‘They were lucky they got off so lightly.’
The DS nodded. ‘They were, since they were on probation already for previous offences, but they must have had a good lawyer. He persuaded the sheriff that they were saveable and that a mix of fine, community service and extended probation would be a better deal for society than housing and feeding them for six months.’
‘They’re probably nicking burgers now,’ Wright chuckled, as they walked into the fast food outlet in St John’s Road.
Haddock stopped just inside the doorway, and looked around. The takeaway menu was displayed above the service counter, and its varied aromas pervaded the premises.
There were two people in the process of being served, but only one attendant, a tall young man in a striped uniform bearing the chain logo, and a peaked brown cap from which a few strands of hair protruded. There was a wide hatch behind him, through which the two detectives could see other people working.
‘That’s a double cheeseburger with Mexican salsa,’ he announced to the first customer, handing over a square polystyrene box. He looked across at the two newcomers, his wide, slightly sensuous mouth open in a smile. ‘Hey, they’re stormin’ the place now,’ he called out. ‘Corstorphine must be starvin’. And you, Alicia, you’re the hauf-pound venison wi’ piccalilli, and fries on the side, aye?’
A squat, dyed young blonde in a parka nodded. ‘What is venison onyway?’
‘Bambi; ye’re eating fuckin’ Bambi.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s gross; poor wee soul. Comes tae us all, though. And a cannae Coke, Jagger,’ she added. ‘Dinna forget the Coke.’
‘How could Ah, hen? It’s the same order every day: speciality burger and a cannae Coke. Dae ye no fancy a wee bit of variety in yer life?’
‘Such as?’
‘Ah dinna ken.’ He winked. ‘How about a hot sausage roll?’
‘In yer dreams, ya cheeky bastard,’ the girl chuckled, as she took her order. ‘See ye ramorra.’
‘In ma fuckin’ nightmares,’ the attendant murmured as she left. ‘Now, folks,’ he exclaimed, as he turned to face the two detectives. ‘Which of our delights would youse like? How can I help youse?’
‘By finding somewhere quiet where we can talk?’ Haddock replied, showing his warrant card. ‘That’s who I am, Mr Smith, and this is DC Wright. We need to ask you about a friend of yours, Dean Francey.’
‘How dae ye ken my name?’ the man asked, perplexed.
‘Let’s just say you fit the description we were given, Jagger. How about your pal Drizzle? We need him too.’
‘Aye, he’s here,’ Jagger confirmed. ‘But we’re workin’. We cannae just leave.’
An unnoticed door in the brightly coloured wall behind the counter opened and a second man appeared. ‘What’s up here?’ he demanded. ‘I’m Bert Stewart, the manager.’
‘CID,’ the DS told him. ‘We need a word with Messrs Smith and Harbison.’
‘What? Now, like? Can it no’ wait till they finish their shifts?’
‘No.’
‘Are they in bother?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ Haddock said, amiably. ‘We hope they might be able to help us with our inquiries. Fifteen minutes max, and they’ll be back on duty . . .’ he smiled, ‘unless they’ve confessed, of course.’
‘All right,’ the manager conceded. ‘Use my office. It’s the wee room in the corridor behind the kitchen; the one on the left, the other’s the lav. Take him through, Michael, and collect your mate on the way. Tell Coleen I’ll man the counter.’
Jagger lifted a flap in the counter to allow the two officers access, then led them into the kitchen, where two young people stood, one male, one female, each wearing a grease-spattered apron. ‘Drizzle,’ he said to the man, ‘these police want tae talk tae us about Dino.’
‘That’s very interesting, Jagger,’ Jackie Wright began, as soon as the office door had closed behind them. ‘When we mentioned Francey outside, your first question was how we knew your name. I’d been expecting you to ask what Dino was supposed to have done. Does that mean you know?’
Michael Smith nodded. ‘Aye. It’s that fuckin’ fish, right?’
‘And what fuckin’ fish would that be?’ she asked.
‘The dozen monster halibut that he’s got in ma granny’s freezer, waiting to be thawed out and flogged on tae a Chinese restaurant in Broxburn. Buggrit, Ah kent they werenae kosher.’
