A Deviant Breed (32 page)

The Kirkhaven Nursing Home smelt of masking agents, sterilising solutions and old age but was markedly cleaner, brighter and more welcoming than the place where his father lived.  The cheerful manager showed them through to Sister Patricia Kerr’s compact but well-appointed ground floor bed-sit, and with a light rap on the door, led them in.

‘Visitors, Patty,’ she announced. 

The old lady slouched in one of those electronically controlled armchairs, staring blankly out of the window.  She looked frail and withered, but on hearing the manager’s voice, straightened up. 

‘Antiques,
pahh!
’  she spat, in a voice that still resonated with authority.

The TV set was not on.  Dunbar eyed the manager who shrugged.

Patty half turned her head to see who the manager was speaking about.  ‘I’m older than most o’ that tat they’re calling antiques, but I’m nae relic yet,’ she grumbled, before gesticulating towards the TV set.
Flog it!?
  I’d flog them.  Selling family heirlooms for a break someplace or te spoil their wee brats!  Disgusting so it is.  I turned the bugger off.  And that girl didnae get into the corner behind the telly again, Jean.’ She complained. ‘
Ach
, she makes out she doesnae ken what I’m saying, but understands well enough when I offer her one o’ my sweeties.’

The manager gave the two detectives a knowing look. ‘It looks clean enough but –’

‘Aye, and so does many a Petri dish in a lab,’ Patty cut in firmly.  ‘Until that is, you pop it under a microscope.  They wouldnae get away with it on my ward, Jean.’

‘I’ll have a word with her, Patty,’ the manager offered wearily.

‘Speak Vietnamese, do ye?’ Patty then craned her neck and scowled with curiosity over her horn-rimmed spectacles at her visitors. ‘Who’s this then?  Dinnae know them.’

‘Detective Chief Inspector Alec Dunbar and Detective Inspector Briony Tyler, Sister Kerr,’ Dunbar answered, stepping forward with his hand extended.  Her eyes rolled up in their sockets, so she could stay focussed on his face, as he gently took her extended hand.

‘My, you’re a canny handsome chap, and smart with it, aren’t ye though?’

He smirked. ‘Not for me to say, ma’am.’

‘Patty,’ she replied firmly. ‘Well, I can – and do.’ She looked beyond him at Tyler.  ‘And will you look at her, Detective Inspector, ye say.  A wee bonny lass like ye, doing a job like yours,
tschh!
’

‘I suspect yours was no less hazardous than mine can be, Sister Kerr,’ Tyler answered moving closer.

‘I’ll leave you all to chat,’ Jean said, before closing the door behind her.

‘Had its moments, lass.  And I just plain Patty these days.  Will you no’ take a seat.  I’ll get a crick in my neck looking up at you two,’ she said. 

They complied, Dunbar offered the only chair to Tyler and he perched his backside on the end of her bed.  She pushed her bag off sweets towards Tyler, who politely declined.

‘Nae wonder you’re so skinny, lass.  How about you?’ Dunbar took one and she nodded her approval.  ‘So – what I’m wondering is, what would you two fine young polis officers be wanting with an old loony-bin, ward sister like me?’ Patty said her face cracked with a mischievous smile.  ‘Could nae call it that once all that PC nonsense came in but – that’s what they were – loony-bins.  Somewhere to dump the troublesome unwanted, the emotionally damaged and mentally scarred, or just a wee bit too cuss’d for civilised society’s tastes – poor buggers.’

The manager had not exaggerated, there were no flies on Patty Kerr, and had a memory like a computer hard-drive, and apart from a slight tendency to digress, proved a mine of information.  She was unable to throw any light on Wilson Farish’s time at Heathlands, because he had left not long before she took her up her post in 1983.  From the moment she started there though, she said that she had begun to harbour suspicions about ‘Bad-Penny-Kenny’ Murray, as he was known amongst the staff.  Rumours abounded that he had got a young patient pregnant in the late seventies, maybe 1979, but Dr Ferguson, who was then only a registrar, had kept it all hush-hush.  She retired in 1992, never having got to the bottom of it. 

