Dead And Buried bs-16

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘But you could have blown the whistle at any time.’

  ‘Could I? I had no means of knowing who was involved and who wasn’t.’

  ‘You could have gone to the press.’

  Hassett snorted. ‘I’m an intelligence operative, Inspector. If I was identified as such, there are people in various parts of the world whose lives would only be worth the bullets it took to end them.’

  ‘And also you could see England disappearing before your very eyes.’

  Hassett wrung his hands together. ‘Yes,’ he murmured.

  ‘So you were a willing participant from the start. Let’s not fanny about: you were, weren’t you?’

  ‘If you choose to see me as such.’

  ‘Oh, that’s how you’re seen, Mr Hassett, believe me.’ She paused to let her words sink in. ‘When did you two meet again?’ she continued.

  ‘Almost Shakespearean,’ the traitor sneered. ‘On a few occasions, on the houseboat, when I had feedback from Bassam: that the people had been recruited, that they were on the move and that they were in Edinburgh and ready to act.’

  ‘When NATO intelligence reported that the Albanians had slipped their domestic surveillance, and passed a warning to London that they were heading for the UK, did you think of aborting?’

  ‘No, Sewell was able to promote the theory within Five that they were involved in drug-smuggling, and Amanda Dennis’s unit was brought in. Rudy thought that he would be able to keep them well away from our people.’ He glanced around the room. ‘Clearly, he was mistaken.’

  ‘So to sum up, what you are saying is that you are not aware of the identity of any conspirators other than Sewell, and that you have no knowledge of how Bassam was recruited for the operation.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘You are also saying that the operation was initiated by Sewell, and that you were brought in later, presumably to avoid the risk of his meeting with Bassam.’

  ‘Yes. As a Vauxhall Cross operative, I’m unknown even to most people in the Security Service.’

  ‘Which leaves one last question,’ said Skinner. ‘Since you are very much an undercover operator, who put you in the frame for the job?’

  Hassett stared at him. ‘Do you believe that if I knew I would keep it from you, given my present situation?’

  ‘I do believe this,’ the big Scot replied. ‘The answer to that question is the most important thing in your life, at least what’s left of it.’

  Thirty-three

  ‘ The car was there?’ asked Mackenzie, as Wilding stepped into his office.

  ‘Yes: it’s a silver-grey five-door hatchback A class, a funny-looking car for a Merc.’

  ‘I know the model. Any indications so far?’

  ‘Give us a break, sir. It’s dark, and there was no room in the garage to have any sort of look at it. It’s been loaded on to a recovery vehicle, as you said, and taken up to Fettes: DI Dorward’s team will look at it there. Is the mechanic fixed up?’

  ‘Yeah, the foreman from the dealership volunteered straight away. I’m not surprised: he’ll be on overtime and we’re paying. He’s prepared to work for as long as it takes.’

  ‘He’ll do well out of it, in that case. Arthur Dorward said that it’ll be a complicated motor to take apart, for all that it’s not very big.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’ve warned the Guardia Civil not to expect anything from us till tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to them?’

  ‘Yes.’ The DCI caught the look on Wilding’s face. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve cleared that with McIlhenney. He spoke to McGuire about it and gave me the okay to run with it ourselves for now. They’ll keep the SDEA informed, and call them in if it becomes necessary.’

  ‘So, what did they say? The Spanish, that is.’

  ‘Not a lot. I told my contact Smith’s story, and gave him the address: he’s based in Madrid, but he’s going to consult his people in the region to see if they have anything on the place, and to ask them to keep it under observation.’

  ‘Don’t you think they should go in there straight away? Starr’s murder’s been reported in the press: whoever he’s associated with, they’re likely to know that we’ll find evidence of his drug-dealing in the course of our investigation. Won’t they have passed the word to the Spanish end?’

