Eye of the raven

SEVENTEEN

‘ I understand your daughter has had another unfortunate relationship,’ said Steven.

‘ Unfortunate relationship?’ snorted Grant. ‘That’s a nice way of putting it.

Nightmare more like.’

Steven sensed that the man needed to talk.

‘ Finding out that the man you married, the man whose children you bore is a rapist and a murderer is not something you can ever come to terms with, Dr Dunbar. You really don’t need a second bad experience after that.’

Steven nodded. ‘I guess not.’

‘ Lotty became a virtual recluse after the trial. If she put a foot over the doorstep she was hounded by reporters who wanted to know how she felt. God, what do these people have instead of a brain? How did they imagine she felt?’ Grant shook his head. ‘They circled round her like preying animals, entirely without any vestige of human decency. “What does it feel like to be married to a rapist, Mrs Little?”… “What do you feel for Julie’s family, Mrs Little?”.. “What will you tell your children, Mrs Little?” It was a long time before she could be persuaded to go out again socially but eventually the hyenas moved on to new victims and she did. Then she met John Mission. He seemed a nice enough chap and seemed to care for Lotty — even when she told him about having been married to Little. I have to say we all liked him; even the girls took to him right away. When Lotty told us she was going to set up home with him it seemed like things were taking their natural course but Mission had a different agenda.’

Grant took a sip of tea before continuing. ‘He told Lotty that he was having trouble selling his property up north and persuaded her to buy a house down here for them, using her own money. Not only that, he persuaded her to put the property in his name so he could use it as collateral for a new loan from the bank. He said it would make it easier for him to move his business down here.’

Steven looked down at the floor and Grant said, ‘I know, I know, I can see what you’re thinking but he really did come across as a charming man and Lotty had fallen for him head over heels. Well, I’m sure you know what comes next. Lotty wouldn’t say at first but it gradually emerged that he was abusing her. Matters came to a head when she turned up on our doorstep one night with the girls in the car. Her eyes were blackened and her shoulder had been damn nearly dislocated. He’d thrown her and the girls out of the house — her own house.’

‘ It turned out there was nothing anyone could do. The house was in his name so it was legally his. The police told Lotty that it was a civil matter so they couldn’t become involved. All they could suggest was that she contact a battered women’s support group. Shortly afterwards Mission sold the house and rode off into the sunset leaving Lotty penniless.’

‘ I don’t know what to say,’ said Steven. ‘There are some people in this world who take your breath clean away.’

‘ I’m not a violent man Dr Dunbar but I would cheerfully have throttled that bastard with my bare hands and not have lost a wink of sleep over it. Lotty deserved better after what she’d been through.’

Steven nodded, feeling a little embarrassed at being an outsider listening to family confidences, but it was obvious that Grant was a decent man who cared very much for his daughter. ‘I’m very sorry,’ he said.

‘ It’s me who should be sorry,’ said Grant. ‘This is really none of your concern. Please excuse the ramblings of an old man.’

‘ I’m so sorry I had to upset your daughter by raking up the past,’ said Steven.

‘ You were only doing your job I’m sure,’ said Grant graciously. ‘I hope she was able to help you.’

‘ She was,’ said Steven, getting up to leave. ‘Please thank her for me. I hope I won’t have to bother her again.’

A cold wind had sprung up and was gusting in from the North Sea as Steven made his way back to the car park near the beach. It whipped the tops off the waves, sending clouds of spindrift up into the air. Nearer the shore a grey, threatening swell rose and fell around the barnacled support columns of the pier. The clouds were darkening and it looked like rain could not be far away. Steven pulled up his collar and made for the cafe he’d visited earlier.

‘ Not so nice now,’ said the cafe owner.

Steven agreed and asked for black coffee.

‘ Find the place you were looking for?’

‘ Yes, thanks.’

When nothing more was forthcoming, the owner busied himself behind the counter although Steven suspected that he might have been his only customer of the day.

