Witness the Dead (8 page)

The phrase jagged its way across the room, screeching like nails down a blackboard. Shirley let the thought settle on his audience as he bent to click the mouse at his fingertips, causing the photographs behind to be replaced by two more that Winter had taken: the matching stomachs of the two girls and the identical lettering. Enlarged as they were, the similarities in the handwriting were obvious. Small involuntary gasps slipped from the mouths of some of those who hadn’t seen them before.

‘The images before you were written on the victims in lipstick. That information remains sacrosanct. If it goes into the force at large or, God forbid, into the public arena, then I will be holding people in this room responsible and I will not be pleased.’

The Temple glared round the room, seeking any wavering eyes, determined that his message hammered into the skulls of his detectives. There was no dissention.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, forgive me for stating the frigging obvious, but we are dealing with an extremely disturbed and dangerous individual. Both girls were raped. Both were strangled. Hannah Healey also suffered severe and violent head injuries. What I want you to do is to apprehend him before this’ – he gestured behind him – ‘happens again. Whatever else you are working on takes second place. No, it takes third place. This investigation takes first
and
second place. I will not have another victim, not under my watch. Do I make myself clear?’

‘DI Addison,’ Shirley started again, his tone as fierce as before, ‘bring everyone up to speed, please.’

Addison got to his feet, the briefest of unrequited glances over at Kelbie as he did so.

‘Kirsty McAndrew had been on a night out with friends. They were in Citation in the Merchant City and also Bacchus. We have . . . this image from Citation’s CCTV.’ A grainy still shot showed five attractive young women dressed up for a night out. ‘Kirsty walked home alone and we believe she was attacked en route. CCTV has some images of her walking on the Trongate at twelve-thirty. Time of death is estimated at around two a.m. She was strangled, partly by use of the necklace that she was wearing.

‘Her bag was present at the scene, its contents found dumped some distance away. Her shoes were not present and remain missing. She was wearing them in the CCTV, so she may have lost them in a struggle or the killer may have taken them.

‘We’ve only known of Hannah Healey’s identity for a couple of hours so we don’t have as much information on her as we’d like. Your job will be to put that right as soon as possible. We are currently aware of no confirmed link between the two of them. If there is one, you will need to find it and fast. If there isn’t, our job will be a hell of a lot harder, and whoever killed them is a bona fide serial nutjob.’

Shirley’s eyebrows shot up at Addison’s language, provoking a matching sneer from Denny Kelbie. Addison wasn’t particularly fussed by either but he had to stop when Shirley placed an arm out in front of him and scraped his chair back as he stood up again.

‘Let me interrupt at this point to make something quite clear. I have no doubt that a link does exist between these two young women. They may have frequented the same pub or club, used the same gym, had the same ex-boyfriend. I don’t know. Check their entire histories: school, work, family, personal lives, everything. There
is
a link. Find it.’

Addison allowed Shirley to retake his seat, watching his boss vigorously smooth his suit jacket back into place. He cleared his throat theatrically and continued.

‘Kirsty McAndrew had this’ – he clicked the mouse, and a new photograph appeared on the whiteboard – ‘tattoo on her back. DS Narey has established that it refers to her former boyfriend Robert Wylde. Narey and I have interviewed Wylde and believe it is unlikely that he was involved in her murder. He’s got a busy charge sheet and some history of violence but I don’t think he’s our man.’

Addison caught the maliciously raised eyebrow offered }up by Kelbie for public consumption and managed to swallow down the retort that yearned to burst free from within him, refusing to give the DCI the satisfaction. ‘We are of course not ruling Wylde out and will explore every avenue open to us. With that in mind, Rico, I want you to take over coordinating a look into the tattoo parlours in town. We think this was done relatively recently and might give us something to work with. There’s already been groundwork done and Jason will fill you in on where his people have been.’

DS Giannandrea nodded, taking the printed copy of the tattoo that was passed down to him. Winter, looking over his shoulder, followed the contours of the angry snake that inked its way round the small of Kirsty McAndrew’s back.

‘Andy, go over every inch of the CCTV from Citation and whatever Bacchus has,’ Addison continued. ‘Also get everything you can between there and Elcho Street. Talk to her friends and the staff, see if anyone was hanging around, paying Kirsty special attention, that sort of thing.’