In her opinion, Murray had some sort of hold over Dr Ferguson, what sort of hold she was never sure of, but they were as thick as thieves, she said, and Murray had always got off lightly for his numerous breaches of the rules.  As for Murray’s disciplinary tribunal – it was a farce, a cover-up, a case of sweeping the scandal under the carpet; which, she said, was Ferguson’s favourite means of dealing with anything remotely controversial.  In her opinion at least one of Murray’s victims would have been capable of giving evidence but for some reason refused to cooperate. Tyler’s suggestion that she may have been too frightened was categorically dismissed.

‘
Ach!
  Not wee Mary-Mo, a wee tigress that one.’

‘
Mary-Mo!?
’ Dunbar blurted, unable to disguise his surprise.  She had even used the same nickname as Joyce McCoist and Tam Liddle.

‘Aye, one o’ those cuss’d types I mentioned, Mary Morag English,’ she confirmed. ‘Wouldnae answer to owt’ but Mary-Mo and she was –’ Patty stopped when she saw the look on their faces.

‘Please, go on,’ Tyler encouraged.

‘Well, I think she got a kick out of teasing them – ye know –
will she
–
won’t she
– talk to the polis?  And used it to try and win some extra credits; days out, more recreation time, TV time, shopping trips, that sort of thing.  To be absolutely fair, that wee madam could be extremely manipulative and vindictive.  She was always accusing someone or other of touching her up, or sexually abusing her, staff, other patients,
ach,
her ean father, her GP –’

‘Dr Petrie?’ Dunbar cut in.

‘Ach, I cannae remember the name, the family doctor though, that’s what she would say.  But then, it was her father and GP that had her sectioned.  Anybody who crossed her or upset her, did so at their peril, ye see?’  She spotted them exchanging another look.  She screwed up her face, shrugged then continued. ‘Nearly all the male staff got accused, and some o’ the women, even Dr Ferguson himself, so I suppose she –’ she hesitated again.

‘Go on, Patty.  This is really important to our investigation,’ Dunbar reassured.

‘Well, I was never sure she was in the right place, or on the right medication, but Dr Ferguson was adamant, so he was.  He kept her on some pretty strong antipsychotic drugs and sedatives.’  She shook her head.  ‘Shame it was, such a bonny wee thing – but angry. Ach, always angry, and if the drugs wore off,
look out!
’ Patty chortled at the memory. ‘A wee tiger, so she was, and so strong.  In a temper, as strong as a wee bull, so she was.’

‘What became of her?’

‘Dinnae know, son – there were a few escape attempts and suicide attempts.  I’d retired by then and moved away.  And of course, they closed the place in 2004 and dispersed the residents.  I hope she didnae do away with herself, but I dinnae know how she’d cope out there in the big wide world, what with her thing about men – aye, and men definitely had a thing about her.  Had to confine her when contractors were on site; she’d offer them sex – probably gave it to some of them as a foretaste.  Then she’d try to get them to hide her in their vehicles, on the promise of more when they got her out.  A crafty wee bugger she was.’

‘And you’ve no idea what became of her?’

Patty shook her head and it lolled, she was getting tired. ‘A lot o’ them will have gone into community projects – under supervision of course. Who knows, maybe she did.  Some will have been transferred into other secure hospital and institutions, some even back to their families, I imagine.’

‘So she was definitely one of Murray’s victims?’

‘I’m damned certain, aye – but couldnae prove it.  Like I said, she would nae co-operate, a deep little madam that one – very deep.  Didnae trust the staff, and wouldnae talk to the two Glasgee polis women.  Wouldnae have a thing to do with it.  But boy, did she hate Bad-Penny-Kenny, and she must have had her reasons.  Aye, and Dr Ferguson too for that matter.  She looked around as if concerned they might be overheard and lowered her voice.  ‘Some said Murray – others said it was
him
– that got her pregnant.’

