Hunter's Chase Page 4

Rachael put the car in gear, joined the line of traffic and headed back to Fettes Station. It was still the headquarters of Lothian and Borders Police, but by April the next year all that would have changed. The police forces of Scotland would be united to form Police Scotland. Nobody was quite sure how that would work out.

  By the time they entered the incident room, DCI Allan Mackay was getting ready to start the briefing. He called the group to order.

  DC Bear Zewedu slipped into the room last, evidently trying not to be noticed. That was difficult, as Zewedu stood six feet two inches tall, he was a broad shouldered man, and his was the only black face in the squad. Hunter nodded at him. Zewedu smiled. He was a good cop: a team player, a grafter.

  DCI Mackay frowned at Zewedu's late entry, but launched straight into the briefing.

  “Superintendent Miller is on sick leave, so I will personally be heading up this investigation. Although, of course DI Wilson will take charge of the day-to-day running of it.”

  “Of course he will,” muttered Hunter. “I do all the work and you get all the glory.”

  “You are aware.” Mackay continued, “that our former Chief Constable was subjected to a most worrying housebreaking. Afterwards, as he gave chase to the thief, he came across a corpse buried in the rough on the Merchant's Golf Course. I shall take charge of liaisons with Sir Peter.”

  Hunter stopped concentrating on Mackay's summary; he let him witter on while he glanced around the room. He noted Rachael had moved to stand near the most elegant DS that Hunter had ever worked with: Jane Renwick. They stood at the far side of the room, whispering quietly together, glancing in his direction. Rachael did look tired and stressed, probably due to the early start and putting up with him. He didn't blame her. Hunter knew he was sharp when things did not go according to his plans.

  In contrast, as always, Jane Renwick was immaculately turned out, with faultless hair, nails and make-up. Hunter would have given his eye teeth to know how the woman could constantly look so spruce. He felt more like DC Colin Reid and DC John Hamilton looked: unshaven and dishevelled. Reid and Hamilton both caught his eye and he nodded acknowledgements. Hamilton brushed the crumbs of his breakfast off his face with the back of his hand as Mackay continued talking.

  “Now, we'll set up the incident room here. Bear, I'd like you to organise it for this particular case. You get the phone lines set up with a number we can give out to the public. No one has reported a missing person of similar description to our corpse?” Mackay swept the room with his glance as everybody shook their heads. “No, nobody known to be missing yet. I didn't think so. DI Wilson, you were the senior officer on the scene yesterday. Can you bring us all up to speed?”

  “Sir.” Hunter was standing up at the back of the room, so moved forward to address the detectives.

  “There is little new from last night, folks,” he began. “We got a call just after 9 o’clock last night from former Chief Constable Sir Peter Myerscough. Sir Peter, as most of you know, is now Justice Secretary in the Scottish Parliament. ” Hunter paused as the group nodded at him.

  “His son, Timothy Myerscough is joining our team on Monday. Splendid lad.” Mackay beamed proudly.

  Hunter glanced at the DCI before continuing. “Sir Peter caught a housebreaker in his home, stealing jewellery and easily saleable, high value items. He gave chase to the housebreaker from his home in East Steils to the rough on the edge of the Merchant's Golf Club where Sir Peter is a member.”

  “That's quite a run,” Bear interjected, “Isn’t East Steils up in Morningside, by Glenlockhart where the old peoples' home was?”

  “Yes, in fact before that the city poor house was there, but when they converted the building into flats and built new homes they went back to the original name of the farm land.”

  “Interesting. Of course, Tim's dad keeps himself fit. Nevertheless he did well.”

  Hunter glanced at Bear.

  “I was at school with Tim and we still play rugby together,” he explained.

  “Merchiston? Were you? Never took you for gentry, Bear. Right.”

  “Dad was Ethiopian Ambassador before we sought asylum.”

  “Hmm,” Hunter continued. “Myerscough, I mean Sir Peter, caught up with the housebreaker when the thief tripped and broke his ankle. He is known to Sir Peter, and to most of us, as one Jamie Thomson. We are told Thomson is employed at the golf club. In fact, Sir Peter got the legislation through to give repeat young offenders priority for jobs requiring no qualifications or training.”

