Bob Skiinner 21 Grievous Angel

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘No,’ I told her, regretting my flash of temper. ‘No, I’m not. Mia, I don’t know what I am, I don’t know what to say. Nothing, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m not usually like that. I don’t know why I behaved that way.’ She paused for a couple of seconds. ‘But maybe I do,’ she went on. ‘Maybe I haven’t come as far from home as I thought. Do you want to give it another try?’ she asked. I didn’t hear total conviction in the question.

  I didn’t have to think about the answer. ‘No, I don’t. It’s not a snub, Mia. And it’s not “Wham bam, thank you, ma’am” either. Last night was great, but this morning was not. Each of us saw a side of the other that we didn’t like, and that’s not going to go away. So best put a full stop after it.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she sighed, then she chuckled. ‘You weren’t so bad yourself, for a tired old thirty-something. No hard feelings, then.’

  ‘None. See you around. Who knows, I might even send one of my guys along to talk to your audience about the evils of crime.’

  ‘Mm,’ she said. ‘That DC Martin would do nicely.’

  ‘He’d probably agree with you. So long.’

  So long indeed, I thought, relieved, and no damage done. As I drove away, it occurred to me that I might have asked her whether she could recall the names McCann and Weir, then remembered that the task was being assigned to Mackie and Steele, and let it lie.

  Only McGuire was in the office when I returned, minding the phones while the rest were at lunch. ‘The press officer called, boss,’ he told me. ‘He’s had a couple of people looking for updates on Weir and McCann.’

  I called Inspector Hesitant back and dictated a short statement about the Marlon suspects having turned up dead in Newcastle. ‘Don’t go beyond that,’ I warned him. ‘Stick to my script; no initiative to be shown. As for the other one, you can tell them the truth, that we’re trying to establish whether there’s a link between the two victims beyond their schooldays.’ I’d ordered him not to use his initiative; that was something he liked to hear.

  I went back out to the front office and sat on the desk facing McGuire. The tailor-made suit had gone, replaced by jeans and a brown suede bomber jacket. It hung over the back of his chair. His shirt had the words ‘Hugo Boss’ embroidered on the breast pocket, and I was pretty certain that it wasn’t a fake from a market stall. I might have been worried about the young man’s expensive tastes, had I not known that he came from a wealthy family.

  ‘What do you think of the job so far?’ I asked him.

  ‘As a whole, sir, or CID?’

  ‘CID.’

  For once in our short acquaintance he looked serious. ‘It’s where I want to be,’ he said firmly. ‘Nowhere else. When I joined the force, that was my aim. I’ll tell you, sir, my folks were not best pleased when I told them what I was going to do. I’d three different options open to me: construction like my old man, join my mother in her temp hire business, or go into the Viareggio firm with my Uncle Beppe. I did a bit in each of them, and decided that none was right for me. When it comes to building things, I’m crap. Placing secretaries by the week in banks and PR firms? Look at me, for Christ’s sake. Who could take me seriously?’ I studied his massive frame and agreed. ‘As for my papa’s businesses . . . I’ll always think of them as his, not my uncle’s; he’s a knobhead . . . I’d have fitted in there, but I’d have wound up fighting with my cousin Paula.’ I’d run across young Paula Viareggio once, in Madogs while on a date with a girlfriend of brief tenure. She looked sensational, but the word ‘feisty’ could have been coined for her. I could see that she and her cousin would be an explosive combination.

  ‘So,’ McGuire continued, ‘I told everyone politely that I was going my own way, and I applied to join the force. Do you know how naive I was, boss? I thought you could apply just for CID. It came as a hell of a shock when they told me I’d have to wear a uniform for a while first. But I put it on. I’ve given myself till age twenty-eight to make it. If not, it’s back to importing Italian produce.’

  ‘How old are you now?’ I asked.

  ‘Twenty-six.’

  ‘Congratulations, kid. You’ve made it two years ahead of schedule.’

