Читать книгу Perfect Crime - Helen Fields - Страница 10

The Major Investigation Team was buzzing. Detective Superintendent Overbeck had even graced the briefing room for once and was standing in front of the crowd looking at her watch when Ava walked in. The right-hand side of her face was remarkably unscathed, but her left eye was black. The gash along her cheekbone was being held together with butterfly stitches and the bump on her forehead was such a perfect half-egg that it looked almost unreal. Overbeck stared openly at her, arms folded, mouth gaping. Ava went straight to her to apologise.

‘Don’t even bother,’ Overbeck said before Ava could get a word out. ‘Is Police Scotland pay really so bad you’re having to audition as an extra in a fucking zombie movie? Just tell me you weren’t on duty at the time, because you’re not suing the department for whatever screw-up you got yourself into.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that, ma’am,’ Ava reassured her.

Overbeck was nothing if not direct, which – being grateful for small mercies – meant most conversations were cuttingly brief.

‘Good, let’s get on then.’ Overbeck turned to face the crowd, banging a deserted mug on a table to get quiet. ‘Right, now that the detective chief inspector has joined us, even though you might not particularly enjoy looking at her today …’

That got Overbeck a laugh. Credit to her, Ava thought. Her boss never missed an opportunity to work a room.

‘I want to introduce you to MIT’s new additions and to congratulate’ – Overbeck paused to check her notes – ‘Max Tripp on his promotion to detective sergeant. Most of you have worked with DS Tripp for some time now, and I’m sure you’ll be relieved that there’s now a younger, fitter and less offensive sergeant on your team than just DS Lively.’

That one was met with an absolute roar of laughter and Lively seemed to be enjoying the attention in spite of the fact that it came wrapped in a bow of insults. Ava looked from Overbeck to Lively. It was only a few months since she’d caught her heel-toting, self-declared queen bitch of a superior in flagrante delicto with the dour, die-hard sergeant and she still hadn’t been able to wipe the memory from her mind. They were about as unlikely a couple as you could imagine and yet Overbeck had still managed to make Ava feel as if she was the sad case.

‘Ach, you love me really, ma’am,’ Lively aimed, bravely, at Overbeck.

Ava waited for the superintendent’s explosion. Their affair wasn’t public knowledge and Lively was asking for trouble by sparring with her in front of the squad.

‘That’s right, Sergeant,’ Overbeck said with a smile. ‘Like I love my shoes. I get to tread on them every day, they go where I decide and if there’s any crap, the shoes get it on them rather than me personally. Then, when they get old and scruffy, I throw them in a bin and it’s as if they never existed.’

That one got not just a laugh, but also a round of applause. Overbeck looked genuinely pleased with herself rather than merely supercilious. Ava couldn’t believe it. Sergeant Lively got away with so much bullshit and now Overbeck wasn’t even rebuking him, just adding to his kudos points with the lads.

‘All right,’ Overbeck said when her ego had sucked in enough of the jollity. ‘Our newest team member worked with us before on a temporary placement before going off on maternity leave. I’m delighted to say she’ll now be joining you full time, so please don’t any of you reveal your true natures until she’s settled in a while. Stand up, if you would, DC Janet Monroe.’

The short, neat Hispanic officer stood up, her dark hair shining in a perfect bun, looking completely at ease in the predominantly male room. Ava was keen to recruit more females into MIT, but it was slow-going and not helped by the locker-room atmosphere. Janet Monroe was tough, smart and more than a match for her new colleagues.

‘And, finally, your new detective inspector. Not shipped in from Interpol, I’m afraid, but perhaps you’ll actually be able to understand this one’s accent …’

There it was, the dig at Callanach. Ava had been waiting for it. She looked across the room to Callanach, who gave a simple shrug. He was used to the abuse.

‘Transferring to us with promotion after a long and distinguished period working with undercover teams across Scotland, Detective Inspector Pax Graham.’

Graham stood. He’d been sitting at the very back, but he couldn’t hide in the most crowded of rooms. Ava wondered how he’d ever been selected for undercover work at his size, and it wasn’t just his height. The man was a mountain – 100 per cent rugby-playing Highlander.

