Gallery Whispers

Martin nodded, emphatically. 'Absolutely. I'll call Brian to let him

  know; not that he's an office gossip type, mind you. Christ,' he said, 'it's a cliche, I know, but something like this doesn't half put your

  own troubles into perspective.'

  'Don't talk to me about them either. Sarah and I have decided that

  you and Alex can sort your own lives out. Selfish bastards we may be,

  but you two are adults. Only you know how you feel.'

  He spun away from the window of his office. 'Let's change the

  subject. How's the Weston investigation coming along?'

  'It's not going to be a quick fix,' the Head of CID replied. 'That

  much I do know. The husband looked like a good bet, but he claimed

  that he was at home in bed with his wife. Brian's gone to interview the

  lady, but I've no doubt he was telling the truth.'

  'Anyone else in the frame?'

  'Well, there's the son, Raymond. Professor Weston let slip that he

  has a car up in Aberdeen, so it's possible that he could have driven

  down to Oldbams. He's only a kid, though; just eighteen. I don't think

  for a minute that his mother would have involved him in helping to

  end her life.'

  'Still, he'll have to be interviewed,' said Skinner.

  'Sure, I know, but it's not a priority. No, there's one other line of

  enquiry open to us. Mrs Weston was killed with a pharmaceutical

  quality drug. If we can trace the source ...'

  'You're sure it couldn't have been street heroin?'

  'Bob, the stuff was absolutely pure. If anything like that was in

  circulation, we'd be finding bodies all over the city.'

  'Aye, I suppose you're right. So what are you going to do about it?'

  'We're doing it right now. Rose and Steele are contacting the

  60

  Chief Pharmacists in every hospital in the city, asking them to

  verify their stocks of diamorphine, and report any short-falls. The

  Drugs Squad maintains regular contact with the only manufacturer

  in the area, but their procedures and security are exemplary, so I

  don't believe for one moment that the stuff that killed Mrs Weston

  came from there.'

  The big DCC sat on the edge of the Chief's desk. 'It's bloody

  difficult to nick heroin from a hospital pharmacy as well. The stuff's

  kept under lock and key, and only released on a doctor's signature.' He

  looked across at Martin. 'But maybe if you were a doctor ... a

  consultant, even.'

  'But Nolan Weston didn't do it.'

  'According to his wife. Come on, Andy; if you had solid circumstantial

  evidence against some hooligan and he offered his wife as an

  alibi, would you accept it at face value? Bloody sure you wouldn't.

  Professor's wives don't tell porkies? Is that what you're saying to

  me?'

  'Touche!' The chief superintendent laughed, gently. 'However if

  you were a juror - not a cynical bastard of a copper, but an ordinary,

  innocent, conscientious juror - and the nice, pregnant Prof's wife

  stood up in the witness box and swore on the Bible that when her

  predecessor was off-ed, she was making him a nice cup of hot

  chocolate, would you believe her? Almost certainly, you would.' It

  was Skinner's turn to smile.

  'Anyway,' continued Martin. 'I believe Weston.'

  The acting chief constable pushed himself off the desk and took

  two steps back to the window. 'Okay, I won't argue with that.' Suddenly

  his right hand shot up, index finger pointing at his colleague. 'So

  Weston didn't do it. But maybe he supplied the diamorphine.'

  'He denies that too.'

  'Nonetheless, let's see what your check with the hospitals shows

  us.' He turned once more to look out of the window, but stopped and

  looked back at the younger man.

  'Oh aye, and make sure you check that St Martha's place as well. If

  I wanted to misappropriate some smack, I'd do it there rather than at

  the Western or the Royal.'

  'Brian and I covered that when we were there,' the Head of CID

  countered. 'They store some prescription drugs there, but not

  diamorphine. They buy their supplies from the pharmacy at the Royal,

  on prescriptions signed by the doctors who consult there. The dragon

  Miss Pople signs personally for every issue.'

