Girls Of The Dark (17 page)

Chapter 43

A
s the officers drove out towards Tollcross, Andy took some time to think. He decided that using a false name or taking on somebody else’s identity was a bit like choosing a password. You tended to delve back into your history for a reference that held some kind of special significance. Otherwise, you’d never be able to recall it in the future, or, in the case of a criminal, you’d stumble over your lie. False identities often revealed more about a perp than they realised.

              Alice parked the car next to a silver people carrier on the driveway. The detectives glanced at one another. The vehicle was clearly being used as a taxi cab. The words;
Fullarton Private Hire
were emblazoned across the side.

              Andy leant hard on the doorbell. A bald man in his early forties opened up. ‘Hello again, Mr Gillespie. May I come in?’

              ‘I was just about to head out to work.’

              ‘It won’t take a moment.’ Andy stepped forward into the hallway, forcing the man to retreat backwards. He proceeded into the living room, where the television set was on and a plate of half eaten sausage and beans sat on the coffee table. ‘Doesn’t look as if you were rushing out of the door, Duncan.’

              Duncan Gillespie looked sheepish. ‘I was running a bit late.’

              Alice leant down and switched the TV off.

              ‘Which job was it that you were heading away to?’ Andy made himself comfortable on the sofa. ‘The call centre job in the city centre where you told me you were last Monday morning? Or driving the minicab we saw outside?’

              Beads of sweat had broken out on the man’s bald pate. ‘I only do the minicab work during evenings and weekends. My employers don’t know about it, but I pay tax on the fares. I swear to it.’

              Andy leant forward. ‘So if I were to call HMRC right now, they would confirm to me that you are a licenced minicab driver?
And
I assume you have all the necessary insurance and police checks?’

              Gillespie began to wring his hands. ‘It’s only a little side-line. Most of the time I’m ferrying the kids and my old mum about in that thing on the drive.’ He attempted a smile, which died on his lips.

              Alice decided to intervene. ‘Do you know why it’s so important to have a licence to drive a minicab, sir? It’s because unlicenced cab drivers can prey on young, vulnerable girls with impunity – drive them out to scrubland after picking them up outside a nightclub, abusing the trust they’ve placed in the driver to deliver them straight home safely.’

              Gillespie looked frantic. ‘I’ve never done that! My daughter’s fourteen. I’d kill anyone who did something like that to her!’

              Andy put out his hand. ‘Calm down, Duncan. I’m sure we can get this whole business sorted out. Firstly, we’ll need to look at your driving licence.’

              He reached for his wallet. ‘That’s all fine and up-to-date, officer. No problems there.’ Gillespie handed the card to Andy.

              ‘You’ve got a bit more hair in this picture,’ Andy chuckled. ‘I’m amazed anyone thinks it’s you.’

              ‘But it is, see? I only started to thin a couple of years back, now it’s all gone. There’s no law against that, surely?’

              ‘No,’ Alice said calmly. ‘But it
is
an offence to allow another individual to use your driving licence. Have you done that recently, sir?’

              Sweat was now pouring off the man’s face. ‘He said there wouldn’t be any trouble! I’ve got myself totally in the shit now, haven’t I?’ He glanced pathetically at Andy.

              ‘Not if you can help us out here, Duncan. It’s not you we’re interested in. It’s the man you lent your identity to. Give us his details and we’ll be sympathetic about the other crimes.’

*

Dani had prepared her visitors a sandwich. It was the first time that Alice Mann had been inside her boss’s flat. She was trying not to be too obvious about taking the place in. It was cosy and nice. Not flashy at all.

              ‘The man we are looking for is a regular client of this Duncan Gillespie?’

              ‘Yes, Gillespie spends most of his time hanging around Prestwick Airport. He never works the pubs and nightclubs, says it’s too much hassle having drunks in the car.’

              ‘Most of his clients are businessmen, needing transport into the city centre. That’s where he came into contact with Mr Swinton,’ Alice explained.

              ‘But we don’t think that’s his real name?’

              ‘No,’ Andy continued. ‘Gillespie has known this man for years. He’s done various extra-curricular jobs for him. Picking up packages and such like, nothing overtly illegal.’

              Alice finished her mouthful and smiled. ‘Mr Swinton was aware that Gillespie’s taxi work wasn’t legit. He knew he could exploit that fact for his own ends. Using Gillespie’s name and driving licence last week was just one of those occasions when the man came in useful. Our friend Duncan has provided us with so many addresses; private and business, where he’s driven this guy over the years. We’re bound to be able to identify him from the information.’

              Dani nodded. ‘Good.’ She sat down at the table with them, gripping her coffee mug. ‘This minicab connection must mean something too. It eerily mirrors the Suter case.’

              ‘I’ve looked into Duncan Gillespie’s history closely. There’s absolutely no evidence to suggest he uses the cab to molest women.’ Andy looked indignant. For some reason, he’d believed the guy on that score.

              ‘No, I’m not thinking along those lines.’ Dani glanced at her colleagues. ‘How old does Gillespie think that Mr Swinton is?’

              Alice responded swiftly, ‘Gillespie’s been driving the guy around since the mid-nineties. He reckons he was in his early fifties back then.’

              ‘He could be late sixties by now.’ Dani lifted the cup to her lips. ‘What if this Mr Swinton has been using minicabs for a very long time? Perhaps Duncan Gillespie isn’t the first driver he’s paid to do little jobs for him. This
is
the man who has gone to enormous lengths to get rid of the blue Ford Anglia, after all.’

