Midnight and Blue, page 24
‘Spit it out, Trisha,’ Clarke said.
But Cammy Colson got there before Singh could.
‘Sextortion,’ he said. Maybe he liked the feel of the word in his mouth, because he repeated it. Clarke looked to DCI Carmichael, who said it too. She asked Singh for the man’s name.
‘Alexander Urquhart.’
‘Time to bring him in for a chat, then.’
‘He’s housebound, apparently,’ Carmichael said. ‘Basically lives in a wheelchair.’
‘So give me his address.’
Carmichael couldn’t help but notice Singh going up and down on her toes, desperate not to be overlooked. He nodded towards her. ‘The two of you go,’ he said.
Clarke turned towards Reeves. ‘Make sure to pair Tommy Simpson with one of the lab’s finest nerds.’
‘Will do,’ Reeves said. Then: ‘Go get him, girls.’
20
Clarke let Trisha Singh do the driving, leaning back against the headrest and even closing her eyes for a bit. Was the investigation spiralling outwards or inwards? She was too dizzied by it to be able to tell.
‘How did he sound when you spoke to him?’ she eventually asked.
‘Calm. Not embarrassed or anything. Posh.’ Singh wasn’t a talkative driver, preferring to focus on the traffic. They’d hit rush hour, though these days much of the city seemed to suffer nothing but. Singh’s car didn’t have a blue light, so there wasn’t much they could do – and it wasn’t as if Urquhart was about to abscond. Once they were out of the city, the vehicles in front sped up, their owners keen to get home to comfortable, middle-class East Lothian. They passed farmland and occasional dwellings, the Firth of Forth to their left. Gullane itself wasn’t much more than a main street with its share of shops and restaurants. The big draw was its golf courses, including Muirfield. Singh’s doctor husband had played many a round there.
‘Are women allowed these days?’ Clarke asked.
‘Yes, but my handicap’s too high.’
‘Maybe don’t use that word in front of our wheelchair user,’ Clarke advised. Singh’s mouth formed a little O. ‘Only teasing, Trisha,’ Clarke said.
‘I’d never thought of it, though.’ Singh checked her dashboard satnav. ‘Nearly there,’ she said.
Urquhart lived in an Edwardian-era house built in the baronial style, with a turret and crow-stepped gables. The gates opened onto an expansive gravelled driveway. As they approached the varnished oak front door, it was opened by an imposing-looking woman dressed in tweeds, thick woollen socks and brown brogues, her hair tied back into a tight silver bun.
‘Mrs Urquhart?’ Clarke guessed.
‘Miss Urquhart,’ the woman corrected her. She had the demeanour of a schoolmistress from decades past, her face gaunt but largely unlined, her eyes hawk-like. ‘You’ll be the police. Alexander said to expect you.’
They were in the large wood-panelled hall by this point. Urquhart’s sister closed the door and examined her guests. ‘He was pretty tight-lipped as to why you’re here.’
‘Care to hazard a guess?’
‘It’s not my place.’
‘Are you his carer, Miss Urquhart?’ Singh asked.
‘Since Julia died,’ the woman confirmed.
‘Julia being his wife?’
‘Who else?’ She paused and lowered her voice a fraction. ‘You know he’s a JP? Was a JP, I should say. I just felt it’s something you should be aware of.’ Neither detective said anything, which seemed to disappoint Miss Urquhart. She led them to a door, knocked and pushed it open. ‘Your guests, Alexander,’ she said, ushering them in. ‘Does anyone require tea?’ Clarke and Singh assured her they were fine, so she closed the door slowly, staying outside.
Alexander Urquhart’s wheelchair was set behind an ornate antique desk, in front of an entire wall of glass-fronted book-cases. The man himself was in his seventies, silver hair sprouting around the base of his bald dome. He wore half-moon glasses and was in the middle of writing in an oversized notebook.
‘Not my confession, you understand,’ he told them, slapping his hand against the open page.
‘Mr Urquhart, I’m DC Singh. We spoke on the phone.’