‘Halibut are kosher, as I recall,’ Haddock remarked. ‘I visited a Jewish restaurant in Glasgow last year and I’m sure there was halibut on the menu.’
Jagger stared at him. ‘Eh?’
‘Never mind,’ the DS said. ‘As it happens, we’re not interested in your granny’s freezer. If I were you I’d advise her to donate them to the Edinburgh food bank.’
‘Then what is this about?’ Calm eyes stared at the detectives from beneath knitted eyebrows and a furrowed forehead. It was the first indication that Ian ‘Drizzle’ Harbison could speak.
Haddock ignored the question. ‘When did you last see Dino, either of you?’
‘Saturday night,’ Jagger answered. ‘We met them . . . him and Singer . . . in Lacey’s, at the top o’ Leith Walk. They’d been tae the Omni tae see that Hobbit film, and we saw them there after.’
‘Lacey’s!’ Wright exclaimed. ‘Are you telling me that Dean Francey took his girlfriend to a lap-dancing club?’
The loose lips beamed. ‘She fuckin’ works there,’ he laughed. ‘We get staff rate on the cocktails. We gie her the money and she gets them in for us. The boss disnae mind; she’s his best dancer.’
‘Was she working that night?’ the DS asked.
‘Naw. Night aff.’
‘How did Dino seem?’
‘Same as usual. Edgy fucker, looking for bother.’
‘In what way?’
‘Singer.’ Drizzle’s one-word answer was emphatic.
Haddock stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He means that when she’s about, it’s always dodgy,’ Jagger explained. ‘She’s a looker, right? So she’s gonnae get looked at. And if Dino disnae fancy the way anybody looks at her . . . Well, it’s “Here we fuckin’ go”, is it no’. Of course, Singer, she kens she’s a looker and she’s maybe no’ beyond givin’ the eye tae some geezer when Dino’s got his back tae her.’
‘I get the picture,’ the DS said. ‘Yet Dino has no convictions for assault.’
Jagger smiled. ‘Naw, ’cos nothin’s gonnae happen when Drizzle’s aboot. In’t that right, Driz?’
‘Are you his bodyguard?’ Wright asked.
‘No,’ Drizzle rumbled. ‘I’m his mate.’
‘Trust me,’ Jagger told her, ‘where we go, naebody’s goin’ tae try it on wi Drizzle. That’s no tae say,’ he added, ‘that Dino cannae handle himsel’, ’cos he can. But Drizzle? Different.’
‘Where were you this morning?’ Haddock asked Harbison, abruptly.
‘He wis here,’ his friend replied. ‘Fryin’ fuckin’ bacon, fae seven thirty till nine thirty. This place dis a good breakfast trade, then we knock aff till lunchtime. Why dae ye want tae know?’
‘No special reason. When do you expect to see Dean Francey again?’
‘The morra. He’s supposed tae be comin’ here at twelve tae collect a couple o’ thae halibut. Ah’ve tae take them oot o’ ma granny’s freezer the night, ken, so they’ll be thawed for the customer and he’ll think they’re fresh.’
‘I’d leave them where they are if I were you.’
‘Why’s that?’
Haddock looked him in the eye. ‘If we haven’t caught up with him by then, we’ll be waiting here for him. Although,’ he added, ‘the chances of him turning up are about the same as Dunfermline winning the Premier League.’
<
br /> ‘Is he in real trouble?’ Jagger asked, his cockiness abating for the first time.
‘Oh yes.’
‘Is it that kid? The one in the car?’
Three heads turned to look at Ian Harbison.
‘Why should it be?’ the DS murmured.
‘I saw the lunchtime news on the kitchen TV,’ he said. ‘There was a report from Fort Kinnaird, and the cop on the scene gave a description that could have been Dino.’
‘You’re supposed to be thick,’ Wright observed.
‘No, miss,’ Drizzle replied. ‘But I don’t mind people believing that. It’s good to be underestimated. You want Dino for the dead kid, don’t you?’
‘Yes, we do,’ Haddock admitted.
‘In that case, I’ll help you find him.’
‘Hold on here, Driz,’ his friend intervened. ‘This is the polis.’
