Killing With Confidence (18 page)

At around about the
same time Colin Harris was being arrested by two detective
sergeants on suspicion of attempted kidnap and assaulting two
journalists. As he was read his rights and informed that anything
he said may be taken down and used against him in a court of law,
Harris muttered something under his breath. Even if the officers
had heard him, they wouldn’t have understood what Harris had meant
as he quietly whispered, ‘I owe you one, Elvis. I owe you big
time.’

34

Jigsaw Pieces

‘Okay, what
have we learned so far?’ Connor said as he began scribbling on a
giant flipchart in the broom cupboard.

April grinned. ‘Oh,
this is exciting. It’s like being in a lecture. Not that I ever
went to university. I would’ve loved to have been a student. Cost
me enough to put Jayne through university, mind you. Not that she
ever seems in the least bit grateful.’

Connor interrupted,
‘April, focus!’

‘Sorry, sorry, I’m a
terrible rambler. Please continue,’ she beamed with a flash of her
gold incisor tooth.

‘I would never have
known,’ Connor sighed. ‘Right. Selina Seth was brutally murdered by
person or persons unknown. At the same time, we have a predatory,
commuting serial killer on our hands. Coincidence? Or connected?
Secondly, who would want to kill Selina?’ His red felt-tip pen
scribbled furiously. ‘Martin Seth remains the prime suspect.’

‘Ach, I don’t know. I
just don’t think he’s got it in him,’ April interjected through a
mouthful of biscuit.

‘Your ample gut
instinct aside,’ he said, pointedly removing his packet of biscuits
from the desk and locking them in a drawer, ‘Martin Seth is still
the main suspect. A crime so violent is usually one of passion.
He’s been her human punch bag for years, putting up with her
drug-induced mood swings, her clamour for the limelight and her
celebrity lifestyle, while he’s left holding their business and
family life together. My guess is he snapped. Maybe he followed his
wife to that car park and saw her go down on god knows who.
Whatever it was, Martin is in the frame. Then we have the
prostitute Jackie McIvor, who unfortunately for the killer, was
also the sister of Colin Harris, resident violent gangster of this
parish. Harris is now hellbent on finding his sister’s killer, and
I have a funny feeling he’ll beat the police to it. If that happens
we’ll never see the killer brought to justice.’

‘Some might say
justice will have been served,’ April pondered.

‘Maybe so, but god
help us if we start turning to Harris and his type for their style
of rough justice. You know he once burnt a man’s genitals to a
crisp with a blowtorch, only to later admit he’d tortured the wrong
man … We can also throw Chantal into the mix. Selina’s fake-tanned,
boob-jobbed, drug-dealing, blackmailing former employee who was
feeding her boss’s drugs’ habit directly from Harris.’

‘How do you know it
was Harris?’ April enquired.

‘He told me. We have
a no-bullshit relationship – or at least we had. What he didn’t
tell me was why he stuck Chantal in it. It must’ve been Harris who
told Selina her dog’s body was skimming off five hundred pounds
every week for herself. He probably leaned on her. Told Chantal not
to talk to the press. But there had to be a reason. It wouldn’t
have made any difference to Harris, as he got paid either way. He
obviously wanted something from Selina, and I think I know
what.’

‘Sex,’ April said
with a glint in her eye, unable to contain the excitement in her
voice.

‘No, I don’t think
so. He can get that on tap from Chantal and her like. He’s a bad
boy with money and power, and they seem to be an aphrodisiac to
some women. I think Harris wanted in on Selina’s jewellery
business. What better way to launder his drug money, than through a
high-profile, celebrity-led business? I bet he even used Chantal’s
blackmail case as leverage – possibly even encouraged the little
trollop to threaten Selina. Then he could say to her, “If we were
in business together, you wouldn’t have to go through Chantal’s
type to get your gear.” ’

‘Oooh, this is great
fun. What else do we know?’

‘Well, we don’t know
who killed the prostitute.’

‘Couldn’t the
prostitute killer also have witnessed Selina’s little tryst in the
car park, then pounced when she returned to her car? I’m really
getting into this detective stuff, I feel like Miss Marple.’

