‘Then it must be her father’s.’
‘I’d assumed that too, but which one? Seems that the Duke of Lanark doesn’t have a personally registered vehicle either. All his cars are registered in the name of the limited company that manages his estates, and there are eleven of them.’
‘Ask him which one she drives. Or do you want me to make that call?’
‘I’ve done it already. The Duke’s on his way to London. I spoke to his manager, but he pleaded ignorance. He said it could be one of half a dozen.’
‘Was he lying?’ asked McIlhenney.
‘Probably, but I didn’t have time to press him. All I could do was get him to give me the numbers of all the cars he knew to be on the estate. I’ve eliminated them and put out “Stop on sight” orders for all the others. But again, if he does know which car she has . . .’
‘. . . he might well have included it on the list he gave you.’
‘Exactly.’
‘So where are you at?’
‘Sauce has taken the search team to the clinic. The drugs squad are crawling all over Anderson’s flat, with orders to be neither neat nor discreet, and I’ve got Ray Wilding and Alice Cowan going through Harvey Nichols, floor by floor. That’s where Anderson said Anthea Walters was. At the very least, I’m having her!’ He frowned. ‘But there’s someone else involved: Tanya, Anderson’s daughter. She’s with Walters. Her dad’s on the run from the police and she’s in the care of a junkie. The kid needs protection, and she’s my top priority.’
Forty-one
‘You know, Bob,’ Sir James Proud confessed, ‘this is a week that once I thought would never come; my last as a police officer before I go off to tend my garden.’
Skinner laughed. He looked around the room: rectangular patches showed on the walls, the places where personal photographs had been hung until a few minutes earlier. ‘You reckoned you were immortal?’ he asked.
The outgoing chief constable did not smile. ‘No, no. Far from it. I had a secret belief that I would die in office. Damn near did too; that heart scare a few years back might have seen me off. But it didn’t. Instead it showed me that too much time spent behind a desk is good for nobody. So now I’m three stone lighter than I was then and I can jog upstairs to this office.’ He patted the arm of the rocker in which he sat. ‘Watch this chair when you settle into it. It’s bewitched; the longer you sit in it, the closer your belly gets to the desk, without either piece of furniture moving at all.’
‘I’m bringing my own chair across the corridor, Jimmy. It’s magic too. If I sit in it for longer than half an hour there’s an ejector mechanism that fires me to my feet. If I’m confirmed in your job, my successor as deputy can have yours.’
‘There’s no “if” about it, son,’ said Proud quietly. ‘None of your brother Scots have applied for the position, in deference to you, or in acceptance of the inevitable, I reckon, and in the current political climate it’s been deemed unacceptable by the Police Board that officers from outwith Scotland should be considered, unless they have a record of service north of the border.’
Skinner stared at him for several seconds as the import of what he had just been told began to sink in. ‘I don’t suppose you had any influence on that “deeming”, did you?’ he asked.
‘Far be it for me to press my opinion on the Board.’
‘If I had you under interrogation and you gave me a non-answer like that, you’d be waiting a long time for your next cup of tea. Were you asked for your opinion?’
‘If I was, why do you assume that I’d have agreed with that view?’ Proud Jimmy smiled. ‘But to stop you pestering me about it, I played no part in the deliberation . . . my insistence, not the Board’s. My last act as chief will be to attend the meeting tomorrow, at which your appointment will be confirmed, effective immediately.’
‘I didn’t want that, Jimmy,’ the DCC said quietly. ‘I wanted a contest.’
‘I know, but since this is the way it’s panned out, we’ll just have to accept it . . . won’t we? So . . . who’s your deputy going to be?’ he asked brusquely. ‘Andy Martin, I assume.’
‘That’s one job there will be several valid applications for.’
‘But none will stand up against him in interview. He is going to apply, isn’t he?’
‘That’s the general expectation.’
Sir James’s heavy grey right eyebrow rose. ‘But not yours?’
‘I have no reason to think he won’t, but . . .’
‘What?’
