The DCI beamed. ‘Oh I think it might. Thanks, Sarah.’
He winked at Haddock. ‘Our next port of call, after we do the press briefing,’ he announced. ‘Mrs Walker, thanks for your help. I don’t think we’ll heed to haul your husband out of his meeting with the Secretary of State. Nor will we need a formal statement from you; if there is anything else, we’ll get back to you.’
The DS waited until the front door had closed behind them before giving in to his curiosity. ‘So?’ he exploded.
‘Remember Jagger’s speciality burger yesterday?’ Pye retorted. ‘Well,’ he said, not waiting for Haddock’s nod, ‘after we left, he had two more customers.’
Twenty-Eight
Mario McGuire had ordered that Sammy Pye should be senior investigating officer on both the Zena case and the murders of Dino and Anna, and that he should take a press briefing at the former Edinburgh police HQ.
The DCI was used to being on camera, but he had never been in the hot seat at a formal media conference before such a large audience. He was set to be flanked on the platform by Haddock, for little more than moral support, and by a woman he had never met before. Her name was Isabel Cant, ScotServe’s deputy head of communications, and to Pye, she set new standards in abrasiveness.
‘There’s your statement,’ she said, as they waited in a small room behind the conference hall, five minutes before they were due on stage, and as she thrust a sheaf of paper into his hands. ‘Your Q and A brief is there too, but I’ll field the questions and decide which we can answer.’
‘We?’ Sauce Haddock murmured, beside him.
‘This is a team event, Detective Sergeant,’ she snapped.
‘Fine,’ he chuckled, ‘so where’s my team sheet?’
‘You don’t need one. You won’t be saying anything. This is a very high-profile situation, and very sensitive in media terms. I can’t run the risk of you coming out with information that can’t be revealed at this stage.’
‘In that case,’ Pye intervened, looking up from the text, ‘what’s this doing here? We’re naming the child?’
‘That’s been decided at the highest level,’ she said. ‘The father is incommunicado and could be so for months. In those circumstances, we can waive the “next of kin informed” tradition on this occasion. It’s only ever done as a courtesy anyway.’
‘The highest level? Does that mean the chief constable, or DCC McGuire?’
Cant’s stare reminded him of one of his primary school teachers: he had hated that woman. ‘No, it means the director of communications.’
‘And is that person,’ he began, his voice low and slow, ‘aware that the mother is still unconscious in hospital after surgery? Is he aware that the link between her injuries and the child’s death hasn’t been revealed to anyone outside my team? Is he aware that I don’t want her waking up to find a posse of journos outside her room?’
He took out his phone, scrolled through his contact numbers and offered it to her. ‘There. That’s DCC McGuire’s number. Would you like to call him and tell him what we’re about to do?’
‘I don’t need to. This is my department’s remit. We’re responsible for all media communications.’
Haddock laughed. ‘So you’re going to swan in here and tell an SIO what he can and can’t say about his own investigation?’
‘Welcome to the world of ScotServe,’ Isabel Cant said.
‘Welcome to the world of the Menu,’ Sammy Pye retorted. ‘It’ll still be our arses on the line out there, never yours, so we will make the rules.’ He checked the time on his phone and put it back in his pocket. ‘We won’t be needing you in there.’
‘I think you’ll find that you do,’ she snapped back at him.
‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you call your boss while you’re waiting here, and find out who’s right and who’s wrong about that? Meantime we’re going to do our job the way we see fit.’
He opened the door and stepped into the conference room, leaving Haddock to close it behind them.
Twenty-Nine
‘Are you prepared for the wrath of God to crash around your ears?’
‘If necessary, sir,’ Pye told the deputy chief constable. ‘I made a judgement and acted on it.’
‘And personalities had nothing to do with it?’
‘I hope not. How can I put this? I’d like to think that Ms Cant and I had different perceptions of our relative roles in a police investigation, and that mine prevailed.’
‘Thanks to Haddock slamming a door in the face of a senior civilian colleague?’
