Witness the Dead (16 page)

There was something at his feet and he was reaching for it. ‘Toshney! Don’t touch it, whatever it is.’

He froze mid-reach and didn’t seem to know whether to twist or stick, instead wobbling uncertainly. She got closer and could see what had got him so agitated. A shoe, black and high-heeled. It was immediately familiar.

‘Get your arse out of there, Fraser, will you? And watch where you’re stepping. Try not to trample on any more ground than you have to and avoid standing on any footprints unless you can be sure they’re your own.’

‘You think this is it, then, Sarge? Where she was attacked?’

‘If that’s her shoe, then yes. Now get out.’

Toshney turned awkwardly, his eyes at his feet as if he were walking through a minefield in clown shoes. He took an ungainly step to his right, then jumped towards an untouched patch of ground, then made another leap back onto the tarmacked area, seemingly pleased with himself as he landed. He was more pleased with himself than Narey was, despite his find.

She pulled out her phone, at the same time waving her arms at the uniforms to come off the waste ground. ‘Tape up the area and get it cordoned off . . . Hello . . . DS Narey. I need forensics at the old Caledonia Road church in the Gorbals. No . . . now. And contact DI Addison as well, please, and tell him I need him down here.’

With Toshney safely back out of harm’s way, Narey carefully advanced towards the shoe. It was fairly new, the heel barely worn, hardly the thing that someone would throw away. Someone lose it while drunk? Always a possibility, but someone losing it while running or being attacked seemed much more likely. More than that, though, it just
was
the same shoe.

Compared with the rest of the scrub, the ground near the shoe was roughed up as if there had been people moving around on it. Her gut as well as her rationale had no doubt. This was the place.

Campbell Baxter, the heavyweight senior scene examiner, heaved himself out of the cruelly tight confines of his car just twenty minutes after Narey had made the call requesting his attendance. Baxter – or Two Soups, as he was universally known behind his back – wasn’t exactly the most popular of the SPSA staff as far as the police were concerned but he was nothing if not thorough. If there was anything at the scene that could be used, Baxter would make sure that his staff found it.

He calmly huffed his way towards Narey, pulling on his coveralls as he did so, finishing the performance by squeaking on two pairs of nitrile gloves with the uncharacteristic flourish of a final noisy smack of latex against his hand.

‘What do we have, Sergeant?’

‘A shoe. From here it’s a similar make, size and colour to the shoe missing from the Southern Necropolis murder victim. This road is on the route she was known to have taken after she was last seen. There has to be a strong possibility that this is where she was attacked.’

Baxter nodded grimly. ‘Okay. I assume no one has contaminated the scene by going over to the shoe.’

Narey looked towards Toshney, who reddened slightly and screwed his face into an apology.

Baxter harrumphed loudly, expelling air and disgruntlement. ‘Wonderful. Just wonderful. Take your shoes off, young man. Off, I said. Will someone competent please take prints of this idiot’s shoes for comparison purposes. Heaven help us. Can’t you keep them under control, Detective Sergeant Narey? I thought you knew better.’

‘Look, I’m as annoyed about this as you are. I can’t be everywhere at once, though. Don’t worry, Toshney and I will be having words later. Except he won’t be doing the talking.’

By now, a small army of white-suited troops had assembled at the scene under Baxter’s command, the uniformed constables pushed back to the periphery of the battle. Two Soups continued to grumble under his breath as he patrolled the perimeter, eyeing potential access routes.

‘Mr Burke,’ he called to one of this team. ‘Find yourself a clearway. I’d suggest in here.’ Baxter gestured with a wave of his arm. ‘Get us a few shots of the positioning of that shoe, then please remove it for examination. I’m going to get the case notes from the previous scene. Don’t let anyone trample over anything in my absence.’

Baxter returned to his car, quickly re-emerging with a computer tablet in his left hand. Using the built-in 3G technology, he tapped into the R2S, the Return to Scene software, as he walked. Once he’d bypassed the system’s security he was able to access all the case notes and photographs from Brem Dawson’s team at the cemetery where the second girl’s body was found. In seconds, he had clear, close-up photographs of the single shoe that Hannah Healey was wearing.

Paul Burke photographed the shoe from various angles, dropping a scale next to it to indicate size, and making sure its precise location and angle were recorded. That done, he slipped a pen under the heel and carefully lifted it into the air before depositing it safely into an evidence bag. Retracing his steps through the scene, he handed the bag over to Baxter.

