Windsor Place

by Russell Robertson

  They entered the reception area and were greeted by a cute little female receptionist. “Can I help you gentleman?”

  DI Spencer took the initiative. “We are here to see Governor Garriock. We are a bit early. Our appointment is not for another fifteen minutes. DI Spencer and DC Darling from Police Scotland.”

  She glanced at the computer screen looking for confirmation. “He is expecting you. Please take a seat and I will let him know you are both here.”

  The reception area was clinical, sparsely furnished, one small rectangular glass table and six hardback chairs. The green tiled floors and light green painted walls helped to make the entry extremely uninviting, which was probably architecturally designed to do just that.

  The daily newspapers straddling the table were the only distractions to the decor and the news in them was just as dismal as the general surroundings.

  “The Governor will see you now. Mr. Daly will take you through,” the receptionist announced ten minutes later.

  Mr. Daly who had been standing at ease patiently waiting nodded his approval, “Follow me please, gentlemen.”

  The walk through the first security bar reminded the two police officers as to where they were. The Governor’s office was strategically placed between the security bar they had just entered and the next security bar which was the entry to the main prison.

  Mr. Daly pointed to the plastic bench seats immediately outside the office. “Please take a seat. The Governor will be with you shortly.”

  Shortly turned into another ten minutes sitting on the benches which would be used more often by unruly inmates than anyone else.

  As the door opened Governor Garriock was saying goodbye to his last appointment who DI Spencer recognised as the immaculately dressed top end of town solicitor David Burns who handled most cases for the lowlife in Saughton. They acknowledged each other as he walked away towards freedom.

  “Please come in. My apologies for the delay.”

  Governor Garriock was a very experienced civil servant and had been in the prison all his working life and no doubt was looking forward to his retirement in the next couple of years. He was comfortable with the police and unlike other Governor’s offered as much assistance as he could.

  DI Spencer offered the necessary introductions and then sat back allowing the Governor to take the lead.

  “Gentleman, I believe you are here today to interview Mr. Hunter. I don’t need to tell you that like all inmates he won’t be welcoming you with open arms and will be reluctant to talk with you.”

  DC Darling spoke for the first time. “Sir, we are used to this and appreciate your assistance in this matter. Can I ask if you have noticed any change in his general behaviour since you broke the news to him about his family?”

  “You know, I have dealt with all types in many prisons over the years but Mr. Hunter, I have to say is the most cold and callous inmate I have ever come across. Sometimes you wonder if there is any empathy tucked in behind those tiny beady eyes. In his case, I am convinced there is definitely none.

  “He is not normal and it is difficult to deal with him given he is well-protected in here as you would understand. You have to be able to smell danger in this place and Alf Hunter certainly has a keen nose for that. He can sense problems long before any of my men are aware of it. His philosophy in life seems to be, it is good to be bad.

  “Sorry, going off in a tangent. To answer your question. No, he never shows any emotions and appears to have shrugged off the terrible news I gave him like a fly on his nose and just got on with his life behind bars. He didn’t even ask how they had died. You know it’s part of his DNA. We have a saying in prison that he hasn’t yet been introduced to shame and may I also remind you that when the world zigs, Alf zags.”

  DI Spencer asked.” Thank you for that inside information. We won’t keep you any longer. You’ve been most helpful. Can we go and talk to him now?”

  He nodded, picked up the phone and asked Mr. Daly to come and get them.

  The door directly opposite the Governor’s office led into the interview room so they were not exposed to the main prison. They entered the medium-sized room and as they sat at the interview table. Mr. Daly closed the door and left them alone. Directly opposite was the door that Alf Hunter would enter through.

  There was the customary one-way mirror on one wall where no doubt the Governor’s officers were seated on the other side ready to observe the interviews, a plastic table and four matching chairs.

  Alf Hunter was led through the door by two officers and told to sit on one of the two vacant plastic chairs opposite the detectives. He obliged and greeted the men with a one second smile.

  “How are you doing, Mr. Hunter?” said DI Spencer.

  “Everything’s hunky dory. Wish you could come and see my room.”

  “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Mr. Hunter.”

  “It can also be the highest form of intelligence, if used properly.”

  “Mr. Hunter, you can continue throwing shit up all day and we will keep dealing with it. But we are here today to interview you regarding the deaths of your wife and two daughters. For the record, my name is DI Spencer and this is my associate DC Darling.”

  DC Darling nodded.

  “Have you found the fuckers yet?”

  “So, you know something that you would like to share with us? We are unaware at this stage that there was more than one person involved?”'

  “I was speaking metaphorically, of course. Have you any leads then?”

  “You know we can’t comment on that.”

  “Then neither can I. I’ll have to apologise in advance as I don’t think I will be able to assist you. Remember we’ve been told forever that you are not us.”

  “Let us be the best judge of that,” answered DI Spencer.

  “Mr. Hunter, if you won’t answer any questions or continue to put barriers in our way then we will have to meet with you on a regular basis until we are satisfied with your answers. And that I have no doubt will cause angst among your fellow prisoners. They might be wondering if you are assisting the police with their investigations. Cooperate with us today and we will leave you alone in relation to this matter.”

