Gallery Whispers

  to keep your arm immobilised for a while. So do what they say, if you

  want to be able to button up your shirts with your right hand.'

  Her grin returned. 'Or unbutton yours,' she chuckled, woozily.

  He could tell that she was ready for sleep. 'I'm going to go now,' he

  said. 'They're going to move you to a ward in a minute. I'll look in

  tomorrow morning. We're working up here just now.' He leaned across

  the bed and kissed her. 'Sleep tight, - and watch that arm.'

  'Mario,' she whispered as he made to stand. The heavy sedative

  was kicking in, with a vengeance.

  'What?' He smiled at her, amused. He had never seen her as

  intoxicated.

  'Wrong bloody Deacey,' she murmured. 'But he's the only one ...'

  Her voice trailed off, as the drug drew her into sleep. He kissed her

  once more, on the forehead, stood, and turned to leave. The surgeon

  stood in the doorway. 'You sure she'll be all right, now?' McGuire

  asked. Something in his voice made it clear that there had better be

  only one answer to that question.

  'Yes, if she does what she's told for the next few days.' He sighed.

  'Rough job for a woman.' Suddenly Mario, felt a lump in his throat.

  He looked back over his shoulder, towards the bed, so that the man

  could not see his eyes.

  'Some woman,' he said, lost in love and admiration.

  He shook his head as if to clear it, zipped up his Barbour and

  headed out of Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, into the night. The clock in

  his car, which was parked near the AE entrance, thanks to his

  Special Branch clout, told him that it was just after eight thirty.

  Instead of heading home, he swung right out of the hospital gate and

  drove off in the direction of the St Leonard's divisional headquarters.

  The officer on duty at the entrance nodded an acknowledgement as

  he walked into the building. 'Mr Mackie still here?' he asked.

  'Yes sir,' said the man. 'Up in his office. DS Steele's still here too.'

  McGuire trotted upstairs, gave a brief knock on the divisional CID

  commander's door and walked in. Mackie and Steele were seated at a

  long conference table, shirt-sleeved. The superintendent held a mug

  of coffee while the sergeant was sipping from a can of Sprite. They

  stood anxiously as he closed the door behind him.

  'How is she?' asked Mackie.

  100

  'Drugged up to the eyeballs, and having blood pumped into her;

  but she's going to be all right, thank Christ.'

  'Mario, I'm sorry' Steele began.

  'What for? Saving her life? We owe you one, son. Thanks from

  both of us.'

  'But I should have held her back,' the young sergeant protested.

  'That place was a snake pit, I should have gone in first.'

  'Stevie,' said McGuire steadily. 'If you had held her back, even

  now you'd have been shaking the mothballs out of your uniform.' He

  peeled off his Barbour and the jacket of his suit together, and threw

  them across the table. 'What's the Deacey story then, Brian?'

  'He isn't one,' the superintendent answered sourly. 'We printed

  him, then ran a PNC check. The guy's real name is Winston Joseph;

  he's a pimp, from Birmingham. He's been wanted for four years, since

  one of his girls was murdered, cut to bits. He was the only suspect;

  witnesses saw them together at the scene. The other tarts in his string

  said that the dead girl had been doing freelance jobs and he'd found

  out. He hasn't been seen since; the CID down there assumed he'd

  gone back to the Caribbean, but now it turns out that he got himself

  fixed up with a new identity. We were put on to him by the DSS

  people. He was the only Deacey that their records showed up.

  'It's obvious that when Maggie told him that she wanted to talk to

  him about the death of a woman, he jumped to the wrong conclusion,

  i.e. that he'd been rumbled, and that she and Stevie were there to lift

  him for killing the girl.

  'We've charged him with attempted murder. But as soon has he's

  been up before the Sheriff tomorrow for a formal remand, we've got

  to send him down south for questioning there. Our Brummie

  colleagues are very grateful to us.'

  'That's good. Mags'11 be pleased too.'

  'Yes, but he was our only Deacey, and no way was he Gaynor's

  boyfriend. We can be sure of that much. So the Weston investigation's

  at a dead stop. She won't be so chuffed about that.'

  'I suppose not,' McGuire grunted.

  'Coffee?' asked Mackie.

  'Please.' He paused. 'I'll just go for a piss first.'

  Still in shirt-sleeves, his warrant card hanging on a chain round his

  neck, he left the room. He walked straight past the male toilet, which

  was not far from Mackie's office, then downstairs and along the

  corridor to the station's holding cells.

  'Hello Davie,' he said to the custody sergeant. The man looked at

  him for a long time, unsmiling.

  'Remember that night in Muirhouse, when those three guys had

  101

  you trapped?' McGuire asked, meaningfully.

  The sergeant reached a decision. With a grim nod, he rose, and led

  him along the row of cells, until they came to the last door on the

  right. 'It's Tuesday, the night,' he said at last. 'Quiet. Naebody else in

  yet.' He turned his master key in the lock.

