‘Did he offer any other violence?’
‘Nah, he just pointed the gun at me and told me to hand over all the cash I had in the place. I told him that I don’t have a lot of cash at the start of business, just my float. I expect the punters to give me theirs as the day goes on. He told me to shut the fuck up and gi’e him what I had. I took another look at his eyes, then at the gun . . . he was waving it all over the place . . . and I opened the safe. He couldn’t see in, so I only took some of what was in there, about a grand, and put it on the counter.’
‘So far so good,’ said Pye. ‘And then what?’
‘Then the stupid bastard,’ Starr beamed at the memory, ‘tucks the gun under his left oxter, and goes to pick it up with his right hand. And that’s when . . .’
‘That’s when he whacked him with the bayonet.’ Dottie Shannon’s lip seemed to curl with distaste.
‘Where did it come from?’ asked the detective sergeant.
‘It was in the safe,’ Starr told him. ‘I palmed it when I took the cash out.’
Pye leaned over and looked at the great blade. It was embedded in the wooden counter, nailing down a pile of cash, on top of which lay a severed finger. There was blood all around, and in a trail to the door. ‘Where did you get it?’ he asked.
‘It was ma father’s. He brought it back from Korea: he said it had seen the insides of a right few Chinese.’
‘You keep it sharp, don’t you?’
‘It’s no use if it’s blunt, is it?’
‘Do you have any other weapons here?’
‘What do you mean, weapons? I’m entitled to defend maself, am I no’?’
‘I’m going to leave that for the procurator fiscal to decide,’ Pye told him. He crouched, took out a handkerchief, and very carefully picked up a Luger pistol, which lay on the floor. ‘Have you touched this since the intruder dropped it?’
‘No, I left it for you people.’ The bookie’s ebullience seemed to be fading away.
‘Come on, Mr Starr, did you really think this was a firearm?’
‘How can you say it’s not?’
‘By the weight, for a start: this is plastic. And by the size: a real Luger would be bigger than this.’ He glanced at it. ‘Finally by the fact that it’s got “Made in China” stamped on the butt.’
‘How was I to know that?’ Starr protested.
‘I’m not sure you cared.’
‘The bastard was trying to rob me. Why should Ah care?’
‘Like I said, that’s not a question I’m going to deal with at the moment. The man you mentioned, Big Ming? Where is he?’
‘He’s in the back shop.’
‘Is that Ming as in Menzies?’ asked Shannon.
‘Nah, his name’s Jim Smith. We call him that because he smells a bit.’
‘Did he see any of this?’
‘The boy bumped into him when he ran for it, but that was all.’ Starr scowled. ‘Knocked the coffees and the bacon rolls all over the fuckin’ place.’
‘Had you ever seen the thief before?’
‘Not that I remember; he’s not one of my regulars, that’s for sure.’
‘Description?’
‘Maybe six feet, skinny, needed a shave. He wore a green jacket and a grey woolly hat: at least I think it was grey. The thing was filthy.’
Pye turned to Shannon. ‘We’d better find this bloke quick, Dottie. Could you arrange for uniformed officers to check with the Western General and the Royal for anyone who’s wandered in minus a right index finger?’ He took an evidence bag from his pocket, picked up the detached digit and, very carefully, placed it inside. ‘I’ll take care of the forensic side. At least we won’t have any trouble getting a print. Mr Starr, I want you to come with me: we’ll need a formal statement from you. Meantime, you’d better hope that this man hasn’t bled to death. In fact, I’ll let you call your lawyer right now. You might want him to meet you at my office.’
The bookmaker’s smiles were long gone as he walked over to a phone in the far corner of the betting office. Shannon felt a glow of satisfaction as she reached for her radio, but before she could hit the transmit switch, her mobile sounded.
She fished it from the right-hand pocket of her uniform trousers and hit the OK button. ‘Shannon,’ she replied, tersely.
‘Dottie.’ She knew the voice, but at that moment was unable to put a face or a name to it. ‘Neil McIlhenney.’ Mentally, she kicked herself: she had been with the Special Branch head only a few days before. ‘Are you able to talk to me?’ he asked.