  His face lit up; he seemed to radiate. McGuire is the most charismatic man I’ve ever known, and I’ve met a few worthy of that adjective. ‘You mean I’m staying? It’s not temporary?’

  I nodded. ‘You’re signed up. The head of CID’s approved your transfer from uniform.’

  ‘Aw, that’s great, boss,’ the big guy exclaimed. ‘Wait till my mate McIlhenney hears about this. He will shite bricks of pure green envy. He and I had a bet on who’d make it into plain clothes first.’

  ‘Where is he just now, this pal of yours that I keep hearing about?’

  ‘Intimidating sailors in Leith.’

  ‘Maybe I should take a look at him too,’ I said. ‘But first things first. Since you are on the strength, give me a view on the Watson inquiry. Where do we stand on it?’

  He sucked in a breath. ‘Well,’ he ventured, ‘from what I’ve been told, we know that the guys that wrote him off have been remodelled themselves, and we had no leads beyond them. Newcastle answered the mobile phone question while you were out. No joy there either; none found on any of them. If Milburn and his pal were taxi drivers like they say, that’s beyond belief, so somebody’s mopped them up too, as those guys did with Marlon’s.’ He frowned. ‘Looks like we’re up against it, sir. Down to last resort stuff. Cherchez la femme, and all that.’

  ‘Say that again.’ I must have spoken sharply, for he looked concerned.

  ‘Sorry, boss,’ he murmured. ‘I was just being flip. Like the French say, when all else fails, look to the woman.’

  I laughed. ‘Maybe you were being flip, but do you know what? You’re going to be a great detective, Mario. There are some, the great majority, like Fred and me, that mix methodical with a wee bit of instinct, but every so often there’s someone who just relies on flair, luck and brass neck, yet gets the job done better than anyone else. You’re going to be one of them; I can sense it.’

  He looked at me, puzzled. ‘Thanks, boss, but what the fuck do you mean? Why? What did I say?’

  ‘Tony Manson’s woman,’ I answered. ‘The one he took to Ibiza. We’ve ignored her all along. We don’t know who she is, and he took pains to make sure that nobody else does either. It’s time we found out.’

  ‘Maybe, sir, but how? People sign in as Mr and Mrs Smith all the time.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Christ, I do often enough.’

  ‘Not on an aeroplane passenger list, they don’t. Check it out, Mario, check it out. Manson flew to Ibiza from Newcastle the Sunday before last. Get on to the airport and find out who the carrier was, then contact them and find out who was with him.’

  ‘There’ll have been a couple of hundred people on board. How’ll we know out of all of them?’

  I shook my head. ‘Thank God the magic doesn’t work all the time,’ I said. ‘That would be too much to take. She’ll be the one in the next fucking seat to him, son, that’s how. Now go to it.’

  As I left him leafing through the Yellow Pages . . . he had a lot to learn, but I couldn’t teach him all of it . . . Fred Leggat, Jeff Adam and Andy Martin returned from lunch. I called the DI into my office and told him about McGuire’s brainstorming, and of the instructions I’d given to the press officer. ‘Make sure that everybody knows the party lines on both, Fred,’ I warned. ‘Nothing beyond; not even pub talk.’

  ‘Will do,’ he promised. ‘By the way, DCS Stein called while you were out, boss. He said he’d like a word.’

  ‘How about two?’ I growled. ‘Those being “fuck” and “off ”.’

  Leggat laughed. ‘You tell him that, boss. I’ve got a pension to safeguard.’

  In truth, I had no reason to moan about Alf. He was my line manager, and he was entitled to be kept in the loop. I walked up to his office, knowing that he’d be there. My stomach was rumbling as I reached his door. I’d burn
ed through my trucker’s breakfast.

