Autographs in the Rain

by Quintin Jardine

135

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  39

  When Sammy Pye answered the phone once more in Ruth McConnell's

  flat Bob Skinner needed no further confirmation that his secretary's private

  life had taken a new turn. He smiled; he wondered what the young sergeant

  would make of her over the long-term.

  He was still grinning when she came on the line; then he remembered

  why he was calling her.

  'Ruthie,' he began, 'your pal Mackenzie's out to impress all of a sudden.

  He's been back to your uncle's house for another look around.'

  'I hope he didn't turn it upside down,' she snorted. 'It took me long

  enough to tidy the place up when he left me there the other day.'

  'I'm sure he didn't. He and his sergeant may have found something,

  though. There's just something he needs to check with you first, and I said

  I'd do it for him. It's about your Uncle John and his missing possessions.

  'Can you tell me whether or not he ever owned a video camcorder,

  specifically a non-digital model, the sort that takes eight-millimetre

  cassettes.'

  He waited, but only for a few seconds. 'No sir,' she said vehemently.

  'I'm quite sure that he didn't. Apart from his music stuff, Uncle John wasn't

  a man for toys like that. Why, he didn't even have a video recorder, far less

  a camera.'

  'You're absolutely sure of that, are you? Couldn't he maybe have bought

  a camera in the last few months of his life, one that you didn't know about?'

  'Absolutely not, sir. He wouldn't have done that, and there was a good

  reason why not. I offered to buy him one for Christmas, a few years back.

  He told me not to. He said that one of the great regrets of his life was that

  he didn't have any cine film, or video, of Aunt Cecily, not a scrap.

  'She had wanted him to buy a camcorder, but he had always refused. He

  said he thought the things were intrusive; they annoyed him whenever he

  saw them in holiday resorts and there was no way he wanted to be taken for

  a German.

  136

  'Then my aunt died and he realised what he had denied himself. But

  after refusing her one, he just couldn't contemplate buying one for himself,

  or letting me, either.

  'No sir. No way.'

  'Okay,' he said. 'Possibility discounted. That gives Inspector Mackenzie

  something to go on. Thanks.' He was about to hang up, but added. 'By the

  way, whose turn is it for the dishes tonight?'

  He left her laughing, then called Bandit Mackenzie on his mobile number.

  'Your box means something, Inspector,' he told him. 'Ruthie's dead certain

  that her uncle never owned a camera.'

  'What does it mean though, sir?'

  'I hate to think. I saw a home movie earlier this year and I never wanted

  to see its like again. I only hope

  'Any advice?'

  There was a silence. 'Think for yourself, Bandit,' Skinner said, finally.

  'Why would she do it? We'll need to find her to learn that, I suppose.'

  'Maybe.'

  'Has she done it before?'

  'Now you're cooking. So?'

  'So I'll run a check through the central criminal intelligence unit for

  other suspicious deaths involving single old people with drug problems.'

  'Why just old people?'

  'That makes it difficult.'

  'Who said it was going to be easy? You do that, I'll have a look in my

  hat; see if I can find another rabbit.'

  40

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  The big, dark-haired solicitor looked merely nonplussed when the very

  recognisable figure of the Deputy Chief Constable stepped into the living

  room of the house just off Craiglockhart Avenue. When Louise Bankier

  followed him a few moments later, his expression turned to one of pure

  bewilderment.

  He looked at Neil Mcllhenney. 'I'm sorry, Mr Stanley,' said the big

  detective, answering his unspoken accusation. 'I had to be a wee bit

  circumspect when you showed me round yesterday.' He glanced at Skinner.

  'All I told Mr Stanley was that we were looking for discreet accommodation

  for a VIP visitor to Edinburgh. I kept Miss Bankier's name out of it, just in

  case nothing came of it.'

  'Naturally,' the DCC continued, picking up the explanation. 'If you read

  the Evening News yesterday, and a few other papers today, you may have

  seen a reference to Ms Bankier being in town. These stories are, to say the

  least, unwelcome.'

  Keith Stanley had recovered his composure. 'I can imagine,' he

  exclaimed.

  Skinner thought he caught an assumption behind his remark. Til tell

  you, Keith, what I told the media. Ms Bankier and I are old friends. She's

  also a public figure who is going to be working in Edinburgh for a while

  and wishes to maintain a semblance of a private life, rather than be

  incarcerated in an hotel. She's asked me as a friend if I would help her find

  somewhere suitable.

