18 - Aftershock

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Around the singles bars? Through the Scotsman dating service? I don’t know if I’d have gone down either of those routes.’

  ‘Me neither: I’d be too scared.’

  ‘Once bitten?’

  She poked him in the chest. ‘Depends who’s biting me. No, I’m a very cautious person by nature.’

  ‘I suppose I am too.’

  ‘So why did we hit it off the way we did?’

  ‘Possibly because we’ve both been through similar marriage experiences.’ He grinned. ‘Or maybe the first time we met we had a shared inclination to rip each other’s clothes off.’

  ‘Could be.’ She looked in the mirror, and adjusted the cravat that was part of her bank uniform. ‘So where do we go from here, Jack? Is it “That was very nice. I’ll see you around,” or . . .’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘No. Until last night when I heard about Theo, that was the nicest weekend I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t want it to stop.’

  ‘Me neither. Do you want to come back here tonight?’

  ‘It’s tempting, but I don’t think so. The longer I stay away from my place, the weirder it’ll be when I go back there. See you later in the week, though?’

  ‘How about Wednesday?’

  ‘That’ll do. Come to mine, about six, or whenever you can.’

  ‘Six should be fine, as long as the inquiry doesn’t go pear-shaped.’ He paused. ‘Which reminds me. There’s something I need to ask you about Theo. His police personnel file still has you down as next of kin, but you’re not any more.’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘That would be his mother, Minnie. She went back to the West Indies. She lives in Bridgetown, in Barbados.’

  ‘Right. We’ll need to contact her.’

  ‘I’ve got an address for her, back at the flat. Her maiden name was Walcott, if that’s any help.’

  ‘The High Commission should be able to find her with that information. I’ll call you tonight for the address, if I have to.’ He slapped his forehead theatrically. ‘What am I saying? I’ll call you tonight anyway.’

  ‘You’d better, my man. I’m not a girl to be fucked and chucked, you know.’ The smile left her lips as quickly as it had appeared. ‘Jack, this man the radio said was assisting with your enquiries: that was Inspector Varley, was it?’

  ‘I guess so. Did you ever meet him?’

  ‘Once, at a station do with Theo: he seemed like a nice guy.’

  ‘They say he is, those who work with him. But I’ve known a few nice guys who are doing long prison sentences now.’

  ‘I hope it isn’t him. Theo messed his life up enough. I really don’t want it to be him who killed him.’

  ‘You and an entire police force, my dear,’ said McGurk, sincerely.

  Seventy-five

  ‘ If I hadn’t been a police officer, would you have released me last night?’ asked Inspector Varley.

  ‘No, Jock,’ said Detective Chief Superintendent Mario McGuire, solemnly. ‘It wouldn’t have made a blind bit of difference. The search of your house, your car and your office didn’t yield any results, but you don’t have to be a cop to know not to take a murder weapon home. Given twenty-four hours, you’d expect most people to do a pretty good job of destroying incriminating clothing too. I’d still have waited for the post-mortem report, and for the completion of testing of foreign DNA traces found on Weekes’s body. As a matter of fact, those tests are still under way.’

  ‘So I’m stuck here, a . . . a ...’ He stopped, lost for words.

  ‘A victim of your own lack of caution might be a good way to put it,’ Neil McIlhenney suggested. ‘But you’re not stuck here any longer, Inspector. We’re releasing you.’

  ‘What’s made you see the light?’

  ‘Professor Hutchinson, the pathologist who did the autopsy. He’s completed his report, and we’ve just finished reading it. Old Joe doesn’t prevaricate: when he gives you an opinion, it’s one that he’s prepared to defend in the witness box, under any level of hostile questioning. He says for sure that most of the wounds on the body could only have been inflicted by a left-handed man, including the one that ripped his neck open and put an end to him. I’ve just spoken to the doctor at the Western General who treated you when you broke your finger. He told me that it’ll be another week or so before you can as much as pick your nose with your left paw. So you’re no longer a suspect. You’re free to go: we’ll get a car to take you home.’

  Varley leaned back and let out a huge sigh.