  ‘Come in, son,’ he greeted me. Most of the time, Alf was avuncular. ‘You look fucking knackered. I can guess why. Inspector Hesitant sent me copies of the statements you issued.’ He saw my expression change and added, ‘Don’t go and tear into him, now; it’s a standing order he has. Before that, though, I had a call from my opposite number in Newcastle asking for any help we can give him. There’s a lot of heat on down there. The guy they found after you’d left was a hell of a fucking mess apparently. Something of a local character too, so his death’s attracted special attention. Not just in the media either. He was big in the Masons, so there’s interest within the Northumbria force, at the very top level.’

  ‘That’s all I need,’ I grumbled. ‘Pressure from the goat-shaggers, as a chum of mine calls them.’

  ‘Shh,’ Alf whispered. ‘Don’t let Proud Jimmy hear you.’

  ‘The chief? Is he one?’

  ‘Aye. High up, too.’

  ‘Then you must be as well,’ I pointed out, ‘or you wouldn’t know that.’

  He beamed. ‘We’ll make a detective out of you yet, young Skinner. Now you know about us, you’d better join yourself.’

  ‘Not a chance,’ I assured him.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m too secretive for you guys.’

  He stared at me, and then exploded in laughter.

  ‘Let me give you an example, sir,’ I said, then described the scene in Winston Church’s kitchen in all its terrible detail.

  By the time I was finished he was pale, and serious. ‘You were there.’

  I nodded. ‘Andy and I. After we’d found him, the local talent got a bit nervous about our presence, so we got off our mark.’

  ‘Good for you. That was the best thing to do.’

  ‘What does their head of CID want from us?’ I asked.

  ‘He wants you to share your files on the Watson case, and to take a couple of his officers on to your team. How do you feel about that?’

  I bounced it straight back to him. ‘You’re the gaffer.’

  ‘No, Bob, it’s your call.’

  ‘Then it’s no, twice. These men were killed because of Marlon Watson.’ As I set out the facts for him, my thinking began to coalesce. ‘They were hired, I believe, through Church, to extract information from him, and they were given a location where they could do the job undisturbed. They did it thoroughly. I don’t know what they were trying to find out, or if they succeeded, but they were not the most subtle interrogators, and they killed him in the process. They were also careless. Early in our investigation we identified the van they’d used in Marlon’s abduction, traced its owner, and asked Northumbria for assistance in locating him. You with me?’

  ‘Aye, go on.’

  ‘Right. After . . . I stress that, after . . . we’d made that request, the van was found burning, and our suspect, the man Milburn, went into hiding with his associate. Not immediately after the murder, boss, but two or three days after it. What does that tell you?’

  ‘Leak,’ Stein growled, immediately, looking not in the least like a favourite uncle.

  ‘Exactly. For a while I had one major concern.’ I told him frankly about my conversation with Manson, including my own recklessness, but said that he was eliminated as a suspect to my satisfaction. ‘It can only be inside, boss; it must have come from one of our number. I trust my people, every one of them, so my assumption is that whoever tipped them off that we were on to them is in Newcastle, not here.’

  ‘Why didn’t Church go into hiding too?’ the DCS asked, shrewdly.

  ‘We didn’t have any evidence against him, we still don’t and we probably never will. Sir, I can’t have officers from down there on my team. If I did, I’d have to detach one of ours to keep them under observation.’

  He leaned back in his chair. ‘Point taken, son,’ he murmured. ‘I’d better tell my southern colleague to start looking in his own midden.’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘Don’t do that. I don’t want to alert anyone. I want the world to think that we’re closing the Watson investigation with the deaths of these men. I want to put everyone at their ease, including the inside man, for I want him too. When I find him, I’ll hit the bastard hardest of all, for he must have known that he was setting these two guys up to be killed.’

  When I got back to the office, I checked on McGuire’s progress. He had managed to track down the carrier, a small charter operation based in Glasgow, but its airport representative wouldn’t release information without her boss’s approval, and he was proving hard to find. ‘If they give you any more trouble, tell him that we’re friendly with HM Customs and Excise,’ I suggested, ‘and that a short-notice VAT inspection can be fixed up any time. That usually works.’

