‘Okay, I’ll call him. Thanks.’

Maxwell hesitated and Narey could see how tense she was. ‘What is it, Becca?’

‘There’s more ma’am.’

‘Shit.’

‘I wouldn’t have found this except that I was looking for unusual locations as well as suspicious deaths. And this isn’t suspicious but I thought I’d better flag it up.’

Narey’s pulse quickened in perfect time with her heart sinking. ‘Go on.’

‘The body of a homeless man was found in an abandoned building. Two days ago.’

‘Two days?

‘Yes, ma’am. David McGlashan. Aged fifty-three. Of no fixed abode. Found in the former William Cook and Son, File and Saw Works building in Houldsworth Street in Anderston. Initial post-mortem results say probable heart attack, but the body had lain there for approximately ten weeks before it was discovered so it was badly decomposed. No signs of other injury or assault.’

Her mind flashed back to Malcolm Colvin’s mention of a homeless client who hadn’t been seen for two months. Had Colvin named the man? She didn’t think so but would have to call him.

‘What do we know about this guy?’

‘Not much, ma’am. He’s thought to have been homeless for as much as fifteen years. His only record is for a drunk and disorderly eight years ago and a disturbance of the peace last year.’

‘What do we know about the saw works?’

‘It closed in the late nineties, has lain dormant since then. It is a known urbexing site.’

‘Definitely?’

‘Definitely. So is the seminary and the crane. There’s a website.’

Narey sighed heavily. ‘Great.’

‘Are these cases connected, ma’am?’

‘I really don’t know, Becca. I wish I did but I don’t. But at least it looks like I didn’t lie to DCI Addison after all. This urbexing website that you mentioned?’

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘Give me a note of the web address. I think I need to go do some surfing of my own.’

Chapter 23

Narey laid the photographs out on Addison’s desk and watched with decidedly mixed feelings as the DCI took it all in.

Derek Wharton’s broken neck under the great roof of the seminary. Christopher Hart’s shattered body at the foot of the crane. Then David McGlashan’s decomposed remains on the floorboards of the saw works, light streaming onto it from attic windows. For good measure, she’d added Winter’s photographs from the Molendinar and the Odeon.

He studied them unhappily then looked up at her. ‘So you’re telling me you might have five cases here.’ ‘No, I’m telling you I might have one case. Five bodies.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Rachel, how sure are you of any of this? I don’t see a whole lot in the way of firm evidence linking these.’

‘I’m not sure. Of course I’m not. But it’s enough to think there’s something there. Enough to have me work this as if they are or might be connected. You’ve got to leave me on the Odeon.’

‘I don’t have to do anything,’ he snapped. ‘Okay, talk me through your thinking. Convince me.’

Convince you or convince myself, she wondered. She was letting him think she was a step further down that line than she actually felt. There was something there. She just didn’t know how to play it. For now, she was making it up as she went along.

‘Okay, for a start these are too much of a coincidence for us to ignore. That wouldn’t make any sense. I’ve done some research and I need to do more. All urbexing sites. Places where people shouldn’t be. Unpoliced, out of the way, unguarded. Maybe a good place to leave bodies, which might bring us back to Bobby Mullen. Maybe someone senses that the people who go there are vulnerable. Maybe it’s an opportunity. Maybe it’s something else altogether but there is a connection. I just need time to find it.’

He looked down and studied the photographs again. The waiting made her want to scream. At last, he looked up at her, shaking his head.

‘Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m taking over both cases. You answer to me. So does Rico. He’ll take part of this.’

She said nothing but her face said plenty.

‘Rachel, it’s the best I can do if you want to run both sides of this. If these are all linked then it’s above your pay scale. If they’re not then Storey and Rico get the Odeon. You still think they’re linked?’

‘Yes I do.’

‘Okay. Then you have a choice to make. You are not taking all this on yourself. It makes no sense and is a bad use of resources. You understand me? You can work this urbexing wild goose chase or you can keep after the owners of the Rosewood or you can take on Saturn. Not all three. You can have the choice because they were yours first.’

‘Gee thanks.’

‘Rachel . . .’

She had to decide and she had to do it quickly. The thought of giving any of it up was tough - once she got her teeth into an investigation she was always loath to let go. Kilgannon and Wells were dirty, she’d no doubt about that. The same for the property company Saturn and Mullen. But going for either of those effectively meant choosing one case over the other. She couldn’t, wouldn’t do that. Hell, she could think of no other way.

‘Okay, let Rico run with Saturn. I’ll get Jacko to bring Rico up to speed on what he’s said. I’ll go with the wild geese. I’ll take the urbexing angle.’

‘You sure? This is going to ramp up the pressure on you with every doubter out there.’

‘I’m sure. But that still leaves me with Bobby Mullen because—’

‘Jesus, no! I’ll need to talk to Ken Bryson at Organized Crime and run this past him. If we end up stepping on his toes then he’ll have my balls for shooting practice. You stay away from Mullen.’

‘Sir . . .’

‘No.’

‘Then I’ll have the Odeon victim’s husband, as that falls within my remit.’

‘Within your . . .’ He shook his head at her again. ‘Fine. Do it. I get the feeling I’ve just been had but I’m not sure how.’

Chapter 24

It never got any easier to tell someone that a loved one was dead. Not for Narey anyway. She knew cops who gave the impression that they’d become inured to it over time but she wasn’t sure she believed them. Nor did she think it was right. Every time you knocked on someone’s door to tell them that a loved one had died should feel like it did the first time. It would always feel like the first time to the person you were talking to and you should be the same.

Identifying the body had, for once, been as simple as checking recent missing person reports. Jennifer Cairns, a forty-three-year-old interior designer, was last seen on the evening of 10 September. Her description fitted the victim and so did the date. Dental records had already been requested in case the worst had happened. It had. A match had been confirmed that afternoon and now she and Becca Maxwell were about to deliver the news.

This time it wasn’t to be a door of anyone’s home but rather an office and that made it more awkward. She could perhaps have waited until the close of business hours but this case was cold enough and she wanted to get her teeth into it without delay.

Cairns and McCormack, Architects, had a floor to themselves in an ornate sandstone building in Hope Street, not far from Central Station. It looked faded grandeur from the outside but was very different once they pushed through the double doors to get in. It screamed design and trying too hard. All black and white with expanses of bare wall broken only by a couple of statement pieces that were as obscure as they were surely expensive. This was an office of people who wanted you to know they were worth the money.