Private Investigations

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘I wouldn’t put it that strongly,’ I snapped.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Hurrell murmured, quickly. ‘But he is, isn’t he?’

  ‘Apology accepted, and I won’t deny it.’

  ‘She’s been sold,’ he declared abruptly. ‘That’s what I really think. The theft was carried out by professionals. and it was about money, pure and simple. The weather was fine that night and the sea conditions were calm. There was enough fuel in the tank for them to get her to the west coast of Ireland. Once they were there, they’d have no problem finding a nice quiet spot to change her appearance as far as they could, and give her a new name. Once that was done, they could take her anywhere they bloody liked, across the Atlantic even, if you chose the right route and carried some extra fuel on board.

  ‘There are many possibilities, but what I said earlier, about her cruising around in the Black Sea: that’s as likely a scenario as any.’

  I nodded. ‘Received and understood,’ I said. ‘Thanks for that, Walter. I won’t take up any more of your time.’

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ he replied as we both rose to our feet. ‘It’s been a pleasure.’

  I said my farewell to Luisa McCracken, and left the first-floor office. I was on the stair down to street level when my phone sounded.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Chief.’ Wherever Sauce Haddock was, there was background noise. Unnecessarily, he raised his voice so that it boomed in my ear. ‘There’s something we need to run past you. One quick question.’

  ‘Shoot,’ I said. ‘And no need to shout,’ I asked.

  ‘Yesterday, at Fort Kinnaird; after the collision between you and the BMW, when Dean Francey got out and ran away, did you follow him, at all?’

  ‘Yes, I did. It was a natural reaction, Sauce; I began to chase him, but only for about twenty yards or so, till I realised I’d never catch him.’

  ‘So you were focused on him?’

  ‘At that moment, yes.’

  ‘Is it possible that while you were distracted, someone else got out of the passenger side and ran off?’

  I took a couple of moments to think and replay the scene. ‘It might have been,’ I conceded. ‘But . . . there wouldn’t have been time for them to get clear before I turned round and spotted them. Why?’

  ‘We’re just trying to complete the picture, sir. We suspect that Anna Harmony was involved in the abduction, but we’re not sure how far.’

  ‘Does it matter, since she’s as dead as Francey?’

  ‘Probably not, but we’ve had word from on high there are to be no slip-ups on this one; or else.’

  I was intrigued. ‘How high?’

  ‘As high as it gets.’

  That surprised me. ‘Why the “or else”? The job’s tough enough without that sort of pressure.’

  ‘A difference of opinion with the Communications Directorate.’

  ‘What?’ I laughed. ‘That’s a service department. Since when did it have a fucking opinion?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, sir. I’m just a detective sergeant, dog-shite on the shoes of the high and mighty. And I’ve probably said too much as it is. Thanks, sir, so long.’

  Before I put my phone away I made one more call. ‘One down, one to go,’ I murmured as I retrieved the number I’d been given for Jock Hodgson, the part-time engineer of the Princess Alison, and keyed it in.

  My call rang out seven times before the BT answer woman cut in and invited me to leave a message. I did: my name, the fact that I was on Eden’s business, my number, and a request that Hodgson call me as soon as possible to arrange a time for us to meet. Before my discussion with Hurrell, I’d intended to speak to the engineer by phone, but I’d changed my mind on that.

  My mind was still on new regimes as I left Eden’s building and headed along the King George IV Bridge. I had called Alex from the train and arranged to meet her for a sandwich lunch in the Balcony Café of the National Museum.

  ‘Who’s stolen your scone?’ she asked, as I joined her at the table she’d nabbed. She’d ordered too; a platter of sandwiches and a large bottle of sparkling water awaited my arrival.

  ‘Sorry,’ I chuckled, brightening up instantly. ‘Was I looking grumpy?’

  ‘Just a bit,’ she said. ‘Are you still dwelling on yesterday?’

  ‘Just a bit,’ I admitted, grinning.

