A Dark Shadow Falls (13 page)

              Andy’s cheeks flushed crimson. ‘What kind of sentence is five sodding years?’

              ‘The other burglar claimed that he had no idea his accomplice was going to rape Diane. The plan was to commit a burglary, nothing else. Tim Flannigan took part in a victim mediation programme. This helped to reduce his jail time.’

              ‘Did Flannigan meet with Diane and her father as part of the mediation?’ Dani knew about the practice of bringing the perpetrators of violent crime face-to-face with their victims but had no first-hand experience of it.

              ‘Diane and Tim became friends. They wrote to each other after the sessions were over. Di now runs a charity raising awareness about safety in the home, especially for women. She invites Tim to come and speak at their meetings sometimes. I go down and help her out when I can too. Prevention is much more satisfying to achieve than mopping up the mess left behind by violent crime.’

              Andy looked entirely perplexed by the whole concept.

              But Bevan was very impressed with what she’d seen of this young detective. ‘Do you think it would be worth my while talking to Diane Beattie?’

              Webber nodded vigorously, fishing a business card out of his jacket pocket. ‘This is her number. Di’s worked with dozens of these cases, but from the other side. I reckon she could give you some pretty useful insights.’

              Bevan gratefully received it. ‘Thank you, Detective Constable. I believe you may well be right.’

Chapter 22

D
ani had spent the previous evening reading through the case files of the Beattie burglary in 2007. The man who raped Diane Beattie was a nasty piece of work, with violent convictions dating back to his adolescence spent in various children’s homes. Tim Flannigan had simply fallen in with the wrong crowd and got mixed up with drug taking. He was supporting a hefty crack cocaine addiction at the time of the break-in at the vicarage.

              Bevan turned off the main road and drove through a narrow lane which wound past an impressive church built out of Scottish red sandstone. She knew the old vicarage was situated along one of the tracks which ran beside the graveyard. But Diane Beattie didn’t live there any longer. According to the address Dani had, Diane’s cottage was on the main street.

              The village of Tweedvale was very attractive, nestled as it was beneath the Cheviot Hills and on the banks of the River Tweed. Despite this, Bevan was still amazed that Diane had chosen to stay on there after her ordeal eight years earlier. Her father, Albert Beattie, had died only a year later.

              There was a space on the kerbside directly in front of the quaint little stone cottage where the woman now lived. Dani climbed out of the car and approached the tiny front door. Diane answered after only one knock. She smiled broadly, her silver hair cut into a neat, feathered style. Bevan knew she was now 56 years of age and had been 48 at the time she was attacked.

              Dani was led along a dark corridor to a pleasant sunroom at the rear, which looked out onto a surprisingly large garden.

              ‘Folk are usually amazed at the length of my garden. It’s considerable bigger than the house,’ Diane commented, pre-empting any enquiry. ‘If you look closely, you’ll see that the river runs past us at the back. Our terrace couldn’t have been built any closer because of the flood plain, which is very much to the residents’ benefit. The garden is the reason I bought the place.’

              Dani nodded and put out her hand. ‘DCI Danielle Bevan. Please call me Dani.’

              ‘I shall,’ Diane replied. She disappeared into the little kitchen, rattling around with cups and plates. When Diane re-entered, she was carrying a tray of teas and cakes.

              ‘Thank you. It’s been a rather long drive.’

              The hostess settled herself into an armchair and poured milk into their cups. ‘So, you’ve been sent by my young friend, Alec.’

              Dani looked puzzled. ‘Oh, DC Webber. Yes, he thought you might be able to assist me.’

              ‘With the Fisher case, he said. I must admit that I never considered that tragedy to have any bearing upon the work of our charity. I have no expertise in issues of domestic violence.’

              ‘May I speak confidentially?’

              ‘Of course,’ Diane replied.

              ‘Eric Fisher is claiming that an intruder murdered his family. I’ve been working with the team in Dundee who are investigating the stabbing of Morna Murphy last week. We’ve identified some potential links between the two crimes.’

