Benefit of the Doubt

by Les Cowan

  “Do we have to see her cara a cara – to see what she says?” Alicia asked.

  “Maybe. I suppose I have to speak to her mum first and let her know what’s happened and find out what she wants to do. And of course the police will be more involved as well whether Maggie likes it or not. To be honest, I won’t be doing anything more right now. I just can’t put anyone else in the firing line.”

  “When do you think we’ll be able to see her?” Alicia asked

  “Jen?”

  “No – Gillian, of course.”

  “No idea. I’ll phone the hospital in the morning and see what they say.”

  It was now nearly five in the morning and everyone was worn out. David wanted to get some sleep before the sedatives wore off. Alicia brought out some bedding and Juan folded down a bed settee. Ten minutes later David was tucked under a warm double downie, another brandy inside him, but somehow sleep wouldn’t come.

  The banging at the door grew louder, gradually penetrating David’s subconscious, then his conscious mind. It was light. He sat bolt upright and looked at the clock. Ten thirty. His first thought was whether the door would hold long enough to get everybody out a back window and down the fire escape. Bang, bang, bang. Even louder. Then a voice through the letter box.

  “Police! Anybody at home?” David relaxed, threw the bed clothes aside, and shouted he was just coming. He pulled on trousers and a T-shirt and made for the door. Two solidly Scottish plain clothes officers could be seen on the landing in the fisheye peephole. They were holding up ID and certainly didn’t look like they came from anywhere south of the Rio Grande. He undid the locks and opened up.

  “Morning, sir – D.S. Thompson and D.C. McGuire. Are you Juan Hernandez?”

  “No, David Hidalgo. This is Juan’s flat though. Everybody’s still asleep. It was a bit of a late night. Come in. We were told someone would be round for statements.” Thompson and McGuire weren’t exactly the Blues Brothers but did come in matching dark suits, white shirts, plain ties and thick-soled black shoes. Neither looked as if they would be much perturbed by fire, flood, murder or mayhem, which, in the current situation, was more reassuring than threatening. Having dealt with detective officers in Spain David found the degree of consistency quite comforting.

  Alicia sleepily appeared as David was ushering them into the living room and tidied away the sofa bed. Then she went to wake Eric and get some coffee going. A few minutes later Juan appeared, swathed in a huge fleecy dressing gown. Tomas was rousted out and sent to spy on the tapas menu at La Tasca in the West End. Even Eric managed to join them still in the shell suit he’d been wearing last night and had slept in. As well as being shaky from the lack of his usual chemical start to the day, he was uncomfortable in the presence of CID and perched in a far corner, gnawing a piece of toast. Coffee and breakfast empanadas appeared and D.S. Thompson took over.

  “Well, Mr Hidalgo, all I can say is you have all been extremely lucky.” David remembered the last time he had been told something similar. This time it was no more convincing. “Ms Lockhart is comfortable this morning. Mr and Mrs O’Conner…,” he consulted his notebook, “… eh… Maggie and Jeff, I think to you… seem to be none the worse for wear although the van’s a wreck and I gather they sustained a few cuts. Mr Stoddart,” he addressed himself to Eric who was trying to blend into the furniture, “you were furthest from the blast on the near side seat and were only treated for shock. That right?”

  “Eh… aye. That’ll be right.”

  “So,” D.S. Thompson continued in formal tones, “you were aware we were making enquiries as to Miss MacInnes’s whereabouts, but you chose to make your own investigations. Once the police are pursuing an enquiry we don’t recommend members of the public to get involved. The reasons for that should be clear enough.” He paused, loosened his tie, took another bite of pastry and a sip of coffee, and put his notebook down. Everyone understood this was not the Sherlock Award for Astute Detection.

  “Anyway,” he continued, relaxing, “that’s the official line. As it happens, last night gave us some leads that may be helpful.”

  “Did you know all about Raúl already?” Alicia asked.

