Devine Intervention by Graeme Winton - HTML preview

Chapter Seven

I sat back and watched my grandson, Jamie, play with his toys in front of the television in Rachel’s living room. The boy had the same pale blue eyes and blond hair as his mother and his grandmother.

Rachel entered from the kitchen and handed me a mug of coffee.

“Thanks for the dinner, Rach, “I said as I took a sip.

“Anytime, dad.”

“What’s wrong with that husband of yours doesn’t he want to sit here with you?”

“I’ve told you dad - he’s working.”

“He’s always working!”

“That’s rich coming from you. Anyway, the mortgage on this place is horrendous,” Rachel said as she lifted Jamie, who had become bored with the toys and wandered over to his mother. “So, you’ve come over to criticize Dave,” she continued.

“No. Do I need a reason to come see my daughter and grandson?”

“Oh dad, no. I’m glad to see you!”

“Look, if you need some money…”

“Thanks dad, but no. I’ve started working a few hours a week at ASDA.”

“Okay baby. There’s something I need to warn you about…”

“Oh, what is it this time: a mad axe man on the loose? I’ve been looking over my shoulder all my life because of that job of yours. Dad... it’s time to quit,” she interrupted.

“I’m retiring in a few years.”

“Good! Remember what happened to mum!”

“I won’t let anything happen to you or Jamie,” I said, as painful memories jumped into my mind, and tears filled my eyes.

“I know dad–you big softy,” she said with a smile. The same smile her mother used to give me.

“It’s just; there’ve been some murders in Arbroath, and the perp might be after me. So, promise me you’ll be careful”

“Oh, I promise!”

As I drove through Broughty Ferry with thoughts of my grandson playing on centre stage my mobile burst into life. I pulled into the side of the road and put the hazards on.

“Yeah, Devine,” I answered.

“Take my hand, and I’ll save you,” said a rasping, breathless voice.

There was no number on the screen–in fact there was nothing!

“I know you like it, and you can’t stop,” said the voice.

“Look, who is this?” I shouted. But the line was dead.

The Sign announced: Royal Tayview Low Security Psychological Hospital as I pulled up at the main gate check point which had a large hedge stretching into the distance on either side.

A guard approached my car as I lowered the driver’s window.

“I’m here to see Dr Rennie. I’m DCI Devine – Police Scotland.” I said flashing my warrant card.

“Could you wait a minute, sir?” The guard said as he entered his kiosk.

After a moment he reappeared and, with a quick look around the inside of my car, said: “Okay sir, on you go.”

The gates opened, and I drove up the steep driveway until the Victorian mansion appeared from behind big fir trees and glowered at me. The front elevation had three pointed facades, the middle of which contained the main door.

I parked and glimpsed an annex at the rear from the nineteen seventies as I walked up to the steps which led to the front door. I felt a million eyes peering at me from behind the darkened windows.

“DCI Devine to see Dr Rennie, “I said as I showed my warrant card to the receptionist.

“Please take a seat,” she said lifting a phone receiver.

I sat in an area opposite the main desk and stared out a window at a well-manicured lawn fringed

with a small privet hedge.

“Chief Inspector Devine?” said a blond woman in a white lab coat.

“Yes,” I said rising off my seat, “Dr Rennie?”

“You want to talk about Marie Croal?”

“Well, Yes I would like a word.”

“Will you follow me?”

I followed her along a passage until she entered a room with Dr Rennie Psychologist on the door in gold letters.

“Take a seat Chief Inspector,” she said pointing toward the only seat in front of a desk overflowing with paper.

“Just a few questions Doctor,” I said as I sat down and looked at the paintings of country scenes on the walls.

“Marie–does she get many visitors?”

“No one comes to see her. She has no family.”

“So, she has no real contact with the outside world?”

“None. She’s never been outside the grounds since she was admitted. So, there’s no way she could have committed or instructed somebody to commit the murders you told me about on the phone.”

The doctor picked up a paper clip and played with it. “You knew she was abused as a youngster at a home in Dundee?” she asked while keeping her eyes on the clip.

“No, I didn’t.”

“We think she kept it hidden under layers of emotion until the conditions in the prison brought the suffering to the surface, and she wanted to kill herself and others around her.”

“She was sectioned to Carstairs?”

“Yes. Where she saw out the rest of her term and then, assessed as unfit to be released or stepped down in security, she was retained there.”

“So how did she end up here in low security?”

“Ah well, she was given a new wonder drug which was withdrawn in America because of some bizarre effects. Marie, however, seemed to make great progress under it and was eventually recommended for a security step down and admitted here.”

“Okay doctor. Thanks for your time. Oh, one last thing: would it be okay for me to see her?”