‘Yes, and they’re looking for our pal because he had the body of a child in the boot of his car. Leaving aside the fact that it would be a jail time offence to help him, it’s time you showed just a trace of personal morality. We’re thieves, Jagger, that’s all; so don’t go quoting some stupid Mafia code of silence at me.’
He turned to Haddock. ‘If Dino’s in trouble, Singer’s the only one he’ll go to. I don’t know where she lives, because he never said, but she’s due to be working at Lacey’s tonight. That’s all I can tell you, but you’re welcome.’
He stopped for a few seconds then added, ‘No, one more thing. Dino didn’t kill a child; he’s a fool, he’s a thug and he’s a coward, but he wouldn’t do that.’
Nineteen
‘Thanks, Sauce,’ Pye said. ‘Do you fancy a trip to Lacey’s this evening? You and me,’ he added. ‘Young Jackie would be a wee bit out of place there.’
‘What’s that?’ the DS retorted. ‘Denying her overtime on gender grounds? You’ll have the discrimination police after you, Sammy.’
‘Maybe so, but I wouldn’t take a rabbit to a greyhound track either. As for the overtime bit, that’s an issue these days. We’ve all got budgets, every CID area, and we can’t exceed them. I’ll meet you there at seven. My apologies to Cheeky if she had other plans for you.’
‘She hasn’t, but if I tell her where we’re going she might want to come. There’s a pole-dancing exercise class down in Leith; she’s been talking about signing up. It’s all the rage, apparently; you should tell Ruth about it.’
‘With the cost of child care these days,’ the DCI murmured, ‘that might come in handy. I hear these girls make a lot of money in tips.’
Haddock laughed. ‘It’s as well for you that you do my job appraisal, gaffer, or I might be tempted to tell her that.’
‘Yield not to temptation, for yielding is sin. And as you say, it’s bad for your job prospects. What did you make of Jagger and Drizzle?’
‘They’re a contradiction. Levon Rattray told us that Harbison was a thicko, but it’s the other way around. Jagger’s the idiot, not him. The probation officer told us that Drizzle is a very good thief, but I didn’t understand that till I met him. He has the gift of invisibility. He could be standing on his own in a big room and nobody would notice him. The market stall was Jagger’s idea, apparently. Drizzle didn’t know about it; he only got drawn in when the investigating officers looked at the CCTV footage.’
‘Is he worth keeping an eye on,’ Pye asked, ‘given that we don’t see Dino as a mastermind?’
‘Let’s not ignore him, but he gave up his mate in a heartbeat when he realised why we wanted him.’
‘Fair enough. What about Donna Rattray? Have you spoken to her yet?’
‘We’re at the university now,’ Haddock replied. ‘We’re waiting for her to finish. Where are you?’
‘I’m at the Western General. Grete Regal was transferred there from the Royal because that’s where the neurosurgeons are. She’s just out of the theatre and I’m waiting to speak to the woman who operated on her. You speak to Dino’s sister, then go back to the mobile HQ unit at Fort Kinnaird. I’ll meet you there, and we can head for Lacey’s together.’
Pye ended the call, then switched off his phone to comply with a warning in the hallway of the building where the surgical wards were located. He followed a series of signs that led him towards the intensive care unit, to which he had been directed.
The entrance was secure, with a video camera and intercom. ‘DCI Pye,’ he announced to the microphone, ‘here to see Miss Sonia Iqbal.’
‘Come in when you hear the buzzer,’ a voice instructed. ‘Then it’s the first door on the right.’
He obeyed the instructions and found himself in a room with eight others, some smiling, others intense, but all clearly under stress; patients’ relatives, he assumed, wondering if any of them were connected to Grete Regal but not ready to ask.
Five minutes passed, each one observed impatiently on his watch, before the door opened and a soft voice said, ‘Mr Pye, please.’ He followed the summons and stepped out into the corridor.
Sonia Iqbal was a tall woman, with smooth brown skin and eyes to match. She was wrapped in a long colourful robe and her shiny black hair was pulled behind her head in a bun.
