‘Reasons?’
‘More or less the same. Jenna Abbott said she didn’t want to go to court, or even give her testimony anonymously.’
‘Did she say why?’
‘Change of heart.’
‘So she’s not saying the incident never happened?’
‘But it’s the same result.’
‘Go on.’
‘Kristie Warren withdrew her complaint citing personal reasons. When challenged, she denied ever knowing Magner or being in his company.’
Gilchrist exhaled. Someone was getting to them. ‘Has anyone spoken to them face to face?’
‘We’re doing that right now, sir.’
‘You gave me three names.’
‘Meredith Williamson. She called about an hour ago, in tears, to say she couldn’t go through with it. Said she made a mistake.’
‘In her statement?’
‘Said she made it all up. When she was advised that she could be charged with wasting police time, she said we should go ahead and charge her, then hung up.’
‘Christ,’ Gilchrist said. ‘So that’s five now. How about the others?’
‘Chief Super Whyte has already dispatched uniforms to interview them.’
‘Three live in England.’
‘They do, sir, yes. The Chief has contacted the local stations for assistance.’
Gilchrist gritted his teeth. Whyte’s case against Magner was crumbling. How long would it take for the others to fold? He thought back to Vicky Kelvin’s flat – the domestic disarray, the poverty, the hardship, life in general just grinding her down. It would not take much to persuade her to drop her complaint – a thousand pounds would go a long way to clearing up the mess in her life. Gilchrist thanked Smith and ended the call.
Sitting at his desk, he fired up the computer and checked his emails. Only when he read the last of them did he realise he had not heard back from Cooper. He checked his phone for missed calls – none – then dialled her mobile number.
After five rings he was expecting voicemail to kick in when a man’s voice said, ‘You need to stop calling my wife.’
‘You need to stop answering her phone.’
‘Who the hell do you think you are?’
‘I’m the Senior Investigating Officer in charge of a multiple murder investigation,’ Gilchrist snapped. ‘And if you don’t put me through to Dr Rebecca Cooper immediately, I will have you charged with obstructing the course of justice.’
The connection died.
Gilchrist dialled the number again. This time the phone was answered on the first ring.
‘Andy, this is not a good time-’
‘I haven’t received any toxicology results yet,’ he said.
‘I thought we… oh,’ Cooper said. ‘Okay. Let me get them over to you.’
‘What can I expect?’ he said. ‘In terms of the results, I mean.’
But Cooper was in no mood for jokes, and answered with, ‘Brian McCulloch had high levels of alcohol and benzodiazepine in his blood.’
‘Sufficient to kill him?’
‘No, but enough to induce a state of unconsciousness.’
‘So he was not expected to drive home.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘Any other way?’
‘Suicide?’
Gilchrist grimaced. An image of the bloodied bathroom, the stripped meat that had once been Amy McCulloch, contradicted his image of her killer – McCulloch’s pristine shirt collar, laundered suit, trim fingernails, neat haircut. He would have needed steamcleaning before taking his life. And the SOCOs had found no towels or body parts in the Jag’s boot. If McCulloch had not murdered his family, why would he have committed suicide?
Which brought Gilchrist full circle.
‘Get those reports to me as soon as you can,’ he said, and ended the call.
Forcing Cooper from his mind, he returned his attention to the computer screen and opened the first email from Jackie. It contained several pdf attachments. He clicked on one to reveal a copy of a Prudential life insurance policy for £250,000, with the beneficiary named as Thomas Magner in the event of the death of his wife, Sheila. Next a copy of a cheque for £250,000 made out to Thomas Magner and dated 26 April 1986 – ample start-up capital to launch Stratheden Enterprises, and to entice Brian McCulloch to join the company.
The next attachment was an RBS bank statement in the name of Anne Magner. Gilchrist frowned as his gaze rested on the £250,000 deposit for 26 April 1986, highlighted by Jackie. Magner must have transferred his first wife’s insurance payout into his second wife’s bank account the instant he received it. A quick flip through the following pages confirmed that a total of £265,433.47 was then withdrawn from Anne Magner’s account over two weeks, to pay various vendors. A closer study revealed £47,405.83 paid to the Clydesdale Bank, and £125,000 – the largest debit – to Property Management Ltd, a well-known mortgage broker in Fife at the time. One other debit stood out – £50,000 – not only because it was such a round sum, but because it was a cash withdrawal.
The statements showed Magner to be not only a wealthy businessman but a shifter of money, a facilitator of funds, someone who paid by cash, robbing his left hand to pay his right – including laundering dirty money? That thought conjured up an image of Jerry McGovern, and it struck him that he never asked Stan the value of Amy McCulloch’s stolen jewellery.
He emailed Jackie, instructing her to find out what she could about the payments to Clydesdale Bank and Property Management. Then he opened her next email, and felt a frisson of excitement. Magner’s second wife, Anne, was still alive, and living in Greenock on the south bank of the Clyde, west of Glasgow. He took a note of the address and slipped it into his pocket as his mobile rang. He looked at the screen – Greaves.
‘Yes, sir,’ Gilchrist said.
‘Where are you?’
‘In the Office.’
‘Stay there. I’ll be with you in five minutes.’
Gilchrist disconnected as his mind powered into overdrive.
He had seen Greaves on the hunt before, as mad as a bull.
Maybe Maxwell Cooper had a greater reach than Gilchrist had given him credit for.
CHAPTER 17
Gilchrist’s mobile rang again, and an unfamiliar number flashed up.
He made the connection with, ‘Gilchrist.’
‘Billy Whyte here. Did Mac speak to you?’
For a moment, the first name threw Gilchrist, then he placed it – DI Smith. ‘He did.’
‘Then you’ll be pleased to know we’ve found a link. With the shit getting flushed down the toilet, we sent uniforms to the remaining six addresses and got a hit.’
Gilchrist jerked alert. ‘Who is it?’
‘Charlotte Renwick.’
‘The woman who insisted on anonymity?’
‘Yes. Well, Amy Charlotte Renwick was Amy McCulloch’s full maiden name.’
Something cold and hard hit Gilchrist’s chest. ‘Jesus…’
‘Indeed,’ Whyte said. ‘When she filed her complaint she said she had too much to lose for her past to come out. Part of her attempt to maintain anonymity was to give her sister’s address in Perth. Her sister – Siobhan Renwick – never married, so Renwick was on the Council Tax records, and the phone number was registered under that name-’
‘Which helps explain why no one picked up on it during investigation of the complaint.’
‘Exactly,’ Whyte said. ‘Although I’ll be looking into that. It’s not good enough.’
‘So did Amy/Charlotte claim she was sexually abused by Magner?’
‘She did.’
‘Details?’
‘Forcible rape, like all the others.’
‘And she kept this from her husband?’
‘She must have, I’d say.’
‘What about the others?’ Gilchrist asked. ‘Are they still pressing forward?’
‘You tell me.’
Gilchrist was puzzled by Whyte’s comment, and did not miss the chill in his voice. He did not have to wait long for an answer.