‘So you’ve let him go without caution or charge?’
‘No, I cautioned him formally before he made his statement. His lawyer was there, I had to.’
‘How did he take that?’
‘Oliver Poole, the solicitor, told him that it was normal procedure and that he shouldn’t worry about it. He was right, too. So I took his statement, and turned him loose. I told him that the SOCOs would have to hold on to the cash for a while, in case we need more prints. That annoyed him a bit, I’m glad to say.’
‘Does that mean you’ve hit the buffers already?’
‘Almost. I’ve got his board man, James Smith, in the interview room now. Starr was right: he does hum a bit. I’d better get shot of him, and let you go to your meeting, too.’
Pye closed the door as he left. His mind was on Shannon and her appointment as he walked back to the interview room where Big Ming was waiting. He liked the inspector: she was something of a fixture in the Leith office, popular with the officers under her command, but not too much, always careful to maintain a proper balance between familiarity and authority. She reminded him a lot of Karen Neville, his DS friend from his uniform days in the Haddington office, as she had been before she stunned the force by marrying Andy Martin, then the head of CID, and settling down to a life of blissful domesticity. He found himself wondering if Dottie’s private life was as interesting as Karen’s had been. She was pushing forty, he knew, and single. He had heard a hint in the locker room of a relationship that had ended badly, but when he had asked about it, the whisperer had clammed up, so he had let it go.
Big Ming was unhappy when Pye rejoined him. His body odour was more rank too, as if it was an inbuilt gauge of his mood. ‘How long is this goin’ tae take?’ he asked.
‘Got anything better to do?’ the detective shot back. ‘Your boss knows where you are.’
‘It’s lunch-time,’ Smith grumbled.
‘Oh, yes, I forgot,’ said Pye, as he switched on the tape-recorder on the desk. ‘And you never had your bacon rolls and coffee, did you, thanks to our friend knocking them all over the street?’
‘The bacon rolls were okay. Ah picked them up.’
‘Are you telling me that you and Starr stood there munching bacon rolls with an amputated finger lying on the counter?’
‘They’d hae got cold.’
‘Jesus, I don’t believe it. If you’d been really hungry would you have eaten the finger as well?’
Smith looked wounded. ‘Dae you think Ah’m a fuckin’ cannibal?’
‘Nothing I learn about you is going to surprise me, pal. But for now let’s just stick to what happened this morning. What time did you leave the office?’
The witness rearranged his eyebrows as if it was part of his thought process. ‘It wid hae been about five tae eleven, Ah suppose. But whit’s that got tae dae wi’ it? The boy wisnae there then.’
The detective sergeant grimaced. ‘Listen. This isn’t a formal interview, and you’re not under suspicion. All I’m doing here is getting your version of this morning’s events. But we’ll be done much quicker if you let me ask the questions.’ He ground out the last four words.
‘Aye, okay. Get on wi’ it then.’
‘Very good, sir. When you left, were you aware of anyone hanging around? Think about it, please; give yourself time to search your memory.’
Smith’s face twisted again, indicating intense thought. Suddenly a light seemed to go on in his eyes: it took Pye by surprise. ‘Aye, now ye mention it. There was somebody standin’, lookin’ in the windae of the shop two doors doon. Ah think it wis the boy. It struck me as strange at the time.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because the shop two doors doon belongs tae a plumber. He uses it as an office an’ a store, ken, but just for a laugh he has a lavvy in the windae, wi’ a cistern, seat and everything.’
‘Okay, that’s good. You said you think it was the robber: without putting any pressure on you, is that as positive as you can be?’
‘Naw. Naw. Naw, naw, naw. It wis him a’ right. Same jacket, same hat, same height. Big skinny cunt.’
‘Fine. Now, let’s move forward. How long were you away?’
‘Just a few minutes, like. The corner shop’s just a wee bit up the road. Ah went in, picked up the rolls and the coffee, got ma fags, had a wee chat wi’ Vijay, and that was it.’
‘Cold bacon rolls?’
Smith gave a small shudder at the thought. ‘Fuck no. Hot. Wi’ brown sauce.’