Overbeck had been almost girlish while they’d been interviewing him. She hadn’t sworn once. Ava wasn’t impressed by muscles, but Graham had proved himself invaluable in the department’s last major operation. He pushed the rules when it was necessary to get results, and had shown himself to be both trustworthy and decent.

Ava was pretty sure he wasn’t just playing the promotion game. She had no time for police who wanted to climb the ladder as quickly as possible. That wasn’t the point of service. Pax Graham had seen his share of danger and discomfort. He was popular with his superiors, as his references had proved, but equally well liked by his peers, which was a much more significant compliment. You could be the best manager in the world, but if the men and women under your command didn’t like you, they wouldn’t respect you, either.

Graham moved to the front of the room to many slaps on the back and congratulations. Overbeck shook his hand and ceded the floor.

‘Thank you,’ he grinned. ‘Some of you have worked with me in previous operations, but if not you’ll find out I like to keep my head down and get on with the job. I’m looking forward to working alongside DI Callanach.’

As he continued to introduce himself, DS Lively stood up and made his way between bodies to stand at Ava’s side.

‘Were there no other options for the post?’ he whispered. ‘It’s like someone drew a cartoon character of an eighteenth-century Scot and brought him to life.’

‘You’re not serious,’ Ava muttered in response. ‘Are you never bloody satisfied? Do you remember what you put DI Callanach through for being French when he started? Now you’ve got the archetypal Celt and you’re still not happy.’

‘You’re right there. Do you see the look on the boss’s face? That’s more than just professional courtesy.’ Lively crossed his arms and frowned.

Ava smiled at him. ‘Sergeant, are you actually jealous? Please say you are. That would make me happy in a way I thought I was too cynical ever to feel again.’

‘Due respect, ma’am, sod off,’ Lively said. ‘So who did you get in a fight with?’

‘A wall,’ Ava said. ‘Misjudged it.’

‘Shame I missed that,’ Lively said, back on his usual form.

‘You’d have enjoyed it. I was wondering who to pair you with for the next investigation. Let me know if you’d prefer to be on DI Graham’s team or back with Callanach.’

DS Lively groaned. ‘Can I stay in the incident room and eat doughnuts?’

‘I think you’ve spent enough time doing that already,’ Ava said, directing a pointed look at Lively’s midsection. ‘Hey, maybe that’s why Overbeck’s so happy about recruiting Graham. Bit of eye candy. Perhaps you’re not flavour of the month any more.’

‘That’s a bit personal, ma’am. I’m not sure you’re supposed to speak to an officer in your command like that. I should have a chat with human resources.’

‘You could’ – Ava dropped her voice even lower – ‘but then I’d have to explain that my comments were made in relation to seeing you naked with the evil Overlord up there. You might find that a less amusing conversation to have with HR, don’t you think?’

‘Low shot,’ he growled. ‘Hang on. You’re up. Try not to drool over all six foot four of him at once, won’t you?’

All eyes were turned in Ava’s direction. She climbed between the rows of chairs and wished her squad were looking her in the eyes, but everyone was focused on the lump on her head. Her own fault. She’d woken up feeling utterly foolish, not to mention confused, in the bed of her detective inspector. That was a first, and she had no idea how she’d let it happen, even if they were close friends. Why she’d decided to climb over Tantallon Castle wall was equally puzzling. Ava had a dim recollection of feeling cool and heroic, almost as if she’d been showing off to Callanach, only that was ridiculous. They’d been in enough tricky situations that she didn’t have anything to prove. But it had felt good initially to be leaning out in the wind, searching for clues and battling adversity like some ridiculous movie heroine. Now, there was only one question on everyone’s mind, and MIT would be obsessed with gossip and speculation until she dealt with it.

‘Welcome to both DC Monroe and DI Graham,’ she said. ‘They’re both starting today, so everyone make sure you’re showing them how we operate and our normal procedures. We have two cases pending trial, so please make sure all the court papers are in order for those.’ There was silence. Fine. ‘I went to take a look at a crime scene last night based on information received from the pathologist. I slipped and fell – they were difficult conditions – hitting my head against a wall. Looks worse than it is and I’m fully fit for duty.