‘
Pregnant!  Ferguson!?
’ Dunbar asked incredulously.

Patty shrugged then nodded.  ‘Aye that was the crack – him or Murray, take ye pick!’

Dunbar and Tyler were stunned. ‘Did she have the baby?’

Patty nodded again. ‘I believe so, but like I said, before my time.’

‘And if she did, what would become of the child?’

‘The Church took it on – for adoption,’ she answered, spotting the look the two detectives exchanged.  Before they left, Patty gave them the names of a couple of members of staff that were there during that critical period without having any idea of where they might be now.  They thanked her for her time and saw themselves out. 

***

Facts were falling into place but Dunbar could not decide where exactly they fitted into his case, or even if they had any bearing on it at all.  As usual on this job, the one thing he was not short of was questions.  What he needed was answers. 

At least one piece of the puzzle had been solved.  Mary-Mo English did not run away with a gypsy or an agricultural supplies rep.  She was sectioned under the Mental Health Act, probably because she had borne her father’s child and become too much of a liability.  How complicit was Dr Ferguson in that process?  Was he part of some wider conspiracy?  And was the church the common denominator?  It’s a familiar enough strategy for sexual predators, to hide in plain sight as pillars of the establishment.  Is that what all these men had been doing?  Fraser English, the fearsome lay preacher; Dr Petrie, his loyal aide du camp; and Dr Ferguson, now a trustee of the same ministry.  Where was he now?  Playing the pious church stalwart somewhere, or in that same fallow field waiting to be discovered?

Somewhere documents would exist that could verify old Sister Kerr’s claims.  Yet another line of enquiry.  What became of Mary-Mo – victim turned avenging angel?  The very idea made his blood run cold.  Or was she the catalyst that provoked someone else to seek out and kill these men?  Who was the father of her second child?  And what became of the child? Was she the woman seen arguing with a man outside Walter Farish’s place?  And was the man with her Dr Vasquez?  What kind of car did Vasquez own?  Dunbar could have kicked himself for not looking the day he turned up for that interview.  Could Sebastian Vasquez be the child she conceived to Murray or Ferguson at Heathlands?  A charity associated with the Church of Scotland handled the adoption; did Ferguson initiate that through his contacts?

‘I wonder if Vasquez gave a sample of his DNA to Holmquist for her database?’  he suddenly said, his mind racing.  Which was more than could be said for the city traffic.  Tyler’s eyes lit up.  That was one way of circumventing the bureaucratic and legal obstacles.  A stroke of genius, compare his DNA with that of Archie English’s.

‘I’ll give her a bell as soon as we get back into the office, sir,’ she replied.

‘Do you think she’d do it?’

‘We can only ask – if it’s positive though, it won’t be admissible,’ she warned, but of course, he knew that.

‘No, but pressing him about it might get under his skin,’ he replied, with a grin.  ‘Meanwhile, let’s trace this Dr Ferguson and Mary-Mo English.  We need more than we’ve got before we can pull Vasquez in again.’

20

How to close the book on this case?  All he had was theories and a few tantalizing facts.  Tyler said the incident tree was starting to look like a spider’s web, and the irony of her analogy didn’t escape him.  Was it whilst working at Heathlands that Wilson Farish found out about a vulnerable little boy in Bentock called Archie English?  They had identified four possible sources: as a member of staff Farish would have had access to patient records; alternatively, he might just as well have been told by Dr Ferguson or Kenneth Murray, or even by the boy’s mother.  If it was Mary-Mo who told Farish about her son and who the father was, it would explain the hold Farish obviously exercised over Fraser English, whilst he subjected Archie to years of sexual abuse.