  ‘Jock,’ said McGuire, ‘I hope you understand that the two of us are as relieved by this outcome as you are. Also, I’ll admit that while we might have gone on about you being reckless when you went bombing after Weekes, neither one of us would have done any different in the same circumstances. Truth is, I wouldn’t have been as restrained as you, and I say that from experience. When I was married, a toe-rag cut my wife when she went to arrest him, slashed her arm. Nuff said. No hard feelings, I hope.’

  The inspector shook his head. ‘None, sir. Now it’s sorted and I can look at it a wee bit less nervously, you did what you had to, both of you.’

  ‘Thanks for that. Jock, now that you’re no longer a suspect, you’ve become a witness. The PM report puts time of death more or less when you were there, so there’s a chance that you might actually have seen the killer, either hanging about or on his way there, as you were leaving. Think back; can you help us?’

  ‘To tell you the truth,’ said Varley, ‘when I left there, all I saw was red. The Auchendinny Ladies’ Flute Band could have been marching naked down the street and it wouldn’t have registered. One thing, though. Last night you asked me about the back door: I’ve been thinking about that, and I’m pretty sure now that it was open.’

  ‘So it’s possible that while you were giving Theo the heavy message, his attacker could have been waiting at the rear of the house?’

  ‘Entirely. Have you got any other suspects in the queue?’

  ‘None of the obvious ones,’ McIlhenney told him. ‘The next stage will be to interview his work colleagues and friends.’

  ‘You can cut that in half,’ the inspector replied. ‘From what I remember of PC Weekes when he was at Livingston, he didn’t have any friends. He was a real outsider. Maybe it had something to do with his colour, but I don’t really think so. I reckon it was just the way he was.’

  Seventy-six

  ‘If you’re going to do that, Bob, won’t you need support?’ Aileen asked. ‘Do we have an embassy there?’

  He was barefoot, but otherwise still in his running gear, glistening from his exercise as they stood in the hall. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘but there’s an honorary consul, a government-appointed back-watcher. I’ve already spoken to him and told him I’m coming on to his patch, and that I want to see him as soon as possible.’

  ‘But what can you do on your own?’

  ‘I won’t be alone. I’m taking somebody with me. I’ve just spoken to Ruth, my secretary, and told her to get us both on to this afternoon’s Globespan flight from Edinburgh to Nice. I’m sorry about the short notice, love, but I only got this information this morning.’

  ‘Where are you going to stay?’

  ‘There’s a hotel called the Columbus next to the helipad. I’ve asked her to book us in there. I’m sorry to leave you on your own for the next few nights, but this is something I have to do.’

  ‘I know you have, for Maggie’s sake . . . just as long as it isn’t her you’re taking with you.’

  He laughed. ‘Worry not. But this isn’t just about Maggie. Part of it’s about me as well, especially after the phone call I’ve just had from Andy. He, or rather his talented ex-cop wife, has come up with a theory. He’ll need to take medical advice to confirm it, but if it stands up, it changes everything. It makes this trip I’m taking all the more important.’

  ‘Then off you go, my sweaty old darling, and get yourself ready for it. Tell me the whole story as soon as you ca
n, but I can’t keep my driver waiting any longer. Don’t worry about me being here alone. I’ll probably stay at the residence while you’re away. Yes,’ she said firmly, ‘I’ll do that and I’ll invite Alex for dinner one evening, just to make sure she’s all right after her emotional explosion yesterday.’

  ‘Good idea. With all that happened, we never got round to telling her she’s going to have a new stepmother. You can let her in on the secret.’

  She gasped. ‘Sometimes you live in your own wee world. That is down to you and nobody else. See you soon.’ She kissed him and walked out to the government car that waited for her in the drive.

  Left alone, he trotted upstairs to his bathroom, where he stripped off his T-shirt and shorts and stepped into the shower. He set the temperature at cool and the control to power jet, then allowed the water to pound him, turning slowly as it massaged his body. He was smiling, fuelled by the thought that he was about to become a participant in events, rather than the mere spectator he had been for most of the previous week, and more.

