Fourteen
There was a full scene-of-crime team in attendance when Bandit Mackenzie’s Traffic car taxi dropped him at the stone-built terraced villa, its gateway marked with coloured tape. Ray Wilding was waiting for him in the doorway, clad in a disposable white tunic. He waited as the chief inspector struggled into an identical garment.
‘When did we get the call?’ Mackenzie asked.
‘About two hours ago, sir. The victim’s a bookmaker: he didn’t show up to open his shop this morning. That’s not unprecedented, apparently. The board man has keys, so he let himself in, and he and the clerk got on with business. It was pretty brisk, this being a Saturday and all, but eventually the clerk found time to call Mr Starr. When he got no reply, he tried his mobile. When he got no answer there either, he left a message. After an hour, he called again, and still got no reply. They were having a bad day and the accountant was afraid that the float was going to run out, so he sent Smith, the board man, up here to find out what was up, and if possible get some more cash. When there was no answer to the front-door bell, Smith went round to the lane that runs behind these houses and let himself into the back garden. The door was locked, but he could see through the kitchen window well enough. When he’d stopped yelling, he called the police.’
‘What did he see that made him yell?’
‘Come on through and see for yourself.’ Wilding led the way into the house and through the hallway, until he reached the big kitchen.
It took all Mackenzie’s willpower, and possibly the fact that his senses were dulled by four bottles of strong lager, to keep from screaming himself. Gary Starr was sitting at an oak table in the middle of the room, his back to the doorway. His head was angled back, his eyes were staring, sightless, and his mouth gaped wide open. His legs and torso were bound to his chair by thick brown tape, which had been used also to secure his arms to the table top.
It was covered in blood. Mackenzie had never seen so much, but he knew that when an artery is severed, the heart, until it stops, keeps pumping it out. Both of the bookmaker’s hands had been severed at the wrist, cleanly. They lay on the table in front of him, palms upward. ‘Jesus Christ,’ the chief inspector whispered. As he did so, his stomach sent him a warning of imminent activity: he rushed over to the kitchen sink and vomited, retching until there was nothing left to come up, then turned on both taps to wash it away.
‘Magic,’ said a voice from behind him. ‘Now that’s what I call contaminating a crime scene!’
He turned to see a man glaring at him, red hair sprouting from beneath the cap of his tunic. ‘Who are you?’ asked Mackenzie.
‘DI Dorward, head of the crime-scene unit. You just beat me to the same question.’
‘This is DCI Mackenzie, Arthur,’ said Wilding, ‘from Queen Charlotte Street. He’s my new boss, as of yesterday.’
‘I don’t care if he’s the chief constable, Ray: that was as bloody stupid a thing as I’ve ever seen.’
‘Wind it in, Inspector,’ Mackenzie growled. ‘We’re all human, so I’ll have a wee bit less of the chat.’
‘No, you bloody won’t. I’m in charge of this crime scene, not you: it’s my responsibility to keep it sterile. Could you not have thrown up in the garden, man? There’s every chance that whoever did this washed the blood off his hands in that sink, and that he left traces of himself behind. There’s also every chance that they’re not there any more. Now please, don’t touch anything else.’
‘You don’t want to make an enemy of me, Dorward,’ the chief inspector warned.
‘Frankly, I don’t care whether I make an enemy of you. On the other hand, if my report is less than complete because of you, you’ve made one of me. Maybe you want to think about that. Now, are you the senior investigating officer?’
‘Yes,’ Mackenzie snapped, then paused. ‘At least I assume I am.’
‘This set-up’s all very new, Arthur,’ Wilding explained. ‘Maybe Mr McIlhenney will want to run this one, or maybe even Mr McGuire.’
‘Well, find out, please. I need to know who’s to get my team’s results.’ He turned and left the kitchen.
‘Some start, eh?’ Mackenzie murmured.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said his sergeant. ‘It’s your call whether you pass this one up the line.’
‘I suppose I’d better. Do you have a mobile? I came away in such a rush I’ve left mine in the house.’
‘I’ve got a mobile, and I’ve even got Neil McIlhenney’s number. DCS Pringle made me keep it close when I was his assistant as head of CID.’
‘Good, but before I call him, bring me up to speed. Has the doctor been?’
‘Been and gone. His provisional view is that the man’s been dead since last night.’
‘Come on into the garden,’ said Mackenzie, ‘before that man gets his Carmen rollers in an even bigger twist.’ He led the way: floodlights had been set up outside, and officers were working in their glow going over every inch of ground. ‘Any thoughts?’
‘There must have been at least two of them,’ Wilding replied. ‘One bloke on his own couldn’t have subdued the victim and trussed him up like that.’
‘Agreed. He was a bookie, you say? That can be a rough business; from the looks of it, he’s really upset someone.’
