A Rush of Blood

Four

‘Are you ready for your command group meeting, Chief?’ asked Gerry Crossley. ‘Will I call everybody in?’

Skinner nodded to his office manager. ‘Yes, I’d better get on with it.’ He tossed aside the copy of the Saltire that he had been reading, landing it neatly on top of the pile on his coffee table. ‘That bloody traffic’s getting worse, you know. I’ve just been reading about how tough the recession is, but it seems that more people than ever are going to work in the morning. Do you find that?’

‘It’s hard to tell. The work on the new tram system’s having such an effect.’

The chief constable snorted. ‘Hah! One of the craziest decisions the City of Edinburgh ever made, in my private opinion, pouring incalculable amounts of money into a transportation system that was outmoded fifty years ago. I’m glad I pay my council tax in East Lothian.’ He stood up, behind his desk, and moved towards the informal seating. ‘Ask ACC Steele to come in first,’ he said. ‘I want five minutes with her before the rest join us.’

He was glancing at the Scotsman when he heard a soft knock on the half-opened door. ‘Mags,’ he exclaimed, as the newcomer stepped into his room. His eyebrows rose. ‘In uniform, this early in the morning?’

‘I’m going round the divisional HQs within the city this morning,’ Margaret Rose Steele explained, as she took a seat at the coffee table. ‘I was off for so long that some of them must have forgotten what I look like.’

‘Fat chance. You could have been off for longer, you know. You were entitled to more maternity leave than you took, and the job would have waited for you. There’s no overtime at our level, you know.’

‘How about job-sharing?’ For the merest instant, a hint of alarm showed in his eyes. She laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’m still living in the real world. Bob, I came back to work this early because I had to. My illness, losing Stevie, having the baby: if I’d stayed away any longer I might have forgotten who I was before it all happened, and who I still am. I’m a police officer, with ambitions that I want to fulfil and a command level job has been one of them for a long time.’

‘And have you settled in? That’s what I wanted to ask you. Is everything OK? Do you have all the support you need?’

The ACC nodded. ‘Everything’s fine. You’ve been great, Brian Mackie’s been great, David Mackenzie’s the picture of efficiency.’

‘How about domestically? Is there any way we can help there?’

‘Again, I’m handling it fine. My sister’s given up any thought of going back to Australia. She’s living with me permanently, working from home and looking after Stephanie. I go home at lunchtime whenever I can, and on the odd occasion that Bet has a presentation, or a meeting, I bring the baby into the office. That’s all the domestic life I want for the moment. I’m not ready for socialising. . although I did say I’d look in on the Central Division dance on Friday, if only for half an hour or so. Are you and Aileen going?’

Skinner hesitated for a moment. ‘I am,’ he began, ‘but unaccompanied. It might come with the territory for me, but not for my wife. The fact is, Mags, given the size of our force, there are a hell of a lot of social functions through the year. My predecessor regarded it as his duty to go to each and every one, and somehow the organisers got the idea that an invitation was expected. They also came to expect him to put his hand in his pocket for a round of drinks. Cost him several thousand over the years. Maybe you’d put the word around all the divisions, discreetly, mind, that the new incumbent will not take it out on any organisers who leave him off the guest list, and that any who don’t can expect him to turn up in uniform, and loom over the proceedings like a rain cloud. If I want to go to an event I’ll buy a ticket or chip into the kitty like everybody else.’

‘Will do. Does that go for Brian and me too?’

‘Of course, if that’s how you want to play it. I’m not thinking of myself alone here, you understand. I’m as sociable as the next guy, but given Aileen’s position, there’s always going to be someone at these dos who has a few drinks and tries to talk politics. Sure, she could see them off, but why the hell should she have to?’

‘Why indeed?’ Maggie agreed. She smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Bob, but she’s really good for you.’