‘Not true, sir.’ The DCI winked at the detective sergeant. ‘He closed it very gently.’
‘Jesus,’ McGuire sighed, the sound amplified by the phone’s speaker. ‘You do know that the new media structure was signed off personally by Sir Andrew?’
‘I didn’t, but I hope he’ll support his officers when it leads to a conflict of priorities.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Sammy, cut out the diplomatic language. You were told to release the child’s name and you countermanded that instruction.’
‘As senior investigating officer, sir,’ Pye countered, ‘I take my orders from my line managers. As far as I know, Isobel Cant isn’t one of them.’
‘As far as you know,’ the DCC mimicked. ‘Man, it doesn’t work like that any more. In a force of our size, there has to be a recognised communications structure and the professionals within it must have their own form of authority. If Ms Cant, or Peregrine Allsop, her boss, give you a draft, you have to think of it as coming from Sir Andrew himself. What you don’t do is tell her to stick it up her arse.’
‘That’s not fair, sir,’ Haddock protested. ‘The gaffer was a damn sight more polite than she was.’
‘Butt out, Detective Sergeant,’ McGuire growled. ‘I’ll tell you what’s fucking fair, and what’s not.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Accepted; remember it. Now: incredibly fortunately for you two, I agree with you in this instance, and I’ve managed to calm the chief down. Ms Cant breached the new protocol herself, by not discussing the communications strategy with the SIO and taking his views into account. That’s your wiggle room. You are doubly lucky, in that once I explained your view to Sir Andrew he agreed with that too, albeit grudgingly, and asked Allsop to tell Cant to stay out of your hair for the duration of this investigation.’
‘Thanks, sir,’ Pye said. ‘I knew you’d go to bat for us.’
‘Yeah, well, don’t go taking it for granted,’ the DCC mumbled. ‘You’ll need to make your peace with them both at some point, but for now, do things your way. So,’ he continued, ‘what did you tell the media?’
‘I told them as much as I could. I told them that the results of the autopsy on the dead child led us to continue treating her death as suspicious, rather than murder. There was a lot of grumbling when I said I couldn’t name her . . .’
McGuire interrupted. ‘How did you explain that?’
‘With the truth: that there’s a problem contacting the father. They pressed me on why, but they gave up on it when I told them that the prime suspect in the abduction, and his girlfriend, had been found shot dead in a burned-out car.’
‘Yes, that would get their attention,’ McGuire chuckled. ‘Did you name both of them?’
‘Yes, I was able to do that. The DNA confirmation came through at nine thirty, and the police in Gdansk, Anna’s home town, called us to confirm that they’d spoken to her parents.’
‘Photographs?’
‘Issued. Francey’s we had on file; the university had one of Anna on her admission record. Mind you, I’m sure it won’t be long before the red-tops are using the one that’s on a poster outside Lacey’s.’
‘And their killer?’ McGuire asked.
‘I told them wha
t I told you, sir, that we’re still examining the crime scene. What I didn’t add was, outside that, there are absolutely no leads.’
‘Then you’d better go and get some, lads. In today’s news cycle, that’ll keep them busy for a couple of hours.’
‘Maybe a bit longer,’ Pye chuckled, softly. ‘One of the Fire and Rescue team must have a pal in the Daily Record newsroom. Their reporter collared us afterwards; she said they’d had a tip-off that the fire team leader at the crime scene went bats when he saw the car. I’d no reason to “no comment” her, so I confirmed it, and said that the guy was Francey’s brother-in-law. She went off in search of Levon Rattray. As soon as they break that online, the rest’ll have to play catch-up. They’ll be off our backs, for a wee while at least.’
‘Good,’ the DCC said, ‘use that time well; you have to keep ahead of the media on this one. There’s a lot resting on this investigation for you, chum. You’re not completely off the hook with the chief. He might have backed what you did this morning, but you still crossed him. The last thing he said to me was that if you don’t get a result, he’ll think about seconding you to the Communications Department. I don’t think he was joking either.’
