Freya leaned forward. ‘Celeste, how did you and Emma meet? Had you known each other long?’
‘We were at university together – Edinburgh, studying law. Lost touch after graduation, but then we bumped into each other about two years ago at a conference. We were both working in Edinburgh, and Emma was looking for someone to share a place with outside the city.’ Celeste smiled sadly. ‘I’d grown up in Dalgety Bay and knew it was perfect for commuters. Emma loved the idea of seaside living. We needed each other. She moved in when she got a job in Dunfermline. She loved being back this side of the water.’
‘Was Emma dating anyone recently? Any romantic relationships we should know about?’
‘She’d been seeing someone casually – James, a solicitor from another firm. But it wasn’t serious, and they’d actually stopped seeing each other about a month ago. No drama, just mutual agreement that it wasn’t going anywhere.’
Brodie made more notes, his mind racing with the implications of what they’d learned. Emma Richardson was the niece of Mark Finlay, the biochemist who’d died four years ago after becoming suspicious about deaths connected to The Embalmer case.
‘Celeste, I need to ask you something important,’ Brodie said. ‘Did Emma ever mention anything about her uncle’s death being suspicious? Any doubts about the official cause?’
‘No, never. Why would she? He had a heart attack – sudden, but not exactly unusual for a man his age under stress.’ Celeste’s eyes widened. ‘You’re not suggesting his death was connected to Emma’s, are you?’
‘We’re exploring all possibilities,’ Brodie said carefully. ‘Can you think of anyone who might have known about Emma’s connection to Dr Finlay? Anyone she’d told about her uncle?’
‘Everyone knew. She was proud of him and talked about him often. Her colleagues at work, our friends, people at the gym – Emma never made a secret of how much Uncle Mark meant to her.’
Freya closed her notebook. ‘Is there anything else you can think of that might be relevant? Any unusual phone calls, strange encounters, anything that seemed out of place in the days before Emma disappeared?’
Celeste was quiet for a moment, thinking. ‘Actually, there was one thing. Last Tuesday, Emma came home from work looking puzzled about something. A man had approached her in the car park, asking if she was related to Dr Mark Finlay.’
‘Did she describe this man?’
‘Middle-aged, well dressed, claimed to be a former colleague of Uncle Mark’s. Said he’d recognised her from a photograph on Mark’s desk years ago.’ Celeste frowned. ‘Emma thought it was odd because Uncle Mark had died four years ago. Why would someone recognise her now from an old photograph?’
‘What did Emma tell him?’
‘Just confirmed that Mark was her uncle. The man said he’d worked with Mark on some research projects and had always wondered what happened to his family. Seemed harmless enough, but it bothered Emma.’
‘Did he give a name?’
‘If he did, Emma didn’t mention it to me. She said the whole encounter felt strange, but she couldn’t understand why.’
Brodie and Freya exchanged another glance. Someone had been asking about Emma’s connection to Mark Finlay just days before her murder – someone who’d known enough about Finlay to recognise his niece from an old photograph.
‘Celeste, this is very important,’ Brodie said. ‘If you remember anything else about this encounter – any detail Emma mentioned, however small – please contact us immediately.’
As they prepared to leave, Celeste walked them to the door. ‘Chief Inspector, do you really think Emma’s death is connected to Uncle Mark? After four years?’
‘It’s early days in the investigation,’ Brodie replied. ‘But I want you to be very careful. If someone approached Emma because of her connection to Dr Finlay, they might also know about you.’
After leaving the flat, Brodie and Freya silently walked to their car. The connection between Emma Richardson and Mark Finlay changed everything about the case.
‘This wasn’t a random selection by The Embalmer – this was a targeted killing,’ Freya said.
‘You’re right. Maybe Mark Finlay wasn’t so wrong after all.’
14
Dr Gabriel Kane sat in the secure interview room of the Royal Edinburgh Hospital, waiting with the patience of a man with nowhere else to be. Two orderlies flanked the door – standard protocol for Category A prisoners, though Kane had never shown any inclination towards violence during his three years of incarceration. He was too intelligent for crude displays of aggression, preferring the subtler weapons of psychological manipulation.
The knock on the door was soft, tentative. Kane smiled slightly as Ruth Campbell entered the room.
‘Dr Kane,’ she said, settling into the chair opposite him. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’ They were in a room furnished with living room chairs, designed to be more informal once the doctor trusted the patient a bit more. However, Kane was seated in a chair that deliberately sank quite a bit, making it harder for someone to leap out of it.
The two orderlies stood at the door, keeping an eye on things, ready to jump all over the older man.
‘Doctor Campbell. Or may I call you Ruth?’ Kane’s voicecarried the same cultured Edinburgh accent that had once reassured his victims. ‘I must say, I was intrigued by your request. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.’