  'Bugger. Are you trying to slam every door in my face, pal?'

  'No.' Martin smiled. 'Look, just let us get on with it. Bob, eh.

  61

  There's nothing you would do if you were running this show that we

  won't cover, believe me.'

  'Sure, I know that, my friend. Don't mind me; it's just this bloody

  office. It may be only a hundred yards from yours, but when the

  door's closed it seems like miles.

  'You carry on, and I wish you the best of luck; for you're going to

  need it. Without evidence tying anyone to the scene, you're going to

  have to find the source of the diamorphine to have a chance of clearing

  this one up.'

  'Don't I know it' He broke off as the door opened and Gerry

  Crossley's head appeared.

  'Sorry to butt in, Mr Skinner,' he said. 'Will you take a call from

  DI Impey of Dumfries and Galloway Special Branch. Neil's not

  available, so he's asked for you. He says it's really urgent.'

  The DCC smiled. 'Mcllhenney must have put the frighteners on

  him right enough,' he said to Martin. 'He's probably decided to report

  everything as of now, on an urgent basis.'

  'Okay, Gerry, put him through.'

  He crossed to his desk and sat behind it, picking up the phone on

  the first ring. 'Inspector,' he barked, 'What have you got?'

  'A possible contact with our target, sir. We're following him right

  now, and he's heading your way.' Impey's voice sounded hollow; there

  was a rushing noise in the background.

  'Tell me you're not calling on a car-phone, Inspector,' said Skinner,

  heavily. 'Please tell me that. Those things are about as secure as a

  politician's fly.'

  'I'm sorry, sir,' said the detective, a shade plaintively. 'I'd no

  choice. It all happened so fast. I didna' even have time to pick up my

  sergeant.'

  'Okay, just tell me where you are. Minimum details.'

  'I'm on the road from Moffat to Edinburgh, up by the Devil's

  Beeftub. Our subject's in a red Vauxhall Vectra, Northern Ireland

  registration Delta Echo Whisky 4357.'

  Skinner thought fast. 'Okay. If you're on that road you won't come

  off it before Leadbum, that's for sure. Is there a lot of traffic?'

  'Aye, sir, there's a convoy of two tourist buses and three lorries up

  ahead. It'll be slow going, like.'

  'Well just you be sure that your man doesn't get the jump on you as

  he clears it. Don't let him twig you either, though. When you get to

  the Leadbum junction you'll find Mario McGuire parked and waiting

  for you. Transfer into his car as quick as you can and continue

  surveillance.

  'Brief Mario on the circumstances when you team up.'

  62

  'Very good, sir,' said Impey, his words crackling as his earphone

  lost its signal.

  Martin, curious, was gazing at Skinner as he hung up.

  'Hawkins?'

  'Could be. If it is, I only hope he doesn't rumble our friend Impey
,

  otherwise we'll find the poor bastard dead in a ditch up Tweedsmuir

  way.'

  63

  19

  'As expected, Brian?' Martin sounded weary as he spoke into the

  telephone.

  'Entirely,' Mackie replied. 'Avril Weston confirms that she and the

  Professor were at home together at the time of Gaynor's death. They

  were doing the Telegraph Crossword, as a matter of fact. The lady is

  indeed very pregnant, and she has difficulty sleeping, like he said.

  'She knew about Gaynor's condition, apparently. Nolan told her

  about it after he did the operation at St Martha's; he was in a right

  state, as you could imagine.'

  'Did she know what sort of a relationship her husband had with his

  ex-wife?'

  'I don't believe so,' the superintendent answered. 'I did ask her very

  gently, you understand - whether she approved of his seeing her.

  She told me that as far as she was concerned it was good for Raymond

  that his parents remained on friendly terms after their divorce. But she

  didn't give me the impression that she knew they were having it off.'

  Martin heard a slurping sound come over the phone line, and

  guessed that Mackie must be drinking from a mug of coffee. 'The boy

  was up and about, by the way,' he continued. 'He seemed compos

  mentis to me so I asked him a few questions.

