Grievous Angel bs-21

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘How old are you now?’ I asked.

  ‘Twenty-six.’

  ‘Congratulations, kid. You’ve made it two years ahead of schedule.’

  His face lit up; he seemed to radiate. McGuire is the most charismatic man I’ve ever known, and I’ve met a few worthy of that adjective. ‘You mean I’m staying? It’s not temporary?’

  I nodded. ‘You’re signed up. The head of CID’s approved your transfer from uniform.’

  ‘Aw, that’s great, boss,’ the big guy exclaimed. ‘Wait till my mate McIlhenney hears about this. He will shite bricks of pure green envy. He and I had a bet on who’d make it into plain clothes first.’

  ‘Where is he just now, this pal of yours that I keep hearing about?’

  ‘Intimidating sailors in Leith.’

  ‘Maybe I should take a look at him too,’ I said. ‘But first things first. Since you are on the strength, give me a view on the Watson inquiry. Where do we stand on it?’

  He sucked in a breath. ‘Well,’ he ventured, ‘from what I’ve been told, we know that the guys that wrote him off have been remodelled themselves, and we had no leads beyond them. Newcastle answered the mobile phone question while you were out. No joy there either; none found on any of them. If Milburn and his pal were taxi drivers like they say, that’s beyond belief, so somebody’s mopped them up too, as those guys did with Marlon’s.’ He frowned. ‘Looks like we’re up against it, sir. Down to last resort stuff. Cherchez la femme, and all that.’

  ‘Say that again.’ I must have spoken sharply, for he looked concerned.

  ‘Sorry, boss,’ he murmured. ‘I was just being flip. Like the French say, when all else fails, look to the woman.’

  I laughed. ‘Maybe you were being flip, but do you know what? You’re going to be a great detective, Mario. There are some, the great majority, like Fred and me, that mix methodical with a wee bit of instinct, but every so often there’s someone who just relies on flair, luck and brass neck, yet gets the job done better than anyone else. You’re going to be one of them; I can sense it.’

  He looked at me, puzzled. ‘Thanks, boss, but what the fuck do you mean? Why? What did I say?’

  ‘Tony Manson’s woman,’ I answered. ‘The one he took to Ibiza. We’ve ignored her all along. We don’t know who she is, and he took pains to make sure that nobody else does either. It’s time we found out.’

  ‘Maybe, sir, but how? People sign in as Mr and Mrs Smith all the time.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Christ, I do often enough.’

  ‘Not on an aeroplane passenger list, they don’t. Check it out, Mario, check it out. Manson flew to Ibiza from Newcastle the Sunday before last. Get on to the airport and find out who the carrier was, then contact them and find out who was with him.’

  ‘There’ll have been a couple of hundred people on board. How’ll we know out of all of them?’

  I shook my head. ‘Thank God the magic doesn’t work all the time,’ I said. ‘That would be too much to take. She’ll be the one in the next fucking seat to him, son, that’s how. Now go to it.’

  As I left him leafing through the Yellow Pages… he had a lot to learn, but I couldn’t teach him all of it… Fred Leggat, Jeff Adam and Andy Martin returned from lunch. I called the DI into my office and told him about McGuire’s brainstorming, and of the instructions I’d given to the press officer. ‘Make sure that everybody knows the party lines on both, Fred,’ I warned. ‘Nothing beyond; not even pub talk.’

  ‘Will do,’ he promised. ‘By the way, DCS Stein called while you were out, boss. He said he’d like a word.’

  ‘How about two?’ I growled. ‘Those being “fuck” and “off ”.’

  Leggat laughed. ‘You tell him that, boss. I’ve got a pension to safeguard.’

  In truth, I had no reason to moan about Alf. He was my line manager, and he was entitled to be kept in the loop. I walked up to his office, knowing that he’d be there. My stomach was rumbling as I reached his door. I’d burned through my trucker’s breakfast.