  ‘If they have, there’ll be nobody there to keep an eye on, will there? Okay, maybe I should have spelled that out, but these people aren’t amateurs, Ray, they’ll get to it.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ the DS conceded. ‘Have you made much progress on all those files we took from Starr’s shop and from the house?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet, but to be honest I don’t expect to. I’ve never yet come across a drug baron who kept accounts to audit standard. I’ve had a look through the business books: they bear out what Eddie Charnwood and Oliver Poole have told us, that Starr was making a reasonable living, but no more. Apart from that, all I’ve seen is correspondence from the Inland Revenue and Scottish Power.’ Mackenzie glanced at his watch. ‘That’s me for the day,’ he announced. ‘The bastard’s not going to be any less dead in the morning, and one less drug-dealer’s no cause for regret.’

  ‘What’s the agenda for tomorrow?’

  ‘Depends: if Dorward has a report waiting for us when we come in, we’ll need to deal with that, but if not, we’ll have to interview Starr’s ex-wife sooner rather than later. And then there’s the autopsy report: I don’t know what’s keeping that fucking idle pathologist.’

  The chief inspector was in the act of picking his overcoat from the stand in the corner when there was a soft knock on the door, and it opened. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said a uniformed constable. Mackenzie knew that he was on the front desk, but was too new to Queen Charlotte Street to have committed the name to memory. ‘This has just arrived for you, by courier.’ He was carrying a bulky brown envelope, with ‘Urgent’ stamped on it, in red letters.

  ‘Shit,’ Mackenzie growled, replacing his coat on the hook.

  ‘Thanks, Blackie,’ said Wilding, taking the envelope. He looked at the crest on the flap and recognised the Edinburgh University coat of arms. ‘Pathologist’s report.’

  ‘Not before fucking time,’ the DCI snapped. ‘He’s had a day and a fucking half. Ah, bugger it.’ He snatched at his coat once again. ‘I’ll see it in the morning.’ He slammed the door behind him, leaving Wilding staring at it.

  The sergeant shrugged his shoulders, and felt a pang of regret over the early retirement of Dan Pringle; he might have been a shade irritable from time to time, but most of that had been for show. One thing was for sure: there had been nothing erratic about him. He looked at the envelope again, then picked up a stiletto-shaped letter-opener from Mackenzie’s desk and slit it open. The cover sheet confirmed that it was what they had been expecting: ‘Report on the post-mortem examination of the remains of Gareth Starr.’ He opened it and started to read.

  Professor Joe Hutchinson had never been one to sacrifice thoroughness for speed. Relatively young though he was, Wilding knew that. As always, the report was meticulously detailed, but as always it began with a summary of the examiner’s findings. The sergeant went straight there and began to read.

  One: Cause of death was cardiac failure brought about by massive blood loss, the consequence of both hands being severed at the wrist.

  Two: Close examination of the body revealed two puncture wounds in the right upper arm, both consistent with the use of a hypodermic syringe. There was significant bruising around one of the marks, indicating that unusual force had been used. Traces of fabric from the victim’s shirt were found within the flesh.

  Three: The victim was drugged before death. Two agents were used. The first, sodium thiopental, would have induced rapid unconsciousness. The second, suxamethonium chloride, would have paralysed the victim. While the binding tape would have rendered him helpless, this can be regarded as precautionary, since the drug would have done that job. The level of residual traces of
sodium thiopental in the body indicate that unconsciousness would have been short term.

  Four: There is considerable bruising to both arms just above the elbow; this is consistent with the application of tourniquets.

  Five: Both hands were severed neatly above the wrist. I have taken specialist opinion on the nature of the wounds from a consultant forensic anthropologist. She noted a ripping effect on both flesh and bone, and concludes that the amputations were performed with an ordinary kitchen knife, possibly a carving knife. I am advised that this is borne out by marks on the table.

  Six: Before completing this report I visited the crime scene with Detective Inspector Dorward and studied the patterns of blood flowing from each wound. This has led me to conclude that the hands were severed with the tourniquets applied, and that these were released subsequently and gradually. The victim would have been paralysed throughout the procedure. Undoubtedly he survived the amputations, to watch himself bleed to death.