Two Soups held the evidence bag up to the light in his left hand, his eyes squinting and his right hand rummaging thoughtfully through his woolly, grey beard. He looked at the markings on the sole: the maker’s logo and the size clear to be seen. Baxter’s mouth tightened, pushing his fat lips up towards his nose in a display of deliberation.

‘Clearly, I cannot offer a definitive opinion until we do the relevant tests, DS Narey. However, I will be surprised if those tests do not tell us that this is the partner to the shoe that the victim was wearing. Now, if you will excuse me, we need to get to work. This is, ostensibly at least, a crime scene and we have evidence to find. We will start with the footprints in the area around where the shoe was. Including those of DC Toshney!’

Narey had barely begun to sigh when she became aware of a commotion at her back. She turned to see Denny Kelbie and Addison both emerging from their cars at the roadside, Kelbie with DS Ferry trotting at his heels. By the look on the DCI’s face, he wasn’t surprised that they were both there, but Addison certainly was. He fired an angry look first at Kelbie and then at her. Great, she thought, it will somehow be my fault.

Kelbie and Addison both began striding towards the scene as if in a race where neither of them was allowed to run. The diminutive DCI and the lanky DI didn’t look at each other, but Addison was clearly aware of the smug grin on Kelbie’s face.

‘You called me here, DS Narey,’ Addison said pointedly when the pair of them reached her.

‘And the control office called me,’ Kelbie added without being asked.

‘Under whose instruction?’ Addison asked sarcastically.

Narey looked back defiantly at both men. ‘I’m not getting in the middle of this. With all due respect, sirs, if you want to get into a pissing contest then leave me out of it. We’ve found what looks like Hannah Healey’s missing shoe and most probably the place she was attacked. Mr Baxter’s staff are about to collect evidence from the scene. Other than that, it looks like we might be a bit overstaffed here, don’t you think?’

Addison and Kelbie glared at each other, their mutual loathing obvious and neither wishing to back down. Narey stepped into the breach again.

‘We’re not going to have much success with potential witnesses. Nobody could see anything from that direction.’ She pointed at the bleak solidity of the brick wall across the road under the railway bridge. ‘And the church blocks out the view from the road ahead. It only leaves the houses over there – and they must be two hundred yards away – or the multis back there behind Cumberland Street. And it was pitch dark.’

Kelbie ignored her. ‘Where’s the shoe?’

Addison brightened. ‘Oh, aye, the shoe. I’m with DCI Kelbie on that one. I’d love to see the shoe.’

Narey and Kelbie looked at Addison, hearing the sarcasm that was dripping from his voice and seeing the beginning of a smirk appearing on his face.

‘I saw you on the telly earlier, sir,’ Addison continued, his grin growing. ‘Interesting theory. About how the shoes were key to this. How the killer had a fetish for shoes. Very psychological, that. You might be on to something there, sir. It turned out to be quite convenient that the papers got that “Cinderella” line, didn’t it?’

‘What are you suggesting? You better watch your step, Addison.’

‘Oh, I’m watching it, sir. I’m watching where I’m putting my feet. Are you? Because, if you’re not careful, you’ll be putting yours right in it. Which is a wee bit ironic, don’t you think?’

Kelbie squared right up to Addison, stretching his neck to make any kind of vertical parity that he could, his voice dropping so that he couldn’t be heard by anyone else. ‘You keep taking the piss, Addison, and I’ll have your guts. You’re a loudmouth smartarse and I’m sure there are plenty of senior officers who would be glad to see the back of you. I can make that happen.’

Addison dropped his head down nearer to Kelbie’s until they were almost forehead to forehead, his voice also softening so that only Kelbie would hear. ‘You can’t make that happen because you are a useless little shite who’s only been a DCI for five minutes and only then because of some clerical cockup. If you were going to have a quiet word in a superintendent’s ear, then you’d need to stand on a chair. And even then you’d need to take your tongue out of his arse to do it. Sir.’

Kelbie’s lips drew back into one of his canine snarls but Addison beamed broadly at him and moved before the DCI could reply, calling on Baxter to ask where the shoe was. He strode off towards where he was directed, leaving Kelbie seething.

