In Place of Death (18 page)

Narey nodded. ‘Fine. I respect that. Thanks for your time, Mr McCormack. And please,
do not
phone Mr Cairns. I'd have to regard it as obstructing a police officer and that
wouldn't be helpful for anyone.'

Narey knocked, Maxwell beside her, and waited for Douglas Cairns to answer. It struck her that perhaps he'd been waiting on that knock for nearly seven weeks.

The door pulled back and she saw the man immediately work out what she was and why she was there. He hadn't been tipped off by McCormack though: this was the shock of the expected.

He was in his early fifties, a dark beard turned silver at the chin and more flecks of age through his shoulder-length hair. With bleary, stressed eyes, he looked like he hadn't had a full
night's sleep in those seven weeks and she doubted that he'd get one tonight.

‘Mr Cairns?'

‘You've found her. She's dead, isn't she?'

‘May we come inside, sir?'

‘Is she dead? Tell me!'

She deliberated and decided the kinder thing was to tell him there and then. ‘Yes, sir. She is. I'm sorry. I do think we should go inside.'

The man stared at the ground at his feet, seeing nothing. He slowly lifted his head and nodded without being able to look at them. ‘Come in.'

They followed the man into the large apartment on South Frederick Street on the corner of George Square. He led them into an expansive, modernist, open-plan room with three huge arched windows
on the far wall. It was very different to the A-listed traditional stone exterior but maybe not that surprising given that Cairns was an architect.

The man slumped into a seat and stared into space some more. Narey and Maxwell took seats opposite him without waiting to be asked and gave him the time he needed. Once or twice his head came up
and he looked at them as if ready to ask questions but didn't dare.

‘Mr Cairns, I know this is difficult but I need to tell you what happened to your wife. And I will need to ask you some questions. Is that okay?'

He nodded dumbly.

‘A woman's body was found yesterday in a city centre building not far from here. We have made dental comparisons against your wife's records and they confirm that it is her. We
shall make further tests but we have no doubt that it is your wife.'

‘What happened to her? What building? I don't understand.'

‘Your wife suffered severe head injuries. As yet, we don't know for sure how they came about. The building was the former Odeon cinema on Renfield Street. A workman found her body.
It had evidently been there for some time.'

She watched his reaction, seeing his head swing from side to side and his forehead crease. ‘I don't understand what you're saying. The Odeon? But that's been closed for
years. What are you talking about?'

‘Yes, sir. It was due to be demolished. Do you have any idea at all why your wife would have been there?'

He became angry. ‘What? No! None whatsoever. This doesn't make any sense.'

Narey glanced at Maxwell and she took the hint, speaking for the first time since they'd gone inside.

‘Mr Cairns, would you mind telling us the circumstances of your wife going missing? We know you've made a report but it would be helpful if you could tell us in your own words what
happened.'

‘I've told your people all this already! Who
did
this to her?'

‘Please, Mr Cairns,' Maxwell persisted. ‘It will help us to hear it from you.'

He just looked back at her for a while as if not understanding, pulling at his beard and rubbing fiercely at the silver on his chin. He jumped from his seat and went to an oak sideboard where he
poured himself a large whisky from a decanter and took a mouthful. Then, seemingly calmer, he sat down again.

‘It was a Wednesday evening and Jennifer, my wife, was going to meet a client in the West End. Kensington Gate. She left around six and she never came back. I'd fallen asleep maybe
about eleven and when I woke she still wasn't home. I called her mobile but didn't get an answer. I wasn't pleased. In fact I was annoyed, more annoyed than worried. I went back
to sleep and in the morning she still wasn't there. I called her mobile again but got no answer. I had to go to the office and gave it till lunchtime before I called the police. I'd
tried to call her another three times and got nothing. Staying out late wasn't unusual but overnight, without at least a text message, she'd never done that.'

‘Who was the client she was going to see?'

‘I don't know. She'd told me it was Kensington Gate and that it was potentially a big job. If she told me the name I didn't listen or didn't remember. I checked her
diary and she didn't have it listed.'

Narey returned to the conversation. ‘Did your wife regularly go to meet clients in the evening, Mr Cairns?'

‘Yes. It was usually easier. People work during the day so she'd make herself available at a time that suited them. And she would obviously need to see the space that they wanted her
to work with.'

‘Do you have a list of her clients?'

‘Yes, but none of them are in Kensington Gate. I checked and your colleagues checked. The old Odeon? I don't
understand
.'

‘Neither do we, Mr Cairns. But we will. How was your wife getting to Kensington Gate? Did she drive or take a taxi?'

‘She drove. I've given her car details to the police but it has never turned up. Her phone stopped responding. I tried to track it but the signal was dead or had been switched off. I
think your colleagues thought she had just left me but I knew that wasn't true. She didn't take any clothes and her bank card wasn't used.'

‘Tell us about your wife if you can, Mr Cairns. Anything at all that will give us a picture of who she was and what might have happened to her. Her job, close friends, hobbies, anything
you can think of.'

His eyes flashed angrily at her and Narey knew it was her referring to the man's wife in the past tense that had maddened him. She'd seen it before and silently cursed herself for
doing it.

‘Jennifer had her own business. Interior designer. Fashioning homes for people who are either too fucking lazy or clueless to do it for themselves. She'd been doing it for five years
and did well. She worked hard.'

‘And friends?'

‘She had quite a few. The police spoke to most of them after I reported her missing. I assume they'll still have the list I gave them.'

‘All female friends or male friends too?'

‘What do you mean?
We had many friends who were couples so the answer is both. What are you suggesting?'

‘Nothing, Mr Cairns. I'm just trying to get a picture of your wife's social scene, establish anyone she would have interacted with. I'll get a copy of that list from my
colleagues. This is a difficult question, I know, particularly in the circumstances, but would you say your wife was happy?'