He sat down by the window and looked out at the grey scene while behind him the owner noisily cleaned the components of the Italian coffee machine. He felt it had been worthwhile coming. It seemed almost certain that the utilities disk that Charlotte Little unwittingly had passed on to her husband had been the source of the pornographic material found on his computer. The fact that it had actually cured the problem on his machine meant that he had not been alerted to anything being amiss at the time.

The plan had been cleverly conceived but he couldn’t come up with a reason for Paul Verdi wanting to embarrass his secretary’s husband. Apart from that, it hadn’t been Verdi who had provided the sophisticated software, necessary for such a scam; it had been his unnamed friend, the ‘computer expert’. Could he or she also have been his contact within the forensic lab? Once again, his thinking hit the wall. As far as he knew, no one in Ronald Lee’s lab either knew or had any contact with David or Charlotte Little.

Steven walked back to his car and turned his mobile phone back on — he’d switched it off while talking to Charlotte Little. There were two messages on the Voicemail service. One was from Susan Givens saying that she had the new DNA fingerprint; he could pick it up at his convenience or she could mail it to him electronically. He should let her know. The other was from Peter McClintock asking that he call him back as soon as possible. Steven called.

‘ You’re not going to like this,’ said McClintock. ‘Santini got cold feet over the raid tomorrow. He decided to bring in Tracy Manson for questioning today instead.’

‘ But that will just alert Verdi to the fact that we know something about the source of the porn film!’ protested Steven.

‘ You know that: I know that, but apparently the great Santini couldn’t work it out,’ said McClintock.

‘ Shit for brains,’ murmured Steven. ‘Did you get anything from her?’

‘ You were right. It was her who featured in the stuff on Little’s computer. She didn’t deny it — seemed quite proud of it in fact, like she was some kind of film star. I guess everybody wants to be in show business these days. But we couldn’t get her to finger Verdi. She maintains that she had no idea who was behind the video business. She just did what she was told.’

‘ Believe her?’ asked Steven.

‘ She’s a smack-head. You can’t believe anything they say.’

Steven’s blood ran cold and he didn’t speak for a few moments as a nightmare was born inside his head. ‘A smack-head?’ he repeated slowly. ‘Tracy Manson’s a heroin addict?

‘ Oh Christ, I never thought,’ said McClintock, suddenly understanding Steven’s concern. ‘Look, I know what I just said but she did happen to tell me that she was registered and on a methadone programme so she’s not injecting and sharing needles.’

‘ Doesn’t mean to say she didn’t in the past,’ said Steven.

‘ No,’ agreed McClintock. ‘It doesn’t.’ There was an awkward pause before he said, ‘Better get yourself a blood test.’ Then he asked, ‘Where are you at the moment?’

‘ Norfolk.’ Steven felt as if he was now on autopilot but he went through the motions of telling McClintock what he’d learned. ‘You don’t suppose that utilities disk might still exist do you?’ he asked.

‘ Seems unlikely after all this time but I could ask around at Little’s old lab at the hospital,’ said McClintock.

‘ There’s one other thing,’ said Steven. ‘Could you run a DNA fingerprint check for me? I need to compare it with the ones taken from the males in Julie Summers’ village at the time of her murder. I’ll get it to you as quick as I can.’

‘ No can do,’ said McClintock, stopping Steven in his tracks.

‘ You can’t?’

‘ They don’t exist any more,’ said McClintock. It’s Force policy to destroy all DNA samples from innocent people after a case is closed. It’s part of the deal, a social contract if you like.’

‘ Shit, I should have thought of that,’ said Steven feeling annoyed with himself. ‘Maybe you could run it through the criminal database anyway?’ he asked. ‘Just in case.’

‘ Sure.’

Steven called Susan Givens and asked her to send the DNA fingerprint she’d come up with to Peter McClintock as an e-mail attachment. He gave her McClintock’s e-mail address.

