Snared (10 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

C
an I take Brian home now?” John Morton sat in the waiting area, arms clutched tight to his chest.

Vicky shook her head. “No, we’ll need to take a statement from you regarding your brother’s movements.”

“Am I under arrest?”

“No.”

John tightened his cheeks. “Is Brian under arrest?”

“He’s under caution, yes.”

“Christ.” John gripped his knees. “If you’ve got him in a cell just now, his stomach will be eating itself. He needs to eat every couple of hours.”

“Needs to, does he?”

“Well, there’ll be a tantrum if he doesn’t. I’ve had to look after him since Mum died. It’s not been easy.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“We’re kind of over it now, but looking after him’s almost a full-time job.”

“That’s very community-spirited of you.”

John shrugged. “Brian’s not a well man.”

Vicky opened the door to an interview room adjacent to the one Brian was still in. “If you’ll just join us in here, sir?”

John got to his feet and followed her in. Considine closed the door behind him.

Vicky produced a copy of the sheet she’d shown Brian. “We’ve got evidence pointing to your brother being active on an animal rights forum known as xbeast. He’s commented on a threat relating to an active kidnapping case.”

“Okay.” John picked at the desk. “What proof have you got?”

“We’ve traced a user account back to his IP address.”

“What’s an IP address?”

Vicky stared at him — was he just playing dumb? “It means Internet Protocol, I believe. It’s a unique code given to users when they log on. Some are random, some are fixed. Either way, the
Internet
Service Providers can point us to who was using one at a given point in time. There was some level of obfuscation going on but we’ve significant reason to believe your brother used an account to post messages in response to a video.”

“What was this video?”

Vicky handed him a series of screen grabs of the footage. “It showed the victims of the abduction.”

“So, what, this is some sort of ransom demand?”

Vicky shook her head. “No, it just shows these people being forced to . . . do things they didn’t want to.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

John shrugged. “I mean, why post a video if you’re not after money?”

“The victims were liberated yesterday afternoon.”

“Right. So?”

“So, your brother was posting on this forum today.”

John leaned forward on the table and took off his glasses before rubbing his eyes. “You’re telling me you think he’s involved?”

“We
know
your brother’s involved, Mr Morton. He was using the computer at the time these messages were posted.” Vicky pushed another sheet across the table. “Read them. Does that look like the sort of thing he’d post?”

John carefully inspected them. “Maybe.”

“Is your brother into animal rights?”

“Animal welfare, certainly. He’s not vegan or anything but he doesn’t eat meat. He hates cruelty. All of his cheesecakes have free-range eggs and so on.”

“His cheesecakes?”

John put his glasses on again. “Yeah. Brian pretty much lives off desserts. Cheesecakes, gateaux, that sort of thing. I can’t stop him. If I don’t fill a trolley with frozen cakes on a Saturday, it’ll be a week of tantrums. It’s worse than a child.”

“Your brother posted some messages in support of this act. We’d like to understand if he knows who posted the video.”

“I take it Brian’s not been playing ball?”

“Would we be asking you if he had been?”

John chuckled. “Maybe.”

“Do you think he could’ve been involved in this?”

John started cleaning his glasses on his jumper. “Look at him. He can’t leave the house without me carrying out a military
operation
. That computer’s all he’s good at.”

“How good is he?”

“I don’t know. I’m next to useless myself. I can get on Facebook and the BBC, but that’s pretty much it.”

“Where was your brother between two and two thirty this afternoon.”

“At home, I think.”

“Were you there?”

“No. I was meeting a client. I popped in to see him after I
finished
. That’s when you lot came blundering in.”

“Where was your brother on Wednesday evening?”

John swallowed. “Ninewells. He’s supposed to be getting a
gastric
band fitted. He was in hospital yesterday as well. Last hope for him. Did you see the guy in Livingston who died last week? Brian’s now in the top five heaviest people in the UK.”

“That must be pretty hard for you.”

John put the glasses back on. “It is.”

Vicky checked her notes — aside from getting Considine to
verify
the appointment at the hospital, she had little else. “Mr
Morton
, can you please detail your movements on Wednesday afternoon?”

John’s gaze darted between Vicky and Considine. “Look, what is this? Do I need a lawyer or something?”

“We simply need to eliminate you from suspicion.”

“You mean I’m under suspicion?”

“Mr Morton, everyone in Scotland and the north of England is until we rule them out.”

“Fine.” John took a few seconds before continuing. “I was with Brian at the hospital. Then I drove down to Armadale in West Lothian.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I went to the Speedway, to see Edinburgh Monarchs.
Edinburgh
play there since they shut down the greyhound track in the city centre. I was with my mate, Steve. He can confirm it.”