  Winston Joseph was squatting on the bed against the far wall of the

  cell when the black-haired, shirt-sleeved, thick-necked figure stepped

  into his world. He jumped to his feet. 'I told y'all already. Ain't got

  nothin' to say, mon.'

  'That's fine,' McGuire growled. 'I don't want you to say anything.

  I just want you to scream for a while.'

  He stepped forward, reaching out with his left hand as if to clip the

  man on the side of the head. Instinctively Joseph leaned back; as he

  did so, the swarthy detective shifted his weight and smashed his right

  fist into the fleshy triangle just below his rib cage. The smacking

  sound seemed to bounce off the cell's tiled room.

  For a moment, the bizarre orange dreadlocks stood out straight, as

  if their owner had been struck by lightning. Indescribable bolts of

  pain flooded through the bulky body of the former Malcolm Deacey,

  as his legs buckled beneath him and he slumped to the floor. He did

  his best to scream, but found that all the air seemed to have been

  driven from his lungs; they burned, adding to his agony, as he gasped

  for breath.

  His smiling nightmare allowed him squirm on the floor for a few

  seconds, then hauled him upright, held him by the throat with his left

  hand, and hit him again, in the same spot, but even harder. This time,

  Joseph lost control of his bladder, as well as his legs.

  'Just in case you were wondering,' said Mario McGuire, conversationally,

  as he dug his left thumb, agonisingly, into the bunched

  nerve endings at the base of the man's neck, 'that was my wife you cut

  this afternoon. I wish I had more time to get to know you, but still,

  I've got enough. You, my man, are in for the worst few minutes of

  your life.'

  Somewhere in his befuddled brain, Winston Joseph knew that the

  sm
art thing to do would be to pass out. Unfortunately, he never had

  been very smart.

  102

  30

  Every Special Branch commander for a decade had come to know

  Henry Wills well. Student politics were no longer seen as a major

  subject for surveillance, but even in relaxed times, those in charge of

  the security of the state thought it prudent to be aware of the broad

  spectrum of campus activity. Very few things happened in Edinburgh

  University of which its Registrar was ignorant.

  Wills was a polite, urbane man. As he sat at his meeting table

  with Mario McGuire and Karen Neville, his reading glasses, perched

  on the end of his nose, made him look even more owlish than

  usual.

  'Before we begin. Inspector, I must ask you. How is your wife? I

  read all about her mishap in this morning's Scotsman.' As he spoke he

  glanced through the window towards the sprawling buildings of the

  Royal Infirmary, of which the nearest was less than three hundred

  yards away.

  McGuire smiled. 'She's doing fine thanks, Mr Wills. I looked in on

  her before I came here. She had a good night. God help them today,

  though, once the post-op sedation's all worn off. Maggie's a hellish

  patient.'

  'And how are you, Mario?' the Registrar added, quietly.

  'To tell you the truth, I still shake every time I think what might

  have happened. It'll be a while before I can put that thought out of my

  mind.'

  'And the man who did it?'

  The inspector looked at his watch. 'He's due in the Sheriff Court

  just about now; once he's been charged formally he'll be off to England

  to be questioned about a murder.'

  'Does that mean that he won't be punished for attacking your

  wife?'

  'No, not at all. When our courts want him, we'll get him back.

  They'll take a plea in absentia, I should think, and he'll be sent to the

  High Court for disposal. He'll get ten years at least. Hopefully the judge will make it consecutive, to be served after he's due for release

  from his life sentence for the Brum murder.' He glowered at Wills. 'If

  103

  he makes it concurrent, then effectively the bastard will have got off

  with it.'

  He placed his hands palms-down on the table, his way of indicating

  that the subject was closed. 'How many of your economists do we

  still have to check, Henry?' he asked.

  Wills looked at the bundle of landing cards which lay on the desk

  before him, and at the registration sheets which lay beside them in

  matching order. 'Today should see it done,' the Registrar replied, looking from one detective to the other. 'Those are the details of the

  people in the last two discussion groups. Once you work through

  these, that'll be everyone accounted for. A pity, in a way. I've enjoyed

  your morning visits.'

  Mario McGuire fought to suppress a chuckle. Most men enjoyed a

  visit from Karen Neville, but he was surprised to hear the bookish,

  middle-aged academic admit it. The sergeant was a rare combination

  of attractive features and spectacular physique; in addition she had a

  quick open smile, and a way of looking through her blue-grey eyes at

  most things male which made them feel as if there was no one else in

  the room. She was the second most desirable woman McGuire had

  ever seen. In the past, her own desires had been quick to surface; this

  had led her into trouble on more than one occasion.

  Her smile widened a little as she ran a hand over her thick designer-

  blonde hair. 'I envy you your office, Mr Wills,' she responded, looking

  round the oak-panelled room. 'Ours is a steel-furnished box.'

  'That's right,' said the inspector, intervening before their host could

  reach melt-down point. 'Special Branch isn't that special when it

  comes to accommodation.' He looked on as Wills divided the papers

  into two sets. 'Anything exceptional in this lot?' he asked.

