Dark as Night (14 page)

              ‘I only met you a couple of times. Moira and I lost touch for a while, as one does when marriage and children come along. We met up again when your mother worked at the university for a while, just after you started school.’

              Dani felt her chest tightening. It was as if the professor was launching some kind of assault on her senses. Her detective’s instincts were screaming at her that this man was trying to tell her something, and it was big.

              ‘I can see that talking about your mother is making you very uncomfortable. I can stop if you wish?’

              Bloody psychologists, Dani thought to herself. This man had completely emotionally ambushed her and was now threatening to clam up. ‘I’m not used to having her mentioned, Professor. My father very rarely speaks of her.’

              Dani saw Morgan’s mouth tighten. ‘He should. Moira deserves to be remembered often. She was a remarkable woman.’ He took a slow sip of his coffee. ‘I went to the inquest. I wanted to talk to Huw, pass on my condolences. He wasn’t even there.’

              ‘Dad was at home with me.’ Dani breathed in deeply. ‘What kind of relationship did you actually have with my mother?’

              ‘About a year before her death, I had asked Moira to marry me. We were in love with each other. She’d been very unwell ever since your birth. In my opinion, she never received proper treatment for her PND. Your father treated her like the madwoman in the attic.’

              Dani stood up, her wooden chair falling backwards onto the stone tiles of the café floor. The other customers turned and stared. ‘I think we’ll leave it there, Professor. I’m not sure I’m interested in your
opinions
any longer.’

              The man shrugged his shoulders, a gesture which angered Bevan even more. She threw a note on the table and marched straight out of the door, not allowing herself to cry until she had travelled some distance down the street.

Chapter 27

T
here was only one person that Dani wanted to see after leaving the café in Kelvinside. It was the middle of the day, but the pub she was now sitting in was reassuringly dingy.

              Andy Calder carried a couple of drinks over to their table. He was dressed casually, in jeans and an open-necked shirt. ‘There you go Ma’am, get that doon ya’ neck.’

              Dani chuckled, sipping the cold, white wine with relief. ‘Call me Dani, you’re on leave for heaven’s sake.’

              ‘Old habits die hard.’

              Bevan knocked back half the glass in one go. ‘It was his blatant hostility that really shook me up. His eyes were full of hatred. Why does he feel that way about me – about Dad?’

              Andy rubbed at his stubbly chin. ‘The professor clearly blames you for your mother turning him down.
You
would have been the reason she didn’t leave to marry him. Even if I were madly in love with someone else, Amy would be the reason I stayed with Carol.’

              Dani raised an eyebrow. ‘
Are
you madly in love with someone else?’  

              He smiled sadly. ‘No. I don’t think I’m even capable of it any more. But before you decide I’m some kind of hero, it was her who finished with me.’

              ‘You were in a difficult place. The affair would have burnt itself out eventually. Will you tell Carol?’

              ‘And break her into pieces? I’m not that much of a bastard.’

              Dani sighed. ‘Mum must have never told Dad about her relationship with Morgan either. I knew she’d taken a job for a while. It was an administrative position, part-time, at the University of Aberystwyth. But then her mental health took a turn for the worst and she gave up. They must have continued seeing one another after she left.’

              ‘The adult world is complicated, Dani. Your mother wasn’t well and this Morgan guy may have provided her with some comfort. I don’t think we could blame her for that.’

              ‘No, I don’t.’ Dani polished off the rest of the wine. ‘What really upset me was that the Professor was saying the stuff that’s been secretly bothering me for all these years – that Dad didn’t handle it right. He should have got Mum proper psychiatric help. It was obvious that Morgan thought she’d still be alive if Mum had gone away with him.’ Bevan’s voice broke and the tears escaped onto her face. It was the last thing she was expecting to happen.

              Andy got up and moved over to place his arms around her. ‘We all think that if we’d only done something differently they’d still be with us. What if Don felt he could talk to me and Dad about his sexuality? Then he wouldn’t have needed go out and pick up blokes in parks at night. Maybe it’s true, maybe it isn’t. There’s nothing we can do to change it now. We’ve just got to accept we messed it up and move on.’

*

The item that DS Phil Boag was carrying into her office was the very last thing Dani wanted to see that particular afternoon.

              ‘I found it on the shelf at home, Ma’am. I thought you might want to read it, for background research.’

              Bevan received the book with resignation. ‘Yeah, I probably should.’ The DCI examined the front cover carefully. It showed a city scape of London by night. The title read; ‘Inside the Head of the Latch-Key Killer: Profile of a Psychopath.’

              Morgan was certainly confident about his diagnosis, she noted, looking up and muttering, ‘thanks,’ as Phil went out the door.

              The volume was divided into two parts, one which examined the killings themselves and the police investigation to catch the murderer. The second was devoted to the trial and Morgan’s interviews with Cummings whilst he was in Broadmoor. Dani decided she was more interested in the pattern of the man’s crimes and the procedure used by the Met to catch Cummings than she was in some media-loving shrink’s assessment of his motives.

              Bevan flicked ahead to the first chapter and started to read.

Chapter 28

I
t was another hot day when Caitlin Hendry was led around Glasgow Green by Dr Lisa Fraser. The DC’s research had brought her into contact with the academic, who was based at Clydebank University.

              ‘There was a heatwave in the summer of 2005 as well, do you recall?’

              ‘Not really, I was at school back then. I don’t think I would have noticed,’ the detective replied innocently.

              Dr Fraser chuckled. ‘Aye, you’re not much older than my students, right enough.’ She led her companion to the banks of the river, where they had a view across to the south Glasgow skyline, turned hazy by the heat. ‘The fair started out as a place where folk could display and sell their cattle and livestock. The Green would have been full of animals during the event in the 19
^th
Century, not bouncy castles and bumper cars like it is today. The farmers even came to these fairs to hire labourers. It must have been reminiscent of a slave auction at times.’