‘Narey, coordinate further door-to-door round Caledonia Road and surrounding areas. Trawl her route home. We need details on her movements last night, boyfriends, friends, family. Take Toshney with you.’

Winter couldn’t see the look on Rachel’s face but he could picture it, and allowed himself a smile. He knew just how much she enjoyed having Toshney as a sidekick. But he also knew Addy. The fact that Rachel didn’t want Toshney would have been reason enough for her to get him.

‘DS Ferry you – and your DCI – talk to her parents, her friends and whatever other close family she had. Talk to Wylde again and see if there was another boyfriend or someone she’d maybe knocked back. See if we can set up a reconstruction as well. Someone must have seen her walking alone even if the cameras haven’t.’

A low rumble escaped from Kelbie’s throat and the skin around his eyes reddened.

‘Thanks for the advice, DI Addison. If you’re also going to teach us how to suck eggs then can you wait till this investigation is over? In the meantime, maybe we can discuss the most significant piece of information that we have to hand. The one you haven’t mentioned yet.’

Addison stared and Winter could tell he wasn’t sure whether Kelbie was bluffing or not. The self-satisfied look on Kelbie’s snarling face made Winter fairly sure that he wasn’t.

‘What information is that?’ Addison couldn’t help himself.

‘The fact that Kirsty McAndrew’s bloodstream contained heavy levels of benzodiazepines.’

‘Where the fuck were you keeping that little nugget of information?’

Addison paused, seeing the reproach on Shirley’s face. ‘Sorry. Where the fuck were you keeping that little nugget of information,
sir
?’

Kelbie smiled smugly, enjoying Addison’s fury. ‘I took the liberty of having a wee chat with your lab people. Very accommodating they were, too. The toxicology tests aren’t complete yet, as some of the samples have yet to be returned, but the blood samples suggest Kirsty McAndrew was heavily sedated. Some derivative of Rohypnol, most likely.’

Shirley leaned forward, deliberately cutting off the space between Addison and Kelbie. ‘Thank you, DCI Kelbie, good work. Derek, contact the lab and ask them to match the results against the samples taken from Hannah Healey.’

‘No need.’ Kelbie grinned like a pit bull licking raw meat. ‘I’ve already asked them to check. They’ll get the results back to me by the morning.’

Chapter 10

Late Sunday afternoon

Addison and Winter followed Cat Fitzpatrick as she led them through a set of swing doors and down the pale, narrow corridor on the first floor of the Scottish Police Services Authority building. Winter saw that Addison’s gaze was focused admiringly on the pathologist’s rear and gave him a frown of disapproval that the DI cheerfully shrugged off.

‘I don’t mind acting as tour guide,’ Fitzpatrick was saying, albeit in a tone that suggested she did mind. ‘But I’m not sure Sam will have results for you by now.’

‘If they’re not ready, they’re not,’ Addison replied, his stare never wavering. ‘I’m just keen to find out the conclusions. Before anyone else does.’

Winter knew full well what the last comment meant, and so too, by her reply, did Cat.

‘Such admirable dedication. And I’m sure that it has nothing to do with a visit this morning by DCI Kelbie. And why have you got Tony with you, anyway? I can’t see any need to photograph lipstick samples.’

‘Do you two mind not talking about me as if I’m either not here or stupid?’

They both ignored him and Addison coughed unconvincingly before answering. ‘I feel it will help to record the process. For evidentiary purposes. And because we have to attend another location immediately after we leave here.’

‘The Station Bar by any chance? I hear that place is full of highly suspicious characters.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Fitzpatrick.’

‘Course you don’t. Okay, here we are.’

Fitzpatrick opened the door into the lab and led them inside. Winter was struck, as he always was, by the suffocatingly clinical nature of the room. Diffused lighting, sterile workspaces and numerous trays of blue plastic test tube holders. There were phials and bell jars and endless computer monitors. Above all, there was a pervading sense of seriousness.

Cat Fitzpatrick looked around the lab, obviously not seeing the person she was looking for. ‘Sam?’

‘Two seconds.’

An impossibly tall and slender young woman in a white lab coat emerged from behind a screen, her hands resplendent in bright-purple nitrile gloves and a pair of protective glasses pushing long dark hair back onto her head. She unashamedly looked Winter and Addison up and down, seeming to take a particular interest in the DI’s lanky six-foot-four frame. Rather than address either of them, however, she spoke to Fitzpatrick, betraying the hint of an accent that might have been Aberdonian beneath its educated overtones.

