Never Proven Read online

‘If I remember correctly, you ended up working half the night on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘I thought you said that was it, Charlie?’ Kay said with an exasperated shake of the head. ‘You’ve only got a few months to go till you retire. I thought you said you’d steer clear of any more murder investigations?’

  Charlie’s fingers travelled over his bald skull. ‘I said I’d try to steer clear of any more. And I will. This isn’t necessarily going to be my case, just because I’m helping out tonight.’

  ‘Where have I heard that before?’

  Charlie plucked his jacket from the chair at the end of the bed. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  ‘Sue and Jamie are coming across to us for lunch tomorrow. Any chance you might make it back by then?’

  Charlie managed a weak smile as he shrugged on his jacket. ‘Touché!’

  *

  DS Tony O’Sullivan could feel his car being buffeted by the strong wind blowing off the Clyde as he drove along the Broomielaw. Light rain started falling as he was passing the King George V bridge. He flicked the windscreen wipers on to a slow wipe.

  ‘Have you been to the Calton before, Tom?’ he asked his passenger.

  ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

  ‘You won’t find it among the top ten places to visit on the Glasgow tourist trail, but you would remember it all right if you’d been there.’

  ‘What’s so special about it?’

  ‘Things have improved a lot recently, but for a long time it was the district with the lowest life expectancy – and one of the highest crime rates – of anywhere in Europe.’

  ‘You mean even worse than the Farm?’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Broadwater Farm - in Tottenham. That’s where I was brought up. It’s hard to imagine anywhere worse than that.’

  ‘If I remember the figures right,’ Tony said, ‘male life expectancy in the Calton used to be about fifty-four – which was on a par with Kabul when it was in the middle of a war zone.’

  ‘Why were things so bad?’

  ‘Years of poor housing and social deprivation, combined with a high dependency on drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. The life expectancy rate wasn’t helped by the fact that the city fathers had decided to move a lot of the sheltered accommodation for the homeless – and most of the rehab clinics for drug addicts – to the Calton.’

  ‘I thought the district was called ‘Calton’?’ Tom said. ‘Why does everyone refer to it as the Calton? You don’t talk about the Govan – or the Maryhill?’

  ‘That’s a good question, Tom. I’ve no idea why. It’s just one of those things. Glaswegians always call it the Calton,’ Tony said as he pulled up on the double yellow lines outside The Jacobite Arms. The rain was heavier now and the street was deserted. Switching off the ignition, Tony twisted round in his seat.

  ‘What does this place remind you of?’ he asked.

  DC Tom Freer studied the grey masonry and the small, barred windows set high up in the wall. ‘My first impression is that it looks a bit like Barlinnie, sir, but not as welcoming.’

  ‘Fair comment,’ O’Sullivan said, gripping the door handle ‘You stay here while I go into the bear pit and find out what’s going on. Your job is to make sure the car still has four wheels by the time I come out.’

  ‘Why do I always get the tricky assignments?’

  ‘Because I’m pulling rank. Besides, you’re English. You wouldn’t understand a word that was said in there.’

  ‘I know that one grunt means you’re in trouble – and two grunts mean you’re in deep shit,’ Freer said.

  ‘You’re starting to get the hang of it, Tom,’ O’Sullivan said, turning up his jacket collar as he eased open the car door. ‘But this is three-grunt territory.’

  CHAPTER 4

  As he hurried towards the pub entrance, O’Sullivan glanced up at the faded graffiti sprayed on the wall above the door – a proclamation to the world that the premises he was about to enter were ruled by the Calton Tongs.

  As soon as he stepped inside, the buzz of conversation died away and a dozen pairs of curious eyes followed his progress as he made his way up to the bar. The shaven-headed, heavily-tattooed barman glanced up at the wall clock, which showed two minutes to eleven.

  ‘You’re pushing your luck, Jimmy. I hope you’re a quick drinker.’ The barman picked up a half-smoked cigarette from the ashtray on the counter and took a long, slow drag. ‘What are you for?’

  ‘Has the law banning smoking in pubs not filtered through to the Calton?’ O’Sullivan asked.