What was apparent was that Mary-Mo was sectioned to prevent her father and, by the sound of it, her GP being exposed as her abusers.  If Doctor Ferguson was complicit in her unnecessary confinement, it suggested he too was aware of the history of abuse, and was therefore suspect himself.  If Ferguson was not involved, he had displayed a reckless disregard of the process and protocols put in place to prevent such abuses of the system.  Dunbar favoured the first theory.  It would help explain Ferguson’s relationship with the odious and now headless Kenneth Edward Murray, and the leniency with which he had treated Murray’s criminal behaviour.

Heathlands had been closed down around about the same time Fraser English’s skull was stolen from his grave and reburied at Braur Glen.  Could that be the work of his daughter?  Was she released?  Had she tracked down her second child and was that child Sebastian Vasquez?  If she had done, why only that child?  Why seek out one child born of systematic abuse and not the other?  Hopefully, he would have a clearer picture if – or when Allyson Holmquist cooperated and then only if Vasquez’s DNA was in the database.  She had been in the middle of a lecture when Tyler phoned the university, but the wait was to prove unexpectedly productive. 

Dunbar decided to use that time to conduct his own review of the case and began a laborious chronological sift through all the collated statements, evidence and notes, only to have a minor but significant detail leap off a page at him from one of the roadblock officers’ logs.  PC Claire Johnstone, who had manned the checkpoint at Carfraemill, had noted down the number of a silver Volvo V40 estate, heading north and driven by a Doctor Sebastian Vasquez, at 08:38hrs.  He had even produced his Edinburgh University ID.  Not in itself unusual, one or two of the volunteers who were assisting at Professor Geary’s site were stopped and checked, including Dunbar’s daughter travelling with Andrew Lound.  Was that the one she called Plug or was it Shaggy?  He couldn’t remember, but what did stand out was – they were all heading south towards Braur Glen – not away from it.  What was Vasquez doing there at that time of day?  And why was he heading north?

‘
Neil!
’  Dunbar barked.

Conroy recognised the tone of his voice, and so had Tyler.  The detective sergeant sheepishly got up from his seat and walked through into Dunbar’s office.  Tyler kept a discreet eye on proceedings from behind her computer monitor.

‘I thought you’d gone through these checkpoint logs?’

‘Aye, I did, sir – twice,’ Conroy replied cautiously.

Dunbar spun the offending A4 sheet and stabbed at it with his index finger. ‘And that didnae strike you as odd?’

Conroy scowled and studied the document. ‘What, boss?’

Dunbar gasped and stabbed at it again. ‘Vasquez’s car was stopped at Carfraemill –

at 08:38 hours,’ he pointed out.

‘Aye –
annnd –?
’

‘Heading north, mon!’  he snapped.  ‘
North!
’  he repeated in exasperation. ‘Why was he coming away from Braur Glen at that time o’ day?  He’d have to have been up there pretty bloody early to be on his way back to Edinburgh by then, wouldn’t ye say?’

‘Maybe he gave one o’ the students a lift,’ Conroy offered, clutching at straws.

‘On the morning Wilson Farish’s feckin’ head was found mounted on a spit?  You know my philosophy on crime and coincidence, Neil.’

‘Crimes rarely happen by coincidence. Coincidence usually means somebody’s cocked up,’ Conroy recited verbatim, having had it drummed into him since the day he first started on CID when Dunbar was then his sergeant but he had not quite completed the mantra. Dunbar met his gaze and waited.  With a sigh Conroy added, ‘Either the offender – or us.’  His expression morphed from that of puzzled innocence to guilty horror. ‘Sir, I –’

‘Jesus, Neil – he even drives a V40 estate – which I am willing to bet, if you PNC, will prove similar in colour to the vehicle Sarah Dodds saw outside Wilson Farish’s the night o’ the fire.’