  'He said that the first he knew of his mother's illness was when his

  father told him yesterday, when he picked him up from Aberdeen. The

  last time he spoke to her was on Wednesday night. She phoned him at

  his hall of residence; only just caught him, the boy said, before he

  went out to a Freshers do with his pals.

  'She sounded okay, according to the lad, although it struck him at

  the time that she didn't really say why she was calling him. He knows

  now that she was saying goodbye.'

  'Ahh, poor kid,' Martin murmured. 'Did you ask him about--'

  '--his mother's sex-life? Yes. I was never happy with the idea of

  leaving that to the father. As far as he knew she didn't have any

  boyfriends. Obviously Futcher never went out to Oldbams while the

  lad was there. He did say that his mother used to go to SNO concerts

  and to the Opera, and he was under the impression that she went with

  64

  someone, although she never mentioned a name. It needn't have been

  a man.'

  'Worth looking into, though.'

  'I agree. I've asked Maggie and Stevie to go out to Oldbarns this

  evening to re-interview the Ball woman.'

  'Christ, watch the overtime!'

  'I didn't have any choice. She's off to the Canaries tomorrow

  morning, so we've got to catch her tonight.'

  'You don't fancy her for it? Not even a wee bit?'

  Mackie drew a breath. 'Nah, worse luck. There's something I never

  told you about Joan Ball. She has severe arthritis in both hands. She

  was given early retirement from the Civil Service three years ago on

  health grounds. No way could she have injected Gaynor; even fastening

  the plastic bag over her head would have been beyond her.'

  'Jesus, this doesn't get any easier, Thin Man, does it.'

  To Martin's surprise, a gentle laugh sounded down the line. 'Ah,

  but I haven't given you the good news yet,' said the superintendent.

  'Arthur Dorward's clever people have managed to lift a saliva trace off

  one of the two wine glasses that were left in Mrs Weston's sink - the

  one without Mrs Weston's lipstick on it. Hopefully, it'll give us a

  DNA match; if only we can find the bugger who left it.'

  65

  20

  'Is Special Branch always like this, Inspector?' asked Karen

  Neville.

  'Nah,' Mario McGuire answered. As he spoke he kept his eyes

  firmly on the rear-view mirror, watching the road behind. The angled,

  four-way Leadbum junction lay two hundred yards beyond their

  parking place.

  'Most of the time it's the sort of stuff you've been doing; checking

  on known or potential troublemakers, surveillance, VIP protection.

  We rarely get to do action things.'

  'You don't sound very excited by the prospect.'

  'That's because I'm not, sergeant. Five years ago, I might well have

  looked forward to a bundle with an international terrorist, but not any

  more.'

  Neville frowned. 'What happened to change you?'

  'I got married, for one thing. I like going home to the wife at night

  with all my bits in place.' His mouth twisted wryly. 'I suppose getting

  shot might have affected me too.'

  'You were shot!? When?'

  'A few years back; in a good old-fashioned gunfight.'

  'Were you badly hurt?'

  'Oh aye. When you're on the floor, feeling numb all over, listening

  to the blood bubbling out of your chest and someone says to you, "It's

  okay, son, take it easy . . ." you know you're badly hurt. The thing I

  remember best is Bob Skinner talking to me. He said all the right

  things, but I could see from the look in his eyes that he was just doing

  his best to reassure me.'

  He laughed. 'Practical to the end, that's the boss. I remember him

  saying, "the Royal Infirmary's right next door". Funnily enough, that

  was the thing that made me feel better.'

  'You went through that,' said Neville, 'yet here you are in SB,

  carrying a gun and waiting for a bad guy? Couldn't you have asked

  for a uniform job?'

  'Sure I could. But if I had, then that bullet would have taken more

  out of me than blood and a bit of lung tissue. I have to do the job the

  66

  way I've always done it, for my sake; but that doesn't mean that I have

  to relish it.'

