‘He has a good record, and he’s within six months of a promotion.’
‘Let’s have him in, then.’
Joyce Latham nodded, and picked up the phone once more, dialling an internal number. ‘Mr McGroarty? DG here. Would you send Officer Albo up to the Governor’s office, please, straight away.’
They waited for five minutes before there was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ called Joyce Latham, and a young fair-haired man in uniform stepped into the room. He was taller than Martin, and just as solidly built. His eyes gave a flicker of surprise as he saw the policeman, but it passed as he came to attention before the Deputy Governor.
‘Stand easy, Albo,’ she said. ‘Take a seat.’ She turned to Martin. ‘I’ll leave you alone, if you wish.’
He nodded. ‘If you would, please.’
When they were alone, he stood up, and leaning against the desk, turned to face Officer Albo. He smiled, but not with his eyes. ‘Tibor,’ he began, ‘someone in this prison has passed on information which set up Nathan Bennett and his sister to be murdered.
‘She was a nice-looking woman, Hannah Bennett. Quiet, Christian, conscientious, kept a nice house, kept a roof over her brother’s head, even though he was a difficult bugger. I only ever saw her once. She had a knife sticking out of the side of her head and she had shit herself.
‘When I find the person who passed on that tip about Nathan, he can sit all fucking day and say, “I never knew”, but it’ll cut no ice with me, or with the Crown Office. We owe it to Hannah to see that he goes down as an accessory to murder. When he does, he’ll be sent here.
‘That’s a nice thought, isn’t it. A screw banged up in his own prison. A lot of guys are HIV-positive in here, aren’t they?
‘When I find that man, there’ll be only one way out, and it’ll be through the witness box, giving evidence against the man who paid for the information.’ He paused and the smile left his face.
‘Do you have anything to tell me, Tibor?’
The young man was white-faced in his chair, but his voice was even and controlled, with no trace of panic. ‘No, sir.’
The detective stared at him, long and hard. ‘Did you hear what Bennett said to me on Friday.’
‘You told us not to listen, sir.’
‘Aye, but did you hear?’
‘Barely, but then I really wasn’t listening. I could see Nathan was scared, though.’
‘How well did you get to know Bennett?’
‘Quite well. He was a strange bloke. I think the Falklands left a bigger mark on him than just his hand.’
‘Did he ever talk to you?’
Albo nodded. ‘I was the only one he did talk to.’ He looked up at Martin. ‘They all need it, sir. Even the really tough guys. Someone to talk to. Some of the staff don’t want to know, but I see it as part of my job, to lend an ear to someone who really needs one. It’s a hell of a thing, locking a man up in a place like this for half his life . . . maybe more.’
‘What did he tell you? Did you ever ask him about the robbery?’
‘You never ask them anything, sir, other than about their families. That’s all Nathan talked about most of the time . . . his sister. He said that she was really good to him, and that he was afraid that he was ruining her life.’
‘What did he mean?’
The young man shrugged. ‘That he was getting in her way. That because he was there, living with her, it made it tough for her to have a proper relationship. He never said so outright, but I guessed that he took part in the robbery to raise the money for a place of his own.
‘He did say to me one day though, that the worst thing he had ever done was to get her mixed up in his life. “It never had anything to do with her,” he told me, “but now she’s in it up to her neck.” I guessed that she had been involved in the crime in some way, but I suppose now I know what he meant.’
‘Did you never think to tell anyone this?’ Martin asked. ‘You’re not a priest, man.’
‘Some of these guys think we are. I think we have to respect that. Did you never keep a confidence in your job?’
The Head of CID nodded, in silent acknowledgement of the point. He knew that was how criminal intelligence gathering usually worked.
‘Were you surprised on Friday, when Officer McDonnell insisted in staying in the room with Bennett and me?’
‘A wee bit, sir. But Malky’s like that. He can be a real book operator sometimes. He was right, of course; we’re supposed to stay with the prisoners at all times.’
‘How did McDonnell get on with Bennett?’
