‘This is extra help, Ross. It’s no reflection on the team. It’s doable, something we can access immediately and more importantly be seen to be doing.’

‘By HQ,’ muttered Ross.

‘By HQ,’ Stewart repeated.

‘And we can afford to bring in outside agencies?’ Ross didn’t sound convinced. ‘I thought overtime was cut. Budget, cutbacks, all that sort of thing. How come we can afford this?’

‘Special budget, special rates.’ Stewart sounded irritated. ‘Trust me.’

‘And who’s the special rates guy?’

‘He’s a friend who used to be on the force. Does a bit of pro bono now and again.’

Ross groaned. ‘An old timer.’

‘No, he isn’t retired – he chose to leave the force. He wanted to explore other avenues. Believe me, he’s a professional. Remember the Blackwell case?’

Wheeler did. ‘He got ten years, but it should’ve been double.’

‘There wouldn’t have been a conviction at all if it hadn’t been for Pete Newton.’

‘But bringing in an outsider?’ Ross asked. ‘Won’t it damage morale on the team? All this “work as a team” stuff, and now we haven’t got there fast enough, so you bring in an outsider.’

‘Don’t be so bloody sensitive Ross, Pete Newton’s not just anyone. I mean he’s a bloody good professional and by Christ, we need professionals around here.’

Ross huffed and said nothing.

Wheeler thought for a moment, before the penny dropped. ‘He’s a psychologist, a criminal profiler, isn’t he?’

‘Aren’t they called BIAs now?’ said Ross.

‘Right,’ she waited.

‘Behavioural Investigative Advisers.’

‘I’m glad we’ve got that settled.’ Wheeler looked at Stewart. ‘Whatever they’re called, I’m right, am I not?’

Stewart snorted, ‘We need to use every resource we have. Do you understand what I’ve been saying to you both?’

She nodded.

Stewart had Grim’s article spread out before him and he jabbed his finger at the paper. ‘“Despite the horrific murder, Police have no new leads . . .”’

‘With respect, I don’t think the team want a BIA from outside to tell them how to do their job.’

‘With all due respect, Wheeler, have you anything new on Gilmore’s murder?’

She studied the floor.

‘Are there any more suspects you’ve still to interview?’

‘No.’

‘And other than a partial fingerprint which doesn’t seem to match anything on our database, and two anonymous callers, what do we have?’

Wheeler and Ross were both silent.

‘Well then, we’ve nothing to lose by giving Pete a try,’ Stewart looked at her, held eye contact, smiled, ‘have we?’

She walked to the door, pushing past Ross.

‘Give him a chance, he’s a good guy,’ Stewart called, reaching for the phone. A minute later he spoke into the receiver, ‘Hi Pete. Yeah, I’ve spoken with the team and they’re all very enthusiastic about a meet-up – they jumped at the chance of liaising with a psychologist.’ Stewart waited until the laughter at the other end of the line subsided before continuing, ‘Seriously Pete, we could do with the input; how quickly can you get here?’ He paused, listened to his friend reply and then nodded, ‘Great, looking forward to it. See you tomorrow.’

Stewart stood and crossed to the window. Outside it was dark; the lights of the houses shone in the distance and he could see the twinkle of Christmas lights. The orange street lights threaded their way down the London Road, casting a weak light into the darkness. Stewart crossed to his chair and pulled on his jacket. On the way out he hit the light switch before closing the door.

Chapter 35

Lizzie Coughlin opened the door, and a blast of freezing air hit her. ‘Shit but it’s cold,’ she complained, ushering her friend Steffy inside before double-locking the door and putting the snib on. ‘That bastard’s not getting back here. Fucker tried to kill me.’ Her voice rasped. She fingered the scarf that she’d tied around her swollen neck.

Steffy held up a bottle. ‘I got us a wee vodka, hen. Thought you might need cheering up. He’s a fucking waste of space that Mason.’

Lizzie eyed the bottle of vodka. ‘Whit’s this? Thought you’d nothing till next Wednesday? Did Kenny gie you child support at last?’

Lizzie snorted.

‘Or wee Sammy or Vinnie?’

Steffy snorted, ‘You’re joking, right? Hell’ll freeze over before I see a penny from them fuckers. Naw,’ she patted the bottle, ‘I got this wee baby from the Co-op. Some poor wee auld soul fainted and they had to call an ambulance. So I just nipped in and helped myself. Wee drink to toast you being a single wummin again. We can go out on the razzle together next week when your neck’s better. Be like old times.’

Lizzie was confused. ‘Dae they no have CCTV in the Co-op but?’

‘Smashed – that wee sod that tried tae ram-raid the place last week, he smashed it. Wee nutter, did us all a favour.’

Lizzie got two glasses and watched her friend pour vodka to the top of both. ‘Cheers hen, but who’s watching the weans?’

‘Angelica’s at my da’s and Tamzyn and Nathaniel are at my ma’s.’

‘Where’s the baby?’

‘She’s with wee Sharlene next door. That lassie’s a wee pet. An’ she’s great with the kids.’

‘Should mibbe have her own then.’

‘Nae chance. I hope she’s always there tae help wi mine. It’s no likely though is it, Lizzie, that she’ll have her own. You’ve seen her, right?’

‘Aye well, she could dae more with herself, I suppose,’ Lizzie suggested tactfully.

‘And I repeat, Lizzie, you’ve seen her, right?’

Lizzie relented. ‘Right enough, she’s a pot-ugly wee cow. Anyhow, she’s better off without men. I should know.’

‘Is it no awfully quiet in here?’ Steffy looked around. ‘Where’s the wee bird? Did you not have its cage in here?’

‘The cage is in the shed in the garden.’ Lizzie’s eyes filled up.

‘How’s that then, hen?’

‘That bastardin’ shite killed her.’

‘Mason killed wee Duchess?’

Lizzie nodded.

‘How come?’

‘’Cause he’s an evil bastard.’

‘That much you knew already, but why did he kill the wee yellow thing?’

‘Harmless wee pet, he just opened the door and grabbed her. Broke her neck.’

Steffy shuddered.

Lizzie sniffed, ‘She never stood a chance against the fucker.’

‘Naw, she’d have nae chance,’ Steffy repeated.

Warmed by the vodka, Lizzie took off her scarf. Her neck was swollen and the purple bruises had begun to ripen. ‘He threatened tae kill me.’

‘And after you waiting for him to get out of the jail?’ Steffy tut-tutted. ‘That cunt’s nae manners.’

‘And, I spoke wi Sonny down at the Smuggler’s. Mason’s been in there flashing the cash and chatting up the twins.’

Steffy shuddered. ‘Filthy, manky bitches – hope he catches something painful.’ She took a long draw from her glass. ‘Got any fags?’

Lizzie threw her the pack. ‘Two-timing me with them slags.’

‘But the cash, though, where’d he get it?’

Lizzie took a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply, ‘Fuck knows, it’s no like they hand them a load of cash when they get out of the Bar-L. He’s got a plan. Thinks he’s coming intae big money.’

‘What’s the plan?’

‘No chance he’d tell me. Said I wis history. Something happened inside the Bar-L. He’s got together with somebody. Now he thinks he’s going intae business with Stevie Tenant and he’s come over all Mr young, free and fucking single.’

‘He’s a shite.’ Steffy puffed furiously on her cigarette. ‘You’re better off without him.’

‘I want to get him done, Steffy. It’s him or me. I don’t feel safe with him having it in for me. Wee Duchess was a warning. Next time he’ll come after me.’

‘But how? And mind you remember what he was in the jail for – you need tae be careful, hen.’

‘Aye, I know what he did, but he’s got this coming.’