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‘Is that what you’ve been discussing with far-right groups abroad?’ Dan consulted his notes. ‘Generation Identity in France and the New Reichsfolk in Germany?’
Saltire said nothing. He adjusted the cuffs of his Harris Tweed jacket then sat regarding Dan, a slight smile playing beneath the blond moustache.
‘Neither of these are banned organisations,’ Ross Balfour interjected. ‘What exactly is it that my client can help you with, Detective Constable?’ he added, pointedly consulting the time on his phone.
Dan cleared his throat and opened a second folder. ‘The body of a man was found on the motorway late on Sunday night. He was beaten, tortured and dumped by the Welcome to Scotland sign. It’s possible he was a non-UK national, here unofficially. Your client is quoted as saying, “The borders of Scotland shall be defended by all means necessary.” Is this what he meant?’ Dan laid the post-mortem photographs out on the table. ‘Perhaps you recognise him? Is this the work of the Sons of Scotia?’
Saltire picked up one of the photographs, a close-up of the victim’s smashed face. He studied it dispassionately before tossing it back on the pile. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
Shona rested her elbows on the table and returned Saltire’s cool gaze. Eventually she said, ‘On Saturday, you handed me a Sons of Scotia leaflet setting out your aims.’ She took the leaflet bearing the marching men beneath the Scottish flag from her notebook and laid it on the table among the photographs. ‘When the time comes, do the right thing, you said. Was that because you knew this killing was being planned? Were you hinting that I should look the other way?’
‘I’ll tell you what happened.’ Saltire leaned forward, stabbing the images on the table with his index finger. ‘It’s obvious. An illegal immigrant falls out with a criminal gang. Maybe he didn’t pay them enough, so they dumped him, leaving the taxpayers to clear up the mess. This is nothing to do with my organisation. Why are the police wasting time and resources on this?’
‘Do you mean this interview or this crime?’ Shona snapped back. ‘Are you saying that a falling-out of thieves is no crime, particularly if the thieves are foreigners? Just let them cancel each other out? You and I have very different ideas of the right thing. It’s my job to uphold the law. Justice is blind, it doesn’t discriminate by the colour of your skin.’
‘I’m saying, my party are saying, this is exactly why we need to keep these people out,’ Saltire replied. ‘Now if there’s nothing else…’
‘There is something else,’ Shona said. ‘You claim not to know this man?’ Saltire nodded. Shona continued, ‘Ever see him in the company of Isla?’
Saltire stared at her. ‘What has this to do with Isla?’
‘Their deaths share certain features. Would you know if they were friends? Lovers perhaps? That would be a powerful motive to someone with your views, wouldn’t it? Quite a humiliation, your ex, former drug addict, alleged mother of your child,’ she carefully emphasised. ‘Taking up with an immigrant, illegal or otherwise. The media and your political opponents would love that.’
Saltire reddened, balling his fists.
‘Where were you the night before last?’ Shona continued. She’d seen Saltire had a temper at their first encounter. Getting him rattled was their agreed strategy. Dan turned a page in his notebook, a list of supplementary questions ready.
The solicitor began to intervene, but Saltire held up his hand to stop him. ‘Let me make one thing clear, DI Oliver.’ He smiled tightly, quickly recovering his composure. A useful skill for a politician, or a criminal. Shona watched the red tinge of ire fade from his pale skin. ‘Times are changing. Scotland is changing,’ he continued. ‘The Sons of Scotia have enough public support to press our message through legitimate means, through social media campaigning and the mainstream political process. We don’t need to go around killing people to get what we want.’ In his confident smile she saw the sickening truth of his statement. ‘As for Isla Corr, she made her own decisions. She was a former friend I tried to help. That help was rejected.’
‘You haven’t answered my question. Can you account for your movements around midnight the night before last?’
Slipping his phone from his pocket her gave her a pitying look. ‘Oh Shona, don’t you read the news?’ Scrolling through, he held up a BBC Scotland website story detailing a speech Saltire had made at a business dinner in Glasgow that evening. The list of attendees included a former Lord Provost of Glasgow, a member of the Scottish Parliament and Shona’s favourite celebrity businessman Kenny Hanlon. ‘It started at eight p.m. and I was there until around one a.m. I stayed at Ross’s flat.’ He indicated his solicitor next to him, who nodded. ‘We had a brunch appointment in the city next morning and I caught the train home afterwards.’
‘How did we not know this?’ Shona fumed as they left the interview. Dan followed her into the stairwell where she threw her notebook onto the window ledge and stood staring out at the traffic moving silently along the relief road. Below she saw Saltire patting his solicitor on the back as they got into their car.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dan stammered. ‘I should have checked. If you want me off the case…’
Shona shook her head. ‘No, don’t be daft. It’s just as much my fault as yours.’ She sighed. ‘You know, Duncan Saltire is, without doubt, a rancid bawbag of a man, but I hate to admit it, I don’t think he’s our killer.’
‘A rancid bawbag…’
‘It’s a technical term we use in Scotland for…’
‘It’s okay, I get the picture. Very appropriate.’ Dan grinned. ‘But why do you think he’s not involved?’
‘Apart from the alibi?’ She shook her head. ‘He’s just too… fastidious. He’s all about control, and these deaths are messy, unpredictable. If these are vigilante killings by the Sons of Scotia, Isla is too close to Saltire, we were bound to make the connection. I can see the rationale for targeting an ethnic group. Asylum seekers, people who are already demonised by the right-wing media. But why kill a young mother, even if she was an addict? Big risk of a public backlash.’
‘What about a breakaway group?’ Dan asked.
‘I’ve checked the intel on any current alt-right terror campaign in Scotland and there’s nothing. I think if Saltire knew of anything, he’d be pointing us in that direction, hoping we’d take out his competition.’
‘So, you don’t think the deaths are connected?’
‘Oh, I do think they’re connected, I just can’t put my finger on why,’ she said, frustrated. ‘Let’s think about motive. No evidence that it’s sexual. Neither victim was wealthy, so not robbery or ransom. So, if it’s not sex, money, ethnic background, what is the connection? That’s what we need to find.’ She paused, turning the question over in her mind. ‘How did you get on with Jamie Buckland?’
Dan let out a long breath. ‘He admitted he knew Isla, that they’d been friends, but denied they had much contact now beyond the odd accidental meeting in a bar. My PCSOs have her photo and we’ve done the neighbours, but nobody wanted to speak to us. It’s that kind of area.’
‘We still don’t know what she was doing with her time,’ said Shona. ‘Kate couldn’t find any social media for her. Isla Corr was claiming benefits, but gave her old address and beyond fortnightly job seeker interviews she doesn’t pop up anywhere.’
