Head Shot bs-12

by Quintin Jardine

  'As far as I'm concerned, they should be an endangered species.'

  'In this country, honey,' she said, quietly, 'they are.'

  A smal shiver ran through him; he was on the brink of telling her about Doherty's discoveries, but stopped himself. Instead, he reached into his pocket and switched on his cellphone. It showed one cal unanswered. At first he thought it might be Joe, but when he checked the log he found that it was from the private handphone of Sarah's lawyer, Clyde Oakdale, interim successor to Jackson Wylie as senior partner of her father's firm.

  He made the return cal, and handed the phone to Sarah, as it was put through.

  'Clyde? You're working late,' he heard her say, as he opened the Jaguar with its remote, and walked towards it.

  He was in the driver's seat, with the engine running, when she ended the cal and slid in, lithely, beside him. 'The meeting?' he asked.

  'Yes. He wants to do it tomorrow; he says it'l take him that long to complete the audit of Dad and Mum's estate.'

  'What time?'

  'Five,' she answered; he heard an awkwardness in her voice. 'Bob, I know you're named as joint executor, but Clyde said that he'd like to see me alone for the formal reading. It's the way Dad wanted it, apparently.

  You don't mind, do you?'

  He smiled and shook his head. 'I never questioned anything Leo did when he was alive. I'm not going to start now. We'l be a bit tight for the Walkers, though. Aren't they expecting us around six?'

  'Yes, but how about if you go there on your own and I'l join you once I'm finished with Clyde? You can walk to their place from here; it's only a couple of blocks.'

  'Yes, I suppose I could do that.'

  'That's good.' She reached over and patted his hand. 'Okay, that's al today's difficulties over. What are we going to do now?'

  He grunted. 'I reckon it's about time you got some sleep. Then tomorrow, I'm going shopping.'

  'Shopping?'

  'Too right: I left home with a case packed for a few days in Malaysia.

  I have to buy a suit that's appropriate for a funeral in Buffalo.'

  61

  'How quickly do you want this, ma'am?' Stevie Steele asked.

  'Mmm?' Maggie Rose lowered her coffee mug from her lips and glanced back across the table at the recently promoted detective inspector.

  'Sorry, I was away somewhere else just for a second.'

  'Late night?'

  'Does it show? I suppose it must; I feel bleary enough. Yes, I had to go and see Mr Pringle about this thing, and then Mario got in from Paula's at God knows when. To answer your question, Stevie, I want it to be exhaustive first, and urgent second. I've established that when this Ella Frances woman registered the death, she asked for five copies of the death certificate.

  'That's more than the norm. Why would she need that many? It suggests to me not just that we're right and there was an insurance policy on Essary's life, but that there might have been more than one. So take as long as you need. She'd need at least one certificate for the undertaker, so don't stop til you've been round al the life insurers, or until you've traced four policies. Give it top priority, though; this is a key part of a murder enquiry and it's down to you.'

  Steele nodded. 'Understood, ma'am. I'll get on it right away.' He stood, then paused. 'By the way, ma'am,' he asked, 'is there anything on the Viareggio case yet?'

  'Nothing I want to talk about, even to you. Why do you ask?'

  Suddenly, the detective, normal y confident, looked awkward. 'I thought you might know. I went out with Paula Viareggio for a while. It never got too serious; we were friends as much as anything else.'

  'No,' the superintendent answered, truthfully, 'I never heard about that. Did you know Beppe?'

  'Yes, I met him. Almost by accident it was; we were out for a meal and he came into the place with a couple of pals. He came over and she introduced us. He was not at his most charming, I have to say. He'd had a drink, and when Paula told him what I did, he said, in this loud voice that the whole restaurant could hear, "Oh dear, no, I'm not having another policeman in the family"… or words to that effect. And then he said to me, a lot quieter, confidential like, "You want to watch her, son. She's an effing pimp, you know." Nice man.'

  Rose nodded. 'Uncle Beppe had his faults, I'l agree. How did Paula take that?'

  The inspector whistled. 'I never knew she had a temper until then.