  'You might think that this house, comfortable as it is, seems a little modest

  for one of the world's leading film actors. If you did, you'd be right; that's

  exactly why we're here. There's an estate for rent out beside Dalmahoy.

  Louise could move in there but it would be like running up a flag; it would

  be just the sort of place where the press would expect to find her.

  This, on the other hand, is an ordinary house in an ordinary suburb ...

  just like Ms Bankier's family home near Glasgow, in fact... where people

  138

  mind their own business and do not observe their neighbours' coming and

  going. I can't think of anywhere in Edinburgh where someone would be

  less likely to pick up the phone and tip off the tabloids that she was here.

  'To back that up, of course, if you rent this house to Ms Bankier, we will

  expect your client and your firm to be bound by the normal rules of

  confidentiality.'

  'Of course,' the solicitor exclaimed, 'but even at that, Ms Bankier's a

  very famous lady and, as we all know, this is a surprisingly small town.'

  'Sure,' agreed Skinner, 'but if, through no one's fault, it does leak and

  the paparazzi turn up here, they'll stand out like a sore thumb, and they'll

  be moved on, like any other loiterers.

  'Now, would you like to show Louise around?'

  Keith Stanley nodded. 'Of course.' He looked at the woman. 'Well,' he

  began, with a smile, 'this is the living room

  Skinner and Mcllhenney remained behind as agent and potential tenant

  left the room. 'There you are,' the DCC muttered. 'The word "stalker" was

  never mentioned.'

  'You don't think we should tell him?'

  'Big Keith's a professional; if he asks, I'll tell him. If not, that's his

  judgement.

  'This was a good spot though, Neil. Nice house, and like you said, a

  piece of piss to protect. The film production company will pay a premium

  rent and a good security deposit. If Lou likes it, once we've gone, you talk

  to Keith about the things we need to do for security. Don't go into too much

  detail, but you can tell him that we want to install automatic openers to the

  driveway gate and garage door.

  The garage is attached to the house, with a steel connecting door, so

  that way you can
drive straight in and Lou can go in without ever being in

  the open air. Tell Keith that we'll leave the auto openers for his clients

  when the lease expires, as an added sweetener ... not that he'll need it; I

  saw the glint of money in his eye.

  'Let's get everything done as quickly as we can; I want Lou in here by

  Tuesday.'

  L

  I

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  41

  Looking across the table, Maggie Rose thought that Dan Pringle looked a

  little flustered. That struck her as unusual; she had seen Pringle happy, sad,

  angry and hung-over, but never flustered. She wondered whether, after all,

  the country air was proving too fresh for her veteran colleague, and whether

  sooner rather than later Andy Martin might suggest moving her to the

  Borders and him back to Edinburgh.

  Then it came Pringle's turn to report and she understood. 'Another fish

  hijacking, Dan?' Willie Michaels exclaimed, only to have the smile wiped

  from his lips by a single glower.

  'You can bloody laugh,' came the growl. 'I've seen the figures on

  pilferage of electrical goods from the factories in your area.'

  'So have I,' said the Head of CID from the head of the table. 'Don't

  worry; that's next on the agenda. Carry on, Dan.'

  Pringle shot another arrow-like glance at his West Lothian colleague.

  'Very good, sir,' he said. 'Like I said last week, the danger has existed for

  a while. There's a cavalier attitude among some of these fish farmers; they

  think that insuring against theft is the only precaution worth taking.

  'The first thing I want to do, sir... and here I'd welcome your involvement

  ... is to speak to the major insurers and draw their attention to what's

  happened. I want them all to review their cover for these farms, at once,

  wherever they are, and to put the wind up the operators with big premium

  increases for those who don't follow police security advice.'

  Til do that, Dan,' Martin agreed, 'and going by past experience, they'll

  agree to that suggestion. The only problem is that it'll take them upwards

  of a week to agree and longer than that to implement.

  'We've had two thefts in a week. What can we do in the short term to

  prevent another?'

  Pringle's heavy eyebrows came together as he tugged at a corner of his

  moustache. 'The best we can, sir, given our manpower resources.