Thirty
‘Do you think he meant it, Sauce?’ Sammy Pye murmured, as he parked on a yellow line on St John’s Road. He had been quiet throughout the drive from the Fettes building.
‘Nah,’ the DS replied, dismissively. ‘The DCC was winding you up.’
‘I’m not so sure. I’ve known Mario McGuire for a lot longer than you have; I reckon I can tell when he’s serious and when he isn’t.’
‘Then the chief was winding him up.’
‘Unlikely. Only two guys ever did that: his mate Neil McIlhenney, who’s a commander in the Met these days, and Bob Skinner. You don’t know Andy Martin either; you were a wet-eared plod when he left for Tayside. He might be a smooth operator on the outside, but inside he’s a hard, ruthless bastard. Look at the way he treated Alex Skinner.’
‘How did he treat her?’ Haddock asked. ‘You’re right; I’m new on the block as far as that’s concerned.’
‘He had it off with her when she was barely out of her teens. Big Bob went ballistic when he found out, but they got engaged, he calmed down, and Andy was flavour of the month again. Then he chucked her . . . nobody ever found out why . . . and went off and married Karen Neville. A couple of kids later, he walked out on Karen, and he was back in with Alex. Karen rejoined the force and moved back down here from Perth. Then the top job came up, Andy got it, and it was all off again with him and Alex. On top of that, Karen’s got a DI promotion through in the west, and so Andy can be nearer his kids.’
‘And nearer his ex-wife too?’
Pye shook his head. ‘No, there’s not a prayer of that happening. Karen’s a pal from way back; we’re close still, so I know that even if the thought crosses his mind, he’ll get nowhere. She’s done with him.’
‘And I suppose the chief knows,’ Haddock ventured, ‘that you and Karen are close. Do you think . . . ?’
‘That he might have it in for me? Fuck, that never occurred to me. I’ll tell you one thing, Sauce,’ he growled, ‘if he does try to second me into some backwater desk job, I’m not having it. I’ll be off.’
‘You can’t. What would you do?’
‘I don’t know, but I’d find something.’ Pye smiled. ‘Maybe I’d join Bob Skinner.’
‘Join him in what?’
‘In whatever he’s doing. I don’t buy in to all this media stuff, or the Security Industry Authority board job that’s just been announced. There’s too much cop in him to walk away from it altogether. He’s an investigator; it’s what he does. It’s in his blood.’
‘How does he feel about his pal now,’ Sauce asked, ‘after what he did to Alex?’
‘I don’t know. The only thing I will say is that if you hurt her, you are in more trouble than you could ever imagine, and I don’t care who the fuck you are.’
Pye took the key from the ignition and laid a crested ‘Police on duty’ card on the dashboard. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go and lean on these two clowns.’
The detectives stepped out of the car and walked the few yards to the door of the takeaway. There were no customers, but Ian Harbison was behind the service counter. As they entered, he did not react; instead he continued staring at the wall. Radio Forth was playing in the background, a news reader halfway through a football news story.
‘Drizzle,’ Haddock said quietly, turning the sign on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’. Harbison jumped, and turned to face them.
‘You two,’ he murmured. ‘What I just heard on the radio: it’s true, is it? Dino’s dead?’
‘Afraid so,’ the DS replied. ‘And Singer.’
‘Yeah? Bloody hell!’
‘What time did they leave here yesterday?’
Drizzle stared. ‘What are you talking about? They were never here.’
Pye glared at him. ‘That’s not what the pathologist says. Unless some other takeaway was doing a venison special yesterday, they were here.’
‘If they were, I never saw them,’ he insisted. ‘I told you, if I’d seen Dino, I’d have called you. But . . . I was front of house in the afternoon. Jagger was in the kitchen.’
‘Is he there now?’
‘Yes. Hold on.’ Harbison turned and opened the door behind him. ‘Jagger,’ he barked. ‘Get your fucking arse in here!’
A few seconds later, Michael Smith appeared, in an apron and a white trilby, frowning. ‘What the fuck’s up wi’ . . .’ He stopped in mid-sentence as he saw Pye and Haddock. ‘Aw no! Gie’s a break.’
