‘Hi, Bob,’ he said. ‘Got the report?’
‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Have I ever.’
‘Is it okay?’
‘Hah,’ I chuckled. ‘Obviously you haven’t looked at it yourself.’
‘No, I wasn’t in Glasgow today. I had it sent straight to you once it had been pulled from the archive. Is it dodgy?’
I gave him a brief rundown of the contents. As I finished I could hear him gasp. ‘And that’s it?’
‘Yup. That’s as far as it goes. It says several things to me. But the most immediate concern is that McGarry is either stupid, bone idle, or corrupt. In your shoes, I’d be having him investigated, very quietly, to rule out the latter. More than that, I’d be doing what I’d have done in Strathclyde if I’d known about this. I’d be rooting out his entire reporting chain, and looking over every closed investigation that division ever undertook.’
‘Bloody right!’ he snorted. ‘First thing tomorrow, that gets done.’ He paused. ‘Listen, you know the people through in the west better than I do. Short of bringing somebody in from another area, which would be noticed, is there anyone you can suggest to do the job discreetly?’
‘What’s Sandra Bulloch doing now?’ I asked. ‘She was my exec, but I don’t suppose that Andy kept her on in that role.’
‘She’s been promoted DCI, on major crimes,’ he replied. ‘I interviewed her and I can see why you rated her. I’ll put her on it. Will you want to talk to McGarry yourself?’
‘That would be pointless,’ I told him. ‘All that would happen would be me losing my rag. There’s nothing he could tell me that isn’t in his file, unless Sandra comes up with a link between him and anyone connected to the Princess. If she does, it would be good to know, but that’s all.’
‘Will do,’ Mario said, ‘although my money’s very much on stupidity or laziness.’ Then he paused. ‘How are you feeling after what we both saw this morning?’ he murmured.
‘It won’t go away,’ I admitted, ‘and believe me, I’m trying to block it out.’
‘Have you heard from the Menu lately?’
‘Not since this afternoon,’ I replied, ‘when they asked me if I could ID their prime suspect as the driver of the BMW. I did the best I could. They seemed pretty certain, though; I had the feeling I was just being asked out of politeness.’
‘They know for sure now,’ he growled, grimly.
Something in his tone made a piece of the day’s jigsaw click into place.
‘Are you going to tell me,’ I ventured, ‘that the double fatality that Sarah’s just been called to attend is . . .’
‘That I am. I’ve just had Pye on the phone. They’ve been sure from early on that Francey didn’t plan this thing all on his own. It seems that they were right and that he’s picked up the tab for failure, and his girlfriend alongside him. They’ll need dental or DNA identification, though. They were both burned to cinders. Don’t expect Sarah home in a hurry. She’s going to do both autopsies tonight.’
‘Oh God,’ I sighed, then shuddered. ‘What a job she’s gone to. Now I’m wishing she hadn’t had that tuna steak.’
Twenty-Six
Sarah called me from the scene of the call-out, fifteen minutes after my conversation with Mario, to confirm what he had told me, that she was heading to the mortuary from the crime scene.
‘I’ve just called Roshan,’ she said, ‘and he’s on the way there too. I have no idea how long it’ll take us to do both examinations, but you can set the alarm before you go to bed, because I won’t be home. I’ll get some sleep at my place when I’m done and go in to work from there tomorrow.’
‘They’re sure it’s the lad Francey?’ I asked.
‘It’s subject to DNA confirmation, but they seem to be. The number plates on the car are still recognisable. It’s bizarre, Bob; the fire crew leader says it’s his wife’s, and that the dead man’s his brother-in-law. As for the girl, if Sammy and Sauce are right about her identity, they know where she lives, so proving it won’t be difficult.’
‘Doesn’t sound like it,’ I agreed. ‘Mario says that the lads are treating the deaths as linked to the attack and abduction, but I suppose that’s a no-brainer.’
‘Literally,’ she replied, grimly. ‘She was shot in the head. It’s not so easy to tell by looking at what’s left of him but my expectation is that he was too.’