Skinner frowned. ‘Maybe it would be just too chummy if Andy waltzed back in here. Like I said, I’m personally more than a little embarrassed to be taking over your job without a contest, if that’s what’s going to happen, but you are such a crafty old bastard that I’m not really surprised. If I’m seen to be trying to move my best mate into the number two job, that might be too much even for our malleable Board to swallow. Andy can apply, but I’ll make damn sure he’s opposed.’
‘I suppose Brian Mackie will fall to be considered naturally as a serving assistant chief.’
‘Yes, but there are others. For example, I’ve heard that Max Allan might be interested in a move away from Strathclyde. Then there’s Eddie Burke up in Grampian. And one other who’s entitled to a run at it, if she’s interested.’
‘She? You mean . . .’
‘I mean Maggie Rose. I know she’s only a chief super just now, but in my opinion she’s the best all-round police officer on this force.’
‘I won’t argue with that view . . . if we’re excluding you and me from consideration,’ he chuckled. ‘But would she be interested? Remember, she’s a single mother and her recent medical history isn’t too great.’
‘I came through the ranks as a single parent. Fuck it, technically I’m a single parent right now. As for the health side, you’ve had a heart attack, I’ve got a pacemaker implanted and we’re both fine. Mags had cancer, it’s in remission and she’s clear to come back to work as soon as her maternity leave’s over, or before if she chooses.’
‘Would she be interested?’
‘That’s her choice, but I’ll be putting it to her.’
‘And your choice, Bob, who would that be? Privately, of course.’
‘To be honest, it would still be Andy, but I’d be happy with any of the people I’ve mentioned.’
‘Then I hope you get one of them. I’ll look on intrigued, from the sidelines.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ said Skinner, ‘but you’re not on the bloody sidelines yet, and there’s stuff happening I need your view on.’
‘The Anderson situation, you mean? Neil McIlhenney came in and briefed me on that just before you got back. There was no need for him to do that, incidentally, but I appreciated it, even if I am a virtual non-person. ’
The DCC shook his head. ‘You still have no real grasp of the respect your officers have for you, do you?’ he murmured. ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I mean the Anderson situation. The guy’s a former leader of this country, and I have personal issues with him. Now he’s a murder suspect, which I have trouble crediting, but not only that, he’s behaving as though he actually did it. Up to now, Neil and Sammy Pye have kept the whole situation low key, but I have a decision to make. If Anderson isn’t found soon, or doesn’t give himself up, do I put out a public appeal for information?’
‘And a “keep clear” warning to the public?’
‘Maybe that too.’
‘Has anybody tried phoning him? He’s a politician, Bob; every bloody newspaper in Scotland will have his mobile number on record. I’ve met the fellow too, remember; can’t stand him, but if you want a veteran’s opinion, I don’t see him as a murderer. So before you splash his picture all over the press, why don’t you give him a call, or send him a text, and ask him what his problem is?’
A broad grin spread across Skinner’s face. ‘You know, Jimmy,’ he drawled, ‘I’m really going to miss you.’
‘Why should you?’ his soon-to-be p
redecessor replied. ‘You’ve got both my phone numbers, and I’ve got no immediate plans to change either of them.’
Forty-two
Standing on the second of the steps that gave access to the caravan, Regan rapped on the door. ‘Mr Playfair,’ he called, loudly enough to be heard inside. ‘Police. We’d like a word.’ He jumped down and waited; the seconds ticked away, but there was no reply.
‘Inspector.’ He turned to see Derek Baillie approaching.
‘Yes?’ he snapped impatiently.
‘He’s gone. Don’t you see? His car’s not there. My wife heard him drive off, must have been over an hour ago, she reckons. Yes, because it was before you arrived.’
‘Would that have been before or after the body was found?’ McDermid asked.
‘Afterwards. She said she saw Hugo coming back from that direction; he was talking to a policeman, then he turned and headed back to the camp, not to his own van, but to Az’s. She thought nothing of it at the time, because, well, we didn’t know then about him being dead. She wondered what the cop was doing there, right enough, but we see plenty of them, so she didn’t dwell on it. About ten minutes after that she heard his car start up and drive off.’