‘Much the same as he gets on with everyone else. He treats all the prisoners as if they’re just numbers. If they behave and don’t bother him, generally he doesn’t bother them. Very few guys give Malky trouble though. He used to be a boxer, and he can still handle himself.’
‘Did you ever see the two of them speaking?’
‘Not that I can recall,’ he said, at last.
‘So their relationship was normal in prison terms?’
Albo looked at the ceiling, as if for guidance. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I can’t honestly say that’s true. They never crossed swords, and they never had a conversation that I saw. Yet I have to admit, there was something.
‘Once or twice, when he didn’t see me, I caught Malky looking at Nathan in an odd way.’
‘Define “odd”.’
‘I can’t. He was looking at him in a way he didn’t look at anyone else, that’s all I can tell you. It was as if he knew something about him.’
‘Okay,’ said Martin. ‘Let’s go back to you. Do you ever talk about your work, at home, or in the pub?’
‘Only to my girl-friend.’
‘Did you ever tell her about Bennett?’
‘No. She wouldn’t have been interested anyway. It’s only the big names that excite her. Nathan was small-time. ’
The Head of CID pushed himself up from his perch against the desk. ‘All right, Officer, you can go. However, if anything occurs to you that might help us, I want you to contact me right away. You’ll get me at Police Headquarters at Fettes.’
Tibor Albo stood up, saluted smartly, and left the room. A few moments later, Joyce Latham re-entered. ‘Well?’ she asked.
‘I think he’s okay,’ Martin answered. ‘When did his shift finish on Friday?’
‘Six p.m.’
‘McDonnell’s too?’
‘Yes.’
‘If an officer wants to make a personal phone call during working hours, where does he go?’
‘In theory,’ said Mrs Latham, ‘he uses the pay phone in the canteen. In practice, if they think no one’s looking, the lads use the prison phone in the senior officers’ room.’ The detective’s green eyes flashed. ‘I don’t suppose calls are logged?’
‘Yes, they are. I’ll check Thursday’s count, from the time of your visit onwards.’
As she finished speaking, there was a soft knock on the door. Sammy Pye entered, without waiting for an invitation. He was alone.
‘McDonnell?’ asked Martin.
‘Gone, sir. And I don’t mean gone for the Sunday papers. When I got no answer to his door, I knocked up the neighbours. One of them said she saw him leave last night in a taxi, with a big suitcase and a hold-all. So I tried his back door.’
‘It was open of course,’ said the Chief Superintendent, with a smile.
‘Well, I might have knocked a bit too hard, sir.’ He paused, looking at Mrs Latham. ‘I’ve sent for a joiner to make it secure.
‘There was nothing there. I looked in all the wardrobes, in the drawers, in the bathroom cabinet: they were all empty. There was nothing personal left in the place.
‘No doubt about it, Officer McDonnell has done a runner. And at short notice too. I had a look in the fridge, and there was enough food there for a week at least: eggs, bacon, mince, cooked chicken, orange juice and three litres of milk, unopened. Oh aye, and three cans of McEwan’s lager.
‘Wher
ever it was he called in sick from, it wasn’t his flat.’
Martin looked at Joyce Latham. ‘We’ve got our answer, I think.
‘Sammy, did you look for personal papers?’
‘Yes, sir. I didn’t find any, though. He’s quite a methodical man is McDonnell. He had a big folder with all his household stuff in it, indexed. There was nothing in the slot marked “Bank”, no account books or cheque books, and the slot marked “Passport” was empty too.’
‘Did you look for an address book?’
‘No, Boss. I thought I’d better report back.’
The Head of CID nodded. ‘Fine, I’ll come down there with you and together we’ll strip the place. First, we’d better call Fettes, and get people started checking the airlines. If McDonnell caught a plane, maybe someone else bought the ticket for him.
‘If he’s sticking to overland and ferry travel, or better still if he’s got a bolt-hole somewhere in Britain, I’m going to give him something to think about.
‘Joyce, can you give me a photograph of McDonnell?’ The Deputy Governor nodded.
‘Good. In that case I’m going to raise Alan Royston, our press officer, and have it circulated nationally, with a statement saying that he’s wanted for questioning in relation to the murders of Nathan Bennett and his sister. After that, I’ll alert police forces throughout Europe.
