Half an hour later Cat Fitzpatrick was standing in Rubber Johnny’s kitchen, the look of utter professionalism on the forensic’s face hiding the disgust that burned behind her eyes.
Fifteen minutes after she arrived, they were all making their way down the stairs and back to their cars.
‘Sometimes,’ Cat was saying, ‘Sometimes…’
‘Is this going to be a sentence that involves the word men?’ guessed Corrieri.
‘I can see why you’re a detective, Julia,’ the forensic answered with a rueful smile. ‘This has been a day of strange job requests. Just when you think it can’t get any weirder, you get dragged away from EastEnders to pick up bags of days-old spunk from an autistic pervert’s fridge.’
‘Autistic?’ Corrieri asked.
Cat shrugged.
‘Petrie. Autistic. The precise labelling. The obsessively ordered bags. The extraordinary memory for detail. The near-hysteria when his perceived reality is challenged. Almost certainly autistic. I’m dropping this off at the lab then I’m going home to have a long shower.’
Narey wasn’t sure why but she was annoyed by their chummy chat. She wanted to get this done and not piss about. She knew the condom was easily the best lead she was going to get.
‘What are the chances of getting a positive DNA result out of that?’ she asked Cat.
‘Very good, I’d say. Disgusting as it is, the fridge is the best place he could have kept it from our point of view. I’d say the seed in this condom will be nearly as fresh as the day it was sown. If this is your killer then I’ll have his DNA on a plate within a day or two.’
CHAPTER 36
Wednesday 22 September
Winter and Narey’s mobiles went off within seconds of each other, although neither realized it. He was in Charing Cross and she in Highburgh Road. His was the call that they were both hoping it would be. Cat Fitzpatrick. Hers was the last call that she needed.
‘Morning, Cat. You got news for me?’ Winter asked as soon as he picked up the phone.
‘What happened to, “How are you?”. I’m fine, thanks for asking.’
“Sorry, I’m just a bit anxious to hear what you’ve got.’
‘It’s okay, I’m kidding. Although maybe you’re right to be anxious.’
‘What is it? Have you got the results?’
‘What I have got is only one pair of hands. You and DS Narey need to learn some patience.’ The reference to Rachel threw him completely.
‘Ra- DS Narey?’
‘Yes. She wants everything yesterday as well. I can’t say what it’s about but it’s Weirdsville. Even stranger than what you wanted.’
Winter’s mind was in a whirl, thoughts of mobile phones and snipers scaring the shit out of him. Whatever it was, it probably made it all the more urgent that he got what he needed to know.
‘So do you have the results?’ he tried again.
‘I don’t have anything that I’m going to discuss over the phone. Meet me in an hour.’
‘Your office?’
‘No. Too many busybodies wandering in and out. Meet me in the car park. My car.’
An hour. Winter was going to drive himself crazy before an hour was up. He needed to know what Cat’s pet pathologist had found. Too much was depending on it.
Within moments of ending his call to Cat, his mobile went again and, with a pang of guilt, he saw that it was Rachel.
‘Hi. I phoned just now but you were engaged.’
‘I was on to the hospital,’ he lied.
‘Any change?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. Listen, there’s been another one.’
Rachel sounded more nervous than he’d ever heard her. It wasn’t like her at all.
‘Where? Who?’
‘Jo-Jo Johnstone. He was shot at the front door to his detached villa in Bishopbriggs. We’re sure it’s our man but he’s missed this time. Jo-Jo’s got it in the neck and he’s bleeding like a geyser but they think he’ll live. There’s more though. Terry Gilmartin’s kid died in hospital this morning. The poor wee bugger never regained consciousness after the firebomb.’
‘Christ.’
‘It’s out of control out there, Tony. Those animals are ripping each other apart. It’s kicking off everywhere.’
‘Okay, what’s Johnstone’s address? I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘No you won’t.’
‘What?’
‘The Temple says you’re off the case. I shouldn’t even be phoning you.’
‘You’re kidding. What the hell has he done that for?’
‘Tony, he knew how close to Addy you were. From his point of view it makes sense. I’ve got to say I understand why he’s done it.’
‘Thanks a fucking bunch.’
‘I’m on your side, you know that. But he can’t take any chances. If Addy was on the wrong side of this…’
‘He wasn’t.’
‘You don’t know that for a fact and neither do I. If he was wrong then you’re going to be at arm’s length till we know otherwise. Look, I’ve got to go. This is fucking terrible. Speak later.’
And she was gone, his reply cut off before it started. He gripped his mobile tight and resisted the temptation to hurl it to the ground. Mobiles, fucking mobiles. Addison had been shot because he’d answered his phone, McConachie too. He couldn’t stand the thought of Rachel being out there and at risk.
Shit, he so wanted to be at the scene. And he knew that he wanted to be there for all the wrong reasons. It wasn’t just about joining the dots that were Ross, McCabe, Strathie, Sturrock and McKendrick. It was also about his sgriob and the itch to see the Dark Angel’s handiwork. He needed to see it but knew Shirley was going to let him nowhere near it.
He hustled into his clothes and made for Pitt Street as fast as he could. He couldn’t afford to wait an hour on Cat. As it turned out, his office was empty, no doubt because of the Bishopbriggs shooting.
Winter hurriedly fished out the blown-up sectionals of the bruise marks on Sammy Ross and Stevie Strathie, showing the identical circular marks and scanned them into his PC. He cursed himself for not doing it before then, realizing he’d put it off but now couldn’t do it quickly enough. The computer let him crop and scale until the two images were the same size and there was clearly no doubt that both had been caused by the same thing. It was like the men had been branded, although he was sure it was far from deliberate.
He popped the first image, Sammy’s, into Photoshop and used the software to map out the rest of it. He filled in where the lines disappeared and made guesses where they were needed. He adjusted the tone, removed the purplish colours of the contusion and eventually had a complete image which he was able to separate from the original photograph.
It was almost certainly a ring, a signet ring of some sort. The symbols on it seemed to be a sword or a dagger, with two wavy lines on either side. An insignia? He desperately needed to find out.
A look at his watch told him it was nearly time to meet Cat and he closed the image down and hurried towards the car park. He quickly found her sporty green MX-5 and saw that she was already sitting behind the wheel, the look on her face suggesting she had news.
‘You were right,’ she started as soon as he’d climbed in beside her.