  “We’ve had surveillance on them for about three months,” McGuire continued. “Drugs enforcement is one of the priorities right now. We don’t ignore the low-level users and dealers of course.” Here he glanced ever so briefly at Eric. “But the main effort has to be centred on getting to the importers that control the trade. Spanish police alerted us to Álvarez about a year ago, but we only started hearing the name ourselves last March. He seems to have taken some time to get the lie of the land then went in really hard – beatings, knife crime, intimidation, that sort of the thing. At least two murders we’re pretty sure about. Even attempts to buy off the local uniformed staff and launder cash into community projects.”

  “That makes sense,” Juan put in. “The same tactics Escobar used in Colombia.”

  “Escobar?” McGuire asked.

  “Pablo Escobar,” said David. “He was head of the Medellin drugs cartel. At one time he was thought to be the seventh richest man in the world. He used a mixture of extreme violence, torture, and revenge killings to win control. But he also bribed judges and politicians and poured money into the poorer parts of the city. So rivals were terrified, judges turned a blind eye, and ordinary people protected him.”

  “What happened to him in the end?” McGuire asked.

  “He was tracked down by electronic surveillance and shot.”

  “And you think there’s some connection with Álvarez?”

  “Raúl started working for him when he was a teenager. He learned how Escobar ran things and now he’s using the same approach.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how you know all this?” D.S. Thompson eyed David suspiciously. “I was given to understand you are the missing girl’s minister, and you,” looking just as suspiciously at Juan, “run a restaurant.”

  “Well,” David clarified, “firstly I’m not Jen MacInnes’s minister as such. Her grandmother is part of Southside Christian Fellowship. I’m the part-time minister there. But before that I ran a church in Madrid. Juan and Alicia were part of the leadership team there. We did a lot of work with young drug addicts and came into contact with the gangs from time to time. We think Álvarez was part of the drugs scene there before moving to Edinburgh. We had a bit of…” David paused, trying to get the right words that wouldn’t take him into a deeper explanation, “… a bit of personal contact with him.” D.S. Thompson was making copious notes.

  “You said you’d already been watching him?” Alicia asked.

  “That’s right,” Thompson confirmed. “In fact, we’ve really only been waiting for something substantial that we can absolutely tie back to him before we go in. This is a serious assault, if not attempted murder. The student that treated Miss Lockhart took the make and number of the vehicle and we’ve got that linked back to the gang. Ballistics are at work on the van and want to match the ammunition to previous incidents. Then we’ll have something to go on, as long as Álvarez doesn’t disappear again in the meantime of course.”

  “And you won’t forget about the girl?” Alicia wanted to make absolutely sure.

  “Yes, the girl. Just what exactly is her connection?” Thompson had his notebook poised again.

  “As far as we can tell, just the girlfriend,” David said.

  “But she’s only fifteen or so, isn’t she? Álvarez is…,” he flipped a few pages back, “… thirty-seven according to Spanish police. That’s a bit unusual…”

  “Sixteen in a few weeks,” David clarified. “But yes, unusual is one word for it.” He glanced up at Eric but Mr Stoddart was studying his shoes and clearly did not wish to be cited as a witness. “As far as we can tell, she was only involved as a user – nothing to do with the business. Then she got too close to Raúl, who took a liking to her, and
that was that. There wasn’t any way out even if she’d wanted it.”

  “Also like Escobar,” Juan put in.

  “What do you mean?”

  “That was part of Escobar’s lifestyle as well. He was married and had mistresses but also he had the reputation for liking underage girls. It looks like Álvarez didn’t just pick up business tips from the boss.” Alicia shuddered, and then to everyone’s surprise Eric spoke up with feeling.

  “And that’s whit ah couldnae pit up wi’,” he said. “So onythin’ that’s gonnae get rid of that scumbag’s awright wi’ me!”

  “Well, I’m sure we’re all in agreement with that, Mr Stoddart,” Thompson remarked dryly. “And you’ll be willing to tell us what you know?” This was the Rubicon – or possibly the Water of Leith – for Eric. He hummed and hawed for a few seconds, then seemed to lose patience with his own hesitation.

  “Ah. Course ah will. Whit d’ye think ah am?”