  ‘Come in, son,’ he greeted me. Most of the time, Alf was avuncular. ‘You look fucking knackered. I can guess why. Inspector Hesitant sent me copies of the statements you issued.’ He saw my expression change and added, ‘Don’t go and tear into him, now; it’s a standing order he has. Before that, though, I had a call from my opposite number in Newcastle asking for any help we can give him. There’s a lot of heat on down there. The guy they found after you’d left was a hell of a fucking mess apparently. Something of a local character too, so his death’s attracted special attention. Not just in the media either. He was big in the Masons, so there’s interest within the Northumbria force, at the very top level.’

  ‘That’s all I need,’ I grumbled. ‘Pressure from the goat-shaggers, as a chum of mine calls them.’

  ‘Shh,’ Alf whispered. ‘Don’t let Proud Jimmy hear you.’

  ‘The chief? Is he one?’

  ‘Aye. High up, too.’

  ‘Then you must be as well,’ I pointed out, ‘or you wouldn’t know that.’

  He beamed. ‘We’ll make a detective out of you yet, young Skinner. Now you know about us, you’d better join yourself.’

  ‘Not a chance,’ I assured him.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m too secretive for you guys.’

  He stared at me, and then exploded in laughter.

  ‘Let me give you an example, sir,’ I said, then described the scene in Winston Church’s kitchen in all its terrible detail.

  By the time I was finished he was pale, and serious. ‘You were there.’

  I nodded. ‘Andy and I. After we’d found him, the local talent got a bit nervous about our presence, so we got off our mark.’

  ‘Good for you. That was the best thing to do.’

  ‘What does their head of CID want from us?’ I asked.

  ‘He wants you to share your files on the Watson case, and to take a couple of his officers on to your team. How do you feel about that?’

  I bounced it straight back to him. ‘You’re the gaffer.’

  ‘No, Bob, it’s your call.’

  ‘Then it’s no, twice. These men were killed because of Marlon Watson.’ As I set out the facts for him, my thinking began to coalesce. ‘They were hired, I believe, through Church, to extract information from him, and they were given a location where they could do the job undisturbed. They did it thoroughly. I don’t know what they were trying to find out, or if they succeeded, but they were not the most subtle interrogators, and they killed him in the process. They were also careless. Early in our investigation we identified the van they’d used in Marlon’s abduction, traced its owner, and asked Northumbria for assistance in locating him. You with me?’

  ‘Aye, go on.’

  ‘Right. After… I stress that, after… we’d made that request, the van was found burning, and our suspect, the man Milburn, went into hiding with his associate. Not immediately after the murder, boss, but two or three days after it. What does that tell you?’

  ‘Leak,’ Stein growled, immediately, looking not in the least like a favourite uncle.

  ‘Exactly. For a while I had one major concern.’ I told him frankly about my conversation with Manson, including my own recklessness, but said that he was eliminated as a suspect to my satisfaction. ‘It can only be inside, boss; it must have come from one of our number. I trust my people, every one of them, so my assumption is that whoever tipped them off that we were on to them is in Newcastle, not here.’

  ‘Why didn’t Church go into hiding too?’ the DCS asked, shrewdly.

  ‘We didn’t have any evidence against him, we still don’t and we probably never will. Sir, I can’t have officers from down there on my team. If I did, I’d have to detach one of ours to keep them under observation.’

  He leaned back in his chair. ‘Point taken, son,’ he murmured. ‘I’d better tell my southern colleague to start looking in his own midden.’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘Don’t do that. I don’t want to alert
anyone. I want the world to think that we’re closing the Watson investigation with the deaths of these men. I want to put everyone at their ease, including the inside man, for I want him too. When I find him, I’ll hit the bastard hardest of all, for he must have known that he was setting these two guys up to be killed.’

  When I got back to the office, I checked on McGuire’s progress. He had managed to track down the carrier, a small charter operation based in Glasgow, but its airport representative wouldn’t release information without her boss’s approval, and he was proving hard to find. ‘If they give you any more trouble, tell him that we’re friendly with HM Customs and Excise,’ I suggested, ‘and that a short-notice VAT inspection can be fixed up any time. That usually works.’