              Diane raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, I must say I’m amazed. The press coverage made it sound as if the father was undoubtedly guilty. I suppose one never ceases to be fooled by what one reads in the papers.’

              ‘Quite so. What type of work does your charity carry out?’ Dani reached forward and selected a pink macaroon, suddenly feeling famished.

              ‘There are two arms of the organisation. One deals with victim support and the other with prevention. I supervise both. We have already been in contact with the police in Dundee, to offer our assistance to poor Mr Murphy. A counsellor will be paying him a visit next week.’

              ‘I expect that you’ve become familiar with a number of different cases through the work of your charity.’

              ‘I’ve come into contact with scores of people affected by stranger violence in their homes, often spanning the length and breadth of Scotland. Some over the border, too.’ Diane sipped her tea thoughtfully. ‘Although the incidences may appear totally random and entirely financially motivated, I have identified certain patterns over the years.’

              Dani shuffled closer, intrigued by the lady’s insights.

              ‘In many of the cases I’ve come into contact with, the individuals who were targeted by burglars had recently been featured in the local press for example. The level of exposure ranged in significance from people who’d won a rosette at a cake show to someone who’d just been elected as the local Member of Parliament. In my own case, my father had not long retired from his job in the Tweedvale solicitors’ office. There’d been a lengthy piece about him in the paper the previous week.’

              ‘Do you think this was how the perpetrators decided upon their victims?’

              Diane shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it was anything as organised or conscious as that. I have asked the men themselves on various occasions, including Tim Flannigan. They always claimed not to have known anything about this publicity. In Tim’s case, he couldn’t read before he was imprisoned for the break-in at my house. He couldn’t possibly have read the article about Dad.’

              ‘Then how do you explain the coincidence?’

              ‘Oh, I believe they certainly came into contact with the articles somehow, but the effect was entirely subconscious. In some respect, at least one of the perpetrators must have been guided towards a particular victim because of what they’d seen. It triggered a reaction for them – of envy perhaps. The person they saw in the photograph or on the TV news had achieved a status that they themselves knew they never would. The burglary was an attempt to take it away from them.’

              Dani hadn’t heard a theory like this one before. ‘It makes you have second thoughts about doing interviews in the press.’

              Diane smiled kindly, her green eyes twinkling. ‘You shouldn’t let the thought give you sleepless nights. This wasn’t the only factor at play. The homes most at risk are isolated, sometimes on the edge of fields or farmland. In our case, it was the graveyard.’ The woman chuckled wryly. ‘That’s why I now live in the middle of a cramped terrace.’

              Dani considered this for a moment. ‘But in Morna Murphy’s case, their house was in the centre of a tightly packed estate. Cars and people were passing by all the time.’

              ‘It is unusual, I agree. But new patterns emerge all the time as lifestyles change. On these soulless new estates, perhaps nobody notices what goes on any longer. The need for isolation has become less important to burglars.’

              ‘What sort of advice do you give to people to avoid being a victim of these crimes?’

              Diane knitted her fingers together. ‘There are absolutely no guarantees of protection, of course. What my speakers emphasise is the importance of personal vigilance. If you allow a person into your home, you must be sure to keep them at arm’s length. There is a temptation to believe them to be your friend simply because you are interacting with them in a domestic setting. It adds a personal dimension to a situation that is in reality no more intimate than buying a magazine over the counter at a newsagents.’

              ‘In Morna Murphy’s case, we believe her attacker may have originally come into contact with her whilst re-wiring the property.’

              Diane threw her hands up in the air. ‘A textbook example. We must tread very carefully with the stranger who invades our home territory. I always recommend having a friend or relative there whilst the tradesperson visits. This appears to tip the balance towards creating a more professional atmosphere.’

              Dani decided she would use this piece of advice when she next did outreach work. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, how many of your insights were gained through your own experience?’