She glanced around: Starr was dialling a number and Pye was bagging the toy Luger. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll be brief. You’re wanted up at headquarters this afternoon: DCC Skinner’s office, three thirty.’
‘What’s it about?’
‘I don’t know for sure.’
‘Am I on the carpet?’
‘No, because you don’t need to wear uniform. Anyway, if you were, he’d be phoning you himself. Don’t be anxious, just be on time.’
Four
‘Will it always be like this?’ Aileen de Marco asked the question without looking directly at him.
He waited until he had caught her gaze. ‘A few hours together here and there, do you mean? Quick lunches like this one, in quiet restaurants where we can trust their discretion?’
She laughed lightly. ‘Make that rhyme and you’ve got a big country-and-western hit on your hands.’
‘That’s the west of Scotland gene pool: deep down we’ve all got a touch of the maudlin in us.’ He grinned back at her. ‘You’ll never get me to sing it, though.’
‘I’ll bet you’ve got a great singing voice.’
‘You’ll never know. I don’t plan ever to get that drunk again.’ He took her hand in his. ‘To answer you, no, Aileen, it won’t always be like this: that’s a promise. Why do you ask, though? Are you having second thoughts about the two of us? Do you want to stop this thing before it goes any further?’
‘No, I don’t. Forget I said that, Bob; it was stupid. I know it’s got to be this way for a while, given your position, and mine. “Deputy Chief Constable and Justice Minister in Glasgow Love Tryst”: God, the headlines were swimming before my eyes last night, in the dark.’
‘You’re selling yourself short.’ He chuckled. ‘When I saw them, they read, “First Minister de Marco and Top Cop Skinner: the secret uncovered” . . . or words to that effect.’
‘There’s no certainty I’ll be First Minister.’
‘Are you going to run for the leadership of your party?’
‘Yes,’ she conceded.
‘Is there any sign of anyone running against you?’
‘No.’
‘In that case it’s an absolute certainty.’
‘I wish I had your confidence. The electoral process can drag on a bit: there’s always the chance of someone else throwing their hat in the ring.’
‘The voters will chuck it back out again. But until that happens, and until Sarah and I have ironed out all the details of our split, you and I should avoid being seen together, other than in professional circumstances. Agreed?’
‘Agreed. I’m sorry I had my wee wobble there. It’s just that being with you makes me feel . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘It makes me feel content: I don’t know how else to put it. Somehow, I just feel like I’m at home, in a way I haven’t since I was a kid. Does that make sense?’
‘It does to me,’ Bob replied.
‘How does it make you feel, then?’ she teased.
‘I have trouble describing that too,’ he admitted. ‘The best I can say is that I don’t feel alone any more.’
‘Alone? You’ve got four kids: how can you feel alone?’
‘See? I told you I have trouble describing it.’ He looked down at the table for a moment, at the remains of their meal, then back at Aileen. ‘It’s this way, love. Ever since Myra, my first wife, died, there’s been a part of me that’s never healed up. I’ll tell you a tr
uth: in the years I was on my own, bringing up Alex, I dreamed of Myra all the time; in those dreams she wasn’t dead, only away visiting her mother, or a friend, and then she’d come back, and it would be all right. But every morning after, I’d wake up and she was still dead, and inside I was as lost and alone as I felt on the day of her funeral. When Sarah came along, and we got together, I hoped that I could put all the hurt, all the loneliness behind me, but I never did, not quite. I still dreamed of Myra, never Sarah, always her, and she still wasn’t dead, only gone for a while. The dreams grew more frequent, until I’d see her almost every night, full of life, but every morning my mind’s eye would see her dead once more.’
‘Did you ever tell Sarah this?’
‘How could I?’
‘Didn’t you tell anyone, not even your friend Kevin, the psychiatrist you saw?’
‘I only tell Kevin what he needs to know; some stuff I can’t share with him.’
‘You carried all that inside you, for all those years?’
‘Yup.’
‘So what’s happened?’
‘You have. They’ve stopped. I don’t dream of Myra any more. When I do, it’s you I see.’