  She went dead white, and the look she gave him scared even me. There was a steak knife on the table; she picked it up and started out of her seat. I grabbed her wrist, quick, and forced her back down. I told her father it would be a good idea if he went somewhere else, and he did.

  She scared him sober, I'll tell you.'

  'Was that the only time you met him?'

  'Yes. It was never the same after that between Paula and me. About a month later, we decided to pack it in.'

  'You both decided?'

  'Well, she said it first, but I didn't argue.'

  'Did you know what Beppe meant by his remark?'

  'No. I never asked, and she never said.'

  The superintendent sighed. 'I almost wish you'd never told me that story, Stevie. But you have, so I have to ask you whether you think you have to tell it to Detective Superintendent Jay, as well.'

  Steele sat back in the chair he had just vacated. 'I've been asking myself that, ma'am. That's probably why I brought up the subject; to get a bit of guidance.'

  'You don't real y need it, though, do you?'

  'No. I'll go to see Mr Jay today.'

  'Like hell you will. You'll concentrate on our investigation; get Greg to send a couple of officers along here to take a statement from you.'

  He stood once more. 'Very good, ma'am; but to tel you the truth, I don't see her having done it. There and then, maybe, but not in cold blood like that.'

  'Why not?' asked Rose. 'She surprised you that night. Tell me, do you know anything about other men in Paula's life?'

  Steele took a deep breath as he considered his answer. 'There weren't al that many, as far as I could tell. I remember she did say to me once that she was a one-man woman, but that there were lots of reasons why that couldn't happen. Actually, I was pretty certain that she was talking about her brother-in-law, Stan Coia.'

  After he had left the room, Maggie sat for five minutes, staring at the 252 wall. She thought about cal ing Mario, to tell him Steele's story, but decided that some news is better broken in person. Eventually, she stirred herself, looked at her private address book, picked up the telephone, and dial ed a direct line number in the General Register Office. It rang three times before a cheery voice answered. 'Glossop.'

  'Jim, hello. It's Maggie Rose here. Central Division CID. Remember me?'

  'Of course I do. You were in Bob Skinner's office a while back, weren't you?' The statistician's accent had originated in the north of England, and had remained untarnished by decades in Scotland.

  'That's right. I wasn't sure whether you'd stil be in yours, though.'

  'Hah! You just caught me: my bags are packed and I'm ready to go. I take early retirement next week.'

  'Can you do me a favour for the road, then?'

  'Sure. What do you need?'

  'Everything you can tell me about a man named Magnus Essary. His death, aged forty-nine, was registered in Edinburgh just over a week ago.

  We have no leads to next of kin; the man's a mystery.'

  'Is the body unclaimed, then?'

  'No, it was claimed next day by his business partner, a woman named El a Frances. But we can't find her.' She paused. 'Jim, I'm going to tell you something that's very confidential. The death was registered as that of Magnus Essary, but it wasn't him at al. We know whose the body real y was, and it certainly wasn't his.'

  'Bloody hell! The registrar general won't like that; it's a serious offence to make a false statement to a registrar.'

  'It's a serious offence to kill someone, as well.'

  'This man was murdered?'
<
br />   'We're sure of it. But that's another problem. The body was cremated at the weekend.'

  'Who signed the death certificate?'

  'A locum doctor.'

  'Why can't you arrest him?'

  'Not for the want of trying, but he's vanished too.'

  'How about the partner?'

  'Her name's El a Frances, but we know even less about her. Probably she's in her twenties, but Frances could be a married name, and Ella could be short for a few things.'

  'Aye,' said Jim Glossop. 'It could, couldn't it. Essary was forty-nine, you say?'

  'Yes.' She spelled the surname for him.

  'Leave it with me. I'll get back to you.'

  'Soon, Jim, yes?'

  'Too bloody right,' he laughed. 'Remember I'm retiring next week.

  My first leaving do is tonight, and after that I won't be worth a stuff.'

  She hung up and went back to her in-tray, cursing Manny English and Willie Haggerty for their combined roles in introducing her to the job of divisional commander of operations, yet interested, in spite of herself, in the different tasks and responsibilities which the role involved. Gradual y she became immersed in the papers before her, considering each one, delegating most tasks but taking command decisions on a few. To her surprise, she was actually annoyed when the phone rang, interrupting her.