  “Good. We just need to hope we can get to him before anything else goes wrong and he decides Edinburgh isn’t as nice a spot as he thought. Anyway, we need some formal statements now. Reverend Hidalgo is it?”

  Gillian woke up to birdsong outside the window, a nurse attending to the drip in her arm, and a pain in the small of her back as if she’d been hit by the London to Edinburgh express. The nurse leaned over to arrange her pillows.

  “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

  “Not too good. What happened?” Her voice was quiet and hoarse.

  “You were involved in a gun attack on the van you were in. You had a fragment of metal in your back and lost a lot of blood. Your arm’s broken in two places and a couple of ribs are cracked. You had a blood transfusion last night. Apart from that you’re fine. You’re making a good recovery.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Cuts and bruises – nothing more. I’m afraid you got the worst of it. Do you feel strong enough for some visitors?”

  “Who is it?” The nurse checked a clipboard on the side table.

  “A Mr and Mrs Hernandez and a Reverend Hidalgo.” Gillian was used to thinking of him as Señor David. Reverend Hidalgo seemed strange and formal. Mr and Mrs Hernandez she couldn’t place at all.

  “Sure – I’ll be ok.”

  “Well, they’ll only be allowed a few minutes each and one at a time. Any preference?” Gillian did have a preference but did not feel like sharing it.

  “No. Anything.”

  As it happened David was ushered in first – the same ancient overcoat, the same battered grey fedora, the same beige trousers. Somebody really needs to take that man shopping! was her first incongruous thought.

  “Hi,” she smiled up at him.

  “Hi. How are you?”

  “Off the critical list apparently. I’ve felt better though. My back really hurts. And my side. And my head. Almost a complete set I think.”

  David pulled over a chair but kept standing.

  “Gillian,” he began, “I am so sorry you got mixed up in this. It’s unforgivable.” Weak as she was, she shook her head.

  “No – I wanted to help. It was my idea – remember?” He shrugged and didn’t argue. “So I guess that wasn’t Jen in the car?” she whispered.

  “I think that’s a fair guess.” There was a pause while both of them thought what they might say next.

  “I’m sure you can sit down, you know,” Gillian suggested. “As far as I know a broken arm isn’t catching.”

  He stepped round the chair and perched lightly on the bed, hoping he hadn’t misinterpreted. Gillian naturally laid her hand on the covers palm upwards and David took it. Neither had planned it, but it just seemed natural.

  “How’s everyone else?” Gillian asked.

  “Fine. A bit shook up. Not much compared to you.”

  “Well, I hope everyone’s going to sign my plaster cast. Anything more about Jen?”

  “We had a couple of detectives round this morning. They seem to think last night will allow them to move against Raúl if he stays put long enough.”

  David gave her the gist of what they had found out, putting all the pieces together. He left out his previous, more personal, dealings with El Niño.

  “So maybe my soup van idea wasn’t a complete disaster?”

  “It was a great idea if we’d been able just to stick to the soup without any help from Muirhouse’s answer to Maigret.”

  “How is Eric?”

  “Terrified of going back home. He thinks he’ll be next.”

  “What’s he going to do?”

  “Well, even though he brought the whole thing down on himself – and us – I do feel a bit responsible. Eric’s going to be staying with me for a few days till we see how things work out.” Gillian gave him a look as if to say, Are you absolutely sure that’s a good idea? “I know, I know,” David agreed. “If there was anywhere else he could go I wouldn’t think of it. Turns out everybody he could normally camp out with has the same connections he has so he’s convinced Raúl would find out where he was and send the boys round. Anyway, enough about that. Is there anything you need done? Does your work know what’s happened?”

  “No, not as far as I know. Would you mind giving them a ring and letting them know? I might miss a few classes.”

  “No problem. I just hope you’re not going to be missing any of my Spanish classes.”

  “Well, maybe one or two. Actually, I was considering individual tuition.” She looked at him deadpan, with only the merest hint of a smile.

  “That is normally extra but I think I could maybe fit you in. Anything else?”