‘I don’t mind a bit, ’cos you’re right. She found my soft centre right away. Third time lucky, no mistake. I was devastated when Myra died, but there was angst there amidst the bliss. Sarah and me? Sure, we’d the hots for each other at the start, plus at that point in our lives we each needed someone, but it was never quite right. We were very different personalities, and there was a culture clash there from the start. But at least we liked each other enough to part amicably. With Aileen, though. . sometimes I just can’t believe I’m this happy.’

‘Then long may it last.’

Bob’s mouth fell open. ‘Aw, Jesus,’ he exclaimed, ‘listen to me. What a clown! You’re the last person who should be hearing this.’

‘No,’ she said, firmly, ‘I’m the very person, because I’ve had the same experience. I’ve lost Stevie, yes, but do you think that makes me wish I’d never met him? The opposite: it makes me all the happier that I did. The truth, Bob, is that you and Aileen are both going to die, and barring accidents. . literally. . one of you is going to die before the other. You’re in the same boat as Stevie and me, as every other lifetime partners on the planet, and I’m here to tell you to grab every good moment you can.’

He threw his head back. ‘I’ve never thought of it that way, you know,’ he sighed. ‘You’re right, of course. We are on the same journey.’ He looked at her. ‘You’ve got an extra passenger too, the wee one, wee Stephanie.’

‘So. .?’

‘Hey, I’ve already got four of those, even if one of them is grown up, and one’s adopted.’

‘But Aileen hasn’t.’

‘She’s got her career.’

‘So have I.’

‘Kids aren’t on her agenda.’

‘They weren’t on mine either, as you know very well. Maybe I should bring Stephanie out to see you at the weekend, and you should ask Aileen again after that.’

He shook his head, smiling. ‘Wonders of the world, Maggie Rose Steele, advocate for motherhood. You do that, Mags; you and your sister come for lunch on Sunday, about one o’clock. Bring wee Goldilocks and watch us trying to keep our three bears in check.’

The chief constable rose from his chair, stepped across to his desk, and pressed a button, his signal to Gerry Crossley that he was ready for the other participants in his routine morning meeting. After a few minutes they filed in, led by Brian Mackie, the tall, bald, deputy chief. He was followed by the command corridor adjutant, Superintendent David Mackenzie, his uniform immaculate, as it always was, and by the massive, dark-haired Mario McGuire, jacketless, wearing a pale blue shirt and black cords.

‘Should we turn down the heating?’ Skinner asked him.

‘Early morning call,’ the head of CID replied, an explanation that was understood immediately.

‘Ah, you got dressed in the dark. Man, you look frozen.’

‘To the marrow, Chief. I’ll tell you about it in a minute.’

The group joined Steele at the chief constable’s meeting table, while Skinner pulled his leather swivel chair from behind his desk and rolled it across the floor. ‘Morning, all,’ he began. ‘Let’s go through the day. ACC Steele is on a tour of the city, she tells me. Mags, do the divisional commanders know you’re coming?’

‘Yes, although I haven’t tied myself down to a specific time with each of them.’

‘Fair enough, since it’s your first visit in your new post, but I’d suggest that as a general rule you’re a bit less courteous than that. Everywhere you go today you’ll see tidy desks and full out-trays. That’s fine, but is it the norm? Remember when I was deputy and I used to drop in occasionally, just to say “hello”?’

‘Of course.’

‘Can you ever remember me calling you to tell you that I was coming and to put the kettle on?’

‘Now you mention it, no.’

‘Exactly. I rush to say here that your desk was always neat and your out-tray was always bigger than your in-tray, but you were the exception rather than the rule, and that’s one reason why you’re sitting here today. I was at a do with Aileen a few weeks ago and I met one of the Police Board members there. She gave me this nice smug smile and told me that it was time we had a woman at chief officer rank. I told her. . fairly abruptly, I’m afraid. . that any organisation that allows gender bias or tokenism of any kind to influence its promotion policy is doomed to failure, sooner rather than later.’

‘Was Aileen within earshot?’ asked Brian Mackie. ‘I seem to remember her party doing something like that not too long ago.’

The chief constable nodded. ‘Oh yes, she was there, and she backed me up. She told the woman that the only positive discrimination she believes in is in favour of talent.’

