In seconds the door swung open, but it wasn’t just Brian Scott who was behind it.
‘Jim, good morning. Bright and early, I see.’ Symington smiled at him broadly.
‘Ma’am, I beg your pardon. I can go and get a coffee if you and DI Scott are busy.’
‘No, we’ve had our little chat. I’m just down on a flying visit. I’ve things to do in mid-Argyll, so I thought I’d make sure that everything was as it should be ahead of your return – well, the official one, that is.’ Symington looked at the bags under Daley’s eyes. ‘Everything okay, I hope?’
‘Yes, absolutely. The wee man was a bit restless last night.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, I won’t hold you up, DCI Daley. I know you’ll want to get your teeth into this Doig business. All sounds very strange, from what DI Scott has told me.’
‘Yes, ma’am. I think there’s much more to this than meets the eye.’
‘And your reasons for this?’
‘Give me a day or so to gather my thoughts. As Brian probably told you, we have Alice Wenger’s passport. For the time being, at least.’
‘There could be a problem with that. I’ll leave DI Scott to fill you in. Welcome back, Jim.’ She held out her hand and shook his. ‘Remember, any problems at all, just call – at any time.’
‘Thanks, ma’am, I’m sure I’ll be fine.’
She marched off, leaving a miserable-looking Scott in her wake.
‘What’s up with you, Mr Happy?’
‘Ach, I’ve been in the polis near before she was born. I’m fed up her wanting tae hold my hand every two seconds.’
‘Well, you’ve got me to hold it for you now.’
‘Aye, thanks a million.’ He leaned forward, propping his head in his hands on the desk.
‘So, do you want me to sit here now?’ Daley pointed to the empty chair.
‘No, here big man. Sorry: force of habit, if you know what I mean.’ He stood and let Daley sit behind his desk. ‘Aye, it’s good tae see you back at the coal face.’
Daley was momentarily disorientated. Everything seemed wrong. The computer screen was too close, as was the keyboard. He moved a jar containing pens, pencils and other office implements further away, and pushed the phone unit nearer the edge, but still something wasn’t right. He reached down and lowered his chair. ‘Okay, that’s better,’ he said, smiling at Scott, who had taken the seat across the desk.
‘We’re no’ all giants, you know. Took me ages tae get that right. I was moving that chair up and doon for aboot three weeks until I nailed it.’
‘What was Symington on about – something to do with Alice Wenger’s passport?’
‘Oh aye.’ Scott brightened slightly. ‘She’s got Grant Dunwoody representing her.’
‘The Grant Dunwoody?’
‘The very man. He’s on his way here, if you please. He’s no’ happy we took her passport off her at all.’
Daley thought for a moment. There was little doubt that Grant Dunwoody was one of Scotland’s most high-profile and effective lawyers. But he came at a price, a price Alice Wenger was obviously prepared and more than able to pay. ‘Right. So what about SOCO? Did they get anything from the Doig case yesterday?’
‘Aye. Her footprints are at the edge of the cliff, but right at the edge. That would fit with her story that she looked o’er tae see what had happened tae her faither – obvious reaction according tae SOCO. She was examined at the hospital. No signs o’ a struggle, bruising, or the like. Harder tae tell wae his remains, I dare say. We’ll get the results o’ the PM later today.’
‘Any witnesses yet?’
‘There was one phone call last night, but the guy was foreign. He’s coming in at two tae tell us what he saw, but we’ll have tae find someone who speaks Greek because his English is shite.’
‘What language does he really speak?’
‘Greek!’
‘Oh, I thought you just meant it’s all Greek to me sort of thing.’
‘Nobody seems tae get what I’m saying today!’
‘Symington on your back, Bri?’
‘Something and nothing, Jimmy. She picks through everything, you know, every dot and comma. I don’t know how you manage tae dae this shit. I’d have had three heart attacks by now.’
‘I agree, it can be tough.’ Daley studied his friend’s face. ‘But what aren’t you telling me, Brian?’
‘Nothing – just the usual shit you get fae gaffers. You must know what it’s like; you had John Donald looming o’er you for long enough.’
‘Very true. Symington’s a pussy cat compared with him.’
