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  Startled by the sound of footsteps along the corridor, he jumped as the door, courtesy of a size six walking boot, flew open followed by a buoyant West looking happier than anyone had the right to be at six thirty-eight in the morning.

  ‘You’re looking pleased with yourself,’ he said sardonically. ‘Are you on something?’

  ‘Very funny,’ said West. ‘I’m just relieved, that’s all. I rang Jimbo on the way in and it went straight to voicemail which means he’s still in bed.’

  ‘It’s not like him to have a lie-in, miss.’

  ‘He needs all the rest he can get. The longer that daft sod stays on his back, the sooner he’ll be up and about.’

  ‘Aye, right enough, but something tells me he’ll be round here before you know it.’

  ‘Well, if he does show up, he’ll get short shrift from me. So, what’s up with you? You’ve got a face like thunder.’

  ‘Oh it’s this Nancy Wilson,’ said Dougal. ‘I’ve been analysing the damage this nutter inflicted on her body and for the life of me I can’t come up with a weapon that matches her injuries. It’s doing my head in.’

  ‘Blimey, she really has rattled your cage, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Well, it’s not right! Whatever he used isn’t sharp, it has to be smooth and possibly flat, and it’s not too small either. And what makes it worse is the fact that unless he tossed it in the grass when he left, then he still has it with him, which makes me think he might be planning another attack and if that’s the case then…’

  ‘Whoa! Easy big boy! What’s brought this on? Where’s the level-headed Dougal we all know and love?’

  ‘Oh he’s still here. Sorry, it’s just that… look, call me old-fashioned but I was brought up to respect authority, to not speak unless you’re spoken to.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So as a constable,’ said Dougal, ‘I didn’t think it my place to mouth off like a know-it-all.’

  ‘But as a DS?’

  ‘Aye, as a DS I feel I’ve earned the right to say what I like when I like.’

  ‘Well, good for you,’ said West, raising her thumb and forefinger as if holding a Lilliputian figure, ‘you’re like a teensy-weensy hermit crab coming out of your shell...’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘…but as the senior officer here I order you to eat this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Square sausage, brown sauce. There’s a latte too.’

  ‘Jeez-oh,’ said Dougal. ‘No offence but I don’t think I can handle that after looking at this.’

  West, tearing a chunk out of her breakfast roll, stepped forward, glanced at the screen, and smirked.

  ‘I’ve seen worse,’ she said. ‘I think the grimmest find to date has to be the bagged-up body parts we found stashed beneath a bathtub in Wanstead.’

  ‘That’s plenty.’

  ‘It was so vile it actually made me wretch but Jimbo carried on like he was checking an order from the butcher.’

  ‘Thanking you.’

  ‘But I have to say that because the bags were that well sealed, there wasn’t actually that much of a stench. Now, where’s Duncan?’

  ‘Oh give the fella a chance,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s not even the back of seven, he’ll not be long.’

  ‘Sometimes I think that boy would be better on the backshift. Well, I hope he’s here soon, the food’s going cold and McLeod’s coming in.’

  ‘Social visit?’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ said West. ‘He said he’s got something to show us.’

  ‘Oh aye? Show you, more like.’

  ‘Steady.’

  ‘Well, if it’s to do with the Wilson lass then maybe he can give us a wee hint about the implement used to smash her face to smithereens.’

  ‘Well, you can but ask,’ said West as she pilfered his roll. ‘Meanwhile, if you’re not having this, I am.’

  * * *

  Carrying himself with the unflappable demeanour of a comatose koala, DC Duncan Reid had learned from experience that when it came to analysing the clueless intricacies of a case it was best to employ a philosophical approach based on rational thought rather than jumping to unsubstantiated and often irrational conclusions, a procedure which, despite his best efforts, was sadly beyond his reach.

  He swaggered languidly into the office and paused by the door like a gunslinger entering a saloon.

  ‘Alright folks?’ he said as a cheeky half-cocked grin cracked his face. ‘Any breakfast on the go?’