I’ve seen pathologists at work, Sarah among them, more often than I care to remember. It’s horrible, bloody, smelly work, and I knew how she’d look once she was finished. I’ve seen, on occasion, how long she’d spend in the shower after a particularly nasty one, ridding herself of the last possibility of contamination by her subject. I knew that if she changed her mind and came back to Gullane after dealing with Dean Francey and his girlfriend, even in the middle of the night she’d be reeking of expensive shampoo and Chanel Number Five.
‘Go to it, baby,’ I told her. ‘They couldn’t be in better hands.’
I hung up, but some images that I really didn’t want in my head lodged themselves there. In a bid to drive them away I went back to the police report and to the gaps that could be filled.
Eden had given me his mobile number, saying I could call him any time. I took him at his word; when he answered I could hear festive sounds.
‘It’s Rachel’s birthday party,’ he explained, his voice raised. ‘Hold on, while I go somewhere private.’
I waited as the music and chatter faded, then disappeared entirely with the sound of a closing door. ‘What can I do for you, Bob?’ he asked.
‘I’ve got the police report,’ I replied. ‘It’s not the most thorough I’ve ever seen,’ I added, diplomatically. I should explain that for all his failings, DI Randolph McGarry was nonetheless a serving police officer, and I was not about to excoriate him to a civilian.
‘As Mary Chambers told you, the inquiry got nowhere, neither in what used to be the Strathclyde area, nor with any of the other forces who were asked for input.’
‘So it’s a goner?’
‘Probably,’ I conceded, ‘but there are things I can still look at. For starters I want those lists of guests at your floating reception, and also, details of anyone else who was there in another capacity: caterers and their staff, I’d imagine. I’d like them annotated, with an explanation of who each guest is and why he or she is there.’
‘Can do,’ he said, crisply. ‘I’ll put Luisa on it first thing in the morning and have the stuff emailed to you as soon as it’s done.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What are the prospects of success?’
‘I have no idea. To be frank, Eden,’ I admitted, ‘in all my career I’ve never encountered a theft like this. Sure, things have been stolen from boats, and maybe even the odd dinghy or inflatable’s been taken, but in my experience this one’s unique.’
‘Mmm,’ he murmured. ‘Are you telling me you haven’t a clue where to start, Bob?’
‘Hell no,’ I exclaimed. ‘I’m going to start with the “why”. If I can establish a motive, other than the sheer value of the vessel, then the rest might well fall into place.’
I let him go back to his party. Rachel and I crossed paths a few times when I was with Alison, but we’d never really got to know each other until that lunch in Eden’s office. From the early times, though, my impression had always been that what she wanted, she got.
My chat with Eden had focused my attention on my lack of expertise in the task I’d undertaken. I wasn’t kidding when I told him that I’d never encountered the theft of a boat.
As it happens, there’s a guy I know from my Spanish trips who was in marine insurance until he retired. He’s called Bob too. On impulse, I gave him a call.
He was surprised but when I explained what I was after, he got right down to business. From what he told me, i
t seemed that the insurer had followed standard practice by sending in its own assessor. But, significantly he added that in all his career, he had never come across the theft of such a high-value yacht.
We chatted for a little longer about this and that, and promised to meet up next time our paths crossed in our Spanish town. By the time we had finished, so had my quiet music playlist. I was about to cue up some more when the door opened a little wider. My daughter stood there, her hair ruffled and her eyes bleary from interrupted sleep.
‘What’s up, love?’ I asked.
‘I had a funny dream,’ she mumbled. ‘About King John. Where’s Mummy?’ she asked.
‘Mummy’s had to go to work, sweetheart,’ I told her. I picked her up and carried her upstairs, back to her room.
‘Can I have another story?’ she asked, drowsily, as she slid back into bed.
I reached for Now We Are Six. ‘Okay. Let’s find one we haven’t had before.’