‘ Everything all right?’ Susan asked.

Steven was tempted just to say ‘fine’ but he admitted, ‘I screwed up. The police destroy all DNA fingerprints taken in mass surveys as soon as the case is closed. Sorry.’

‘ Well, it was a good idea while it lasted,’ said Susan. ‘Are you sure you still want me to send the file?’

‘ They’ll run it against the known criminal DNA database anyway,’ said Steven.

‘ You sound a bit down,’ said Susan.

‘ Just fed up swimming against the tide,’ said Steven.

‘ Know the feeling,’ said Susan. ‘You’ll get a break soon.’

Steven took his time driving back to Edinburgh. He was angry with himself for having overlooked the DNA problem and he was annoyed with Santini for screwing up the chances of a more successful raid on the saunas but the thing that was uppermost in his mind was the revelation that Tracy Manson was a heroin addict. Needle sharing by drug addicts was a classic way of spreading AIDS.

If Tracy Manson had shared needles in the past, she might well be HIV positive and if she was… he had had unprotected sex with her. Ironically he might already be under the same death threat as David Little.

He rubbed his forehead nervously. He would have a blood test done as soon as he could arrange it but even if it turned out to be negative he knew he would have to go on having tests for many months before he could be sure that he was in the clear. There would be no quick answer. In the circumstances it was impossible for him not to think of Little and his skeletal appearance, and then his thoughts turned to Paul Verdi. ‘Bastard!’ he murmured, ‘I owe you, mister!’

The prospect of at least six months with the sword of Damocles hanging over his head was not a happy one. The worry was going to be there day and night. It would affect his work; his relationships, his decision making and no matter what he did to avoid thinking about it, it would still be there. In his mind’s eye he heard the clunk of Little’s tooth falling into the metal bowl at least half a dozen times on the drive home.

He was turning over some salad with his fork for the umpteenth time in a motorway service station when he saw a way around the problem. He could confront Tracy Manson about her HIV status. He could simply ask her if she was HIV positive. If the council in Edinburgh operated a tolerant policy towards working girls, it was entirely possible that they might incorporate some element of regular testing. He could ask her when she’d last been tested — maybe even see the result for himself. She would have no reason to lie about something like that. He would seek McClintock’s help in getting in touch with her when he got back.

He knew that he should really make contact with John Macmillan to tell him about his meeting with Charlotte Little when he got back but he decided to delay that until McClintock had checked to see if the utilities disk still existed.

Steven had a drink in the hotel bar and was considering an early night when McClintock rang.

‘ Thought you’d like some good news for once. My sergeant’s just rang me. He’s got the disk.’

‘ The utilities disk? You’re kidding.’

‘ Samson Utilities, a software company that went out of business five years ago but the disk was still there along with Little’s old computer and software in a cupboard in the hospital. Apparently no one wanted to take the responsibility of throwing his stuff out so no one ever did.’

‘ God bless the NHS,’ said Steven. ‘I don’t suppose he’s had time to…’

‘ He has,’ interrupted McClintock. ‘You were right.’

Steven closed his eyes and gave silent thanks.

‘ Ryman loaded the disk and ran the set-up file. It ran normally and provided all the functions of the Samson utility programme but when it was removed it left something behind on the hard disk, the Tracy Manson pictures.’

‘ God, it’s so nice to be proved right once in a while,’ sighed Steven.

‘ That was a nice piece of police work. Well done.’

‘ Thanks,’ said Steven.

‘ Incidentally, DS Ryman thought that the great Santini should know about this as soon as possible.’

‘ So?’

‘ He loaded it on to Santini’s computer so that he’ll see it first thing. It’s been programmed to run when he turns it on in the morning.’

Steven smiled for the first time that day.

‘ Santini is having a meeting with the WRVS in his office first thing tomorrow morning to discuss canteen arrangements for visitors to Saughton Prison…’

‘ Well, that’ll be a nice change from his usual screen saver,’ said Steven, his grin broadening.

