Who killed schoolgirl Caroline Glachan? - BREAKING NEWS - 3 arrests - Could the case have finally been solved?

 UPDATED: - November 25th, 2021 

2 MEN AND A WOMAN HELD IN CUSTODY CHARGED WITH CAROLINE'S MURDER 

Donna Brand, Andrew Kelly and Robert O'Brien are alleged to have killed Caroline Glachan more than 25 years ago. 

When they allgedly murdered the 14 year-old schoolgirl, they would have been 17, 16 and 18. A postmortem on vivacious Caroline showed she was alive when she was dumped in the water. 

I never knew Caroline but I often think about her and the terror she suffered in her final moments. It makes me both sad and angry so imagine how those who loved her feel?

Hopefully, Caroline and her family will finally get justice at last. 

Read more here 

Caroline had her life stolen from her 

Twenty-two long years ago, on Sunday 25 August 1996, 14-year-old schoolgirl Caroline Glachan was found dead on the water’s edge of the River Leven near Bonhill, Dunbartonshire in Scotland.

One of the last people to see Caroline alive was her friend Joanne Menzies. Caroline left Joanne and a group of friends at some shops just before midnight. She was going to meet her boyfriend in nearby Renton which was a mile away.

She never made it. She took a shortcut through the woods.

What happened next nobody knows.  

Where the teen's lifeless body was found

She was found dead on the banks of the River Leven in Dunbartonshire. She'd been badly beaten and possibly drowned. It wasn't clear if she was dead or alive when she'd ended up in the water. She could have been unconscious.

The ambitious teenager with a feisty attitude, never made it to fifteen as her life was snatched away.

A killer among us? 

Caroline's mother and Police in Scotland believe the answer to who killed Caroline lies within the local community. Could the killer of the teen be walking amongst them?

Caroline's murder was featured on TV true crime show Crimewatch two years ago, where her mum Mrs McKeich spoke in heartbreaking detail of how she found out her daughter was dead on her 40th birthday.

For her life didn't begin at forty, she said, it ended. She'd lost her only child.

"There's two questions I need answered - who and why."

Could this be the man who killed her?

After her murder, police released a photo of a man in a dark green hooded top who was seen by a taxi driver walking near Caroline as she made her way along Dillichip Loan around 12.15am on Sunday, August 25, 1996. The man was described as having sharp features.

He was asked to come forward.  The call was never answered.

Was this man her killer?

WHO TOOK OFFICE WORKER SHELLEY CRAIG? Read an extract from Vile City (Volume 1 Detective in a Coma)

#VileCity #detectiveinaComa

#crimethriller #tartannoir 

DI Duncan Waddell is on the brink of a nervous breakdown – he thinks his best pal DC Stevie Campbell, who’s been in a coma since he was attacked by a suspect, is talking to him.

When office worker Shelley rushes to her boyfriend’s aid after he is attacked, she is abducted. She wakes up in a strange room with no memory of how she got there.

On the case, Waddell finds himself in a desperate race against time to uncover the truth behind the abduction or Shelley dies.

To do this, he and his team must delve into the seedy underbelly of Scotland’s swingers’ scene and a world where women are tricked into the sex business and traded like cattle.

Vile City is out now, published by Diamond Books in paperback and eBook. 

You can buy it by clicking here

 

~ Read an extract ~

Chapter 1

Stuart was hiding something. Shelley could tell. She was always the one who’d had to wake him because he could block out the shrill of the alarm clock. Nowadays, he was up before her, grabbing the mail whilst she slept. And he’d started making breakfast – nothing much, just tea and toast, more than he’d ever made her in their near three years together.

When she’d ask him if anything was wrong, he’d shrug his shoulders, give her a wee smile and say everything was fine. She knew he was lying because his face went even paler, making his freckles stand out as if they’d been drawn in by a kid with a coloured pencil. She never pushed it, maybe because deep down she was worried that he’d tell her he’d met someone else.

The No.76 bus was empty when they clambered on board – one of the benefits of working until eleven at night in a call centre, was that there was no need to scoot past a sea of legs and become a contortionist to get on and off a bus.

Their cold breath filled the air with ghosts as they walked towards Waterstones, Shelley pausing to peek at the new crime fiction releases showcased in the illuminated windows, whilst Stuart fidgeted with his watch. He was always footering about with something since he’d given up cigarettes and it drove her mad, but at least it didn’t fill his lungs with tar and make the house smell like an overflowing ashtray.

“I need to have a pee,” he announced, as they came to the dimly lit lane off Mitchell Street that reeked of eau de Glasgow: decomposing takeaway, urine and other bodily fluids.

She groaned. “Can’t you wait until we get home, Stuart?” She knew she’d pronounced his name “Stew-art” as she always did when she was annoyed with him. She couldn’t help it.

What made men think it was okay to urinate in public?