              Andy nodded. ‘I see what you’re getting at Ma’am.’ The DC downed the rest of his coffee in one mouthful. ‘We’d better get back to the station then. Let’s find out exactly who this bastard is.’

Chapter 44

D
ani wasn’t entirely sure if what she was about to do was a good idea. She had driven to Mauchline in Ayrshire straight after lunch. It hadn’t taken long to locate the Kilmarnock Road.

              The DCI was standing outside the door of the ground floor flat that Rhodri had told her was being rented by Calvin Suter.

              The man answered without delay. ‘DCI Bevan. This is certainly a surprise.’

              ‘May I come in?’

              ‘Of course.’ He stood back graciously, allowing Dani plenty of room to get past.

              The house was Victorian and the hallway rather grand. The stairwell had been hidden behind a wall, making the space slightly narrower than it should have been. ‘The flat upstairs have their own entrance at the side,’ Calvin explained.

              He led her into a front sitting room with a large bay window. There were bookshelves on every wall. Dani moved across to glance at some of the titles. ‘I notice you have a section dedicated to the work of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Many of these books look like first editions.’

              ‘He is my favourite poet and writer. My own book was an analysis of his philosophical ideas.’ Calvin gestured for Dani to take a seat.

              ‘Is there any reason why you chose Coleridge in particular?’

              He smiled. ‘I loved any writer who could successfully transport me away from my surroundings, especially as a younger man. Coleridge suffered from depression, did you know?’

              Dani shook her head.

              ‘I always sensed he understood what it was like to be imprisoned. I felt it through his words. When I first decided to study English Literature, many of the concepts were completely new to me. Coleridge was the first writer to come up with the notion of
the suspension of disbelief.
Are you familiar with it?’

              ‘That even if something is totally implausible, you have to ignore your doubts for the sake of the plot. We used to use the phrase a lot in essays about Shakespeare’s plays.’

              Calvin chuckled. ‘Yes, so did I. But it held an additional irony for me. Being arrested for the murder of those girls, the subsequent trial and my long incarceration were events so totally bewildering and utterly unlikely that I had to spend forty years
suspending my disbelief.
This was the only way I knew how to accept it really happened. Otherwise, I would have gone quite mad.’ He rubbed at his chin. ‘I don’t expect that makes sense to anyone else.’

              ‘I think I understand.’

              Calvin stared at her hard, wrinkling his brow. ‘
Really
? I stopped believing that anyone would understand how I felt very many years ago.’

              ‘Can I ask you some questions about what went on back in the early seventies? I realise you have every right to refuse.’

              Calvin tilted his head. ‘Are you actually interested in the truth, DCI Bevan – or in simply discrediting me? I know that you are in a relationship with Jim Irving’s son.’

              ‘I am a detective before I am anything else, Mr Suter. If we are going to use literary terms, then that is undoubtedly my fatal flaw. I now have reason to suspect that someone other than yourself murdered those young women between 1972 and 1975. If this fact hurts the people closest to me it won’t matter. I will still keep investigating until I find out the truth.’

              Calvin’s composure had given way slightly. His dark eyes were glistening with moisture. ‘Anthony Alderton thought that too. But he was the only one. The younger lawyer, Irving, he always looked at me like I was a monster. My own family disowned me.’

              ‘I know Calvin.’ She leant forward. ‘Will you help me?’

              ‘What do you want to know?’

              ‘When you were driving the cabs, was there a man a few years older than you, a businessman perhaps; a person who paid the drivers to do things for him. Collect and deliver packages, maybe?’

              He sighed deeply. ‘It’s so long ago, I barely recall. We had a few regular passengers but they tended to be the OAPs who we drove to the shops in Kilmarnock. Because I was one of the youngest and a single man, I always had to cover the pubs and nightclubs at kicking out time. It was the worst shift.’

              ‘Did any of the other drivers have corporate clients who they took to the airport or on the city run, for example?’

              A wounded look crossed Calvin’s face. ‘My
friend
Rick. The one who gave a statement to the police saying I used to drive the Anglia. It was a filthy lie. I never knew why he did it.’

              ‘What about him?’

              ‘Rick was a bit older than me. He had a wife and kids. He always asked the boss for the upmarket clients. He insisted he was the senior driver and had a good way with people. I assumed those customers must give better tips. That’s why he wanted them for himself. If anyone at Princely Cars back then had corporate clients, it would have been him.’

              ‘What was his full name?’

              ‘Rick Hunter - Richard, I suppose. He’s dead now, though.’

              Dani felt her heart sink. ‘Can I ask you one more thing?’

              Calvin nodded, looking wary.

              ‘Why did you go to that beach? Did you know that the girls’ bodies were hidden there?’

              ‘No, I did not. That beach was my special place. I used to go there whenever I could to get some peace. It reminded me of home – of Montego Bay. It had all the same caves and headlands. If I closed my eyes, I could picture the deep blue of the sky and the sea, feel the warmth of the sun on my face. We’d been happy in Jamaica, before Mum brought us here and started carrying on with all those men. It was hell for me and my sisters after that.’

              ‘Did you ever tell anyone about this special place?’

              ‘I didn’t have friends, Detective, not really. I was a withdrawn and ill-educated boy. I couldn’t articulate my feelings and desires in the way I can now.’ Calvin suddenly gave a start, a memory seeming to force its way into his mind. ‘No, that’s not true. I had a friend once. He helped me in my new job and encouraged me to talk about myself and the things I loved.’ He looked Dani in the eye. ‘Yes, I told Rick about the beach and the caves. I told him how peaceful it was, how nobody ever went there, how the caverns were like the catacombs in the cliffs of Montego Bay, where somebody could easily lose themselves forever.’