Head Shot

54

'You going to like it here, d'you think. Ray?' the Head ofCID asked his assistant as they sat in the office that had been Andy Martin's until the previous Friday.

'Headquarters, sir? It's a nicer building than Torphichen Place, I have to say that.'

'Actually, son, I meant are you going to like it in my office: is the job going to be exciting enough for you?'

'I'd have said "no thanks" when I was offered it if I'd thought that, sir.

It's always been a wee bit exciting around you; I don't see why it should change just because you're in this job.'

'Jesus,' said Dan Pringle, vehemently. 'You think that? And here's me hoping for a quiet couple of years up to retirement.'

'You've got a foot in every division now, boss. I don't see how that could happen. You were hardly in the job when we had that murder down in Leith.'

'Aye, but that could be our quota for a while. We might not have another major investigation this year.'

Rising to leave, Detective Sergeant Ray Wilding paused to throw the chief superintendent a sceptical look, implying that a flight of pigs was passing the window. As he did so, there was a soft knock on the door, and Maggie Rose came into the room, not waiting for a summons.

'Got a minute, sir?'

'Aye, sure, Mags.' Pringle nodded to Wilding. 'On you go. Ray. See you in the morning.' He waited as the visitor took the seat vacated by his assistant. 'What can I do for you?'

Rose laid a brown A4 envelope on his desk. 'Remember that flyer you sent me from Strathclyde?' she began. 'The missing priest? Well he's not missing any more.' As the head ofCID drew out the report, she took Charlie Johnston's Polaroid from her pocket and laid it alongside it.

'He died just over a week ago, in a doctor's surgery up in Oxgangs.

Death was certified by a Dr Amritraj, an officer from my division attended and took that photograph, and the body was removed by ambulance to the Royal Infirmary mortuary.'

Pringle beamed with pleasure. 'Magic,' he exclaimed, reaching for his phone. 'We'll just cal Strathclyde now, and tell them to come and pick him up.'

'Ah well, Clan,' said Rose slowly, 'it's not going to be quite that easy.

The man I'm certain is Father Green was identified, by Dr Amritraj, as Mr Magnus Essary, of 46 Leightonstone Grove, Hunter's Tryst. The body was claimed next day by a woman named El a Frances, who said she was his business partner; it was cremated at Seafield last Saturday morning.'

'Aw, shite,' Pringle cried out. 'Why the hell did I not stay in a division?

The Frances woman; what do we know about her?'

'Next to nothing. Dr Amritraj gave PC Johnston…'

'Charlie Johnston?'

'That's the man.'

'It'l be right then; big Charlie's a chancer, but he's a sound copper.

Sorry, Mags, on you go.'

'Okay; Amritraj named Ella Frances as the personal contact listed with the practice. He gave Johnston a mobile phone number. I've checked with the practice already; they had Magnus Essary listed al right, but he had a fictitious NHS number. The entry in their records was made by Dr Amritraj.'

'Lift him,' said Pringle, immediately.

'I wish I could,' Rose countered. 'But he doesn't work there any more.

He was a locum, hired on a two-month contract. He didn't appear for surgery on Tuesday and they haven't seen him since. He lodges with an Indian family out in Livingston; I've got officers going out to see them now. You know the chances of him being there.'

'Bloody hell! What about Frances?'

'The mobile number she gave was a pre-paid type. It was bought in the name of Ella Frances all right, but the address given was as phoney as Essary's NHS entry.'

Pringle tugged at his moustache, so violently that Maggie wondered that he had any left. 'What have we got here?' he muttered.

'Time wil tell,' she answered, 'but once my people confirm that Amritraj has gone from his digs as well, I'l put a trace out for him right across the NHS. Since nothing else is as it seems in this business, it's a pound to a pinch of shit that Father Francis Donovan Green didn't die of natural causes.'

'I agree with you, but how the hell did he come to wind up in a doctor's in Oxgangs in the middle of the bloody night?'

'Good question, Clan. We'll need to involve Strathclyde in that end of the investigation. Father Green came from North Lanarkshire. I've got a contact in CID there, so if you're happy, I'll call him quietly and start them to work building up a profile of the man.'

'Do that,' Pringle exclaimed. 'There's another thing you should do as well; unless Amritraj is stupid enough still to be in Livingston, you should get a warrant to search his digs, and the surgery in Oxgangs, just in case the landlord and the doctors don't co-operate. We're no' going to be able to do a post mortem on a pile of ashes, so we've got to look everywhere we can to see if we can find out how he was killed.

'I don't fancy the Crown Office's job in this one, Mags. Once we catch this fella, someone in there's got to decide what the bloody hell we can charge him with.'