2
It was after six that night when Irvine and Kenny Armstrong got back to Pitt Street. The sun was falling, painting the sky orange. A streetlight above them buzzed on and off.
They had been to the three previous crime scenes and taken a tour of the areas where drug dealing was now most prevalent, stopping only for a quick sandwich over lunch. Irvine realised how much things had changed since her days in uniform. It seemed that the territories changed every few years as new dealers and gangs took over.
There was a note on Irvine’s desk telling her that a uniformed officer had called to identify the girl in the river as Joanna Lewski – pronounced Leff-ski. A Polish immigrant and known prostitute. She showed Armstrong the note.
‘That’s one of the uniforms who found the girl today,’ he said, looking at the name on the note. ‘I’ll set up a meeting with them tomorrow. Get the full story.’
Irvine nodded.
‘Have you made a connection between any of the victims?’ she asked.
Armstrong was sitting across the desk from her. Most of the staff had gone home for the night and the place was nearly empty. Irvine saw a light on in Liam Moore’s room, but the boss was nowhere to be seen. Never was after six.
Armstrong stretched in his chair.
‘Other than the fact that they all died of overdoses and that the drugs were the same, no. Why?’
Irvine opened the file for the third victim and took out a set of photographs. The first one showed a young man lying curled on a mattress on a floor. His skin was pale, his lips blue. The room he had died in was bare other than a mattress on the floor. It was stained and dimpled where the springs had gone.
‘This is probably just my CID brain working overtime, but did you explore the angle that these deaths might not have been random?’
Armstrong leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. ‘You mean, like, could these people actually have been targets rather than having the bad luck to buy some bad gear?’
‘It’s just a thought.’
He scratched his face.
‘I appreciate you guys are going to come at this from the perspective of the drugs,’ Irvine said. ‘Looking for dealers or suppliers or whatever. But maybe there’s another angle, you know. Maybe it’s about who the victims are.’
‘That would make it a serial killer?’
Irvine raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes it would.’
‘You start throwing those two words around and it’s going to take this thing on to a whole ’nother level. I mean, Warren wouldn’t like it.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, for starters, the case would be pulled from him. CID would take over. He likes nothing more than breaking a big case. Helps him when he goes to get budget increases for us. And he’d look like an idiot for not making the connection before. Four deaths is a lot to explain away.’
‘I suppose …’
Irvine flipped through the files, checking the locations of the deaths and anything else that might link them. They were all within a five-mile radius, but that didn’t mean much. Glasgow wasn’t a big city, really. And drugs were prevalent in the deprived council estates, many of them bounding one another. So there was nothing unusual about them being that close.
Armstrong watched her in silence, content to let her work through it on her own.
So far as Irvine could tell, there didn’t seem to be a family connection between any of the victims and none of them were reputed to have any gang affiliations.
Two men: thirty-one and twenty-three.
One woman: twenty-four.
And the girl this morning – Joanna. Irvine couldn’t think of her as a woman.
So young.
Irvine closed the files and stifled a yawn.
‘You should head home,’ Armstrong told her. ‘You’ve done well to get up to speed on all of this in one day. There’s plenty more to do tomorrow.’
‘I want to be ready for it.’
‘You are. What else is there for you to do today?’
‘Just feels like we should do something, you know?’
‘Listen, we’re both exhausted. Can’t work at your best like that. And I thought that maybe you’d like to go home.’
‘I do. It’s just …’
‘What?’
How much to tell this guy?
‘I got divorced not long ago,’ she said. ‘Last year. And I went through … some other stuff. A friend of mine got killed.’
Armstrong frowned.
‘It was a difficult time and I didn’t work much. The boss was good about it, you know.’
‘And now you want to make up for lost time. Is that it?’
‘Maybe. I just know that since I came back I’ve been dealing with the usual crap this city throws up on a daily basis. Robberies and fights and everything else. And the one murder on my desk is at a dead end.’
‘Hey, I get it,’ Armstrong said. ‘We all feel like that sometimes. But you’re tired. Go get some rest and we can start again tomorrow.’
Irvine sighed.
‘You’re right,’ she said, not looking at him.
‘Plus, a good sleep, a shower and a shave and I’ll be brand new.’
He jutted his chin out.
‘I need to make a call first,’ Irvine said.
She stacked the case files on top of one another and Armstrong walked out into the hall to give her some privacy.
Irvine called Logan. She told him that she’d be late and could he pick Connor up from the childminder. He said sure.
‘That your husband?’ Armstrong asked, coming back in from the hall.
‘No.’
‘But you have a kid?’
Irvine didn’t feel like having a getting-to-know-you conversation right now. Not after what she’d seen today.
‘No offence, Kenny. But can we save this till later?’
He tilted his head as he looked at her and nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘It’s not you.’
‘Don’t sweat it.’
Armstrong pulled his jacket on. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift,’ he said.
Irvine looked at the new files on her desk.
Four more deaths. It seemed never ending.