The man's eyes darkened and he snapped at her.
‘Happy?
How can you ask that?' He glared at her then gulped at his whisky before continuing. ‘Yes I would say she
was happy. We had our ups and downs. Who doesn't? But our marriage was fine.'

‘You didn't have any children?'

Another glare. ‘Not that it's any of your business but no. We tried but it didn't happen. I was probably keener than she was but . . .' His voice trailed off sadly.

‘What other aspects of your wife's life can you tell us about? Groups or organizations she might have been involved with, people she knew. Anything that might help.'

He banged his glass down on the table in front of him and splashes of whisky leaped into the air and onto the wooden surface. ‘Christ. I've already . . . Okay, okay. She had a wide
circle of friends and acquaintances. She was popular, lively, always on the go. She did charity work, she spent time in galleries, socialized with neighbours. We'd eat out quite a lot, either
dinners with mutual clients, sometimes her accountant or with my partner David McCormack. It's a long list and I've already given it to the bloody police.'

She could see he was unravelling and just getting angrier. Any current thoughts weren't going to be much help. One last question, a shot in the dark, then she'd let him be for
now.

‘Mr Cairns, has your company done any work for a Saturn Property? You're in related businesses.'

He paused, obviously wondering what the relevance was. ‘I know of them. I think we've met the directors at networking events.'

‘Would it be a Mark Singleton that you've met?'

‘Maybe. It was at those part-business, part-social type things. I can't remember. Why? Is it important?'

‘Probably not. Okay, I think we should leave it there for today. I'm sorry if I've made any of this difficult for you. I can only imagine what you're going
through.'

‘Can you?'

‘We'll arrange for a Family Liaison officer to call and they will make sure you are kept up to date with every aspect of the investigation. And we'll arrange for you to see
your wife and allow you to formally identify her when you are ready.'

‘I'm ready now.'

‘That's not possible, sir. Not just yet.'

‘I'm ready
now
!'

‘We'll let you know when that can be done. We're as keen as you are to—'

‘I doubt that. I really do. Let me know as soon as possible.'

‘I will, sir. I promise you.'

‘No. I only need you to promise me one thing. Do you think you can do that?'

She'd never make the promise he wanted. She couldn't do it because she couldn't be certain it could be done. She'd do the next best thing.

‘Mr Cairns, I promise you we will do everything we possibly can to make sure that the person who killed your wife will be caught and punished.'

It had been a long, long day but it couldn't be over. Not just yet. Much as she would have loved to just fall asleep or, better still, drive over to Tony's for some
physical therapy, she still had work to do. She was at home in Highburgh Road and in bed but she was online and on the case.

Whether it was a good idea or not, she'd put all her eggs in the basket marked urbexing. Now she had to find out what she was actually talking about. The little knowledge she had came from
the brief mention that Danny had made of it.

They like to go places they shouldn't - that's what he'd said. Then she remembered. He'd also said he knew someone that used to do it.

She had her iPad open at the website address Maxwell had given her but now it struck her that hearing it from someone who actually did the thing would be more helpful.

He answered after half a dozen rings. She knew he'd be working and probably couldn't hear it over the noise of the taxi-rank queue.

‘Hey, Rachel. What can I do for you?'

She could hear cars going by and the chatter of a number of voices. Someone not too far away was singing ‘Flower Of Scotland'. She'd be lucky to get long with him so she got
straight to the point.

‘Danny, when we spoke the other day, you said you knew someone who urbexed. Do you think he would talk to me?'

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

‘I don't think so, hen. He doesn't do it any more and I think he wants to put it behind him.'

‘Could you ask him, Danny? It's important.'

‘I'll ask, love. But don't get your hopes up. Is this because of the body in the old Odeon then?'

She laughed. ‘Do you actually know everything?'

‘Naw, love. Just most things. And I'm good at guessing.'

‘That was no guess. You think there's some urbexing connection between the Molendinar and the cinema site?'

‘Rachel, I've no real idea. You've got the facts there, you'll know better than me. I've just got suppositions and an old copper's nose.'

‘And what's that telling you?'

‘Not to trust coincidences. I'd say it's definitely worth looking at. And so do you or you wouldn't have phoned me about it.'

‘It occurred to me when I was in the Odeon but it still seemed a stretch. Now I'm more inclined to think it's the key. Thanks, Danny. Ask your pal for me, will you?'

‘I'll ask. But don't expect a yes.'

She finished the call and turned back to the laptop. OtherWorld. That's exactly how it was to her but she had to step into it. She had to learn everything she could.

Winter sat and looked at the laptop in front of him, his fingers drumming distractedly on the keyboard. He hesitated, wary of clicking on the search result that had popped up
in front of him. As if there would be no going back. As if it would open the door that he'd promised himself to leave closed.

He stared hard at the screen, wishing some other answer to show itself. The option was to close the lid. He knew that was probably the sensible thing to do. The thing that Rachel would want him
to do. If she knew. Holy shit, it was just as well that she didn't.

The room was silent and the only noise came from the street outside; cars driving up and down Berkeley Street, and the comings and goings from the Mitchell Library opposite. His right index
finger hovered above the enter button. All he had to do was press.

OtherWorld. It didn't seem that scary in itself. Just a word.

Stuff this, he told himself. Do it or don't. His finger was down before he could stop himself and the screen shifted.

The layout had changed since the last time he'd visited. Hardly surprising really: most forums got a makeover every now and again and it had been four, no five years since he'd
dipped in. There was a lot familiar about it though. Seemed to be the same old subject categories for a start. High places, military sites, hospitals, asylums, cinemas, underground sites, quarries.
It was all there, all you had to do was explore it.