Stranglehold Page 6

  'Did you get a look at the driver?'

  'That's probably what made me dismiss seeing the car. He was in a tracksuit with the hood up. He looked like a jogger. Most people who jog around the park so early come in their car and park up.'

  Drummond's mind flashed back to when they'd found Maggie Burns at The Barras. The CCTV image they'd watched of the killer dragging his victim's body along the lane was scrolling through his mind. He'd been wearing a tracksuit – and the hood had been firmly pulled up. It was hardly a connection though. Everybody wore tracksuits these days. But still…

  'Does it help?' Olivia was still leaning in close. He wondered how she would react if he should reach out and touch her cheek. He'd probably get a slap. She might even report him for sexual harassment.

  'Do I still have to come into the police station to give a statement?' She was sitting very close.

  'That would be helpful.' He was glad she couldn't see this funny lurching his heart was doing.

  'Will you be there, Jack?'

  His body was responding to her closeness in a way that was not strictly professional. He swallowed. 'Possibly not, but we have other officers who can take your statement.'

  Her fingers stroked the stem of her glass. 'That's a shame,' she said.

  'It doesn't mean we couldn't meet up again. Maybe we could have a drink some time?' He couldn't believe he was inviting her on a date.

  'I'd like that, Jack.' She smiled into his eyes as she took a card from her bag. 'My mobile number is on the back.' She slid the card onto the table and stood up. 'Call me,' she said. He watched her leave the pub, his hand trembling as he picked up the card and put it in his pocket.

  Nine

  Thoughts of the delectable Olivia Ryder were still filling Drummond's head as he sat at his desk next day. His phone rang and he grabbed at it, irritated at the interruption to the pleasing fantasy forming in his mind.

  'There's someone down here to see you, Inspector,' the voice said. Drummond gave a disgruntled sigh. He was on the point of barking he was too busy, but he knew whoever was asking for him would only come back.

  'Two minutes,' he said, grabbing his jacket as he strode out of the incident room and made for the stairs.

  Three faces glanced up at him as he burst into the reception. He didn't recognize any of them. The desk sergeant caught his eye and nodded to the street door.

  'Sorry, Jack, you just missed her.'

  Drummond cursed, battering through the glass door and squinting up and down the street He spotted her slumped against a parked car. He hardly recognized her. The long dark hair had been chopped and dyed blonde, she had a black eye and there was an angry cut on her cheek. Judging by the way she was holding herself she'd also had a kicking.

  She looked like she had acquired a nasty new habit since he'd last seen her – one that would be expensive to maintain. The stupid girl had got herself involved with drugs. He could feel the anger searing inside him.

  Evie Walker tried to smile but it came over as a grimace. 'You said I could contact you if I needed a mate. I think I...' She didn't need to finish the sentence. Drummond sprang forward to catch her as she started to slide to the ground.

  'You need a doctor,' he said.

  She grabbed his arm. 'No doctor. Please!'

  But he was in no mood to argue. 'You're going to A&E.'

  An hour later, with a dressing over the cut on her cheek and a dose of methadone inside her, Evie hobbled by his side across the hospital car park.

  Drummond got her into his car and then sat back frowning. What was he supposed to do with her? He couldn't just bundle her off on a train this time. 'Maybe now you'll consider going home,' he said.

  The look of horror in her eyes told him that wouldn't be happening. 'Well what then? Is there a friend you could stay with?' She shook her head.

  He sighed. 'What about those relations in Edinburgh? Couldn't they take you in?'

  The look she gave him told Drummond there had been no relations in Edinburgh. He rolled his eyes. No need to wonder how she'd been supporting herself there. She'd been back soliciting on the streets. It left him with no option.

  'Right,' he said wearily. 'You can stay at my place for a few days until you get yourself sorted, but there will be rules.'

  Evie's face broke into a crooked grin and he was reminded again of his young niece, Sarah. But she'd grown up in a loving family. He suspected it had been very different for Evie.

  Trusting this young woman with the free range of his flat was madness, but what choice did he have? He felt responsible for her.