Vicky glanced at Considine, who started writing. “Please can you tell me what speedway is, Mr Morton?”

John pushed his glasses back up his face. “It’s team motorbike racing. I got into it when I lived down south. Started going to the Rye House Rockets. When I moved back here after Mum died, I started going to Edinburgh and Glasgow.”

“What did you do down south?”

“I was a journalist. I moved into PR afterwards. I’ve got a small company doing publicity now. That was the client I was meeting at lunchtime before I checked on Brian.”

“Okay.” Vicky inspected her notebook for anything not asked. “This is a serious crime we’re investigating. Your brother may be involved. We’d appreciate if you’d let us know of anything that comes up.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

V
icky found Forrester in his office, the coffee machine spitting in the corner. She twisted a chair round and sat, pointing at the filter and tapping her watch. “I hope that’s decaf.”

“Decaf coffee? What’s the bloody point?” Forrester leaned
forward
. “Have you got some good news for me?”

“Maybe.” Vicky put the tape from Brian’s interview on the table. “We spoke to Brian Morton and also his brother, John. They’ve given us solid-looking alibis, which I’ve got Considine
validating
.” She tapped the tape. “Brian kind of slipped up, mentioning an ‘HTTP tunnel’. He sounds like he knows what he’s doing.”

“Think they’re our guys?”

“See, that’s the thing, sir. He’s probably thirty stone, maybe more. His brother reckons he’s in the top five in the UK now. Unless he’s wearing a fat suit like in that Gwyneth Paltrow film, he’s clearly not abducted Rachel or her brother.”

Forrester wiped his mug with a paper towel then poured in some coffee. “Do you think he’s done anything?”

“Maybe. He could’ve posted the videos, though Zoë’s not managed to prove it yet. I think he knows something but he’s not giving anything up. If he’s not involved, he’d surely just say he posted those comments and he doesn’t know any more.”

“Or he’s not involved.”

“Sorry?”

Forrester shrugged. “Could be the trace Zoë did was flawed. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You think she’s unreliable?”

“She seems okay. I meant techies in general.”

“Well, I think he posted them.” Vicky slumped back in her chair. “Either way, if he’s involved, he’s not giving up any of his colleagues.”

Forrester took a slurp of coffee as he sat. “So what about this brother?”

Vicky thought about it, the acrid tang of the coffee filling her nostrils. “He doesn’t seem the sort.”

“What does the sort look like?”

“Precisely. He’s fit and healthy, unlike his brother, but I just can’t see it.”

“So what do you want to do, Vicky?”

“Brian’s still in custody. We arrested him. There are a few things we can charge him with that mean we can keep him in.”

“Or we can let him go?”

“I’d say we keep him in.”

“Is this the man who had to get lugged in by Karen Woods’ husband? Guy on the mobility scooter?”

“It is, yes.”

Forrester wrinkled his nose. “Not sure keeping him in’s going to be a great idea. What if he has a heart attack?” He put his feet up on the desk and stared into his mug for a few seconds. “Let them go and get surveillance put on both of them. Kirk and Considine just lost their weekends.”

Vicky folded her arms. “Come on, sir.”

“Other than one of them watching a dodgy film, what’ve they done?”

“Brian’s into animal welfare.”

Forrester laughed. “Shall we bring Jamie Oliver and his
mates in?”

“I’m serious. We should consider Brian as a suspect.”

“Noted. He’s top of the list. We’ll watch him and his brother over the weekend. Get Zoë monitoring his internet usage, okay?”

“Fine.”

Forrester slammed his empty mug onto the desk. Beads of coffee flew out. “Look, Vicky, we could arrest the staff at the dog pounds between here and Glasgow. What good would it do?”

“Okay, sir.” Vicky bunched up her ponytail, tightening her grip around it. “Where’ve we got with the others?”

Forrester checked his watch. “The Fifers should just be coming over the Tay Bridge right about now. Bunch of schoolgirls, would you believe? Their parents and teachers weren’t impressed when half of Glenrothes CID pitched up at the school. I’m going to get Buchan and some uniform to lean on them and scare the holy crap out of them. Hopefully they’ll blab.”

Vicky nodded. “Are we speaking to their boyfriends? Reed seemed to think it might’ve been local youths egged on by their girlfriends.”

“Good point.” Forrester sat forward and noted it down. “I’ll get onto his DI and see what we can do there.”

“What about MacDonald’s two, sir? The accounts linked to the same IP?”

Forrester cleared his throat. “Mac’s not been able to get a hold of them yet.”

“Them?”

He grinned. “We know who it is. Traced them with BT. It’s a couple — Sandy and Polly Muirhead.”