We may have finished the collection, but I can’t be sure; when I woke still sprawled across her bed at two in the morning, from a dream about a burned-out car that wasn’t at all funny, the book was still open on Seonaid’s pink duvet. She was deep in the sleep of the innocent, but I knew that mine was done for the night.
Twenty-Seven
‘Did your Cheeky have much to say when you got home?’ Sammy Pye asked his colleague.
‘“What’s that fucking smell?”’ Haddock replied, ‘and that’s word for word. She went on to ask where the fire had been. It shows you how much of a barrier those paper suits really are. How about Ruth?’
‘She said something similar when I crawled in beside her at two o’clock. We should have had a shower after the autopsies, I suppose.’
‘I don’t think Professor Grace was for sharing.’
‘Maybe not.’ The DCI looked sideways. ‘You didn’t have to come, you know. One police witness would have been enough.’
‘Yes I did. You’d already done one yesterday. It’s you that could have skipped it.’
‘Did you sleep much?’
‘You are fucking joking, gaffer, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose,’ Pye conceded. ‘Me neither; maybe a couple of hours. I had coffee for breakfast; I didn’t fancy anything else.’
The DS stared at him. ‘No? I was starving. I’d a roll and black pudding.’
‘Ohhh! Stop it, you bastard.’
‘It’s okay, I’m joking. My nostrils still feel like they need to be steam cleaned. Maybe we can grab something a bit later, after we’ve seen this householder.’
They had retraced their route from the previous evening, past the Flotterstone Inn and past the clearing where the burned-out Aygo still stood, and where crime scene officers continued to work in the cold, crisp winter morning air.
Two hundred yards further along the narrow roadway, Pye slowed, coming almost to a halt as they approached a stone-pillared gate that marked the entrance to a driveway, leading to an impressive white villa. He turned in, parking well short of a double garage that was set to the right of the dwelling.
The crunch of tyres on gravel had announced their arrival. As they walked up to the front door, it opened and a woman stepped into view. She was tall, wearing tan trousers that could have been moleskin, and a check shirt, hanging loose. Her hair was golden brown, with a sheen that Pye reckoned had cost well into three figures at one of the city’s top hairdressers.
‘You’ll be the police, I suppose,’ she exclaimed as they approached. ‘I’m Nancy Walker. You’ve missed my husband, I’m afraid. He had to leave for the office.’
Pye was not impressed. ‘Even though he’s a witness in our investigation, and you were told we were coming to see you first thing this morning?’
‘Even so. Roland is a senior civil servant, gentlemen, very senior; he has a meeting with the Secretary of State at ten, and I think you’ll find that the Secretary of State outranks you.’
The DCI’s eyes narrowed, as he and Haddock held up their warrant cards. ‘I think you’ll find that in this context, he doesn’t, ma’am.’
‘Be that as it may,’ Mrs Walker drawled, as she inspected the credentials, closely, ‘he’s gone and the world is still turning, officer. Life goes on.’
‘Not for Dean Francey and Anna Hojnowski, it doesn’t,’ Haddock snapped, his customary calm disturbed.
‘And who would they be?’
‘They would be, or rather they were, the two people inside the car that your husband reported burning last night.’
For the first time, Nancy Walker’s self-assurance was ruffled. ‘It was a car?’ she exclaimed. ‘I saw flames from the kitchen, a short distance away; Roland went to investigate, then he called the fire brigade, but he didn’t go close enough to see what it was. We heard no more, indeed we thought no more of it, until one of you chaps called us to say we could expect a visit. People died, you say?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Pye confirmed.
‘That is unfortunate,’ the woman said. She hugged herself and gave a small shiver. ‘I suppose you’d better come in; you might not freeze out here in your overcoats, but I shall, pretty soon.’
She stood aside to allow them to enter a spacious wood-panelled hall. ‘Come along with me,’ she instructed, ‘and I’ll show you the view I had.’
They followed her along a corridor that led to the back of the house, into a kitchen that was flooded with light by the low winter sun. It was a mix of traditional and modern, with an Aga cooker and a farmhouse table, surrounded by fitted units and black granite work surfaces.
