‘Dad, how many times did you catch a murderer at Christmas?’
‘Way too many. Numpties in the pub, open and shut cases. But there was that serial killer case, too.’ He paused for a few seconds. ‘But mostly it was just dafties knocking lumps out of each other, taking it too far.’
‘And did you get pressure to head home and have a family Christmas?’
‘Seems like Christmas is the only time when senior officers insist you bugger off home.’
‘Right.’ Vicky indicated, just short of the roundabout, and pulled off the road. ‘I’ll be about half an hour, Dad.’
‘Sure thing. But I’ve got a couple of hours of John McClane here if you need it. And a fair few tins of beer.’
‘Don’t tempt me. Love you, Dad.’
‘Love you too.’
Vicky hit the call end button as she pulled into the last free parking space, next to Considine’s car – at least he was here.
Karen was looking at her, yawning and frowning. ‘What’s up?’
‘Just going to relieve Considine.’
‘Okay-doke.’ Karen sat back, eyes closed.
Vicky left Frozen playing and got out into the bitter night. The wind had picked up from earlier, tossing an icy blast towards the city. She battled through it as she made her way over to the entrance. The door took a bit of effort to open.
Considine and Alan Kettles were sitting at a computer, laughing and joking like a pair of kids at school dicking about on the internet.
Considine glanced over at the door and shot to his feet like he’d been gossiping about Vicky. ‘Sarge? What are you doing here?’
‘Just letting you know you can get off home, Constable. Have a good Christmas.’
‘Just me and the Xbox, eh?’
‘Not going to a family Christmas?’
‘Mum’s in Spain with her new boyfriend. God knows where the old man is.’
Vicky felt that pang of guilt, that she should invite him to her family Christmas. But then, it was Considine and he’d probably engineered it so he could spend all day playing Xbox. ‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘It’s fine, Sarge. Anyway, we’re not far off finishing here.’
‘Oh?’
Considine gave a brief glower, like he didn’t want her inspecting his work, but he put on a smile quickly enough. ‘Just been going through McLean’s fares.’
‘And?’
‘Well, Mr Kettles has been putting his back into it, have to say.’ Considine smiled at the owner. ‘After all that, we’ve got some big gaps to fill tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow’s Christmas.’
‘So it is. Well, on Boxing Day then.’
‘You’re off until the 27th, Stephen.’ But something sat uneasy with her. ‘These gaps, could he have been raping and killing?’
‘Exactly, Sarge. Exactly. What you were saying about the lad’s phone, about some boy calling him.’
‘I didn’t tell you that.’
‘No, that’s right. Kaz texted us. Couldn’t back it up. But he can.’ Considine grinned at Kettles like God knows what. Like he was trying to impress the alpha male in the herd? Maybe. ‘Now we’ve recovered the car, it’d be useful to get hold of it.’
‘Stephen, it’s evidence.’
‘Aye, but—’
‘There was a kidnapped teenage girl in the boot.’
‘Aye, Sarge. If you’d let me finish?’
Vicky raised her eyebrows. ‘On you go.’
‘Way he explains it, McLean was reporting no fares and was off radio, which is our gap.’
‘But?’
Considine frowned. Then looked over at Kettles. ‘How about you explain it?’
Kettles sat there with the composure of an expert being asked to provide his opinion in a case, like that mansplaining statistician last year. ‘Like he says, my boys have been going off radio and running wild for a few years now. Big issue for me, as it’s my car and my diesel. But.’ He raised a finger. ‘I let that play to my advantage.’
Vicky wished he’d cut to the chase like in one of her dad’s films. ‘How?’
‘Been in this business too long to let my drivers run wild for long. The lads and lassies have to return the motors to me for MOTs and services. Simple task to replace the radios for all the cars over a couple of months, and to put a GPS tracker in the radio that runs even if the power button is turned off.’
That could shut the door on the case, and get her home. ‘How easy is it?’
‘Piece of pi— cake, love.’
‘But?’
Kettles grinned at Considine. ‘See what you mean about her.’
Vicky knew she could dive headlong down that rabbit hole, but needed to stay focused here. ‘How do you—?’
‘You’re a smart cookie, you.’ Kettles shook his head, grinning away. ‘I need to get at the motor itself, plug the laptop in and it’ll let me download the data from the GPS tracker. Then I can tell you exactly where it’s been for the last seventy-two hours.’
‘Why that long?’
‘How long it takes until the memory chip fills up, eh? I can usually concoct an excuse to get it within that window, then I can nail their balls to the wall if they’ve been too cheeky. I’m a reasonable man, I did it myself when I was—’
‘So if we take you to the car, you can do it?’
‘Less than a minute, love.’ Kettles grabbed his laptop. ‘Just show us where it is and I’ll see if Dougie’s story checks out.’
16
Vicky pressed the doorbell again, shivering in the cold, the night seeming that bit darker. ‘Come on, come on, come on.’
Karen stood there, yawning into her fist, bleary eyes scanning the house. ‘They’re in.’
‘Aye, but not answering the bloody door.’ Vicky checked her watch. Two eighteen. Christ, how did it get to that time? She pressed the button again.
Along Adelaide Place, the other house they’d visited – Carly Johnston’s parents. Lights on inside, but low. The sign of grief.
The door opened and a woman peered out. Eyes lined with stress and fatigue. Dressed in leggings and a top, but like she was going for a run, instead of bed. ‘Can I help?’
No complaint about it being the middle of the night.
‘Mrs Wilkie?’
‘That’s right. Jane.’ She didn’t hold out a hand. ‘And you are?’
‘DS Vicky Dodds.’ She flashed her warrant card. ‘This is DC Karen Woods. We’re