  'Mags?' Dan Pringle's gruff voice enquired.

  'Yes, sir.' There was background noise on the line; she guessed that the head of CID was on the move.

  'I'm on the Al, on the way to Gifford. I want you to head out there and meet up with Brian Mackie and me at the Goblin Ha'. You know it?'

  'Sure. It's right in the middle of the village.'

  'Fine. As quick as you can, then, but I want you to bring Charlie Johnston with you. Brian's got another deid bloke up the Lammermuirs we want him to look at.'

  62

  'You know, sir, when I phoned you, I didn't expect you to come yourself.'

  'Come on, son,' replied Detective Superintendent Gregory Jay, amiably. 'I'd hardly send a DC to interview a DI now, would I? I'm glad I did come too; that was a very interesting story you just told me.'

  'Maybe so, sir,' Stevie Steele interposed, quickly, 'but I wouldn't read too much into it.'

  'I would, though, Inspector; I surely would. You have to prevent the woman from attacking her father with a knife, and later he's found shot dead.'

  'Two years later, sir.'

  'Yes, and so what? That makes her a suspect in my book, and it would in yours too, if you hadn't been so personally involved.'

  Steele said nothing, for he knew that Jay was right. 'What about this chap Coia?' the superintendent continued. 'What did you make of him?'

  'Nothing much. I met him a couple of times, casual y, but he didn't make any impression on me. His beard was his most interesting feature, I reckoned. I could see that he and Paula hit it off, though. They were comfortable together… or maybe she was just sorry for him, being married to her sister. She's an absolute mouse beside Paula.

  'You don't real y fancy Coia and Paula for this, do you, sir?'

  Jay smiled. 'Start thinking with your policeman's brain, son, and not with your dick. You slept with her, so she can't be a murderer. Is that what you're saying? The fact is I've got no one else to fancy for this, but a stray lead to this character Essary and his partner Frances. But where are they? Who said they ever existed? Maybe they were just a front for Coia and your bird, fictional culprits set up for when they did in her father.'

  Steele hid his surprise; clearly, Dan Pringle had chosen not to tell Jay about the couple's involvement in the death of Father Francis Donovan Green.

  'But why would they do it, sir? Beppe Viareggio's murder was premeditated and planned. Okay, Paula's got a temper, but there's nothing cold-blooded about her.'

  'Money, son. What else? The father controlled the business and they wanted him out of the way.'

  'But Paula doesn't inherit control. She told me that when we were going together. Mario McGuire's mother becomes head of the family business, and after her, Mario does. Or are you going to tell me that Detective Superintendent McGuire's involved in this as well?'

  Jay sat bolt upright in his chair. 'Certainly not,' he snapped.

  'Well, that's where your logic's taking you,' said Steele quietly. 'Go with Paula as a suspect and you're bringing him into it as well. Are you ready to go to DCS Pringle, and to the DCC when he gets back, and tell them that?'

  63

  The drive to Gifford went by mostly in silence. Charlie Johnston sat in the passenger seat, content; he was back on day shift and did not mind one bit that he had been hauled off patrol to go on a jaunt with a detective superintendent. He liked the country, too, and spent the latter part of the journey staring out of the window, admiring the scenery on the winding approach to the village nestling at the foot of the Lammermuirs.

  Dan Pringle was waiting for them, leaning against his car, when Rose drew up outside the Goblin Ha' Hotel. She rolled down her window as he approached. 'Where's Brian?' she asked.

  'He's waiting for us. What he's got's no' here. It's up the Lammermuirs; a couple of backpackers found it this morning. We'l take your car up there; this used to be your patch, so you know the way.' Without waiting for agreement or invitation he opened the rear offside door and climbed in.

  Maggie felt her blood run cold. She had been on the Lammermuirs before, and Pringle knew it; at the scene of a terrible air disaster, which had ended so many people's lives, and changed several more, irrevocably.

