A Deviant Breed (DCI Alec Dunbar series) Read online

  Should the Justice Minister, Lawrie Minto and the top landing of the newly formed national force embrace his ethos for the proposed NHSCU and, should he secure one of the DCI posts on it, he would enjoy even more of a freehand. It was the main reason he had allowed Terry Watt to shuffle such a laborious task, earmarked for his boss’s personal attention, on to him. Were they to adopt Alec Dunbar’s protocols, officers of Watt’s rank and above would be consigned purely to the role of overseers, while he and his counterparts handled the dirty business of gathering evidence as well as the fun part – targeting, chasing down and arresting the bad guys.

  In truth, the job was hard enough without having to look over your shoulder and to date Dunbar had not felt like he needed to, at least not yet. Terry Watt was ambitious enough to be a threat of course but he retained a healthy respect for his DCI’s talents. For that reason Alec Dunbar was reasonably confident that he could rely on the man’s support on those occasions that he went off piste, as Watt liked to put it. And as it was, Dunbar’s clear-up rate compared favourably with any other DCI in the country. His stats earned him a degree of leeway, albeit, unofficially.

  Dunbar was relatively pleased with the team he had been able to assemble, with one notable exception, DI Briony Tyler. Having previously only ever seen her from a distance or from behind, she was even easier on the eye at close quarters, as evidenced by the knowing looks most of the men in the room shared as she took her place – able detective or unnecessary distraction? Only time would tell.

  At least he had secured the services of two reliable and experienced Detective Sergeants, Neil Conroy and Sean Faulkner. The two sergeants complemented each other in much the same way Watt and Dunbar did; Conroy, a born administrator and Faulkner, or Falk as everyone knew him, the tenacious thief-taker. Falk had presence and stature; a hard working and hard hitting ex-Royal Marine. Cops and criminals alike respected Falk or very quickly learned to. Sure, he was a bit of a loose cannon, that said, show Alec Dunbar a cop who always ‘went by the book’ and he would show you one that had done little worthy of note. By complete contrast Neil Conroy went about things at a much more sedate pace but what he lacked in energy he more than made up for in patience and persistence.

  ***

  Dunbar had not been sure what to expect but Professor Shelagh Geary was not it. A shambolic figure who, from appearances, bought her clothes at a poorly supported charity outlet; she certainly did not dress to impress. She looked as if she had just climbed out of a test trench. All that was missing was the ubiquitous, worn down trowel. Her mane of auburn hair perched precariously on one side of her head was held in place by a couple of biros and a ferocious looking comb that, in the wrong hands, could be utilised as an offensive weapon. Professor Geary nodded politely at the assembled police team and shuffled to the front rummaging the whole time through a huge multi-coloured, patchwork shoulder bag.

  ‘Professor Shelagh Geary –’ Terry Watt announced steering her to the front of the room. She offered a strained smile aimed at no one in particular and having finally found the pen she was searching for in her hair, turned to face them all, ‘– has kindly consented to brief you all on the background of this case.’

  ‘By that, I presume, Detective Inspector you mean –’ Geary began to say.

  ‘Detective Superintendent,’ Watt corrected, quietly but firmly.

  She nodded abruptly in acknowledgement of her mistake and commenced rummaging in her bag again, ‘Forgive me, I’m not au fait with your rank structure. On TV the detective in charge always seems to be an Inspector.’

  ‘TV cops are to policing as Indiana Jones is to archaeology, Professor,’ a voice over her left shoulder explained. Professor Geary turned to look in that direction.

  The husky timbre of his lowland Scot’s accent suited his appearance. She found herself staring into the eyes of a handsome if somewhat pugilistic face, particularly around the bridge of the nose and arc of his right eyebrow. It was a lived in face of practised impassivity that, on countless occasions she had no doubt, had experienced but restrained every emotion known to man. His crooked half smile was almost lost amongst his thick, drooping moustache and more closely-cropped, greying beard. All-in-all, he cut an impressive if unconventional figure for a senior detective. Athletically built and wearing a tailored, three piece tweed suit – with watch chain, she noted. A bit of rough, buffed and polished to suave urbanity was how he struck the forensically observant academic. By far the most unusual feature of his appearance though was the way he supported his right leg with a robust looking walking stick. Stylish affectation or out of necessity, she wondered.