I was led through white corridors, which smelled of disinfectant, by a male nurse until we reached a set of swing doors with small wire-meshed glass panels. The nurse took a card from his pocket and swiped it through a sensor and then pushed one door open. He then asked me to follow him.

I found myself standing in a large room painted pale blue. The television in the corner was advertising Scotland as a place to visit while a nurse sat playing draughts with a thin, red-haired woman at a table in the middle of the room.

“Where’s Marie?” asked the male nurse.

“She’s in her room,” answered the nurse at the table.

The male nurse then led me along a corridor flanked by three open doors on both sides. A nurse was reading to a patient in one room as I passed-by, and a patient slept on her bed in another.

Eventually the nurse leading me stopped outside room number five, which had Marie Croal on a card in a brass holder on the white door.

“Marie, there’s someone here to see you,” said the nurse to a plump woman with greying, short brown hair.

The room painted the same pale blue as the main room had a bed with a dark blue duvet in one corner. A desk with books and a CD player occupied another.

Marie sat at the desk staring out of the window chewing gum. She never turned around to acknowledge us.

For once in my life, I didn’t know what to say, so I also stared out of the window.

“Speak to her,” said the nurse as he picked up a gum wrapper with a groan, “I'll be back in twenty minutes,” he said as he left the room.

He seemed to be under the misapprehension I was a relative or a friend, I thought. I wondered what I was doing there because this poor soul couldn’t have murdered anyone.

“A great view,” I said.

She kept on chewing, so I looked at the paintings on her walls. One was of angels with white wings hovering over a woman kneeling and praying. The other was of a woman on a horse dressed in chain mail leading an army of armoured women.

After twenty awkward minutes the male nurse returned and said: “Time up, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you,” I said as I left and then” goodbye Marie,”

But it wasn’t worth it as she kept on looking out of the window.

Darkness was descending as the blue Transit van turned into Lamley Terrace and stopped outside number Twelve–part of a terrace of ten former council houses. John Roy opened the passenger’s door and shouted his farewells.

I jumped out of my car and crossed over the road. “Can I have a word, John?” I asked as I slipped between two parked cars.

“I wondered how long it would be before you turned up!” exclaimed Roy as he shut his gate.

“You come to beat me up then?”

“Come on now John–just a quiet word.”

“I told your pet monkeys–I had nothing to do with the murders. I stay in every night. You can ask my mother.”

“Oh yeah, I remember your mother swearing that her baby boy was home the night Mr. Duncan was beaten to death!”

“Listen man, I served my time for the mistake of a skint youth,” he said with the same wild eyes I remembered from twenty-five years ago.

“Okay John–tell your mother I’m asking for her.”

“Oh yeah!” he said as he turned and walked along the front garden path shaking his head.

Chapter Eight I left Arbroath Indoor Swimming Pool on a blustery November night in 1974 and bought some chips from a chip shop where a wave of heat flowed out when I opened the door. I then walked up Market Place and peered into the darkened telephone box on the edge of the pavement. The door burst open and Ian Gellaty, a thug some years older than myself, grabbed me around the throat –

scattering my chips over the road.

“What are you looking at you little bastard?” he bellowed.

“Nothing,” I uttered.

“Fuck you,” he said as he punched me in the face sending me crashing into the phone box.

The night was cold and moonless. I stood in the shop doorway next to The Tradeshouse Bar on the corner of Dundee’s Nethergate and Union Street. The light from the pub spilled across the pavement and then reflected in the puddles of the gutter at the side of the road. As people passed-by I moved back into the shadows.

The doors of the hostelry opened as the Old Steeple bells chimed Ten thirty and the chatter of drinking people drifted across the street. A bald man appeared and walked unsteadily along Union Street. I stepped half out of the shade, pulling on a pair of gloves. He looked in my direction and I shouted: “What are you looking at?”

“What the fuck?” said the drunken Gellaty, who now lived in Dundee, as he moved toward me.

“Come on then you bastard?” he shouted as he threw a punch at my face.

I stepped back and caught his fist and bent it back then kicked him in the shin while looking up and down the street. After assuring myself that no one was watching I grabbed him by the throat and pulled him into the shadows.

The smell of alcohol was overwhelming as I pulled his face next to mine and he whimpered:

“What do you want?”

“Fuck you,” I said as I head-butted him and let him crash into the wall-side of the shop entry. He slumped into a sitting position on the ground. I wiped his forehead and then slipped out of the entry and hurried toward the Nethergate.

In my kitchen I poured myself a whisky and then headed through to the lounge to wait for my mobile to ring and tell me about Gellaty’s murder. I switched on the radio and let some late-night jazz fill my living room. The house phone rang, and I answered expecting Rachel.

“Yeah, hello?”