‘It’s Hannah Healey’s all right,’ he announced loudly, holding the evidence bag up before him, ostensibly to the light but actually so everyone in earshot could see what he was referring to. Given that Addison was talking at full volume, ‘in earshot’ meant every cop and forensic at the scene.

‘It is hers, DCI Kelbie. Wouldn’t you say, sir?’

Kelbie took the bag from him, examined it fiercely and grudgingly nodded. ‘It certainly appears to be a match.’

‘Bit of a pity, sir. In fact I’d go so far to say it’s a great disappointment.’

‘Why’s that, DI Addison?’ Kelbie forced the question out through gritted teeth. Addison smiled as if he’d never been so pleased to be asked a question.

‘Because I thought we were really onto something with your theory about the shoe fetish. The one that you announced all over national television. That could have been the breakthrough that we needed, but it looks like . . . unless . . . Mr Baxter, you’re an expert on all things anatomical and physiological. In your experience, how many feet do human beings tend to have?’

Two Soups began to answer the question before realising the nature of it. ‘Two of course. I don’t . . . Really, DI Addison! I’ve got work to do.’

Addison made a face of exaggerated disappointment. ‘That’s it, then. Our only chance was that Hannah would have worn three shoes, but, seeing as she didn’t, then your theory is a bit, well, fucked.’

Kelbie’s face was flushed with anger, his ears glowing and the vein on his forehead ready to pop. ‘This disproves nothing yet.’

Addison laughed. ‘No offence, but I think it probably does. If I follow your theory right, what must have happened is that our killer with a shoe fetish has taken one of her shoes – not two, mind, just one – and brings it here to dump it rather than getting himself away safely and taking it with him? He really is a twisted genius, this guy, isn’t he?’

Kelbie tried to get close so he could again speak to Addison without anyone else hearing but the DI backed away on the pretence of walking nearer to the place the shoe had been found, forcing Kelbie to raise his growl. ‘So what’s your bright idea, then?’

Addison shrugged genially. ‘Well, what we actually have is one victim with shoes and one without. Hardly much of a pattern, is it, sir? I think, sadly, we have to file that theory under “pile of shite”. Should we call the television to tell them?’

Kelbie advanced halfway to where Addison stood before halting, acutely aware of every eye on them, his finger twitching to point at Addison but somehow stopping himself. ‘I want a full report on every bit of evidence found at this site on my desk by the morning. I want every house over there door-knocked for witnesses and the same with the flats back there. And
you
’ – he jabbed his forefinger at Addison – ‘and I are going to have words.’

Kelbie spun on his heel, DS Ferry falling into line behind him, and marched back towards his car. As he stormed away, Addison made a mock salute. ‘Yes, sir. Looking forward to it. We can work on some more theories.’

Narey walked to Addison’s side and they both watched Kelbie’s car drive off.

‘Sir?’ she asked quietly. ‘You do know that he’s a DCI, right? And you’re not.’

‘Is he? I hadn’t noticed. But I did notice that he’s a wee shite and I’m not.’

‘Well . . . you’re not wee, sir. I have to give you that.’

‘Insulting language to a senior officer, Rachel? I can’t be having that. C’mon, let’s see what Baxter’s boys have found. The key to this case is here. I can smell it.’

‘Aye, okay, but you do know that if you keep poking the fire like that you’ll eventually get your fingers burned?’

‘Ach, dinnae worry. I’ve got asbestos fingers, Rachel. Asbestos bloody fingers.’

Chapter 20

Monday evening

At rush hour, it was a ten-minute walk or a twenty-minute drive from his office in Pitt Street to his flat in Berkeley Street, but sometimes Winter still took the car. It depended on how much gear he had with him – camera equipment was heavy and cumbersome – or simply whether it was raining. It rained a lot.

That evening he walked. It was just after eight, he had his rucksack over his shoulder and everything that he was likely to need was inside. He was walking down Bath Street, dodging his way through other late workers with their noses glued to the screens of their mobile phones. One or two were caught accidentally on purpose by the corner of his bag, justice for not looking where they were going.

After his morning fall-out with Danny, the day hadn’t got much better, being long on routine and short on excitement. The investigation into the two murders whirled around him but, today at least, he couldn’t reach out and touch it. He’d already photographed all that there was to see in relation to the killings and had processed it all by mid-afternoon. The remainder of the day was spent catching up on more mundane filing: a stabbing from Bilsland Drive and a hit-and-run at Anniesland Cross.