‘Missing marbles more
like. But you may be onto something. Maybe the serial killer was in
that car park, but I don’t think he killed Selina. Murderers like
that don’t tend to stray into different social groups. He’s a
prostitute killer. Someone like Selina is out of his league. Also
he’d know that the cops’ investigation into a prostitute murder
wouldn’t be of the same scale as that of a rich businesswoman like
Selina. But I think you may be right. Maybe he was in that car park
and witnessed Selina’s real killer. So what would a lowlife like
him do with that sort of information?’

April put her hand up
as if she was in class. ‘Oh, oh, I know this – go to the
police.’ She then berated herself before Connor had the chance.
‘Sorry, no, that was stupid. He’d blackmail Selina’s
killer …’

‘Maybe, Miss Marbles.
That would mean Selina’s real killer would have to be worth
blackmailing. With knowledge brings power. If he hasn’t already, I
have a funny feeling that Martin Seth will meet our serial killer.
I’d love to be there when he does.’

35

A Highland
Retreat

Martin Seth
had fled to the Highlands to take refuge in the family’s lodge. Now
front-page news, the police, the press and his own family were all
desperate to reach him, but they had little chance. He’d removed
the battery from his phone and left it at home.

He’d headed north to
Rothiemurchus and the place he called his refuge. The Seths had
spent some of their happiest times there. As winter approached,
there was a permanent nip in the clean air, and the lodge offered a
breathtaking view of the Cairngorms, whose rounded black peaks
looked like a school of humpback whales.

Martin loved the area
for its miles of cycle tracks, which had taken the family on many
adventures. Sometimes they would stop for a picnic by a stream on
the sprawling Rothiemurchus estate or take a break in the Glenmore
café, a rickety wooden affair on stilts, decorated with old
postcards and skiing posters, where their children would shriek
with excitement as the red squirrels, finches and occasional pine
marten came down to the deck to feed on the ready supply of
nuts.

But best of all, it
was in this romantic heart of the Highlands where Martin had felt
close again to his wife. He had been besotted by Selina the moment
he saw the tall, confident blonde at high school. She could have
had the pick of the best-looking boys in her year, but for some
reason she choose him. From that moment on, no matter how badly she
treated him, he had always felt lucky that she’d chosen him.

They fell in love
together, although he always knew he loved her more than she loved
him. They had lost their virginity with each other, and they became
unplanned parents when Selina fell pregnant at just seventeen years
old. This had not been part of her master plan. She refused to be
yet another young, single mum from a Glasgow housing estate. Selina
made sure that Martin quickly proposed before booking the first
available date at the registry office. She would later claim she
became pregnant on their short honeymoon then lie that the baby had
arrived early.

Selina had greatly
resented being home alone with the child while Martin had scraped a
living at the family garage. ‘This is not our future, Martin,’ she
had once berated him. ‘I’m not going to stay at home cooking all
day and changing shitty nappies as you work all hours for a crappy
twelve grand – no way.’

Selina was stretching
the truth as usual. She was a terrible cook and barely knew how to
turn on their cooker. Martin prepared most of the meals when he
eventually got home shattered from fixing cars. As for changing
nappies, he couldn’t recall how many times he’d walked through the
front door to find a full nappy hanging off their toddler, while
Selina sipped white wine and flicked through the latest celebrity
gossip magazine. But, to her eternal credit, she did come up with a
lucrative business idea, after studying the jewellery worn by the
stars in her beloved mags.

At first she
unashamedly ripped off the designs, making her own copies on a DIY
jewellery set at home. Her first efforts instantly sold out to her
friends, who read all the same trashy mags and envied the same
celebs as Selina. Then she advertised the designs online with the
promise that you could ‘wear the same jewellery as the stars for a
fraction of the price’.

Selina was doing such
a roaring trade making the jewellery at home she found looking
after their toddler a major inconvenience. The baby was despatched
to a childminder by day as Selina started working round the clock.
By her third month of trading she had made Martin’s annual salary
and ordered him to quit the garage to help her.