‘Didn’t you have to wait for the bacon to be cooked?’
‘Usually Ah dae, but today Vijay was off his mark right early. He had them waitin’ for me, right on eleven.’
‘You and Starr have bacon rolls every morning?’
‘Aye. He pays, like.’
‘Top-class employer.’
‘Aye, he’s no’ bad.’
‘Okay, let’s say you were gone ten minutes. Would that be about right?’
‘Just aboot.’
‘Tell me what happened when you got back.’
‘Ye know a’ready. Mr Starr telt ye.’
‘Yes, and now I want to hear it from you,’ said Pye, patiently.
‘It wis just like he said. Ah’d got tae the door o’ the shop when it opened and the boy came chargin’ out like one o’ thon Pamplona bulls.’
The sergeant was struck dumb. Experience had taught him that every so often a nugget of pure gold would be found in the most barren seam, but it could never prepare him for such a discovery.
‘And you collided?’ he asked, after a few seconds, resisting the urge to ask Big Ming whether he had run the bulls in his time.
‘Naw, Ah was just standing there, gettin’ ready tae open the door, when he crashed intae me.’
‘Let’s call that a collision.’
‘Call it a waste o’ two coffees.’
‘Be that as it may, how did you react?’
‘Ah didnae have time tae react, otherwise Ah’d have banjoed him. He never even looked at me, just turned and legged it doon the street and round the first corner.’
‘You got a good look at him this time, though?’
‘Oh, aye.’
‘Was he bleeding badly?’
‘Ah didnae notice him bleedin’ at a’, tae tell ye the truth. He was haudin’ one hand tight with the other.’
‘Did you see his eyes?’
‘Aye.’
‘Describe them.’
‘Whit . . . colour, like?’
‘No, just their expression.’
‘He looked like a fuckin’ Martian, like he wis frae another planet. Ken what Ah mean?’
‘Maybe, but explain.’
‘They were standing oot frae his heid like big pickled onions. But Ah suppose that’s no’ surprisin’ gi’en that he’d jist had a finger whacked aff.’
‘And had you ever seen him before?’
‘Naw, Ah don’t think so.’
‘There we go with that “think” again. Had you seen him before or had you not?’
‘Ah . . . Ah’m just no’ sure. There wis somethin’ about him that rang a bell, sort o’, but Ah’m buggered if Ah can remember, like Ah’ve seen the boy somewhere, but no’ there. D’ye ken?’
‘Sure, I know what you mean. One more thing and then we’re done. All the way through you’ve called him “the boy”. How old did you think he was?’
‘Early twenties.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Oh, aye, Ah’m sure of that. Ah’ve got a brither that’s twenty-four, and this lad’s younger than him.’
Interesting, thought Pye. ‘Okay, Mr Smith, that’s us done.’ He switched off the tape. ‘I’ll have this typed up as a formal statement. You can either wait to sign it, or I’ll have an officer bring it to your home address or to your work.’
‘Ah’ll wait. Dinna want the polis at ma door, and Mr Starr’ll no thank me if yis come tae the shop for me.’
‘As you wish. Since you’ve missed
your lunch, I’ll have somebody bring you a coffee and a sandwich while you wait. Want a paper as well?’
‘The News, if ye’ve got it. Ah’ll try and remember where Ah’ve seen the boy, honest.’
‘You do that,’ said Pye as he opened the door. ‘Maybe you bumped into him running the bulls in Pamplona.’
Six
‘My apologies, Neil,’ said Skinner, glancing at his watch as McIlhenney came in. ‘I said three o’clock, and I hate being late for a meeting I’ve called myself, especially when it’s in my own office.’
‘No worries, boss. I’ve been pretty busy clearing my desk anyway.’
‘Did you contact Inspector Shannon?’
‘Yes, I got hold of her. She’ll be here, three thirty on the dot, along with Mario.’
‘Fine, that gives us fifteen minutes. Coffee?’
‘I’ll pass: I’ll have some water from your fridge, though.’
The deputy chief constable frowned. ‘Of course you will. Christ alone knows why they want me on this London operation: I’m so bloody efficient I forgot you’ve chucked caffeine.’ He took a bottle of water from the small cooler beside his desk, and tossed it to McIlhenney, then poured himself a mug of coffee from his filter.
