'That's what I thought too,' said Fenton. 'But I'm telling you exactly what Jamieson said.'
'Oh Tom,' said Jenny in exasperation. Fenton put his arm round her and tried to assure her by saying, 'It's still a police matter. It's just that Jamieson wants to conduct it a little unconventionally.'
'When are you going to see Murray?'
'Tonight,' said Fenton.
The object of the exercise, decided Fenton, was to get the sketch from Murray with as little explanation as possible. They should say nothing about any possible connection with the Saxon murder and should not mention the police at all. This was just a little afterthought from their previous visit. But was Murray the right kind of artist?
'Actually I am a sculptor,' said Murray. 'But I think I can manage a rough outline.'
It had turned out to be easier than Fenton had thought it might be. He had the sketch in his hands and Murray had hardly asked a thing, in fact, the man seemed positively subdued. He wondered whether the whisky beside Murray's chair was to blame but abandoned that notion in favour of a box of pills that he saw lying open on the table. He sneaked a look at the label when Murray had his back turned for a moment and saw that they were tranquillisers. They were a relatively mild brand but the alcohol was enhancing their effect.
Fenton looked at the sketch and admired Murray's competence.
'Thank you for your help Mr Murray,' said Fenton, getting up to go.
'A drink before you go?' said Murray.
Fenton looked at his watch as a prelude to an excuse but the pathetically baleful look in Murray's eyes made him change his mind. 'Thank you,' he said. 'Whisky for me.'
'Do you still think my sister was murdered?' Murray asked as he handed Fenton and Kelly their glasses.
'I think it's possible,' replied Fenton.
'I miss her you know,' said Murray distantly. 'I never liked her much while she was alive but now that she's gone…I miss her.'
Fenton and Kelly exchanged embarrassed glances while Murray's eyes were fixed on the middle distance. He appeared not to notice and continued, 'You see, she was the only person in my life who ever really liked me and now she's gone…'
Kelly shrugged his shoulders in discomfort and Fenton moved uneasily in his chair. Murray brought his eyes back and apologised for his rudeness. 'Another drink?' Fenton declined the offer and thanked Murray again for his help.
As they walked down the path to the gate Kelly turned and looked at the house. 'Poor bastard,' he said.
The clock on the dash said eight forty-five and Kelly suggested that they call Jamieson on the number that he had given them. Fenton did so by using a phone box on the edge of Braidbank. He looked down at the lights of the city while he waited for Jamieson to answer. The rain had stopped but water was still running down the gutters from the hill. Jamieson answered and Fenton told him that they had the sketch.
'Do you know 'The Gravediggers' pub?' Jamieson asked.
'Corner of Angle Park?' said Fenton.
'That's the one, opposite Ardmillan Cemetery.'
'When?'
'Thirty minutes?'
'We'll be there.'
'I know it,' said Kelly when Fenton told him. 'Where can we park down there?'
'There's a railway footbridge near there, park in the street on the other side. We can walk over it.'
Kelly followed Fenton's suggestion and they found a parking place with no difficulty. A diesel express thundered under the bridge as they crossed it, illuminating the banking with flickering light for a few brief moments before it was suddenly plunged back into darkness.
Jamieson was already there. He got up as they came in and ordered a round. 'Any problems?' he asked as they sat down.
'None,' replied Fenton, reaching into his inside pocket to take out Murray's sketch and hand it over.
Jamieson pursed his lips and made tutting noises. 'Well, well, well,' he said slowly.
'You know him?' asked Fenton.
'I do, indeed I do,' replied Jamieson, still mesmerised by the sketch. 'That's Gordon Vanney, Councillor Vanney's son.'
Fenton thought that Jamieson looked as if he was being forced to remember something that he would rather have forgotten and did not intrude. He and Kelly remained silent until the policeman began to speak in his own time.
'Four years ago,' said Jamieson, 'A girl named Madeline Gray took her dog for a walk on Corstorphine Hill; she was fourteen at the time. Four youths set about her. They stripped her, tied her up and raped her in turn. When they had finished they stuffed stinging nettles…into every opening in her body and left her, still staked to the ground.'
Fenton and Kelly listened in horror as Jamieson continued.
'When she could speak she named one of the youths as Vanney. She had recognised him because he lived in the same neighbourhood. We arrested Vanney but his old man got him out on bail.' Jamieson paused and sipped his drink as if the words were paining him. 'The very next night, while Madeline's father was out walking her dog, the dog ran off into the trees. It ran off with four legs and came back with three. Wire cutters, the vet said. Two days later the leg arrived by post addressed to Madeline. It was in a flower box so her mother let her open it by herself. A note suggested that it might be her leg next if she didn't keep her mouth shut. She did and Vanney went free. The girl still isn't right, takes four baths a day.'
'What a story,' murmured Fenton.
'And you never traced the others?' asked Kelly.
'We never did,' agreed Jamieson. 'A pity because, before she stopped talking altogether, the girl told us that Vanney wasn't the ringleader, he was just the one she recognised. That singular honour went to a six foot tall dark haired youth, wearing some kind of college or university scarf. He had a piece missing from his right ear lobe, she was very sure of that; she had concentrated on it while he was raping her.'
'Four years ago Inspector? You have some memory.' said Kelly.
'So would you if you had seen that wee lassie,' replied Jamieson.
Fenton asked what Jamieson was going to do about the sketch.
'Watch and wait. Find out who his associates are. See who's an organ grinder and who's a monkey.'
'You don't think Vanney could have killed Sandra Murray and Saxon?' asked Fenton.
'Vanney's a shit but he's small fry. Someone else always pulls the strings.'
'Any ideas.'
Jamieson shook his head and said, 'No, I haven't. We kept tabs on the bastard for a while after the Madeline Gray affair, you know the sort of thing, anyone farts in a built-up area and we pull in Vanney. But his old man pulls a lot of weight in this city. He started shouting harassment and we had to back off.'
'The same thing might happen this time,' suggested Fenton.
'No.' said Jamieson, 'This time it's unofficial, and personal.'
'You mean you are going to do it by yourself?' asked Kelly.
Jamieson nodded.
'Can we help?' asked Fenton.
Jamieson smiled faintly. 'Aye,' he said, 'Aye, you can.'
Fenton grew to know Vanney well over the next couple of weeks. The fact that Jenny was still working nights let him share night time surveillance with Jamieson and back- leave that he was due took care of some day time work. Steve Kelly took over on the nights that Jenny had off.
Vanney lived in his parents’ house on Corstorphine Hill, a sprawling modern bungalow with large gardens and a gravelled frontage that accommodated three cars. The Lotus belonged to Vanney junior. Each week day morning he drove it to work in the city, leaving at eight thirty and arriving at a merchant bank in the New Town at five minutes to nine. Lunch was one till two and he ate it in a pub in Rose Street called, 'The Two Shoemakers.' He always ate with the same people, a tall, ginger haired man with buck teeth and a loud voice and a short, squat, olive skinned man who looked Italian, maybe Spanish. Both worked in the same bank and it seemed just to be a