‘Can we talk here, Chief Inspector?’ she asked, in a thick accent that he found impossible to place, but a small Egyptian flag badge pinned to her dress gave a large clue to her nationality. ‘This is as private as I can manage.’
‘It’ll do,’ Pye replied. ‘What can you tell me about Ms Regal? How is she?’
‘She is very seriously ill, I am afraid, she was hit very hard, several times, by a large stone.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘I found fragments embedded in her cranium. Does that knowledge assist you?’
‘I have a forensic team at the scene of the attack. It’ll help them to have something specific to look for. What’s Ms Regal’s prognosis? Will I be able to speak to her soon?’
‘Mr Pye, you may never be able to speak to her. She has suffered bleeding in her brain, and it has swollen. To relieve the pressure this has caused I have had to remove a large section of her skull, and insert it in her abdomen. We do this to keep the bone nourished so that it can be replaced at a later date.’ She grimaced. ‘However, she will have to recover for that to happen, and I can give you no guarantee that she will. We will keep her chemically comatose for as long as is necessary, but beyond that she will only come round in her own time. She may die, and if she survives she may have a degree of neurological damage.’
‘I see,’ Pye murmured. ‘Poor lass. It may be she’s better off unconscious; that way she doesn’t have to deal with the fact that her child’s dead.’
‘Her child?’ the surgeon gasped. ‘She was attacked too?’
‘Abducted. She died from natural causes. You weren’t to know; you must have been operating on her for most of today. Do you know if any of her relatives have turned up?’ he asked. ‘Her partner’s away, and we’re making contact with him. I’ve been busy with the investigation, but I’ve had officers calling the contacts on her phone to locate other family members. I haven’t had time to check on their progress.’
Ms Iqbal nodded. ‘There is an aunt, Mrs Rainey. She wants to see Ms Regal as soon as she’s out of recovery and installed in the ICU. She is in the room; if you wait here I will fetch her.’
‘Sure.’ As the surgeon had said, the corridor seemed to be the most private place in the intensive care unit; beyond, green-clad staff seemed to be in one continuous bustle. The detective knew why they were so busy. A few years before, his mother had spent a couple of days in a similar unit in another hospital, after life-saving surgery; he understood from that time how intensive the unit’s care was.
‘Are you the policeman?’ The voice that spoke the question was authoritative, and although its foreign accent w
as not as strong as that of the surgeon, it was there nonetheless.
He turned to face its owner, to find that she was almost as tall as he. She had been seated on her own in the waiting room, by the window, as if she was trying to position herself as far from anyone else as possible. ‘That’s right, DCI Pye, ScotServe; Edinburgh Division CID. Mrs Rainey, yes?’
‘Indeed, Ingrid Rainey; Grete is my niece. What has happened to her? And what of our little Zena? Where is she?’
Suddenly, Pye felt exposed in the open corridor. He looked at the surgeon, who was standing behind the woman. ‘Ms Iqbal,’ he asked, ‘is there somewhere we can go?’
Understanding the situation, she frowned and nodded. ‘There is a staff room,’ she said. ‘I will take you there, and make sure you are not disturbed.’
She led them into the unit, turning right at the end of the corridor, into another, which ended in a green door with a keypad entry, marked ‘Staff only’. She punched in a code. ‘There you are; you can lock it from the inside. I’ll tell the senior nurse that you are here, and you can advise him when you go.’
‘What have you been told, Mrs Rainey?’ Pye asked, as soon as he and the aunt were alone and seated.
‘The person who called said that Grete had been involved in an incident, that was how she put it, and that she had been taken to the emergency unit in Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. I went there at once, but they sent me here. The surgeon tells me Grete’s life is in great danger. What has happened, sir? And where is our Zena? Is she safe? For her daddy is away.’
The DCI took a deep breath. Slowly and carefully, he took her through the events of the day, stage by stage, pausing at times to allow the woman to absorb the story she was being told. Twice he asked her if she wanted him to pause, but she refused, her expression grim as she held herself together. He finished with a summary of the pathologist’s findings.
‘And the monster who did this?’ Ingrid Rainey asked icily when he had finished; her mouth quivered and her eyes were moist, but her voice was strong and controlled. ‘Have you caught him?’
Private Investigations Page 12