‘Now, as I recall, the newly promoted are duty bound to buy the rest of the squad drinks, so DI Graham and DS Tripp will no doubt make themselves available at a suitable pub after shift tonight.’

That took everyone’s mind off her injuries and caused another round of raucous comments, allowing Ava to slip towards the corridor. She took the corner quietly and headed for her office.

‘Ma’am,’ a voice rumbled from behind. She turned back to see DI Graham approaching. ‘You’ll come for a beer tonight, then?’

‘I’ll have to see,’ she said. ‘The squad likes to let its hair down when they’re out together and having your DCI there isn’t very conducive to that.’

‘My celebration, my rules,’ he replied.

He was nearly a foot taller than Ava and close up, she had to tilt her neck back to look into his clear blue eyes. It was easy to see why Lively was feeling intimidated by the new boy.

‘Let me know where you’re going. My mobile number’s on the squad contact sheet. The first thing you should do is put all those numbers into your phone. I might pop in for a quick one.’

‘I’d be offended if you didn’t,’ he smiled. ‘Is there anything in particular you need me on at the moment?’

‘Just settle in while you can. In MIT, the work finds us. You won’t need to go looking for it,’ she said, waving goodbye and trying not to limp as she continued walking.

By the time she reached her office, her leg was sore, and Callanach was waiting for her with coffee and paracetamol.

‘Given that you saved my life, I’m pretty sure I should be fetching you coffee,’ she said, dropping into a chair and putting a hand to her forehead.

‘If you really felt indebted to me, you’d have called in sick as I suggested.’ Callanach shook two tablets from the pot into her hand.

‘Yeah, Overbeck really likes people not turning up to her briefings. I find her particularly sympathetic on that subject.’

Ava tossed back the pills and swallowed. The phone on her desk rang as she was still trying to wash a tablet down with coffee. She waved a distracted hand at Callanach, who answered for her.

‘Is Ava there?’ Dr Ailsa Lambert’s reedy voice twittered down the line.

Callanach loved the way she never deferred to Ava by rank.

‘She’s not. This is Callanach. Can I help?’

‘Indeed you can. We’ve made a positive identification of our fall victim. His fingerprints were on the national database, after an incident in which he’d had an offensive weapon in the back of a taxi. Looks like the procurator fiscal was still making a decision on whether or not to pursue the case.’

Callanach grabbed a pen and paper.

‘Name?’ he asked.

‘Stephen Berry. Lived in the city. No other convictions. I’ve finished my report save for the tox screen findings and I’m hoping to be able to give you everything tomorrow.’

‘I’ll follow up now. Thanks, Ailsa.’

He sat down at Ava’s computer and identified the case file on Stephen Berry that had been referred to the prosecutor’s office.

‘What have we got?’ Ava asked.

‘The man with the missing fingernails is Stephen Berry, thirty-two years old. Address is a flat on Comely Bank Row. He was on bail for possessing a large knife, which he revealed to a taxi driver during a journey. Hadn’t proceeded to charge yet, but it’s not clear why. I’ll take Tripp and check it out. You stay in that chair and get some rest.’

‘Uh huh, and send someone to massage my feet too, would you?’

‘Still funny, even after you nearly fell off the top of a castle. I’ll call in as soon as I have any information.’

An hour later, Callanach and Tripp were heading into the city, to what appeared to be a private house. The windows were blacked out and the door had a video security system. A minute after they buzzed, a young woman allowed them entry and sat them in a comfy lounge where soft music was being piped gently though speakers. All the artwork featured either calm seas, woodland mists or desert sunrises. Max Tripp picked up a leaflet from the table and read aloud.

‘“The Reach You charity was founded in 2002. They have six drop-in centres, do outreach work at a variety of clinics and addiction groups, are accessible through your general practitioner, hospital or hospice, and run a 24–7 suicide helpline.” These guys are really well set up. Says here they got a lottery funding boost in 2006 that allowed them to take on a number of new full-time staff who work with a large team of volunteers.’

‘It did,’ a man said as he walked in, holding his hand out to shake Tripp’s. ‘I’m Rune Maclure. How can I help you?’

‘I’m DC … DS Tripp,’ Max stumbled, ‘and this is DI Callanach. I’m afraid we have sad news. You were instrumental in talking down a man who was ready to jump from the Queensferry Crossing last month. We got your name from the police statement.’