“Listen here you bastard,” said a man’s grating voice. “I know who you are, and I’m going to report you to the police and have you charged.”

I took a deep breath, and realising that Gellaty had survived, I answered: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Oh, don’t you Detective Chief Inspector Devine, well how about the assault of an innocent person?

“You’ve no proof that I did anything of the sort.”

“Oh, don’t I! I have a great witness.”

“Who?”

“You don’t need to know that, just that I’m off to the police station.”

“Wait, a minute! Okay, as you’ve phoned me–what is it you want?”

“Fifty thousand ought to do it.”

“What?”

“You heard!”

“I’ll need to think about this.”

“Think all you like. I’ll phone back tomorrow.”

I slammed the phone down and went through to the kitchen where I grabbed the bottle of whisky.

I poured myself a large measure and gulped it down. Who was the witness? If there was a witness.

Was he bluffing? Where did he get my number from, I pondered?

I drifted back into the lounge and sat down. I held up my half-filled glass to the light and stared at

the light brown liquid. Was it true? What that voice on my mobile said. “I know you like it.” I lowered the glass to my lips and gulped the whisky. It was true–I felt a tinge of excitement exercising powerful retribution, but killing is morally wrong. Yet, when I saw the body of that bastard Forbes hanging from the crossbar…

The ringing of my mobile brought me out of an alcohol induced sleep.

“Devine,” I said with a sleep laced voice.

“Derek here, sir. There’s been a body found on our patch this time sir. It looks like a murder!”

“Where about?”

“In an entry in Ward Road.”

“What, just round from the Nick? Okay, I’m on my way. Oh Derek, can you come and pick me up? I’ve had a few nightcaps!”

I had a terrible taste in my mouth so I went into the kitchen and mixed some Alka Seltzer into a glass of water and drank the lot. I then switched the light off and left the house. I decided that I would wait outside for Derek and take in the night air.

Uniforms and white suits surrounded the entry on Ward Road as we drew up behind a police van.

I left the warmth of Derek’s car and stepped into a cold drizzle which had settled over the sleeping city.

Ian Gellaty’s dead eyes stared out of the dark. His body lay slumped against a wall. As I approached, I realised that his torso faced in to the entry. His head had been twisted through 180

degrees’!

“What the hell!” I said.

“Yeah, its gruesome!” exclaimed Derek.

The pathologist stepped out of the entry and produced a sample bag filled with a wallet and some rings. “Would you like these gentlemen?

“Thank you, James.” I said. “What’s the crack?”

“Well, as you can see, the victim’s neck has been broken–death was instantaneous and happened around midnight.”

“His name was Ian Gellaty,” said Derek, who had opened the wallet with inspection gloves on.

“Any witnesses?”

“No, it was a taxi driver–Jim Milne–who noticed the body after dropping off a fare. First, he thought it was a drunk who had found a bed for the night!”

“Okay, I’m going home.” I said walking away, but realising I had no car I headed back.

“I’ll give you a lift sir.” Derek said walking toward his car.

“Good man.” I said.

When I got back in the house, the phone was ringing.

“Yeah, hello?”

“Now you’re getting worried!” said the unworldly voice.

“If you were Gellaty’s witness you must be Human.”

“Am I?”

“What is it you want–the fifty thousand?”

“Don’t insult me… I want your soul!”

After the line went dead, I rang 1471, and there was no recorded number.

Derek White gazed at the photograph of my wife on my desk and then said: “will I get Susan onto the cameras for the city centre last night?

“No, I’ll do it Derek,” I said, raising my head up from my computer monitor while still looking at the screen.

“Sir?” Derek asked, grimacing.

“There’s enough other work on. I’ll handle it!”

Dave Craig sat in front of a bank of screens in the CCTV Control Room. He had a hands-free phone kit on his head. I put my hand on his shoulder.

“Steve,” he said, glancing up.

“Dave, I need a favour. I need to see the camera recordings in Ward Road from last night between

eleven thirty and twelve thirty.”

“Okay, sit down.” He motioned to a spare swivel seat. “I’ll run it on the screen to the left there,”

he said, tapping a few keys on a computer keyboard and looking at a monitor in front of him.

As I sat looking at a blank screen a small spinning circle appeared followed by a street scene which I realised was Ward Road. Although it was dark, I could see the entry, which was empty.

Several cars passed, but there were no pedestrians.

After a while the camera swung through 180 degrees and looked in the opposite direction. Again, cars passed with no one walking on the pavement. Then, after a few moments the figure of a man appeared out of the gloom and strode toward the camera until he passed toward the entry.

“Is that your man?” Dave asked.

“I think so.”

“I’ll fast-forward to look in the other direction.