  ‘On the desk,’ said West with a smile. ‘What kept you?’

  ‘I got held up,’ he said, nodding over his shoulder as he popped the lid on his coffee. ‘I bumped into Desperate Dan here.’

  With his shoulder-length hair and fiery copper-coloured beard, the willowy Andy McLeod – more Erik the Red than William Wallace – was, in spite of his appearance, a sombre individual who treated visitors to his mortuary with the respect of an undertaker.

  ‘Blimey,’ said West. ‘The beard.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘It’s gone.’

  ‘Well, it was your idea,’ said McLeod, ‘and I figured, why not? Time for a change.’

  ‘Yeah but I never realised your chin was so big, I mean… square.’

  ‘I didn’t come here to be insulted Charlie.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s just that… God, it’s taken years off you.’

  ‘It’s kind of you to say so.’

  ‘The thing is if we went on that date now, everyone will think I’m your mother.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘I’m not. Look, I know it was my idea but just out of interest, how long would it take to grow back?’

  ‘I give up,’ said McLeod. ‘No danger of a coffee, is there?’

  ‘Yeah, course,’ said West. ‘I got you breakfast too, if you fancy it.’

  ‘Thanks but I’ve not got long,’ said McLeod as he pulled up a chair, ‘so let’s get down to business. Nancy Wilson.’

  ‘Me first,’ said Dougal, trying not to laugh as West’s face turned the shade of a pickled beetroot. ‘Mind if I ask a wee favour?’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘Would you mind running through her injuries again, just so we can all remind ourselves of what we’re dealing with?’

  ‘Well, I’ve not got my notes with me,’ said McLeod, ‘but as I recall she was in pieces. In simple terms she’d suffered a fractured eye socket, two broken cheekbones, a broken nose, a mandibular fracture, and two lateral incisors from the upper jaw were knocked out. Oh, and let’s not forget about the subdural haematoma.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘A bleed on the brain. There were also contusions to the neck and upper arms.’

  ‘So, she was restrained?’

  ‘Aye, if you like,’ said McLeod. ‘At the very least she was held very tightly. The bruises loosely match that of a firm grip, but here’s the thing: she didn’t sustain the bruising at the time of the attack.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said West.

  ‘If the bruises were inflicted prior to, or at the time of death, I would have expected them to be anywhere from a dark pink to a blue or a purple in colour, but they’re not. They’re a yellowish-brown, which means she sustained them four to ten days before she died.’

  ‘So, you’re saying she’d been attacked previously?’

  ‘Maybe not attacked but she was certainly involved in some kind of a tussle.’

  ‘And that’s your professional opinion?’

  ‘It’s my only opinion, Charlie. Fair play to the lass, she put up a struggle, that’s for sure.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I took hair and tissues from beneath her fingernails,’ said McLeod, ‘they’re away for analysis just now but they belong to the perp’, no doubt about it.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Dougal. ‘See here, Mr McLeod, the thing I’m struggling with just now is the weapon. I’ve ruled out anything as big or as heavy as lump hammer, would you agree wi
th that?’

  ‘Most definitely. That would’ve made mincemeat of her head. Besides, as she sustained the injuries in the shower area, I doubt there’d have been room enough to swing it. No, I’d say you’re looking for something much smaller, something without an edge.’

  ‘So it’s not a knuckle-duster?’ said Duncan. ‘Or a wrench? A spanner maybe?’

  ‘Unlikely,’ said McLeod. ‘Whatever it was has a smooth finish, blunt if you will.’

  Dougal leaned back in his seat, tousled his hair and heaved a sigh.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘but I’m still none the wiser.’

  ‘Maybe you’re looking at it from the wrong angle.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Maybe there was no weapon. Think of the walls, the tiled walls in the shower area.’

  ‘Jeez-oh!’ said Dougal. ‘He smashed her head against the wall!’

  ‘It’s just a thought.’

  ‘You lot carry on, I’ve some photos to look at.’