  “That kid gets caught more often than the cold!” Rachael quipped. “His old man's inside too.”

  A murmur of agreement went round the room.

  “Carry on, DI Wilson,” Mackay said.

  “Jamie had tripped over the corpse of a woman. Identity unknown. Her cause and time of death not yet confirmed. The post mortem is to be conducted by Dr Meera Sharma this afternoon.”

  “You’d better attend that, Hunter,” Mackay said.

  “Perhaps DC Anderson should attend with me, Sir?”

  “Yes, of course. We know nothing more about the deceased woman? With Sir Peter's involvement, despite being ill, Superintendent Miller will want to be kept informed in this case, and I must be able to let him know of our progress.”

  “We don't know who she is yet, Sir. We'll get fingerprints, photos and DNA, but I'm not sure the photos will be great. I'll get one of our artists to sketch her for circulation too. But I'll know more after we have the results of the post mortem.”

  “Fine. Reid, Hamilton, you go over to Merchant's Golf Club and interview the groundsmen and other staff. We know Jamie Thomson is a gardener, but I suspect Sir Peter regrets his effort to get him a job now.”

  “That boy is a fool! Talk about biting the hand that feeds you,” Hamilton said as he grabbed a Snickers bar from his desk.

  Mackay continued: “DI Wilson, will you go with DC Grant to interview the thief this morning? I believe you accompanied him to hospital last night, Mel?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “What's his name again?” Mackay asked.

  “Jamie Thomson,” Hunter, Bear and Mel replied in unison.

  “Thomson went into the family business: theft. His father is Ian Thomson. Serving time for that botched bank job in George Street a few years ago. Jamie claimed his father broke into the bank to provide for his family. He seems to think it was almost the same idea as going to a food bank!” Hunter smiled. He looked around the room. “I think it would also be sensible to get a statement from Sir Peter today if we can. I left a message for him to come into the station to meet with me.” He looked at DCI Mackay and added, “He asked me to meet with him at the Parliament building this morning, Sir, but when we arrived he was not available. If he needs a crime number, he can come to me.”

  “I don't think that's appropriate for the Justice Secretary, do you, Detective Inspector Wilson?”

  “I even have to put up with his son when he joins my team on Monday, too,” Hunter said in a petulant tone.

  “Come on, Hunter,” Mackay lowered his voice. “Give the lad a chance. He's his own man, Tim Myerscough. You'll find he's solid.”

  “Yeah, he is, Boss,” Bear smiled. “He's one of the good guys, even if his dad is a toff.”

  “You can talk,” Mel interrupted.

  Hunter raised his eyebrows, acknowledging Bear's contribution. The newbie must be worth something if Bear rated him, but he was still angry that Sir Peter Myerscough might be getting preferential treatment.

  “DS Renwick, you and I will go over to interview Sir Peter,” said Mackay. He did not brook contradiction.

  “Yes, Sir.” Jane Renwick wrote something in her notebook. Hunter suspected it was less docile than her response.

  “As we don't have any further information at present, let's reconvene tomorrow morning, 10am. I will release a holding statement to the press this morning.”

  With that, Mackay left the room and the murmur and chatter of the others
was nearly drowned out by the scraping of chairs and the ringtones of mobile phones.

  As the room emptied, Bear began making a list of additional equipment that would need to be moved into the incident room to accommodate the team: computers, phones, a separate public phone line, whiteboard, cork board. Then he noticed Mel Grant stick her head round the door.

  “Bear, the DCI's press briefing is just about to start. Come on, if you want to hear it.”

  Bear nodded. He followed her downstairs and they stood at the back. The room that the officers always used for press conferences had a small platform that passed for a stage. A mismatch of chairs and a trestle table stood in front of a backdrop of the badge of Lothian and Borders Police.

  Mel and Bear looked around. It was full of press, TV and radio reporters. To the right of the DCI was DI Hunter Wilson, and DC Rachael Anderson stood at the DCI's left hand side. Rachael looked uncomfortable, as though she felt that she had only been pulled in as the token female.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen of the press, thank you all for coming this morning,” the DCI began. He and Hunter had discussed how much information they should release. They did not want to be accused of being unhelpful.