Steele frowned. ‘So what are you saying to me, Bob?’

‘I’m getting round to saying that there will be one or two of your colleagues who will mutter behind your back that you are where you are because you’re female. They’re irrelevant, although anyone who says it to your face, you should refer to me. The rest, the great majority, are your friends and know your qualities; but there lies another difficulty. You don’t have pals at the office, not in our service.’ He looked round the group. ‘All of you are my friends outside this building, in my private life, but here you’re colleagues and your performance is measured in exactly the same way as every other member of this force. Mags, you’re now in line command of many people who outranked you only a couple of years ago. Some of them you like, some you don’t, but treat them all the same. You have to be that wee bit aloof; your authority has to be clear to them and to others. If any of them are reluctant to call you “Ma’am” in front of junior officers, deal with it, for this is a disciplined service and your rank requires it. What they call you in the privacy of their own offices is for you to determine.’

‘Got it.’

‘I know you have. It might lead to some awkward moments. . hell, no, it will. . but it’s the next step to being a chief constable,’ he glanced around, taking in Mackie, McGuire and Mackenzie, ‘for all of you. So,’ he smiled, ‘no more scheduled visits to your divisions.’

His gaze locked on Mackie. ‘Brian, what’s on your plate?’

The deputy rolled his eyes. ‘The joint working party with the local authorities, fire and rescue and the ambulance service on traffic management; ten thirty, Edinburgh City Chambers, and I know from experience that it’ll go on all day.’

‘You better leave now,’ Skinner growled, ‘if you want to get there on time. Speaking as a commuter, I’m fucking hacked off with it.’

‘Any message for them?’

‘Yeah, tell them from me that presiding over an unfolding disaster does not count as any sort of management in my book. Tell them they should suspend all work on the trams in the city centre, and switch to laying the line from the western end inwards. That might give some people a bit of respite, or at least share the grief. Tell them that the chief constable will not have gridlock in the city and that if this fucking project falls further behind schedule, I will arrest the senior managers and have them shot!’ He sighed. ‘Failing that, just do your best to get people to work on time.’

‘I take it you were held up this morning,’ said Mackie.

‘You take it right. Seriously, it’s one thing for me to be late for the office, but it’s another for ambulances and fire appliances to be stood still in traffic. That’s where the focus has to lie.’

‘I’ll emphasise that. I was planning to say that our traffic cars are going to crack down on improper use of bus lanes. Emergency vehicles, top priority, taxis and scheduled buses second; I’m also going to suggest that city tour buses and private hire coaches should be banned from using them.’

‘Can we do that?’

‘We can amend the regulations.’

‘How will that help rush-hour motorists?’

Mackie allowed himself a thin smile. ‘It won’t,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Bob.’

‘Bugger. Anything else?’

‘One thing.’ The DCC glanced at Mackenzie. ‘David flagged it up for me. The Serious Crime and Drug Enforcement Agency is on the lookout for a new deputy director, and from what he’s heard there’s a degree of urgency about it.’

‘Interested?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Quite right, but if the director’s job comes up and you fancy it. .’

‘I’m happy where I am. . unless that was an unsubtle hint.’

‘Far from it. But you’d be perfect for the job.’

‘I’ll settle for imperfection for now. However, there’s a second job on offer; national drugs co-ordinator, open to chief inspectors and above.’

Skinner’s eyes settled on Mackenzie. ‘David. You’ve got drugs squad experience, and you were damn good at it. Fancy it?’

The superintendent’s eyebrows came together. ‘There was a time when I might have, Chief, but even then I wouldn’t have been right for it. I’m a recovering addict myself; my problem might have been alcohol, but still, that’s an environment I’m better off avoiding.’

‘That’s good. I’m selfish; we need you here.’ He paused, then turned to the head of CID.

‘Mario: what was that wake-up call about?’

McGuire grinned. ‘It was to a suicide, would you believe?’

‘Eh? What did you do to the guy who called you out to that?’

‘The guy was McIlhenney. He was called before me, by Ian McCall.’