“But you can’t find them?”

“Not yet. He’s been at their workplaces and the house. Nada.” Forrester leaned across his desk. “Vicky, can you and Considine head out to their house?”

Vicky scowled at him. “I need to get away, sir.”

“And I need you to stay. I’ve got the OT approved from Raven.”

Vicky leaned back, torn between maybe closing the case and spending time with her daughter. The money didn’t really come into it. She bit her nail. “Okay.”

Forrester put his feet on the table. “Good girl.”

Chapter Thirty

V
icky parked behind a blue BMW. The daylight was just dying as the sun dipped below the hills beyond Perth to the west. The street was one of the better ones in Dundee, a short row of old stone houses. “That’s MacDonald’s car there.”

“The 1-Series?” Considine laughed. “It’s a hairdresser’s car.”

“Not as macho as a Subaru?”

“No way.”

Vicky got out and headed over, sitting in the seat behind
MacDonald
, Considine sitting behind Karen Woods. “Evening.” She grinned at MacDonald. “Stephen was just saying this is a
hairdresser’s
car.”

MacDonald twisted round to glare at Considine. “That right?”

“You’re not disagreeing with me, are you?”

MacDonald chuckled. “I’ve seen your car, boy racer.”

Karen looked out of the passenger window.

“I just like a fast car, that’s all.”

“A boy who likes a fast car. A boy racer.”

Considine shook his head. “Whatever.”

Karen turned back to glare at them. “Have you two finished comparing dick sizes?”

MacDonald shrugged. “Just about.”

Vicky cleared her throat, regretting starting the whole thing. “Anything happened here?”

“No.” MacDonald glanced at the time display on the dashboard. “We’ve been here half an hour and there’s been no
movement
.”

Vicky opened the door. “Back in a minute.” She got out of the car and dialled her mother.

She answered this time. “That you, Victoria?”

“It is, Mum.”

Out of breath. “What is it?”

“I’m going to have to work late tonight.”

“I see.”

“Come on, Mum, you know how it is.”

“I thought I’d stopped all this when your father retired.”

“Can you just look after Bella till I get back?”

“When’s that going to be?”

“Late, I imagine.”

“I’ll put her to bed and wait at yours till you get back.”

“Thanks, Mum. You’re a lifesaver.” Vicky closed the phone and got back in the car. Considine and MacDonald both had their arms folded.

Karen looked around. “Who was that?”

“Mum. Oh, I saw Colin earlier.”

“So I gather. He texted me, said you were up to your psycho bitch stuff with some disabled guy.”

“He wasn’t disabled. He was just obese.”

“You’re not denying the psycho bitch stuff, though?”

Vicky laughed. “Too late now.”

The Airwave on the dashboard crackled. “Control to DS
MacDonald
. Over.”

MacDonald grabbed it, holding it up to his mouth. “
Receiving
.”

“Car with plates matching your search pattern’s heading your way.”

“Thanks.” MacDonald pocketed the Airwave and turned round.
“Time to go.”

At the junction with the Perth Road, a dark red Fiat slowed as it turned the corner into the street, headlights shining, before pulling in by the house.

“That’s him.” MacDonald opened his door and got out, leading them over to the car. He rapped on the passenger window as the engine switched off. It wound down. “Mr Muirhead?”

“Aye?”

MacDonald got out his warrant card. “Detective Sergeant Euan MacDonald of Police Scotland. Can we have a word?”

“What’s this about?”

“Better discuss this inside, sir.”

Muirhead got out of his car and locked the door. He was medium height, maybe late thirties with a slight paunch and a shaved head. “Look, what’s this all about?”

“Is your wife home, Mr Muirhead?”

He shook his head. “She should be home soon.”

“Right.”

They were lit up by another set of headlights. A cream Fiat 500 stopped in the street at the entrance, the right indicator still
flashing
.

MacDonald grabbed Muirhead. “Is that your wife?”

“A-a-aye.”

“I’m on it.” Vicky jogged to the car, Considine following. She held out her own warrant card, waiting for the window to crawl down. “Polly Muirhead?”

The woman in the car nodded, eyes wide.

Vicky opened the door. “We need to speak to you.”

“Okay.”

“Move the car forward, please.”

Polly stalled the car before eventually getting it to jerk forward, parking just behind her husband.

Vicky looked at Considine. “I could just see her making a run for it there.”

“Aye, and I don’t fancy our chances with your motor.”

“I suppose yours would have been better, right?”

“Aye.” Considine shrugged. “The Python can nail most cars in a dead heat.”

Vicky rolled her eyes. “At least you’ve not got pet names for parts of your anatomy.”

Considine paused and raised his eyebrows.