  I left him to get on with it, for it was time for me to leave to collect Alison. I called ahead, and she was waiting for me at the front door. ‘Redpath’s been delayed on the road,’ she told me as she climbed in. ‘Tailback somewhere down the A1, his manager says.’

  ‘When is there not?’ I responded. ‘That’s fine. I’d rather be waiting for him when he gets there anyway. It removes any scope for misunderstanding.’

  ‘Misunderstanding of what?’

  ‘The fact that we’re serious. You know what murder inquiries are like; witnesses tend to get nervous when we turn up. If he chose to avoid us, his company could hardly hold him there.’

  The haulage depot wasn’t actually in Haddington, but on the outskirts. We found it easily enough, but there was no welcoming committee. The office was a Portakabin and it was locked. A couple of red-liveried lorries were parked in the compound, but there was no one around.

  ‘I wonder what the manager’s done,’ Alison chuckled. ‘Looks as if he got nervous as well.’

  She and I sat in the car and waited, for there was nothing else to do. I told her about the holding statement I’d issued on her investigation, and about the heat that had developed on Tyneside over Church’s murder, but I kept the matter of the leak to myself.

  We had been there for fifteen minutes when my mobile sounded. It was Mario McGuire. ‘I’ve finally tracked down the travel company’s managing director, boss,’ he announced, but I could tell from his voice that it wasn’t all good news. ‘He’s got no problem with giving us the name we need, but when he called the Newcastle Airport office to tell the woman there to release it, she’d buggered off for the night. He’s not being obstructive; he says there’s nothing he can do.’

  In fact there was; if McGuire shouted loud enough, the director could have contacted his employee as soon as she arrived home and sent her back to give us what we were after. I was about to tell him that when a red articulated truck slowed at the entrance to the yard and turned in. ‘Okay,’ I conceded, ‘but he has to get her in there at sparrowfart tomorrow.’

  ‘She will be, boss. The company’s got a seven fifteen departure to Barcelona.’

  ‘I wish I was on it.’ I ended the call, and stepped out of the car. Alison and I waited until the vehicle was parked, then approached as the driver jumped down from the cab, a tall skinny guy with ginger hair and a full beard.

  ‘Charles Redpath?’ I began, holding my warrant card for him to see. ‘We’re police officers and we’d like a word.’

  He didn’t seem disturbed by us, in any way. ‘That’s me,’ he said, his face expectant. ‘What is it? Have you caught the swine that killed Albie? D’you need me for an identity parade?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘We’re not at that stage yet. Look, do you want to come and sit in my car?’

  He glanced at it, with the air of someone who’d rather have sat in a hearse. ‘Nah,’ he decreed. ‘We’ll go and sit in the office. I’ve got the keys.’

  We followed him across to the Portakabin. Inside, it was Spartan, but I supposed that it served its purpose. There was a small private area to the left of the door, a toilet to the right, and half a dozen full-length lockers against the far wall.
Redpath unlocked one of them. A suit and shirt hung inside. He offered us each a seat, but they looked like health and safety rejects, so we declined. ‘What can I do for you then?’ he asked.

  ‘What school did you go to?’

  Alison’s question took him by surprise. ‘Knox Academy, in Haddington. What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Never Maxwell Academy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you didn’t know Albie McCann from school. How did you meet?’

  ‘I used to be a Lothian bus driver; I met Albie in the garage. I didn’t like it, though. Some of the runs can be really dodgy late at night. So I took this job when the chance came up.’

  She nodded. ‘Good. That explains the connection between you. The reason for the question is that Albie and Archie Weir, the other murder victim, did go to the same school, although they weren’t in the same year. That’s the only link between them, and we’re wondering if it relates to their murders in some way. If it does . . . we need to find out how.’