‘ I’ll keep you posted,’ said McClintock.

‘ Peter, I need to contact Tracy Manson,’ said Steven, deciding to come right out with it.

‘ Are you out of your tree?’ exclaimed McClintock. ‘The Procurator Fiscal hasn’t thrown out her complaint against you yet. If you go do something like that you’ll be playing right into Verdi’s hands.’

‘ I’ve got to know if she’s HIV positive,’ said Steven.

‘ Jesus,’ murmured McClintock. But the way he said it seemed to convey that he knew how Steven must be feeling and could sympathise. ‘You can get a blood test, mate without seeing Tracy Manson.’

‘ With blood tests you still can’t be sure one way or the other for many months,’ said Steven. ‘I don’t want it hanging over me if I can avoid it. She must know if she’s positive.’

‘ I guess you know about these things,’ McClintock conceded. ‘But confronting the Manson girl is a definite no-no right now.’

‘ I have to know,’ said Steven. ‘If you won’t give me an address for her I’ll have to try the sauna.’

‘ Christ, man, you’d be giving Verdi’s gorillas every excuse to rip your head off. We’ll be collecting you in a bucket! Look, sleep on it. As far as I know we’re still going ahead with the raid on the saunas tomorrow — for all the bloody good it’ll do now that Santini’s given them plenty of warning. If Tracy’s working at Cuddles we’ll bring her in for questioning along with everyone else. I’ll call you and fix it for you to have a word with her here while the circus is in progress. Okay?’

‘ Thanks Peter,’ said Steven.

‘ But wait for my call. Right?’

‘ Understood,’ agreed Steven.

McClintock’s call came much earlier that Steven had anticipated. It woke him up at seven thirty in the morning.

‘ Bad news,’ said McClintock. ‘Tracy Manson’s body was found on Cramond beach this morning. Her neck was broken.’

‘ Oh Christ,’ said Steven.

‘ Maybe she knew more about Verdi’s porn business than she let on yesterday and Verdi decided to make sure she’d stay quiet about it permanently.’

‘ Or maybe she tried to blackmail him,’ said Steven, thinking out loud.

‘ Maybe,’ agreed McClintock. ‘But only if she was a few chips short of a Happy Meal.’

‘ Has anyone looked over her place?’

‘ Not as far as I know.’

‘ I’d like to,’ said Steven. ‘If she’s been keeping something on Verdi as insurance and didn’t get the chance to use it, it could be just the lever I need.’

‘ Maybe a couple of officers should go with you,’ said McClintock.

‘ I’d rather go it alone,’ said Steven.

‘ Fair enough,’ sighed McClintock. ‘Your idea.’ He gave Steven the address of Tracy Manson’s flat. ‘It’s about a mile from the city centre, at Tollcross: it’s the street runs up the side of the Kings Theatre if you know where that is?’

Steven said that he did.

‘ How are you going to get in?’

‘ I’d rather not tell a policeman that,’ said Steven.

‘ Shit, I didn’t ask,’ said McClintock.

‘ Peter?’ began Steven.

‘ I’ve asked forensics to test her blood,’ said McClintock, reading his mind.

The stairs leading up to Tracy Manson’s third floor tenement flat were spiral and dark because the bulb was out in the narrow ground floor hallway. Feeling his way to the wooden banister at the foot of the stairs made Steven even more aware of the smell of fried onions and cat pee. The stone treads beneath his feet felt worn and gritty as if they hadn’t been swept for some time as he climbed up to the third floor and found the door he was looking for: it was the second along the landing.

Unlike the other doors, which had formal name plates, Tracy Manson’s door had a piece of card Sellotaped to it with ‘Manson’ printed on it in blue marker pen. Steven guessed that she rented the place.