  'Don't you worry about. . .' She hesitated. 'Should I worry?'

  McGuire read her thoughts. 'Should you be worried in case the

  action starts and I freeze up?' he asked. 'No way, Karen. One thing

  getting shot does for you; it makes you very keen not to get shot

  again. Freeze, and that's what's going to happen.'

  'Have you ever shot anyone?' she asked, quietly.

  'I don't know, to tell you the truth. We were all blazing away that

  night. I might have hit the guy, I suppose, but I don't think so.'

  'Has anyone else on the team?'

  'That's not a question you should ask. Those who have don't like to

  talk about it. But since you have asked it... Andy Martin and Brian

  Mackie have. They got the guy who shot me. The boss has too. He put

  another guy down that night in the hall. Andy had to do it another

  time as well . .. and don't, in your daftest moment, ever ask him

  about that. Oh aye, and so did Brian.'

  'Brian Mackie?' Neville's surprise burst from her.

  'Aye, the Thin Man; never batted an eyelid either. He's the best shot

  on' His eyes narrowed as he looked in the mirror. 'Hold on. A red

  car just came round the bend in the distance.'

  The sergeant turned to look out of the rear window. 'Yes. I see it. A

  silver car, then a green one, then red. It looks like a Vauxhall too.'

  'Okay, look this way now. Don't give the driver any idea that we

  might be waiting for him. Eat your apple or something.' Quickly,

  from a pocket in the
driver's door, he took two miniature football

  boots, joined by a white cord and slung them round the rear view

  mirror. 'Some of the lads take the piss out of me about my theory, but

  I can't think of a better way of disguising an unmarked car. Could you

  imagine a cop wagon with windscreen ornaments?'

  'How about a nodding dog on the back shelf?' Karen suggested,

  dryly.

  'Nah, nae use. The bad guys might think it was Mcllhenney.'

  'Don't you knock Neil. I think he's nice.'

  'I'm allowed to knock him. He's my best pal.' He glanced in the

  side mirror, as he tugged the ring-pull to open a can of Pepsi and

  raised it to his lips. 'This is the guy all right.' He drank from the tin as

  the red car swept past. 'Delta Echo Whisky 4357,' he read, switching

  on the engine of his Nissan as he spoke. 'Get ready.'

  Less than thirty seconds later, the rear off-side door of the car was

  jerked open and a man slid quickly into the back seat. 'Hello Joe,'

  said McGuire. 'This is Karen Neville.' He handed the can of Pepsi to

  the newcomer. 'Finish that for me.'

  67

  Slipping into first gear, he slid from his parking place on the verge

  and moved smoothly into traffic, behind a blue Volkswagen. Ahead of

  them, the red Vauxhall took a left turn at the junction. 'Heading for

  Penicuik,' the inspector muttered. 'Okay, Joe. Tell us all about it.'

  'Haud on a minute, son,' the veteran, grizzled Detective Inspector

  Impey grunted, breathing heavily from his short sprint to McGuire's

  car. 'I need this.' He raised the Pepsi and threw his head back, emptying

  the can in a single swallow. 'Hah, that's better.

  'Right, about our man.' He tapped his colleague on the shoulder.

  'Don't get too close now, Mario.'

  'Teach your Granny,' the other man growled.

  'Dinna be so touchy. Here, son, I don't think your boss likes me.'

  'Joe, there'll be someone else doesn't like you if you don't get to

  the bloody point!'

  'Aye, okay, okay. This is the wey it happened. We were watching

  the Irish ferry coming into dock at Craigryan, lookin' at the folk

  through binoculars, like. All of a sudden. Ah sees this bloke. He's a

  dead ringer for one of those photofits that your boss gave us. Ginger

  hair, big thick moustache. You ken the one ah mean.

  'Then, while I'm watching him, he gets up and walked across the

  deck, and he's got a limp. Ah'm really interested then.' He paused.