  Evie glanced about her as they walked in, her surprised expression clearly indicating that a man on his own would live in such order. Drummond followed her gaze around the small sitting room, taking in the two grey sofas he'd bought second hand, the coffee table, bookcase and the TV in the alcove. It was minimal and orderly, just the way he liked it.

  'You're very tidy,' she said.

  'That's because I don't choose to live in a pig sty.'

  'I won't mess it up, I promise,' she said, looking up at him.

  'You'd better not or you'll be out on your ear just as soon as I get back.'

  She frowned. 'You're going out?'

  'I have to work.' He nodded to the kitchen. 'There's food in the fridge and the TV controller is just there.'

  She touched his arm as he turned for the door. 'I really appreciate this Mr Drummond. I won't let you down. I promise.'

  He nodded. 'I might be late back. You can sleep in the bed. I'll have the sofa.'

  'Thank you,' she said. He thought he caught the glint of a tear in her dark eyes as she looked away.

  On the landing outside his flat he stood shaking his head, not quite sure what he'd been thinking to allow a young hooker with a drug habit to stay with him. He could imagine what DCI Joey Buchan would say about it if she found out. But she wouldn't find out, nobody would. This was one part of his private life he definitely needed to keep quiet.

  He went back to the nick and sat at his desk, trying to focus on the various lines of enquiry he'd assigned to his team of detectives. There was one way he could distract himself from worrying about Evie Walker. He took the smart business card from his pocket and flicked it over, staring at the mobile number Olivia had written on the back. He felt the stir of excitement as she answered.

  Olivia Ryder's flat was as stylish as he'd imagined. The silver-framed modern art on the white walls wasn't to his taste, but here the paintings somehow looked right. Two low-slung armchairs flanked an impressively large fireplace. Apart from a black leather sofa, coffee table and drinks trolley there wasn't much more furniture in the room.

  'Do you like what you see, Jack?'

  He wasn't sure if she was referring to how fabulous she looked in the slinky black dress or the minimalist style her flat had been furnished in. It was 'yes' to the first, 'no' to the second. She looked good enough to eat in that figure-hugging dress. It wasn't what he'd been expecting given they had only been meeting for a drink, but maybe Olivia had always had other plans for them that evening. He was in her flat, so he was hopeful.

  From where he sat on the sofa he could see into the gleaming white kitchen. There was not a single item of clutter on the granite worktops. He thought of his own basic kitchen and the coffee pot, mug stand, toaster, kettle, jars of spices and all the other essential things that were practically to hand. This was a different world.

  'You like my apartment?' Olivia asked, returning with a bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses.

  He nodded. 'Very smart.' He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. He thought there'd be more old paintings, some antiques maybe, or did she get enough of these things at work?

  She put down the tray and invited him to pour. They sat, sipping their wine and eyeing each other. 'Tell me about being a policeman,' she said.

  The remark took him by surprise. He'd joined the force because a savvy old copper had saved him from a life of crime, but he wasn't about
to tell her that, so he batted it back with his own question. 'Why did you become an auctioneer?'

  'Because I'm good at it,' she said. 'I was brought up in an antique shop in Edinburgh and went to all the auctions with my father. By the time I went to university I knew as much about the business as he did.'

  'University as well? I'm impressed,' Drummond said. 'What did you study?'

  She gave him a slow smile. 'I studied law,' she said, beckoning him to join her across the room.

  Drummond had a skip in his step as he breezed into the incident room next morning. Only Gail Swann raised an eyebrow that he was still wearing yesterday's shirt. He didn't care. He was seeing Olivia again that weekend…and he couldn't wait.

  He wondered how Evie had got on alone in his flat all night. She'd looked worried when he'd dashed back to tell her he'd either be home late or not at all. He hoped she wouldn't have gone out looking for drugs. He should have checked up on her before coming to work but DCI Buchan was already on his case and there hadn't been time.

  She was looking particularly stormy when the team got together for the morning briefing. 'Three bloody murders and we're no further forward,' she said icily. 'This strangler bastard is bloody playing with us.'