  West drained her coffee, glanced sheepishly at McLeod and smiled.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘Forgotten,’ said McLeod. ‘Now, can we press on?’

  ‘Yeah, two ticks. I just need to get up to speed on a couple of things first. Dougal, have you spoken to the staff at the leisure centre?’

  ‘Aye, miss. All done.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, they’re shocked, understandably.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, apart from that.’

  ‘No-one knows anything,’ said Dougal. ‘Those who were on that day say Miss Wilson was her usual cheery self. They left before her because it was her turn to lock up.’

  ‘And what about the cleaners who found her?’ said West. ‘Have you grilled them too?’

  ‘Well, I tried to. I’m not being rude but English is not their first language. It was two Bulgarian ladies.’

  ‘Just a lot of screeching and wailing then?’

  ‘Pretty much, aye.’

  ‘And is there anyone else on your list?’ said West. ‘Part-timers? Casual labour maybe?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘That’s it. I’ve spoken to all the regular staff, there’s only two qualified to take lessons, both swimming. All the other classes are run by folk not directly employed by the centre so they only show up for an hour or so, mainly on the weekends.’

  ‘Okay. Good. And you say she was single?’

  ‘Aye, apparently so. Although according to the receptionist the latest gossip was that she had started seeing someone, just recently mind.’

  ‘And do we know who?’

  ‘Aye, a fella by the name of Jake Nevin. He’s one of the service contractors, he gives the football pitch a wee trim every couple of weeks.’

  ‘We should have a word anyway; get him in, would you?’

  ‘No bother,’ said Dougal. ‘Leave it to me.’

  ‘Good. Now Duncan. CCTV. I assume you’ve checked it?’

  ‘I would’ve done, miss, if there was anything worth checking.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘It was turned off.’

  ‘You are kidding, right?’

  ‘I wish I was,’ said Duncan. ‘It was disabled at 9:46 pm. That’s about fifteen minutes after they’d shut up shop for the night.’

  ‘Well, that’s all we need,’ said West. ‘Hold up, the cameras would’ve caught the perp’ going in though, surely?’

  ‘That’s assuming he turned up while they were open.’

  ‘You don’t think he did?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Duncan. ‘You see, the centre’s only open from 5:30 am to 9:30 pm during the week and nobody entered the building between 7:30 pm and 8:15, which is when the last person went in. A female. Sixty-odd. Not exactly suspect material.’

  ‘Then how the hell did the perp’ get in?’

  ‘Fire doors maybe? Emergency exits?’

  ‘Oh use your head!’ said West impatiently. ‘Fire doors open outwards! There are no handles on the outside!’

  ‘Windows then? Skylights?’

  ‘Good God, we’re not looking for Spiderman! You’re sure there’s no other way in? No back entrance? No loading bay or delivery area? Anything like that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Duncan, peeved at West’s sudden change of mood. ‘Which means he must have been wearing the cloak of invisibility. Like some kind of magician.’

  West glowered across the room, thrust her hands into her pockets, and ambled towards the window before slowly turning with the maniacal grin of a ventriloquist’s dummy plastered across her face.

  ‘You know what?’ she said as she raised the blinds. ‘You’re not far off the mark.’

  ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Like some stunt the Magic Circle would pull. The perp’, he was there all the time.’

  ‘You mean hiding?’

  ‘Or working,’ said West. ‘Run a check on all the blokes who work at the centre and see if any of them have got form.’

  ‘Miss.’

  ‘Next, you’re going to love this, get back on the CCTV. I want you to go through the footage from the moment they opened up and clock every single person going in, then make sure they come out again. If someone doesn’t show, then there’s a good chance he’s our man.’

  ‘Roger that, miss,’ said Duncan. ‘Might take a wee while.’

  ‘Then you’d better get cracking. Now, the only question left is that perennial favourite: why?’

  ‘I reckon he was after something,’ said Dougal, peering round his screen. ‘Take a wee look at the photos of the office, it’s completely trashed, turned upside down and inside out.’

  ‘Like they had a scuffle?’ said West. ‘Like she rumbled some chancer looking for the safe or something?’

