The key word, the one that the reporter treasured and used more than any other, was mutilated. He threw in a few variations too. Lacerated, disfigured, butchered, but mutilated was his favourite.
‘This is it.’
‘No question. Garland’s trigger.’
Homicide Special Section– the unit that investigates serial, high-profile and arson-related homicides – had picked it up because the victim’s father was a well-known doctor in the area and made the case high-profile enough to warrant them taking it. They didn’t get a break for two weeks until an anonymous letter suggested Jamarco Freeman as the killer and that he’d used a Ford Transit to move the body. The letter even told them where to find the abandoned vehicle. Cops made a dawn raid on the Freeman house and discovered items of Adrian Mercado’s clothing hidden under the house. They found more in the Transit along with the victim’s blood and a shirt with Jamarco Freeman’s DNA all over it. Freeman said the truck had been stolen and then returned.
The report closed with a final reminder about mutilation and a solemn back to you in the studio.
‘Nice neat find in the house and the van,’ Salgado suggested.
‘When Ethan blew up at Marianne, he said the victim in the news story had had his throat and wrists cut, had bled to death, and that he’d do the same to her. You hear any mention anywhere in the report of those injuries?’
‘Nope.’
*
The detective in charge of the investigation had been named as Dave Norrgord. Salgado already had his cell phone out and the number called up on his screen.
‘Dave? It’s Salgado. You got a minute?’
O’Neill could only hear one side of the conversation but read Salgado’s face for clues as to the answers he was getting.
‘It’s about a case you worked back in 2012 . . . Yeah, seriously. A kid named Adrian Mercado was found dead and naked in a lane behind the Vista . . . Yeah . . . Mutilated, yeah . . .Yeah, that’s the one. You put away a kid named Jamarco Freeman for it . . . Uh huh . . . No, just listen. Can you remember the details of the killing? Anything.’
O’Neill saw Salgado listen, no doubt having to hear Norrgord grumbling. She saw pictures being drawn in his mind then, abruptly, saw his eyes widen.
‘Yeah? You sure? . . . Okay, okay. No, that’s good. Just what I wanted to hear. Listen, I’ll fill you in later, okay . . . No, later Dave. I gotta run.’
Salgado ended the call and breathed out hard.
‘Mercado had his throat and wrists slashed and was left to bleed to death. The details of that were never released to the press and weren’t disclosed in open court.’
‘Yet Ethan Garland knew all about it?’
‘Right. And the Vista is on Sunset, less than a mile from Garland’s home.’
CHAPTER 22
Narey made sure she was in the incident room at Dalmarnock before anyone else. She wanted to have time to compose herself, work through what she was going to say and have answers for the questions that she knew would be coming her way.
She wanted the room as she wanted it. Her at the front, screen behind her, electric pointer, a seat for Detective Chief Superintendent Tom Crosbie, the lead for the Major Investigation Team, at her side, a dozen chairs ready in front. Printed handouts ready.
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at it all. There were some heavy hitters on their way in and most of them were not going to be at all happy with what she was about to tell them. More than anything, she wanted to establish control, and she needed them to know she was running the show. If they didn’t like it, and they sure as hell wouldn’t, then they could do one. This was hers.
She swore under her breath and, with a glance at the door, she advanced on the chairs, shoving each of them back another three feet.
She stood back again. Deep breath. Nerves puffed out. Ready.
They shuffled in and they strode. Indifference taking a seat between bristling machismo and overflowing resentment. She knew all the faces, even the ones twisted with bitterness, and had known most of them for years. Friends, foes and fellow travellers. None of them had been told the reason for their requested attendance beyond the case that it related to, and that a potentially major development was to be discussed.
DCI Jim McMurray looked particularly pissed off, like there was a bad smell under his nose and it got worse every time he looked at her. The Ellen Lambert case had been his and he’d got promoted from DI largely on the back of it. He’d held out for the neighbour from the off and took his entire team down the pub when they nailed David McLean on the strength of a shirt that was smeared with Lambert’s blood and local gossip that he’d been having an affair with her. McMurray wasn’t the sort to like losing face.
Another DCI, Denny Kelbie, sat two chairs to McMurray’s right and was just about the last person she would have wanted to be there. Kelbie was a nasty little shit, the kind who carried grudges against people he’d never met but saved special hatred for those who he felt had crossed him. That included almost everyone but most certainly included Narey. Kelbie had arrested the white supremacist Barry Leitch for the murder of Kris Perera and had taken it personally when Leitch got off with it. She could see the snarl already forming in the corner of his mouth and took some small satisfaction in knowing she was going to ruin his day.
Others didn’t arrive displaying their prejudices so obviously, and that gave her hope. DS Mo Darwish was there for the McLennan case, the supposed drunk who’d fallen into the Clyde near the Broomielaw. He looked interested rather than aggrieved, and the same seemed true of DI Kathy Tait, who’d headed up the investigation into the murder of Brianna Holden without success.
Rico Giannandrea was there too, as was her old boss DCI Derek Addison. Superintendent Jason Williams and Chief Inspector Tom Cowie were both from uniform, and there were representatives from Scenes of Crime, including Campbell Baxter. The gang was all there. It was, potentially, exactly the sort of case that the Major Investigation Team was set up to handle. All she had to do was convince them all of that.
She reached for the PowerPoint clicker and brought up the main image. Holden. Lambert. McLennan. Perera. Gray. It was enough to bring the assembled mob to a reluctant, staggered silence.
DCS Crosbie took his cue from the five photographs and got to his feet. The man had all the charisma of an iron lung but his rank was enough to ensure everyone listened.
‘Thank you all for coming at such short notice. Time is very much of the essence in the matter we’re about to discuss and we’re grateful you all managed to arrange your undoubtedly busy schedules to accommodate it. I can assure you it is of the utmost importance. I am here in a supervisory capacity and am going to hand you over to DI Narey who is leading on the matter at hand. For those of you who have rank issues, put them aside. Your cases are still your own but there is something new at play here that requires a cumulative effort. DI Narey, if you please.’
She saw it. The widening of eyes and the shifting of mouths when Crosbie said she’d be leading. That didn’t please most of them, but it amused a few – Kathy Tait and Addison mostly.
‘Thank you, DCS Crosbie. Thanks to everyone for coming along and apologies for the lack of information beforehand. This is extremely time-sensitive, plus we want to limit the number of people knowing about this for as long as is possible.’