‘No,’ Pye admitted, ‘but we believe we’ve identified at least one person involved. We’ve alerted ports and airports as a matter of course, and if we don’t arrest him by the end of this day we’ll issue a public appeal, name, photograph, everything.’
‘Be sure you do arrest him,’ she hissed. ‘My poor girls.’
He nodded. ‘Guys like me,’ he murmured, ‘we’re trained not to become emotionally involved in our investigations. But I’m a father, my boss is a father and the man who found Zena, he is as well, so trust me, none of us will rest until this man is convicted. We have to be painstaking in everything we do, and we have to be very cautious in our public statements so as not to infringe the suspect’s legal rights, but trust me, we are breathing down his neck.’
‘As far as I am concerned,’ the aunt snapped, ‘this person has no rights.’
‘But the law says he does. Mrs Rainey,’ he went on, ‘this is a terrible thing for you to have to cope with. Are you all right? Is there someone who can be with you?’
‘No,’ she replied, ‘there is not. My husband and I are no longer together; he is in London with another woman, and welcome to her as long as he keeps paying me what he promised in our settlement. My sister Tora, my twin, Grete’s mother, she died seven years ago.
‘We are Norwegian; Tora and I came to Edinburgh as engineering students, over thirty years ago. We never returned. I married Innes, my husband, and gave up my career. Tora, she worked for an Edinburgh company, until she had Grete. She took time out, but went back when the child was old enough to be left.’
‘And Grete’s father?’ Pye inquired.
Ingrid Rainey pursed her lips. ‘He was never a major part of her life. Tora married John Regal when she became pregnant, but soon came to regret it. She threw him out when Grete was five. The man was involved in criminality of some sort, but I never knew what.’
Pye leaned forward on his chair. ‘But he’s still alive, yes?’
‘I have not heard that he is dead.’
‘Then where is he? She’s still his daughter and Olivia . . . Zena . . . was his granddaughter.’
‘I do not know,’ she admitted. ‘Grete never mentions him; I do not believe he has ever seen Zena.’
‘What can you tell me about Lieutenant Gates?’
‘David is an engineer, as I was. He is a naval officer, as you know, but I have never been encouraged to ask about his work.’
‘He’s a specialist?’ the DCI murmured. ‘I didn’t know that. Does he have family? Apart from John Regal, does Zena have grandparents?’
Mrs Rainey nodded. ‘Yes, she does . . . or rather she did, the poor little darling. Their names are Richard and Julia, and they live in Dirleton.’
‘Are they retired, or do they still work?’
‘They are not so old, but they do not work any longer. They had a business, a company that made skylight windows, but they sold it a few years ago. They have another home in Portugal and they spend a lot of time there, so they do not see as much of Zena as I do.’
‘Thanks. They may have been contacted already, in the same way that you were. If they’re away we’ll try to get in touch with them in Portugal. I’ll check once we’re finished here. Where do you live, Mrs Rainey?’ he continued.
‘A little closer to Grete, in Haddington; in the Nungate, by the river.’ Her chin trembled, the first sign of loss of control. ‘Little Zena spent a lot of time with me and she loved to play there. We had to watch her, to stop her falling in. You know how adventurous little ones can be.’ Then her face froze again and her eyes hardened.
‘Grete looked after her so well,’ she said. ‘We both did. And now this terrible senseless thing has happened.’ She stared at Pye. ‘This man, this creature. Why would he want to hurt Grete so badly and to take our precious child?’
‘At this moment we can only form theories about that,’ he replied, ‘but the main line of our thinking is that he didn’t act alone, that he had an accomplice, and that he was paid to abduct Zena. When we find him, we’ll know more.’
‘Be sure you do.’
‘We will, however long it takes us.’ He shifted in his chair. ‘Is Grete a full-time mum,’ he asked, ‘or does she have a job?’
‘She is a graphic designer. She is self-employed and has a little studio beside the cottage. She is quite successful; also it gives her something to do, with David being away at sea for so long.’