Her eyebrows came together, slightly. ‘Are you telling me that I’m a substitute for your dead wife?’
He squeezed her hand, firmly, but not hard enough to hurt. ‘Not for a moment. You’re nothing like her, nothing at all. She and I had little in common, other than the fact that we were crazy about each other. You and I, we’ve been drawn together by qualities we share. No, Aileen, what I’m telling you is that I believe, I honestly do, that Myra’s finally satisfied that I’ve found the person I should be with.’
Her eyes glistened. ‘Won’t you miss her, if she never comes back at night?’
‘No, for all I have to do to see her is look at my older daughter. She’s as like her mother as two people can be,’ he smiled again, ‘although she’s a little less wild, I’m glad to say.’ He drank the last of his bottled water. ‘So here I am, saved at last. Yes, my marriage is over, and that pains me, because however well Sarah and I manage it, the kids will not have the upbringing that we had planned. Despite that, when I look into the future, although I don’t have a clue what it holds, I see you in it, and that makes me . . . I’ll use your word. It makes me content. No, I’ll go further: it makes me feel happy in a way I haven’t for the last twenty years.’
‘Would you like me to chuck it?’
‘Chuck what?’
‘Politics. I wouldn’t be the first just to up and walk away from it.’
Bob leaned back, his scepticism written all over his face. ‘Sure, you do that,’ he said slowly, ‘and I’ll give up my job as well and we’ll do what with our time? I’m sure I could lecture in criminology. You could go back to civil engineering. We’d live happily ever after, except we’d both be bored stiff during the day, and we’d both regret what might have been. No, my dear, you stay the course: you’ve got your destiny to fulfil.’
‘What’s that?’
‘To be First Minister of Scotland. What else?’
‘You really believe I can do the job?’
‘For the next ten years, given the strength of your party, and as long as you want to after that: I know it, and so do you; don’t try to kid either of us.’
‘Now there’s a word: kid. What if I want one?’
‘Then have one: we’ll need to wait until my divorce is through, if I’m to honour part of my agreement with Sarah. But if that’s what you want and we can make it happen, why not? Ministers have had paternity leave before now. Where’s the difference?’
‘None, I’ll grant you. Can you picture me breast-feeding in the parliament chamber?’
‘Don’t start me picturing your breasts at all,’ Bob murmured. ‘I have a busy afternoon: I have things to tie up before I leave for London.’
‘Will I see you before you go?’
‘I don’t know for sure. Sarah and I are seeing our lawyer at five this evening to look at a draft separation agreement, then tomorrow I’ll have to spend time with Mark, the Jazzer, and Seonaid . . .’
‘The Jazzer?’
‘James Andrew, my younger son: we used to call him Jazz before we started using his given names.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Rough and tumble, bright.’
‘Like you?’
‘He’s showing all the signs, I fear. Anyway, I need to give them some spoiling before I’m off, then on Saturday night I’m having dinner with number-one daughter, Alex. Sunday morning, I’ve got a golf tie that I can’t postpone, because it involves other people. How about late Sunday afternoon, at your Edinburgh place?’
‘What if the press are staking it out?’
‘They won’t be.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because Special Branch are keeping an eye on you when you’re in Edinburgh. They’ll move them on.’
She gasped. ‘Did you think of asking me before you did that?’
‘Yes, and then I decided not to. You’re First Minister in waiting: I’d do the same for anyone. It’s not just about privacy; there’s the security aspect as well.’
‘Is that something I’ll have to live with, if I get this job?’
‘You’ll be entitled to it, but it won’t be forced on you. It won’t be obtrusive, I promise, and when we’re able to come absolutely clean about our relationship, there’ll be less call for it.’
‘You mean you’ll be all the protection I need?’
‘Something like that.’ He caught the waiter’s eye and signalled for the bill. ‘Sunday it is then, around five?’
‘Okay. I’ll cook something: that’ll probably finish us.’ She fell silent, as the bill arrived: Bob paid in cash. ‘This London trip,’ she continued, after the waiter had gone to fetch their coats, ‘you can’t tell me what it’s about?’