  I left him to get on with it, for it was time for me to leave to collect Alison. I called ahead, and she was waiting for me at the front door. ‘Redpath’s been delayed on the road,’ she told me as she climbed in. ‘Tailback somewhere down the A1, his manager says.’

  ‘When is there not?’ I responded. ‘That’s fine. I’d rather be waiting for him when he gets there anyway. It removes any scope for misunderstanding.’

  ‘Misunderstanding of what?’

  ‘The fact that we’re serious. You know what murder inquiries are like; witnesses tend to get nervous when we turn up. If he chose to avoid us, his company could hardly hold him there.’

  The haulage depot wasn’t actually in Haddington, but on the outskirts. We found it easily enough, but there was no welcoming committee. The office was a Portakabin and it was locked. A couple of red-liveried lorries were parked in the compound, but there was no one around.

  ‘I wonder what the manager’s done,’ Alison chuckled. ‘Looks as if he got nervous as well.’

  She and I sat in the car and waited, for there was nothing else to do. I told her about the holding statement I’d issued on her investigation, and about the heat that had developed on Tyneside over Church’s murder, but I kept the matter of the leak to myself.

  We had been there for fifteen minutes when my mobile sounded. It was Mario McGuire. ‘I’ve finally tracked down the travel company’s managing director, boss,’ he announced, but I could tell from his voice that it wasn’t all good news. ‘He’s got no problem with giving us the name we need, but when he called the Newcastle Airport office to tell the woman there to release it, she’d buggered off for the night. He’s not being obstructive; he says there’s nothing he can do.’

  In fact there was; if McGuire shouted loud enough, the director could have contacted his employee as soon as she arrived home and sent her back to give us what we were after. I was about to tell him that when a red articulated truck slowed at the entrance to the yard and turned in. ‘Okay,’ I conceded, ‘but he has to get her in there at sparrowfart tomorrow.’

  ‘She will be, boss. The company’s got a seven fifteen departure to Barcelona.’

  ‘I wish I was on it.’ I ended the call, and stepped out of the car. Alison and I waited until the vehicle was parked, then approached as the driver jumped down from the cab, a tall skinny guy with ginger hair and a full beard.

  ‘Charles Redpath?’ I began, holding my warrant card for him to see. ‘We’re police officers and we’d like a word.’

  He didn’t seem disturbed by us, in any way. ‘That’s me,’ he said, his face expectant. ‘What is it? Have you caught the swine that killed Albie? D’you need me for an identity parade?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘We’re not at that stage yet. Look, do you want to come and sit in my car?’

  He glanced at it, with the air of someone who’d rather have sat in a hearse. ‘Nah,’ he decreed. ‘We’ll go and sit in the office. I’ve got the keys.’

  We followed him across to the Portakabin. Inside, it was Spartan, but I supposed that it served its purpose. There was a small private area to the left of the door, a toilet to the right, and half a dozen full-length lockers against the far wall. Redpath unlocked one of them. A suit and shirt hung inside. He offered us each a seat, but they looked like health and safety rejects, so we declined. ‘What can I do for you then?’ he asked.

  ‘What school did you go to?’

  Alison’s question took him by surprise. ‘Knox Academy, in Haddington. What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Never Maxwell Academy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you didn’t know Albie McCann from school. How did you meet?’

  ‘I used to be a Lothian bus driver; I met Albie in the garage. I didn’t like it, though. Some of the runs can be really dodgy late at night. So I took this job when the chance came up.’

  She nodded. ‘Good. That explains the connection between you. The reason for the question is that Albie and Archie Weir, the other murder victim, did go to the same school, although they weren’t in the same year. That’s the only link between them, and we’re wondering if it relates to their murders in some way. If it does… we need to find out how.’

  ‘I see.’ He scratched at his beard. A family of magpies could have set up home in there.

  ‘So think carefully. I know you told the other officers who interviewed you that you didn’t know Archie Weir. Are you still sure that Albie McCann never mentioned him?’

  ‘Absolutely. Weir was my mother’s name before she married my dad. I wouldn’t have forgotten that.’