‘Stephen Berry,’ Maclure said quietly, his face falling. He sat down, taking a moment. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

‘He died following a fall from the walls of Tantallon Castle. It was instantaneous. The pathologist was clear that he wouldn’t have suffered,’ Callanach said.

‘Thank you. I’m afraid the problem with suicide is the amount of suffering it takes to get to the point of ending it all. A second of agony at the end doesn’t even come close to being a concern for most of the people I see.’

‘Of course,’ Callanach agreed. ‘Can you tell us what you knew about him?’

‘Not very much, to be honest. Reach You is on the emergency services list to provide experts who assist in suicide attempts – either about to happen, or failures – for people who need help afterwards. I assume the taxi driver called it in as soon as he’d let Stephen out of the cab. The police called our central number and they put a call out to see who was in the area. I was nearby and able to be at his side in a few minutes.’

‘That was lucky,’ Tripp said.

‘Not really. It didn’t save him in the end, did it?’ Maclure rubbed his temple. ‘Our statistics are pretty good. Most people don’t go through with the attempt, they just need to work out where they’re at. Of those who do try, most suicides aren’t successful, either because there’s a sudden will to live that kicks in and sabotages the attempt, or through simple lack of research. There are about seven hundred suicides in Scotland every year, more men than women, the biggest group being Stephen’s age category.’

‘How did you talk him down?’ Callanach asked.

‘There was someone he cared about, a young woman. I’m afraid I can’t remember her name now, but it’s in my notes if you need it. Often, in the heat of the moment, the details get a bit blurry for me. They’d been in a serious relationship, though recently split. I was persuading him to call her. I find that making a meaningful contact often changes a person’s mind about ending their life. He slipped on the railings before making the call, realised he didn’t want to die in that moment and I was able to help him back up.’

Callanach felt the room slide, seeing Ava slipping through his arms again, certain he was going to drop her, already feeling the dreadful loss of her before she’d gone. The potential for grief had hit him with overwhelming force.

‘Are you all right?’ Maclure asked him.

‘Yes, sorry. I was imagining how scary that must have been. For him and for you,’ Callanach replied.

‘We’re simply trained to do the very best we can. If we took responsibility for everyone we came into contact with … well, you wouldn’t last very long at this job. I was really pleased when he came down. Obviously, the police had to question him, but I gave a statement and spoke on his behalf, asked the police to consider not prosecuting for the knife. They said they’d refer the matter to get a decision quickly.’

‘Why did he do it?’ Callanach asked.

‘Stephen was bipolar. His prescribed drugs weren’t helping consistently, which is something many sufferers experience. All premature deaths are tragedies, but when they’re caused by a neurotransmitter problem in the brain, how do you come to terms with that as a family member? We can put men on the moon but medicine isn’t advanced enough to treat this. Such a waste.’ Maclure shook his head, lacing his fingers behind his hair and giving the ceiling a long look. ‘Sorry. You’re here for help, not to listen to me moaning.’

‘I think you’re entitled,’ Tripp said. ‘I can’t imagine how you do your job every day.’

‘Trying to make a difference, same as you,’ Maclure said. ‘I still see a better side of humanity than if I worked in a bank. What else can I tell you?’

‘What was your last contact with him?’ Callanach asked.

‘I saw him twice after the suicide attempt. The first time was two days afterwards. He came here to see me and thank me for what I did. I told him what we could offer, tried to persuade him to get counselling, but with bipolar disorder that feels like a drop in the ocean. To Stephen’s credit, he agreed, although I realised he was reluctant. The last time I spoke to him, he phoned to say he’d changed his mind and didn’t think the counselling would help. He cancelled the session.’

‘Are there any notes?’ Tripp asked.

‘Yup, I’ll get a copy for you. As he’s deceased, confidentiality ceases to apply. I couldn’t talk him into getting any more help. There’s a limit to how pushy we can be, or we push people away from us at the time when they need us most. It’s a fine line.’

Callanach bet it was. Trying to persuade people to open up to you, knowing it would initially at least be pouring salt on their wounds. Wanting to help people who wanted to be left alone.