  She swung her attention to Drummond. 'What've we got on this last one, DI Drummond?'

  He stepped forward so he could address the room. 'DC Swann and I interviewed her husband and according to him she's not a full-time hooker. She has a job in a local cafe.'

  Joey Buchan gave a heavy sigh. 'I'm guessing it wasn't her waitressing skills that attracted our killer. If she had this cosy respectable life, why the hell did she turn to prostitution?'

  Drummond pulled a face. 'The money. According to her husband, Derek, our victim liked nice things and the prostitution paid for them.' He turned to DC Dale McQueen, who had been detailed to pay Benny Saul another visit. 'What did Saul have to say about her?'

  Dale flicked through his notebook. 'According to him, Lena Murray was a freelancer. He says she was definitely not one of his girls.'

  'So, he admits he does have girls?' Gail Swann said.

  Dale nodded. 'But I wouldn't celebrate too soon. Knowing what a worm the man is, he'll have another story today.'

  'We need to speak to Derek Murray again. What kind of man allows his wife to go out soliciting? We didn't push him too much yesterday. He looked genuinely devastated when we told him we'd found his wife's body.'

  He flicked his attention back to the whiteboard and the pictures of the murdered women. 'Do we need to look at the dates again?' Gail came forward and stood by the wall. 'The first victim was murdered on the Saturday before Christmas, the next on February 14th.'

  'Valentine's Day,' Dale said.

  Gail nodded. 'And now this current victim, Lena Murray on April 1st.'

  DCI Buchan shook her head and slid her bum from the table she'd perched on. 'April Fool!' she hissed. 'He is bloody playing with us.'

  Drummond blew out his cheeks. 'Maybe the dates have some other significance, something only he knows.'

  Joey Buchan blinked at him. 'Great work, Sherlock. But how does that bloody help us?'

  She was right. He felt the dates were significant, but he had no idea why. He was remembering what Olivia had told him about seeing that car cruising through the park when she spotted the body. Was that the killer? They suspected their killer hung around to make sure his victim was discovered before leaving the scene. His mind went back to their first victim at The Barras. Had the killer been there watching when the stallholder Alec Millburn found Maggie Burns' body? Had he been hanging around the waste ground when dog walker, Liam Stiller, found Bonnie Brennan?

  Where CCTV was available, they had concentrated on scanning it over the early hours of the morning when the strangler was likely to have dumped the body. They hadn't been particularly interested beyond that, certainly not when the body had been discovered. They had to go back to those tapes.

  Ten

  Number 87, Hilton Street was bathed in a pool of yellow light from the street lamp. Drummond shifted his position and squinted along the row of terraced houses. His face had settled into a permanent frown. This surveillance was a complete time waster. He should be out on the streets looking for the Glasgow Strangler. At this very moment another poor woman could be having the life choked out of her while he sat here waiting for a non-existent burglar to put in an appearance.

  Beside him, Gail Swann stifled a yawn, trying not to look terminally bored. 'I suppose we're sure about this intelligence, boss?'

  He knew she really wanted to ask how much longer he was planning to drag out this pointless stakeout. Slimy Sammy Turk had given him duff info and to make matters worse Drummond would now have to face the music back at the nick. He could see the DCI's sneering face. She was going to love this. Nothing gave Joey Buchan more pleasure than tearing strips off him when he'd messed up. And he had definitely messed up…again. He was imagining aiming his fist at Sammy Turk's stupid pock-marked chin.

  The man was the most unreliable of Drummond's informants and yet he still used him.

  It had been a couple of years since Turk first sidled up to Drummond in Mungo's Bar, off Trongate, but he remembered it like it had been yesterday. Turk had offered him a Gucci ladies' gold watch. He'd sneaked it out of his pocket, surreptitiously revealing it to Drummond. 'You look like a bloke who knows a good thing when he sees it,' he'd said. 'Nine hundred quid's worth of watch. It's yours for a monkey.' The man was moving restlessly from foot to foot. Drummond had taken an involuntary step back trying to avoid the drift of BO that was wafting in his direction.

