Written To Death (Alex Warren Murder Mysteries Book 3) Page 15

  “Nothing unexpected then,” Alex commented. “You said we were both featured. What have they got on you?”

  “They were quick off the mark on this one. They've a photo of me amongst the huddle of investigators at the scene in Erskine this morning. The body's not shown, fortunately enough, or they'd have put their readers off their tea, but they have commented saying he'd been identified as petty criminal, Patrick Carson. The rest is all conjecture.

  “Further on in the paper, there are items on the two incidents at the Court and the usual criticism about how safe the streets are if the authorities can't prevent crime on their own home turf. No different to what we'd expected and, if anything, a bit later and less critical than we might have predicted.”

  “Who knows, maybe the top brass have called in some favours,” Alex postulated. “Back to business, though. Have you any leads to try to track down Devosky?”

  “He really doesn't want to be found. We can't be certain he's still in Glasgow. We're following all the usual paths, but so far, it's drawing a blank. I've got the techies trying to do a trace on his mobile and I'm about to go down to see if they've come up with anything. Hang on a sec, Peter's signalling me, looks like something urgent, I'd better go.”

  “Okay, I'll leave you to it. Good luck. See you back at the flat, sometime I guess.”

  * * *

  “What's happening?” Sandra asked.

  “We've got a problem, a really serious one,” Peter replied.

  “Why? What is it?”

  “We may have just come up with a motive for the robbery at the Court.”

  “I don't like riddles, Peter. Out with it, what are you talking about?”

  “We've received word about a case being tried today. The defence lawyer made a special request for a dismissal. The claim was based on his allegation of there being improper custody of evidence. He cited the robbery in the cash office with armed robbers looting the safe which held the trial evidence.”

  “Is it true? Was evidence kept in the same safe?” Sandra asked.

  “Apparently, although there'd been no report of anything going missing or being tampered with. The fiscal nearly blew his stack. He demanded the defence lawyer told him where he had got his information. He all but accused him of being part of, or even orchestrating the crime so he could get his client off. The Sheriff wasn't amused. He told the fiscal to withdraw his accusation or he'd face a charge of Contempt.”

  “Bloody Hell! What happened about the trial?” Sandra asked.

  The Sheriff called an adjournment. He asked for a full report on all and any evidence which had been held in the safe before the robbery, together with an inventory of what was there afterwards. It turns out all but one of the items is accounted for. The one from the case held today was exactly where it should have been. The missing item was fairly trivial as it was one of many which relates to a breaking-and-entering trial scheduled for next week. However, the fiscal's shit-scared the Sheriff could rule there's been a breach of integrity and disqualify every item that had been in the safe at the time. If that happens, there could be as many as thirty cases affected and the loss of usable evidence could be critical.”

  “Did the lawyer or his client have any connection to Zennick or Devosky?” Sandra asked hopefully.

  “Nothing obvious. The case appears totally unrelated, although there are two known associates of theirs due to be tried over the next few days and their trials are amongst the thirty which could potentially be dismissed.

  “The lawyer claimed he'd received a text advising him of the evidence trail problem and suggesting he might want to make use of it. I reckon Zennick has been behind it, as we'd already suspected, and that he's used this lawyer as a stooge to do his work for him. If he gets a result, then Zennick's men will almost certainly go free.”

  “Damn, damn, damn,” Sandra swore. “Why didn't I see it? I knew the robbery didn't make sense in its own right. I suspected there had to be another motive. Why didn't I check the safe contents more thoroughly? I should have realised. If only I'd worked it out, we could have done all the checking first and mitigated any damage.”

  “Don't beat yourself up over it,” Peter replied. “No-one else saw it coming either, and anyhow, you wouldn't have been able to do much anyway. Besides anything else, after the attack on Hardy, most of your attention was diverted in that direction and as from this morning, even more so onto Carson's death.”

  “You're being very kind, but it doesn't alter the facts. I should have done better. However, we are where we are and need to go forward from here. Let's see how cooperative this lawyer really is. If he did get a text to tip him off, then we need to find out where it came from.”

  “It's worth a try. The last I heard, he was leaving court and going back to his office. We ought to be able to find him there. His name is Pryce and he has a suite in one of the buildings in St Vincent Street, near Charing Cross.”

  Thirty minutes later, Sandra and Peter alighted from the elevator on the fifth floor and introduced themselves at Pryce's reception.

  The receptionist looked to have stepped out of an earlier era. She was a matronly lady, dressed in a medium-length, black dress, her grey hair tied back in a bun, and she wore two strings of perfect-looking pearls around her neck.

  “I guess he's won his bet then,” she uttered quietly as if speaking to herself.

  “Pardon, bet did you say?” Sandra asked,

  “Yes, he was only joking but he said you'd be round within the hour. When I say 'you,' he wasn't specific, but he did predict a visit by two officers, and here you are.”

  “Can we go through now?” Sandra asked.

  “No, wait, I'll buzz through and see if he's free to meet you.”

  “I thought you said he was expecting us,” Peter queried.