The chief inspector moved to take the chair that faced across the DCC’s desk, but Skinner motioned him towards his informal seating. ‘So,’ he asked, as he settled into the soft leather upholstery, ‘why did you want to see me first, before the other two get here? Is it to talk over the London job?’
‘In a way, a negative sort of way: it’s to tell you that you’re not going.’
McIlhenney’s face was impassive. ‘I see. And are you going to tell me why, sir?’
‘Look, stop the “sir” stuff: there’s no one else here and it makes you sound like you’re in the huff. You’ve no need to be, I promise you.’
‘Okay, but why the change of mind? Has that man O’Malley been saying things he shouldn’t?’
‘No, he hasn’t. Kevin’s report on your counselling session was very positive, not that I ever had any doubt that it would be. I’m not taking you with me because I’ve got more need of you here; it’s as simple as that.’
‘But Special Branch is quiet, now that the last crisis is over and done with.’
Skinner laughed. ‘You can predict when the bird’s going to hit the windmill, can you, Neil? That makes you a better copper than me. No, it’s got nothing to do with SB. It has to do with you and your career. There are two appointments I need to make. Greg Jay’s sudden vanishing trick has left me needing someone to take over command of CID in East and Midlothian.’
‘Yes, so what’s the other?’
‘It’s in Leith.’
‘Leith?’
Skinner nodded. ‘Yes, and don’t act so surprised. You know there’s a head of CID vacancy as well, now that Dan Pringle’s gone, and you know who the grapevine says is favourite for it.’
‘The grapevine gives Maggie Rose a chance, and Brian Mackie, and Alastair Grant too.’
‘Maybe, but it doesn’t know that Maggie’s ruled herself out of consideration.’
‘Has she?’ said McIlhenney, surprised.
‘Yes. I saw her the other day, just to sound her out, mind, not to offer her the job. She told me that she’s happy in uniform, and that if she moved back to CID it would be awkward, now that she’s living with a detective inspector. As for Brian, he’s doing a great job commanding the city division, plus he’s first in line for ACC if Haggerty goes. Alastair? Between ourselves, he’s reached his ceiling.’
‘Which leaves . . .’
‘Your boyhood mate, Mario McGuire. He’s our choice, the chief’s and mine, effective immediately.’
‘Which leads to the vacancy in Leith?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘There always is a “but”, isn’t there?’
‘It’s one of life’s immutable laws. In this case it comes about because I’m making some changes in the CID structure. I need more foot-soldiers out there, but there are budget constraints as always. To fund them, I need to cut down on the number of chiefs. That means that there are going to be fewer detective-superintendent posts. Obviously I can’t demote people who are already in situ, so the phasing in’s going to take some time.’
‘And Leith’s where it begins?’
‘Exactly.’
‘So?’
‘So I’m putting Bandit Mackenzie in there. He’s fitted into the Drugs Squad well, but with the Scottish Drugs Enforcement Agency making more and more progress, I can get by with a detective inspector in that post.’
McIlhenney scratched his chin. ‘I see. Does that mean you’re working up to telling me that I’m going to Jay’s old job on a level transfer?’
‘Do you want it?’
‘Honestly? I’d rather stay where I am.’
‘That’s not an option: you’ve done your stint in Special Branch. But don’t worry: I was taking the piss about moving you to Dalkeith. Jay’s deputy will step up there. I owe you more than that, for all you’ve done for this force, and for me. I’ve got something in mind for you, but I’ll tell you about it when the others arrive. I wanted you in here first, not just to break it to you that you’re not coming to London with me, but to ask you about Shannon’s vetting.’
‘It’s done, boss, as you asked. You gave us short notice, but Alice Cowan, my assistant, briefed me an hour ago. She’s clean as a whistle, an exemplary officer with nothing in her background that need worry you. She’s firearms qualified and a bloody good shot too, according to the range supervisor.’
‘And the personal thing that we’d heard about?’
‘She’s over that: she has a steady relationship with a man who works in the Bank of Scotland computer department. They’ve been seeing each other for three years.’