‘Hi, Cat. I take it these are the long legs of the law.’

Fitzpatrick tried to hide the smile that fought its way onto her face at seeing Addison on the receiving end of a sexist remark for a change.

‘It is indeed. Detective Inspector Derek Addison and photographer Tony Winter. DI Addison, this is Sam Guthrie, one of our chemists. She’s been taking care of the lipstick for your collar.’

Winter watched the sideshow, seeing an uncustomary awkwardness in Addison as he realised the joke, and that the innuendo was at his expense.

‘Aye, very good. Thanks for seeing us, Miss, er, Ms . . .’

The chemist smiled and her eyes showed amusement at the DI’s unease.

‘Sam. It’s short for Samantha.’

‘Sam. Thanks.’

Fitzpatrick and Winter swapped glances, both enjoying Addison’s discomfort and happy for him to know it. The DI glared at them.

‘Right, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got things to do. Play nice.’ Fitzpatrick hesitated and glanced at Guthrie. ‘Both of you.’

Guthrie smiled at Addison, her right arm out playfully as if guiding the way. ‘This way, gentlemen, and I’ll bring you up to speed on where we are with your sample. Do you know anything about forensic discrimination of lipsticks?’

Both men shook their heads, causing the chemist to tut in mock disapproval.

‘It’s an interesting science. There was an excellent paper done on it by the Forensic Science Society of Malaysia in 2011. Bit of a field leader. The key is to apply a little TLC. Do you know what TLC is, Detective Inspector Addison?’

The DI seemed to swallow before answering. ‘Um, tender loving care?’

‘Thin-layer chromatography. Lipstick samples that are indistinguishable during visual analysis can be discriminated from each other by a combination of TLC and GC-MS.’

‘Okay, I’ll bite. GC–MS?’

‘Gas chromatography–mass spectrometry.’

‘Right, obviously.’

‘We analyse the colouring agents with TLC and the organic components with GC–MS. Okay, see these two lipsticks?’ Guthrie held up two seemingly identically coloured tubes of red within an inch or two of her own lips. ‘What colour would you say they were?’

Addison shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Like I’d know. Well, they’re kind of blood red. Actually, this is one for you, Tony. Miss . . . um, Sam, you may not know but Tony here has his own patented colour chart for blood. He’s just the man to answer that question.’

Guthrie looked at Winter curiously. ‘Hmm, I think I may have heard about this. Canteen chat. You differentiate blood by colour according to the degree of oxygenation, right?’

Nice attempt at deflection, Addy, Winter thought. But, fair enough, he’d play along.

‘Yeah, that’s pretty much it. I can make a fair stab at time of death, or at least the time of bleeding, by visual analysis. When it spills from the body, the haemoglobin is fully oxygenated and the blood is bright red like candy apple. Later it loses oxygen and becomes dull and listless like sangria or burgundy. It’s not an exact science but I’ve had plenty of practice.’

Guthrie turned to look at Addison and raised her eyebrows in bemusement.

‘Is he a bit . . . sick in the head?’

‘No, he’s just a bit . . . special.’

‘Hmm. Interesting. Okay, Tony, so what colour would you say these lipsticks are? According to your . . . chart.’

‘I’d say they represent something like three-hour-old blood. Maybe firebrick red or carmine.’

Guthrie examined Winter for a while as if he were something at the bottom of a Petri dish, before shaking her head at him and turning back to Addison.

‘Not exactly what I would call suitably sexy names for a lipstick, are they? I’d suggest something like “passion”, “heat” or “sensual”. What do you think, Detective Inspector?’

Addison looked from Winter to Guthrie and back again as if he’d stumbled into a madhouse.

‘Do they seem the same colour to you, Detective Inspector?’

Addison nodded resignedly. If it was a game, he was losing.

‘They do look very similar,’ Guthrie conceded. ‘But I’ve analysed them with TLC and here’s an overlay of the chromatograms showing the analysis of both lipsticks. One in red and the other in green. See the different peaks?’

Addison looked at the chart offered to him and saw rising, simultaneous, coloured peaks but in each case the red and green crests were at varying heights, sometimes wildly different.