‘Officer McDonnell has the answer to our problems, and I want him.’
23
There was something about Bob Skinner’s expression which sent a shiver running through Brian Mackie as he opened his front door. Following his promotion to Divisional Commander, he had moved to a new house in Musselburgh, in the heart of his territory.
‘Hello, Boss,’ he said, managing to show surprise rather than concern. ‘What brings you here? Is it about Nathan Bennett and his sister? I heard about that on radio last night. Bloody awful, eh.’
The DCC nodded. ‘In a way, it’s about Nathan that we need to talk. I was on my way home, so I thought I might look in to see if you were in.’
‘Only just. We got back twenty minutes ago.’ He nodded towards the driveway of the villa, where two cars stood. ‘Sheila’s in the kitchen.’
‘She’s in the kitchen? This must be serious, then.’ The Superintendent had always separated his private life very firmly from his career, but Skinner had been aware of his relationship with Sheila Mackeson, whom Mackie had met during his term as executive assistant to the DCC. She was a director of the consultancy which the police used to recruit civilian staff.
To his surprise, the thin man blushed to the top of his domed head. ‘We’re getting along,’ he said, with a self-conscious smile. ‘She isn’t in there cooking, mind you, just helping me unpack the food shop we did on the way back.’
He held the door open, ushering Skinner into the hall. As he stepped inside, a tall blonde woman appeared in the doorway opposite. She was dressed in shorts and a cotton top, and she held a pack of four toilet rolls in her hand. ‘Where do we keep these?’ she asked, then saw Skinner, and turned as pink as Mackie.
The DCC smiled. ‘Hello, Sheila.’ He glanced at his colleague. ‘Yes, Brian, I’d say you were getting along.’
‘Okay, Boss. It’s a fair cop. Sheila’s moving in with me, as of today.’ Mackie smiled, diffidently, at his new partner.
‘Good for you, mate,’ said Skinner. ‘Good for you, too, Sheila. If I’d known I wouldn’t have come empty-handed. ’
‘Would you have a drink with us, Mr Skinner; to celebrate?’ Sheila asked.
‘Thanks. I’ll have a Coke, or something like that.’
The woman nodded and headed back to the kitchen, as Mackie showed the DCC into his sitting room. ‘What did you want to talk to me about, Boss?’ he asked quietly, as they sat on the shiny new lounge suite.
‘First, I’ve got something to tell you. I understand that you were giving evidence the other day when Lord Archergait died.’
‘That’s right. The old chap took a heart attack, right before my eyes.’
‘No, he didn’t, Brian.’ Calmly, Skinner explained the cause of the judge’s death, watching the other man’s face as the astonishing truth registered.
‘I want you to think back,’ he went on, ‘and try to recall the scene. What happened in the period just before Archergait took his attack?’
Mackie closed his eyes and leaned back, searching his memory, as Sheila came into the room with a tray, loaded with two bottles of Rolling Rock beer, and an iced glass of Coca-Cola.
‘Kilmarnock, the defence counsel, was being a prat,’ he answered at last, taking one of the bottles from the tray. ‘The old judge was getting annoyed with him, and it showed. Then Kilmarnock said something else stupid, and I thought the old boy was about to explode at him. But he wasn’t. He just gasped for air and fell across his desk. I left the box and jumped up on to the Bench to try to help him, but he died in my arms.’
‘Anything else?’
The Superintendent closed his eyes once more. Then he nodded. ‘His water carafe. A couple of minutes before he died, I saw him pour himself a glass. I didn’t see him drink from it, but when he fell, he knocked it over. There was no water on the Bench or on the floor, so I guess he must have drunk it.’
‘I thought so,’ said Skinner. ‘Poisoning his food would have been virtually impossible in the Supreme Court Dining Room, without killing a few other people as well. Someone must have spiked that carafe with cyanide.’
‘He probably wouldn’t have noticed,’ Mackie volunteered. ‘Wee Colin, the Court Officer, told me that he liked a measure of gin and lime in his water jug.’ He put the beer bottle to his lips, then froze, his eyes wide.
