‘His complaint in this instance being...’
‘The front door banging at all hours. Loud music and whoops and squeals. You know, young people having a bit of fun. We were all that way at some time, weren’t we?’
Clarke tried not to look at Fox. ‘We were,’ she confirmed.
‘Did you know the victim at all?’ Fox asked, shifting his feet.
‘Never set eyes on him. Can’t say I heard a peep either. Terrible thing to happen. You hear stories, but you never think... well...’ The woman’s hand went to her throat, as if to clutch at a string of pearls that weren’t there. ‘The officer who questioned me said he could arrange for someone to come and discuss home security with me.’
‘That’s certainly true,’ Clarke confirmed. ‘I can give you a number to call.’
‘The other officer already provided me with one. Maybe I’ll do something about it. I don’t get many visitors these days, and we always have biscuits in the tin, don’t we, Horatio?’
DCI Trask had gathered them in the MIT office for an update. The lab at Howdenhall had got into both Haggard’s computer and his phone. His phone service provider had promised by day’s end to have a list of calls sent and received.
‘So even if he’s deleted them from the device,’ Fox added, ‘they’ll be visible.’
‘Thank goodness you cleared that up for us, Malcolm,’ Esson cooed.
‘We’re also checking,’ Trask went on, ‘how many keys there were for the flat. Apart from the one found in the victim’s pocket, the answer seems to be at least two — both kept in a wall cabinet in Fraser Mackenzie’s private office. Both have been accounted for, meaning the killer gained entry without a key.’
‘Though keys can be put back after use, ma’am,’ Jason Ritchie piped up, receiving a steely look for his troubles.
‘Still,’ Trask continued, ‘the more likely scenario — by far the more likely — is that Haggard himself allowed his killer access, either by buzzing them in or by taking them home with him. We still don’t know where he’d been doing his drinking, and I’m keen for us to get that timeline a lot clearer, so I hope you all like visiting bars and clubs. But do try not to get yourself papped coming out of too many of them.’
‘Speaking of which,’ King said, ‘online media’s getting pretty restless.’
‘Malcolm’s already flagged up that article from this morning,’ Trask said, nodding. ‘I dare say there’s more to come. But here’s the thing — we’re not the Met, nothing like the Met. We do things differently up here. This inquiry gives us the opportunity to prove that.’
‘You’re saying we shouldn’t bury bad news?’ Clarke asked, trying to make it sound like an innocent question and managing not to look in Fox’s direction.
‘Correct,’ Trask answered. ‘Scrutinising Tynecastle and its officers — as we’re about to do — might bring about changes for the better. We just need to maintain focus on doing the job ahead of us.’ She scanned the room, checking that heads were nodding in agreement.
‘What’s the thinking on the murder weapon?’ Tess Leighton asked, breaking off from writing in her notebook.
‘I’d say the trail had gone cold if there had been any trail in the first place. No bloodstains on the stairwell or the handle of the main door. Knife had probably been pocketed, meaning bloodied clothing if nothing else. Communal bins have been checked.’
‘Worth a dive team heading to the docks?’ Gamble enquired.
‘You volunteering, George?’ Trask asked back, raising a much-needed smile from the room.
‘Be honest, ma’am, you just want to see me in my parrot-smugglers.’
‘They’re called budgie-smugglers, George,’ Leighton corrected him.
‘I know what I’m talking about.’ Gamble seemed pleased someone had taken the bait, and the smiles around the room became quiet groans. Trask didn’t look put out by the moment of levity — it was sometimes needed, especially if a team was to feel like a team.
‘On a more serious note, though,’ she added, ‘Siobhan and Malcolm think they’ve got our 999 caller.’ She indicated for Clarke to take over. Fox insisted on joining her when she stepped forward, the two of them ending up flanking Trask.
‘Gaby Mackenzie,’ Clarke began, ‘short for Gabrielle. Daughter of the owners of the lettings agency. She met a special adviser at a party in Leith, knew there was an empty company flat nearby so took him there.’
‘We think,’ Fox butted in, ‘she noticed the door to the murder flat was open, knew it was owned by her father, so took a look. When she saw what was inside, she grabbed the spad’s phone and called it in. Then she ran, taking his phone with her.’
‘We got a description from the spad,’ Clarke took over, ‘and though fairly vague, it’s a match for Gaby Mackenzie, who has been known to visit the tenement on occasion.’
‘She’s been summoned?’ Trask checked.
‘Should be here any minute,’ Clarke confirmed with a glance at her phone.
‘Progress of a sort,’ Trask said, ‘which is of course to be welcomed. But let’s not lose sight of everything else. We’ve got a police officer suspended from duty, charged with domestic abuse; he worked at Tynecastle and was about to tell a few tales out of school; he was a frequent drug user. Plenty avenues to follow, and hopefully not too many dead ends.’
‘We’re bringing in his fellow officers?’ Gamble checked.
‘We are,’ Trask confirmed.
‘All of them?’
‘All of them. Phones and computers checked — anyone who refuses gets prioritised as a potential suspect. We need to know who he was in touch with, any online communities he was part of. But we can’t just depend on his phone and computer for help. I know it won’t be easy to convince his friends and colleagues to hand over evidence of their calls and texts to him, but we still need to try. He was active on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, but I wouldn’t mind knowing about any other use of social media.’
‘There’s also the break-in at the victim’s home in Newhaven,’ Christine Esson added. ‘Our strong suspicion is that it was carried out by officers from Tynecastle in an attempt to warn him off talking to us.’
From the corner of her eye, Clarke sensed someone standing in the doorway. It was the officer from the front desk. He nodded in her direction.
‘Looks like the daughter’s on the premises,’ she announced to Trask. ‘If we can be excused, ma’am?’
Trask’s gesture left Clarke and Fox in no doubt that they could.
Both interview rooms were empty, so they opted for IV1.
‘Do I need a solicitor?’ were the first words out of Gaby Mackenzie’s mouth as she was ushered in by the desk officer.
‘We’re just gathering information,’ Clarke said. ‘You’re not in trouble or anything.’
‘Well,’ Fox interjected, ‘apart from the possible theft of a phone...’
She winced as she sat down. ‘I feel bad about that. If you have his details, I’ll get it back to him.’ She was indeed petite and slim, elbows and knees prominent. Her short tartan skirt led to fishnet tights and chunky-looking boots with extraneous straps and chrome buckles. Her eyebrows had been plucked to thin arcs, eyeshadow plentiful. The haircut was choppy and probably expensive. Clarke reckoned she was wearing the same zippered leather jacket Kenneth Lloyd had described.