  Alf looked angry as his fists closed tightly and his nostrils flared, but realised that this would be the best option for him.

  “Fire away. You got five fuckin’ minutes.”

  DI Spencer ran his fingers through his hair which was the sign for DC Darling to open his line of questioning. “Mr. Hunter.”

  “Please call me Alf.”

  “Mr. Hunter, have you any idea who would have carried out these atrocious crimes?”

  “See, detective, if I did I don’t think I would be sharing that information with you guys and if you knew you wouldn’t be here taking me away from my wonderful daily prison activities. So that being the case, you obviously are chasing shadows.”

  “Mr. Hunter, were you aware that your solicitor’s business partner, Crawford Mills, is gay?”

  “What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?” he replied sensing an issue here.

  “Mr. Hunter, we ask the questions here.” DS Darling stated.

  “Fine, Darling.”

  DI Spencer interrupted, “Please keep the humour for your colleagues inside and answer the question.”

  “Yes, of course I knew that he was a shirt tugger. Bit obvious to a blind man running backwards isn’t it? Free world, takes all kinds as they say. Doesn’t bother me.”

  “Did you have any reason to meet with him or do business with him when he was a regular visitor to your club The Gaylord in Leith?”

  “Of course, I was made aware that he frequented the club, but I never met him there.”

  DI Spencer continued, “We have information that says you did meet with him during your visits to the offices of Buchanan Mills and Gordon.”

  “Sure. But that’s not what you asked me. You asked me had I met him at the club. Look, I think you are getti
ng me mixed up with someone who does give a fuck.”

  “Didn’t know you had become the president of the ‘I know nothing party’ May I remind you of our earlier conversation in relation to future interviews. You can answer the questions, cut out the games or we can terminate the interview here and now and reschedule another one for tomorrow?” Spencer said firmly.

  “It takes a lang spoon tae sup wi’ the devil. What else do you parasites want?”

  “When was the last time you had contact with DC Cropley before you moved into your current abode?”

  Alf Hunter shifted uneasily in his chair, a sure sign that he was about to lie. “Let me think, been here two years, so must have been about two-and-a-half years ago when the numpty interviewed me at Portobello Police Station. Why do you want to know that?”

  Both policeman knew that they had met at his club a couple of months before being sentenced but they wanted to keep that knowledge back from him now. He didn’t know that they would be back to interview him again.

  “Can I go back to my room now? I’ll miss morning tea. Wouldn’t want to miss out on my chocolate digestive biscuits.”

  “Then we better let you go back to your friends,” DS Darling returned sarcastically.

  “I don’t do friends. Friendships end in pain.”

  DI Spencer brought the interview to a close. “Thank you for your co-operation, Mr. Hunter. You have been most helpful. Just one last question, when is your release date?”

  The last part of the sentence he ignored, but it worried him.

  He showed no emotion as he was led back through the door he arrived through but he still managed to make a rude one finger gesture over his left shoulder as he disappeared. They both handed back their passes on their way out and acknowledged Mr. Daly and the pretty receptionist.

  As they drove back to the town Andy asked Craig, “Can I ask why you dropped the questioning regarding the murders and switched to his solicitor and the Gaylord?”

  “He wasn’t going to tell us anything about what he knows. I switched the line of questioning to see his reaction to the fact that we know more than he thinks.”

  “Do you think he knows who did it?”

  “The wily old fox is in this up to his big fat neck. I’ll bet my pension on it.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Let’s see what the others have to report from their findings.”

  Chapter 13

  Callum Albert, often referred to as ‘Raffles’ due to his lifelong history of selling tickets for the local rugby club, was respected as a journalist as well as by the police force. Raffles could be trusted to tell it as it was and he did not twist the truth just to sell newspapers. His current position with The Scotsman as senior crime reporter he had held for over ten years. He was a heavy drinker and smoker which seemed to be a prerequisite for newspaper personnel. Frequenting bars daily went with the territory if you wanted to be a successful reporter. Being single in the job also helped and was probably one of the main reasons he had never married. The long commercial relationship between Harry and Raffles was ground out of trust and respect which benefited both parties in many ways. Both men had worked together in the past and a friendly respected rivalry had blossomed between them. They never seemed to mix socially. Maybe that was a good thing.

  Raffles was reluctant to travel all the way to Musselburgh to meet Harry. But as he wanted a story, he had to succumb to the request to meet at the Caffe Borsa in the High Street.

  They both arrived at the same time, meeting in the car park out the front of the cafe.

  Harry ignored the pig sounds emanating from some young local hoods passing by. Perhaps they were on their way to sign on and the lack of hope in finding a job left them a little bit down and bored. He did feel sorry for today’s youth. Did Raffles and Harry really look like policemen?

  The government was not doing enough to help those young kids find employment. After the normal greetings, they made their way into the warm and cosy environment of the cafe leaving behind the cool air and angry youths.

