As far as Gilchrist could tell, Linda had put up one hell of a fight. Her fingers, hands and arms were all sliced with defensive wounds. Her right thumb had been severed and was found on the draining board by the sink. From spatter patterns that trailed across walls and through rooms, they surmised that she had been attacked as soon as she opened the door. From there, she had run into the kitchen, where she had scrambled for a carving knife to protect herself. It was found on the floor in the corner, its serrated blade void of blood. Smeared hand prints low down on the door frame, and streaks of blood on the linoleum, told the grim story of a dying woman struggling to escape her attacker, only to be stabbed to death in the middle of her own living room.
Back outside, DI Smith pulled back his coverall hood, his mouth little more than a white line. CS Whyte was still inside the flat, talking to Cooper and Jessie.
‘This isn’t doing anything for your case,’ Gilchrist told Smith. ‘By my count, there are only four left now.’
‘And once they hear about this they’ll all probably retract their statements.’
‘And if they don’t?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘Chief Super Whyte has arranged twenty-four/seven surveillance on their homes. They’ll also each have a uniform with them around the clock.’
‘Armed?’
Smith nodded.
Gilchrist raised his eyebrows. No matter how serious the situation was, budgets still had to be met, and protocols still had to be followed. But Billy Whyte seemed to have control over some major purse strings. ‘And what about Magner?’
‘He’s distancing himself,’ Smith said. ‘Been in Glasgow all day, shouting his head off, attracting attention, making sure he has a ton of witnesses.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Finding a suspect is easy, but trying to prove he’s guilty is another kettle of fish.’
‘How about his phone?’
‘Phones. Plural.’
‘Any luck with them?’
‘Of course not. We’ve gone through his records, but SIM cards are ten a penny. He’ll have a pile of mobiles with different cards and numbers for every call he makes that he doesn’t want us to know about.’ He shook his head. ‘We’re spinning our wheels.’
‘How about CCTV footage?’
‘Already on it, but the cameras closest to Linda’s flat have been deactivated. We’re thinking he got someone inside.’
Gilchrist told Smith about his search for the BMW, then mentioned Purvis’s striking similarity to Magner, and the fact that they’d worked on the rigs at the same time. ‘Your case and the McCulloch massacre are connected,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
Smith nodded. ‘But how do we prove it?’
‘Well, we have a common victim – Amy McCulloch, née Charlotte Renwick. That’s a start. By killing Amy, he takes care of two birds with the one stone. Takes out his business partner, and one of his accusers at the same time.’
‘Could be a coincidence.’
‘No such thing.’
Smith stared at him. ‘It’s a thin connection.’
Gilchrist waited.
Smith finally understood and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, we can’t help you, sir. We’re stretched to the limit. Resources are committed. ACC McVicar spoke to Billy today to approve the round-the-clock surveillance, but that won’t last for ever.’
‘How long?’ Gilchrist asked.
Smith gave him a look that said he was just as frustrated as Gilchrist. ‘The way things are going, sir, not long enough. Nowhere near.’
The hard voice of CS Whyte from within the flat had Smith moving away with a quick, ‘Keep me posted, sir.’
‘Likewise.’
As Jessie stepped from the flat and removed her coveralls, Gilchrist pulled out his mobile and called Stan.
‘Boss?’
‘Are you with Anne Mills?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘We’re at the bank, even as we speak. They’ve lent us a computer and we’re just booting it up. I’ll be able to plug in the memory stick in a minute or two.’
‘Hand her the phone, will you?’
‘I can’t at the moment, boss. She’s with the manager, filling in half a dozen forms. Payback for making him work on a Sunday, I imagine.
Gilchrist brought him up to speed with Linda James’s murder, then said, ‘When you get a chance, ask Anne if she knows her. It’s odd that she’s happy to talk to you about photographs that could nail Magner to the wall, while every other witness is retracting her statement or lying in a pool of blood.’
‘You think her life’s in danger, boss?’
‘Don’t you?’ Gilchrist said. ‘Or, more to the point, doesn’t she?’
‘Let me get back to you, boss.’
Gilchrist killed the call as a thought came to him. He turned to Jessie. ‘Any guesses as to why Jason Purvis was not at home?’
Jessie narrowed her eyes. ‘Out on business?’
‘Magner’s business?’ He glanced at his watch – not yet four o’clock, but it would be dark in a couple of hours. Better to confront Purvis during daylight hours. He knew it was a long shot, probably one of his longest. But it was still a shot.
And Cauldwood Cottage was less than fifteen minutes away.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
Rather than park on the grass verge as he had before, Gilchrist drove into the short driveway at the side of the cottage and parked behind a white Ford Focus – just about the most common car on the road. He noted the registration number, called Glenrothes HQ and asked for someone to check the PNC records and CCTV footage in and around Cupar for any sight of the Focus close to the time of Linda James’s murder.
‘Oh, and while you’re at it, do the same for Tentsmuir Forest on Thursday evening.’ He turned to Jessie, and asked, ‘You ready?’
‘Wish I had my Beretta with me.’
‘I don’t recall you having a firearms licence.’
‘I don’t.’
He held her steady stare. She’d mentioned her.22 before, but he’d taken it as a quip. Her jerk for a smile told him she was joking again, but just in case she wasn’t, he said, ‘Unless you want your jotters, it’s better that you don’t.’
‘You’re no fun,’ she said, and grabbed the door handle.
Together, they walked around the back of the cottage to a lawn-cum-vegetable garden that could have done with a good weeding and mowing, or maybe ploughing up altogether. Beyond the rear property boundary, the barn stood in the long shadows of a low sun.
‘You see the dogs?’ Jessie asked.
‘Maybe he locks them up in the barn for the night.’ He turned back to face the cottage.
The curtains were drawn, but the warm glow of indoor lighting told him Purvis – or someone – was at home. He pressed the doorbell, half-expecting to hear the demented barks of a pair of wild Rottweilers. But the house remained silent. He rang the bell again and this time caught its faint chimes from deep within. He counted to twenty before saying to Jessie, ‘What’s that number Jackie gave us?’
Jessie already had her mobile out. She scrolled down the screen until she found it. Two seconds after clicking the number, she said, ‘It’s ringing.’
Gilchrist stepped back into the long grass, so he could see all four windows that overlooked the rear of the property. He was hoping to catch the flicker of a curtain as Purvis checked to see who was pestering him on a late Sunday afternoon.
Jessie flapped a hand at Gilchrist to let him know her call had just been answered. ‘Could I speak to Jason Purvis?’ she said.
‘What do you want?’ a voice answered, but not from Jessie’s mobile.
Gilchrist spun round in surprise to face the corner of the cottage.
He recognised Purvis instantly. Not from an old newspaper photograph, but from his striking resemblance to Magner. A tad over six foot, like Magner, but with hair more blond than the blond-going-grey of Magner, styled short and combed, and still damp from a recent shower. Even though Magner kept himself fit, Purvis seemed stronger, his body bulked with muscle that rippled beneath a white tee-shirt. He could be Magner on steroids. This was someone who could hold his own in a battle, and certainly more than a physical match for Gilchrist.