  ‘Heaven forbid,’ she huffed, having located her small notebook.

  ‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Alec Dunbar the SIO.’

  Geary offered her hand and Dunbar took it. Years of scraping and scratching around amongst soil and a stone was etched into her skin. To the touch her hand reminded him of his grandpa’s; warm, dry and rough, very rough. In his early childhood, when Grandpa paid them a visit, he would catch young Alec by the face in his huge palms and plant a kiss on his forehead. It always felt as if someone had taken a rasp to his cheeks and a scrubbing brush to his scalp, so stiff was the old gillie’s moustache.

  ‘That acronym again – SIO?’ Professor Geary repeated, turning back to Terry Watt.

  ‘Err, sorry, yes, it stands for Senior Investigating Officer.’

  She scribbled a note, ‘ahh – of course. I’m also unfamiliar with police jargon, hence the notepad, Insp – err’ sorry, Superintendent,’ she explained before eyeing Watt quizzically, ‘senior? – But did you not say?’

  Now it was Terry Watt’s turn to blush as stifled titters rippled around the room. He scowled and scanned the team who immediately straightened their faces. ‘Aye, well, DCI Dunbar will run the enquiry – but I will oversee it,’ he explained, ‘and his 2i/c – sorry, second-in-command –’

  ‘That one I know. I have one of my own, Dr Sebastian Vasquez, you’ll probably bump into him at Braur Glen.’

  ‘I – I won’t, unless something goes awry,’ he explained, eyeing Dunbar, ‘which it won’t. The enquiry is in safe hands, aye, Alec and Detective Inspector Briony Tyler might meet the good Doctor but –’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t say he was good!’ she cut in. ‘Joking!’ she quickly added, ‘Seb’s invaluable, the Border Reivers era is his particular field of expertise, along with Celts and Picts and – ach, well I could go on but –’

  ‘DI Tyler,’ Watt said gesturing towards Briony.

  Professor Geary turned to greet her. Off-centre parted jet-black hair scraped back into a ponytail framed her pretty face. Wearing the barest minimum of expertly applied make-up but no more than was needed to accentuate nature’s gifts; the young DI radiated beauty. Tyler’s slim yet curvaceous shape was further complimented by the cut of her two-piece trouser suit. If ever a girl had it all, Geary thought, as she took Tyler’s hand.

  ‘Haven’t we met before, Inspector?’ she asked.

  Briony Tyler feigned surprise but Alec Dunbar recognised the imbalance between the quizzical expression and fleeting glimmer of recognition in her eyes. She in turn noticed that he had. Uncomfortably aware of his inquisitive gaze, Tyler turned away and faced the team.

  Many things betray a person’s emotions – especially guilt. You do not have to be looking into someone’s eyes to spot a lie when it’s being told – if you know what to look for and Alec Dunbar did. Briony Tyler had hesitated for a split second and thought about confirming but bit her tongue, opting to frown as if confused and shake her head instead. He also noted that her neck had turned red, which meant her face probably had too; hence she had turned away from him. Tyler knew that he had seen through her veil but why deny the professor? It could have a bearing on his inquiry and for that reason alone he must know but the briefing was not the time or place, so Dunbar filed a mental note of that intriguing encounter.

  Having been introduced, Professor Geary was sudde
nly aware of a tangible air of expectation. She scanned the team, took a breath and launched into the history of Braur Glen and the accompanying legend that had to be unpicked from the known facts before she could safely draw any conclusions about the site. They all listened patiently but Dunbar’s was being tested, so he gently steered her onto the subject of the skull.

  ‘Oh! Yes, well – your head without a body, which in itself would be curious enough were it not for the fact that until Plug, our born again digger,’ she chortled girlishly. ‘Sorry, in-house joke. Plug’s something of a latecomer to our discipline but has embraced it with the zeal of an evangelist. From roving homeless to roving archaeologist, quite a story in itself,’ she digressed. ‘Err, sorry. Plug, aka Peter Nairn actually discovered it. All we had up until then was bodies without heads – or to be more accurate, skeletal remains that lacked their skulls and one or two vertebrae to be precise. You can imagine how excited we all were, that is until it was noticed the skull had fillings in its teeth.’ She paused as if anticipating questions but none were forthcoming. The team already knew that. It was the very reason they had been assembled. Geary cleared her throat and continued, ‘There is however a common denominator, other than the fact they have been excavated in the same field. Early days but the forensic pathology indicates that our victims suffered a similar fate to your victim – execution by beheading!’