  “He is, but that doesn't mean he has the time to sit around waiting. He's busy working. You'll need to wait until he's free.”

  Peter was ready to resume his challenge but Sandra gave him a sharp look and diverted him to a chair in the waiting area. It was a full fifteen minutes before they were shown through to Pryce's office.

  “Inspector, Constable, please come in and sit down.”

  “I believe you already know why we're here,” Sandra started. “Time is short and we're all very busy, so I'll dispense with pleasantries and come straight to the point. I understand you received a text suggesting you raised the issue in court about the chain of evidence. We need you to tell us who sent it.”

  Pryce smiled slowly. “And why do you think I'd want to help you? The person who provided the information did me a favour. My client believes I'm a miracle worker.”

  “You may be a solicitor, but you're a law-abiding citizen as far as I'm aware. Whoever sent you the message must have had a close association with the armed robbery; furthermore, them sending you the text is a clear case of Perverting the Course of Justice. I doubt you want to be involved in a criminal prosecution sitting at the defence table and not in your role as a lawyer,” Sandra offered.

  “Any communication between a lawyer and his client is privileged,” he replied.

  “That's not a relevant argument unless he is your client and was at the time of the communication,” Sandra retorted.

  “You're right; however, I still can't help you. Before you ask, I'm not withholding evidence. I don't have any to withhold.”

  “What about the phone?” Sandra asked.

  “Look for yourself. Here's the log. It shows the text came in as an undisclosed number,” he offered.

  “Yes, I see that,” Sandra acknowledged. “Now can I take note of your number and service provider so we can try another route?”

  “Be my guest,” Pryce offered and supplied the requested information.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  “No, I'm afraid not.”

  “And you've had no previous contact?”

  “Not that I'm aware of. It's difficult to tell when I don't kno
w where it came from.”

  “How did they get your mobile number?”

  “It's no secret; it's on my letterhead and my business card. Anyone could have found it.”

  “Why do you think they chose you?” Sandra asked.

  “I have no idea. But I'm not ungrateful,” Pryce replied. “My client doesn't have a strong defence, but without use of their evidence the prosecution doesn't have much of a case. I was hardly going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “Isn't your job supposed to be about getting justice for your client?” Peter asked.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” Pryce laughed theatrically. “What idealistic planet did you descend from? Are you really that naïve? My 'job,' as you put it, is to use every legal device and tool available to me to secure a 'not guilty' verdict for my client, whoever he is.”

  “But don't you have a conscience? How do you feel knowing you sometimes help criminals keep their freedom?” Peter continued, undaunted.

  “It's not my problem. If a client of mine is guilty, then it's your job and the fiscal's to find and present evidence to prove the fact and secure a conviction. If that's beyond your capability, then it's your failing and not mine.”

  Sandra knew he was correct but wasn't prepared to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. “In the case of your client, we have done precisely that, and you've already accepted that to be the case. If it wasn't for one of your friends criminally tampering with evidence, your client would have been tried and sentenced by now.”

  Pryce smiled and shrugged. “He may have done me a favour, but he wasn't a friend of mine. If you really thought he was, then you'd hardly be leaving me in peace to enjoy my liberty. So, if there's nothing else?” Pryce stood and beckoned them towards the door.

  Sandra and Peter silently left the building. Although neither one had expected any different, they inwardly raged at Pryce's complacency.

  Once back in the office, Sandra collapsed into her chair. She was tired. A restless night followed by an early start had taken its toll. A pile of reports sat in front of her and she was anxious to scan them, hopeful of finding a new lead or at least some development, but she couldn't face it straight away.

  She closed her eyes for a moment's respite only to be roused by a sense of movement very close.

  “Sorry, Mam, didn't mean to startle you. I thought you could do with this,” Peter announced, pointing to the freshly brewed mug of tea he'd placed in front of her.

  Sandra blinked a couple of times bringing her vision into focus, “Thanks, just what the doctor ordered. I'm going to have to keep you around, I'm getting used to having a P.A.”

  “All part of the service,” Peter smirked. “Have you found anything interesting?”

  “I've not been able to check them yet. Pull up a chair and we can split the task.”

  Time passed as they each worked through the paperwork, intermittently broken by expressions of interest or consternation together with scribbling on notepads.

  “Okay, there appears to be a pattern,” Sandra said. “The ones I have here match up quite well. I have a reported disturbance on Tuesday night on the riverside, not far from the Finnieston Crane. There seems to have been a group of youngsters up to no good and reportedly something was thrown into the water. There are a number of different statements which don't match exactly, but close enough to sound promising. The bottom line is, somewhere between three and six lads wearing hoodies were apparently scuffling with an older man. Big splash and then the boys legged it with no further report of the adult. Tuesday was the day Hardy was attacked and the last time Carson was seen or heard of. It also ties in with time of death from the M.E. What we need to do next is get someone to check the reports we have on currents and tides. We need to see if it's consistent for a body being dropped in the Clyde at Finnieston on Tuesday night and coming ashore at Erskine this morning. We also want to pull any CCTV footage to see if we can identify anyone. Check out if Constable Fitzpatrick's available. He was brilliant studying the films on a case I worked on with Alex a year or so ago. When it comes to this type of work, he'll always be my first choice if I can get him.”