I could see Gellaty in the entry as Dave zoomed in the camera. He was alone. There was no sign of the witness he claimed to have. Then the camera again turned and looked the other way. I looked at Dave, but he was busy talking to someone on the phone and moving a joy stick while gazing at a certain screen.

Five minutes later and the camera swung back again still at the same level of magnification.

Gellaty was talking on a mobile. After a while the camera again swung in the other direction and I waited until it turned back again to reveal Gellaty slumped in the entry with his head turned so that his face stared out through the opening above his back. There was no one about.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Dave, who had finished what he was doing.

“Whoever did it must have been helluva quick!”

I got Dave to rewind while I noted the registrations of some of the vehicles which passed and then asked him if I could see the recording for Union Street between ten thirty and eleven thirty.

The camera gazed up the street from the opposite end to where I had encountered Gellaty, so I could just make out some blurry movement at the top right corner of the screen.

People left pubs from further down the street and walked past the camera as I kept my eye on the top right corner. And at Eleven fifteen I saw the blurred outline of a figure emerge from the area around the shop door way and walk toward the Nethergate.

“Thanks Dave,” I said, “Can I see the tapes of the Nethergate for eleven to eleven thirty last night?”

“You’re just a pest, Chief Inspector!”

“I’ll buy you a pint next time I’m in your local!”

I watched as Gellaty made his way alone along the busy Nethergate and turned into Reform Street.

“Okay Dave, one more favour: I need to see Reform Street last night from eleven to twelve.”

Gellaty walked alone along the empty street and turned into Meadowside.

“Right, I’ve had enough of this,” I said, rising off the seat and stretching.

“Find anything interesting to link to the murder?” Dave asked without taking his eyes off the screens in front of him.

“No, not really.”

“Oh well. Remember that pint!”

“I won’t forget.”

I left the Station and walked along North Lindsay Street then through the Overgate Shopping Centre. The hands on the clock of the Old Steeple were at ten to four as I crossed Nethergate and walked past the Tradeshouse Bar. Resisting the temptation to go in for a drink I stopped outside the shop door where I had left Gellaty. The shop which sold computer supplies was closed. A few gum wrappers and the ubiquitous cigarette ends littered the dusty, tiled floor.

I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but I followed the route Gellaty had taken the night before according to the tapes from the CCTV Control Room. I walked along Nethergate and then turned into Reform Street where a weird looking person with an ill-fitting wig and ferocious eyes bumped into me. I turned away and kept on walking while uttering an apology.

In Ward Road I looked around the office doorways across from the entry. In one I found gum wrappers amid a mass of general litter. Interesting, I thought.

I went to bed early that night and slept uneasily. I dreamt of Marie Croal sitting staring out of her window. She was doing something else, something that the nurse had complained about.

I woke up and stared at the ceiling. “That’s it!” I shouted, “the chewing gum!” The nurse groaned about picking up the wrappers.

The next day I phoned Dr Rennie at Tayview Hospital. “I know we’ve been over this before, but I need to ask again–does Marie ever leave the hospital?”

“No, never?”

“Does she contact people outside the hospital?”

“She has no friends or family Chief Inspector. I have no record of her using a telephone here, and she doesn’t have a mobile phone.”

“How about letters?”

“No writing–she sits.”

“And chews!”

“And chews.”

“Can I come up and see her tonight?”

“We don’t allow evening visits.”

“Dr Rennie, I am conducting a murder investigation.”

“Okay, but not late. Six thirty until seven. I’ll tell the relevant night staff of your visit.”

“Thank you doctor.”

A well-made female nurse with short, blond hair met me at reception and took me to Marie’s room. I found her staring at her television while chewing.

“What is it with the chewing?” I asked the male nurse, who replaced the female and now stood at the door.

“It keeps her calm.”

“And she sits here day and night?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I won’t take up any more of your time,” I said rising from a kneeling position beside Marie.

“You lied in the court!” said Marie in a low growling voice.

I looked back and said: “What was that?” But she kept on chewing and watching the television. I looked questioningly at the nurse, but he was now standing outside the room waiting on me.

When my wife was alive, I used her as a sounding board on certain cases. As I drove home, I again used her: “So many questions June?”

“And no answers.”

“How did she get out of the hospital without being noticed? I’m now ninety-five per cent sure it was her. I know why she did it.”

“Not how?”

“How did she phone me without a mobile or ever using the telephone at Tayview?”

“Or where did she get your number from?”

“Oh June, if only you were here.” I said to her reflection on the windscreen.

Chapter Nine The sunlight blazed through the window blinds and cast a striped shadow on the far wall of my office as I stared at my computer screen. If it was Marie Croal who was doing the murders how was I to go about questioning her? I told Derek. I couldn’t forget about it and leave her sitting in Tayview. God only knew what she would do next. I lifted the phone receiver and pressed the speed dial button for Derek’s desk.