Skinner leaned back in his chair. ‘Right, Ian’s a sensible guy. So do I take it that death wasn’t self-inflicted?’

‘No. Subject to forensics and the post-mortem report, it almost certainly was. What gives us an interest is the identity of the dead man: Tomas Zaliukas.’

The chief constable gasped in surprise. ‘The Lithuanian? Tommy Zale? What did he do?’

‘He climbed Arthur’s Seat at some point last night and shot himself, with a sawn-off.’ The DCS opened his mouth and touched his palate with the first two fingers of his right hand. Beside him, Maggie Steele shuddered. ‘McCall saw that tattoo on the back of his hand, and knew who he was. We left Dorward and his team to gather him all together.’

Skinner closed his eyes, as if he was picturing the event. ‘Tomas always saw himself as a hard man. Not without cause, I must say; he even took a swing at me once, when he was a young gang-banger. I’d to hit him four times to convince him to stop; only Lennie Plenderleith ever did better than that.’

‘Did you do him for assault?’

‘There was nobody else around at the time; no witnesses on either side.’ He chuckled. ‘Besides, it would have been awkward; I broke his cheekbone.’ He thought for a few seconds. ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘it fits. I can see that if Tomas decided to do himself in, it wouldn’t be any overdose, it would be done in the most macho way he could imagine. I wonder why he chose Arthur’s Seat.’

McGuire’s eyes glinted. ‘If he’d done it at home, his wife would have been annoyed at the mess.’

‘Are you sure he was sporting one of those?’ the chief constable asked. ‘I heard a whisper at the golf club at the weekend from a surveyor who works with his property side that Regine had taken the kids and left.’

‘Where did he hear that? Paulie and I were in Indigo last Monday and she was there, as usual.’

‘From Tomas himself; last Friday.’

‘Do you know where she is now? I suppose we’ll have to get in touch with her.’

‘No, I don’t. She’s French, though, so I guess that might be a good place to start. Do you know their story?’ he asked, looking around the table, at four shaken heads. ‘They’re quite a couple; well matched. They met when Tommy was downmarket; he’d been involved in a couple of low-grade rackets, protection, fencing stolen fags and alcohol, a dodgy security company, usual things. But he’d started his move upwards, into his first couple of pubs, the kind with go-go dancers, before they gave them poles. Regine was a proper dancer; she applied for a job. When Tomas asked her to audition, and told her what was required, she told him she wasn’t a stripper, and walked out. A couple of days later, he met her in the street, apologised, and offered her a job managing a place he’d just bought. And they went on from there.’

‘You must go back a bit with Zaliukas, Bob,’ Brian Mackie commented.

Skinner nodded. ‘Yes indeed. I remember him from the time when he first pitched up in Edinburgh, back in the late eighties. He was only a kid, not much more than twenty; it was just before the collapse of the Soviet Union. He was a merchant seaman, on a Lithuanian vessel; he jumped ship down in Leith, walked into the first Catholic church he could find and asked for sanctuary, would you believe. He got it too, in a way; the parish priest took to him and helped him get leave to remain in Britain. Not that the Lithuanian regime of that time gave a shit about one wee sailor. It was too busy clinging to power by its toenails. Tommy was still cautious, though; he decided that he needed more effective back-up than the priest who’d helped him out, so he went to work for Tony Manson, driving him, running errands, doing security at some of his massage parlours. He was a gopher, really.’

He paused, reflecting. ‘He fancied himself, though, and when his country finally got its independence, Tomas brought some of his old mates across, and set up his own team. That’s when he got the tattoo, by the way, to show that he was the boss. Manson was OK with the new operation. If you remember, Tony didn’t like too many people close to him, and in truth with big Lennie Plenderleith as his right-hand man he didn’t need them either. He made a habit of contracting stuff out, and the Lithuanian boys came in very handy for that. If somebody had crossed him and he wanted to keep Lennie out of it, he’d give the discipline job to Tommy Zale. . as most people called him then. I also know for a fact that a couple of times Tony took on contracts for associates of his in Newcastle and in London, and passed the work on to those boys; cash down and a bonus on completion.’