  Eight: While in theory this attack could have been carried out by an individual, it is quite impossible that it could have been done by someone who had recently sustained the type of injury that was described to me in my briefing for this examination.

  Seven: In all my career I cannot recall encountering a crime of such premeditated savagery.

  ‘Say what you mean, Professor.’ As Wilding finished reading, he realised that he was shivering. He knew also that it would take a while, maybe a lifetime, for him to chase the image of Gary Starr’s awful last moments from his mind. He laid the report on Mackenzie’s desk. ‘I hope you’ve had a nice big cooked breakfast when you read that . . . sir,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe you’ll barf again.’

  Thirty-four

  Something remarkable had happened to Maggie Rose. It was as if she had spent most of her life in a darkened room . . . a brutal childhood, an unloving mother, a nervous, fumbling attempt at marriage, and a nightmare that had ended it . . . until, totally unexpectedly, she had found herself in the right place with the right person at the right time. With that the curtains had been drawn back, and her world had been flooded with light.

  It had not been an instant happening: she had known Stevie for years, as a junior officer in another division and then as a close colleague. He had been around the block too, and was beginning to acquire a reputation, of which she had been well aware, as a dangerous man with the ladies. And yet when they had fallen together, he had been revealed as the gentlest, most caring person she had ever met.

  Now that they were living together, for almost the first time in her working life she found herself looking forward to the end of the duty day, and to evenings at home with him. Her career had been the one thing that had kept her going through the bleakness. A successful spell in CID had led to a stint in Bob Skinner’s office, and then on to the short ladder to the top. Promotion to uniformed chief superintendent and station commander had been the acme. She knew that the doors of the Command Corridor at Fettes lay open for her. It was all the more remarkable, then, that as she leaned against him on the couch, wine goblet cupped in her hands, listening to Mark Knopfler’s soundtrack for the movie Wag the Dog, the sort of music she had ignored for years but now loved, she found herself considering whether she would return to work at the end of her forthcoming maternity leave.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked him.

  ‘Do you really mean that you’d chuck the job to look after the baby?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I? What’s against it?’

  ‘Want me to give you a list? You’d be turning your back on so much of your life. You’d be depriving the people of this region of one of the most talented police officers they have. You’d be disappointing the chief and Bob Skinner, who’ve got you marked out for an ACC’s silver braid. You’d also be taking a hell of a chance that you wouldn’t get bored with being a full-time mum.’

  ‘I haven’t heard that babies can be boring.’

  ‘You’ve never been pregnant before.’ He ran his hand over her abdomen. ‘I’ve heard of this syndrome: you don’t just get a big belly, you’re gripped by unquenchable romanticism. Admit it, girlie: it’s true.’

  ‘It’s true that I’m finding out a hell of a lot about myself, love. You know, at no point in my life have I ever thought about becoming a mother. Even when we got together, the idea of pregnancy didn’t occur to me. It’s as if I’d forgotten what caused it, or never knew. But now that I am, I realise what an incomplete person I was before. I don’t want to be like that again. There’s this too: maybe it’s that I was such a good copper because I was such a blinkered character. Maybe all I could see was the job, and it blinded me to everything else that’s good about life. I can see it all now, and I’m glad. That’s not being romantic.’

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘Then here’s what you should do: whatever feels right to you. But don’t take any decisions now: max out your maternity leave by working as late as you can, and take the additional unpaid entitlement as well. After a year off work you’ll know whether you want to go back.’

  She snuggled even closer. ‘What did I do for common sense before I met you?’ she asked.

  ‘God knows. When do you plan to make the big announcement in the office?’

  ‘I’ll tell people when it starts to show, and not before. At the moment, only Bob Skinner knows, and he’ll keep it strictly to himself, because I asked him to.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell your ex?’

  ‘No! Why should I? It’s our business, ours alone. In fact when the time comes, I’ll tell all the girls and you can tell all the boys. Deal?’