“Yes, White here?”

“Derek, would you come into my office, I have news.”

There was a knock on the door. “Come in Derek!” I shouted.

“Sir, you wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, sit down. I’ve had a breakthrough on the four murders!”

“Good news then, sir.”

“Well, I’ve reason to believe it was Marie Croal.”

“Marie Croal!” Derek exclaimed as he looked at me in amazement. “But I thought she was in Tayview and not allowed out?”

“She is, but somehow, she’s getting out and committing these crimes. Have forensics come up with anything?”

“They have possible DNA samples for two of the murders!”

“Well now, we’ve got a suspect they might pin her to the scenes.”

“We going to bring her in for questioning?”

“Hold fire on that. There’s something I’ve forgotten to check–the CCTV at the hospital!”

I grabbed my coat and drove through the rain to the hospital. I pulled up at the main gate and, after showing the security guard my warrant card, I asked: “Where can I see the CCTV tapes for the hospital?”

“I would ask at reception, sir. John Maynard is head of security–he’s my boss and has his nose up against the screens.”

At reception I showed my warrant card.

“Back again sir?” asked the red-haired receptionist.

“Yeah. Could I speak to John Maynard the head of security please?”

“Okay, I’ll contact him.”

John Maynard was a burly, balding man in his late-forties. He wore the same uniform as the guard at the gate.

“John Maynard,” he said holding out his hand.

“Chief Inspector Devine,” I said shaking the hand.

“I wondered if I could see your CCTV tapes for certain dates?”

“Yes. Will you follow me?”

I followed him into a room on the ground floor with ‘Security’ on the door. The room was dark and had four cameras trained on different areas of the hospital.

“Look Mr. Maynard, I believe one of the patients has been committing the murders I’m investigating.”

“This is a low security institution some of the patients are allowed out under supervision–the ones assessed as being ready to move back into society.”

“Not the one I’m investigating,”

“Okay what area is it you want to see, and what are the dates and times?”

I handed him a piece of paper with the information, which I had prepared in the car before entering the building.

“Okay, I’ll find these for you.”

It was much the same setup as at police headquarters.

“You know I could have emailed these files to you Chief Inspector,” said Maynard as he clicked a mouse and pressed a few keys.

“I’m not computer-minded.” I lied. “Anyway, I wanted to come and meet you.”

He showed me how to work the CCTV files and then he said: “well, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Don’t you monitor the screens?” I asked as he left.

“Now and again. There’s no real need. The cameras record and if something has happened, we can do what you’re about to do, but nothing happens!”

I turned back to the screen and started the file for the reception from Five pm on the 25th August.

I watched for a while as people went to and fro. After a while I put the file into fast-forward.

I reached Eleven pm with no trace of Marie Croal so I stopped the file and wondered if she had taken another route out of the hospital. I started the same file at Four pm and watched the same thing for ten minutes before fast-forwarding and yawning. A familiar figure moved though reception. I stopped the file and rewound and slowed the play down. Marie Croal strolled through the area at Four thirty-five pm and left the building with no one noticing. I fast-forwarded to after Eleven and finally saw her walk past at around midnight. After the tape skipping slightly, Marie looked back toward the front door for a moment as if someone had talked to her.

I sat in that room checking the other murder dates, and she left the hospital at around the same time on each of the days and didn’t return until again around midnight. I checked three other days to see if maybe she left often or even every night, but there was no sign of her on any of the three days.

As I finished copying the information into my notebook, the door opened and John Maynard entered the room.

“I reckon you will need to review your security here Mr. Maynard. I have Marie Croal leaving and re-entering the building unsupervised on three separate occasions.”

“What?”

I showed him the footage of Croal leaving and then coming back.

“My God! I’ll have to see the board about this. It looked as if she was… invisible – the way she just casually walked past people on the way out of the hospital.”

“I agree,” I said as I stood up and stretched my legs.

I left my contact details with Maynard and headed back to my car feeling relieved. They would now restrict Croal’s movement and find out how she could leave the hospital undetected. I would now have to bring her into the station for an interview–something I wasn’t looking forward to.

The first drops of rain from a heavy, dark cloud, which hovered over the city centre, hit my windscreen as I turned into the headquarters car park. Derek White was walking toward his car as he saw me and changed direction. I lowered my driver’s window.

“There’s footage of Croal leaving the hospital on each of the murder dates.”

“Still doesn’t mean she committed the murders,” he said bending and gazing at me through the open window.

“I checked other days, and she had been seen nowhere.”

“How’d she get out? I thought she was supposed to be kept secure?”

“That’s the thing–she just walked out under their noses!”