‘Bloody hell,’ he whispered. ‘I was going to take a drink from that carafe, until Colin stopped me.’ On the couch beside him, Sheila Mackeson gave a little cry of fright.
‘He stopped you?’ Skinner repeated.
‘Yes. That was when he told me about the gin and lime. Christ, Boss, you don’t think it could have been Colin, do you?’
‘Naw, no more than you do. If wee Colin was going to poison a judge, I can think of a few that he’d have picked before Archergait. Still, we’re going to have to talk to him.’
Finally, Mackie summoned the resolve to take a mouthful of beer. He grinned at Sheila. ‘Tastes okay.’
She frowned. ‘Is your job always like this?’
Skinner answered for him. ‘It’s nearly always repetitive and boring, Sheila. I can promise you that no one has ever tried to poison, shoot, stab or otherwise mollicate the Thin Man, nor will anyone ever. I have a theory that some people attract violence. Christ, I’m one of them. People have been having a go at me since I was sixteen. So far, I’ve always walked away afterwards.’
Mackie chuckled. ‘Or limped. Like the time you kicked that guy in the head and nearly broke your foot.’
‘Ouch! I can still feel it! That was different though. That man only wanted to get away. The trouble for both of us was that I was between him and the door.
‘Anyway, Sheila, don’t worry about Brian. If there’s something about me that invites attack, equally, there’s something about him that invites co-operation. He may be the best shot in the entire force, but that’s another matter.’
She smiled at him. ‘I’ll always worry about him. But I’ve worked for you lot for long enough to know that it comes with the territory.’
‘You planning on getting married?’
‘Eventually,’ she and Mackie said, in unison.
All three laughed. ‘It’s the same with my daughter and Andy,’ Skinner chuckled. ‘One minute they’re gung-ho, and the reception’s almost booked, then something comes up and it goes on hold again. As I understand it, right now Alex wants to complete her training period with her firm, and take her exams for the Bar.’
Mackie looked at him in surprise. ‘The Bar. So that would mean she could wind up cross-examining Andy in a murder trial?’
‘Exactly: a point which has
occurred so far to neither of those bright people, but one which I might have to bring up myself.’
Mackie was serious once more. ‘What are you going to do about Archergait’s murder, Boss? How are you going to investigate it?’
‘I’m going to use McGuire and McIlhenney. Their brief will be get it sorted before we have to go public on it. They’re a good combination. They can handle sensitive situations, but they can be ferocious too, when the need arises.’
‘Tell them to go easy on wee Colin, eh. No way did he do it.’
‘No, but it’s his job to fill up that carafe. After he did, someone must have had access to it. He’s going to have to explain how that happened. Better he’s interviewed by two guys he doesn’t know, rather than by a couple of his pals, like you and me.’
24
The little man looked round the door, then stepped into the room. ‘The Principal Clerk told me to come and see you, gentlemen,’ Colin Maxwell announced. He wore a light check jacket and fawn trousers, having had no time to change into his formal black Court uniform.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Mario McGuire nodded. ‘Come in and take a seat, Mr Maxwell.’ The two policemen were in an office in the Supreme Courts administration unit. It was on an upper floor and looked out on to the back of the newly built complex in Chambers Street which housed the Crown Office and Edinburgh Sheriff Court.
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed as he looked at McGuire. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘you’re the guy that succeeded Brian Mackie in Special Branch. What’s this about?’
‘It’s a very confidential matter, sir, and not to be discussed outside this room. Is that clear?’
The Court Officer nodded.
‘Sergeant McIlhenney and I have been asked by the Lord President to review security within the Supreme Court building,’ McGuire went on.
Unexpectedly, the little man threw back his head and laughed. ‘That’s a good one. This is the most insecure building in bloody Edinburgh. These fellas at the front door, they’re a waste of time. Not that they’re bad at their job, like. It’s just that this is the High Court. We get some right bad buggers on trial here,. A lot of their friends are right bad buggers too, yet they’re allowed to swan in here unchecked.
08 - Murmuring the Judges Page 11