The sink was below the window. ‘Take a look,’ Mrs Walker said, gesticulating. ‘I was rinsing the salad when I saw the flames.’
The detectives stood beside her; from their viewpoint they saw a thick green stand of leylandii, capped at a height of around twenty feet.
‘It’s for privacy; we can’t see through and nobody can see in, but last night the light of a fire was visible even above that. I called to Roland . . . he was pouring the Prosecco at the time. He came rushing through, swore like a trooper when he saw it and rushed off again.’
‘Didn’t it strike you as weird?’ Haddock asked. ‘I mean, a fire out here in the middle of winter.’
‘This is the countryside, young man,’ Nancy Walker replied stiffly. ‘People do the silliest things here. They think they can park and have barbecues anywhere, any time, and they are all careless with their fires.’
‘In February?’
‘That is unusual, I admit. You’re telling me that two people managed to set their car on fire, with themselves inside it? Too preoccupied, I imagine, to notice anything until it was too late.’
‘Not quite,’ Pye said. ‘Before you saw the light of the fire, did you hear any noises?’
‘What kind of noise?’ She sniffed. ‘People having sex?’
‘No, I wouldn’t expect you to hear that from a couple of hundred yards away.’ A bizarre image of Nancy and Roland Walker leapt into his mind, and then to his relief it went away again. ‘Sounds that might have been gunshots.’
The woman frowned, placing her index finger against her chin. ‘Now you mention it,’ she murmured, ‘yes, I did. I’d just checked the trout that I had baking in the Aga, when I heard a couple of bangs.’
‘That didn’t alarm you?’
She shook her head, firmly. ‘No. Chief Inspector, there are deer in this area, and where there are deer these days, there are poachers. It might surprise you but gunshots are not unusual around here.’
‘Even at night?’
‘Especially at night: that’s when poachers work. I met one, a couple of years ago. He had radiator trouble and he came to the house to ask if we could fill his water can. He was quite open about what he was doing. He told me that he used a night sight; assured me that we
were quite safe, that it could tell the difference between a person and a deer.’ She paused. ‘So, are you now telling me that the people in the burning car were shot?’
‘I’m afraid we are.’
‘That’s quite appalling. What is this world coming to?’
‘A good question,’ Haddock conceded. ‘Mrs Walker, have you seen anyone recently who was out of the ordinary?’
‘Around here, most people are out of the ordinary. You may think of this as an isolated spot on the edge of a busy city, but it isn’t. Further on up the road, the reservoir, and the one beyond, are very popular places. They’re stocked with trout; lots of people pass by here on the way to a few hours’ fishing. Some stay longer; I believe there is holiday accommodation. The fact is, if we see strangers here, we don’t give them a second glance.’
‘Don’t you feel exposed?’
‘No.’ For the first time, she allowed them a hint of a smile, although it was condescending. ‘We have complete faith in the police, and we have a very good alarm system, with cameras.’
Pye was about to remark that having a double murder a hundred yards from their driveway might make them think about reviewing their security, when he was interrupted by his phone, vibrating in his pocket. ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured, taking it out.
A warm female voice sounded in his ear. ‘Sammy, it’s Sarah Grace here.’
‘Hello, Prof,’ he replied. ‘It seems hardly any time since we left your place of work. You have been home, haven’t you?’
‘Not for long. There was a question from the autopsies that I wanted to answer as soon as I could,’ he could sense her smile, ‘and now I’m happy to say I have.’
‘Good for you. Does it take us any further?’
‘It might, although it might also need a bit of legwork on your part. Remember the stomach contents that I wasn’t sure about?’
‘I’ll never forget them.’ Pye’s own stomach threatened to heave as he recalled the moments of their recovery.
‘I’ve identified them. Dino and Anna had the same last meal, no more than three hours before they died: venison burger, in a bun. She had mustard on hers, he had piccalilli. I hope that helps you.’
Private Investigations Page 17