“So much for security!”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“We need to pick her up for an interview.”

“Listen Derek there’s something I ‘ve been meaning to tell you.”

A horn blasted behind me and I looked in my rear mirror and saw an irate Chief Constable.

“You’d better move sir,” said Derek with a grin.

“Okay, I’ll see you later.”

I headed straight to my office and, as I was shutting the door, my desk phone rang.

“Hello–DCI Devine?”

“Chief Inspector–its Kate Rennie at Tayview here.”

“What can I do for you Doctor? I was just about to call you.”

“About the Marie Croal problem: The board met and discussed the problem and are investigating what went wrong.”

“Doctor, she is now a murder suspect!”

“I don’t know what to say Inspector!”

“I need to bring her in for questioning. Could you arrange things for me? We might as well do it today. I will pick her up myself in an hour.”

Chapter Ten I picked up Marie Croal and a male nurse I had never seen before. Doctor Rennie insisted someone with medical training should be at the interview. A solicitor appointed by the hospital was also to be present.

As we headed into Dundee Marie, who was sitting in the front passenger’s seat, became agitated.

“I can’t get him out of my head!” she shouted.

“Who can’t you get out of your head Marie?” I asked.

“Now Marie, just calm down or I will have to give you another sedative,” the nurse said.

I glared at him in the rear mirror. He returned the stare as he patted Marie on the shoulder At the headquarters Marie sat placidly as forensic officers took DNA samples and fingerprints.

Then a policeman led her into the interview room with her nurse where I sat with Derek White and the solicitor.

After two hours of questioning, we released Croal back to the hospital where a uniformed officer would stay outside her room.

“I’m not convinced Derek–she doesn’t have the mental capacity,” I said as we sat facing one another in the otherwise empty interview room.

“I agree, but forensics has placed her at two of the murders.”

“But according to a medical report she could not physically or mentally commit the crimes.”

“And we’ve no witnesses.”

“No…”

As I pulled into my driveway, my mobile rang. I looked at the empty screen and my heart rate jumped.

“Yeah, hello?

“Take my hand, and I will save you,” said the now familiar, otherworldly voice.

“Now listen you sick bastard, I will get you!”

I shut the phone and left the car. An eerie fog had descended over the city making me shiver as I ran up to my front door and searched my pockets for my keys. Inside, I hit the lights and switched on the central heating.

I sat down in the lounge with the evening paper on my lap. A glass of whisky in one hand and the television remote in the other now convinced that Marie Croal was an innocent in all this. I took a sip from the glass, sighed and switched on the television.

The next day I pulled back the bedroom curtains and gazed at a pure blue sky. The fog of the previous night had lifted, and I knew what I had to do. I showered and breakfasted on some microwave porridge then I drove into town with the low autumnal sun in my eyes.

“Morning Derek?” I said as I walked through the CID room.

“Morning sir” answered DS White, raising his head from his computer monitor.

I headed into my office and sat down at the desk and dialed a number as Derek appeared at the opened door. I pointed to the phone receiver.

“Hello, Dr Rennie.”

“Inspector - are you coming to pick up Marie this morning?”

“No… it’s you I want a word with doctor!"

“Me!”

“What time is suitable?”

“I’m busy today.”

“This is a murder investigation please make time.”

“Okay. How about ten thirty?”

Sitting on a seat in front of her desk I gazed at Doctor Rennie. “Okay, what was really happening with Marie Croal?”

“All right Chief Inspector,” she said, rising from her seat and closing the door of her small office.

“Marie was becoming more responsive even after we stopped the pills I told you about before. So, as she had been assessed as no threat to the public, I turned a blind eye to her leaving the hospital. I

instructed the staff to let her go.”

“And what about your colleagues, did they agree to this?”

“I make the decisions for this department Mr. Devine. It’s true it’s unconventional, but Marie Croal’s unconventional.”

“I see.”

“Can I take it she’s not a suspect anymore?”

“I’ll keep you posted on that one,” I said as I rose off the seat. “One more thing Doctor, was she supervised during her nocturnal rambles?”

“Yes.”

“Can I have the names?”

“There are three nurses.”

“Are they on duty now?”

Doctor Rennie lifted her phone receiver and pressed a button while staring at me. She spoke to someone then replaced the receiver.

“I’m afraid not Inspector.”

“Can I have their names?”

“I’ll phone Human Resources.”

After another brief phone call, she turned to her computer and after some clicking and key pressing her printer sprang into life.

“There you are Chief Inspector,” she said, handing over a list of three names.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

I rushed out of the hospital and called Derek White before entering the car.

“Derek, I have three names,” which I read to him, “can you run checks on each of them.”

“Will do chief,” he replied.

I drove back into Dundee in pensive mood. How was I going to explain my part in all this?