He looked at the locks: there were two, a Yale about a third of the way down and a mortise around the half way mark. The mortise would be a problem if Tracy had actually used it but many people didn’t. It was more convenient just to click the door shut behind them on the Yale. He put his right knee against the lower half of the door and pressed. He felt the door move ever so slightly inwards, indicating that the mortise hadn’t been used.

He took out his clasp knife and prized the door side panel open a little — just enough for him to slide a slim piece of plastic about the size and thickness of a bookmark through the gap until it reached the tongue of the Yale lock. Three or four attempts at pushing it further and the tongue slid back to release the door. He pressed the side panel back into place with the heels of his hands and stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him.

He stood for a moment in the darkness as a strong smell of perfume — Tracy Manson’s perfume — kindled memories of the dream that wasn’t, bringing with them a strange mix of pleasure and fear that made him swallow hard and click on the light to break the spell. He began a thorough search of the flat.

Despite the knowledge that Tracy was dead, he still felt uncomfortable at rifling through her belongings, particularly when he came across an old photograph of her as a young girl on holiday with her family, smiling and looking happy and when he discovered her collection of cuddly toys on the dressing table in her bedroom, he felt even worse.

In a drawer in the kitchen he found where she kept paperwork, electricity and phone bills, a building society passbook, a methadone script that she wouldn’t be using today and a letter from the council saying that communal roof repairs were required. There was also a note from one of the neighbours suggesting that the residents agree on a recently submitted estimate for regular cleaning of the stairs and hallway. Replies were to be submitted to Mrs Grieve (1F1) by Friday.

The small bedroom with its single wardrobe and dressing table yielded nothing but clothes and make-up despite Steven’s hopes being raised at the discovery of a small metal box on top of the wardrobe. When he opened it however, it only contained Christmas and birthday cards. None of them was recent. One read, Sweet Sixteen, and was inscribed, Love and kisses to our very own princess, Mum and Dad. Steven closed the box and reflected on the raw deal that some people ended up with in life. He noted that Tracy’s bed was a single one. The cover had Paddington Bear on it. She obviously hadn’t brought her clients here.

He returned to the kitchen and switched on the electric kettle. He didn’t think Tracy would grudge him a cup of tea. While he waited for it to boil, he stood on a chair to examine the tops of the kitchen cupboards but again without finding anything.

He was beginning to think that maybe Tracy hadn’t kept any ‘insurance’ here after all. It wasn’t the kind of property to boast a wall safe and he couldn’t really see her having lifted floorboards — although he did open the cupboard under the kitchen sink where floorboards were often loose but not in this case. He rinsed the grit off his hands under the tap and dropped a tea bag into a mug before adding some boiling water.

While it infused, he ran through a mental check of all the possible places, room by room, where Tracy might have hidden something. In the bathroom he remembered that he’d overlooked the bath panel so he went back and examined the screws securing the plastic panel to its frame. His interest was aroused when he saw that the heads were bright as if they’d recently come into contact with a screwdriver. He brought out his knife and undid them.

At first he thought there was nothing there when he reached in and swept his hand over the rough floorboards but when he stretched behind the bath, his fingers came up against something in the far left-hand corner, something that moved; a container. When he finally managed to extract it, he found that it was a large, tartan shortbread tin. It carried the maker’s name on it and the legend, ‘Frae Bonnie Scotland’ above the smiling face of a boy in a kilt.

Steven opened it and found three videos inside, along with a notebook and some loose sheets of paper with names and numbers on them. ‘Eureka,’ he murmured, taking the box and its contents through to a flat surface in the kitchen. He had just opened the notebook when he heard men’s voices outside on the landing and a key go into the lock on the front door.

Assuming that McClintock had been forced — probably by Santini — to send officers round, he prepared to greet them. The two thickest men who appeared in the kitchen doorway however, did not strike him as policemen. He didn’t know them but they knew him.

‘ Fuck me,’ said one.

‘ Well, well, well,’ muttered the other. ‘Seems like this bastard didn’t get enough last time… he’s come back for more.’