  ‘From what I read into the police statement, the little girl died of natural causes. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, it is. But the guy who took her, and his girlfriend, that was different.’

  ‘Yes. I caught a piece of the lunchtime TV news on my iPad a couple of minutes ago. Sammy Pye looked very tense, Pops.’

  ‘From what I’m told, he is. I’m beginning to think I’ve made a big mistake.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘In supporting your ex’s application for the chief constable post.’

  ‘What did I say yesterday?’

  ‘But would I, or anyone else, have done any better than he’s doing?’ I wondered.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Pops,’ she declared. ‘The ashes of the bridge are long gone down the river and I won’t let you rebuild it. So, what have you been up to?’

  ‘I’ve been working on my commission for Eden Higgins. In fact I’ve just come from interviewing his personal assistant. His duties included captaining the missing boat.’

  ‘Eden has a personal assistant now, does he?’

  ‘Three of them, if you include Rory. He’ll be fronting The Apprentice before you know it. This assistant, though, he won’t be a contestant; he’s a minder, pure and simple.’

  ‘I suppose you need one,’ Alex said, ‘when you’ve got as much money as he has. He’s as rich as they say, you know. When I was a corporate partner at CAJ, I was involved in a couple of deals that touched on his interests.’

  ‘Even so,’ I murmured.

  ‘You have your doubts?’

  ‘About Eden, no, not for a moment. But about his factotum, Hurrell, that’s another matter.’

  ‘You weren’t impressed?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I said. ‘He’s an impressive bloke and well qualified for the job, but . . . As I asked him about the theft, I was left with a nagging suspicion that he was trying just too hard to steer me . . . nice choice of verb in the circumstances . . . in a specific direction.’

  ‘Do you think he’s a suspect?’ Alex asked.

  ‘No, he’s too close. He’d be crazy to be involved. All the same, he’s left me with a niggle.’

  ‘Another itch you have to scratch?’

  ‘Yes, and I will.’ I picked up a prawn sandwich. ‘Sarah says I should lay off these. High cholesterol.’ I bit off half of it nonetheless.

  ‘And what else?’

  Her question cut in just as I was reaching for my second sandwich. I stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s something else bothering you. I can tell. Since you walked in here there’s been an underlying tension in you, Pops. What’s up? Have you and Sarah had a row?’

  ‘No!’ I protested. ‘Absolutely not. Those days are over forever, I promise you. If there’s a tension in me it’s because lately I’ve been thinking just how much I regret every single day that she and I spent apart.’

  That was true, and it seemed to satisfy her, but it wasn’t the whole truth. The rest was that I couldn’t wait to get home to see how the pregnancy test worked out.

  Thirty-Four

  ‘What I don’t understand, boss,’ Haddock confessed, ‘is what we’re doing back in Edinburgh. I thought we were going to tackle Hector Mackail today.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Pye told him. He was perched on the edge of the sergeant’s desk in the busy CID room in Fettes. ‘He’ll keep; he’s not going anywhere. I want to brace Sullivan about
Anna and that party before we get that far. But before we even do that, I have a theory that I want to chase down.’

  ‘Is that what your mysterious phone call to Jackie Wright was about?’

  ‘Spot on.’

  ‘Fine, but where is she?’

  ‘Where’s who, Sarge?’ a female voice asked.

  He turned to see the DC standing in the doorway. ‘Good,’ he muttered. ‘That’s one effing mystery solved.’

  ‘Did you get anything?’ Pye asked her.

  ‘I think so.’ Wright took a memory stick from her pocket and brandished it. ‘This has a section of CCTV footage copied on to it. And it may have what you’re after.’

  She crossed the room to her computer, fired it up and inserted the stick in a USB port, then opened it with a click. Two more moves and a still image appeared on the screen, showing an area of the Fort Kinnaird car park, and the corner of a building.

  ‘There’s a camera on a pole beside the electrical store,’ she said. ‘It covers the front of Marks and Spencer up to the corner of the T K Maxx building. Check the time; it’s the same as when the collision happened between Mr Skinner’s car and the BMW. Now look.’