              She sighed heavily. ‘Too many, Dani, too many. Duncan Copeland, the man who assaulted me, had been delivering our coal to us for months before the break-in occurred. It was Tim who I’d never set eyes on before.’

              ‘I hadn’t realised your attacker was known to you. It wasn’t mentioned in the file.’

              ‘We had him in for a cup of tea once, when the weather was very bad. I suppose that to his twisted mind, we’d invited him into our lives. He felt he could have whatever he wanted from us, to violate all we held dear.’

              ‘I sincerely hope you never blamed yourselves for what happened,’ Dani replied indignantly.

              ‘No, we never did. But I wanted to warn others. What we believe to be an act of innocent human kindness can be turned against us.’ Diane leant forward, regarding her guest with scrutiny. ‘There are evil people out there, DCI Bevan, those who would never dream of seeking forgiveness or absolution for their wickedness. For this reason, we must always be on our guard. Even without realising it, we could be opening the door to a terrible evil, allowing it to walk straight into our lives. After that, there’s very little we can do to stop it from destroying us.’

Chapter 23

J
ames Irving’s Marchmont flat was a Victorian conversion with tall, sash and case windows looking down onto the quiet street. The place wasn’t large, but the living room had enough space for a small dining table. James had laid it for dinner.

              The newly fitted kitchen was through an archway. This was where Dani’s host was pouring them out a couple of drinks. The area was extremely bijou, there wasn’t even a window.

              ‘It’s a lovely flat,’ she commented politely.

              ‘
Small
, is the word you’re searching for,’ he replied with a grin. ‘I decided to get myself a little bolt-hole here in the city. My eventual plan is to buy a house further out. On the east coast, maybe.’

              ‘That’s a good idea. You can actually commute from there.’

              ‘But it would be a bit pointless on my own,’ he said quietly, leading his guest back to the lounge. ‘So, how is your investigation going? It has obviously brought you back over to this area. Can you tell me any more?’

              Dani sat on the sofa, accepting her glass of wine. ‘Actually, I can. I went to see Diane Beattie today. She campaigns to raise awareness of safety in the home. One of our DCs is friends with her. He thought she’d have some interesting insights into this spate of burglaries we’re experiencing.’

              ‘Did she?’

              Bevan nodded. ‘Diane has worked on so many cases in the last eight years that she’s been able to identify patterns in the behaviour of offenders. I think that the Serious Crime Division should be working more closely with her charity.’

              James furrowed his brow. ‘Hang on, wasn’t she the lady who was attacked at the vicarage? Her father was beaten up too, wasn’t he?’

              ‘Yes, Diane has dedicated her life now to preventing similar crimes. She’s a very interesting woman.’

              ‘There was a programme about her on the radio, a few years back. Diane met with one of the men who broke into her house. They took part in this rehabilitation project where perpetrators of crime confront their victims. At the time, I thought the woman must be some kind of saint. I’d have been tempted to wring his neck.’

              ‘The man she met wasn’t the one who had raped her and beaten up her father. Tim Flannigan was an illiterate drug-addict who was desperate for money. He wasn’t aware there’d be anyone at home when they broke in. What his accomplice did in that house haunted him, too. That’s why he wanted to meet with Diane.’

              ‘But the guy could surely have stopped it. That’s what I would find hard to forgive, that he stood by and allowed it to happen.’ James looked indignant.

              Dani shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ve read the transcript of their interviews. Flannigan claims that Copeland sought out the knife from the kitchen as soon as they were inside. He says the man was like something possessed. Flannigan feared that if he tried to intervene, Copeland would butcher them all. He was paralysed by fear.’

              James was silent for a moment. ‘Actually, that makes sense. When I was held prisoner by Micky Ford that time, I could do nothing to defend myself. I’m a tall, athletic sort of bloke but he was a maniac. I knew that if I fought back, he’d kill me, right then and there.’