‘How did she know it was Playfair’s car?’
‘He drives a clunky old Peugeot diesel, noisier than a Meat Loaf album. It was him all right.’
‘OK. Thanks again, Mr Baillie.’ He reached up and tried the door handle; it was locked fast. ‘I don’t suppose you have a key for this thing, do you?’
‘No, I don’t, but he’ll probably be back soon.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Sure.’ Baillie stopped and stared at the detective. ‘You don’t think Hugo would have . . .’
‘I haven’t even ruled you out for sure as a suspect, mate, and you’re still here.’ He turned to McDermid. ‘Lisa, I want you to find Sergeant Hope. An hour ago, there was only him and Reid here, and Reid was at the top of the lane, so it must have been him that Mrs Baillie saw talking to Playfair. Confirm that, ask him why the hell he didn’t bother to tell us, and have him give you every detail of their conversation.’ As she left, Regan’s attention returned to Baillie. ‘What’s this guy like?’ he asked. ‘And what’s his relationship to Mr Mustafic?’
‘I told you. He’s a pompous wee chap, but he’s useful to us at times.’
‘When did he join your crowd?’
‘A couple of years ago; just before he brought Az along, in fact.’
‘Did it strike you as strange that he should want to become a traveller?’
‘We get people like him from time to time. “Fellow travellers”, I call them, romantics who fancy the roving life. Unless they’re real arseholes, we tolerate them for as long as they stick around, and that isn’t long, as a rule. Our life is OK if you’re born to it, but most of those people have left behind en-suite bathrooms in the south of England and do not have a fucking clue what they’re letting themselves in for. Hugo stuck it out, though; he had his charity behind him, and like I said, he’s useful for his legal knowledge.’
‘Is he a lawyer?’
‘I don’t think so. I did ask him what his background was, a while back, one time when we’d all had a couple of beers and he was more relaxed than normal. Now that I think about it, I’m still waiting for a straight answer. “I suppose you could call it social work.” That was what he said.’
The DI grinned. ‘Do you think he’d object to my kicking his door in?’
‘I’d wait for him to come back, if I were you. He has the capacity to make as much noise as his fucking car.’
‘George!’ The call came from the path, twenty yards away. Regan swung round to see Detective Superintendent Neil McIlhenney heading his way. He was dressed in summer mode: light slacks and a white short-sleeved shirt, open at the neck. His jacket was slung over his shoulder.
‘Sir.’
‘Any result yet?’
‘No, boss. This isn’t a simple domestic; the man was ambushed.’
‘What have you got? Anything to go on?’
‘At the moment, a problem. The man who owns this van, his name’s Hugo Playfair, he brought Mr Mustafic to join the group, and I’d like to interview him . . . only he’s not here. He shot the craw over an hour ago.’
‘Magic, just magic,’ McIlhenney groaned. ‘Not another one.’
‘Boss, we weren’t here!’ the DI protested.
‘I’m not getting at you, George,’ the superintendent assured him. ‘It’s been a trying day on more than one front, that’s all. When Playfair left, did he have knowledge of Mustafic’s death?’
‘Lisa McDermid’s confirming it, but we believe so.’
‘What’s your next move?’
‘I’m considering whether to effect an entry in Mr Playfair’s absence,’ Regan replied stuffily.
‘Without a key?’
‘Nobody has one.’
‘Then stand back.’ The big superintendent smiled and handed his jacket to his colleague. ‘It’s been too long since I booted somebody’s door in.’
Forty-three
‘Why do you come to me for this information?’ asked Xavi Aislado.
‘Because I don’t have time to ask my Special Branch team to get it for me,’ Skinner told him frankly. ‘They could, but they’d have to jump through a couple of hoops, maybe go through all the provider directories.’
‘I’m a journalist, Bob, you’re begging a hell of a lot of questions.’
‘You’ll get the answers before anyone else, Xavi; that’s a promise.’
‘I take it this has to do with Glover’s murder.’
