‘This is what’s going to happen,’ the DCI said, smiling. ‘This is the bit I like. Do the honours, Sauce.’
‘My pleasure, gaffer. Michael Smith, he began ‘I am detaining you under Section Fourteen of the Criminal Procedure, Scotland, Act, nineteen ninety-five, because I suspect you of having committed an offence punishable by imprisonment, namely giving assistance to a person or persons you knew to be fugitives to escape from the police.
‘The reasons for my suspicions,’ he continued, ‘are the facts that on your own admission, the suspects were here yesterday afternoon after you knew that one of them was wanted by the police in connection with a serious crime, and were given financial assistance by you.
‘You will be detained to enable further investigations to be carried out regarding the offence and as to whether or not you should be reported for prosecution. You will be taken to a police station where you will be informed of your further rights in respect of detention.’
The DS stopped, then added, ‘It’s a bit of a mouthful, but it means you’re lifted, Jagger. When you’re sitting in the remand wing in Saughton, I want you to think on this. If you’d done the right thing by the dead child and called us when Dino and Singer turned up here, they’d still be alive, and you wouldn’t be locked up. I hope you choke on your porridge, pal.’
Thirty-One
‘Is this really a holiday resort?’ Haddock asked, as he drove carefully through the narrow, crowded streets of the seaside town.
‘Absolutely,’ Pye assured him. ‘In the old days they called this the “Biarritz of the North”. It’s still popular. You’re thinking like a young single man, Sauce.’
‘I’m not single! We’re a couple.’
‘No, you’re a Dinky: as in, Dual Income No Kids. It’s the same as being single, in most ways. When you think of a holiday, you think of getting on a plane and getting off somewhere twenty degrees warmer. When you think of a beach it has to be so bloody hot underfoot that you can’t walk on it.’
The DS grinned. ‘That just about sums it up, I’ll admit.’
‘Then wait till you’re like Ruth and me, with Junior to look after. We did it once, the package holiday thing. Nightmare. Getting him on and off the plane, to the hotel, never taking our eyes off him while he was crawling about near the pool, finding something he could eat without him spitting it out.
‘Ever since then we’ve rented a cottage. Next summer we’re going to CenterParcs in the Lake District. If it’s warm at the weekends and we fancy the beach, we take him to North Berwick, or over to Fife. Elie’s nice, or would be if it had more facilities.’
‘We’ll bear all that in mind,’ Haddock said, ‘in five years’ time, or maybe in ten. Meanwhile, in this place there isn’t even a yellow line we can park on.’
‘Go back to the police station,’ the DCI suggested. Haddock was about to take his advice when a space opened up for him, as a Volvo estate pulled out. ‘See? Patience.’
‘Not my strongest suit,’ Haddock grumbled. ‘Don’t we have DCs who could be doing this job?’
‘Yes, but it’s one for us. I want to see Dino’s flat, not hear about it second hand. The boy Jagger can stew in the cells at Fettes until we’re ready for him.’
‘Are we going to charge him?’
‘Too bloody right we are. I’ve already told the depute fiscal as much. He may have talked to us eventually, but what you told him was spot on. His help and his silence sent them to their deaths.’
‘He could say he confessed under duress.’
‘The only possible duress was applied by Drizzle’s forehead, and that was part of an altercation. Sauce,’ he said, ‘the Crown Office might decide eventually not to prosecute because he wasn’t under caution when he told his story, but he’s going to be charged and stuck up in court before anyone’s had a chance to think too deeply about it. Apart from anything else, he’s media fodder. It’ll be reported as a positive development.’
‘And get you brownie points with the chief?’ Haddock murmured, laughing.
‘Us,’ Pye countered grimly. ‘If this thing winds up in the unsolved column nobody’s going to come out with pass marks at the next review . . . apart from Jackie, ’cos I’ll make sure she does. Now, where is this place?’
