Chapter 13
Freya was waiting for him in her car and got out when Brodie parked beside her.
‘What do we know about the flatmate, sir?’ Freya asked as she approached him.
‘Celeste Montgomery, twenty-nine, works as an accountant with a firm in the New Town,’ Brodie replied, checking his notes. ‘She’s the one who reported Emma Richardson missing when she didn’t come home on Friday night.’
‘How long had they been living together?’
‘About eighteen months, according to the initial report.’
The flat was in a modern development overlooking the Forth, one of those purpose-built complexes that had sprung up along the Fife coast to attract young professionals who worked in Edinburgh but preferred seaside living. Brodie pressed the intercom button marked Montgomery/Richardson and waited.
‘Yes?’ The voice was cautious, with the kind of wariness from three days of dealing with police questions and media attention.
‘Ms Montgomery? DCI Brodie and DS Munro.’
The door buzzed open, and they climbed two stairs to a landing where a woman was waiting for them.
Celeste Montgomery was tall and slim, with short auburn hair and the pale complexion of someone who’d been crying recently.
She wore a black sweater and jeans, practical clothes that suggested she’d taken time off work.
‘Chief Inspector Brodie? Please, come in.’
The flat was tastefully furnished in the kind of neutral colours which Brodie thought seemed to appeal to professional women in their twenties.
The living room had large windows that looked out over the Forth towards Edinburgh, and everything was clean and organised, indicating two people who took pride in their living space.
‘Thank you for seeing us,’ Brodie said as they settled onto a cream-coloured sofa. ‘I know this is a difficult time.’
‘I still can’t believe she’s gone.’ Celeste’s voice was steady, but her hands shook slightly as she poured tea from a pot that looked like it had been sitting cold for some time.
‘Emma was… she was the most careful person I knew. She always checked that the doors were locked and told people where she was going. It doesn’t make sense that something like this could happen to her. ’
Freya took out her notebook. ‘Can you tell us about Friday evening? When did you last see Emma?’
‘She left for work that morning around eight thirty, same as always. She was a solicitor with Henderson & Associates in Dunfermline – corporate law, nothing dangerous or controversial. We’d made plans to meet some friends at The Dome around nine, so I expected her home by seven to get ready.’
‘What happened when she didn’t return?’
Celeste’s composure wavered slightly. ‘I waited until half past seven, then started calling her mobile. It went straight to voicemail. Maybe she’d been held up at work – it happened sometimes when they had a big deal closing.’
‘Did you contact her office?’
‘I called her boss, Mr Henderson, around six thirty. He said Emma had left around six at her usual time and seemed perfectly normal. Maybe a bit tired, but nothing unusual.’ Celeste reached for a tissue. ‘That’s when I started to worry. Emma was never late without calling.’
Freya made notes as she spoke. ‘What did you do next?’
‘I called our friends, cancelled our plans, then spent the rest of the evening calling everyone we knew. Nobody had heard from her. I must have called her mobile fifty times, but it just went to voicemail.’
‘When did you report her missing?’
‘Saturday morning, first thing. I went to the local police station, but they said I had to wait forty-eight hours unless there were special circumstances. They took my details and said to return on Monday if she hadn’t turned up, which I did.
’ Celeste’s voice turned bitter. ‘I thought I was being silly. Maybe she met a man and stayed out.’
Freya looked up from her notes. ‘Did Emma have any regular routines? Places she went, people she met?’
‘She was very structured. She worked Monday to Friday in Dunfermline, went to the gym on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. We usually did our grocery shopping together on Thursday nights.’
‘Where did you shop?’
‘Asda in Dunfermline. It was convenient – good parking, stayed open late and Emma had a loyalty card there, so we got points for petrol.’
Brodie felt something click into place. ‘You shopped there this past Thursday?’
‘Yes, just after Emma got back from work. We needed basics – milk, bread and something for dinner. We probably spent forty minutes there, maybe an hour including the drive.’
‘Do you remember what time this was?’
‘We got there around seven thirty, I think. Had a quick shop, then came home and made pasta.’ Celeste frowned. ‘Why do you ask? Is it relevant?’
‘We’re just trying to establish Emma’s movements in her final days,’ Brodie said carefully. ‘Did either of you notice anything unusual during that shopping trip? Anyone watching you, following you, anything that seemed odd?’
‘Not that I remember. It was just a normal shop. Emma used the self-checkout while I got petrol, then we drove home.’ Celeste paused. ‘There was nothing unusual about it at all.’
Freya continued with the questioning. ‘Can you tell us about Emma’s family? People we should notify about her death? We’re trying to find a next of kin.’
Celeste’s expression grew even sadder. ‘There isn’t anyone, really. Emma’s parents were killed in a car crash when she was fifteen. A drunk driver hit them head-on coming home from a dinner party.’
‘No siblings? Grandparents?’
‘No siblings. Her grandparents had all died when she was young. Her uncle brought her up after the accident.’ Celeste reached for another tissue. ‘He was wonderful to her, really stepped up when she needed someone most.’
‘Is he still alive? We’ll need to inform him.’
‘No, he died about four years ago. Heart attack, very sudden. Emma was devastated – he was the only family she had left. Except for a cousin with whom she had no contact.’ Celeste’s voice grew warm with memory. ‘She absolutely adored him. Said he saved her life after her parents died.’
Brodie looked up from his notes. ‘What was her uncle’s name?’
‘Mark Finlay. Dr Mark Finlay. He was a biochemist at Ninewells Hospital in Dundee.’
The room seemed to go very quiet. Brodie exchanged a glance with Freya, who had stopped writing and was staring at her notebook.
‘Dr Mark Finlay,’ Brodie repeated slowly. ‘You’re certain about that?’
‘Of course I’m certain. Emma always talked about him, especially around the anniversary of his death.
She visited his grave every year. He was buried near his sister, Emma’s mum.
’ Celeste looked between them, clearly sensing that something significant had been said.
‘Why? Do you know something about Uncle Mark?’
Brodie chose his words carefully. ‘His name has come up in connection with our investigation. Can you tell us more about Emma’s relationship with him?’
‘He was everything to her after her parents died. Took her in, helped her through school, supported her through university. Emma said he was the kindest, most intelligent man she’d ever known.
’ Celeste’s voice carried genuine affection.
‘She was studying law partly because he’d encouraged her to think about helping people who couldn’t help themselves. ’
‘Did she ever mention him being involved in any police investigations? Any connection to The Embalmer case?’
Celeste shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that. As far as I know, he was a scientist, not involved in criminal matters. Though…’ She paused, thinking.
‘What?’
‘Emma did say that he had been under a lot of stress before he died. Working too hard, not sleeping well. She felt guilty about it afterwards, thought maybe she should have done more to help him.’
‘Did she say what was causing the stress?’
‘Work pressures, I think – research deadlines, funding issues, the usual academic problems. Emma visited him a few weeks before he died, and she said he seemed distracted, preoccupied with something. But he wouldn’t talk about it.’
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.’