. So, if there’s nothing else?’
‘Believe him?’ Max said as they watched him walk back towards the building.
‘Not a single word. Question is, what was in that package?’
* * *
‘Call for you while you were out,’ Jim said. ‘Raymond from SOCO.’
Clare thanked Jim and went to hang up her coat, shaking off the rain. She switched the light on in her office and moved to warm her hands on the radiator. Then she took out her phone and called Raymond.
‘Okay, the first thing is I think your killer has disposed of the weapon. I’ve had a word with Neil Grant and there’s nothing in the garden shed that matches the pattern of injuries. Nothing in the garden or the field margin either. Sorry about that.’
‘No problem, Raymond. I didn’t really think you’d find it. Worth a shot, though. You said the first thing – is there something else?’
‘There certainly is. A stash of money.’
‘Where?’
‘Buried in a bag of compost. It was young Molly, my assistant, who spotted it. She’s a keen gardener and she noticed there was a bag of ericaceous compost.’
‘Eri… what?’
‘Ericaceous. It increases the acidity of the soil. Some plants need a more acidic soil but round here it tends to be alkaline. Gardeners use ericaceous compost for certain types of plants. The hydrangea’s an interesting one because you can use the compost to change the flowers making them more pink, or blue. Now Molly spotted a couple of hydrangeas in pots but the flowers were pink. If Maggie had used the ericaceous compost the flowers would have been blue, or less pink at least. So she wondered why Maggie had the compost. She investigated the bag and found the money wrapped up in plastic near the bottom.’
‘Any idea how much?’
‘Not yet. We’ll need to check it for prints, although money’s usually hopeless. Been through too many hands. But there are bundles of fifty-pound notes. At a rough guess I’d say it’s well over ten thousand pounds.’
Clare thanked Raymond and went in search of Max. ‘I think we know why Maggie’s drawers were in a mess. SOCO found a stash of money in the garden shed.’
‘So it was a burglary gone wrong?’
‘Could be. The question is where did the money come from and who knew she had it?’
* * *
By eight o’clock Clare decided to send the team home. ‘Cupar and Dundee will cover the surveillance between them. Back in for eight tomorrow.’ She was about to shut down her computer when an email marked urgent pinged into her inbox. She saw it was from the Chief Superintendent. The message was brief and to the point.
DCI Ben Ratcliffe will join you tomorrow morning. Ben will take over the search for Paul Devine, the prison officers and their wives, freeing you up to lead the hunt for Maggie White’s killer. Please give him access to all evidence and afford him the usual co-operation and courtesies.
‘To hell with that,’ she said out loud, switching off her computer. She had hoped that Al Gibson might have been appointed to oversee the case. But since their relationship had become common knowledge, his bosses seemed to be keeping him busy at the Bell Street station across in Dundee. ‘Like we can’t be trusted,’ she muttered, grabbing her coat and turning out the light. As she reached the front entrance Chris entered dressed in black waterproof trousers and a long anorak.
‘It would have to be raining, wouldn’t it,’ he muttered.
‘Always the same when you’re on surveillance. What’s the plan?’
‘Got a lead on a possible target vehicle. Good intel from a reliable source. We’ve got all routes in and out of the farm covered so fingers crossed.’
‘Good luck with it,’ Clare said. ‘Hope it works out.’
‘Clare…’
She smiled. ‘Sorry, Chris. Nothing yet. But we are watching Paul Devine’s brother. Mind you, he knows we’re watching him now so he’ll be careful. But he’ll slip up sooner or later. They usually do.’
‘Soon enough for Alan?’ Chris walked off, leaving the question hanging in the air.
* * *
Daisy Cottage was in darkness when she arrived home. Benjy’s head appeared at the window, his paws on the sill and he began to bark loudly. Then he disappeared and she heard him breathing hard behind the front door. She opened it and he launched himself at her. Peeling him off, she stepped inside, glad to feel the warmth from the heating. Clare shrugged off her coat, hanging it on a hook to dry, and kicked off her shoes. In the kitchen a portion of the DCI’s home-made lasagne sat defrosting on a chopping board with a note next to it.
Forgot I had a dinner thing tonight.
Might be late so don’t wait up.
Benjy fed and walked.
Hope things went ok today.
Love you,
A x
‘Not exactly okay,’ she said, in response to the note. ‘Not exactly.’ She turned on the oven and put the lasagne in to heat. Then she took a bottle of red from the wine rack and set about removing the cork. A package addressed to her lay on the kitchen table beside a couple of circulars. She poured herself a glass of wine and picked the package up, wondering what it contained. And then she remembered. Her sister’s Jude’s favourite bath oil. She’d seen it discounted in a catalogue and, in a rare moment of organisation, she’d ordered it for Jude’s Christmas present. She weighed it in her hand and her mind went back to Anthony Devine. What had been in his package – the one he claimed was a DVD? Was it drugs? Or money perhaps – like the stash they’d found in Maggie White’s garden shed?