  “We have called this conference to inform you of a corpse found in the wooded rough area at the edge of Merchant's Golf Course. The identity of the victim is unknown, as is the cause of death. However, it is believed that the corpse is the body of a middle-aged woman. The death is being treated as suspicious.

  “There will be a phone line established for members of the public to call if they have any information that may be useful in identifying the deceased woman. We will make you aware of that number as soon as we have it up and running. That will be later today. It would be helpful if you could publicise it. We have no further information at this time, but will hold a further conference tomorrow at 11am to keep you updated. I'm afraid I will not be taking questions this morning.”

  “Just one thing, Detective Chief Inspector Mackay, I understand the body was found by the Justice Secretary, Sir Peter Myerscough. Is that correct?” Neil Jones of The Scotsman newspaper was sitting in the front row of reporters.

  “Sorry, Neil, no comment.”

  “Are there any pictures of the victim?” he persisted.

  “Not yet, but we will get one to you as soon as possible.”

  The journalist tried his luck again. “Is it true the Justice Secretary suffered a break-in at his home and found the body after giving chase?”

  Hunter glowered at him; this persistence made him angry. But DCI Mackay ignored the man. Probably wise.

  “There will be an update tomorrow at 11am. This briefing is at an end.”

  Mackay got up and left, swiftly followed by Hunter and Rachael. From their refuge at the back of the room, Bear and Grant made a speedy exit too. None of them wanted to be spotted by reporters and asked questions they could not or should not answer.

  “How did they know Myerscough found it?” Bear asked Mel Grant.

  “No idea, but I wouldn't put it past Sir Peter to have told them himself,” she grinned. “Bear, you looking forward to Sophie and Tim's party?”

  “I think they’re brave having it in the new flat. But let me get the incident room sorted before I really think about it, pet.” He stole a kiss, then left Mel and went back to shout at the phone company, before the press officer shouted at him.

  Mel went to find Hunter so they could go to interview Jamie Thomson and give the DI time to be back to attend the post mortem with Rachael. Mel was pleased not to have to attend that. She did not envy Rachael the sights or the smells of the morgue. The DI was good at giving each officer morgue experience, when the opportunity arose.

  When they got to the hospital, Jamie was out of A&E and up in the ward. His ankle was still too swollen for him to have the operation on his broken bones. The medics had told Mel the previous night that it was a complex, multiple fracture. So there was the patient, sitting, handcuffed to the bed and eating the Jaffa Cakes Frankie had handed in. Jamie grinned when he saw Mel.

  “Hallo, sweetie. Just can't keep away, can you? Me and you a real item. BFF and all that, huh?”

  “Only in your dreams, Jamie.” Mel dragged a chair across to sit out of Jamie's reach.

  Hunter took the lead. “Mr James Thomson?”

  “Jamie. I'm Jamie Ian Thomson.”

  “Jamie Thomson, I understand you discovered a dead body on the grounds of Merchant's Golf Club yesterday evening. What can you tell me about the body?”

  Jamie looked confused.

  “Eh, dead? Aye dead. The body was definitely dead. An' right gross.” He smiled triumphantly, pleased with his answer.

  Hunter grabbed a Jaffa Cake, took out his notebook and asked Jamie some less challenging questions. After an hour at the hospital Mel and Hunter had eaten four Jaffa Cakes but found out little about the corpse they did not already know. Jamie was neither observant nor informative, but was desperate to justify the housebreaking as a social necessity to provide for his family.

  “See, I'd borrowed a bit from Robbin' Hope's gang. The interest they take is not just money if it's not paid on time, you know.” He drew a line with his finger across his neck.

  “Very interesting, Jamie. Who's Robin Hope?” Hunter asked.

  “Not Robin Hope, Robbin' Hope. Billy Hope and his cronies, they give you a wee lend if you need it, but it's a right high price. Got it?” Jamie became stressed and started panting.

  “Really? Is that Billy Hope that was the councillor?”

  Jamie nodded.