  ‘We haven’t established that for a fact yet, professor,’ Dunbar corrected.

  Geary conceded the point with a curt nod. ‘We have! When it comes to the condition of the skeletons I mean. The levels of violence are quite evident in the bones and I think that we can safely say that your victim was decapitated, Chief Inspector. The only issue yet to be resolved is whether it was pre or post-mortem.’

  Now it was his turn to concede a valid point, which he did, grudgingly.

  ‘Thank you, Professor. Rest assured, Alec and the team will get to the bottom of it,’ Watt chimed signalling that the briefing was over. The team returned to their stations as Watt steered her back out of the room. Just as Dunbar had suspected, the professor’s contribution, though illuminating from an historical perspective, was of little value to him or his team when it came to throwing any light on the how, when and why a twentieth century skull happened to be buried in the same place as her seventeenth century skeletons.

  2

  The incident room was up and running and everyone busy. Dunbar found Professor Geary deep conversation with Terry Watt.

  ‘I’ve been looking at my OS map, Professor. Braur Glen’s well off the beaten track.’

  ‘Indeed it is, a decent map is essential.’

  ‘Umm, not somewhere you’re likely to stumble across. You’d have to be following a planned route, looking for it I’d have thought – or maybe looking to bury something with the intention of it never being found.’

  ‘The Inglis Clan certainly didn’t choose it as their lair by accident, gentlemen. It was their ancestral home for many, many years, for that very reason and because the approach is difficult. Braur Glen is a natural redoubt surrounded by challenging terrain that was almost impossible to approach unseen and relatively easy to defend.’

  ‘Yet still it fell,’ Dunbar quipped with a smirk.

  ‘Before you interrupted, I was about to qualify that observation – hence it took quite a large, well equipped and determined military force to overcome them.’

  ‘Do you believe in coincidences, professor?’

  ‘Your skull, that site.’ She paused for thought before adding, ‘It would be an extraordinary fluke if it proved to be the case.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking. A place of ritual slaughter you called it.’

  ‘According to legend and the body count so far, together with the condition of the remains we’ve uncovered, certainly seems to lend weight to that claim.’

  ‘Legend? – Myth? – Old wives’ tales? – I thought you were a scientist, Professor.’

  Watt cleared his throat and flashed Dunbar a look. Professor Geary smiled.

  ‘I am, Chief Inspector,’ she answered curtly. ‘However, many a legend has its roots firmly planted in historical fact. I also have oral histories and some uncorroborated but compelling documentary evidence to go by, and of course, Archie English’s journals and his extraordinarily detailed research notes of his quite obsessive search for Obag’s Holm.’

  ‘This Archie English character, what’s he like then?’

  She hesitated and smiled knowingly, ‘Just that, a character.’

  ‘I was hoping for something a little less vague, Professor,’ Dunbar retorted, sensing he was going to enjoy testing his wits against the prickly academic.

  ‘Best you draw your own conclusions, Chief Inspector Dunbar. My particular field of expertise is with the dead not the living,’ she explained with a weary smile, ‘and the long dead at that.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he replied and with that she took her cue to leave. After a polite nod directed at Watt she turned about and headed for the exit.

  ‘Remembered where it is you know DI Tyler from yet?’

  Professor Geary stopped at the door and half turned. ‘Did she not say I was mistaken?’

  ‘She implied it – she didn’t say it.’

  ‘Perhaps I was then,’ Geary opened the door and made to leave.

  ‘Hers is not a face anyone would forget in a hurry.’

  ‘You would think not, quite striking.’ The professor allowed the heavy fire door to swing shut behind her with a thump.