Things were going
well, until one of the major jewellery designers spotted the Seths’
cheap rip-offs on the net and threatened serious legal action.
Selina quickly closed down the site and decided to go legit. She
had always been a quick learner and soon came up with her own
designs. Martin found his own role making everything tick behind
the scenes, but it was his wife’s ambitious streak which continued
to give the company momentum.

Even falling pregnant
again hadn’t slowed her down. Martin only prayed the second child
was his, knowing full well his wife had started playing away from
home.

Soon television came
calling. Selina was an ideal candidate for the daytime shows, as a
successful businesswoman, wife and hard-working mother. The truth
was, a nanny and grandparents now raised their children and there
wasn’t a week that went by when she wasn’t in the arms of some man
who wasn’t her husband.

Just the thought of
his wife kissing another man brought Martin out in a cold sweat.
But here, at their lodge, with its spa pool on the wooden decking,
its walls decorated with antlers from the estate’s reindeer herds,
and its woodburning stove, there were no other men. Just the love
they had once shared together as a family.

Martin stood in the
empty, dusty lounge and wept for the past, when his children still
had a mother and he still had a wife.

The only person to
witness Martin’s distress was Osiris, standing in the fading
autumnal light outside the lodge, enjoying the misery that was
unfolding within. The killer had found it easy to pursue Martin,
after he had seen him fleeing from his family home to head north.
He smiled to himself. ‘Your day is about to get a whole lot
worse.’

36

Cool Customer

Colin
Harris could be charm personified when he chose to be. Today was
not one of those days. He sat alone in the interview room at
Strathclyde Police headquarters waiting for DCI Crosbie. One of the
overhead fluorescent lights flickered intermittently. Harris had
never thought of himself as being photo-sensitive, but the
strobe-like effect was making him feel physically sick.

Crosbie stood outside
the interview room quietly chuckling to himself as he watched
Harris’s obvious discomfort through the one-way observation hatch.
He loved how even the hardest criminal would be left squirming
under the faulty bulb’s insanely annoying flicker. ‘Who needs
waterboarding when a dodgy light will do,’ he thought. ‘Time we
went in and put Mr Harris out of his misery.’

‘Good morning,
Colin,’ Crosbie said cheerfully.

‘It’s Mr Harris to
you, where’s my lawyer and sort out that fucking light?’ Colin
demanded.

‘Your lawyer is on
the way and, oh, has that bloody light gone again? It’ll take me
three memos before maintenance are dispatched – I may as well
break a few Health and Safety rules and do it myself.’ As he
climbed onto a chair beneath the offending light, Crosbie said,
‘That reminds me of that old joke, “How many policemen does it take
to change a lightbulb? None – it turned itself in.”’ Crosbie
laughed just a little too heartily at his own joke, before placing
the fluorescent tube on the table and taking the seat opposite
Harris.

‘Don’t mind if I wait
here until your lawyer gets here, do you?’ Crosbie asked, not
really caring what the answer would be. He was staying put.

‘My lawyer is going
to free me and get all the stuff you’ve nicked back. And your plods
better not have scratched my Ferrari,’ spat Harris.

Crosbie chuckled to
himself again, infuriating Harris even further. Truth was, the
gangster’s £250,000 sports car was sitting in Crosbie’s parking
space outside. He planned to drive it himself until he was told
otherwise by his superiors.

He could feel his
inner self take over when he looked Harris straight in the eye and
said, ‘The thing is, Colin, I don’t give a fuck what you do to
journalists. Like taxmen they serve a purpose but it doesn’t mean
we have to like them.’ Crosbie could hear the words tumbling from
his mouth but knew he was powerless to intervene. The DCI’s ‘dark
side’ continued: ‘But I do have a problem with you trying to muscle
in on a dead woman’s business. What an arrogant prick you really
are.’

Harris opened his
mouth to protest then thought better of it.

‘To think you could
lean on Martin Seth when his wife is at the centre of a major
murder inquiry. Well, this shit storm I’ve brewed up for you is a
little reminder, Colin, that you don’t operate above the law. I can
fuck with you whenever I like. And I like it, Colin. I like it a
lot because I am a bad motherfucker.’