‘Is she on good terms with all her customers, or has she had any business difficulties that you know of?’
Mrs Rainey frowned. ‘There is one client she is having trouble with,’ she replied. ‘It was a business in Edinburgh; she did a lot of corporate identity work for them. She redesigned their logo and all their stationery. They approved her proposal and she spent a lot of time on it. She produced a manual for them and commissioned the print work on their behalf. She paid for it herself, assuming that she would be reimbursed. But when she submitted her final account . . . it was a lot of money . . . they were slow to pay.’
‘What did she do?’
‘Grete is not a confrontational person, Chief Inspector; also she has no commercial sense. Effectively I manage her company. After a couple of months I called the people. They promised payment but nothing happened. After another few weeks I wrote to them, and had a letter back saying that the matter was in hand. Those very words.’
‘What happened next?’
‘Next it all got really nasty. Still there was no money, so I sent a second letter, this time from a solicitor. This time the reply came from someone else, accountants. It said that the client’s company had been bought by another business, after it had been closed, wound up, liquidated. There was no money to pay Grete.
‘Naturally I went back to the lawyer. He advised that I had to pursue her customer personally for the debt, and so I did. I went to court on Grete’s behalf and I won. The money was still not paid. Now, the lawyer has taken charge and is seeking another order to recover the debt, by selling the customer’s assets if necessary.’
‘How much are we talking about?’ Pye asked. ‘Do you know?’
‘I believe it is just over fifty thousand pounds,’ Mrs Rainey said. ‘Grete will not get it all, I was told, for there is not enough money there, but there will be some once the assets are realised. I am unhappy about it. And so is Grete, for another reason.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Ah, but I do not think you understand. It is not losing money that makes Grete sad. There will be enough to pay for the printing costs that she incurred on the client’s behalf. It will only be her own time that she loses. No, she is upset because the people involved will lose their home, their car, everything.’
‘It’s a hard old world,’ the DCI remarked. ‘I know because I work in it. If people have broken the criminal law they have to face the consequences, and it’s the same in civil matters. If a court finds that a company has behaved improperly, its directors can’t just fold it up and walk away. There is nothing that your niece should feel guilty about. If you’d come to me instead of going to the civil court I might have ended up charging the client with fraud.’
‘But Grete is kind. She never did a single thing in her life to deserve how that company treated her, nor to deserve what has happened to her today.’ Finally tears tracked down Ingrid Rainey’s stolid face. ‘You know I am not sure that I want her to live. That may be terrible, but it is true. I cannot bear for her to wake up to find that she has lost her baby.’
‘Yeah,’ Pye whispered. ‘I don’t know how I’d feel in those shoes.’
He paused as the woman dabbed at her eyes.
‘The client,’ he began when she was composed. ‘Can you recall the name, of the company or of the owner?’
‘They are the same. It is Mackail.’
It w
as Pye’s turn to frown. I know that name, he thought.
Twenty
‘I have as little to do with my father as I possibly can,’ Donna Rattray confessed. ‘He’s a . . .’ Exasperation showed clearly in her expression. ‘A chancer: that’s what he is. There’s never been any certainty with him, none at all. He’s driven my mother crazy over the years. She works, she’s a cleaner, but she only ever earned enough to clothe Dean and me when we were young, and herself. Dad’s never had a proper steady income as such; she’s never known where the next penny was coming from, never been able to plan anything, never had a holiday. Any time she suggests that, he always says the same thing. “What do we need a holiday for? We live in North Berwick.” That’s my dad. He’s interested in nobody but himself.’
She, Haddock and Wright were standing in the reception hall at Queen Margaret University, the meeting place they had chosen when she and the detective constable had spoken by telephone. Haddock had chosen to begin the discussion obliquely, not to reveal at once the real reason for their visit.
‘And yet,’ he said, ‘the pennies do keep coming in, don’t they?’