‘That’s a thought,’ the sergeant conceded. ‘But I can’t imagine who it could have been. I know Edinburgh, and I know the gambling scene around here. There’s nobody I can think of would do something like that, so if your theory’s right, I reckon we’re looking for someone from out of town.’
‘Was the victim in business in a big way?’
‘That’s another thing: he wasn’t. He had the one shop and that’s all. Looking at this house, it did well enough: property up here’s not cheap. Yet he wasn’t a high roller; no way was he that.’
‘So why would a business rival hit on him? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe somebody’s trying to take over all the small bookies. Could be they made Starr an offer and he refused it so they . . .’
‘Lashed him to the kitchen table and chopped his hands off? That’s a bit extreme.’
‘Sending a message to everyone in town, maybe.’
‘Maybe, but there’s something else. Remember I said that Starr was the victim of an attempted robbery yesterday?’
‘Yes.’
‘It was unsuccessful because Starr whacked off the thief’s right index finger with a bayonet. That’s one I was going to brief you about on Monday.’
‘Have we made an arrest?’
‘No. He hasn’t shown up anywhere in our area for treatment, plus he’s not known to us: his print isn’t on record.’
‘You don’t think . . .’
‘Hardly. Even if he was treated somewhere that we haven’t found yet, he couldn’t have been in shape to do that on the same day, even with a helper.’
‘So maybe he had two helpers. Maybe there were three of them, maybe four.’
‘In that case, why did he try to stick up Starr’s shop on his own? And how did a team of three or four get in here? From what I hear, that character in there wasn’t the most sociable man in town, and there are absolutely no signs of forced entry anywhere.’
‘Maybe not, but it’s the best lead we’ve got, and that’s what I’m going to tell Neil McIlhenney. Did anyone see this robber yesterday morning?’
‘Smith, the board man, he did.’
‘Get him back in, pronto. Have him do an E-fit for us, and get it out to the media. And when you do, don’t forget to mention the missing finger.’
Fifteen
Bob Skinner took in the view from the balcony of his daughter’s new apartment. ‘You’ve done all right here, kid,’ he called across to her. A few feet below the Water of Leith flowed past, reflecting the lights from the properties on the bank opposite.
‘Haven’t I just,’ Alex replied, coming towards him with a flute of cava in either hand, holding one out t
o him. ‘It helps being a lawyer: you get whispers of things that are coming on the market, and of people who might be looking to buy in a specific area. I’ve always fancied living in Stockbridge, and now, here I am. I’ve even got a spare room, so that my old man can crash out when he comes for dinner.’
He stepped into the living area, closing the door behind him to shut out the winter chill. ‘I’m impressed that you can afford it, at your age,’ he told her, as he took the glass.
‘I thought it was a gamble when I signed up,’ she admitted, ‘but I’ve had a nice rise since then. I can handle it.’
‘Are you going to stay with Curle Anthony and Jarvis?’ he asked, as they settled into armchairs. ‘I seem to remember that when you started your law degree, you were full of talk about going to the Bar.’
‘I know, and it’s still a thought at the back of my mind, but the longer I stay with the firm, the more opportunities keep opening up. I’m an associate already, and that means that a partnership could be on the distant horizon.’
‘At your age most things seem distant, but they’re not. They have a habit of zooming up on you.’ He glanced at the table, set for two. ‘What’s for dinner?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Reindeer carpaccio as a starter . . .’
‘Reindeer?’
‘Trust me, it’s terrific.’
‘Reindeer? You mean we’ll be eating Rudolph?’
‘I prefer to think of it as one of the others. What’s your problem anyway? You like venison: that’s like eating Bambi’s mum.’
‘Is she the main course?’
‘No, I’m doing seared tuna steaks.’
‘Damn, I should have brought white wine, rather than red.’
‘Not at all, that Montecillo Reserva will go very well with it.’
‘I wish you’d let me take you out, you know.’
‘Not a chance. I’ve never cooked dinner for you before, not in my place. This is the first chance I’ve had since I moved and I’m not going to let it pass me by. Besides, I thought that you might prefer total privacy for what you’ve got to tell me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Dad. When you call me to say that you want to take me to dinner, you on your own, without Sarah, I’m going to start to think. When I hear that you two had a meeting last night in my firm’s offices, after closing time, I’m going to start forming conclusions.’
Bob rose from his chair, walked through to the kitchen and returned with the cava bottle. ‘I’m sorry, babe,’ he said, as he topped up both glasses. ‘I was trying to be delicate about it.’
She laughed, a little sadly. ‘Dad, you can’t do delicate. What’s the point anyway? I know that you and Sarah have been having troubles. The fact that she’s not here tells me that you’re not going to say that you’ve kissed and made up. You’ve come to the end of the road: yes or no?’
‘Yes. Sarah’s going back to the US.’
‘With the kids?’
‘I’ll have them during term-time, and they’ll spend their holidays with her.’
‘The nanny’s staying on?’
‘Of course.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘Well, what do you have to say?’
‘Good luck.’