  He stayed under the spray for almost ten minutes, then towelled himself vigorously until he was almost dry. He was in the middle of shaving, thinking of how much he would miss Aileen for the next few days, when his mobile sounded on the surface beside the inset basin. He scowled at it, but laid down his razor, picked it up and said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is that Mr Skinner?’ a voice enquired, a young voice, a voice he did not know.

  ‘Yes, it is. Who is this, and how did you get this number?’ he asked, ready to savage the caller if he was yet another salesman trying to induce him to switch networks.

  ‘You left it for me. My name is Davis Colledge.’

  Skinner’s back straightened involuntarily, causing the towel to slip from round his waist and fall to the floor. ‘Davis?’ he repeated. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in Collioure,’ the young man told him. ‘I’ve just got back from a trip and I found your card and your note waiting for me. What is it? Is this about Sugar?’

  ‘Why did you go away?’

  ‘I was angry with her. She stood me up. She was supposed to join me but she never turned up. She switched off her mobile. And I couldn’t get an answer from her parents’ place. Finally I decided that I’d bugger off out of there, so that if she did arrive, eventually, she could have some of what I’d been through. That’s why I left my mobile behind, so she’d know she couldn’t find me, and that she’d just have to sit and wait for me for a change. And that’s why I painted her face out of that picture you must have seen if you were here. It was me saying, “Fuck you,” to her.’

  ‘Not the most mature reaction,’ said Skinner, ‘but never mind. What made you think she would stand you up?’

  ‘She’d said she would sleep with me when we got to France. I knew that was her way of backing out, and I was right. She’s still not here.’

  ‘Backing out? I’ve seen your painting, son. You got her appendix scar right.’

  ‘She posed for me back in Edinburgh, but that was all. She was my girlfriend, but she said she couldn’t have sex with me until I’d left school.’

  ‘Where did you go when you left Collioure?’

  ‘Listen,’ the youth interrupted, ‘can I ask you something?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Skinner sternly. ‘You’ll answer my questions first.’

  ‘I hitch-hiked down into Spain and then I got a flight to Holland.’

  ‘Where did you go in Spain?’

  ‘Girona. That’s where I got the plane.’

  ‘Did you go anywhere near a place called L’Escala?’

  ‘Where? No. Never heard of it.’

  ‘Why did you go to Holland?’

  ‘I decided to go to Amsterdam; there are plenty of women there.’

  ‘From what I remember, most of them are old enough to be your mother.’

  ‘They’re clean, though. My dad told me.’

  Skinner filed that statement away. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you went to Holland to get laid. Then what?’

  ‘Then I came back down here, and Sugar’s still not here. But what’s all this about, sir? Why were you here looking for me?’

  ‘Sugar’s not coming, son. Sugar’s dead. Her body was found last Monday in Edinburgh. It happened on her way to school, on the last day of term.’

  There was silence, then the sound of sobbing. ‘She’s dead?’ Davis Colledge said indistinctly, through his tears. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘Was it an accident?’

  ‘No, she was shot. We’re treating it as murder.’

  ‘Who did it? Who’d want to hurt Sugar?’

  ‘You’ve just told me you did.’

  ‘But I was angry with her,’ he protested, ‘and I wouldn’t hurt her like that. Have you? Have you caught anybody?’

  ‘Not yet. We’re hoping you can help us with that. We’ll need to interview you, Davis, about Sugar, about the nature of your relationship and about anyone she might have mentioned, anyone who might have had a grudge against her.’

  ‘Yes, sir, of course. But I can’t think of anyone.’

  ‘You haven’t had time to think at all.’

  ‘What will I do?’ the young man asked.

  ‘First, I want you to call your father. Then you need to go to the local gendarmerie and tell them that you’ve returned. They’ll take you to Perpignan airport and put you on the first plane home. My people will contact your dad and arrange for him to meet your plane, and bring you up to Edinburgh to see them. Do you understand all that?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Mr Skinner, this is all a joke, isn’t it?’

  ‘Am I laughing?’