‘And more. It involves possession of Class A drugs.’
‘By Anderson?’
‘We don’t think so. Look, you give me the number and I’ll give you a couple of hours’ start on a front-page story for tomorrow’s paper.’
‘Yes, I can guess whose drugs they were. OK, take this down.’ The editor recited a mobile phone number.
‘That’s up to date? You’re sure?’
‘One of my people used it yesterday, looking for a comment on Glover’s death. He was told to fuck off. I don’t like my staff being treated discourteously, Bob.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind for the future,’ Skinner chuckled. ‘I hope the thing’s switched on.’
A soft, deep laugh sounded in the DCC’s ear. ‘It will be. People like Anderson only know how to keep their mobiles charged up, not how to switch them off.’ Pause. ‘Bob, before you go, can you give me anything about the incident my news desk tells me about, in your home village?’
‘The dead man’s an ethnic member of a traveller group, camped out there. That’s all I know for now.’
‘Suspicious?’
‘Not any more. Confirmed as homicide.’
‘Can you give me a name?’
‘Asmir Mustafic.’ He spelled it out. ‘He was Bulgarian, a harmless wee man. We’ll be going public on it pretty soon, I imagine. For any more, have your crime reporter call Neil McIlhenney; he’s on the scene. I imagine you’ve got his mobile number too.’
The editor laughed again. ‘Of course.’
Skinner sighed, making a mental note to have senior officers’ numbers changed, and hung up. He took out his own mobile, which was set to ‘caller details withheld’ when his calls were picked up, and began to key in digits. When he pressed the ‘call’ button, it was with little hope. He heard three rings and then a click.
‘Yes?’ One short word, but filled with tension; no background noise.
‘Dr Anderson?’
‘Who is this?’
‘Are you going to stay on line when I tell you?’
He heard a sigh. ‘You don’t have to tell me, Skinner. I’d know your voice anywhere. What is it?’
‘I want to ask you something, one question, and I want you to tell me the truth without hesitation, because whatever that is, I’ll be able to prove it. Did you murder Ainsley Glover?’
The reply w
as instantaneous. ‘No.’
‘I believe you. So why did you leg it?’
‘The questioning was going into an area that I didn’t want to discuss.’
‘Something to do with drugs?’
‘What drugs?’ Anderson paused, and this time Skinner could hear an intake of breath. ‘Oh no, let me guess. Bloody Anthea. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘That stupid twat!’ he sighed. ‘She promised me that she was clean. I should have known, I should have read the signs. What was it? Coke, as before?’
‘No, she’s moved on from the posh people’s party stuff. This is heroin, enough for us to charge her not just with possession but with intent to supply, if we’ve a mind. She’s been inhaling the stuff, “Chasing the dragon” as the Chinese say. As for the signs, you wouldn’t have seen any needle marks or runny noses. I’m told she used a teapot. Pretty ingenious, from what my drugs squad leader tells me; you heat the stuff on the cooker and suck it in through the spout.’
‘Bob, I promise you, I did not know. And I run an addiction clinic, too.’
‘You do? That I did not know.’
‘I don’t advertise the fact. Actually I run two; one’s operated through the NHS, but the other’s at a private place. My patients there tend to be higher up the social scale. Truth is, that’s how I met Anthea. What a mug I am; I really did think she was behaving herself.’
‘Then she fooled you, big time. She was arrested in Harvey Nichols’ restaurant half an hour ago. Your daughter was with her, I’m afraid.’
‘Hold on, man,’ Anderson exclaimed, ‘you haven’t taken Tanya to a police station, have you?’
‘No, we haven’t; give me credit, I’m a parent myself, man. I told Alice Cowan, who made the arrest with another officer, to take her back to Darnaway Street, and stay with her, pending further instructions.’
‘What are you going to do with her? You’re not going to stick her in some social work refuge, are you?’
‘That’s entirely down to you,’ Skinner told him. ‘Where are you right now? Don’t be cute, tell me.’
‘I’m in Gifford, parked next to the Goblin Ha’ pub, trying to work out what to do next.’
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