  With Pye and Haddock peering over her shoulder, she hit an arrow to start the movie. For a few seconds the scene was undisturbed, save for a blue Nissan reversing out of a parking space. Then a dark-haired woman in a cagoule and a black skirt ran into the frame from the right, moving awkwardly, on high-heeled shoes with a thick sole. The DC waited until she was in mid-screen then froze the image once more.

  ‘I’ve got a still close-up image as well: at least, as close as the operator could give me. But what do you think of that?’

  ‘Anna Harmony,’ Haddock declared. ‘Those shoes are a dead giveaway. She must have been waiting for Dino in the car park. She wasn’t just his girlfriend, gaffer, she was his accomplice.’

  ‘Looks like it,’ Pye agreed, ‘but how far was she involved? That doesn’t tell us conclusively she was only waiting there for Francey, Sauce. Could she have been in the car as well?’ He frowned. ‘Could she have bolted out the other door? There’s one man can tell us. Have you got Bob Skinner’s number on your phone?’

  The DS nodded.

  ‘Then call him and ask him.’

  Haddock walked to a corner of the noisy room, his phone to his ear. His colleagues waited, watching him for a full minute as he spoke, until he finished and returned to them. ‘He says he was concentrating on Francey at first, but he’s pretty certain she wasn’t in the car with him.’

  ‘So Dino went to Fort Kinnaird to pick her up,’ Pye muttered. He looked at the still figure on the computer monitor once again. ‘She’s carrying bags,’ he said, ‘two of them.’ He leaned close, bending over and peering at them. ‘It’s not very clear but from the colour, they could be M and S.’ He straightened up. ‘Come on, Sauce, we have to nail this down. Let’s go back to Davie Street.’

  ‘Celia and Ilse might have classes,’ Haddock pointed out.

  ‘Then the door gets kicked in and we send a joiner to repair it. The chief constable can pick up the tab.’

  Thirty-Five

  The door stayed in its frame, for Ilse Brogan was at home when they returned to the student flat. She was pale faced and shocked, with tear bags under her eyes. ‘I’ve just seen you on telly,’ she mumbled through a handkerchief as she let the detectives in. ‘I can’t believe it. There couldn’t be a mistake, could there? If there was a fire . . .’

  ‘No,’ Pye said, quietly. ‘There’s no mistake, Ilse. Anna had a locker at Lacey’s. There was a brush in it, and we found hair samples for a DNA comparison. It was her, beyond a doubt. Same with Francey; we got a familial match with a sample from his sister.’

  ‘So the bastard got her killed.’

  ‘She got herself killed,’ Haddock murmured. ‘She didn’t have to be there. That was her choice.’

  ‘And Dino took that kid? You’re sure of that too?’

  ‘Again, completely. He did more; he put her mother in a coma.’

  ‘Did Singer know?’ she asked.

  ‘We think she knew something,’ Pye replied. ‘What we want to find out is, how much. How far was she implicated and why? We need to look in her room. Once we’ve done that, we need you to be frank with us.’

  The young woman blinked, then whispered, ‘Okay. It’s this way.’ She led them down the hall, past the bathroom to the last door on the left. She stood watching as they put on disposable gloves and began to search.

  Pye moved to the built-in units. He opened the wardrobe; a few garments remained, three dresses and a couple of jackets, but most of the hangers were empty. Six pairs of shoes stood on the floor, neatly ordered. He checked the rack of drawers at the end; they had been cleaned out.

  ‘Here,’ Haddock called out. The room’s single bed was close to the window. He reached across it and picked up a carrier bag, branded with the Marks and Spencer logo, then emptied its contents on to the duvet. They were clothes, a young girl’s clothes. He peered at the label on a woollen jumper. ‘Five year old. And there’s a till receipt.’ He picked it up and read. ‘Dated yesterday morning, just after nine.’

  ‘Talk to us, Ilse,’ Pye said, quietly.