  'Well,' the other man began, 'there is one chap whose sheet struck

  me as slightly odd. The thing is, he doesn't appear to be an economist.

  His name is Wayne Ventnor. He does list a degree, but it's in Chemical

  Engineering, from the University of Western Australia. At first sight,

  it's not clear what he's doing here.

  'My supposition is that he's a civil servant nominated by an

  Australian state government, although his registration sheet doesn't

  say that.'

  'That sounds plausible, all the same,' McGuire agreed. 'The sheets

  still show the same information as the ones we've seen before, do

  they?'

  'Yes. Name, nation or university of origin, qualifications, any

  special area of interest, conference number, discussion group allocation,

  and hotel or other accommodation.'

  'Only one thing missing, isn't there.'

  104

  'What's that?' asked Neville, as Wills nodded, sheepishly.

  'A photograph of each delegate,' said the inspector. 'If we'd had

  those, we could have done this check in a day.'

  'Don't I know it,' the Registrar acknowledged. 'It's supposed to be

  standard practice for University events, but the people who organised

  this conference are a law unto themselves.'

  You might tell them,' McGuire grumbled, 'that when it comes to

  security, I'm the law around here, and that I don't appreciate having to

  go round eyeballing two hundred plus people when we could have

  handled most of it at a desk, if they'd done a professional job.

  'Come on, Karen,' he said. 'Say goodbye to Mr Wills, and let's get

  on down to the conference centre to get this lot looked over.'

  105

  31

  'Maggie is going to make a full recovery, isn't she?' Bob Skinner

  asked, anxiously. The wounded chief inspector had served for a time

  as his executive assistant; she was one of the group of officers whom

  he regarded privately as his inner circle.

  Brian Mackie, another of the select group, did his best to reassure

  him. The surgeon told Mario that he expects her to be fine. It was a

  brutal cut, and her arm is full of internal sutures as well as the clips on

  the outside, but if she behaves herself, everything will heal up fine.'

  The DCC nodded. 'Good. But when she's ready to come back to

  work, it's down to you to make sure she does toe the line. Office

  duties only until the surgeon certifies that there's no further chance of

  long-term damage.'

  Mackie frowned. 'You tell her that, please, boss; I don't think I've

  got the guts. You know what Maggie's like; she'll be desperate to get

  back into the front line as quick as she can.'

  'I'll tell her this very morning. I'm going up to the Royal when I

  leave here.' He looked around Mackie's office. 'I came down here for

  a purpose, Brian. Allocation ofCID resources is Andy's responsibility,

  but I don't want you to feel shy about asking him for a replacement

  for Mags while she's off. I know that overall, we're tight on manpower,

  but if he asks me for another senior body, I'll accommodate him. We

  have chief inspectors in uniform with CID experience; I can transfer

  one of them on a temporary basis.'

  Th
e superintendent nodded his appreciation. 'Thanks, sir. But let

  me try it on my own for a bit. I'll try and fill the gap myself, by

  getting out of the office more.'

  Skinner laughed. 'Who does that remind me of, I wonder?'

  'You,' Mackie replied, promptly. 'You've got a lot to answer for;

  this force is littered with reluctant delegators, made in your image.

  'I'm not just indulging myself though,' he continued. 'If I brought

  someone else in I'd just have to bring him - or her - up to speed on the

  Weston investigation. No, I've got a great regard for young Steele.

  I'm going to team up with him myself.'

  Skinner nodded. 'I share your view of the lad. He'll get a

  106

  commendation for bravery for what he did yesterday; that'll be his

  second in a fairly short time.' The DCC paused. 'Is that bastard

  Joseph still downstairs?'

  'No, boss. He's off to court. He'll be charged, released without bail

  so that we don't run into trouble with the hundred and ten day

  prosecution rule, then rearrested immediately on suspicion of the

  Birmingham murder. He won't be coming back to this nick, though.

  He'll be held in Saughton until escorting officers arrive from down

  south.'

  'Just as well,' the DCC muttered. 'Every minute he spends here,

  Mario must feel like going down there and battering the shit out of

  him.' There was a sudden silence in the room; it lasted for one second

  too long, before Mackie broke it. 'Yes indeed.' Skinner looked at him,

  an eyebrow raised, opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it

  again.

  'Joseph's brief came up to see me before he went to court,' the

  superintendent continued, hastily. 'He said that his client was after a

  deal; he'd plead guilty to the Birmingham murder if we'd drop the

  attempt to murder charge, and if the DSS drop their fraud complaint

  over his false identity.'

  'Eh? He'd plead to murder to avoid a serious assault charge, and a

  DSS fiddle?'

  'He doesn't want to do time in Scotland, apparently.'

  'So what did you tell the solicitor?'

  'What the book tells me to say; that he should take it up with

  the Fiscal. But I added that personally I didn't give a shit about

  Birmingham, with one of our own wounded.'

  'Quite right too. I'll have a word with Davie Pettigrew myself, just