  “Harry, I know that you had nothing to do with the murders of Carole Hunter and her children but I am concerned as a friend what I hear about you running your own investigation. That could bring you strife in a big way. What’s this all about?” Raffles asked as he poured his coffee and added copious amounts of sugar to his cup.

  Harry explained why he was doing this and why he did not have the confidence in the force due to them being grossly undermanned.

  “Anyway, it’s what I do. I’m an investigative journalist for Christ’s sake. With my knowledge, experience and contacts if I sat on my hands people would be questioning why I am not doing anything. I can’t win either way.”

  “Yeah. You make a good point, but Alf Hunter won’t take too kindly to you snooping around his contacts and his past. He won’t like the fact that you might possibly link him to the murders.”

  “Nice try. Raffles. But I didn’t say that Alf Hunter was involved. You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to divulge information to you.”

  “Under this harsh exterior beats a marshmallow heart. Suppose that’s why I’m the reporter and you’re the investigative journalist.”

  “Yeah, and may I remind you we carry out precision guesswork, based upon dodgy information provided by unreliable sources of a questionable nature. And sometimes we put our life on the line for tips that are not worth a zack and pay good money for dud leads.”

  “Ah, a bit of coercion and corruption. That’s what we call the pound of silence,” prompted Raffles.

  They both laughed and any tension that might have been in the air was dispersed.

  Harry placed his empty coffee back in the saucer. “Raffles, I’m happy to pass on any information I receive, unofficially, of course, and I expect the same from you.”

  “Right, then have you got anything for me as the underworld is not talking?”

  “I can tell you that DCI Scully suspects there may be a mole within the ranks.”

  “OMG and who may that be?”

  “Raffles. No wonder they call you the human headline.”

  “Okay I didn’t think it would be that easy. Any clues?”

  “Not now. If I hear anything you’ll be the first to know.”

  “Thanks, much appreciated, this could be huge.”

  “And you for me?”

  “Rumour has it that one of Alf’s old henchman by the name of Sandy Hall could have some useful information for you. He’s not currently a fan of Alf Hunter and he could be worth a visit. He’s got such a loose mouth they reckon that he has trouble keeping his dentures in when he speaks.”

  “And where would I find this Sandy Hall?”

  “Tranent Nursing Home. In a room with no world. Got dementia, poor bugger.”

  “Thanks, I’ll give it a burl.”

  “Let’s keep in touch. I suggest we do text only. No landline calls please.”

  “Okay by me, Raffles.”

  With that they both moved on to their next appointment. Or in Raffles’ case, a beer.

  Harry decided that he would drive the top road back into Edinburgh bypassing Portobello. He had some research that he needed to undertake at the central records office.

  Some five minutes up the road he drove past the new Portobello High School currently being built next to the local golf course. He was surprised that it had been built in time and on budget considering Edinburgh’s recent history of blowouts in the building of major projects such as the new Scottish Parliament and the recently completed trams.

  The government and council seem to have got their acts together in timing and budgets with the new Borders Railway and the building of the second Forth Road Bridge. Edinburgh was changing but to the locals it always stood stagnant.

  Parking in the centre of Edinburgh was near impossible, so he parked in the car park of the Premier Inn at Duddingston and jumped on a bus that would take him directly to within fifty yards of the front door of the central re
cords office.

  The records he was searching for were not difficult to find. Edinburgh had a world class public records system and if you couldn’t find what you wanted there were many other public libraries in town that would also assist you in your endeavours to seek out data.

  The birth certificate extract he found contained exactly what he expected and some. The price of seven pounds he thought was fair and reasonable.

  Chapter 14

  The scene at the mortuary was the same as every other day. Only today there were more corpses than normal. Spencer noticed that the mortuary walls seemed to have a fresh coat of paint or maybe it was the first time he had been here on a Sunday morning without a hangover.

  Marianne was busy sorting out the instruments for the day’s use. She was placing them systematically in rows as Dr Tenant was engrossed in reading some notes from the overhead screen. Even from behind the glass pane you could sense the connection between Dr Tenant and his assistant.

  Cropley was nicely settled not only into his seat but also the Sunday Post newspaper. Catching up no doubt on yesterday’s football results and hoping that Hibernian FC won for the first time in a month. He would be disappointed.

  “Cropley, get your big fat arse out of my seat. They are about to start. Perhaps you could swing your concentration over here.”

  Cropley grunted and reluctantly shoved the newspaper into his coat pocket, removed his sunglasses and shuffled along to the next vacant seat.

  Dr Tenant and his assistants were now fully gowned and prepared for the next few hours’ work.

  Both policeman settled down for a not so nice experience for the next hour or so.

  Chapter 15

  It was a beautiful crisp Saturday morning in Portobello, not a cloud in the sky. Extremely peaceful. A stark contrast to the previous week in France where the absolute worst side of humanity was witnessed with Black Friday.

  Paris had seen terror acts before but not on this huge scale. The inhumanity of it all by a few religious lunatics reminded him of a saying his father often quoted, ‘Where the mind goes the man follows.’