  The barman narrowed his eyes as he looked O’Sullivan up and down. His gaze switched to the hand-rolled cigarette in his fist. ‘There’s nae filters around here, pal,’ he said,’ tapping the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray. ‘Filters are for poofters.’

  ‘Are you the landlord?’

  ‘I might be,’ he said with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘It depends who’s asking.’

  O’Sullivan cupped his warrant card in the palm of his hand and showed it to him.

  ‘Are you here on your own?’ The barman feigned incredulity as he made a production of staring over each of O’Sullivan’s shoulders in turn. ‘Are you up for some kind of bravery award?’

  ‘It’s been a long day,’ O’Sullivan said as he pocketed his ID. ‘What seems to be the problem?’

  ‘What problem?’

  ‘We got a call from here half an hour ago, to let us know someone had been stabbed in the toilets.’

  ‘It must be a mistake.’ The barman shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘Nothing like that happened in here tonight. Hey, guys,’ he called out, addressing the customers. ‘This is the polis.’ Muffled groans ran around the room. ‘Don’t worry, Sammy, he doesn’t know that you’re dealing coke.’ The groans turned to guffaws. ‘Did anybody here phone the cops to report someone getting stabbed in the bogs?’

  ‘Tell him he’s here a week early,’ was shouted from the back of the room. ‘That’s not going to happen until next Saturday.’ More guffaws followed.

  The barman drew hard on his cigarette, the aromatic fumes wafting across the bar and drifting into O’Sullivan’s face.

  ‘Sorry I’m not able to help you, pal,’ he said, exhaling smoke slowly through his clenched, tobacco-stained teeth. ‘It looks like someone’s been pulling your plonker, though, come to think of it, there is a pub in Dundee called The Jacobite Arms. Maybe you should try there?

  ‘Right, you lot,’ the barman called out. ‘Start drinking up. I’ve got a home to go to, even if you don’t.’

  As the customers turned their attention back to their drinks, the barman slid a folded piece of paper across the bar towards Tony. ‘Take this,’ he whispered, ‘then fuck off.’

  All the eyes followed Tony again as he turned round and made his way out of the pub.

  When he got back to the car, Tony unfolded the slip of paper and read the hand-printed note:

  ‘GIVE ME A CALL ME ON THE PUB PHONE AT HALF-PAST ELEVEN’

  *

  Apart from a few high, wispy clouds, the night sky was clear when DCI Charlie Anderson merged with the M8 from the Renfrew slip road. He was mulling over what Kay had said. Not long to go now till he retired – nine months, and counting. Understandably, Kay wanted him to get through the next few months with as little hassle as possible, and he’d promised her he’d do that. There was no reason he should have to get involved in this case. He had more than enough on his plate right now, trying to trace the source of the recent influx of crystal meth and cracking down on the dealers. Just help Renton take the witness statements tonight, he thought to himself, then he would delegate everything tomorrow. Hugh Munro wasn’t overloaded. He would allocate the SIO role to him.

  Charlie checked the time on his car clock. It showed a quarter past eleven. The motorway didn’t seem too busy, but by the time he got to the Kingston Bridge there was a fair amount of traffic heading towar
ds the city centre. Having crossed the bridge, he took the exit for Waterloo Street before looping up the steep incline towards the CID headquarters in Pitt Street. At the crest of the hill he turned left, then drove round the block towards the entrance to the underground car park. The officer on duty waved in recognition when he saw Charlie’s car approaching. Charlie lowered his window and leaned out.

  ‘How’s it going, Frank?’

  ‘Not too bad, sir. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to be here.’

  ‘Which means bad news, I suppose?’

  ‘It looks like there’s been a murder in the West End.’

  ‘At least that makes a change,’ Frank said with a grunt as he raised the barrier. ‘The last two homicides were both in Govanhill.’

  Charlie drove down the steep ramp before reversing slowly into a narrow parking space between two concrete pillars. Getting out of his car, he trudged up the flights of stairs to his office on the second floor where he found DC Colin Renton sitting behind his desk, a young couple seated on the chairs opposite him.