‘Indeed we did.’ Urquhart bowed his head slightly in greeting. ‘Which region of India do you call home?’
‘Blackhall.’ While Urquhart’s brow furrowed, Singh turned towards Clarke. ‘And this is Detective Inspector Clarke.’
‘Two charming young women – such a pleasure.’
‘From the New Town,’ Clarke pretended to elucidate. Then: ‘Is it really a pleasure, sir? Most people in your position wouldn’t be quite so relaxed.’
‘Am I relaxed?’ He considered the question. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘Is that because you’re no longer in the clutches of the man who was blackmailing you?’
‘They call it sextortion, don’t they? I think he decided I was worth the candle when he looked me up online and found I was a justice of the peace – I bet Marjory told you I was a JP too, didn’t she?’ He gave a smile, no answer required. ‘She thinks you might go easier on me, whatever it is I’ve done.’
‘Will you actually tell her?’
Urquhart stretched out his arms. ‘Well, what have I done?’
‘Watched underage girls stripping off online for starters,’ Singh commented.
‘But I’d no idea they were underage until he tried to wring money from me.’
‘Tried and succeeded,’ Clarke felt it necessary to add.
‘Once or twice, yes. But then I thought: why the hell should I? So I stopped and told him to go hang himself. He could out me to the world if he liked but I wasn’t giving him a sou more, and if he didn’t stop harassing me, I’d go to the police myself.’
‘You didn’t do that, though, sir,’ Singh said, her tone cool. Urquhart was busy manoeuvring his way from behind the desk. He headed to a space near a sofa and gestured for his visitors to be seated. Singh and Clarke followed him but remained standing.
‘Throughout all this,’ Clarke said, ‘did he ever identify himself?’
‘He used an alias. Actually, more than one – he seemed to message me from a different email address every single time.’
‘How was the money transferred?’
‘A digital wallet. He had to take me through it step by step. I still use a chequebook, for God’s sake.’ Urquhart drummed his fingers against the wheelchair’s armrests. ‘I got the inkling he was probably local,’ he eventually conceded. ‘Mainly because the models on the screen were – you could tell from their accents.’
‘They spoke to you and you spoke to them?’
‘The conversation, such as it was, was strictly one-way. I typed in a message and sometimes they typed something back, but they might also say something.’ He paused and rattled the chair’s metal arms. ‘Even if I had discovered his identity, doing away with him wouldn’t have been straightforward in this contraption.’
‘Maybe so, but a man of your means could have paid for the privilege.’
Urquhart fixed Clarke with a look. ‘But that didn’t happen, Inspector.’
‘I’m assuming you must have encountered one or two unsavoury characters during your time as a JP.’
‘It’s not like we kept in touch afterwards.’ The thin smile had returned.
‘The site’s other users, you never knew any of them in real life?’ Clarke watched him shake his head. ‘And you didn’t invite any like-minded friends to join the club?’
‘I did not.’
‘Is there anything else you want to tell us, Mr Urquhart?’ Singh asked.
‘Just that I bitterly regret getting mixed up in the whole sorry business.’
‘Can I ask how you found the site in the first place? Were you just browsing, or did someone recommend it?’
‘The internet is an extraordinary sphere,’ Urquhart said. ‘The most innocent soul is never more than a few clicks away from everything they could ever imagine and much more besides.’
‘Your way of telling us that this was your first foray into online abuse?’
He winced slightly. ‘You’re correct, of course. It can almost certainly be termed abuse, with the benefit of hindsight.’ He looked from one detective to the other, seeking something he wasn’t going to find. ‘So what now?’ he asked.
‘A formal interview,’ Clarke stated. ‘It can be recorded here. Plus we’ll be passing your details to our colleagues at Child Exploitation and the National Crime Agency, obviously.’
Some of the light left Urquhart’s eyes. ‘Of course,’ he mumbled, chin resting on his chest.
Without saying anything else, Clarke headed to the door, Singh following.
‘Enjoy the rest of your day, officers,’ Urquhart said, automatically. Good breeding and all that.
