Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(33)

‘Christ, have you moved in here?’ said Valentine.

McAlister glanced around him. ‘It’s tidier than my flat, sir.’

‘I dread to think what Chez Ally looks like then. You must live in a bloody sewer.’

He raised his arm and sniffed at his armpits. ‘Do I smell that bad?’

Valentine didn’t reply. He walked towards the pile of box files on the floor and crouched down. ‘Anything of use here?’

McAlister scratched his stubbled chin as he spoke. ‘Don’t know where to begin really. Yes and no might be a good answer to that question. Perhaps more yes than no.’

‘Come on then, spill the beans.’

The DS tapped a pile of files with the toe of his shoe. ‘That’s the possibles pile . . .’

Valentine cut in. ‘The what?’

‘Possibles, sir. As in, possibly our missing boys, but not very likely.’

‘OK. And the rest?’

McAlister motioned towards a smaller pile. ‘Plausibles, sir. Slightly more believable than the possibles but not as hot as’—he knelt down beside the DI and tapped at a thin pile of files—‘the most likely cases. That’s this pile, and it’s pretty slim pickings, as you can see.’

Valentine took a file from the top of the largest pile and stood up. It was difficult to read in the basement, the dim glow of the bulbs requiring some adjustment of the eyes. ‘How can you read down here?’

‘It’s not easy.’

‘How far are you from a definitive list, Ally? I mean, do I have to move a Z bed down here for you?’

McAlister shook his head. ‘I’m just about done, sir. Really just double-checking I haven’t missed anything.’

‘So this little lot’ – he motioned to the floor – ‘is what we have to go on?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Right. I want the pick of your three piles upstairs within the hour. Is that doable?’

‘I don’t see why not. I can always return if we don’t get anything. That will need some serious excavation though. I think I’ve got all that’s graspable. I mean, what’s easy to lay hands on.’

‘OK, Ally. Upstairs in an hour.’ Valentine headed for the door and left the DS to sort out his findings. Back at his desk he checked his email account and found there was new mail from Davie Purves. The wording of the email was typically laconic, but an attachment promised more information.

Valentine clicked on the file.

As the document opened up it appeared to be some kind of a scan. It was on headed notepaper and typed with an old typewriter ribbon. As Valentine zoomed in on the header he saw it was House of Commons notepaper and immediately drew a sharp breath.

‘Christ above, Davie.’ Purves had supplied the MP’s character statement on Garry Keirns from 12 October 1988.

Andrew Lucas was the siting MP for Carrick, Cumnock and Doon Valley in ’88, a Labour man, but not one that Valentine had any knowledge of. His interest in politics at that time was minimal, his interest in individual politicians verging on miniscule. His father, the ex-miner, had viewed them all with disdain, and his opinions had been transmitted, unfiltered, to his son.

The DI read the letter from Lucas, homing in on individual phrases: community minded; hard-working; asset to the town and district; no hesitation in endorsing this young man of the strongest character and utmost sensibility.

‘I see why you got off, Garry.’

Valentine took the letter into the incident room and pinned it on the board.

‘What’s that?’ said McCormack, looking up.

‘Read it and weep.’

The DS rose from her desk and approached the board. It took her less than a minute to see through the missive. ‘Is this Lucas having a laugh?’

‘Doesn’t ring true to our Garry Keirns, does it?’

‘Not one iota. Jesus, makes you wonder what Keirns was paying him.’

DS Donnelly’s interest was stirred by the latest addition to the board. He was pushing back his chair as DS McAlister walked in the room. ‘By the holy . . . Robinson Crusoe returns!’

‘Right, everyone,’ yelled Valentine. ‘Can I have your attention round here? Ally has some interesting discoveries to pass on.’

‘I hope this is a demonstration of how to light a fire with two sticks,’ said Donnelly. ‘I always wondered how to do that.’

McAlister grimaced as he placed the files on the table under the whiteboard.

‘Fire away, son,’ said Valentine. ‘Sorry, you know what I mean.’

The DS constructed his three piles in front of the team. ‘Right, I’ll try to keep this simple, for the likes of Phil.’

‘Funny,’ said Donnelly.

McAlister continued. ‘The cold cases we have downstairs from the early to mid-eighties are all a bit of a jumble, but there are a few of interest. I separated those into the possible, plausible and most likely.’

‘Which is the big pile, Ally?’ said McCormack.

‘Our least likely, I’m afraid. That one consists of cases from throughout the country with ties to Cumnock and Ayrshire. We had two prominent serial killers operating at this time and one was a lorry driver whose regular route took him through Cumnock, almost weekly.’