She saw that the perfunctory introduction had told them nothing and served only to put a heat under simmering preconceptions of resentment and curiosity. There were a couple of sighs and some restless shifting in seats.
‘These five people represent four distinct murder investigations and a case of accidental death. At least that was how they were perceived until this morning. New information that has come to light leads us to believe that they may all be the work of one previously unknown perpetrator.’
She had their attention now and laid it all out before them.
Speaking for just under ten minutes, she told them about Garland, about Salgado and O’Neill, about the kidnap victim, and about the list of names that had led the Americans to Glasgow. She then went through each case for those that weren’t familiar with them.
‘There may be more, but these are the victims we can be confident are linked to the unknown associate of Ethan Garland. We’re going to revise everything we have on all five of these cases. As the investigating officers, you need to talk to each other, flag up anything of interest and see where the connections are.’
‘Bullshit!’
It was Denny Kelbie, perhaps inevitably, that led the resistance. ‘I don’t see it. Barry Leitch murdered Kris Perera whether that jury said so or not. He was guilty. You don’t know anything about the case.’
Narey resisted the temptation. ‘That’s why I’m here. To learn about your case. That’s why we’re all here. To learn from each other.’
‘Well I’m listening, even if no one else is.’ Kathy Tait was on her feet, looking around daring anyone to challenge her. ‘If your minds aren’t open to what she’s saying then maybe you shouldn’t be here. If there’s anything at all here that gives me an in on the Brianna Holden case, then I’m all ears.’
Jim McMurray scowled. ‘Of course you’re going to want to hear what she says, Kathy. You’ve got nothing. But I’ve got someone doing life in Peterhead for killing his neighbour. Case closed. Why the hell are we hearing about this now?’
‘Because now is when it’s happening.’ Narey heard her own voice, louder than before, but didn’t care. She saw Crosbie glancing up at her and couldn’t be sure if he was approving or not. ‘No one is doing this to you, Jim. This isn’t about your case. Or Kelbie’s or Kathy’s. It’s about all of them.’
‘Mostly about yours though, right?’ Kelbie could never let it go. ‘We’re told you’re leading this because it’s your case that it’s come out of, right? And it’s DCI Kelbie to you.’
‘No, it’s not mostly about my case. It’s mostly about a young man in Los Angeles who is going to die unless you and everyone else in this room, me included, puts their egos aside and accepts that maybe we haven’t always got everything right and some sick bastard has been playing us like a fiddle. All of us.’
Kelbie readied himself to speak but she talked over him. ‘And if someone dying in another country isn’t enough for any of you then we have to face the prospect that this guy calling himself Matthew Marr has killed here and is going to kill here again. We’ve got a serial killer on our patch. He knows we’re on to him, he knows he’s running out of time and that’s going to make him desperate. But he’s not running out of time as fast as we are. Listen, the Americans have been talking to the guy in Glasgow and he’s practically admitted that he and Garland have been working this together. They’ve been taking turns to identify potential victims and then somehow sharing in the thrill of the kill. It’s sick, it’s twisted, it’s outrageous. And it stops now.’
Tom Crosbie stood. He waited until the hubbub from the front row had dissipated and spoke quietly but firmly. ‘What DI Narey wants, she gets. Get this done and get it done quickly.’
This time, no one argued.
CHAPTER 23
Narey had one computer screen in front of her and one a couple of feet away to her right. She moved her gaze from one to the other and breathed out slowly. She’d been there for five minutes, thinking through what she was going to say and readying herself as best she could.
The screen in front of her was the one that she was going to have to deal with but the other kept drawing her away. The young man. The chains. The radiator. The inescapable sense that she was watching him die.
His head had lolled forward so that his face was hidden by his dark hair. Occasionally, the head would lift slightly, as if trying for umpteenth time that day to give a reminder to himself, and anyone that might be watching, that he was clinging to life.
She blinked and turned her head away, back to the screen lit only by the green dot that showed the man she needed to talk to was online.
She realised she was nervous, a state that confounded and bothered her, and that she wasn’t used to at all. She’d spoken to murderers before, sometimes knowingly and sometimes not; that was the nature of her job. But this, this was different. Preparing to talk with someone she knew to be a murderer yet whose real identity was unknown to her was something she was struggling to get her head around.
Sitting to her left, and riding shotgun on the conversation to come, was Lennie Dakers, a criminal psychologist employed by Police Scotland. Tom Crosbie hadn’t given her any choice in the matter but Narey was glad of the support, even if Dakers’ presence only added to her unaccustomed bout of nerves. A legion of others had wanted to sit in with them but Narey had insisted they kept the numbers in the room to the bare minimum. This wasn’t a spectator sport.
‘Strange one, Inspector. Don’t you think?’ Dakers asked mischievously. ‘It’s like waiting for Christmas dinner but knowing the turkey is laced with cyanide and your gran has already licked all the Brussels sprouts.’
Narey smiled despite herself. ‘I can’t stand sprouts anyway, Lennie, so that wouldn’t make any difference to me.’
Lennie Dakers was in his late fifties, casually dressed as always in jeans, canvas shoes with no socks, and a shirt that hung loose over his waist, wearing a single silver earring that matched his hair and designer stubble. Narey had little doubt that he had a joint or two in his jacket pocket but was hoping he’d resist the temptation until he left the station. Dakers was there to glean whatever he could from the man they were about to talk to, to read between the lines and produce a profile that might help them catch him.
‘Okay, just remember that you’re not interrogating him. You’re talking to him. You’re primarily trying to get him to speak about himself rather than admit to something. He is going to lie to us. And he’s going to tell the truth. It’s our job to work out which is which.’
Narey shook her head. ‘Oh, I think that’s your job.’
‘Let’s call it teamwork. You get him talking and I’ll try to make some sense out of what he says, and what he doesn’t say.’
‘So, you have a plan?’
Dakers shrugged. ‘Sort of. This is not how I’d normally go about getting a read on a suspect. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it’s done on crime scene behaviour. But other than the photographs from the Highland Fling, I don’t have that to work with. Nor can I see him to look for physical tells. So, I need a language-based strategy and am going to use something called SCAN, which is scientific content analysis, or statement analysis.’