‘She’s not likely to get pregnant on me as well, is she?’
‘Not a prayer. She was involved in a road accident when she was fourteen: a drunk driver hit her father’s car. He, the dad, was killed, and she suffered severe abdominal injuries. She recovered, but minus her uterus.’ McIlhenney looked at his friend. ‘What did you mean by “as well”, by the way?’
Skinner blinked. ‘Your wife’s pregnant, isn’t she?’
‘Ah, so that has had something to do with me not going to London?’
‘Of course not, Neil; you’re imagining things.’
‘If you say so, boss. But Lou’ll be pleased, and I’m not imagining that.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. You just tell her that her influence over me had nothing to do with my decision. It was made on purely operational grounds. How are the kids, by the way?’
‘They’re fine. Spence is looking forward to his next adventure, and Lauren’s looking forward to being eighteen, so she can go to university and get out of doing the ironing. Only five more years to go: she’ll be thirteen next week.’
‘Are they pleased about the new baby?’
‘God, yes. Lauren’s funny. She’s about two-thirds woman now, trying to be very mature about it, but the other third kicks in every so often, and the excitement just bursts out of her.’
‘You’re lucky, in that way. My Alex is twenty years older than her blood siblings. She still worships them, mind.’
All at once, McIlhenney’s face grew solemn. ‘Yes, your Alex; and your own bereavement. You know, Bob, I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you properly for the way you supported me when Olive died.’
‘You supported yourself, man. Your friends were just around to help, that’s all. And you have thanked me, by the way you’ve got on with your life. You’ve set an example that I couldn’t live up to.’
‘But you tried your best, and so did Sarah, I’m sure. But if it’s really bust . . .’
‘It’s really bust.’
‘Then Lou and I will be there to support you, whenever you need it.’
‘Cheers, mate.’ Skinner finished his coffee. ‘Better get the other two in: they
should be here by now.’ He rose, walked across to his desk, picked up a phone and called Detective Sergeant McGurk, his assistant. ‘Jack, I’m ready for my three-thirty meeting.’ He poured more coffee as he waited. He had barely finished stirring in the milk before the door opened.
Mario McGuire stood aside to usher Dottie Shannon in before him. The inspector looked as if she was doing her best to hide her nerves, and almost succeeded. She wore little makeup, but her short blonde hair was expertly cut. She had replaced her duty uniform with a grey trouser suit and a white shirt. McGuire wore a brown suede bomber jacket and blue denims.
‘Welcome, both of you,’ Skinner greeted them. ‘Comfy seating today,’ he said, ushering them towards McIlhenney. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yes, please, sir,’ Shannon replied, a little nervously.
‘Fine. Mario, pour them, will you? Did you bring what I asked?’
The dark-haired superintendent nodded as he picked up the coffee jug. He waved a brown-paper bag in the air with his left hand. ‘One bag of doughnuts from the Viareggio deli: the finest in town, guaranteed.’
The DCC sat on the sofa beside McIlhenney, positioning himself so that he was facing the newcomers. ‘It’s good to see you up here, Dottie,’ he said. ‘I’ve been keeping my eye on your career for a while.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ the inspector replied, caution still in her tone as McGuire took his place beside her, handing her a mug and laying a plate bearing half a dozen sugar-coated doughnuts on the coffee-table.
‘There’s only four of us,’ Skinner pointed out.
McGuire displayed his most Italian grin. ‘Maybe, but two of them are for me: the rest of you can fight over the one that’s left . . . unless someone here pulls rank, or unless Neil decides to stick to his diet, in which case there’s two each.’
‘You wish,’ McIlhenney growled, reaching across the table and taking the top doughnut from the pile.
Skinner followed suit, then waited until he judged that everyone was comfortable and settled. ‘I want you all to know,’ he began, ‘that contrary to the occasional rumour you may hear, I am not a one-man army. I do not run this force, Sir James Proud does. The powers that I exercise are delegated by him, and the policies I put in place are approved by him, and where necessary by the police advisory board. So, what I’m telling you now has his blessing.’
16 - Dead And Buried Page 4