Stuart looked pained. “Sorry, I can’t. Too much coffee tonight.”

She let him walk on ahead of her and whilst he scooted down the alley, she stood outside the amusement arcade, pretending to look in so she wouldn’t be mistaken for a prostitute. It’d happened to her once when she’d got off the bus alone. Stuart hadn’t been working that night.

Five minutes later, she was so cold she couldn’t feel her nose and Stuart still wasn’t back.

She turned the corner to look for him, fully expecting to see him ambling back towards her with that jaunty walk that always made her smile. He wasn’t there.

Where was he?

Anger welled up in her chest. Had he started smoking again? He swore he wouldn’t.

There was one way to find out.

She headed down the alley. The sole light was provided from some nearby buildings, so visibility was poor.

She’d walked a few steps when she spotted a bundle of rags on the ground. Was someone sleeping there?

She moved closer, squinting into the dim light. Stuart was lying motionless on the ground. He must have tripped and knocked himself out as he hit the concrete.

She ran to him, calling out his name, the squeezing in her chest waning slightly when she knelt and heard him groan.

She pulled her mobile phone from her bag to call for an ambulance.

She didn’t make it to the third digit. A gloved hand clamped across her mouth and nose, cutting off her airways. The phone fell from her grasp, clattering onto the cobbles. Terror gripped her and she couldn’t breathe.

As she struggled, her assailant pressed his mouth to her ear. He was so close that it occurred to her that if anyone saw them, they would think he was her boyfriend whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

“Your man’s been given a strong sedative. He’ll wake up with a sore head and nothing more. If you scream, I’ll kick him several times in the head and he’ll never get up again. Do you understand?”

The voice was cold and emotionless She didn’t recognise it and there was an accent. Not from around here.

She nodded under his hand. Then did something he didn’t expect. Backheeled him in the groin.

There was a satisfying yelp as he released her.

She ran, arms pumping away like Usain Bolt, down towards the café at the end of the alley and safety.

She’d almost made it when he grabbed her arm and hauled her back. An electric shock shot from her elbow to her shoulder as she tried to pull herself free. He was too strong.

He dragged her towards him.

Before she could scream, he punched her in the face and she went down with a thud, jarring every bone in her body, momentarily stunning her.

As she fought to get up, he punched her in the back, and she fell again.

The last thing she saw was the pavement rushing towards her before she blacked out...

Why we need flawed characters in fiction like DI Duncan Waddell star of the Detective in a Coma books

 

DI Waddell is no Mark wahlberg 

I'm currently working on a new crime novel. It's a police procedural and the main character is an amazing human being both physically and mentally. They have no bias. 

Handsome and charming, they run ultra marathons and raise wads of money for charities in any free time they have. 

Their partner is very supportive of their job and they have an amazing family. 

Thankfully, I am lying and I am not writing a book with the person I described as a the lead character because I hate them already.

Let's face it, who wants to read about perfect, unflawed characters like the one I just described? 

I know I wouldn't. 

How boring would that be? 

The reason is simple - someone who's the perfect human being would be so boring to read about. For one thing, how do you have conflict in a story with a character like that? Well, they're perfect so how would they possibly get into any conflict with anyone? 

And, they would solve the crime within the first two pages.

perfect is boring 

When I am reading, I like my main characters with loads of imperfections and conflicts. That's how I came up with DI Duncan Waddell. He's a decent man, relatively good at his job but he has problems. Not the least of which is that his friend and colleague Stevie Campbell, who was attacked by a suspect he was trying to apprehend and ended up left in a coma is talking to him. 

And only to him, leaving Waddell to wonder if he's losing his mind. 

He has other problems too. He eats too much junk food so has a paunch on him. If someone were to play him in a movie it definitely would not be someone like Mr chiselled abs Mark Wahlberg.

He consumes way too much sugar, so is a borderline diabetic and that's why his wife Isobel is trying to force him to eat healthier. 

He loves Glasgow, the city where he lives and works, but is fast coming to despise because of of the sick and twisted crimes comes across. Hence the name of the first installment featuring him is Vile City. 

Sometimes he even hates his job so much that he disappears into the nearest quiet place to have a swig of whiskey and wishes he had become a history professor as he is a Scottish history buff.

Waddell is flawed and human. 

I hope that is why readers will like him. 

~ Vile City, the revamped first book in the Detective in a coma series is out soon from Diamond Books

Why not what come and meet him? You may like him. ~

The moment that changed my novel - Don't be afraid to change course if you're stuck in a rut

 Don't be afraid to change course with your novel 

It's always good to hear that people have finally got down to writing that novel that they've had held deep inside of them for years spurred on by the pandemic. Or to read about those writers who have never gotten so much writing done.

If you're like me and find yourself in the I'm struggling to write anything camp, you might feel discouraged.

Struggling to write? 