  ‘I’ll accept that,’ she conceded. ‘Did he ever talk about any other of his schoolmates?’

  He knitted his heavy brows. ‘There was one he mentioned a lot,’ he murmured. ‘I even met him, only a couple of weeks ago. I’d arranged to meet Albie in the Guildford Arms, up in town, for a quick one, about half five. When I turned up, this guy was there too. His name was Telfer, Don Telfer, and he was at Maxwell Academy.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘I suppose. He’s not very tall, about five eight, maybe. Slim guy, well turned out, clean-shaven. He’s got a scar on his face but otherwise that’s about it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where we can find him?’

  Redpath laughed. ‘Yes, I do. In the middle of the North Sea. Let’s figure this out. That was a Wednesday night, yes, and he said that he would be going offshore again on the Friday, for another six-week trip. He works on an oil production platform. He’s the radio officer. He said that he looks after all their communications, and maintains all the equipment. He even runs an on-board broadcasting station.’

  It hasn’t happened very often, but that was one of the times in my career when a witness has said something that’s made the hair at the back of my neck prickle with excitement. There were no prizes for guessing who had given Archie Weir that photocopied page.

  ‘You haven’t seen him since?’ I asked.

  ‘No. That was the only time. I wasn’t with him for long. He and Albie left about half past six, and I went to meet my date.’

  He had no more to tell us, so we thanked him and left. I drove past Haddington then turned left at Herdmanflat and climbed, heading for Aberlady and Gullane. Neither of us spoke, but we had plenty on our minds. I pulled into a parking place at the crest of the hill. ‘Well?’ Alison murmured.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Let me make a call.’ She took her mobile from her bag. ‘Brian,’ I heard her say when she was connected, ‘have you or Stevie spoken to Mia Watson yet?’ There was a pause. ‘Okay. Tell him that when he does, he should ask her, as well as asking her if she remembers McCann or Weir from Maxwell Academy, whether the name Don Telfer means anything. Before that, though, he should trace all the Donald Telfers living in the Edinburgh area. The one we’re looking for will be aged about twenty-eight, and works on an oil platform in the North Sea. We need to know which one. I want him to find out also if this Telfer subscribes to a magazine called Radioweek. While he’s doing that, I want you to go back to McCann’s mother’s place. Go through his bedroom again, but this time you’re looking for the same photocopy that was found in Weir’s flat. It could easily have
been overlooked when it was searched before, because we weren’t looking for it. Call me as soon as you’ve done all that.’ She finished, and turned to me. ‘Did you get that?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Stevie’s going to catch her at the radio station once she comes off air in a couple of hours. Brian’ll let me know if he finds anything at the flat.’

  ‘Good enough,’ I said, as I restarted the car and swung on to the road. ‘That’s all we can do. You realise, don’t you,’ I added, ‘that possession of that photocopy doesn’t actually imply anything. It’s probably entirely innocent, no more than Telfer finding it in one of his trade journals and saying to his buddies, “Hey, lads, remember that Watson lassie at the school? See what she’s doing now?” We can’t read anything more into it.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ she exclaimed. ‘If we find that same photocopy in McCann’s flat, it shows a common interest in the Watson woman. We’ve linked all three men, I’m certain of it, and two of them are now dead, Bob. I can read plenty into that.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ I conceded, with the best grace I could muster. My thinking was off kilter where Mia was concerned. ‘We don’t even need that second photocopy to tie them together. One more chat with Robert Wyllie could be helpful, though; now we know about Telfer, he needs to be interviewed again. That should be easy. A talk with us will brighten his day at Saughton.’

  ‘Didn’t you know?’ she said. ‘His lawyer asked for bail after all, and the sheriff granted it.’

  ‘His choice, but hopefully not his funeral.’ I’d been bullshitting during the interview. I didn’t really see Wyllie as a target. ‘There’s one blessing in this,’ I went on. ‘Unless he’s gone missing too, Telfer’s out of harm’s way on his oil platform. As you say, two down so far. One still to go? I think we have to assume that. But why? That’s the question.’