  Drummond remembered he'd chosen this pub because it was off the beaten track and he'd be unlikely to meet any of his police colleagues there. But he couldn't hide the fact that he was a cop and drinkers who frequented these backstreet Glasgow pubs could smell the polis from a mile away. This idiot must be desperate, either that or he was blind. Drummond was sensing a collar here if he played along. He glanced at the watch and shrugged. 'Too glittery for me, mate.'

  'It's no fur you, but just think how much the missus would love tae have this strapped tae her wrist.' He tilted the watch and it glinted in the stark light of the pub. He nudged Drummond's arm. 'You'd be on wan hell of a promise if you gave her this,' he said, winking. Drummond had fought the urge to laugh out loud at the man's audacity. He nodded to the door. 'Not here. Too many eyes. Let's step outside.'

  A few heads came up as they left pub, but Drummond ignored them. He knew what he was about to do. The street was deserted. He gave the man a cold smile. 'You didn't expect me to have 500 notes in my pocket, did you?' The man had given him a cocky look. 'I'm prepared to negotiate,' he'd said.

  'I'm not.' Drummond's grin widened as he took out his ID. 'And you're nicked, mate,' he'd said, pinning the man to the wall as he'd seized the watch. 'What's your name?'

  'Turk…Sammy Turk and this isnae ma gear. Have a heart, boss, I'm only doing somebody a favour selling it for them.'

  'Who?' Drummond's voice had been sharp.

  'What's in it fur me if ah tell you?'

  'You don't have a choice, sunshine. You've already admitted trying to sell stolen goods.'

  'Ah didnae say it was stolen.'

  'But it was, wasn't it? No point in lying. You know we can trace exactly where this came from. I'm giving you the chance to come clean. Who gave you the watch?'

  'He'll come efter me if he knows Ah snitched on him. Ah need protection.'

  Drummond pursed his lips and tilted his head at the man. 'OK, here's what we'll do. You give me this name and I don't arrest you for fencing.'

  Sammy Turk looked unsure. 'He'll know it wis me that shopped him.'

  Drummond shrugged. 'No reason why he should. We'll be discreet.' The man still didn't look convinced. 'Of course, if you really want an assurance that you won't be dropped in it with your friend we could come to a further arrangement.'

  Turk's wary eyes narrowed. 'And whit wid that
be?'

  'You could join my little band of helpers.'

  'You want me to be your snitch?'

  Drummond raised an eyebrow. 'Your choice, but it could be in your interest. Every time you give me a good tip-off you get a backhander.'

  The man's brow had creased. He still wasn't sure. Drummond waited. They'd both looked up at the click of high heels as a woman walked towards them. 'OK, OK, Ah'll dae it. Let's just get away fae here.' They moved along the pavement, keeping an eye on the woman as she'd disappeared into the pub.

  'You were saying?' Drummond was losing his patience.

  'It's Jesse Dunn.' The man's voice was rasping. 'He's got a lock-up full of this stuff.'

  Drummond headed the team that raided the lock-up and arrested Dunn. He earned himself a stack of brownie points that night.

  And so, Drummond's dubious relationship with Sammy Turk had begun. In the beginning, his information had been good, but it very much depended on how desperately he needed a fix.

  He'd approached Drummond this time with information that might, if true, lead to the arrest of the bastard who had been preying on vulnerable elderly people. But things weren't looking hopeful.

  Beside him Gail sighed and moved her feet, kicking aside the discarded plastic coffee cartons on the floor before settling back into the cramped space of the passenger seat. Drummond avoided her stare. His own patience was at breaking point too. 'We'll give it another ten minutes,' he said. Adding silently, 'Then I'm off to find the little bastard, Turk, and string him up by his balls.'

  They'd sat in silence for another few minutes when Drummond's head suddenly jerked up. He sprang forward, peering into the dark at the far end of the street. There it was again! 'Did you see that?'

  'What?' Gail said.

  'Out there!' Drummond's chest tightened, his eyes darting about, searching for another movement in the darkness. 'Just there!' He pointed. He could feel the adrenaline pumping. 'Three lamp posts along, look!'