‘You do that and get back to me immediately.’

Ross changed the subject. ‘Did James have a girlfriend?’

Mrs Gilmore shook her head. ‘He had a fiancée when he was in his early twenties. Angela Meek. She was a timid soul, frightened of her shadow as I recall. She died in a horrible accident; he never recovered.’

‘No one recently?’ Ross persisted.

‘None. That was it. After Angela died, something in him just seemed to curl up and die with her. He was his father’s son.’

‘In what way?’ asked Ross.

‘He was a martyr to emotional nonsense.’

‘Were there any close friends that you know of, maybe a colleague he got on particularly well with?’ Wheeler hesitated before adding, ‘Or a gym buddy or anyone he went on holiday with?’

Mrs Gilmore pursed her lips. ‘Never anyone that I knew of. After his bereavement he withdrew into himself – he was a quiet man who was far better than those he served.’

‘When did you last see your son, Mrs Gilmore?’

She sniffed. ‘The twenty-eighth of last month. He was extremely busy. He loved helping . . .’ her lips dipped into a scowl, ‘those kind of people.’

‘Those kind of people.’ Wheeler echoed the words. ‘The children at Watervale?’

‘Delinquents, every one of them. Even if they’ve got parents, they’re useless. Feral brats that should never have been born. James was too soft.’ She peered at them. ‘What about his house – somebody has to go and make sure it’s secure. I gather you’ll attend to it?’

Ross coughed, looked at Wheeler.

Wheeler grimaced.

The old lady caught their exchange, her eyes darting between them. ‘What is it? What are you withholding?’

Ross told her and watched the wrinkled lips purse in disapproval; the beady eyes shone as she turned on them. ‘Well, well. The police fail to secure a crime scene and allow evidence to go up in smoke. My son’s house is lost to me, all his memories.’ She paused, lips drawn tighter in a deep scowl. ‘My lawyer will be in touch with the Strathclyde police force.’

Mrs Gilmore began quietly issuing orders: the manager was to contact her lawyer, the FLO was to pour her a sherry and immediately afterwards they were to leave her in peace.

Wheeler and Ross left, aware that they had silently been dismissed.

Outside, Ross turned to her. ‘That went well.’ He slammed the car door and started the engine.

‘Aye, well, it was never going to be easy but the old woman’s now got a vendetta against us for not protecting her son or his house.’

‘Compensation. How the hell could she even think about that when she’d just been told her son has been murdered?’

Wheeler strapped on her seat belt. ‘She’s been waiting for the news for years. You heard what she called the kids at Watervale, feral brats who should never have been born. She’s been working up to this moment since James Gilmore went to work at those schools.’

‘She’s going to be a fucking nightmare.’

‘I know, it’s a mess but the best we can do now, the only thing we can do, is catch the bastard who did it.’

‘Any chance of a coffee before we go back to the station?’

‘No chance.’ She fiddled with her phone, sent a text. Huffed.

‘Crisis?’

‘Och, still the family drama. Nephew’s determined to go off the rails; his mother’s still going nuts down in Somerset.’

‘And I guess you’re het?’

‘Aye, lucky me. I never wanted kids. Now I can see why. They’re a pain in the arse.’

‘Couldn’t agree more.’ Ross eased the car into the road and headed back towards Glasgow.

Chapter 15

An hour later and Wheeler was in the CID suite feeling like she’d been there all day. The team were all desk-bound. Wheeler stared at her computer and scrolled through the news links until she found what she was looking for. Grim’s report was up to its usual standard.

Strathclyde Police have launched a murder inquiry after the body of a man was discovered on Monday evening. The shocking discovery was made in Glasgow’s East End. The body is believed to have lain undiscovered since Sunday.

A post-mortem examination will be carried out later today but police are urging the public to come forward with anything, regardless of how insignificant it may seem.

Detective Chief Inspector Craig Stewart of Carmyle Police Station is leading the investigation and earlier today he had this to say:

‘We would appeal for information relating to the murder which occurred in the London Road area on Sunday night. If anyone has any information they can come to Carmyle Police Station itself or phone directly and speak to one of my team. We would also like to appeal to anyone who may have seen anything unusual or anyone acting suspiciously in the past few days to come forward and contact the station. If anyone has any information at all which may help find the killer, then we urge you to contact us immediately. At present we cannot release the name of the victim until relatives have been informed, but more details will follow shortly.’

The report continued over two pages, but she had the gist. She also knew that whoever was feeding information to Grim was more than likely sitting in the station at that moment. She glanced around the room. Everyone was busy, answering phones, leafing through paperwork, scrolling down computer screens. Wheeler turned back to her own computer and finished the article. Stewart was a very effective cop. He used the symbiotic relationship between the police and the press well, but whoever had called Grim and tipped him off had crossed a line. She looked up as Stewart came into the room.

He stood in front of her desk. ‘Anything from the mother?’

She told him about the St Christopher medal.

‘Okay, well it’s something. Anything else?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing helpful . . . only . . .’

‘Let me guess, she wants to sue us over the fire at her son’s house? I get it. Let’s move on.’

‘Yes, she was upset and—’

But he was out of the door before she had finished speaking.

Ross stood at the side of her desk. ‘Read Grim’s report?’

‘Uh huh. Nothing we didn’t already know; no one’s come forward saying they had any information. Or saw anyone acting suspiciously.’

‘Nothing.’ Ross sounded disappointed and went back to his own desk, started typing up a report.

‘It’d be a brave person who wanted to get tangled up with whoever did this. I’d say if anyone saw anything and wants to talk, odds are they’ll do it anonymously.’ Wheeler knew she sounded cynical.

‘Wish they’d be quick,’ said Boyd. ‘Save me trawling through this list of schools. James Gilmore seems to have worked in every bloody school in Glasgow at some point in his career and some of them don’t even exist anymore.’

‘So quit whinging.’ Wheeler flexed her fingers above the keyboard. ‘You got anything positive yet?’

‘Hardly had a chance, have I?’ Boyd opened the drawer of his desk, peered in, shut it with a bang. Opened the second drawer, did the same.

Robertson was sitting at a table in the corner of the room, working his way through a long list of phone numbers from Gilmore’s mobile. She called across to him. ‘Anything?’

He looked up from the list. ‘So far all the calls have been to the three schools where Gilmore worked, a couple to the home where his mother’s staying. Not much of a result.’

‘And no saved texts on his mobile. Weird.’ Boyd slammed the third drawer.

‘Very odd.’ Wheeler turned from her computer.

‘What is?’ Ross asked.

‘Doesn’t everyone keep texts?’ She looked around.

Ross shrugged. ‘A couple, maybe.’

Boyd nodded. ‘Loads – can’t be arsed going through them all deciding what to delete.’

‘Think he had another phone?’ Ross asked. ‘Or just no pals?’