‘Are we all thinking the same thing here?’ O’Neill asked them.
‘Try us.’
‘Okay, the house is full of murderabilia. Creepy and weird but not in itself a crime. Everything is labelled though. Every item has the name of the killer. It’s part of his thing, right? Showing off. Displaying it, shouting it.’
‘Right. But in here, presumably the prized pieces of his collection, nothing.’ Salgado continued thinking. ‘All unmarked, no sick plaques of honour. No mention of who killed these people, assuming they are actually dead.’
‘I think that’s a fair fucking assumption.’
‘So, the question is, what’s different about the person that killed these people? Why’d he not want to put the killer’s name to them?’
‘Because it would be admitting guilt. Because these are his own collection. Garland is a serial killer.’
‘In that case, yeah, we’re thinking the same thing.’
The four cops, uniforms and detectives, stood and looked at the array of body parts in silence.
‘Anyone remember that episode from The Wire?’ Salgado asked eventually. ‘The one where Bunk and McNulty go to the scene of a shooting. They see more and more bullet holes and all they say is “fuck”. Over and over. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, that.’
CHAPTER 5
Dark clouds scudded low over Police Scotland’s west HQ on French Street as Narey drove into the car park, the building’s wide glass front shining bluer than the sky above or the Clyde below. It had been four years since they’d upped sticks and moved to Dalmarnock in the East End from the old red-brick monstrosity on Pitt Street, but she still thought of it as new. And she still didn’t like it much.
Sure, the parking was so much easier, the building was clean, fit for purpose and free of asbestos, but it had no bloody soul. Pitt Street had the ghosts of five thousand coppers and the stale stench of their cigarettes in the bones of the place. On a night shift, you could hear them swapping war stories and grumbling about reorganisation and overtime and where it had all gone wrong. She missed it.
She knew it was the inevitable result of modernisation but all it did was make her feel old and she wasn’t a fan of that at all. Bringing up a three-year-old and a husband while holding down a more-than full-time job was already accelerating the ageing process and she didn’t need nostalgia finishing the job.
She was inside and halfway to her office when DC Davie Corrigan stepped across her path with the apologetic look of someone about to spoil her day before it even began. Her heart sank. Could they not even wait until she took her coat off?
‘Detective Superintendent McTeer is looking for you. Says you’ve to go straight to his office once you get in.’
‘Does he know that I’m in?’
‘Shouldn’t think so.’
‘Then I’ll get a coffee first.’
Corrigan’s face screwed up. ‘I’m not sure that’s a great idea. If you don’t mind me saying. He was pretty insistent.’
Narey sighed. ‘Okay, okay. Did he say what it was about?’
‘He just said that you’d know.’
Shit. Tam Harkness. It had to be. He’d made a complaint about her harassing him in the chicken joint. It wouldn’t stick but the brass wouldn’t be happy. The last thing she needed was for them to tell her to back off. Damn it.
McTeer’s office was on the top floor, the fifth. She opened the door as soon as he replied to her knock, her plan being to go in with momentum and get her retaliation in first.
He had his back to her, fishing through files in the cabinet that stood near his desk.
‘Take a seat, Rachel. I’ll be with you as soon as I find this. Do you remember when they promised we’d be a paperless office? Fat chance.’
The superintendent was known to be a reluctant administrator, a man who joined the force to catch crooks not to file reports but got too good at what he did so kept getting promoted despite his protests. It was the kind of career history that always endeared itself to those still working cases. He’d earned respect from his work as well as his rank.
He turned, dropping a folder on his desk and finding Narey still standing.
‘If you’re standing up because you’re going to argue with me then at least let me say what I’ve got to say first. Sit down, please.’
She slid reluctantly into the seat, her intended momentum taken from her by the more experienced player. He watched her sit then exhaled heavily, his eyes never leaving hers.
‘Let’s start with a guessing game, Inspector. I’ll go first. Why do you think I’ve asked you to my office this morning?’
Oh shit. If McTeer was playing the guessing game, then he was mightily pissed off. She couldn’t win the game, she just had to make sure she didn’t lose too badly.
‘Sir, I was only in Chicken Choice getting some food to take home. How was I supposed to know Harkness would be there?’
McTeer stared at her, unblinking.
‘Detective Inspector Narey – firstly, wouldn’t that just be the silliest bloody answer if my question wasn’t about Thomas fucking Harkness? And secondly, don’t kid a kidder. You’re talking to me, not preparing your answers for Professional Standards. Not yet, anyway. Am I understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So, once more, why do you think I’ve asked you to my office this morning?’
Her only chance of getting out of it relatively unscathed was to front up. It was the only thing McTeer was going to tolerate.
‘I’m guessing I’m here because Tam Harkness, or more likely his lawyer, has been complaining that I’ve been harassing him. Which, if I’m not talking to Professional Standards, then I’ll admit I did. A little bit.’
‘A little bit?’
‘I wanted a reaction. I wanted him to know that I’ve not gone away, that I’m still on his case. In every sense. I can’t let this go, sir.’
‘Yeah? Well maybe you’ll have to. As you rightly guessed, I’ve spent a fair bit of this morning getting my ear chewed by a very angry lawyer. That’s not something I enjoy. Nor is making concessions to a lawyer, nor is apologising to a lawyer. I’ve never liked bloody lawyers. This one is a poisonous little toerag who was obviously loving every frigging minute of it.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. I’ll speak to him myself if—’
‘No. Oh no you won’t. I’ve persuaded him not to make an official complaint and not to go chapping at the chief’s door and there’s no need for you changing his mind on that. Agreed?’
‘Agreed, sir.’
McTeer shook his head wearily and blew out hard. ‘Rachel, how sure are you that Harkness is guilty of this?’
He was asking her straight. Cop to cop.
‘Honestly? I can’t be sure. I’ve got no evidence, that’s for sure, or else he’d be in a cell. Everything circumstantial says it’s him and everything about him says it’s him.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Sir, I’ll admit my judgement might be skewed by him having a history of violence against partners and having threatened her. I want it to be him, I know that. But from the start I’ve shoved that as far to the side as I could and been as objective as I could. And I think Harkness is guilty.’