  ‘Jesus, Alec, don’t rub the lass up the wrong way, you’re gonna’ be seein’ a lot of each other over the next few weeks,’ Watt chided, adding, ‘she’s been given permission to continue working other areas of the site.’

  Dunbar looked horrified by the news. ‘By who?’

  ‘HQ via Holyrood,’ Watt imparted the news with grim acceptance as he wafted the authority Geary had handed him before the briefing. ‘Something to do with the restricted digging season on account o’ unseasonable weather, the Professor said.’

  ‘Brilliant! Is this how it’s going to be under one banner – Holyrood dictating to our top brass how the job gets done?’

  ‘Plays well for the “Yes” campaign too, Alec mon. Evidence of yet another English slaughter, this time, of poor wee Border Scots, might well bring some voters doon off the fence.’ Watt smirked and headed for the exit.

  ‘Talking of politics, remind me again how it was that Briony landed that NCIS gig.’

  Dunbar had posed the question quite mischievously, knowing Terry Watt to be the biggest gossip in the senior officers’ mess. His boss stopped, turned and eyed him wearily but Dunbar could tell that he was eager. It was old news really, Tyler having been the subject of sexist speculation and tittle-tattle since her surprise appointment to the National Criminal Intelligence Service. He shuffled closer and lowered his voice.

  ‘Something to do with a paper she wrote for her Master’s degree.’ He looked around as if worried about being overheard. ‘One te watch, Alec. Her paper caught the eye of Lawrie Minto.’

  ‘And what perfect timing! Her pitch for a place on the much vaunted National Homicide and Serious Crime Unit more like.’

  ‘Which you have drafted; thus securing your own place on it no doubt.’

  ‘Not on light duties.’

  ‘Hence I got this gift horse saddled up for ye – and she’s raring to go?’

  ‘For the record – sir! I didn’t pitch for the job. You landed me with it.’

  Watt grinned. ‘Aye, there’s nae fathoming the workings o’ providence, eh Alec?’­­­

  Dunbar gave his boss a wry smile. It was the worst kept secret in the force that Briony Tyler’s secondment to NCIS had been secured by someone at the highest level, a career move in keeping with her fast-track promotion to the rank of inspector. When she returned to Edinburgh, again much to the chagrin of more experienced colleagues, she was granted a sabbatical to complete her Master’s. Briony Tyler was bein
g groomed to impress the movers-and-shakers of the fledgling national force – Police Scotland. Terry Watt was right, she was one to watch.

  ‘Caught the Justice Minister’s eye?’ Dunbar hissed sarcastically.

  ‘Administrative streaming of collation, co-ordination and prioritisation of national strategic intelligence-led policing initiatives.’ Watt could neither mask his contempt or lack of conviction. ‘Have ye no seen it? Ach! The sort o’ bullshit that gives the top landing and Holyrood a hard-on. I binned it before I got tae the bottom of the first page.’

  Dunbar knew it all right. Unlike Watt, he had read her paper from cover to cover. It was not without merit even if it was couched in that irritating language of policy wonks.

  ‘Just cos’ ye dinnae play the game, Alec, dinnae condemn those that do.’

  It always amused Dunbar how, when agitated, the Detective Superintendent’s hissy, rapid-fire, Fifer’s dialect came to the fore.

  ‘I don’t, but when the dice are loaded it’s, well she’s –’

  ‘As smart as a whip,’ his boss cut in impatiently, ‘and –’

  ‘Has a fantastic arse too, yes I’ve noticed, but –’

  ‘Don’t!’ Watt cautioned firmly. ‘I was going to say – is on the Chief’s radar.’

  ‘Not to mention the Justice Minister’s,’ Dunbar teased.

  ‘Look! The Chief personally signed off on her request for field experience in major criminal enquires – in particular, homicide investigation, so –’

  It did not need to be said; he understood all too well, he had no say in the matter. ‘She’s got more letters after her name than she has in it.’

  ‘Aye, and with the likes o’ the Chief and Lawrie Minto in her corner you’d better mind your Ps and Qs.’

  Dunbar looked back to see her chatting amiably with his two sergeants. ‘Clever undoubtedly, bound for the top? – More than likely, but one thing’s for sure she’s never been measured by anything she’s done on the streets or in the field.’