‘I’ll give him that,’ Donna conceded. ‘They do. Somehow or other Mum still has a roof over her head, and the fridge is never empty. He goes out in that silly boat of his with his silly pots and always seems to catch enough lobsters and crabs to keep the family afloat.’
‘Is that all he does?’ Wright asked. ‘Doesn’t he have any sidelines?’
The woman’s face flushed; it was only a slight change of shade, but enough to be noticed. ‘He buys and sells stuff,’ she admitted, ‘on the side, but I know very little about it.’
‘You mean the fish?’ Haddock murmured.
‘Yes, but . . . Look, he might be all the things I’ve just told you, but he’s my father, so don’t expect me to shop him.’
‘It’s all right,’ the DS told her. ‘We know all about the fish, but it’s not our concern.’
Her complexion went from pink to red. ‘I’ll bloody kill Levon!’ she exclaimed.
‘That’s not the sort of thing you should be saying to two police officers,’ Haddock chuckled. ‘But it wasn’t only him. We were told about it as well by a friend of your brother, Michael Smith.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘You might know him as Jagger.’
A look of disgust flashed across Donna’s attractive face. ‘Him! Dean knows what I think about him. Has he got my brother involved in that silly business again?’
‘We’re under the impression it was the other way around,’ the DS said. ‘Dean supplying the fish and Jagger storing it . . . or Jagger’s granny, to be completely accurate.’
She threw her head back, gazing at the ceiling. ‘I’m under no illusions about my brother,’ she admitted, ‘but I keep on trying to convince myself that it’s all Dad’s fault for the way he was brought up. It isn’t. Dad might be a chancer, and a bit of a con man, but he isn’t a thief.’ She looked at Haddock once again. ‘Is Dean in trouble?’
‘Yes. Have you heard from him today?’
‘There was a missed call on my mobile,’ she replied. ‘It was from Dean, timed just after ten. But that was all; just that one.’
‘Do you walk to work?’ Jackie Wright asked. ‘We saw a car in your driveway.’
‘We have one each. I’ve got a wee Toyota. Most days I drive here, even though it’s not far.’
‘And park here?’
‘Of course.’
‘Is your car still there?’
Donna Rattray stared at the DC. ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘Just wondering. Can you see it from here?’
‘Yes.’ Donna raised a hand, pointing across the car park in the open area outside. ‘There it . . .’ She stopped. ‘It’s not,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s gone! Are you bloody psychic?’
‘Sometimes,’ Wright said. ‘Does Dean ever drive it?’
‘Yes, quite often. He can’t insure one himself, with his record.’
‘Does he have a key?’
‘Yes. Are you saying that he . . .’
‘That’s exactly what we’re saying,’ Haddock replied. ‘Colour?’
‘White. It’s the Aygo model. The little . . .’ she hissed.
The DS handed her a card and a pen. ‘Write the number down there.’ She obeyed; he handed it to the DC. ‘Call it in, Jackie.’
‘This is more serious than fish, isn’t it?’ Donna said quietly.
‘Yes it is,’ the DS told her. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news for you, about your kid brother.’
Twenty-One
‘How did she take it?’ Sammy Pye asked, just before he bit into his burger.
‘Utter denial,’ Haddock told him. ‘What big Levon said was right. Dean is Donna’s weak spot.’
‘There is no chance, I suppose, that he could just have stolen Cosie from Fort Kinnaird, after someone else had left it?’ The DS stared back at him, both eyebrows raised theatrically. ‘No, there isn’t,’ the DCI chuckled. ‘Forget I said that.’
‘Remember the Makka Pakka doll that was found on the wee girl?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Control had a message from Lucy Tweedie in North Berwick; it’s just been passed to me. She went along to Poundstretcher herself. The boy on the till remembered selling one to Dino yesterday. He remembered because he knows him, and he laughed when he bought it. He even asked him who it was for. Francey claimed it was for his niece. The lad asked him when Donna had a kid, and Dino changed his story. It became his girlfriend’s niece.’