  “Hmm,” Hunter mused. “I don't know anything about that.” He paused, then continued. “Isn't he related to Ian Thomson, your dad?”

  “Aye, his brother-in-law. But no' exactly close. I suppose Billy's my uncle. Bastard!”

  “Calm down, Jamie! What about the body?” Mel made a note of the family tree.

  When Jamie calmed down and began breathing normally, he was able to tell the officers where the body lay. He said it was partly covered by a shallow grave, clothed, and a woman. Nothing they didn't already know or suspect.

  “You sure it was a woman, Jamie?” Mel asked.

  “Aye, I can always tell a woman, pet. But no much!” He grinned.

  “Ho ho,” Mel scoffed. “The old ones are the best ones?”

  Jamie looked away. He turned to Hunter and told him at length what a shock it was tripping over the body. “Sir Peter didn't shout nor nothing. Not even a 'fuck' of shock. He was right brave. There were bugs an' all sorts.”

  As they left the hospital, Hunter said nothing to Mel before they got into the car.

  “What did you think about Jamie's comments about his family, and Myerscough?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “It didn't sound like Sir Peter was all that surprised by what they found, did it? But maybe it just looked that way to Jamie. Peter Myerscough must have seen plenty of corpses in his time on the force. Funny what Jamie said about Billy Hope, too. After all, you'd think his uncle would give him ‘a wee lend’, from time to time? Without a fuss or interest?”

  “True. I'm not sure how much of that was to justify Jamie's own actions. Anyway, could you get hold of Myerscough's 999 call and listen to exactly what he said and how he said it?”

  She nodded. “And I'll see what I can find out about 'Robbin' Hope', as Jamie calls his Uncle Billy!”

  “Good idea. It might be worth it.”

  “Are you going to Tim's flat warming party?” Mel asked, with a twinkle in her eye, as she started the ignition.

  “No. Happily, I have to cut my toenails that evening. Now come on, Detective, back to the ranch.”

  Chapter Seven

  DCI Mackay and DS Jane Renwick drew up outside Sir Peter Myerscough's home. Mackay smiled at Jane.

  “Sir Peter downsized substantially after his wife's death, you know. Tragic she died so young. Cancer. The original family home was in Whitehouse Loan, in The Grange area of Edinburgh. This place is only six
bedrooms, four public. His wife was the heiress of the Wills tobacco dynasty, you know. Very well-heeled. Her parents disapproved of the marriage, but it was a love match.”

  “So Tim got a wire from his father and a packet from his mother? Some folk have it tough,” Jane commented sarcastically as she rang the bell.

  “Allan!” Sir Peter greeted the DCI a little too loudly, and with too much enthusiasm to sound sincere. He grasped Mackay's hand in both of his, and Mackay responded in kind. Jane noted they were both members of the funny handshake club, and was unimpressed to receive a kiss on both cheeks. “Come in, come in, welcome both.”

  Sir Peter led the way upstairs to the first floor of the house and showed the detectives into a large, expensively-decorated drawing room, with two bay windows commanding impressive views of the Pentland Hills. The walls were adorned with original works of art, including paintings by Scottish Post-Impressionists Samuel Peploe and John Fergusson, two of the group of four painters that became known as the Scottish Colourists. She also noticed an early Stewart Gatherer. Somebody in the family clearly had a good eye, and also supported promising young Scottish artists. She was pleased about that, but was amazed to see these exquisite paintings in private hands, and could not even hazard a guess at their value.

  Jane smiled. Art had been her escape all her life. She loved spending days off in the centre of the city at the National Art Gallery, the Gallery of Modern Art or the Royal Scottish Academy on Princes Street. She was on the mailing lists for various Galleries in Dundas Street and around the city. Jane liked to attend previews and art shows. Rachael enjoyed the free wine and canapés but was less keen on the art, so Jane often left her at home.

  On a crisp autumn day Jane Renwick would choose to spend the morning enjoying the works in the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, rather than trailing around the shops spending money she preferred to save. She would then stop in the café for a quick lunch. In the afternoon she enjoyed walking in the beautiful grounds.

  “Coffee, Allan? DS Renwick?”

  They both accepted, and Myerscough stuck his head out of the room.