              ‘When did the travelling fairgrounds become popular?’

              ‘By the end of the 19
^th
Century, amusements had triumphed over the agricultural element of the fair. At that point, the events were probably in their heyday, with illusionists and acrobats and even the first mechanical rides. When steam power came along, the rides became larger and more innovative. However, at the same time as the machinery was becoming more sophisticated, there was a movement growing against the ‘showmen’ who operated them. These itinerant communities were described in parliament as ‘the dregs of society’.’

              ‘Those attitudes are still around now.’

              ‘Aye, certainly, and the hostility just made the so-called ‘van-dwellers’ more united and determined to preserve their way of life. The Showman’s Guild was formed in 1917. It’s still around today to protect the rights of fairground families.’

              ‘Like a trade union.’

              ‘Yes, exactly. But the real enemy of the travelling fairgrounds has been the redevelopment of their traditional pitches. As new housing is built in every piece of brownfield land surrounding the big cities, the travellers are squeezed out. Nobody wants to live near a travellers’ settlement. That’s the sad truth of it.’

              Caitlin nodded. ‘Do you know anything about the O’Driscoll family?’

              ‘I’m afraid I haven’t heard of them, but I suspect they were originally Irish immigrants who came over to Glasgow after the famine in the 1840s. Whether they were itinerant before that time it’s impossible to tell.’

              ‘Do many fairground families still operate in Scotland?’

              ‘Yes, quite a few. You should contact the Guild for more details. Travelling children have been required to attend local schools since the 1880s. If the travelling family you’re looking for has been dispersed then you’ll probably find members of them still working as operators in the established fairgrounds. It’s the work they’ve always known, one is reluctant to suggest it’s in their blood, but many professions are, you know.’ Dr Fraser smiled.

              ‘My dad was a policeman.’

              ‘There you go then, I rest my case.’

              The young DC put out her hand. ‘Thank you very much Dr Fraser, you’ve been a great help.’

*

Alice had driven them down the A77 to Ayr. The company they were looking for was based on an anonymous industrial estate on the outskirts of the town. The detectives had arranged to meet the managing director at the office building adjacent to a huge warehouse.

              ‘Good morning, ladies.’ the man greeted them with a broad smile. ‘I’m Callum Reid, the MD of ScotRide.’

              They took a seat. ‘You know why we’re here?’ Alice began.

              ‘You’d like a list of my employees. Yes, I received your e-mail. My HR assistant has printed off an Excel file.’ Reid handed over a couple of sheets of paper.

              Hendry skimmed through the names. ‘These are your permanent staff?’

              ‘Aye. I’ve got over fifty drivers and operators. They go out to events all over the country.’ He crossed his thick arms over his chest. The action stretched his suit jacket to the limit. The seams were nearly bursting under the pressure.

              ‘What about special occasions like the Glasgow Fair?’ Hendry enquired. ‘We had to bring officers in from other divisions. Didn’t you need to call on extra staff?’

              Reid frowned. ‘I’m not sure if…,’ the question had obviously unsettled him.

              Alice bent forward, her expression steely. ‘We don’t care if you were paying folk cash in hand, or using illegals. We just need those names. A man was murdered that night. We think he may have hooked up with his killer on Glasgow Green earlier in the day. If we don’t know exactly who was there, we can’t eliminate your company from our inquiries. My boss will probably have to say as much on Crime Scotland. I don’t expect that publicity will be particularly welcome. People don’t really like sending their kiddies out to fun parks operated by potential murderers.’

              Callum Reid’s face had drained of all colour. ‘Come on officers, times are difficult enough as it is.’ He pulled open a drawer beneath the desk. ‘I never use illegals, let’s get that straight. But there are a few men I call upon if I need extra hands. They’re all good workers, with plenty of experience. I only use them occasionally, so we make a private arrangement. It’s not illegal.’

              ‘Just give me the names, Mr Reid. Every single one of them.’

Chapter 29

R
ain was thundering down onto the empty pavements as Ryan Stone made his way along a back street in Notting Hill Gate. His flat was on the second floor of an attractive 1930s art deco block that was favoured by young, creative types.

              Ryan was no exception. He worked for a small publishing company in Marble Arch. The apartment was bought when property prices in this area of London had been very reasonable. It was Holland Park and Bayswater that had possessed the most desirable postcodes back then. But now, the value of flats in the area was soaring beyond Ryan’s wildest expectations.

             
He reached into his shoulder bag for the key, noticing the light on in the basement below, feeling a sense of relief that he wasn’t living down there, below street level, where the new band of homeless types that had sprung up around the city in recent years had taken to urinating through the iron railings onto the owner’s subterranean courtyard.

             
The stairwell was dark. The bulb at the top of the landing must have given out again. The management company were useless at dealing with that kind of thing. Ryan and his neighbours had taken to replacing it themselves and divvying out the smaller maintenance jobs between them. They were showing some initiative. Ryan smiled to himself, Mrs Thatcher would be proud. He knew she was going out of favour in a number of the circles he moved in but Ryan still liked the PM. He’d done pretty well out of her.

              The flat was cold. Ryan reached across to notch up the heating. Half an hour’s blast should warm the place up. He went straight into the kitchen and opened the fridge, ready to fix a quick supper so he could get on with the manuscript corrections he had to make by morning. Ryan laid out the ingredients for a simple omelette and strode into the bedroom, pulling off his shirt and trousers, reaching for the jogging pants and t-shirt he kept folded on the edge of the bed. Before he had a chance to put them on, he received a hard blow to the back of his head.