‘Did Stephen talk to you about any other problems in his life? Anything external to the bipolar disorder? Debts, addictions, conflicts, for example?’ Callanach tried to make it sound casual, but there was no way of hiding the fact that they were digging.

‘None, although I didn’t have much time to explore that. He certainly didn’t reveal anything to me. He seemed like a genuinely nice man, to be honest. Likeable, thoughtful. He left his donor card at the roadside in case anyone could be helped after his death.’ Maclure smiled and Callanach was drawn to him.

Maclure had a gentleness about him that was all warmth and ease, which reminded him of Ava. The two of them would get on like a house on fire, Callanach thought. Maclure would be the perfect foil to her stresses, and Maclure would like Ava’s natural intelligence, passion and empathy. Neither was the least bit bothered by social structure or setting out to impress. They did their jobs only to serve. Ava would like him.

As soon as the thought crossed Callanach’s mind, another part of him objected. Ava meeting a man she might be drawn to would mean sharing her again, and Callanach had been looking to spend more time with her. While he’d been going out with Selina, it had been hard to invest in his friendship with Ava. Their evenings out watching old movies at the cinema, and eating and drinking at the city’s lesser-known treasures, had kept him sane while he’d been settling into life in Scotland. He wasn’t ready to let anyone else do those things with Ava yet. At least he could admit it to himself. More than that, Ava’s private life was none of his business. He had no idea why he’d been thinking about her in the context of finding her a partner.

Tripp was handing over an email address for Maclure to send the notes relating to Stephen Berry and offering thanks for his assistance. Callanach stood up and shook his hand, noting the lack of wedding ring, and wishing he could erase the image of Ava and Rune Maclure together.

Callanach and Tripp made their way to the door, leaving Maclure to get back to work. As they were climbing into the car, there was a tap at the window. Tripp opened up.

‘I meant to ask,’ Maclure said. ‘Would you let me know when the funeral is? I’m not sure how much social contact Stephen had. I’d like to pay my respects. He should have people there to say goodbye to him.’

‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ Callanach replied. ‘I’ll make sure you’re notified, although it might not be for some time. There will have to be a fatal accident enquiry first.’

‘You’re not clear about what happened, then?’ Maclure asked.

‘Not yet. There are no witnesses and the forensics are difficult to interpret.’ Callanach chose the most vague phrase he could.

‘Poor Stephen. Still no peace for him. He was even mocked while he was contemplating suicide from the bridge. Can you believe some people? I worry about the human race.’

‘Sorry, he was mocked how and by whom?’ Callanach asked.

‘There was a man in the crowd, laughing, while Stephen was struggling to get himself safe. The police officers were nearer than me. I’m not sure who it was. I could hear but not see who was responsible.’

‘Thank you, Mr Maclure,’ Callanach said. ‘We’ll be in touch about the funeral details when we have information.’

They drove away in silence, contemplating how the landscape of Stephen’s death had shifted in the previous hour. The bipolar disorder provided a simple motive for suicide and the decision not to proceed with counselling might well have been confirmation that Stephen was still struggling.

‘Phone the pathologist when we get back to the station, Tripp,’ Callanach said. ‘She’ll need to get hold of Stephen Berry’s medical records to check the bipolar disorder and hopefully that’ll tell us what medication he was taking. And speak to the officers at the Queensferry Crossing incident. See if any of them remembers a man laughing and get a description. It’s probably nothing, but the procurator fiscal will want it covered if there’s to be an inquiry.’

Tripp’s phone rang. Callanach drove on, cursing the traffic lights as Tripp answered it.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Tripp muttered. ‘We’ll be back in quarter of an hour. Sure. I understand. Straight there.’ He ended the call.

‘What was that about?’ Callanach asked.

‘DCI Turner wants you back at the station as quickly as possible, sir. We’re not to stop anywhere, she says, and don’t talk to anyone else. Direct to her office. She sounded weird, to be honest.’

‘Weird, how?’ Callanach asked.

‘Quiet and polite. As if she were at a tea party, you know?’ Tripp said.

Or as if she’d spent too much time staring at her injuries from the previous night in the mirror and was trying to figure out why she’d taken such a massive risk, Callanach thought. Ava wasn’t in the best place right now.