At several points over the last year, I have seriously thought about giving up writing anything at all. Because of money pressures, I have found myself working longer hours to earn money from ways other than my writing. Unless you are one of the 1% of writers who makes a very good living, writing fiction is a very badly paying trade.

It's only just recently that I have re-focused back on my work in progress, a psychological crime thriller. The reason - I've realised I need a different approach. 

Time for a new beginning

The beginning of the book has to be rewritten and rejigged to make it the compelling read I want it to be. The type of book I love to read which I hope to write.

The moment of realisation came for me when I witnessed a distressing scene where a woman was staring at a couple's daughter who looked about 9 years old. This was in a supermarket and the woman's staring was such that the mother noticed it and pointed it out to her husband who angrily spoke to her. 'What are you looking at? Stop staring at my daughter like that.'

In usual circumstances, if someone spoke to you like that and everybody turned round to stare, you would be mortified and shuffle off away from public scrutiny. But this woman kept staring. It was as if she was transfixed and I could see the man getting angrier and advancing towards her.

Thankfully at this stage another lady who appeared to know the woman ran up to her put her arm around her and led her off.

I later found out from someone who worked in the supermarket tills that she knew the woman who had been staring and her daughter had been abducted by her husband 2-years ago and taken abroad. Apparently, she still kept seeing her child everywhere.

'I think she thought that little girl was her daughter,' the check-out assistant told me. 'She's mistaken other children for hers too before.'

Good fiction comes from truth

As well as feeling heartsick for that poor woman, the whole thing made me think that the novel I was writing that had a similar theme of a missing child, needed to be changed.

What if after witnessing such a scene and finding out the reason behind it, someone offered to help her find her child? And so I decided to totally restructure the start of my novel.

Will it work and make it the gripping read I want it to be? I hope so. It's in witnessing human moments like hers that you realise reality is often stranger than fiction.

I also hope, that one day very soon, that poor woman is reunited with her child.

Why I love zombies

 

I'm not the only one obsessed with the dead who rise

I often get asked when people look down my list of published books why I wrote a zombie novel? It doesn't seem to fit in with my profile -  I've been a vegetarian for over 30 years and a crime writer.

I've written books on compassionate living, bullying due to my bitter experience of it, caring for your dog because of my experience of having rescue dogs all my life and I'd even written comedy books. 

How does that fit in with being obsessed with humans who die then come back to life, desperate to devour human flesh? 

I'm obsessed to the point of coming up with theories of how an actual zombie apocalypse could start. When I go for walks with my rescue dog I think about where would be the best place to be holed up if the Dead started to roam the earth. How secure would that place be? How would we get food? How would we survive?

Seeing zombies through the eyes of Rick Grimes

That's the one thing the zombie genre gives you - pure escapism. 

Zombies give me something else to think about other than the problems we all face in our lives - nightmare neighbours, rude and obnoxious people who don't speak to you for 5 years and then out the blue accuse you of something nonsensical, constant worrying about money and the welfare of those we love. 

Zombies are my escape from the true horrors of the world - could anyone have imagined a pandemic like the one we are experiencing - and daily existence.

Unlike real life, living humans who don't die and come back to life, with zombies you know where you are - avoid them or if they bite you and you die and then come back as one of them. 

If only life were just as simple. 

I also love to be scared - when it's a movie, TV show on novel but not in real life. There are enough things to scare you in real life. 

I also love exploring how the zombie apocalypse brings out the best and worst in people. I enjoy the way anyone can be redeemed. 

And that's one of the other things I enjoy most about the genre - how it explores the best and worst sides of human nature. Nothing shows someone's true colours as much as a zombie apocalypse. 

Nothing shows someone's true colours as much as a zombie apocalypse

SPOILER ALERT! - Don't read the next bit if you haven't seen the season finale of Fear The Walking Dead. 

Just ask Morgan Jones who was thrown into the path of walkers by a so-called ally Victor Strand in Fear The Walking Dead.

**************

If you're interested in checking out my very Scottish zombie novel, here's it is -  

One woman rages against the zombie hordes! Check it out here 

Or, if you prefer direct links here -

Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0187LFCVU

Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0187LFCVU

Amazon Canada http://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0187LFCVU

Amazon Australia http://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0187LFCVU

Stay safe everyone.

The ouch diaries

 

Ouch, that hurt!

It was 2-weeks ago now that I had an accident and badly sprained the ligaments in my writing hand from my wrist almost up to my elbow. 

The bruising has all but gone but even writing a a sentence with my hand is very painful. Any kind of jerking or twisting movement is painful and a lot of the time I'm it feels as if there's a mass of elastic bands in my wrist and they've all been overstretched and knotted. 

I am now officially a writer who cannot write. By that I mean I cannot physically write with my hand. 

Because I have to write - like other writers it's a natural imperative and not a choice - I now have to rely on speech to word software. Wow, that's been fun - I say that ironically. 