  She leaned against the doorframe, still dabbing lightly at her eyes. ‘I don’t know much,’ she began. ‘And I’ve never seen that bag before. All I can tell you is that Singer left early yesterday morning, eight at the latest, and came back a few hours later, I think around two. She went straight to her room and shut the door, hard. I was studying in mine, so I never saw her, but I could hear noises, stuff being pulled about, drawers opening and closing and so on. That went on for about half an hour, then she left again. Celia was in the living room. I heard Singer tell her that she had to split, and that she’d be gone for a long time, maybe for good. Then she said, and she said it really loud, “Whoever comes looking for me, tell them you didn’t see me leave and you know nothing.” Then I heard Celia ask her what was the matter, and she said something like, “My crazy boyfriend, he screw everything up.” Then she swore in Polish, and I heard the door slam.’

  ‘What time did she leave?’ the DCI asked.

  ‘It must have been three o’clock.’

  ‘Did you speak to Celia about it after she was gone?’

  ‘Of course. She said Singer had taken her suitcase. She only had the one that she used when she went back to Poland to see her folks, that and her big shoulder bag. And she was still wearing those big “fuck me” shoes that she’d gone out in earlier on.’

  ‘You could have told us this last night,’ Haddock said.

  Ilse winced and chewed her lip. ‘I know, but we thought we were helping her. You see, we thought she was running away from bloody Dino, and that she needed a head start. If we’d known she was going off with the idiot, of course we’d have told you.’ She sighed, heavily. ‘Are we in trouble?’ she whispered.

  The detectives exchanged looks. ‘We’ve just locked Jagger up for something similar,’ Pye told her, severely. ‘But he helped them both, and he kept quiet about it. You thought you were helping Anna for the right reasons, so we won’t hold it against you. Besides,’ he added with a gentle smile, ‘we don’t have a spare cell down at Fettes.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m sorry, really.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  She frowned. ‘So,’ she ventured, tentatively, ‘the thing with the poor little girl. Are you saying definitely that Singer was involved?’

  ‘It looks that way,’ Haddock replied. ‘The child wasn’t murdered, if that’s any consolation to you. She died from natural causes, technically, if being stuck in the boot of a car can be called natural.’

  ‘The mother? Will she live?’

  ‘The last we heard from the hospital, she was still unconscious, but stable. She’s
got a chance.’

  ‘Fingers crossed.’

  ‘That won’t help a fractured skull and swelling on the brain,’ Pye said. ‘Come on, Sauce. Repack that M and S bag and bring it. Let’s go and see if we can piece this thing together.’

  Rather than return to Fettes, the two detectives took a break in compensation for a missed lunch, and walked a short distance to a café in Nicolson Street that Haddock knew. As they waited for their lattes and pastrami-filled baps to arrive, the chief inspector broke the silence.

  ‘Are you knackered?’ he asked.

  ‘Moderately,’ his sergeant admitted. ‘But I’d only admit it to you. After that run-in with the communications woman this morning, nothing will stand between me and a result.’

  ‘My view absolutely,’ Pye concurred, pausing as a young waiter delivered their order. ‘Of course,’ he continued as he picked up a bap, ‘it could be argued that we’ve got a result already. We’ve identified Dean Francey beyond any doubt as the man who put Grete Regal in the Western General, and abducted Zena. And now Dean Francey’s dead. Whether we caught him ourselves or not, it’s still a tick in the plus column.’

  ‘We’ll let Isabel Cant spin that one,’ Haddock snorted. ‘You know as well as I do, Sammy, the result that matters is finding the person who paid for the job and, we’re assuming, put Dino and Anna Harmony away. That’s the only one that’s going to earn us a pat on the head from Sir Andrew, or from the DCC for that matter.’

  His boss nodded. ‘I know,’ he admitted as he finished chewing. ‘I was just trying to make lunch go down better, that’s all.’

  ‘Piece together, you said earlier,’ the DS continued. ‘How do you see Anna’s role in this? We know she was in on it.’

  ‘You tell me; I’m busy eating.’