  As soon as he saw Charlie enter the room, Renton scrambled to his feet. ‘Good evening, sir.’

  ‘Have you offered these good people something to drink?’ Charlie asked as he stripped off his jacket and hung it on the hook on the back of the door.

  ‘Not yet, sir.’

  ‘What would you like?’ Charlie asked, taking a handful of loose change from his jacket pocket and spilling the coins onto the desk. ‘Tea, coffee, juice or water? I’m afraid that’s as good as it gets around here.’

  The girl made eye contact with her friend, then nodded. ‘Coffee would be good for both of us, thanks.’

  ‘I’ll go for them,’ Renton offered, scooping up the coins. ‘How do you take it, miss?’

  ‘Black with no sugar for me,’ she said. ‘And white with sugar for Kyle.’

  ‘The usual for me, Colin,’ Charlie said, settling down on his swivel chair. ‘I’m DCI Anderson,’ he offered by way of introduction. ‘And you are?’

  ‘I’m Gill,’ the girl said, ‘and this is my partner, Kyle.’

  Charlie made small talk to put Gill and Kyle at their ease until Renton arrived back with four coffees balanced on a tray.

  ‘Before we get round to taking your official statements,’ Charlie said, picking up his coffee and blowing on the hot liquid, ‘tell me what happened this evening.’

  ‘We were, like, walking home from Cottiers – along Lawrence Street,’ Gill said.

  ‘We have a flat in Elie Street,’ Kyle chipped in.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Gill continued forcibly, looking askance at Kyle, ‘we were walking along Lawrence Street on our way home from the pub. It had started to rain, so we were, like, hurrying. When I looked across the road I saw a pair of legs sticking out from behind the rear wheels of a van. I wasn’t at all sure about going across. I thought the guy might’ve had one too many.’

  ‘But I said,’ Kyle interjected, ‘what if the poor sod’s had a heart attack, or something like that? I think we should, like, go over and check.’

  ‘He was lying face-down on the pavement,’ Gill said. ‘I tapped him gently on the shoulder, but he didn’t stir.’

  ‘I bent down and turned him over,’ Kyle said. ‘As soon as I saw the state his face was in, I knew straight away he was dead.’

  ‘I called 999 from my mobile,’ Gill said. ‘We waited with him until the ambulance got there.’

  ‘When the medics arrived, they confirmed that the guy was dead,’ Kyle said, ‘and they called the police. The ambulance driver told us to wait with them until the cops arrived. It was raining quite hard by this time, so the paramedics let us sit in the back of the ambulance with them. When Constable Renton arrived he asked us to come back here with him to give our statements.’

  ‘Tell Inspector Anderson what you saw earlier in the evening – in the pub,’ Renton prompted.

  ‘I’m sure it was the same guy,’ Kyle said. ‘We were in the garden area, outside at Cottiers, and so was he.’

  ‘Was he with anybody?’ Charlie asked.

  Kyle shook his head. ‘He was sitting by himself at a table near the gate. I noticed him because he seemed to be, like, drinking a lot for someone on his own. He walked past our table three or four times in the space of less than an hour to get another drink. All the time he was sitting at his table he was, like, constantly checking his phone and looking at his watch, as if he was waiting for somebody. Then all of a sudden he got to his feet and hurried off, leaving an almost–full pint.’

  ‘What time would that have been?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Kyle said, looking at Gill.

  ‘It was about a quarter of an hour before we left the pub,’ Gill said, ‘which means it must have been around half-past ten.’

  ‘And the next time we saw him,’ Kyle said, swallowing hard, ‘he was dead.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else in or around Lawrence Street at that time?’ Charlie asked.

  Gill and Kyle looked at each other, both of them shaking their heads. ‘No one, Inspector,’ Gill said. ‘Nobody at all.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for that.’ Charlie got up from his chair and used both hands to massage the stiffness at the base of his spine. ‘When you’ve finished your coffees, go downstairs with DC Renton. He’ll take your statements and get you to sign them. We might need to talk to you again later, once the dead guy’s been identified, but that’s all we need from you this evening. Thanks for coming in – and sorry about messing up your Saturday night.’