‘No chance of a prosecution?’ Steele asked.

‘It was a while afterwards before I found out, but anyway, there was no chance of any physical evidence. I had inquiries made in both cities, and the people involved were being treated as missing, no more. No bodies were ever found, but there must have been proof of some sort that the jobs had been done for Manson to have paid out.’

‘Unless your source was spinning you a tale,’ Mackie suggested.

‘No chance. My source is unimpeachable; he had no reason to lie to me, nothing to gain, nothing to lose. The stories showed what the Lithuanians were capable of in those days. They didn’t just work for Manson either. They freelanced, they did security work, unlicensed but more or less legitimate, they fenced stolen goods, and once a couple of them were fingered as team members on an armed robbery put together by Jackie Charles. Again, though, it couldn’t be proved.’

He smiled, and his eyes seemed to focus on a point back in the past. ‘I was a DCI at the time, and Alf Stein was head of CID. He told me to sort it out. That was all the instruction he gave me. I went to see Tommy, one on one, and we had a wee chat. I leaned on him, and told him that I was not going to have hooligans with guns running around on my patch, and that if he didn’t bring his people into line I would show him what hard really meant. He thought it was a challenge; found out it was a promise.’

The chief constable paused. ‘He got the message, though. He knew that if he kept on the way he was going, I’d see him in the jail, so gradually he changed. He focused on the security business, and if he was still fencing, I never heard about it. He bought a pub in Leith, then another in Slateford. When the transfer of the licences came up before the board, I was asked to comment on his suitability. I took a chance; I gave him the nod. Having done that, I kept a bloody close eye on them. They did well; both had been pretty scruffy, but Tommy invested money in them and took them upmarket. Sure, he had the go-go girls at lunchtime and in the evenings, but they were top-end talent, no sexual simulation, and definitely no interaction with the customers. He installed two of his boys as managers, and employed his own firm to handle security, so there was no trouble. That was a big change; before he took over, our uniforms were never out of those places.’

‘And now when they go in, they’re off duty,’ said Mackie.

‘That’s right,’ Skinner concurred. ‘Tomas set up his company then, moved the pubs into them and started to expand. The next place he bought was a rundown disco down at Abbeyhill. That’s where Regine took over as manager; between them they did another complete makeover, and turned it into the most popular nightspot in the city, a club, instead of a disco. She’s managed it ever since, and supervised all the other places.’

‘Indigo,’ said McGuire. ‘Yes, Paula and I go there quite often.’

‘She doesn’t mind, given who owns it?’

The head of CID stared at him, his eyebrows rising. ‘Why should she?’ he asked, slowly.

‘Ah well,’ Skinner smiled. ‘That’s another story I heard on this grapevine of mine. The way it went, although Tomas was concentrating mainly on what he called his “entertainment division”, he couldn’t quite kill off some of his old Tommy Zale habits. One day, Paula’s dad, your Uncle Beppe, had a visit from him in his office. Tommy told him that the Viareggio family had a very nice, broad-based business, with great growth potential and that he’d like a piece of it. Beppe thanked him very politely, but said that he didn’t need or want any outside investors. Tommy told him that wasn’t quite what he had in mind, and gave him a couple of days to think it over. As we both know, Papa Viareggio, your grandad, would have chucked him out the window, second floor or not, but Beppe wasn’t cut from that cloth. He crapped himself and went running to Paula.’ He paused. ‘With me so far?’

Impassive, McGuire nodded.

‘Good. As always, Paula knew what to do. Next day, Tommy was in his own office, when two fucking monsters came in unannounced, having walked right through the two bodyguards outside. They showed him warrant cards, which identified them as police. One of them didn’t say anything, but the other, a guy with black curly hair and a wicked smile, told Tommy that he’d just done something incredibly fucking stupid by threatening his uncle, and that any repetition would have the most severe consequences. Beppe never had any more trouble; in fact he never heard a word from Zaliukas again.’