‘There it is.’ The DS nodded towards a doorway on the other side of the road, where Sergeant Tweedie stood, waiting. ‘Did you get the keys?’ he asked her as they crossed.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘The landlord wanted to come with us, but I told him that wouldn’t be appropriate in a criminal investigation. He liked that.’ She grinned. ‘It’ll give him something to tell his pals in the Nether Abbey at the weekend.’
She led them through a door that opened directly from the street into a dimly lit corridor. The detectives counted three flights of stairs, until there were no more to climb.
‘You two won’t remember DCS Pringle, who used to be head of CID in the old force,’ Pye told the sergeants as they reached the top. ‘By the end of his career he used to insist on being given a detailed description of a call-out. If there were stairs involved he wouldn’t go. Stevie Steele, God rest him, told a story about the last time he did, a visit to a fourth-storey flat. When they got to it, they found the door painted purple. Stevie said Pringle’s face was about the same colour.’
He stood back, as Sergeant Tweedie produced the keys. Only the Yale was needed. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said, moving to one side, then following them into the attic apartment. It was small, but freshly decorated, with a dormer window that allowed a view across the putting green and towards Fife.
‘What are we looking for?’ she asked, as the trio put on rubber gloves.
‘Anything that links to associates of Francey,’ the DCI replied. ‘Did you get anything out of Chic when you gave him the death message?’
‘Nothing useful,’ Tweedie told him. ‘Like you told me to, I asked him to make a list of his son’s associates. The only names he gave me were people he drank with in the County and the Ship. I know them all, just like I knew Francey. There are a couple of rowdies in there, but nobody who I’d consider for a minute for this sort of thing.’
‘Did he mention Callum Sullivan?’
‘No; nor his nephew either. I’ve been asking around and my impression is that he and the boy Maxwell Harris were no more than acquaintances. The kid was struggling for friends when he moved here, and that’s why he latched on to Francey.’
‘Friendly enough for him to have been in Mr Sullivan’s garage and seen the car, though,’ Haddock pointed out.
‘True,’ Tweedie conceded, ‘but you know what I think? I think Dino smelled money, so he cultivated the kid, just to see what might come out of it. And at the end of the day, something did.’
‘The red BMW.’
‘Exactly. I was suspicious as soon as I heard that he helped Maxwell polish the cars. That was far too much like work for Dean Francey. There had to be something in it for him.’
‘As there was,’ the DS murmured. ‘Far more than he could handle.’
‘Hey!’ Pye’s call came from the other side of the room, by the window. He had lifted the television set down from the cabinet on which it stood, then opened the rectangular unit and looked inside. ‘I might have something here.’
He reached into the box and took out a passport, and then a brown envelope with an elastic band securing it from the outside. He carried both to a gateleg table that stood against the wall.
He removed the fastening from the envelope then slid out its contents: a wad of cash, secured tightly by another elastic band. Holding the bundle carefully, he rippled through the notes with his thumb.
‘Used notes,’ he murmured. ‘Clydesdale Bank issue, on the outside at least.’
‘How much is there?’ Haddock asked, as the DCI returned them to the envelope.
‘I’m not a bank teller, and I don’t want to handle them any more than I have to, not until the scientists have had a chance to print and swab them. But, if they’re all tenners, as they seem to be, I’d take an uneducated guess at five grand.’
‘Do you think that’s payment in full, or a first instalment?’
‘The latter surely,’ the DCI suggested. ‘Didn’t Jagger say Dino was going to meet a guy who owed him money?’
‘Hold on,’ the DS exclaimed. ‘If it was half in advance and he was going to collect another five K, why did he need Jagger’s thirty quid and his bank card?’
‘We know that. He and Singer were going away for good; and maybe also because after the utter bollocks he’d made of the job he was sent out to do, he might have had doubts about whether he would actually get paid the rest.’
‘Are you sure the money relates to the abduction?’