It's great when it works and saves me time but when it doesn't work it costs me time. That's unless I want to write a load of gibberish.

Harley is sad I can't play tug with him 

The worst thing for me is having to slow my speech down to a crawl because text to speech software is not designed for Scottish people or anyone who talks at any kind of reasonable speed. I have to talk very slowly or the words that are printed bear absolutely no relation to the words I have spoken.

Sometimes the results can be funny. Like when I type a perfectly normal sentence and it replaces one of the words with a swear word that I definitely didn't say.

Will I keep on using speech to text software once my wrist has healed? 

I might but it seriously needs to improve. Not everybody speaks like the Queen of England and it's time the software reflected that.

I think this evil wee guy came up with the speech to text software I'm using 

If you have a suggestion for some good text to speech software or apps I could be using, please drop me a line in the comments. 

Please. 

Elisa Lam - What happened to the brilliant writer at the Hotel Cecil?

Elisa's disappearance captivated the world

I watch a lot of true crime documentaries but you have got as under my skin as the mysterious case of Elisa Lam.

Few facts are known about her last hours. This is what is known.

Elisa was a 21-year-old student from Vancouver who travelled to Los Angeles to see America. An avid user of the social website Tumblr here who talked about being bipolar, she found the hotel on the internet and decided that she would stay there. 

That decision would lead to her death. 

The Hotel Cecil had a dark, dark history of murder, suspicious deaths, overdoses and suicides. It's been said that Night Stalker Richard Ramirez used to stay there and when one night he turned up covered in blood nobody batted an eyelid, such was the regular craziness at the Hotel Cecil. 

Some people even believe it's haunted or cursed. Maybe both. 

19 days after she went missing, Elisa's lifeless body was found naked in one of the water tanks on the hotel's roof. An autopsy was unable to establish how she died because of the damage the water had wreaked on her body. 

After investigating her disappearance, police found hotel footage of Elisa acting erratically both inside and outside the elevator. At one point, she seemed to be talking to people or person's unknown outside the lift. In another, she's frantically pushing the button in the elevator as if desperate to get it to move.

The autopsy was long and drawn out. Ultimately it declared that this was a case of accidental drowning. There were no recreational drugs in her system or asthma. 

Here's what I think happened to Elisa Lam. Please note - this is only what I believe happened - 

My Theory 

Elisa was scared. Scared of the noise she heard coming through the hotel walls. Scared of the men who tried to hit on her. On her last morning on earth, she came out of her room looking through the keyhole several times to make sure no one was about. 

She was in the hallway when she heard someone coming. She frantically jumped in the elevator to avoid them, frantically banging on the lift buttons trying to get the door to close. She made the same mistake many of us make when we're in a hurry and unwittingly pressed the buttons to keep the door open for two minutes instead of the correct ones to close it. 

She panicked

That's when she had a discussion with someone outside the lift. It freaked her out so much - as any interaction would in her highly stressed state - she ran up the stairs to the roof to avoid this person or persons. 

When she got to the roof she thought she had evaded them but all she'd managed to do was leave herself with no escape or place to hide. 

Then she saw the four water towers that supplied the Cecil Hotel's water. Not wanting to get her clothes wet, she hurriedly took them off and placed them on the edge of the water tank at a point she thought they couldn't be seen. 

She climbed into the water tank

She then climbed into the water tank using her fingertips to try and desperately hold on to the top rim and waited for the person to leave. But she misjudged how far away the water was from the hatch or lid and as she tried to frantically keep herself from dropping into the water she accidentally pulled her clothes full in. 

One item of clothing was heavy and sunk to the bottom. She went down to retrieve it and that's when she drowned because she couldn't get back out. 

Her hiding place became her tomb.

This theory is pure conjecture on my part. We may never know the true story. 

My agoraphobia

I have personal experience of living in the type of sheer terror I believe Elisa suffered in her last hours on earth. I suffer from agoraphobia - defined as the fear of wide, open spaces, to me, it's more about the fear I have of other people. 

My agoraphobia was brought on by the extensive bullying I suffered throughout my teens. When I lived alone, I would go into hypervigilance mode and before I stepped outside I would check that the coast was clear. This would involve looking out the window, peering through keyholes, listening at the door for anyone coming. All part of the reconnaissance I would do before I would leave my home/room.

Her story draws you in

What we do know is that the Canadian student who wrote about the difficulties of growing up on Tumblr that she used like a Dear Diary, will never be forgotten. Through reading about her disappearance at the Cecil Hotel and watching the Netflix documentary, we feel as though we have gotten to know and care about her. 

Elisa may have perished but she lives on in the minds of everyone who's heard her story and those who've read her amazing words on her blog. 

I have no doubt that she would have made an amazing writer. Like so many talented people she died too soon.