The Major Crimes Team - Vol 1: Lines of Enquiry (11 page)

It was a new build, as was every other house on the street. White and red brick boxes topped with brown tiles and finished with while plastic where once timber would have been used.

While each house looked presentable enough, the conformity would have driven Campbell insane. The entire street was the same, like a row of soldiers standing to attention. Campbell guessed the architect got bored after the first house and just copied and pasted the rest of the street so he could make his tee time.

‘Let’s do this.’ Campbell strode to the door fingering the collapsible baton in his pocket.

The door opened to reveal a woman in her fifties. Well presented, she had a toddler on her hip who looked at Campbell with innocent eyes. ‘Can I help you?’

‘DI Campbell, I’m looking for Bill Osbourne.’

Concern hit the woman’s face in an instant. ‘Is it our Vicky? Is she OK? Please tell me she’s OK.’

Campbell softened his face wondering who Vicky was. ‘It’s not about Vicky. Is Mr Osbourne here?’

‘He’s in the back garden.’ The woman turned to the child with a relieved smile. ‘Do you hear that Chelsea? Mummy’s okay.’

‘May we?’ Campbell gestured through the house.

‘Of course.’

The worry on the woman’s face had been replaced with puzzlement. Now she knew her daughter was safe, she’d be expecting something juicy to discuss over the garden fence or down the bingo. Being the prime source of a new piece of gossip would raise her status for a few days.

Campbell felt a pang of pity and guilt. It wasn’t just the victims who suffered. The lives of the perpetrator’s family members always changed when a loved one was convicted. The more horrific the crime, the deeper the societal backlash would be.

First it would be shaming looks and turned shoulders. These would be replaced with pointed fingers and insults. Depending on the crime, the final steps could range from ostracism to graffiti and broken windows.

Osbourne’s wife led them along the hallway into the kitchen and out of a back door into the small garden. A man was trimming a rose bush with a pair of secateurs.

Before Campbell could speak, Mrs Osbourne called out to her husband. ‘Bill, there’s an Inspector here to see you.’

The man’s head snapped round. Fear and guilt decorated his eyes before he recovered his composure. His hands moved to remove the gardening gloves he wore, but stopped.

Campbell flicked his eyes at Anderson who gave a short nod to confirm Osbourne was the man captured by the CCTV. ‘Can we talk inside?’

It was a favoured tactic of Campbell’s. Suspects would often reveal more in the comfort of their own homes than they would if hauled down to the station and interviewed on record. Once admissions had been made, an arrest would follow and the whole process would be repeated in the interview room with its cameras and recording equipment. The formal interview simplified by the knowledge gathered in the comfortable setting.

Osbourne’s wife caught the seriousness of the situation for the first time. ‘Bill, what’s wrong, why do they want to talk to you?’

‘Leave it Annie.’

They followed Osbourne into the kitchen where Annie fussed around offering cups of tea.

Osbourne dismissed her. ‘Away upstairs hen, I’ll deal with their questions.’ When she left the room he half sat against the kitchen table.

Anderson started things off. ‘Can you account for your whereabouts this morning Mr Osbourne?’

‘I went to get a new pair of secateurs at Dobbies. Other than that I’ve been at home.’

Campbell held back the smile from his lips at the rehearsed lie.

‘So you didn’t visit Chancellor Street?’

A shake of the head. ‘I’m not even sure where that is.’

Anderson pressed forward. ‘It’s where Marie Mason lives.’

‘Who?’

Campbell stepped into the conversation. ‘She’s a woman who was raped this morning.’

‘What’s that got to do wi’ me?’

‘The description she gave of her rapist matches you. You were caught by CCTV coming out of her house and climbing into a car. The car is registered to your name at this address.’

Osbourne’s eyes flicked to the door his wife had left through. When he spoke his voice was restrained to the barest whisper as he looked at Campbell ‘I’ve a wee piece down there. I slipped along to see her while the wife was getting Chelsea dressed.’ A shrug accompanied his words while his expression was set to ‘we’re all men of the world’.

Campbell looked him up and down making a point to focus on his still gloved hands and the tattoos on his bare arms.

‘So you don’t know Marie Mason then?’

‘Definitely not.’

‘That’s odd because you bear an uncanny resemblance to the description she gave of her attacker.’

‘I do?’ Osbourne’s question was a bluff and everyone in the room knew it.

Campbell moved in for the kill. ‘DC Anderson, can you remind me point by point the description Miss Mason gave of her attacker?’

‘A mole on the right cheek.’

‘Check.’ Campbell pointed at Osbourne’s mole.

‘A bald head.’

‘Check.’

Osbourne tried to dismiss their evidence. ‘Lots of people have a bald head and a mole on their cheek.’

‘Silver moustache.’

‘Check.’

‘Still not uncommon.’

‘A Rangers crest tattooed on the right forearm and the name ‘Vicky’ tattooed on the inside of the left forearm.’

‘Check and check. Would you take of your gloves please Mr Osbourne.’

Osbourne hesitated but capitulated under Campbell’s stare. One by one he pulled his gloves off with an obvious reluctance.

Campbell tried without success to keep the smile out of his voice when he spoke. ‘You have marks on your right hand synonymous with having punched someone Mr Osbourne. Coupled with the fact you were recorded on camera entering the building where Miss Mason lives, and the fact you are a perfect fit for the description she gave of her rapist and attacker I’m left with no choice but to arrest you for the rape and assault of one Marie Mason.’

Campbell read Osbourne his full rights before pulling a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

‘There’s just one thing I don’t understand Mr Osbourne. Why?’

What little bravado was left in Osbourne drained away as he contemplated the trouble he was in. When he spoke it was with the self-pity of the wronged, the victim harmed by life’s injustices.

