Magner then headed north to Aberdeen to work on the oil rigs, first as a roustabout, then graduating to assistant driller, working two weeks on and two off. It was during one of these two-week spells ashore that he first got into trouble with the law – nothing serious, just a drunken brawl outside a bar in Aberdeen city centre on a Saturday night. The incident was reported to Grampian Police, and both Magner and his assailant – Magner maintained he had been hit first, although witness statements suggested otherwise – spent two nights in custody. They then received identical fines on Monday morning at the Sheriff Court.
Throughout their search, DI Smith answered every one of Gilchrist and Jessie’s questions, led them to names and places in the files, pulled out witness statements, and let them take notes, all with the patience of a saint. He confirmed that eleven women in total had filed complaints of sexual abuse against Magner. All the alleged assaults occurred within an eight-year period – 1979 to 1986 – after Magner left the rigs to work as a salesman in the construction industry, but before he started Stratheden Enterprises with McCulloch. Gilchrist theorised that the itinerant life of a salesman lent itself to overnight stays away from home, and plenty of opportunities for short-term sexual liaisons that were readily forgotten or, as in Magner’s case, came back to haunt him.
Of the eleven women who had come forward, eight still lived in Scotland – from Nairn in the north to Eyemouth in the Borders – and three had moved to England – York, Birmingham and Manchester. Each had accused Magner of rape and forced penetration and, to a woman, declined to file a complaint at the time of the assault for fear of retaliation. Interestingly, all eleven complaints were made in the space of just forty-five days at the beginning of the year. It seemed as if they had all made the same New Year’s resolution, and made a pact to see it through.
‘And there were no complaints against Magner before 1979?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘We’re thinking that the regimented routine of working on the rigs kept him pretty much on the straight and narrow up to then.’
‘Getting into a fight in Aberdeen on his shore leave, you mean?’ Jessie said.
‘And his new job as a salesman opened up opportunities for new relationships.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘Any other way?’
‘Women to rape whenever the mood struck him?’ Jessie scratched her temple. ‘Why didn’t they fight back, or at least report him?’
‘A big strong lad like that?’ Smith said. ‘After five years’ grafting on the rigs? With a few beers pumping up the testosterone? None of them would have been able to stand up to him during or after the alleged rapes.’
Gilchrist glanced at his notes. ‘The first woman to file a complaint was a Mrs Vicky Kelvin. What can you tell us about her?’
‘Née Smith. No relation,’ he added with a smile. ‘She lives in Dundee. Recently divorced. Three adult children.’
‘What prompted her to file the complaint now, rather than back then?’
‘Her divorce, she says. Apparently, that incident with Magner all these years ago got her hung up about sex. That’s what her ex-husband thinks, anyway. His grounds for divorce were incompatibility. Read that as frigid.’
‘How old is Mrs Kelvin?’ Gilchrist asked.
Smith flipped through some files. ‘Fifty-four.’
‘Divorced recently?’
‘Last year.’
‘And when did Magner allegedly-’
‘August 1980.’
‘So she would have been, what, twenty-eight? And Magner was… twenty-four? When the incident took place. Allegedly,’ he added.
‘Give or take a year.’
‘And once Mrs Kelvin filed her complaint, the next to do so was…?’
‘Lindsey Seaton.’
Gilchrist checked his notes. ‘And she did that on the very next day.’ He ran his finger down the printed list, mouthing the names, checking the dates. ‘Then nothing for a few days, then a flurry of activity until, in the space of six weeks, all eleven women had filed their complaints of sexual abuse-’
‘Rape.’
‘Rape… against Magner.’ Gilchrist sat back. He would put Smith in his mid-thirties. Liquid brown eyes conveyed a calm confidence that told him Smith was an honest man, someone who had perhaps joined the Constabulary with the idea of bringing justice to the world. He found it incredible that he had once felt the same way. But years of being ground down by a system flooded by criminals who thought prison was just a roof over your head and three free meals a day, until they let you out to commit another crime, had killed his idealism. Now the job seemed to be just a matter of tackling whichever case they shoved your way.
‘Isn’t it strange that they all complained in short order?’ Gilchrist said.
Smith shrugged. ‘Once the first complaint is filed, it kind of frees up the others to come forward. They might have been intimidated or frightened when they were younger, or thought it had only happened to them.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘But if they learned that the same thing had happened to someone else, they could have taken strength from that and come out of the shadows.’
Gilchrist gave Smith’s comments some thought. There had to be a ringleader, he was almost certain of that, someone who initiated the complaints, which then persuaded the others to step forward. ‘So every one of them just walked into her local police station and filed a complaint in person?’ he said.
‘All but one.’ Smith flipped through the files. ‘Here she is. Charlotte Renwick. Lives in Perth. Said she wanted to file a complaint only if she could do so in total anonymity. As an upstanding member of the local community – churchgoer, charity organiser, etc. – she did not want to risk damaging her reputation.’
‘Is she prepared to go to court?’
‘Provided she can maintain anonymity.’
‘Or she’ll withdraw the charges?’
‘Apparently.’
Gilchrist asked, ‘How did the others know about that first complaint by Vicky Kelvin?’
Smith shrugged. ‘Read about it in the newspapers. Saw it on TV.’
‘So Mrs Kelvin’s complaint made it into the Courier and beyond?’
‘Not at first. She said she felt bitter after her divorce, and hated everything to do with… she hated men. The memories of that incident apparently haunted her to the point where she blamed Magner for everything that had gone wrong in her life, and in particular the end of her marriage. Then, one night, something clicked, and she realised that if Magner had raped her, then maybe he’d raped others. So she decided to find out, and through social media and internet requests she managed to locate Lindsey Seaton. The two of them made their statements one after the other, then the rest heard and followed suit.’
‘Did she appear vindictive?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ Jessie snapped.
Gilchrist bit his tongue. But it troubled him that a vengeful woman might muster damaging support against any man if she went out of her way to convince others. He could never condone rape, or abuse in any shape or form, but he had seen how claims of violence or abuse were often exaggerated to strengthen a case. His own experience with DI Logan was proof of that sour-tasting pudding.
They spent the next forty minutes reading more statements, taking more notes, but made no progress in establishing a potential motive for murder. It seemed that the deeper they looked, the more Gilchrist came to understand that Magner had to be innocent.
Maybe Logan was right. Maybe they were barking up the wrong tree.
By two o’clock, Gilchrist’s head had cleared, and a worrying thirst for a pint was settling over him. He pushed himself to his feet and told DI Smith, ‘I think we’ve gone as far as we can for now. If anything unfolds, or springs to mind, let me know.’
‘Likewise,’ Smith said, his grip firm.
Gilchrist waited while Jessie and Smith shook hands, then he turned to the door and said, ‘We know the way out.’