  “There is something. You’ll find my house keys in the bag over there. Would you mind popping up and checking mail and stuff? Water the plants. Turn the immerser off. Only if you’ve got time.”

  It was a small request and anything one friend might do for another but Gillian realized she wasn’t asking just anyone – nobody from the department, not a neighbour, none of her friends from the chamber orchestra or the reading group, no former boyfriends. It was David she’d asked. That also seemed the natural thing to do.

  “Well, since you’re in here largely because of bumping into me, I think that’s the least I can do. Don’t be surprised if they’re all dead when you get back though.” David stood up and for a second they just looked at each other in silence.

  “I am really glad you’re ok,” he said.

  “I know. Me too.”

  David got Gillian’s address, house keys, and work phone number. A kiss on the cheek seemed natural but was softer and took a fraction of a second longer than mere companionship called for. There was a definite squeeze before their hands separated. David disappeared and Gillian again brightened to find that Mr and Mrs Hernandez were Juan and Alicia. Gillian and Alicia did indeed get on like sisters, immediately talking about Eric, his antics, and the police visit. Juan hung about trying to look interested then excused himself and waited outside with David.

  “She’s looking good, Señor David. I was worried she would be worse.”

  “Me too.”

  “She looks very delicate but I think she is strong. You and she would make a good team.”

  “Yes, I know that’s what you think Juan. Just stop thinking it.”

  “Ah Señor David! En boca cerrada no entran moscas – I can keep my mouth shut but you can’t stop me thinking!”

  Chapter 14

  Pennywell Gardens

  Alison was pretty sure, all things considered, that the day they moved into Muirhouse was the worst of her life. Such high hopes – then it had all come to this. It was worse than the day Mr Hopkins, the music teacher, had groped her from behind in between movements of the clarinet concerto – and the following day when she’d been forced to agree it could have been an accident. And much worse than the day she’d discovered she was p
regnant with Jennifer – though that had been troubling enough. Ian was a chemistry student and they had met at the Christian Union Freshers’ Ceilidh of all places. After that they all repaired to the bar, then Ian’s room in halls. When everybody else had left, they had a bit more to drink. Then she woke up in his bed in the morning. Six weeks later she bought a pregnancy testing kit in a panic from Boots in Princes Street. The wrong result came up.

  Ian had done the decent thing under pressure but it had not been a success from the start. She dropped out of law and after the baby was born just couldn’t seem to get back into things. Still, they had both tried to make a go of it. Ian graduated and got a job with Price Waterhouse and started studying for accountancy exams. They managed a two bedroom bungalow in Clermiston, near the zoo, and things seemed to be looking up. He passed on the second attempt and she got a job in the West End as a legal secretary. As Jennifer was growing up they seemed to be settling into a reasonable routine and family life wasn’t too bad.

  Then there was the day her dad died. That was bad. Dad had always been her hero, defender, and friend. He was the moderating influence on Mum’s endless pretensions to middle-class gentility. He was the one that made her laugh and talked her through the hard times. Then all of a sudden he was gone. For months after, she kept thinking of things she would have to tell him, only to be caught up short when she remembered he wasn’t there any more.

  The day she found out that Ian’s many nights away weren’t entirely work-related wasn’t good either. She had met the woman once at a party – bright red hair and trendy thick-rimmed glasses. She was flirting even then. Alison started off furious then began blaming herself before ultimately realizing it wasn’t her fault. That helped a bit.

  Worse than all of these was the day the removal van arrived, collected her half of the furniture, and dumped it all off in front of a miserable flat in a miserable block in a part of town she – rightly or wrongly – associated with people at the very bottom of the heap. Now she was joining them. No doubt many were decent folk down on their luck – as she tried to think she was – but another part of the mix were the antisocial neighbours, the unruly kids, the users, dealers, pushers, and girls on the game. In a way she was almost glad Dad wasn’t around to see it come to this. Now they were all her neighbours, saying hullo as she left for work, standing in front of her in the post office queue, and taking their bins out at the same time for neighbourhood wildlife to rummage through.