‘I wanted to make her pay for what she’s done to my little girl. My Vicky had just turned eighteen when she got hooked on the shite that woman sells. Now she’s a junkie who sucks cocks just to get enough money to buy her next fix. For the last two years she’s been whoring herself to anyone in possession of a few quid and a hard on. Every penny she makes goes to that evil bitch. She hasn’t seen Chelsea since she was six months old and the way she’s going we’ll be burying her before long.’

Campbell stayed quiet. Waiting until Osbourne was ready to continue with his explanation. ‘I wanted that bitch to see what it was like to be shagged by someone she didn’t want to shag. I needed to show her what my little girl has to endure to feed her habit.’

‘So you forced yourself on her?’

‘Damn straight, I did. I even popped a Viagra to make sure I was up to fucking the evil bitch.’

Campbell’s heart went out to the man. Osbourne’s worry and grief for his daughter’s plight had driven him to seek revenge of the basest kind. When his story was retold in court, he would be deprived of his freedom, as the justice system added further insult to an already grievous injury.

Campbell led a disconsolate Osbourne out to the car while Anderson placated a distraught Annie.

As soon as the wheels of the car started turning Campbell put a call into the CSM who’d been at Marie’s flat. Not getting the information he was hoping for he called the station and issued a terse set of instructions to the Duty Sergeant.

*    *    *    *

With Osbourne deposited in a cell until the results of the forensic tests came back, there was time to kill before interviewing him. Postponing the paperwork, Campbell was the first through Marie Mason’s door, a warrant in his hand.

The shock on her face when she read the warrant wasn’t deep enough to hide the fear in her eyes.

Her protestations of innocence had the ring of falsehood as she tried to bluff her way out of trouble.

‘Marie.’ Campbell held her eye with a stern gaze as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘These guys can tear your home apart looking for the stash of drugs we all know you have, or you can save us the trouble and tell us where to find them. Because believe you me, we will find them.’

Campbell watched as Marie’s good eye passed from one determined PC to another. Each one armed with a wrecking bar or some other tool which could be used to dismantle anything they wanted to look behind, inside or under.

While it wasn’t her house they’d be wrecking, it was her home. When her landlord learned of the mess they’d make, she’d be evicted. Homeless, until a kindly judge gave her a new home. A home that was eight feet by twelve, with barred windows.

‘Well?’

A sigh forced its way through pursed lips. ‘There’s a loose floorboard under the bed.’

Two of the PCs brushed past Campbell as they went to investigate. A minute later they returned with a paper bag in each hand. Looking into the bags Campbell saw wraps, pills and small blocks of dope.

‘And the money?’

‘The money?’

‘Yes Marie the money.’ Campbell waved a hand at her belongings. ‘I can see you haven’t spent much of the money you’ve made, so I ask again, where have you stashed it?’

Defiance leaked from Marie for the second time in as many minutes. Lifting a seat cushion from an armchair, she pushed her hand through a tear in the fabric into the bowels of the chair and pulled out a carrier bag. Bundles of twenty pound notes showed through the thin plastic walls.

‘You happy?’

Campbell shook his head and started to speak the formal words of arrest.

When Marie was taken away, he stood in the centre of the room and looked around with sadness and understanding. It was little wonder Marie had sought attention and turned to selling drugs as a way to try and escape this life.

*    *    *    *

Anderson pushed her way through the crowd and placed another pint and a whisky chaser in front of Campbell. Changed from her usual attire of business suit into a skirt and top, with her hair freed of its usual ponytail into a carefree wave she looked totally different.

Campbell had always been aware she was pretty, but seeing her tonight he realised she had made the transformation from caterpillar into butterfly. The rest of the team would forever see her in a new light.

Jokes and war stories littered the air as the team gave Campbell the traditional boozy send off.

The afternoon had been spent extracting a formal confession from Osbourne and attempting to coerce Marie Mason into giving up the name of her supplier. Their fifty percent success rate was about normal. A canny old bird like Marie knew she had more to fear from her supplier than she did from the judge.

‘What do you reckon to her but?’

Campbell turned to face DS McKay, his response already guarded. ‘She’s a good detective. ‘I’ll bet she’ll be sitting her Sergeant’s exams in a year.’

‘I know all that. I’m on about how hot she looks all of a sudden but.’

McKay’s use of the word ‘but’ as an end to ever sentence was a local trait which Campbell had worked hard to rid from his own voice, it grated on him when he heard it from fellow officers.

The lecherous intention fuelling McKay’s comments about a junior officer’s appearance didn’t sit well with him.

Resisting the urge to tell McKay where to get off, he looked him in the eye. ‘And your point is?’

‘Come on big man, you know the score. She’s never been seen in owt but a suit before and suddenly at your leaving party she’s dolled up to the nines. She’s after someone, and I reckon it’s you but.’

‘The drink’s addled your brain. I’m a married man and she’ll never see me again.’

McKay’s laugh echoed round the crowded bar. ‘You’re the one who’s no’ thinking straight. Tonight’s her last chance for a spot of no strings attached fun with the DI who she follows round like a lost puppy.’

‘Piss off ya numptie.’ Campbell walked away to join a discussion about Celtic’s forthcoming match.

Try as he might, he couldn’t shake McKay’s words from his mind. If the man was right there would be worse fates than a few hours in Anderson’s bed.

Once upon a time he would have tried to snake her as a matter of habit. Now with Sarah carrying a ring on her finger and a baby in her stomach, it was time to play the game and resist temptation. It was one thing risking a short term relationship for a chance encounter, but to risk a marriage and face years of being a weekend dad was too great a gamble.

Strengthened by his decision he laughed and joked with the team as they went from pub to pub. As the night wore on, other faces from the station appeared and some of the earlier starters left, conscious of the fact they were on shift the next day.