Both men turned and stared at Lucy Tweedie as she asked her question.
‘This much I am sure of,’ Pye said, quietly. ‘He didn’t make it selling frozen fish as fresh to Chinese restaurants.’
Thirty-Two
I have never been the best sleeper; all through my life there’s been plenty to keep me awake, whenever I close my eyes and try not to think of it. Scenes from my childhood, scenes from my early adult past, and scenes from more recent times; they’re all there waiting to be replayed. The most recent, and because of that the most vivid, is set in a mountainside lodge in the Pyrenees, but we won’t go there.
It’s worst when I’m on my own. Mostly my nights are uninterrupted when Sarah’s beside me. It marks her out as special to me; none of the others, not even Myra, and certainly not Aileen, ever came close to banishing my nocturnal horrors.
I tried that night, after I’d left my Seonaid to the peace that I hope will last her a lifetime, but as I’d known, it was a no-hoper. What kept me awake? What else but the newest clip in my library, the vision of sad-eyed little asthmatic Zena Gates, revealed, reproachful, after spending her last moments in terrifying darkness, struggling for one last breath that didn’t come.
I left her to it, because I didn’t have the courage to face her. Instead, at around four thirty, I rose, showered, had what would be, given the time, my first shave of the day and went downstairs. I made myself coffee, a good strong filter brew of which Sarah would have disapproved. It was a minor act of cheating on her, I suppose, and I did feel guilty, but I needed it.
In the office, I picked up the McGarry file again, and had another look at it. I was no more impressed than I’d been the first time. I’d covered up for the guy when I’d spoken to Eden, but I was still enough cop not to have criticised him to a civilian. I made a mental note to call stolenboats.org, on the crazy off chance that it might have some intelligence on the fate of the Princess, then put it aside, turned on the computer and read my online morning newspapers. The dead child case was covered wall-to-wall as I’d expected, with many more questions than answers, but nothing about Dean Francey and his girlfriend had been picked up at that stage. I guessed that even the virtual media must sleep sometimes.
Sounds from the kitchen at seven thirty told me that Trish had come in from her apartment to start getting the kids up and ready for school. She’s a godsend, that girl. She’s been with the family for years, since not long after she arrived from Barbados, and shows no sign of wanting to leave us. It occurred to me as I listened to her rattling dishes that if Sarah did turn out to be pregnant again it would be good news for her.
I went through to tell her that Sarah was in Edinburgh and that she was in full charge of the brood. Then I went upstairs and dug out my running gear. At least twice a week, all year round, I run in the morning. In the summer I can go where I want, but when the nights are long, and the sun comes up with the eight o’clock news, I have to keep to the village, where there’s enough light.
A complete lap of my route is just over four kilometres. I did that easily in under half an hour, concentrating on nothing but the music from my iPod. My choice varies; it’s dependent on how fast I want to run. I had stuff to get out of my system, so that morning I chose Status Quo.
When I was done, rather than tackle another lap, I went into the village gym and spent some time on the weights. I’ve never been one for bulking myself up, but I do have levels that I like to maintain, although it’s harder now that I’m past fifty. Fifteen minutes in the sauna and I jogged home for my second shower of the day, feeling more like a human being and much less alone.
I called Sarah from the bedroom. I was taking something of a chance; the two autopsies might have gone on into the early hours and she might have been trying to grab some sleep. But no, she wasn’t. In fact, she was in her office.
Pathology is a big subject in university terms; she works entirely on the forensic side, and with Joe Hutchinson’s retirement looming, she was about to become head of a five-person unit that is part academic, part NHS, providing services under contract to the Crown Office, not only in and around Edinburgh, but in Fife and across much of the Scottish Central belt .
She could have based herself pretty much anywhere, but she had chosen the Royal Infirmary, the department’s administration centre. That’s where she was when I reached her.
‘Have you been home?’ I asked. She still has her own house, a relic from when we were still apart. It had been useful until then, but it was something we had to address.