‘It never – I – a few o’ the Professor’s crew cropped up on them, even your wee lass but – I just –’

‘Didn’t think?’ he cut in angrily. ‘I cannae have anyone switching off on a job like this, not for one minute, Neil.  Let alone my office manager.
Christ mon! 
This might be the chink in his armour, the wrong move that puts the bugger behind bars.’  Conroy went limp as if gravity was dragging him down into that hole that he hoped would open up and receive him, and worse, he knew that any response he offered would be inadequate. ‘Get out! – and I suggest you go through every bloody thing you’ve had your hands on since this friggin’ enquiry started.’ That was a bit harsh, but Dunbar was seriously disappointed.

Conroy passed Tyler on his way out of Dunbar’s office but could not make eye contact.  She stepped in as soon as he had gone, and closed the door behind her.

‘Problem?’

‘Aye!’  still bristling.  She eyed him, waiting for him to expand on his answer which he duly did.  ‘He failed to pick up on a critical detail that should have rung alarm bells, but instead got filed.  Vasquez was in the vicinity the morning Farish’s head appeared in the old sheep pen.’  Dunbar slid the officer’s checkpoint log across his desk. 

‘
What!?
’ Tyler scooped it up and stared at it in disbelief.  ‘Why would he be heading back to Edinburgh at that time of the morning?’

‘Be-heading?’ he repeated.

‘That’s what I said.’  She hesitated. ‘Oh, very funny but –
good grief!
’ She looked over her shoulder then back at him. ‘Poor Neil – he looks proper dejected.’

‘So he should. To err is human, Briony, and I can forgive mistakes or the occasional slip o’ the mind, hell, I’ve done it myself – we all do.  But what I won’t tolerate is complacency or lazy police work. Never ignore, dismiss or assume anything until the evidence renders it void.’

‘To be fair he wasn’t on the radar then and –’ she began.

‘Neither was anyone else bar obsessive Archie!’ he snapped. ‘He switched off – he dismissed a vital clue out of familiarity with the name and its relationship to the crime scene.  The road to Braur Glen – Dr Vasquez – yep, that computes – until you note the direction of travel, the time o’ day –
annnnd,
the description of his bloody car!’

‘In his defence, he’s put some long and punishing hours in, sir,’ she offered in Conroy’s defence.  So had everyone else, Dunbar thought, but what she said was true.  Neil Conroy was often as not the next to last to leave at the end of every day, Dunbar himself being the only one that ever lingered around the murder room longer.

‘I’ve been looking online at the list of the Church of Scotland General Trustees,’ she then said, changing the subject out of sympathy for a DS she had come to admire, as much as highlighting another telling detail that might advance their enquiry.

‘Yes?’

‘Doctor Thomas R. Ferguson isn’t the only familiar name on that list – Sebastian A. Vasquez is on there as well.’

‘How can he not be a Catholic with a name like that?’ Dunbar asked half in jest and half genuine surprise.

‘His mum’s Presbyterian.  Vasquez is on two committees and being a historian, he lends his expertise, in a consultancy capacity, to the church archivists.’

‘And discovered his origins without even meaning to maybe.’

‘It crossed my mind.  And maybe he came across some other unsavoury details that motivated him to dig a little deeper – no pun intended.’ 

***

Most irregular, unethical and probably illegal, Professor Holmquist called it. It was perhaps one of those conversations that should have been conducted face-to-face but she had the academic on the end of a phone and so, made her pitch.

‘We appreciate the implications, Professor,’ Tyler soothed. ‘All we’re asking
is
– did Dr Vasquez give a sample of his DNA for your database?’

‘What if he did?’

‘Has his DNA ever been compared with any of the samples connected with the Braur Glen site?’

‘No!  His sample was donated quite some time ago – one of thousands I have been collating for a study into human migration.’

From her tone Tyler assessed her response as guarded.  Tread lightly, she thought to herself, as she waited for Holmquist to elaborate, which she did, a moment later.