Was the killer one of the nurses? Was Marie Croal a witness to the murders? With all this swimming around in my head I pulled into a Tesco supermarket and headed into the cafe. It was the place where June and I used to do our shopping. I had avoided it for years due to sentimental reasons. I bought a coffee and sat by the window and watched shoppers put groceries into their cars.

When I had a tough case, I used to help June with the weekly shop – the comforting experience used to bring me some solace. After a while I drank up and then continued my journey eventually pulling into the station car park where I parked the BMW and headed into the building.

I waved to Derek as I passed through the CID office. He gave me the thumbs up sign, which I didn’t know how to interpret. So, I nodded and headed into my office. As soon as I closed the door Derek was knocking on the glass.

“Come in Derek,” I said, taking my jacket off.

“Two of them, Helen Brown and James Keillor have no records. The third a David Balfour I gave to Susan to check, and she said that he has no criminal record, but she recognises him. Before she joined, the force she worked as a nurse at Lancourt Hospital near Edinburgh–a mental institution, and Susan says that he was a patient and his name was Alan Caldwell.”

“Good work Derek. Why has he turned up working as David Balfour at Tayview?”

“Doesn’t say much for their vetting process!”

I grabbed my desk phone and called Doctor Rennie at Tayview Hospital.

“Doctor, it's, DCI Devine here. I need an up-to-date address for David Balfour.”

“Okay, I’ll phone you back with it in a minute.”

I replaced the receiver and stared at DS White. “This our man Derek?” I asked.

Before he could answer my phone rang.

“Devine?”

“Chief Inspector–its Kate Rennie. He lives at 35 Byron Street in Dundee.

“Okay, thanks Doctor.”

“He stays at 35 Byron Street. I’ll meet you there.” I said looking up at Derek.

I sped up Lochee Road, and as I headed on toward Byron Street which lay at the base of the

city’s Law Hill the name Caldwell leapt into my thoughts-it was familiar!

Derek was waiting for me as I pulled up at the block where 35 was on the ground floor to the left.

“Okay Derek, let’s go,” I said as I locked my car and then opened the brown painted iron gate.

The door occupied the gable end, and was modern and white, which showed self-ownership or a private landlord as the council doors were old, wooden affairs painted chocolate brown.

I rang the doorbell, but there was no answer so we looked in the windows both front and rear.

There was no sign of movement inside so we headed back to the cars.

“If you’re looking for him that stays in there, you’re too late. He left about an hour ago,” said a blond-haired woman in her late thirties who was standing at the lower door of the next block.

“Do you know where he’s gone?” I asked.

“No one ever knows where he goes!”

“Does he have a car?”

“Nah, he takes the bus everywhere,”

“What’s he wearing today?” DS White asked.

“Brown, leather jacket and jeans.”

“Okay thanks Mrs…?”

“Jane Kelly. What’s he done?”

“We’re not sure just yet Mrs Kelly.”

“Right Derek, organise someone to keep a watch on this property and to let us know when he shows up. Doctor Rennie is emailing a photograph of Caldwell through to my computer so I’m heading back to the station.” I said when we reached the cars.

“Okay, sir.”

As I drove through the traffic, the name Caldwell played centre stage in my mind. Was he a criminal? Did he have a record under the name Caldwell?

In my office, I fired up the computer as my mobile rang. I looked at the screen and accepted the call.

“Rachel?”

“Oh dad, Jamie’s missing! I had him in the nursery while I was at work and Dave was to pick him up, but the nursery said his uncle picked him up. And Kevin, Dave’s brother, says he would only pick up Jamie if we asked him to.”

“Slow down baby! Where’s the nursery?”

“Strathern Road. It’s called Little Uns.”

“Okay, where are you right now?”

“At home. Dave’s out searching the streets.”

“Right, you call Dave back right now and both of you have a cup of sweet tea. I'll get Jamie back!”

I called up uniform and told Sergeant Andy Black that a murder suspect, Alan Caldwell AKA David Balfour, has kidnapped a child. I emailed Caldwell’s photo through and gave him a description of the clothes he was wearing then phoned Derek White and told him what was happening. Then I drove to Broughty Ferry.

Little Uns nursery sat behind high walls half way along Strathern Road. I parked in the large car park and walked up to the front door and was about to ring the bell when the door opened. A woman with short, dark-brown hair appeared at the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m DCI Devine–Police Scotland.” I answered showing her my warrant card. “I’m looking for who’s in charge.”

“That would be me. I’m Valerie Dunbar. Please come in, is this about Jamie Edwards?”

“Yes.”

“Oh dear the man wasn’t his real uncle!” she said with a quivering voice.

“Didn’t you check with Rachel before releasing the boy?”