‘Has anyone come up with an address for this Anna Harmony yet?’
‘Not a sniff; she’s a mystery. There’s nobody of that name holding a National Insurance number anywhere in Britain, or a passport, or a driving licence.’
‘The story was, she lived in a student flat,’ Pye reminded his sergeant. ‘Have the team checked the universities and colleges?’
‘Yes. No trace of a student with that name.’ He paused, to drink from a large mug of tea. ‘However, we asked Donna Rattray about her and she said she has an east European accent. I’m wondering whether Harmony might not be her real name.’
‘We may find out at Lacey’s. Let’s go.’
The two detectives finished their snacks and left the mobile command unit, heading for Pye’s car, which was parked close by. The shopping mall was still busy; most of the units were closed, but the newly opened multiscreen cinema was doing good business.
‘How long will we keep the HQ van here?’ Haddock asked.
‘Another twenty-four hours, max,’ his boss replied. ‘The BMW’s gone to the lab for examination, and I doubt if any more witnesses are going to turn up. We might not need any more, truth be told.’ He paused to press his unlock key.
‘There have been developments that you don’t know about,’ he continued as he slid in behind the steering wheel.
‘I thought you were looking pleased with yourself,’ the DS chuckled, fastening his seat belt.
‘On two fronts; I had a report from the forensic team at the scene of the attack and the abduction at Garvald. They’ve recovered the rock that Grete was hit with. It had been tossed into some bushes, but there was plenty of blood and hair still on it.’
‘Do they think they’ll find the attacker’s DNA on it?’
‘Unless he was wearing gloves, they’re hopeful. Dean Francey wasn’t, on the CCTV we’ve seen, and none were found inside the car.’
‘That’s assuming Francey was the attacker,’ Haddock pointed out.
‘Granted, but my money’s on him because there’s another link. We have the three friends, Maxwell, Hazel and Dean. Maxwell’s the link to the car. Dean’s the driver, found with the child’s body in the boot. And then there’s Hazel
.’
‘What about her?’
‘Grete Regal had a legal problem in her design business. A client defaulted on her, leaving her stuck with supplier costs that she’d met herself in the expectation of payment. She won a court judgement against that client, on a personal basis, a short time ago. Her aunt said that she’s been pressing Grete to execute it to recover the debt. That would involve seizing his assets, and the only thing he has of sufficient value is his equity in his mortgaged home. The client’s name is Hector Mackail: Hazel’s dad.’
‘Wow!’ Haddock murmured, reading the DCI’s thoughts as he started his engine and moved off. ‘Are you thinking that Hazel put friend Dino up to kidnapping Grete’s child as a means of making her lay off her dad, using friend Maxwell’s uncle’s car to do it?’
‘It’s a line of inquiry. A kid that age, I doubt it, but could it be her father did? Still, we have a way to go before we get there,’ Pye added. ‘We need to catch Dino and have him point the finger.’
The journey into the city centre passed mostly in silence. They were passing Meadowbank Stadium before the detective sergeant spoke.
‘How are you doing?’ he murmured.
‘Okay,’ Pye replied.
‘I don’t think so. Sammy, you’re not long back from witnessing the post-mortem examination of a five-year-old child. If I was in your shoes, if I was the DCI and you were the DS, you’d still have been there, because I’d have fucking delegated it, as sure as God made wee green apples. That’s what makes you a better gaffer than I’ll ever be, by the way. But you don’t go through something like that and come out of it feeling okay.’
‘Maybe not. I’ll concede that. But it’s not something you share with anyone.’
‘Did you see the mother too?’
Pye shook his head. ‘No, I bottled that. Anyway there was no need, and no point. Grete’s unconscious and will be for some time; it’s possible she’ll never wake up. If she does, she won’t have a crowd of relatives at her bedside, just her formidable aunt. Mother’s dead, and father’s estranged. We need to find him, if we can; whereabouts unknown at the moment. That’ll be another job for our Jackie tomorrow.’
Private Investigations Page 13