‘Being part Spanish and Scottish on his mother’s side Seb was equally keen to see what sort of journey his chromosomes had made down the ages,’ she explained.

‘Without access to your data, allow me to extrapolate.  He isn’t part Spanish at all is he?’ Tyler said.  Holmquist stayed silent.  Tyler read it as stunned silence. ‘We’d be very interested to know how his DNA compared with Archie English’s?’

‘Impossible.  When Seb got his results he asked for his sample to be destroyed.’

‘Impossible physically or ethically?’ Tyler pressed. ‘And a rather strange reaction don’t you think?’ Again Holmquist remained silent. ‘I mean, from a man dedicated to expanding our knowledge of human history.’

‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Inspector, but Seb is a rather strange character.’

‘Mmm, yes well, how long ago was it that you took his sample?’

‘Oh, not long after I’d begun my research. Seb was one of the early volunteers, so it has been a few years – five perhaps.’

‘And was it destroyed?’

‘Yes!  I’m obliged to do so if the donor requests it.’

Tyler’s heart sank.  ‘But I’d bet you still have it on the database, only for your own personal research purposes, of course.’

Holmquist answered with a question. ‘Why Archie English of all people? That’s –’

‘You’ve obviously done enough research to establish that Seb’s origins are not what he expected,’ Tyler cut in.  It was one of those intuitive moments cops have.  Having avoided giving a direct answer, Holmquist had betrayed the fact that she still had his data on file.  ‘I know you cannot discuss those findings with me over the phone but –’

‘I cannot discuss it at all, Briony,’ Holmquist interrupted firmly.

‘Okay, allow me to take a stab at it then.  His origins proved much closer to home on both the X and Y spectrum.’ Again Holmquist remained tight-lipped. ‘Tell you what, how about you compare his DNA to Archie’s – just out of scientific curiosity?’ Tyler pressed.

‘Why the interest in Seb’s DNA?’

‘I can’t go into details, Allyson.  Let’s just say he’s popped up on our radar.’  Another telling silence, but this time she thought she heard the faintest gasp.  ‘Take a peek,’ Tyler suggested.  ‘We both know you want to.  I know I would – and I’ll leave it up to you whether you feel inclined to discuss those findings with me.’  At that Tyler hung up.  She looked through the glass screen at Dunbar and shook her head.  He got up and walked through.

‘She hasn’t done a comparison with the Braur Glen samples, but I think she just might now.’ Dunbar was pleased until she added, ‘However, I doubt she’ll be willing to share that information with us – certainly not without lawful authority.’

‘Did she give you anything?’

‘Well, it was one of those conversations where it wasn’t so much what she said that was telling, as what she didn’t say.  When Vasquez gave his sample, he obviously thought his adoptive parents were his natural parents.’

Dunbar was stunned.  ‘They never told him?’

She shook her head.  ‘But he obviously knows now.’

‘Why?  Was that part of the deal?’ Dunbar asked himself as much as Tyler. ‘Do you suppose his parents were told never to tell him?’

She shrugged.  ‘I also got the silent treatment when I speculated that his DNA profile placed him much closer to home.’

‘She didn’t deny it?’

‘On the contrary, she told me that when he found that out he didn’t have Spanish blood, he asked for his sample to be destroyed.’

‘Which prompted his search for his true identity – in the church archives?’

‘Possibly, but we’re back to speculating, sir.  It’s not enough to arrest him.’

‘But if we did, we could take DNA samples.’

‘Which would only prove that he is Archie English’s half-brother.  Do we have any forensics or DNA to connect him to Farish or Murray or any of the crimes scenes?’ she countered.

Dunbar shook his head and paced with frustration.  There was nothing worse than having a solid suspect in your sights, only to lack the evidence to arrest them.  The murders were linked to Mary-Mo’s second bastard son, born of rape, he just knew it, but no way could he prove it.  Dunbar suddenly stopped, took his phone out of his pocket and tapped at the screen.