‘Dino’s dead,’ his friend said, bluntly. ‘Him and Singer.’
‘What?’ he gasped, mouth agape.
‘It’s just been on the radio. They were found last night, shot dead in a car, up in the Pentlands. Dino didn’t have a car that I know of, but I’ve got a hell of a feeling that there was one parked out the back of this place yesterday afternoon.’
Jagger flared up and took a step forward, his loose lips pouting. ‘Aye, well?’ he snarled. ‘He’s ma mate, so . . .’ Drizzle met him halfway, with a headbutt that landed above his left eye; he howled and reeled back, his hands going to his face.
‘You half-witted twat,’ Harbison snapped. ‘You knew the guy was wanted for taking that kid. We are on probation, both of us. If you get caught helping him, here, in this place, that lands me in it as well.’
‘Did you guys see that?’ Jagger wailed, as he straightened up. A trickle of blood came from a cut on his eyebrow.
‘No,’ Pye told him, ‘and if he banjoes you again we won’t see that either. So tell us: what time was he here?’
‘The back of five,’ he confessed. ‘Like Drizzle said, he came in the back door, him and Anna. There wis a white motor parked ootside. He was scared, ken; they both were, but Dino was kackin’ himself. I asked him if it was right, that he’d kilt that lassie.’
‘What did he say?’ Haddock asked.
‘He said that she was alive when he put her in the motor, and that the boot was padded, wi’ an air hole in it. He said that he ran intae some guy in the Fort Kinnaird car park. The fella came for him, big bloke, hard lookin’, so he legged it.’
‘So why did he come here?’
‘For cash,’ Jagger said. ‘He told me that he’d gone back tae North Berwick, to get his old man’s car and pick up dough frae his flat, but that he bumped in tae polis. Wis that youse?’
Pye nodded. ‘Take us on from there.’
‘He told me he’d got away then caught the train tae Musselburgh. He’d taken his sister’s motor frae the uni, where it’s parked durin’ the day, and then picked up Singer.’
‘Why did he do that?’ the DCI asked. ‘Why did he involve he
r?’
‘Ah don’t now. Ah never asked him. Mibbe he didnae want tae leave her behind. He wis daft on her, man.’
‘Did you give him money?’
‘Aye. A kept a tenner for masel’, and gave him the rest o’ what Ah had on me, about thirty-five quid. Ah gave him ma bank card too. Ah told him he could have three hundred quid out of that and post it back to me. He said that if Ah wanted, I could take thae fish out ma granny’s freezer, deliver them tae the Chinese in Broxburn and keep the money. He gie’d me the address, ken.’
‘And you gave him and Anna venison burgers, for the road.’
‘Aye. An’ a box o’ crisps and a case o’ Vimto.’
‘Did he say where they were going?’
‘As far away as they fuckin’ could. But he said he had tae meet a bloke. The guy owed him more cash.’
‘But he came to you for money as well?’ Haddock exclaimed.
‘He said they were goin’ tae need all the dough he could raise. He said if they could, they were going tae get on a car ferry and head for Holland and then Poland.’
‘Did he have a passport?’
‘Ah dinnae ken.’ Jagger shrugged. ‘Like Ah said, he was crappin’ himsel’, no’ thinkin’ straight.’
‘And Singer, Anna, how was she?’
‘Like Ah said, she was feart too, but no’ as bad as Dino. She was under control.’ His eyes widened. ‘Aye, that’s right. Ah remember noo; she said she had her passport and that when they got tae the ferry, she was goin’ tae hide Jagger in the boot, just like he hid the kid. She reckoned that once they got tae Holland she’d be able tae use her credit card.’
‘You’re a couple of bastards, you and Dino,’ Drizzle growled. ‘Anna was a nice kid. What the hell she was doing with you bum holes I’ll never know.’
‘Ah, fuck you,’ Jagger sighed. He looked at Pye. ‘So what happens now?’ he asked. ‘Ah’ve told yis what Ah know.’
Private Investigations Page 18