‘That’s all?’
‘What do you want me to say? “Please don’t, Dad! Think again, for your children’s sake!” Sorry, that’s not going to happen. Your marriage has run out of steam; you’ve both been playing away games. It’s time to move on.’
‘Even for you, that’s a pretty calm reaction. I’d expected more . . .’
‘Sympathy? Is that what you came for? Dad, you’ve already got Sarah’s replacement lined up.’
‘Aileen is not Sarah’s replacement: she’s a friend.’
‘Pull the other one: if she’s just a friend then she won’t be for long. I know you. I’ve seen the woman; she came to lunch in our office a few weeks ago. She’s your type, Dad, more . . . and I am sorry to say this . . . than Sarah ever was.’
‘What do you mean, my type?’
‘Work it out for yourself.’
‘No, come on, tell me what you mean.’
‘When I saw her she reminded me of Mum. Okay?’
‘Well, she’s not. There may be something in the way she looks, the way she carries herself, but she’s different. Okay?’
‘Okay, if you say so.’
‘You’re your mother’s double, and she’s not a bit like you.’
‘Okay, Dad, okay. That’s fine: but she’s still your type.’
‘Well, that’s good, for she’s going to be around for a while. Now, sympathy: I did not come here for sympathy. I came to break some bad news to you and that’s all. Except you seem to be treating it as if it was good news.’
‘No, I’m not, really. If I’m not upset enough for you, it’s because I think you’re right. You’re forgetting one thing, Pops.’
‘Thank God, you called me Pops at last.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘When you call me Dad, it’s usually because you’re lecturing me about something or other. So what am I forgetting?’
‘You’re forgetting that I’ve been there myself. Okay, we weren’t married, but Andy and I were living together. The same thing happened to us. We weren’t right for each other, we got together when both of us were on the rebound from bad experiences, and eventually our relationship ran out of legs. If I hadn’t had my termination, and we had married, then it’s better than even money that you and I would be still sitting here right now, only both of us would be crying into our cava for the very same reason.’
‘Do you really think that Sarah and I got together on the rebound?’
‘Yes, I do. You might have rebounded further than Andy and me, but the principle was the same.’
‘Yes.’ Bob sighed. ‘I suppose it was. So you’re fine about it, really?’
‘As long as my brothers and sister are looked after as well as both of you possibly can, I am. If I ever doubt it, I will come down like a ton of legal bricks on each of you, but I’m confident it won’t come to that.’
‘Fair enough. Now, let’s change the subject. How’s your love life?’
‘Low level is probably the best way to describe it. I don’t have a steady, but I don’t go short of dinner dates, and if there’s a function where I need a partner, I have a list to choose from. I plan to enjoy this place on my own for a while; filling my wash basket with some man’s smelly socks is not on my agenda, I promise you.’
‘How about the accountant bloke you mentioned to me a few months back? The fellow from London.’
‘Guy? He’s still around, but only in the background, and only when I go down there. Nothing will come of that; he’s nice enough, but he’s just a bit too up himself, as they say in the City.’
‘You sound like you’ve got it taped, kid,’ he said, with a touch of admiration.
‘I like to think so.’
‘No black clouds . . . apart from me, that is?’
‘You’re not a black cloud; you’re a constant beam of sunshine in my life.’ She shot him a quick glance. ‘Everything’s fine, Pops, honest.’
Bob’s eyebrows twitched. ‘That’s another giveaway. Whenever you say “honest”, it means there’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?’
‘Nothing, honest.’
‘See? Come on, what is it?’
‘Oh, it’s just that I’ve had a couple of phone calls.’
‘What sort of phone calls?’
‘The silent kind.’
‘Breathers? How many?’
‘Three within the last week; Tuesday, Thursday and last night.’
‘Describe them.’
‘What’s to describe? The phone rang, I picked it up: there was someone on the line, no doubt about that, but nothing said. No, that’s not quite right: last night I thought he said, “Alex,” in a whisper, a sort of hoarse, croaky whisper.’
‘He?’
&nbs
p; ‘Yes, it was a male voice, I’m sure of that.’
Bob was perched on the edge of his chair. ‘How did you respond?’
‘The first time, I just kept on asking, “Who’s there?” until the line went dead. The second time I said nothing. The third time, after I thought he whispered my name, I said, “Fuck off,” and slammed the phone down.’
‘Did you try 1471?’
‘Of course I did, Pops, but even the dumbest pervert these days knows how to withhold his number.’
‘You’d be surprised. Right, what are we going to do about this? I’m off to London on Monday, but you’d better come to stay with us for a few days.’
‘Bollocks, I’m not doing that!’
‘Why the hell not?’
She gasped. ‘You’re really asking me that? For a start, in the circumstances I don’t want to share space with Sarah: it wouldn’t do either of us any good. But most of all, this is my home, and I’m damned if I’ll let some creep think he can scare me out of it.’
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