‘But she’s got rare fangs,’ murmured Scott.
Daley decided it was time to change the subject. ‘Well, if this witness is Greek we’d better get a translator sorted. Can you give HQ a shout? We can do it online.’
‘I’ve done that.’
‘Good man, Brian. Sorry, I’m forgetting you’ve had to deal with all this. I need you to keep going, if you can. It’ll take me a wee while to find my feet, you know what I mean?’
‘I do, Jimmy. Mind, I’ve been shot and had tae come back fae that – twice!’
Daley nodded. He knew now exactly how Scott had felt. Despite having been a police officer for so many years, he felt out of kilter. Nothing seemed normal. What had been mundane for so long now appeared strange, like the first day at a new school. He hoped the feeling would pass.
The phone on his desk rang. ‘Don’t tell me, it’s Grant Dunwoody, Sergeant Shaw?’
‘No, sir – not even close. I have a Mrs Doig at the front desk. Says one of her sons is missing.’
‘Bring her through, please, sergeant.’
‘What now?’ said Scott.
‘It’s Ginny Doig.’ Daley sounded as surprised as he looked.
‘Bugger me. Bring oot your deid!’
It was early – very early – for Vito Chiase. As he boarded the aircraft he was ushered to his right, the cheap end. He was dismayed to have been allocated an aisle seat. At the window sat a fat man in a T-shirt that was at least four sizes too small. He seemed to have no neck at all, his head apparently erupting from his shoulders amidst rings of chins. The boy next to Chiase – the other man’s kid, he reckoned – was nearly as obese as his father. He was eating a candy bar, much of which was spread across his round bloated face. Chiase looked on in disgust as the boy wiped his hand on the armrest they shared.
‘Hey, kid! Clean that shit off there,’ he said irritably.
Before the boy could reply, his father leaned across him. ‘Did you swear at my son?’
Vito Chiase eyed the man up and down. ‘I did. He’s spread his filthy paws all over my armrest. And if he doesn’t clean it up, I’ll stuff him up your fat ass, you got it, dough ball?’
The man opened his mouth to reply, but something in the old man’s gaze made him think again. ‘Here,’ he said to his son. ‘Use this to clean that up. How many times have I told you not to spread food all over the joint?’ He handed him a wet wipe.
‘Better yet, starve yourself for a couple or three months and you might live to be an adult,’ said Chiase, looking straight ahead but speaking loudly enough to be heard.
One thing the modern world had come up with that was worth having was the portability of music. He took the phone from his pocket, made sure it was in flight mode, then selected the music his daughter had downloaded for him on one of her rare visits. He popped in the ear buds and watched other passengers board to the swirling accompaniment of Tony Bennett. It wasn’t so bad. He had enough legroom – just about – and with his fellow passengers suitably subdued, the flight promised to be a long but reasonably comfortable one. ‘Excuse me, miss,’ he said to a female member of the cabin crew as she passed by. ‘Could you tell me where the peeshado . . . the restroom is?’
‘It’s just ahead, to your right, sir. Do you need to go now, or can you wait until we take off? It shouldn’t be long.’
‘No, I was just making sure I knew whe
re it was. At my age, when you need the peeshadoo, you need the peeshadoo, right?’
She smiled and walked back down the aisle. Nice ass, thought Vito Chiase as he settled back, ready to endure the flight to Glasgow.
Ginny Doig was wrapped against the cold in an old coat and a knitted shawl. On her hands were red woollen mittens with holes, and she wore an old pair of green wellington boots. Though Daley was speaking, she stared malevolently at Scott, her green eyes narrowed.
‘So he went missing last night, you say, Mrs Doig?’ said Daley.
‘Aye, that’s whoot I telt you.’
‘It was pretty cold out there. Why didn’t you report this sooner?’
‘The pickup wouldna start, and as you know, we’ve nae phone. We managed tae get it going this morning and I came as soon as I could.’ She tore her gaze from Scott. ‘No’ that you’ll have tae look very far tae find oot who’s responsible, right enough.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I would have thought that was pretty obvious, is it no’?’
‘If it was obvious I wouldn’t have asked the question.’