  Skinner ended the call. He stepped into the bedroom, and searched through his data organiser for the number of Lieutenant Cerdan. Happily, he was in his office. ‘Lieutenant,’ he said, ‘the boy has surfaced. He’s back at the studio and he’s just rung me. I told him to report to your local office, but to be on the safe side, I think you should go to him now.’

  ‘I agree, sir,’ the Frenchman replied. ‘We do not want to have to chase him all over again. I will send my men at once.’

  ‘Thanks. Once you’ve done that, I’d be grateful if you could spare some more resources in Collioure. There’s something I’d like checked out.’

  Two minutes later, the conversation over, he returned to his interrupted shave, starting again from scratch on the side of his face that was still rough. Once again, his mind wandered as he gazed into the mirror, as he thought of his situation, the morning’s development and the stalemate he was trying to break.

  As he did, a slow smile spread across the face he could see in the glass.

  He finished, still beaming, then rubbed his jaw and top lip with the baby lotion that he always used, to Aileen’s great amusement, as after-shave balm. That done, he dressed casually for a journey then packed a small suitcase with clothes sufficient for three days.

  Only when that was done did he pick up his mobile once more and ring McIlhenney. When they were connected, he told him about his surprise call, and asked him to contact Michael Colledge as soon as possible.

  ‘Will do,’ said the detective superintendent. ‘And I’ll brief the team. Anything else, boss?’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ Skinner replied, ‘there is. I’ve just had a weird idea. It’s complicated, and you’ll need to move very fast, but if you can put all the pieces together, this is what I’d like you to do.’

  Seventy-seven

  ‘Any news of Inspector Varley?’ asked Jack McGurk, as Becky Stallings stepped out of her cubicle and into the CID general office in Torphichen Place.

  ‘He’s in the clear,’ she told him.

  The detective sergeant’s eyebrows rose. ‘Is he indeed? I shouldn’t admit it, but while most of me is pleased to hear that, there’s a small piece that’s saying, “Bugger it, there goes our speedy clear-up.” I must admit, I thought he was four square in the frame for it. What was his story?’

  ‘He went along to tear a strip off Weekes for nam
ing his wife, nothing more. When he left, he was alive.’

  ‘Run that past me again, boss. He knew about Weekes spilling the beans about his wife?’

  ‘I asked the same question. Superintendent McIlhenney was less than forthcoming about it. He told me, very politely, not to take it any further.’

  ‘Somebody’s in the shit, then.’

  ‘I imagine so. Any unexpected personnel moves should give us a clue. Meanwhile . . .’

  ‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ Sauce Haddock called from across the room. ‘I’ve just taken a call from Gayfield Square. They’ve got something there they think might interest us.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A pale blue T-shirt. It was handed in by a cleansing worker. He found it stuffed in a dustbin in George Street when he was emptying it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And it’s got blood all over it. Could be it’s related to another incident, but the Gayfield people don’t have anything on their books that fits the bill.’

  ‘Is there a bar code on it?’

  ‘No. All the labels have been cut off.’

  ‘Call them back. Tell them to bag it and . . .’ She stopped when she saw the detective constable nod.

  ‘I have done, ma’am. It’s on its way to the lab for analysis.’

  Seventy-eight

  She stared at them resentfully. ‘This isn’t fair,’ Detective Constable Alice Cowan declared. ‘I’ve been in my job for a while now, long enough to have worked for both of you. Doesn’t that count for anything?’

  ‘In this situation,’ DCS Mario McGuire told her, ‘fairness takes a back seat. We like you, Alice, both of us; we know you’re a good officer. But there can’t be any second chances in Special Branch.’

  ‘Forgive me, sir, but does SB report to you? As I understand it DI Shannon’s immediate line manager is the deputy chief constable.’

  ‘Like Mr McGuire said,’ Neil McIlhenney replied, ‘you’re good; you’ve got the reporting chain right. But give us a bit of credit too; DCC Skinner’s been consulted about this, and he’s delegated authority to act. Sure, you can ask for a personal hearing with him when he comes back, but whose carpet would you rather be on, Detective Constable, this one or his?’