Murmuring the Judges

80

Sammy Pye looked out of the window of the small room near the Head of CID’s suite. ‘It’s a nice day out there, Mr Ankrah,’ he said. ‘The sooner we’re out of this place the better.’

‘I agree. But this is a job which must be done.’

‘I know. I just need to give my eyes a rest, that’s all.’ He stood up and leaned to one side and the other, stretching his sinews; fingers interlinked, he stretched his arms above his head until they touched the ceiling.

‘What would you think of this weather in Africa, sir?’ he asked.

‘In Africa, Sammy, we would call this. . winter!’ The Ghanaian grinned, flashing shining teeth. ‘When I go home, I plan to invite some officers from Edinburgh on a reciprocal visit. I thought you might like to be one of them.’

‘Lead me to it, sir,’ the young detective constable responded eagerly.

‘And Sergeant Neville, of course. It would be only right to invite you both.’

‘What do you mean sir?’ Pye’s expression was blank innocence.

‘You know damn well what I mean.You may be discreet in everything you say and do, but I am a student of body language. Yours and the pretty sergeant’s give you away to me.’

The DC looked at him cautiously. ‘How?’

‘It is in the inflection of your voice when you speak to each other; the way in which your postures relax. Your bodies are comfortable together; they know each other, and to a practised eye it shows.’

‘But we’re just good friends, sir.’

Ankrah nodded, and grinned again. ‘Yes. But very good friends. Now come on. Let’s finish viewing these tapes.’ They turned back to face the monitor, and Pye pressed the play button on the video recorder.

They were watching one of the sharper, cleaner tapes. The colour was unblurred although the figures moved jerkily on the screen, a result of the slow-speed recording. The tape showed the Galashiels bank, and it had been recorded on a Monday, less than two weeks before the robbery and shooting.

The customers that morning had been few and far between; a burst of men in the first hour of business. . Publicans, Pye guessed, depositing their weekend takings. . but after that they had slowed to a trickle of mostly older people, interspersed by the occasional shop staff member sent out for change.

They speeded the tape, and let it run until the time recorder showed that the lunch-hour was approaching, and until the picture showed an increased flow of clients. ‘Hey, just a minute,’ said Ankrah, suddenly. ‘Slow it down and go back a bit, Sammy. I want to check something.’

The constable did as he was instructed, rewinding the tape until his companion signalled him to stop. The two looked at the monitor as playback resumed in forward mode and at normal speed. As they did so, they saw the figure of a man come into the banking hall; tall, middle aged, fit-looking, wearing a navy blazer with gold buttons, and grey slacks.

He joined the small orderly queue at the back of the public area, waiting patiently as the staff dealt with the people before him. As he waited, he looked sideways and up, towards the wide-angle surveillance camera, once from the extreme right of its shot as it panned around the building, then from the extreme left. On the third occasion he looked directly into the lens. Then, without going up to the counter, he turned and walked, with a slight limp, out of the bank.

‘I know that man,’ said the Ghanaian. ‘I met him quite recently.

‘Have you ever seen him before, Sam?’

‘No, sir. But I’m pretty sure he isn’t on any of the other tapes.’

‘He isn’t on any others that I’ve seen either. I’m sure it’s a pure coincidence that he’s there. Still, Mr Martin asked us to report anything out of the ordinary. So, I shall do just that.’