  ‘No need to apologise, Inspector,’ Kyle said as he slowly got to his feet. ‘Our evening wasn’t really messed up, like – not compared with that poor sod’s.’

  Deciding he might as well do something useful while he was waiting for Renton to come back, Charlie unlocked the top drawer of his desk and lifted out a pile of unanswered correspondence. Unscrewing the top from his fountain pen, he read the first memo and jotted down his response in the margin. He had dealt with three items of mail and was half-way through reading the next one when Renton rapped on his door and walked in. Putting down his pen, Charlie rocked back in his seat and swung his feet up onto the desk.

  ‘What do we know about the dead guy, Colin?’

  ‘Not a lot, sir. No ID on him. One thing we can be sure of is that the motive for the murder wasn’t robbery. Apart from forty quid in his wallet, there was an envelope in his inside jacket pocket stuffed with a thousand pounds in tens and twenties.’

  ‘Very interesting. Why do you think he would be carrying money like that around?’

  ‘Have you checked the price of bus fares recently?’ Renton asked.

  Charlie smiled. ‘Assuming for the moment that he wasn’t planning to catch a bus, an envelope stuffed with cash smacks of blackmail. Could his killer have been a blackmailer who lured him to Cottiers?’

  ‘In which case, why did he not relieve him of the cash after he strangled him?’ Renton asked.

  ‘Good point.’

  ’There is one other interesting thing, though,’ Renton added. ’The kids who found him in the gutter told us the victim had been checking his mobile phone regularly while he was in the pub, but there was no sign of a phone on the body. For some reason, the killer appears to have relieved him of it.’

  ‘Not a random killing, then? Probably somebody who knew him,’ Charlie suggested. ‘Perhaps someone who was in the contacts’ list in his phone?’

  ‘That seems like a distinct possibility.’

  ‘Has the cause of death been established?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘It looks odds-on that it was strangulation. We’ll have to wait for the post mortem for formal confirmation, but from the abrasions on his neck the paramedics reckoned he’d been choked to death with something like heavy duty twine or rope.’

  ‘Which increases the probability that the murder was premeditated,’ Charlie said, swinging his feet down to the floor with a thud. �
�Okay, Colin. Let’s call it a day. There’s not a lot more we can achieve here tonight. Are you on duty tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Who else is in?’

  ‘O’Sullivan and Freer.’

  ‘Bring O’Sullivan up to speed with what happened tonight as soon as he gets in. Tell him he’s in charge of things until I get here. The usual routine. Check the victim’s description against the missing persons’ list and organise door-to-door enquiries in Lawrence Street and Hyndland Street.’

  Renton raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  Charlie let out a world-weary sigh. ‘I do realise that tomorrow’s Sunday, Colin, but unfortunately the Glasgow criminal fraternity don’t take into account the fact that I’ve got a tight overtime budget to manage. Organise appeals in the newspapers and on television for anyone who was in Cottiers tonight between nine o’clock and eleven o’clock to come forward – and also anyone who was walking or driving in the vicinity of Lawrence Street between ten o’clock and eleven o’clock. And arrange for someone to talk to the bar staff who were on duty in Cottiers tonight,’ Charlie added, ‘to find out if they know anything about the victim.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  ‘Is there anything I’ve missed?’ Charlie asked, stifling a yawn.

  ‘How about an appeal for anyone who committed a murder in Lawrence Street at around half-past ten tonight to come forward?’

  ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ Charlie said, snapping his fingers. ‘With an incisive brain like that, Colin, you’d be a shoo-in for promotion to sergeant.’

  Renton’s craggy features broke into a broad grin. ‘I’ve got less time to go till I retire than you have, sir. If it’s all the same to you, I don’t think I’ll bother applying.’

  Having looked up the phone number for The Jacobite Arms on his mobile, Tony O’Sullivan waited until half-past eleven before punching it into his phone.

  ‘Is that the landlord?’ he asked when the call was taken.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘This is DS O’Sullivan. You asked me to give you a call.’

  ‘I couldn’t say anything earlier on, but it was me who phoned the cops about the stabbing in the pub.’