Blood & Guts by Ed James (best books to read now TXT) 📕

‘Negative?’

Alison nodded. ‘Afraid so.’

Vicky tried to process it.

Teresa had been awake when she found her in the boot. So Dougie McLean had given her a good dunt on the head, then fallen asleep? Maybe he’d given up trying to escape, and just had tried to deflect blame.

‘How do you explain the loss of memory?’

‘What, aside from the dunt she took to her head?’ Alison put a hand on the door. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

‘No worries.’ Vicky winced. ‘Oh, and somebody needs to tell her about Carly.’

‘Leave it with me. The counsellor just came on, I’ll get her to have a word.’ Alison smiled back. ‘You’ve probably done enough of that tonight.’

‘More than enough. A police officer should be involved, if only to gauge the reaction.’

‘Well, get them to find me in the nurse’s station.’ Alison slipped through the door.

Vicky stepped off down the corridor, trying to get away from the room. ‘Stephen, I thought I told you to stay at the taxi firm?’

‘Erm, well.’ He sniffed. ‘Heard the call about the lad’s phone come through so I hotfooted it up there. I was quicker than you. And—’

‘You shouldn’t have just left. Alan Kettles might be destroying records as we speak.’

‘Well, there are two of your team sitting with him. Summers and Buchan.’

Christ, who put him in charge?

‘I need you to get back there, okay?’

‘Why?’

‘Because there might be other victims. Not just Catriona and Teresa.’

‘Oh, man.’

‘But please stay here and gauge the reaction when Teresa’s told of Carly’s death.’

‘Sarge?’

‘Anything weird. Sure, it could be a concussion, could be post-ictal as a result of a seizure from brain ischemia, or she could be playing possum because she was complicit in her friend’s murder.’

‘Christ, you’re a tough one.’ Considine finished his tea and crumpled the cup, but there weren’t any bins nearby. Vicky had no idea what happened to her cup, maybe he’d drunk both. He was going to leave it on the windowsill, but caught Vicky’s glare. ‘Oh. Nearly forgot. We found something.’

‘At the taxi firm?’

‘Aye. The daft sod had a street pick up from round the corner from Catriona Gordon’s.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

‘Nope. Just after she was raped, I’d say.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I’m telling you now.’

‘This is important!’

‘Calm the beans, Sarge. I sent that clown Buchan round to get a statement.’

‘You’ve got their name?’

‘Aye, spoke to the wifie on the phone. Joan Inglis. Lives up in the Hilltown, seeing her brother. Boy’s just lost his wife, so they were having a wee tipple.’

‘But if she was too far gone when—’

‘She’s teetotal, Sarge. Brother’s a lush, but she was completely compost mental.’

‘It’s compos mentis.’

‘What is?’

‘Never mind, Stephen. Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it, Sarge. Except to DI Forrester come annual appraisal time.’

‘Can you get a statement from her?’

14

Where the hell was he?

Vicky felt like she’d been standing outside the interview room for hours, but it had been less than ten minutes. She checked her phone again, but nothing. Still, maybe anything shy of an hour was over-optimistic for a duty doctor on Christmas Eve.

‘Sergeant?’

She swung around and saw a short uniformed officer plodding along the corridor accompanying a much taller man, swinging his briefcase in his hand. Black suit, white shirt, sky-blue tie. He looked like he meant business, his face flabby around an aggressive snarl on his tiny features. He stopped and thrust out a hand. ‘Bruce Watson of Nelson-Caird & Watson. Here to represent Mr McLean.’

Vicky nodded at the uniform. ‘Thanks.’ Then scanned Watson’s face. ‘How long do you need with your client?’

‘I got enough information over the phone.’ Watson checked his watch. ‘Be wishing you a Merry Christmas in just over an hour. Let’s just get him back home, aye? Nice family Christmas tomorrow.’

‘I’ve visited his home. He hasn’t got any family.’

‘Except for his poor mother, all alone now.’ Watson’s snarl turned into the most pathetic small child pout. ‘Father left her last summer and she was looking forward to a Christmas with her only son.’

Vicky knew precisely what game Watson was playing at here but still felt that tickle in the back of her throat. The sympathy card, but he was playing it way too early. ‘Your client should’ve thought about his poor mother before he raped one girl, murdered another and kidnapped a third, shouldn’t he?’

‘That’s a moot point.’

‘A moot point?’ Vicky felt her eyebrows jerk up. ‘Excuse me?’

Watson put his hand on the door. ‘I assume you’re intent on seeing this charade through?’

‘Oh yes, very much.’

‘Well, in that case…’ Watson entered the room and thwacked his briefcase down next to McLean. ‘Evening, Douglas.’ He thrust out his paw. ‘Bruce Watson. Let’s try and get you out of here, aye?’ He sat opposite Karen, but she didn’t look up at him, stayed scribbling in her notebook.

Vicky held the door open with her foot, so she could keep her eye on Watson. Not a lawyer she’d encountered before and, while Dundee wasn’t exactly engulfed with the same crimes as Edinburgh or Glasgow, they still had their fair share of Machiavellian criminal defence lawyers. She opened the door wider and stepped into the room.

Just as her phone rang.

She fished it out and checked the display. Considine calling… Vicky sighed. ‘Better take this.’ She nodded at Karen to get the recording going, then stepped back out.

Watson smiled at her. ‘You’ve got to try harder than that.’

‘Two seconds.’ Vicky let the door shut and answered it. ‘What’s up?’

‘Just at that woman’s address now, Sarge.’

‘Which woman?’

‘Eh, the Inglis woman. You know, Catriona Gordon’s neighbour’s sister? I’ve got her statement and it checks out with another of Catriona’s neighbours. One of those curtain twitchers, but she photographs the cars.’

‘Blessed be the curtain twitcher.’

‘Still, it backs up her story. McLean left the flat at just after eleven and took Mrs Inglis up to the Hilltown. Assuming he was the one who raped her, that’s cold, eh?’

‘Very cold.’

‘I thought you were staying at the hospital?’

‘Aye, I did. Lassie boked all over that wee nurse’s shoes. Not a pretty sight.’

‘Think she was genuinely upset?’

‘Just called and