“I tried several times, but got no answer. Jamie seemed to know the man, who said he was in a hurry. Dave had called earlier and said his brother would pick up Jamie. Then eventually Dave

showed up at the usual time and shouted, then stormed off.”

“Is this the man?” I asked showing her a photo of Caldwell.

“Yes, that’s him,” she answered after studying the photo.

“How long ago?”

“About an hour.”

I rushed out to my car as my mobile rang.

“Yeah, Derek,” I said.

“Any luck at the nursery sir?”

“It was Caldwell that picked up Jamie, and I ‘ve just remembered why I recognised the name Caldwell. Okay Derek, standby!”

I drove around Broughty Ferry searching, ending up at the sea front where I pulled into a car park and stared at the sea. My mobile rang.

“Devine?”

“Steve, it's Andy Black. Listen; there’s been a report of a man answering the description of Alan Caldwell entering Victoria Park Arbroath and he has a young boy with him.”

“Okay, thanks Andy. I’ll handle this. He is not to be approached.”

“All right mate.”

Chapter Eleven The countryside was a blur as I raced along the dual carriageway to Arbroath. I wasn’t caring about speed cops, there was only one thing on my mind: to get my grandson home safe and sound.

I dropped my speed as I entered the outskirts of the town and just hoped that I wasn’t too late. The Signal Tower Museum stood out white against a dark-grey background which looked like a storm sweeping in off the North Sea. I passed the harbour and headed onto Victoria Park.

The rain had just begun as I drove out past the empty football pitches. Looking from side to side there was no sign of Caldwell and Jamie. I parked in the carpark which surrounded the small toilet building and gazed up the sloped path which led to the cliff top path. I could have sworn I saw two figures disappearing into the gathering gloom, so I jumped out of the car and dashed up the path.

I stopped at the top to catch my breath and saw the pair some 200 metres in front. I yelled my grandson’s name, but the wind caught my voice and yanked it off over the edge of the cliff. I ran on as the storm hit the area.

Alan Caldwell was standing at the edge of the cliff at an inlet gazing at the sea as the wind whipped up big waves as I caught up with them. I grabbed Jamie, who was standing beside a wooden bench, and told him to wait there.

“Alan,” I said, over the top of the wind.

“I wondered when you’d get here?” he shouted as he turned to look at me. “No… stay back!”

I stopped and stood where I was. “You’re Jim Caldwell’s brother!”

He laughed sarcastically and said: “Oh you remember him, do you?”

“Course I remember him. He was a good officer.”

“Not as good as DC Devine though!”

“We were DC’s together.”

The rain was blowing in off the sea.

“You did him out of being a Sergeant, you ruined his career by taking the glory for an arrest he had been working on for months.”

“Come on now Alan it was a long time ago. We were young and ambitious. Jim would have done the same.”

“No, he wouldn’t! He was nothing like you!” Caldwell shouted as a gust of wind caught him off balance and he stumbled over the edge.

I ran up to the edge and found him clinging on to a narrow rock ledge. The sea was crashing onto the rocks at the base of the cliffs below him.

“Give me your hand, and l will save you,” my soul said.

He raised his head and looked at me with rain drops running down his grinning face, “Ironic this: doing you a favour–the very man I wanted to suffer for Jim's suicide!”

Then he released his grip and fell towards the wave bashed rocks below.

“No!” I shouted.

I stood and stared at the frothy hell below for a while as the storm howled about me until I heard Jamie shout: “Grandad!”

I turned and then walked to the boy. “Come on son, it’s time to go home.”

Chapter Twelve

“So,” said DCS Mann as he stood in my office gazing out of the window, “this Alan Caldwell, who was Jim Caldwell’s brother, was doing the murders while supervising Marie Croal on unscheduled outings from the hospital?”

“That’s basically it Bruce,” I said, looking up from my computer screen.

“Why?”

“Well, he wanted the blame for the murders to fall on me, because the victims were all people from my past; guys I had trouble with when I was a teenager in Arbroath. Where he found the information – I don’t know? Marie was just to throw us off the scent. He knew we would dismiss her and, as far as he was concerned, point the finger at me. Luckily Susan Moran used to work in a hospital where he was a patient, and she recognised him as Alan Caldwell.”

“And the whole thing was because of what happened to his brother?”

“Yeah, he watched as Jim self-destructed, and blamed me for it.”

“Okay Steve, I won’t ask any probing questions about these victims, just assure me there won’t be any more.”

“There won’t be Bruce!”

He gave me a knowing look and left the room as I focused on the monitor screen and continued my report.

That night as I pulled into my driveway my mobile rang and I answered without looking at the screen.

“Devine?”

A deep, rasping voice said: “Give me your hand, and I will save you!”