  'Given the cost of this scale of operation, I reckon that there are two

  140

  other Borders trout farms that are worth doing.'

  'What are the costs, Dan?' asked Maggie Rose.

  'Two vehicles, four guys, somewhere to kill it quick and freeze it quicker.'

  'And the take?'

  'That's the thing, Mags. The estimate is that a total of seven tons has

  been stolen; that's about sixteen thousand pounds of trout. I'm told that if

  you sell it fresh to the big stores, depending on the market you might get

  one fifty a pound for it. Frozen you'll get less.

  'If you process it, either smoke it or turn it into pate, you'll get more, but

  these boys are unlikely to have done that. So even if they've managed to

  find a gullible market that would take it all fresh, their top take will have

  been twenty-four grand.

  'Knock off expenses and split it four ways, and it's no' a hell of a lot to

  risk the jail for. So I'm expecting another theft, somewhere; maybe not on

  my patch, but somewhere.'

  'Okay,' said Martin, 'we'll alert every farm in Britain, and we'll use the

  information to stir up the insurers as well. But what about the two other

  farms on your patch?'

  'McGurk and I visited them yesterday,' replied Pringle. 'There's

  Langholm Rainbow Farm, and Country Fresh Trout, near Coldstream.

  Langholm's the biggest of the lot, but anyone that does it is asking for it;

  the owner, a man called Stephenson, has high-definition video cameras on

  high poles, and he floodlights the place at night. Plus the site's surrounded

  by an alarmed fence.

  'He smokes or processes most of his fish on site, so he's at the top end of

  profitability. He assured us that he's never compromised with security.

  'The other one, Country Fresh, is run by a woman. Her name's Mercy

  Alvarez; she and her husband started the place, then she divorced him and

  got it as part of her settlement.'

  'Did you say Mercy?' Greg Jay looked down the table.

  'Short for Mercedes,' Maggie Rose explained. 'It's a popular Spanish

  girl's name.'

  T could imagine this one being popular,' said Pringle. 'She's a real looker; just like you'd imagine a senora. Dark eyes, long dark hair.'

  'Fine, Dan,' Martin interrupted, 'but what's her security like?'

  'Crap. Same as Mellerkirk and Howdengate; an on-site manager and no

  perimeter alarms. No alarms at all, in fact. She did say that she'd install

  video surveillance, though.'

  'Did you believe her?'

  To be frank, no I didn't; she struck me as apathetic about the whole

  business. She was a bit aggressive, in fact. Still, McGurk left her details of

  insurance-approved installers.'

  'Tell him to go back in a couple of days and see if she's done anything

  about it. I might just give her some encouragement myself.'

  'Okay, but I had another thought.'

  'What's that?'

  'Why don't we install our own?'

  'Why should we ? Let her pay for it, and if she won't, let her insurance

  company shove her premium sky-high.'

  'I didn't mean install it for her. I meant install our own set-up on the

  Q.T. There's a wee woodland overlooking the farm. We could stick a night

  vision video camera in there with a timer and a long-life battery.'

  Martin rubbed the back of his hand against his chin, as he considered the

  superintendent's suggestion. 'Would the tapes last long enough?'

  'Set up two cameras, with two timers. We'll change the tapes and batteries

  first light every morning.'

  'Costly, mind; we'd need high quality kit.'

  'Divert it from the crime prevention budget,' Pringle suggested. 'It'll be

  money spent better than on telly commercials.'

  The Head of CID laughed. 'The Boss would agree with you there. Okay,

  Dan; go ahead. You'll tell the owner, of course.'

  'Ach, why should I? She'd never install her own if I did that. No, but as

  soon as this meeting's over I'll talk to the telecommunications people.'

  'Fine,' Martin turned to Detective Superintendent Michaels. 'Right,

  Willie, about this pilferage epidemic of yours . . .'

  142

  42

  Glenys Algodon looked around the living room, not even moderately

  impressed. 'It's all right,' the secretary said, in a slightly transAtlantic

  accent, 'but when you compare it to the house the studio rented for you in

  Sri Lanka on the last gig, or even your own place in Beverly Hills.

  'I mean, look how close the neighbours are.'

  Neil Mcllhenney felt his hackles rise; the woman had treated him like a

  taxi-driver when he had collected her from her shuttle flight at Edinburgh