door would be opened and they’d see there was no one in the shop. They’d go through the back where the stairs led to the small flat above. At the foot of the stairs they would find Billy, dead as the deadest doornail, at the foot of the light switch he’d tried to put on.
It would be obvious enough that he’d been electrocuted. Grey hair frazzled and on end, burns black on his hands, lips charred, eyes wide. Hardly a surprise either given the state of the place. One of the wee wummin would probably mutter that they’d warned him often enough that someone would get fried. Chances are it would have killed anyone but with the condition of Billy’s heart he’d not have stood a chance in hell.
They’d call an ambulance although they knew it would do no good. They’d call the police too. They’d all look at Billy and at the dodgy wiring in the bookies and it would be obvious to every one of them what had happened.
Obvious that is until they saw his right hand. Until they saw that he was missing a finger. A pinkie. Neatly chopped off. Severed.
CHAPTER 7
I bought every Scottish daily newspaper but found mention of it in only three of them. It didn’t please me. The Herald. Saturday, 9 May 2009. Page 6. No byline.
Tragic accident A Glasgow bookmaker has been found dead in his office in Maryhill. William Hutchison (58) was discovered by staff yesterday morning when they opened the premises in Maryhill Road. It is believed that Mr Hutchison was electrocuted as a result of faulty wiring. A post mortem has been ordered by the Procurator Fiscal’s office. Mr Hutchison is survived by a wife and two grown-up children. The Daily Record. Saturday, 9 May 2009. Page 7.
By Collin Docherty.
A photograph of Billy taken when some footballer put on a charity bet in his shop.
Bookie burned The body of well-known Glasgow bookie Billy Hutchison was found in his Maryhill shop yesterday. Horrified staff came across the electrocuted and badly charred body of Mr Hutchison when they opened up the bookies at 10 a.m. One distraught cleaner had to be treated by ambulance staff after finding her boss. Mr Hutchison was a well-known figure in Maryhill and had owned the bookmakers there for 22 years. He was well respected in the local community and held regular charity events that attracted the support of players from Celtic, Rangers and Partick Thistle in aid of Multiple Sclerosis. In 1998 he was named Maryhill Citizen of the Year for his fundraising efforts. Police would not speculate on the cause of death but it is believed that faulty wiring in the premises contributed to a horrendous accident. A post mortem will be carried out. Yesterday, Mrs Agnes Hutchison was too distraught to speak about her husband’s death. A neighbour, who did not wish to be named, said, ‘This is terrible. Agnes will be devastated. Billy was such a nice guy and they were devoted to each other. It’s a tragedy.’
Around five o’clock, I bought the final edition of the Evening Times. It was slightly more promising. The Evening Times. Saturday, 9 May 2009. Page 3.
By Martine Blake. Police have refused to confirm or deny suggestions that the death yesterday morning of Maryhill bookmaker Billy Hutchison is being treated as suspicious. The body of Mr Hutchison was found in his Maryhill Road premises by staff and it was believed that he had been electrocuted. Staff who discovered Mr Hutchison confirmed that his body showed signs of extreme electric shock. It was thought that faulty wiring was to blame and staff confirmed that the shop’s wiring system was in dire need of an overhaul. However, it has since emerged that the officer originally in charge of the incident, Sergeant Alex McElhone, has been replaced by Detective Chief Inspector Lewis Robertson. DCI Robertson is a senior detective based at Stewart Street. Strathclyde Police today refused to comment on the involvement of a murder squad detective in what was seemingly a tragic accident, saying it was merely procedural and that they would not comment further on an ongoing investigation. This has inevitably led to speculation that police now doubt whether Mr Hutchison’s death was the accident it initially appeared to be. No one at Hutchison’s bookmakers or at Mr Hutchison’s Whiteinch home was prepared to comment on a possible change of direction in the investigation into his death.
CHAPTER 8
I’d decided to make DS Rachel Narey my new best friend. Whether she liked it or not.
That was why Billy Hutchison’s finger did not go in an envelope addressed to the CID at Stewart Street as the first one had been. It was sent directly to her. DS RACHEL NAREY CID 50 STEWART STREET GLASGOW G4 0HY
Same kind of plain brown padded envelope, same printed label amended to suit, same process, same level of caution and self-protection. Different postbox. Different recipient. I just wished I could have seen her face as she opened the envelope and Hutchison’s pinkie slid onto her desk. A picture I’m sure.
She would have worn gloves of course. Assiduously careful not to contaminate the evidence. She would have known what was inside, they would all have known. There would have been a crowd of them around her desk. Waiting, wondering. As soon as they saw the envelope, the place would have been buzzing. They’d have come running, shouting people in from fag breaks, excusing them from interview rooms, all bursting to know for sure.
As soon as they saw the finger it would confirm what they had all thought from the minute they heard about Hutchison’s missing digit. Two words. Serial killer.
One word. Nutter.
Another word. Overtime.
The cops would have been loving it and hating it all at once. A psycho killer on their patch. Good and bad all in the one package.
A stubby, nicotine-stained finger lying there on an evidence bag on a standard-issue desk. Hard and white. Rigid edges of skin where the blades of the secateurs had ripped it away from the hand.
Sharp intakes of breath. Shouts. Swearing. Jokes. More swearing. Every pair of eyes in the place on that finger but the prize was Rachel’s.
She’d have been thinking the same as them. Why her? I hoped a little bit of her would have run scared at the knowledge that she had been picked out by a double murderer. I was certain that a bigger bit of her would have been pleased.
The other cops would have hated her for getting the finger. Some – the lazy, the old and the unambitious – would have been pleased it wasn’t them but hated her all the same. That’s the way people are.
The young ones, those with a hungry eye on quick promotion through the ranks, would have fucking despised her for getting it. They’d have killed to be the name on that label on that envelope with that finger. Why that fucking bitch? Her boss, Robertson, was probably more pissed off than most.
Too bad, it was hers. And it was hers because it was in my power to make it hers.
Billy was dispatched on the Thursday night, the finger posted the next day. Rachel Narey got it on the Saturday, no weekends off for her or me.
Early on Saturday evening, perfectly timed to catch the Sunday papers and the evening news, Rachel did another news conference. This time DCI Robertson stood at her shoulder rather than the other way about, probably trying to appear supportive but only managing to look vexed. It was her show now and everyone knew it.
She wore a dark suit with a white blouse underneath. She looked a bit nervous at first but soon hit her stride. She said she would be making a short statement but would not be taking any questions.
‘Yesterday morning, the body of William Hutchison was found in the premises of his bookmakers on Maryhill Road. We have good reason to believe that there were suspicious circumstances relating to Mr Hutchison’s death but are not prepared to go into the details of those at present.
‘We would ask anyone who was in the vicinity of 670 Maryhill Road on the evening of March the 8th to contact us. All information will be treated in confidence.’ She was looking directly at the camera now. Into the