‘Not for long,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t get cleared up in the mortuary until much before three, but I needed to be around early to take the first lab results.’
‘Everything as expected?’
‘Pretty much. There’s something in the tests that might help the guys, but then again, it might not.’
‘The guys?’
‘Sammy and Sauce. Mario’s decreed that the links between these murders and the child are so close that they’re a single inquiry.’
‘I’d have done the same,’ I admitted.
‘Yes,’ she laughed, ‘and when you were chief, if your head of CID had taken a different view you’d have overruled him.’
‘That’s how bad I was?’ I asked.
‘From everything I’ve heard . . . although I wasn’t around for much of that time. How were the kids? Good night?’
‘Better than I had. That package I got from Mario wasn’t exactly full of information. In fact it was bloody annoying; a real shoddy job done by a real shoddy operator. I know I wasn’t in Strathclyde long, but honest to God, love,’ I grumbled, ‘I should have had a better grip on it than that.’
‘So think of this as your second chance,’ she suggested. ‘Got to go now. Have a good day and I’ll see you later.’
‘With that testing kit?’
‘Yes, I promise. I’ll call by Boots on the way home.’
Downstairs there was peace and quiet in the kitchen, with all three youngsters having gone off to school in my absence. I made myself a slightly late breakfast, melon, muesli, rye toast and mineral water, then carried it to the office, on a tray, to enjoy it at my leisure.
I had finished, and was taking a second look at the online Saltire, paying particular attention to the coverage of Sammy Pye’s investigation . . . by that time the Flotterstone deaths were being reported but not labelled as homicide, or linked to the other . . . when my email alert pinged.
I checked my box and saw a message from Luisa McCracken. I opened it and read:
Mr Skinner,
Please find attached a list of all guests and other attendees at events and receptions on board MV Princess Alison over the period requested by Mr Higgins. Should you need any more information, please give me a call.
She was either a fast worker or the list wasn’t very comprehensive, I surmised. As soon as I opened it I saw that the former was the case. Her boss had been more socially active than he’d l
ed me to believe, for it ran to several pages. I scanned through it, quickly but carefully, looking at every name that had been recorded.
Some of them were known to me, people about town, a few stars of sports and entertainment, other men and women who were there, as the list indicated, for no other reason than friendship with Eden Higgins, and one or two that he might have had reasons for being seen with himself, politicians for example, and a couple of mid-ranking members of the royal family.
The rest were all business contacts: clients of his companies, suppliers to those businesses, and executives and directors of the enterprises themselves. I studied them, looking for anything that might point me in a positive direction, but nothing jumped out at me.
‘Why didn’t you just sell the Princess Alison, Eden,’ I found myself wondering aloud, ‘and buy the Royal Yacht Britannia? That would do the hospitality job and you’d never have to leave Edinburgh.’
I sat down and went to work. I made a copy of the document, then used it to strip out all of those labelled ‘Casuals’, the footballers, the friends and the freeloaders. When I was finished, everyone who was left had a business reason for being on the Princess. That was where I would begin . . . or rather, where somebody else would.
Thirty-Three
I picked up the phone and made two appointments then went back upstairs and changed my clothes, swapping my casual gear for a dark suit and a light blue tie, my new uniform. When I’m on business, I want people to know I’m serious.
Both of my visits were in Edinburgh; I took the train from Drem, since I can’t abide driving through the chaos that generations of bad traffic management has brought to the city centre.
The first was to a small office, just off the Royal Mile, not far from the station. The name on the door was ‘CMcD Investigations’. Its occupant had been surprised by my call, and I’d made a point of letting her stay curious.
‘I need to see you,’ I’d told her. ‘I have some work for you; it’s confidential and nobody should get to know that it’s being done. It’ll be boring and tedious but it’ll need to be done thoroughly. I’ll give you the details when I get there.’
Private Investigations Page 19