‘Huh. Amazing whoot a bit o’ money can do. She killed my husband yesterday and noo she’s likely done the same tae her brother.’
‘You’re talking about your daughter, Alice Wenger?’
‘Alison Doig tae me! And aye, that’s who I’m talking aboot.’
‘These are very serious accusations, Mrs Doig.’
‘But you’ve got her passport, aye?’
‘That’s a precaution. Procedure. And anyway, how do you know that?’
‘I might live in the back o’ beyond, but I’m no’ stupid. And I’ve a fine pair o’ lugs, tae. This is Kinloch, mind!’
‘About what time did your son go missing?’
‘He never appeared for his supper.’
‘Is that unusual? I mean, he is an adult. Might he have had something else to do?’
‘I telt you this before, but you clearly didna listen. My boys – all my boys – are simple. They’ve lived wae me and my husband since they was born. They couldna survive alone. Thorbin’s never missed his supper in his life.’
‘Did you no’ try ringing the bell for him?’ said Scott acerbically.
‘Aye, I did. I’ve been ringing it half the night – and this morning.’
‘So, your sons answer to a bell?’ said Daley.
‘How many times? They’re simple, no’ quite right in the heids. They go oot tae dae their chores and when their meals are ready or it’s time tae call it a day, I ring the bell tae get them back. You saw me dae it yesterday.’
‘I need a description of your son, please, Mrs Doig.’
‘You only jeest clocked him. Can you no’ remember?’
‘I need to know what he was wearing last night. His age, eye colour, height, build; just get on with it, please.’
Ginny Doig looked from one detective to the other then folded her arms. ‘He’s fifty-six years old. Aboot six feet tall, baldie, wae a wee coo’s lick o’ hair stickin’ up at the top o’ his heid. He was wearing a black cape o’er a blue sweater and a pair o’ black dungarees – aye, and black boots. Is that enough for yous?’
‘A cape? I thought they went oot wae Sherlock Holmes.’ A look from Daley silenced Scott.
‘It’ll be enough to be going on with.’ Daley put down his pen. ‘Your son lost his father yesterday. Does it not occur to you that he might be distressed . . . grieving?’
‘Where there’s nae sense, there’s nae feeling. Is that no’ whoot they say?’ She looked purposefully at Scott. ‘Anyhow, you know fine how tae find him. Get to my daughter and ask her whoot she’s done wae her brother, and why she killed her faither.’
‘Can I ask your date of birth, please, Mrs Doig?’
‘For whoot reason?’
‘For the inquiry, please.’
‘Eighteenth September, 1941. I was born in the local hospital – well, the old yin.’
‘And your full name, including your maiden name, please?’
‘Jennifer Elizabeth Doig. My ain name was McMaster, my maiden name, that is.’ She shuffled in her seat. ‘Noo can you get off your arses and away and arrest that daughter o’ mine?’
Ignoring her, Daley carried on. ‘Have you worked anywhere – apart from on the croft, I mean?’
‘We’re intae ancient history, noo? I worked as a domestic at the Royal Infirmary in Glasgow. That’s where I met Nathaniel. When he came back hame, so did I.’
‘And that was?’
‘In the early sixties. I cannae remember the date.’
‘Does your son have a favourite place to go? Near your house, or a friend’s, maybe?’
‘Are you deaf? My boys have nae friends. They’re too stupid. Who would want tae befriend them, eh?’
Daley just nodded his head. ‘So there’s nowhere you can think of where he might have sought refuge from the death of his father?’
‘He had me tae come tae!’ She shoved her chair back and stood. ‘I tell you right noo. If yous don’t go and get justice for my husband and find my son, I’ll go and dae it mysel’.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You know fine whoot I mean.’
‘Mrs Doig, I warn you not to approach Alice Wenger. We’ll deal with this now. I’m sure your son can’t have strayed far, though I’m worried he’s been out all night in this cold weather.’
‘See that you do. But you’ll find a body, I’m sure o’ it.’ She turned on her heel, knocking over the chair on which she’d been sitting, and stormed out of Daley’s glass box.
‘She’s an evil woman,’ said Scott. ‘If Wenger wisnae a witness to what happened tae Mr Doig yesterday, I’d swear she killed him.’