‘It’s sensitive.’
‘My security clearance is pretty high, you know.’
He laughed. ‘You’re right, it is: I’d forgotten that. Okay, between us, there’s a situation in the security services. The directors want someone from outside to run an inquiry, and I’m the man.’
Aileen whistled. ‘Must be serious for them to bring in an outsider.’
‘How does the word “treason” sit with you? I’ve investigated everything else in my time, but this is a first.’
‘My God, that serious? It’ll take a couple of weeks, you reckon?’
‘That’s what I’ve allowed, but to be honest, I haven’t a clue.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘They’ve booked us into a hotel called the Royal Horseguards. Why do you ask?’
‘There’s a meeting at the Home Office next Wednesday,’ she said, ‘to discuss progress on the new casinos. Next day, there’s a session on immigration. The Home Secretary’s chairing the first one, so I have to go. In that event, I might as well stay and do the second meeting. Lena hasn’t booked the accommodation yet. Wouldn’t it be a coincidence if we wound up in the same hotel?’
‘It would,’ Bob agreed. ‘It would also be fairly embarrassing for the officer who’ll be accompanying me on the trip. I could rely on that person’s discretion, I’m sure, but I’d rather not have to, if you see what I mean; personal and professional overlapping, and all that.’
‘True. I hadn’t thought about that.’
‘On the other hand, if you found that you were booked into, say, the Charing Cross Hotel . . . When I’m away, I always go for a walk before I turn in. Sometimes I stay out for hours.’
Five
Dottie Shannon lived in a flat in Elbe Street, so close to the police station in Queen Charlotte Street that she always came to work in uniform. She was about to go home to change for her appointment with the deputy chief constable when DS Pye appeared in the open doorway of her office.
‘Got a minute?’ he asked.
‘Just one, Sammy, literally. I have a meeting out of the off
ice this afternoon.’
‘That’s funny, so has my boss.’
The inspector’s curiosity was triggered. ‘Indeed? Where’s Mr McGuire’s, did he say?’
‘Fettes, half three. I won’t keep you, if you’re in a rush. I just wanted to know whether you’d had any reports back from the hospitals about our failed armed robber.’
Shannon took longer than normal to reply: she was still pondering the fact that she and Detective Superintendent Mario McGuire had appointments in the same place, at the same time. Fettes was a big building, and there was always plenty going on there, but still . . . To a good copper there was no such thing as coincidence. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘No, I haven’t. Nothing positive at any rate. Our lad hasn’t turned up at the Eastern, the Royal or the Western General looking for treatment. I widened the search as far as Livingston, but no joy there either. If he does arrive anywhere we’ll hear about it . . . or you will at least. I told my colleagues to pass any information to you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Anything else we can do?’
Pye scratched his head. ‘If we don’t get anything from the hospitals soon, we might have to start asking around the city GPs, but I’m holding off on that. The scene-of-crime woman took a print from the finger, and I’m waiting to hear if Criminal Intelligence has it on file.’
‘Fine, but in the meantime, could this bloke have bled to death?’
‘From the amount of blood in the betting shop, and in the street outside, I’m advised by the SOCO that it’s unlikely. He’ll need medical attention at some point, sure, but if he’s a junkie, like Starr said, there’s a good chance he’s gone home and shot up again, to kill the pain.’
‘What about Starr? What’s the CID view on him?’
‘He’s a shit. Would the uniform branch disagree?’
Shannon grinned, showing the gold filling in one of her teeth. ‘We’d concur, but, as you know damn well, I meant, do you see him as offender as well as victim?’
‘Difficult. I’ve talked to Superintendent McGuire about that: his instinct is that the fiscal’s office would be reluctant to lay a charge. What would it be? Assault, probably. He’d go to trial, and his defence would be pretty obvious. Odds in favour of conviction? Probably against, even money at most, but suppose he was found guilty, you can be sure it would go to appeal. It could become a test case, a cause célèbre, and maybe it could set the sort of legal precedent we don’t want.’
16 - Dead And Buried Page 3