  ‘Deal.’ Stevie sipped his wine. ‘Now that’s sorted, I’ve got an announcement of my own. I’m being moved down to Leith.’

  She sat up and stared at him. ‘You are? When was this decided?’

  ‘Over the last day or so, I gather. Neil McIlhenney rang me this afternoon to tell me.’

  ‘Have they finally decided to separate the two of us? Put us in different offices?’

  ‘No. I asked Neil that, and he told me that it was purely operational.’

  ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘Nothing. When my boss tells me something I tend to take it at face value. What do you read into it, Ms Conspiracy Theorist?’

  ‘I think you should take it as a compliment. You’re a safe pair of hands: that’s why you’re going there. That Mackenzie’s a bit of a loose cannon. I thought so the first time I met him, when he was still in Strathclyde. Blokes like him, when they’re as flash as that, often they’re compensating for something. If they start to overcompensate, they can be trouble.’

  ‘That doesn’t worry me: I’ll take him as I find him. Ray Wilding’s there as well now, and he’s a pretty stable guy. It’ll be okay.’

  ‘When do you go?’ she asked, as he rose to change the CD.

  ‘As soon as we’ve caught this idiot who’s stalking Alex Skinner.’

  ‘Any leads on that?’

  ‘Nothing solid. We’re making very discreet enquiries in her workplace, but nothing’s come from them yet.’

  ‘Could it be linked to the thing her dad was involved in last week?’

  ‘A survivor out for revenge? Or even a fringe sympathiser? Those are the unspoken fears, but I don’t believe so.’ He pushed the play button on his remote and Van Morrison’s Veedon Fleece eased its way gently into the room.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Maggie, as he settled down beside her. ‘By the way,’ she said, ‘you do realise that I’m only marrying you to get access to your music collection?’

  He laughed. ‘My library is yours. I haven’t leaped to any conclusions about the boy, and I won’t. My brief is simple: catch him. I’m most likely to do that if I keep a completely open mind.’

  ‘What happens when you do?’

  ‘I hand him over to DCS McGuire and Detective Superintendent McIlhenney: orders from on high.’

  ‘God help him.’

  ‘No, God will be helping him by kee
ping him away from their boss.’

  ‘The very thought of that confrontation makes me shiver. Do you know where he is, by the way? I tried to get hold of ACC Haggerty today and I was told that he was at a committee standing in for the DCC.’

  ‘I haven’t a Scooby, but the grapevine told me that he and Dottie Shannon were seen at the airport this morning checking in for a London flight.’

  ‘Shannon?’

  ‘The new head of Special Branch.’

  ‘God, I never knew,’ she gasped. ‘See? I’m becoming detached from the job already.’

  ‘It’s all happened very . . .’ He was interrupted in mid-sentence by the ringing of the telephone. With a frown and a muttered curse, he paused Van Morrison and picked it up. ‘Steele.’

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, boss. It’s Tarvil here.’

  Stevie sighed: he knew that DC Singh was not one to call him off duty without thinking hard about it. ‘Tell me,’ he said.

  ‘Alex has had another call.’

  ‘Did we get a fix on it?’

  ‘A callbox in George Street. He stayed well away from the house this time, and he’s smart enough not to hang around either. We had a car in St Andrews Square when we pinned it down, but he was gone by the time it got along there.’

  ‘Was anything said?’

  ‘Yes. Something different this time.’

  ‘Bring me down a tape.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘I don’t mean tomorrow.’

  ‘It’d be quicker if I send it to you as an email attachment.’

  ‘True. Do it.’ He ended the call. Walked across to the bay window and switched on his computer, then logged on to the Internet. Singh’s message arrived in his mailbox inside a minute.

  ‘What is it?’ Maggie asked, as he downloaded the attachment.

  ‘Alex’s latest breather call hot off the line.’

  ‘Let’s hear it.’

  He grinned over his shoulder. ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He clicked on the play icon, and adjusted the volume upwards. In an instant, the room was filled by the sound of a ringing telephone. There was a faint click as it was answered.