Perfect Prey: The twisty new crime thriller that will keep you up all night. Helen Fields

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       Chapter Twelve

      By the time Callanach and Salter reached the McDonald Road library to the north of Edinburgh city centre, Ailsa was outside waiting for them, eyes on her watch.

      ‘I wasn’t sure you’d be at work today,’ she said, greeting Callanach with a pat on the shoulder. ‘Is it sore?’

      ‘Haven’t noticed it,’ Callanach lied, looking up over the building’s exterior.

      ‘I do like a bit of creative stoicism,’ Ailsa smiled. ‘I’ll be down in the cellar seeing what sort of shape the crime scene is in. Meet me down there, and don’t be too long about it. My clients may not be able to complain, but I still don’t appreciate keeping them waiting.’

      The library was a stunning old three-storey construction, with a round turret on the corner. ‘None of the windows were broken and no locks were forced. The ground level doors were alarmed. So how did the killer get in?’ Callanach asked Salter.

      ‘Maybe they hid,’ Salter said. ‘Waited until everyone else was out and then reappeared.’

      They walked past the police officers still protecting the crime scene, ducked the crime scene tape, and entered. Callanach studied the layout with fresh eyes. Beyond the front door was a foyer with a staircase to the right leading up to community rooms. The door past the stairs led into a large studio area. Straight ahead was the central section of the library. Extraordinarily light, with architectural glass ceilings and tables for reading and working, the main body of the library had notices that proclaimed the watchful eyes of its CCTV system. Callanach called over one of the CSIs working onsite.

      ‘What’s the last you found of Michael Swan on the CCTV?’ Callanach asked.

      ‘I can show you,’ she said, opening up a laptop. A fuzzy black and white picture came into view. ‘This is the victim here. He leaves the central library room from the staff area and walks towards the front doors. We’re assuming that was him intending to leave for the night.’

      ‘Run it back a bit,’ Callanach said. The footage reversed for a couple of seconds at high speed and Callanach hit the space bar to stop it. ‘Play it from here.’

      Michael Swan could be seen from the camera at the rear of the main room walking towards the staff area at the right-hand side of frame. He paused once, turned his head. Walked out of frame, then came straight back, walking out towards the main doors. The latter part was the shot they’d watched initially.

      ‘He’s not carrying anything,’ Salter said.

      ‘Actually, if you look carefully you’ll see he has his keys in his hand when he walks back across. That’s what makes it obvious that he’s about to leave,’ the CSI said, sighing as she spoke.

      ‘How often do you leave work after a whole day with nothing in your hands?’ Salter responded.

      ‘It’s summer,’ the technician replied, brushing hair out of her eyes and adopting a tone of voice midway between stroppy and defensive. ‘He hardly needs a coat. I don’t see how this is evidentially important.’

      Salter clearly had more to say. She looked at Callanach before continuing. It wasn’t like her to get involved in an argument, but he could see she wasn’t done yet.

      ‘Have you had another member of the library staff show you Mr Swan’s personal effects?’ Salter asked, ignoring the challenge and following her own line of thought.

      ‘Of course. There’s the usual work paraphernalia, mugs, pens, notes, a book he was in the middle of reading. Some other random personal correspondence. We’ve followed procedure. Everything’s been bagged and tagged.’

      ‘Could we see it, please?’ Salter asked. The tech called a uniformed officer over, who promptly disappeared then returned with a large clear plastic bag containing several other smaller plastic bags, each containing a single item. Every bag had a label with a unique reference number, time, date and location on it. Callanach and Salter looked through each one.

      ‘Here,’ Salter said, holding up one particular bag with a thick piece of card, bearing gold leaf edging and italic printing. Michael Swan’s name was written in pride of place. Salter read it out. ‘“You are hereby invited to attend Edinburgh City’s Community Achievement Awards.” This was being held the morning after his death. And it says very clearly that the invitation must be produced at the door for entry.’

      The tech officer had stopped looking stroppy and was fiddling with her laptop instead.

      ‘So he forgot it,’ she snapped.

      ‘I don’t think so,’ Salter addressed Callanach directly. ‘His wife told us he’d been looking forward to that. It would have been on his mind all day. I don’t believe he was ready to leave when he went towards the door.’

      Salter rewound the CCTV footage again and hit play.

      ‘You СКАЧАТЬ