‘Whatever, Brian. But it’s our duty to try and find Thorbin Doig. Let’s get going.’
‘I’ll go see if we can get the chopper fae Glasgow.’
‘Right, Brian, go for it.’
Daley called Shaw and got him to round up a provisional search party. He flicked on the computer to send an email to HQ informing them of a missing person and the details to be circulated around the force. But his mouth dropped when the screen flickered into life.
The heading was simple: Report on DCI J F Daley. DI B Scott. FAO Chief Superintendent C Symington. Daley read the first few lines and his heart sank.
23
Mike Strong didn’t like Glasgow; in fact he actively disliked it. He was even unhappier at the prospect of the task ahead. But this was the chance to make money – lots of money, and for very little effort. If he insulated himself properly, well, the risks were minimal. In his experience, the real things worth anything in life could only be attained if one was prepared to take a risk or two. He’d done since ever he could remember, never regretting a moment.
When he’d parked his dark blue Bentley on the second floor as arranged, he wound down the window. The multi-storey car park was dank, dark and stank of piss, being used as an impromptu toilet by revellers who spilled from the nearby pubs and clubs most nights. He curled his nose in disgust, quickly wound the window back up, and switched on the car radio.
He never ceased to be amazed by the endless hours or print inches journalists could fill by revealing the latest scientific results of the impacts on health of drinking coffee or eating eggs. In reality, he was sure that longevity was more to do with a genetic lottery than it was a product of lifestyle, though there were extremes at both ends.
The man he was about to meet was at one of those extremes, and not the healthy end, though Strong suspected that having reached his fifties Declan O’Neil must have come from a reasonably robust gene pool, given the way he’d abused his body with drugs, drink and depravity since he was little more than a child.
Strong drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel until O’Neil appeared at the passenger window and started to open the car door.
‘Wait!’ shouted Strong. He produced a plastic sheet from the glovebox of th
e Bentley and spread it over the cream leather of the passenger seat. ‘Right, you can sit down now.’
The man who entered the car had sparse fair hair, sunken eyes, and hollowed-out cheeks lined with creases and wrinkles. In his fifties he may be, but he could easily have passed for someone twenty years older.
‘Mr Strong. How goes it, man?’ he asked, displaying a mouth of brown, discoloured teeth, with the odd gap here and there.
‘I thought this place stank, but you smell worse,’ said Strong, holding a silk handkerchief to his nose. ‘Are the CCTV cameras out on this floor, as you promised?
‘The meter’s empty, big man. I’m just away tae get a top-up. I couldnae have a bath this morning, so I couldnae. Aye, the cameras are oot. The boys dae their deals up here. They’ve got a thing going wae the security guys. You’re like a ghost, so you are.’
‘Good. When did you say you’d had a bath? Last month, judging by the smell. You can still wash in cold water, you know.’
‘Fuck that! In this weather? You must be joking. It’s snowing oot there, big man.’
‘I know. I’ve just driven through it from Edinburgh.’
O’Neil sniffed back some mucus and rubbed his nose on the back of his hand. ‘See me, I love Edinburgh. Different class fae roon here. That castle an’ that, pure dead beautiful, so it is.’
‘Trust me, it isn’t all like that.’ Strong took the hanky from his nose. ‘Have you done what I asked?’
‘Aye. Your man will get the goods when he arrives at the place you telt me aboot.’
‘And you made sure not to mention me, or anything else?’
‘What dae you take me for, Mr Strong? Sure I was the best man you ever had tae defend? I might look like a heap o’ shit, but I’ve still got it up here.’ He tapped the side of his head with one gnarled, nicotine-stained finger. ‘The guy that’s got the guy tae get the stuff doesnae know me, never mind you. See, just like you wanted, boss.’
‘Good.’ Strong reached into his pocket. ‘Half now, half when the job’s done.’
‘Hauld the bus, big man. I’ve done my bit o’ the bargain. That’s me finished – I need the dough, as you can see. I’ve no’ had bugger all tae eat for three days. Well, apart fae they shite sandwiches and soup the Sally Army hand oot fae the van up in the Toonheid.’
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