  “Great, I'll get on to it in a moment,” Peter replied. “But before I do, I think you'll want to see these. First, the bad news, there's been no activity on Devosky's mobile all week and traces to locate it haven't found anything either. They're going to try to search further afield, but even if we get a positive, it doesn't mean we'll find him in the same place as the phone. The number Gilchrist called him on is more promising. The account's been active with calls made to numbers in Scotland and England, also internet activity on Facebook and a gambling website. It's located near Glasgow, mostly in and around the Greenock area. No-one's tried calling it yet as they didn't want to risk tipping him off. On the downside, I suspect it hasn't been Devosky, but it could be someone who can take us closer.”

  “I agree. Let's pinpoint where it is before doing anything else.”

  “Okay, will do. Now I've saved the best 'til last. We've pulled everything on active hoodie gangs and we've a prime contender. It's a group of lads from Castlemilk: two are from the Valley, the other three from the Dougrie Road area. They all have form, but nothing serious. Some car crime, some petty theft, a couple of assaults, carrying concealed weapons, but nothing where firearms were used.”

  “You said 'the best,' – that didn't sound too impressive,” Sandra said.

  “You're too impatient. They have a known associate, a sixteen-year-old by the name of Kevin Speirs, a kid from a wealthy family. He lives in Clarkston and goes to Eastfarm School. Wait for it, he's in the habit of wearing a Hugo Boss hoodie. The kid's got no record, but by all accounts he's pretty much out of control. There was an incident a few months back where he allegedly took a firearm into a youth club, but it was all hushed up. No-one was prepared to give evidence and it's understood his father bought off anyone who knew anything and the authorities had nothing to work with.”

  “Okay, I get your point now. Sounds very promising. Eastfarm's the school Alex's boys go to and it's where Sheila Armstrong was murdered. It would be too much of a coincidence for Speirs to have any connection there, but we'd better check, just in case. I'll speak to Alex too because we don't want to get under each other's feet.”

  Chapter 16

  “Alex, we need to talk,”

  “That's a very intimidating way to start a conversation,” Alex replied.

  “I'm sorry, Love. My head's full of this case – cases, actually. I should have thought to ask first how you were and how your day has been. It's because we've built up a head of steam and I was trying not to lose momentum. I wasn't thinking. Can you forgive me?”

  Alex chuckled. “Of course, but a word of advice if I may. Stay calm and don't stress yourself. If you're making good progress, then there's no reason for it to change. It's far more important to keep everything under control to make sure you don't miss anything relevant. Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

  “Don't worry, I'm not getting carried away, at least I don't think so. I'm just being a bit over-enthusiastic. I want to hear about your day, but first I'd like to tell you about some developments which overlap our cases and see how we can best handle them and help each other.”

  Sandra continued to explain about what she'd found and, in particular, her concerns about Kevin Speirs.

  “I can't see him having any impact on our investigation, but it's a loose end and he needs to be checked. You continue the same as you've been doing, but I'll have a word with Brian Phelps and see what he can tell me or what might be on school records, on an unofficial basis. There's also one of my informants I'd like to sound out. He's an ex-con who keeps his ear to the ground. I can't put you on to him as he'll only talk to me, but I'll pass along anything I pick up for you to take forward.”

  “I'd appreciate anything you can do to help. We're badly understaffed. I've asked for reinforcements, but with so many people off sick at the moment, I doubt if it
'll come to anything,” Sandra said.

  “Well, I don't want to tempt providence but we've had a bit of a break on this one. I hope if our luck holds then we might have a result before too long. If that happens and if I'm not assigned anything else significant, then you might be able to poach some of my team for a while.”

  “I'd like to take you up on that, just as long as you don't dump Donny on me on one of his lazier days.”

  “Don't be too quick putting him down. I'll be the first to admit he can be an awkward sod anytime he can get away with it, but he's been quite effective today and provided some research which could be crucial,” Alex said.

  “You may be right and I recognise he does have ability, but he's more responsive to you. As you're already well aware, he's not happy working for a female, or anyone who's not male, white, Anglo-Saxon and Protestant for that matter. To go with any of his other failings, he's a racist, misogynistic bigot.”

  “I won't argue the point. But right now, I'd better press on and we can talk later,” Alex concluded.

  For the second time in one afternoon, Alex called Brian, and this time he got straight through.

  “It's always a pleasure, Alex, but it's starting to become a bit of a habit. Did you forget something or are you on to give me some nice, juicy titbit?”

  “Neither, it's something new and I'm being a message boy for Sandra, most like, but what can you tell me about Kevin Speirs?”

  Alex heard a deep intake of breath before Brian replied, “What's the wee bastard done now? For the last couple of years, that one's been the bane of my life.”