  She had never been there since. Nevertheless she clenched her jaw and drove off, out of the vil age and up the winding, undulating road that led to the great heather-covered moor. They seemed to go on for miles until they reached the junction offering a choice of routes to Duns, Cranshaws on the left, Longformacus on the right.

  'Take right,' grunted Pringle, from the back.

  'You got wellies on?' she asked as she fol owed his direction.

  'No. Why should I? It's been fine weather for days.'

  'That's right; so the adders'l be out, sunning themselves. There are a lot of them up here, you know.' She took a quick glance in her rearview mirror and was quietly pleased to see the head ofCID's frown. Beside her, Charlie Johnston flinched; suddenly his day out seemed a little less cushy. She drove on, looking straight ahead, as they passed the crash site.

  She guessed that they had reached the highest point to the road when they saw the vehicles pulled into a lay-by; a patrol car, an Audi estate, a Nissan saloon and an ambulance. On the other side of the single-track carriageway, a Land Rover was parked on the heather. As she looked towards it, the tall, dome-headed figure of Detective Superintendent Brian Mackie stepped out of the front passenger seat.

  'Afternoon,' he said as they approached. It was two minutes past midday, but Mackie was famed for his precision.

  'Hello, Brian,' Pringle answered. 'Where is it, then?'

  'It's not far, but I'l take you in the four-by-four.' Rose followed behind the head of CID and the constable, looking on amused, as they picked their way through the heather to the waiting vehicle. They scrambled on board, awkwardly in the cases of Pringle and Johnston, and the uniformed driver set off up a steady incline. No one spoke as they drove; Johnston knew his place while the senior officers knew that the questions in their minds would be answered soon enough.

  The terrain was rough even in the agile wagon; Maggie found it impossible to judge how far they had travelled, but as they drew to a halt she looked at her watch and saw that they had been travelling for around three minutes.

  'We're here,' said Brian Mackie, superfluously, as he opened the door and jumped out. 'This way.' He nodded towards a group of white-coated men and women spread out in a line around thirty yards away, heads down, studying the heather intently. At their centre a big white frame tent had been erected; Mackie headed towards it, Pringle, Rose and Johnston fol owing close behind.

  As they reached it, the
flap opened and a tal young man stepped out; Maggie recognised him at once. 'Hello, Dr Brown,' she said cheerfully.

  'Haven't seen you since North Berwick.'

  The medial examiner smiled, a touch rueful y. 'I'm sure you're very nice socially, Superintendent,' he replied, in a light Irish accent, 'but every time our paths cross professional y, you've got a real ripe one for me.'

  'Cause of death, doctor?' Mackie asked, briskly.

  'As it seems, I'd say. Gunshot wound from close range; in the back and through the heart; death would have been instantaneous.'

  'Is the bul et still in situ?'

  The doctor shook his head. 'Not a chance. You might find a fragment, but you'l be lucky; there's an exit wound the size of a golf bal in the chest. Heavy calibre weapon, undoubtedly.'

  'Was he killed here?'

  'I'd say not; there's very little blood around the body. No, he was shot somewhere else and brought kere.'

  'When?'

  'I honestly haven't a clue. He's been dead for several days, but if I ventured anything more than tliat it would be pure guesswork. It's been warm so that would accelerate decomposition, and a few things have been gnawing at him. Too many variables; I'l leave that to the pathologist.'

  'Fair enough,' said Mackie.'Let me have your report as soon as you can.' He turned to the driver. Jimmy, give the ME a lift to his car and then come back.'

  As the doctor left, he tumedtowards the tent, with a glance at Pringle.

  'It's all yours, sir.'

  'I want nothing to do'with it,' the head of CID retorted. 'That's what Charlie's here for. On you goJohnston, take a look.'

  The big constable stared atliim. The, sir?'

  'Aye, you; did you think Superintendent Rose brought you as her bodyguard?

  Take a look at the deceased and tell us if you've seen him before.'

  Johnston paled, visibly. 'Very good, sir,' he answered.

  'On you go, Charlie,' said Ease, lifting the flap once more. 'I'll come in with you.' She had known since Pringle's phone cal who, or what, they were likely to find.