His sister heard the door and emerged from the kitchen, a tea towel in her hands, apron tied around her waist.
‘Everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Someone will be coming back to take a statement.’ Clarke met her gaze. ‘Your brother has a penchant for underage pornography, Miss Urquhart. I hope you find that as troubling as we do.’
The woman gave a sniff. ‘I don’t find it the least bit troubling. Alexander has done a power of good in this world, but no one is without flaws – probably not even you.’ She pulled open the door. ‘My brother is not a criminal, and you’ll have the devil of a job convincing me otherwise. I’ll be contacting his solicitor as soon as I’m done with you.’
No more words were exchanged as Clarke and Singh walked across the gravel to Singh’s car.
‘What a piece of work,’ Singh commented as she unlocked the doors. ‘She knew all along, didn’t she?’
‘I’d say so.’
‘And was fine with it?’
‘Looks that way.’
‘Weird old buggers, the pair of them. And that house gives me the creeps.’ She turned towards Clarke as she started the engine. ‘So what do you want to do now?’
‘Stop in Port Seton for chips,’ Clarke said decisively.
‘You’re the boss, Siobhan. And that’s definitely a strategy I can get on board with.’
Jason Mulgrew was providing an update to the governor in his office at HMP Edinburgh when the door opened and Malcolm Fox walked in.
‘Mind if I join you?’ Fox asked. ‘Howard and I are old friends – I hope I can say that, Howard?’
The governor hesitated for only a moment before nodding.
‘So what have you been chatting about?’ Fox asked Mulgrew, gaze fixed on him.
‘We were just getting started,’ Mulgrew replied.
Fox nodded: nothing had been said as yet about his dismissal. He smoothed his tie and crossed one leg over the other.
‘I was just telling Jason,’ Tennent said, ‘that there’s still some tension on the halls, not exactly helped by Darryl Christie having a go at Everett Harrison.’
‘Christie’s in solitary?’ Fox checked.
‘But due back in Trinity Hall today. I sat him down in here with Harrison.’
‘What was their beef exactly?’
‘These things can come out of nowhere, Malcolm.’
‘Maybe so, but this one came from the fact that Christie’s business is under threat from Harrison’s boss. His men are being targeted. I’m not convinced sitting them down will provide much more than a sticking plaster.’
‘What would really help,’ Tennent said, ‘is a break in the case.’ He turned his eyes towards Mulgrew.
‘I’m sorry to say progress has been limited – not helped by one of my officers being temporarily poached by a rival inquiry. Nevertheless, we aren’t stinting, I can assure you of that. Our current thinking is that, despite the cellmate’s evidence, Jackie Simpson was attacked prior to lock-up.’
‘Meaning it could have been another prisoner?’ Tennent had the look and sound of a man grabbing at a straw.
‘Putting Everett Harrison back at the top of the list,’ Fox said.
‘Only if he knew Simpson was responsible for him being in here in the first place,’ Mulgrew cautioned, ‘and I doubt that’s the sort of thing he’d be likely to admit to us.’
‘Not “us”, no,’ Fox said, ‘but he might well have told someone…’ He turned his attention back to the governor. ‘You’ve an inmate called Bobby Briggs in one of the other halls. He’s pretty close to Harrison, I hear.’
‘And equally unlikely to share with us anything Harrison has said.’
Fox pretended to consider for a moment. ‘Does Briggs ever get visitors?’
‘I would assume so,’ Tennent said.
‘Would there be a list of names? One in particular I’m interested in – Mickey Mason.’
‘I know that name,’ the governor said, eyes narrowing slightly. ‘Comes with a reputation attached.’
Mulgrew was looking at Fox. ‘What’s your thinking, Malcolm?’
‘Just joining the dots, Jason, from inside to outside and back again.’
‘Even supposing Harrison did commit the murder, he still had a knife to get rid of.’
Fox shrugged. ‘Someone smuggled it out for him.’ Tennent looked ready to object, but Fox held up a pacifying hand. ‘Not necessarily a prison officer.’
‘So how do we get to Harrison?’ Mulgrew eventually asked.
