Murmuring the Judges

50

‘How are Maggie and Neville getting on at the beach, by the way?’ asked Neil McIlhenney. ‘Are they picking up a tan, then?’

‘They are that,’ McGuire replied. ‘They slogged up and down the beach for a bit, then Karen worked out that if they just got the cossies on and lay on the sand, most of the punters would come up to them. She was right, apparently.’

‘How are Mags and she getting on?’

‘Fine. A lot better than Maggie thought they would in fact, given her reputation. I told her it’d be okay. I said to her that anyone who’d proposition you was more to be pitied than anything else.’

McIlhenney threw the Inspector a look of the deepest disdain. ‘She’s a very nice girl, is Karen, and she has excellent taste. She has all sorts of qualities, in fact,’ he added, slyly.

Mario’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘Here, you didn’t. . did you?’

The big sergeant looked at him for a long time, in silence, a grin flicking around the corners of his mouth.

‘You didn’t. .’

‘No,’ said McIlhenney, at last, beaming. ‘But if I’d been as pissed as she was. .’

‘. . You’d have regretted it till your dying day.’

‘Which would have been the day that Olive found out. Aye, I know.’

‘So what are these other qualities she has, then, big fella?’

‘Everything that goes to make a bloody good copper; because that’s what Sergeant Karen is, behind the flashing eyes and the splendid tits.’

McGuire nodded. ‘That’s what DCI Rose says too.’

‘What? That she’s a good copper or that she’s got splendid tits?’

‘Both, in fact. They found a witness, a gay bloke who’d seen Barnfather with a man last Sunday. Apparently Karen handled him like a natural. Later on, when they were lying on the beach in their bikinis, the other two things came into play. Like fucking magnets they were, Maggie said. She just lay there propped up on her elbows and smiling and the punters came up to them in their droves.’

‘Were there a lot of gays out there, right enough?’

‘A few; even they seemed to be drawn by Neville’s orbs. They were all very co-operative. A couple of young chancers did try to pick them up at one point, but Maggie saw them off with only a single flash. . of her warrant card.’

‘So what sort of a result did they get overall?’

‘Not bad. Four people thought they had seen the old boy with someone, but couldn’t describe him. David, the gay bloke, though; he’s another story. He’s coming into Fettes today, so that Brian Mackie can show him some mug shots, including one of King.’

‘Ah, I saw the Thin Man coming in. That’s why he’s here, is it, and not with the new bidey-in.’ McIlhenney grinned. Mackie’s new domestic arrangements were still the subject of much internal discussion within CID. ‘How about the guys in the car park?’ he went on. ‘Any result there?’

McGuire shook his head. ‘Nothing. I said to Maggie that maybe they should get their tits out today.’

‘Somehow,’ McIlhenney muttered, ‘I don’t think our Sammy would impress too many people in that way.’

He smiled. ‘We do have another lead, though.’

‘Oh?’ McGuire looked at him, curious.

‘Aye. The Boss called me this morning. He was at some local piss-up last night, when out of the blue, one of his neighbours said that he’d seen Norman King in the Reserve last Sunday afternoon. The Big Man said that he managed not to bat an eyelid at the time, but he’s going round today to talk to the guy again.’

‘Christ,’ exclaimed McGuire, ‘that makes what we’re doing all the more important.’ He looked across his desk in the Special Branch suite, then down at a sheet of paper which lay before him. ‘That place this morning in Wallyford was the last of the metal finishers on our list, and not a lead out of any of them.

‘The only two other registered keepers of cyanide, that we know about anyway, are these two farms. One’s down near Peebles, and the other’s out by Linlithgow. Which do you fancy visiting first?’

McIlhenny twisted his massive trunk around in his seat and looked out of the window. ‘Looks like a nice day for a trip to Peebles,’ he said.

‘Fine, sergeant,’ McGuire agreed. ‘In that case, you can drive, and I’ll enjoy the scenery.’

Fortunately, most of Edinburgh’s Sunday drivers head for the coast. By the time they had escaped the city and slipped under the by-pass heading for Penicuik and the A703 to Peebles, the traffic was relatively light. McIlhenney drove dead on the limit, forcing his companion to view the scenic woodlands and fields as they zipped past them.

The Borders countryside south of Edinburgh is lush and very accessible. Barely any time seemed to have passed before they were bearing down on the attractive county town of Peebles. With McGuire navigating, they drove through and found the B-road leading to Traquair.

‘The place is a mile or so along here,’ said the Inspector. ‘As far as I can see there’s a right turn off this road. Look for a sign saying Craigmark Mains.’

‘Okay. What’s the farmer’s name?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s listed as Maclean Farms Limited.’

‘What do farmers need cyanide for anyway?’

‘Some of them use it to poison vermin.’

‘Maybe that’s what the guy who spiked Archergait’s carafe thought he was doing,’ the big sergeant mused.

Less than a minute later, McGuire pointed ahead, at a sign which hung out on the far side of the road, beside an opening. ‘That’s it, look. Slow down now, don’t overshoot.’

‘Teach your granny.’ McIlhenney braked smoothly, indicating a right turn, and pulled up short of the Craigmark Mains sign, to allow an oncoming car to pass. Yet as they watched it, the vehicle, a silver Volvo S40, slowed down and swung ahead of them, without indicating, into the farm entrance.

Something made the big sergeant look across at his colleague. McGuire’s face was a picture of astonishment. ‘Did you see who that was?’ he gasped.

McIlhenney shook his head. ‘No, I was watching the car, not the driver. Who was it, then?’

‘Clarissa Maclean, that’s who. Norman King’s lady-friend. ’