  ‘No. I’m not convinced about that. I think it was more personal.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Her handbag and her purse, they’re bagged up on the side there. The lining’s been slashed on both of them. I’d say he was after something she had in her possession.’

  ‘Maybe it was this,’ said McLeod as he pushed a sealed plastic bag across the table. ‘She was wearing it around her neck, beneath her top.’

  West reached for the bag, squinting as she scrutinised the small, heart-shaped locket.

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ she said. ‘Do you think it’s valuable?’

  ‘Well, it’s not going to buy you a house,’ said McLeod, ‘but it’s valuable enough, aye. It’s an antique. I took the liberty of referencing the hallmark on the back, the thistle means it’s sterling silver, top quality, and the tree with the wee fish means it was made in Glasgow. Unfortunately the maker’s mark has worn away.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said West. ‘I mean it’s nice enough but surely he wouldn’t have gone ballistic over a little locket, would he?’

  ‘Maybe it’s not the locket he was after, but what’s inside.’

  West frowned at McLeod, snapped on a pair of gloves, and slowly opened the trinket.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said, ‘it’s a lock of… oh. It’s empty.’

  ‘It’s not empty. It’s engraved. Four digits. Eight, eight, one, eight. Followed by two letters: XX.’

  Duncan leaned back in his chair and scratched the stubble on his chin, hesitating before he spoke.

  ‘Four digits,’ he said. ‘It could be a birthday or an anniversary. The eighth of the eighth, twenty-eighteen.’

  ‘Why have it engraved?’ said West.

  ‘Maybe it was gift.’

  ‘There is another possibility,’ said Dougal. ‘It could be a PIN number.’

  West looked to the ceiling and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Give me strength,’ she said. ‘Come on boys, you can do better than that! A PIN number for God’s sake? Why? Don’t tell me she had Alzheimer’s.’

  ‘Well, do you not think we should check it against the cards in her purse anyway?’

 
‘No I do not!’

  ‘Hang fire, miss,’ said Duncan, ‘no offence but do you not think you’re being a wee bit hasty? I mean, what if it’s a PIN number for somebody else’s account?’

  ‘And the letters? XX?’

  ‘They could be the initials of the account holder.’

  ‘Genius!’ said West. ‘I’d never have thought of that.’

  ‘I do my best.’

  ‘So, all we have to do is find somebody called Xavier Xerox and we’re home dry.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Duncan despondently, ‘well, maybe they’re not initials after all. Maybe they’re kisses.’

  ‘This is getting us nowhere,’ said West reaching for her coat. ‘Have either of you two been round to her gaff for a quick shufty yet?’

  ‘Not yet, that’s on today’s agenda.’

  ‘Well, we’d better get a wiggle on. Dougal, you come with me. Duncan, CCTV. Andy, how long before you get some serious stubble on that chin of yours?’

  ‘I’d give it a week.’

  ‘Good, we’ll talk then.’

  Chapter 5

  As a neurotic individual battling to shed his bookish image as one of Ayrshire’s closet intellectuals, DS Dougal McCrae – despite his best efforts – struggled to conceal his horror when confronted by any of his unfounded fears; the worst of which was travelling at speed in the passenger seat of a dilapidated Defender with DI West at the wheel, who drove not with the precision of a trained pursuit driver but with the recklessness of the pursued.

  With his feet braced against the front of the footwell and one hand gripping the handle on the door, he winced as the hedgerow flashed by in a blur while West, oblivious to his malaise, hurtled along a deserted A70 towards Auchinleck with the needle nudging ninety.

  ‘I could’ve followed on my scooter,’ he said, shouting above the roar of the wind.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said West, ‘twice as much petrol plus I’d have to wait three days for you to catch up. Why don’t you get yourself a nice little motor instead? You’d be all warm and toasty too.’

  ‘No, no. I’m happy on two wheels, thank you.’

  ‘Of course you are. Wouldn’t want to tarnish that smooth Italian image of yours now, would we?’