‘I’m not sure we can,’ Fox admitted. ‘Anyone who clypes would have a target on their back.’ He turned his attention to the governor. ‘Any chance of a bit of bribery, Howard? Special privileges in exchange for information?’
‘From what you’ve been saying, those privileges would have to include round-the-clock protection from Harrison himself.’
‘You could always request that he be moved to another jail. That might help loosen tongues.’
‘It’s a thought,’ Tennent conceded, folding his arms.
‘The falling-out with Christie gives you the perfect excuse,’ Mulgrew added.
Tennent began to nod his head slowly. ‘Leave it with me,’ he said.
A few minutes later, they wound up the meeting. Fox and Mulgrew walked together towards the exit, led by Tennent’s secretary.
‘Thanks for not saying anything,’ Fox said in an undertone. ‘About me being shipped back to Gartcosh, I mean.’
‘No problem.’
‘And of course there’s no reason for anyone to know I was here.’
‘Did you know about the meeting?’
‘Complete coincidence.’
‘And you were coming to ask about this guy Briggs?’
‘Briggs and Mason, yes.’
‘Not connected to Jackie Simpson’s demise?’
Fox gave another shrug. ‘Is Christine not back in the body of the kirk yet?’
‘It’s imminent.’
‘Any more news from St Leonard’s?’
‘If there is, she’s not been sharing it with me.’
They entered the reception area, the secretary waving them off. Both men retrieved their phones from the lockers.
‘Drink later?’ Fox asked.
‘Aye, maybe,’ Mulgrew said.
They shook hands on it.
As Fox neared his car, he got an incoming text from Stevie Hodge at OCCTU.
Jake Morris is back on our radar. Worth catching up with him?
Leave it with me, Stevie, Fox messaged back.
You sure?
Dead sure. Talk soon.
‘No rest for the wicked,’ he said quietly to himself as he opened the driver’s-side door. Jake Morris: a gun waved in his face, going into hiding, now back in circulation. Worth catching up with him? Most definitely – and without anyone like Stevie Hodge hogging the stage.
21
Having given a promise of best behaviour, Darryl Christie was back on Trinity Hall.
Rebus knew the governor was making a mistake, but two inmates on another hall had had a go at one another with home-made shanks. As a result, Christie’s isolation cell was required. He gave an open-armed grin in Rebus’s direction as he marched into the hall, bouncing on the balls of his feet. There were some whistles and handclaps, none of them appreciated by the scowling Harrison, who had emerged from his cell to watch.
‘Game of pool later, Darryl?’ someone called out.
‘Only if they’ve disinfected that cue,’ Christie shot back. His eyes met Harrison’s and he raised one hand, forming it into a pistol, which he pretended to aim and fire. Harrison stood his ground for a moment before retreating into his cave.
It was a further half hour or so before Christie arrived in Rebus’s doorway. ‘What are you reading?’ he asked.
‘A biography of John Martyn.’
‘He a footballer?’
‘Guitarist.’ Rebus put the book to one side. ‘Bit of a loose cannon in his time, pissed off friends and foes alike. Can’t think who he reminds me of…’
‘Reckon I could pick up some tips?’ Christie’s face grew more serious. ‘How’s the phone? Still plenty of charge?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘That tells me something.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘I might occasionally piss off some of my friends, but at least they’re there to get pissed off. You on the other hand don’t have anyone who’d want to hear from you.’
‘You think you’ve won this round with Hanlon, but there’s a long way to go. If you start getting cocky or complacent—’
‘My guard’s always up,’ Christie interrupted. ‘Same as yours should be. Seen anything of Bobby Briggs lately? He’s always on the lookout for you during free flow.’
Rebus ignored this. ‘It won’t be an airgun next time, Darryl. Hanlon will know he has to ramp things up, especially if you’ve really put a price on his head.’
‘Are you my fucking mum or something?’ Christie was scowling, his good humour all gone.
‘I’m just saying riling Harrison gets you nowhere.’
‘I don’t know about that. Could be I’ve a guardian angel or two looking out for me.’
