Chapter Nine
DCI James looked at the white board with two photographs of the blood-soaked body stuck to it and the names of John Duncan and Veronica Cahill written in blue erasable ink. He took a sip from a steaming mug and stared at another name: Rudolf Lehmann. He turned to DS Mitchell and DC McAllister who were sitting at their desks. “Okay, what have we got? A body which the Pathologists report says has no wounds, no bruising. But has a fractured skull, a crushed brain and massive blood loss–most of which was splattered around the walls of John Duncan’s living room.
He took another sip from his mug. “Mr Duncan comes back from a night with Miss Cahill and finds the main lock of his front door unlocked. Entering the flat he finds the body of Rudolf Lehmann on his living room carpet. Nothing stolen; nothing damaged apart from the CD player, which was knocked over. The fingerprints in the flat apart from the victims belong to John Duncan and Veronica Cahill, who have an alibi, and his daughter Caitlin. So what do we draw from this?”
“That the victim used keys to enter the flat and was waiting for Mr Duncan, replied Colin.
“But what happened to him between entering the property and Duncan finding his body?” Dave Mitchell asked.
Gordon James walked over to the window. “Rudolf Lehmann–a small time thief from Stuttgart - comes over to Scotland to harass and, we suppose, ultimately kill John Duncan.”
“The German police say he’s a neo-Nazi sympathizer, but not a member of any group–as far as they are aware.” Dave said as he rose and headed for the bubbling coffee pot.
DCI James turned and looked at Dave Mitchell. “The pathology report said the victim had traces of red paint on his hands; so he must have painted the swastika on the door on the Saturday night. He then returns the next night to murder Duncan. But why paint the swastika on the door the night before he plans to return and confront him?
“Hey boss, the boys a nutter, sounds like he was capable of anything!” Mitchell said as he filled up his mug.
“Colin, what did the neighbours have to say?” asked James.
“The woman downstairs, a Mrs Spink, says she heard thumps and shouts on Sunday night at around nine, but just thought it was Duncan and a few friends. She heard nothing the night before. I tried the flat upstairs, but there was no reply. Mr Duncan reckons the couple who stay there are away on holiday.”
“Okay,” announced James, “what about the murder itself?”
“The victim swung round at high speed from a pivotal point,” said Colin.
“I had a word with the pathologist about this and he reckons that there’s no way that humans could rotate a body at such a rate as to cause these injuries in the confines of the apartment’s living room. If it were possible, you would need two perhaps three strong men, and there was supposedly no one else in the flat. Anyway, there would be bruising on the legs where the victim was gripped, and the report said there was nothing.” Mitchell said as he sat down behind his desk.
DCI James stroked his chin. “It’s puzzling okay! Mr Duncan and his visions are the key to this though. Dave, you’d better have another talk with him, see if there’s anything else he’s remembered.”
Johnny put the tin of apple-white matt emulsion on the coffee table and sized up his living room walls. The walls looked grubby after the blood had been washed.
“Well, let’s get started,” said Veronica taking a roller out of its wrapping.
“Just what I like: a keen woman!”
She laughed and poked his arm. “Don’t push your luck painter-boy.”
He moved the settee and stared at the place where the body had been. The rug had been taken away, and the carpet cleaned, but the memory was still there, nothing could wash that away.
“You sure you want to stay here John?”
“Yeah of course. Where else would I stay?”
“You could stay with me at the guest house for now.”
“Let’s get on with the painting,” he said, opening the tin.
They were halfway around the room when the doorbell rang. Johnny wiped his hands and opened the door.
“Detective Sergeant, come in man.”
Dave Mitchell followed Johnny through to the living room and nodded to Veronica.
“Good idea: painting the walls. I take it you're staying on then.”
“Like I said to Veronica: where else would I go?”
“I need a few minutes of your time.”
“I need a break, anyway. Veronica can carry on though,” he said laughing.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” she said as she threw the roller onto its tray.
Johnny sat on a chair and signalled for DS Mitchell to sit on the settee.
“The victim was a German national: Rudolf Lehmann. Does the name ring any bells?”
“No.”
“We can’t figure out how this guy was killed. I mean there was no one else in the flat. The only fingerprints found were his, yours, Miss Cahill’s and your daughter's.”
“I heard you took Caitlin’s fingerprints?”
“Well, we had too. Her mother wasn’t thrilled, but it’s a murder investigation.”
“That’s who I heard it from - loud and clear!”
Veronica handed the two men steaming mugs of coffee and then sat on the other chair.
“Could the murderers have worn gloves?” Johnny asked.
“There were no other DNA traces found. And if several men were involved, there would have been bruising on the victims legs which, according to the pathologist, there wasn’t.”
“Yeah,” acknowledged Johnny scratching his head.
“Another puzzling thing is why this German came over here to lie in wait for you. Is there anything that maybe you’ve forgotten?”
“Well, I was thinking of that and there were a few crank emails I received. One in particular from a group called The Friends of Judas.”
The detective wrote the name in his note book. “When did you receive the email and do you still have it?”
Johnny took a sip from his mug and then placed it on the coffee table. “I received the first last Wednesday.”
“What, there was more than one?”
“Yeah, the first asked for a retraction, and the second came two days later saying as there had been no retraction retribution would be swift. I’m afraid I delete all emails after I’ve read them.”
“Okay, anything else?”
“No that’s it–I can’t think of anything of relevance.”
“Okay, thanks for your time and, happy painting,” the policeman said as he finished his coffee and then rose from the settee.
Chapter Ten
Dave Mitchell replaced the telephone receiver as DCI James walked into the room.
“Sir, bad news!”
“Is there any other kind?”
“John Duncan received nasty emails after the articles in the magazine and the newspaper. Two were from a group who call themselves The Friends of Judas. The second of them warned of retribution.”
“Could just be a lunatic. Did you trace the email?”
Dave ran a hand down the back of his head. “Nah! Duncan deletes all his emails. I contacted German Police, and they’d never heard of them. They did, however, have news on Lehmann. He had connection with De Fortschrittsbewegung Drei–The Progressive Movement Three a neo-Nazi group led by a man called Johannes Menzel who claims to be descended from Hitler himself through an illegitimate daughter. The Deutsche copper said if Lehmann was their hit man, then whoever killed him, taking into account there was no weapon used, must have either taken him by surprise or there were a few of them, because he’s been arrested a few times and the arresting officers still have the scars and bruises.”
“What has our friend Mr Duncan brought to this patch?”
“They could try to finish the job sir!”
“Yeah, you’d better contact Duncan and warn him. We can offer a higher profile uniform patrol down Guthrie Port, but that’s all.”