‘And where did you hear all this?’ the DCS asked quietly. ‘Has our pal Neil been indiscreet around the dinner table?’

‘Hah!’ Skinner laughed out loud. ‘You should know him better than that. No, I heard the tale from none other than Tommy Zale himself. Priceless: the silly bugger thought I’d sent you to warn him off! He called me within the hour and asked if he could come and see me. He began by apologising for what he said was a complete misunderstanding, and for not making it clear to Mr Viareggio that his visit was simply to see whether they might have had any business interests in common. At first I hadn’t the faintest fucking idea what he was talking about, but I let him go on, and kept my face straight as I pieced it together. When he was done, I gave him the glare and asked him if he’d taken the warning to heart. He assured me that he had, but that it hadn’t been necessary.’

‘And yet you never said anything to us? Or even thought about it?’

‘Oh, but I thought about it, boyo,’ the chief constable told him. ‘I almost had the pair of you on the carpet for using the job to sort out a family matter. But when I considered it some more, I decided that if you had come to me and reported an attempted extortion, as you should have, I’d have told you to do exactly what you did. I knew who you two were at that point, but I didn’t know a lot about you. After that, I made it my business to find out, and by Christ, look where both of you are now.’

McGuire smiled. ‘In that case it’s probably just as well that McIlhenney talked me out of beating the shite out of him and throwing him in the dock.’

‘That was a good career move on his part, I’ll concede. . and on Tomas Zaliukas’s, when he threw himself on my mercy. He was desperate to convince me that he was entirely legit, and by that time, apart from the odd wee aberration like his silly threat to Beppe, I reckon he probably was. I’m quite certain that nothing illegal ever happened in any of his pubs, not with his knowledge at any rate. He went on to acquire a dozen pub and club licences across Edinburgh, and a few more in the counties around it. They were all spotless.’

‘No drugs going through any of them?’ asked Mackie, his tone sceptical. ‘Not even the discos?’

‘Nope. There were warning signs in all the toilets of his clubs, and the managers all had firm instructions; anyone caught smoking hash or popping pills on the premises was chucked out and barred. Anyone caught snorting coke or injecting was detained and handed over to us. It was the same with anyone pushing any sort of drug, but they were usually carrying a few lumps and bumps by the time we arrived.’

‘Those principles still apply,’ McGuire confirmed. ‘The notices are still there in the bogs in Indigo. . and in any of Zaliukas’s pubs that I’ve been in. He welcomes cops in all of them, and because we go there, the places are clean in every respect, and there’s no chance of any of the new young hooligans going into any of them looking for protection money. As for Paula, I don’t think she knows that the place is owned by the same guy who scared her dad, if she even remembers that incident. But come to think of it, I’ve never seen Zaliukas in any of his own places.’

‘You don’t, very often,’ said Skinner. ‘Tomas has kept a low profile for some years now.’ He glanced at his deputy. ‘As for the drugs thing, Brian, not even in the wildness of his youth was he ever into that. Tony Manson wouldn’t have allowed it. He was a funny bugger, that one. I know that he dealt drugs himself; it was one of many things we couldn’t pin on him. But I always had the feeling that he did it so that he could control it in his territory. He didn’t leech on the users either; back then it was reckoned that Edinburgh had the cheapest smack in Scotland.’

‘Are you saying he was benevolent?’ Steele murmured.

‘I’m saying that if there can be such a thing as a responsible drug baron, he was. He realised that if he didn’t feed the demand, someone else would, somebody who didn’t care at all about the addicts, only about the money that could be screwed out of them. Manson didn’t really approve of the business, and he reasoned that made him the best person to run it. This strange morality of his led him to make sure that none of his closest associates, the people he liked most, were involved in it in any way. Lennie Plenderleith never was, and neither were Tommy Zale and his Lithuanian crew. He ran quality control himself, he subcontracted distribution to other people. They hired the dealers, and Tony had Dougie Terry. . Remember him? The guy we called the Comedian?. . keep an eye on them to make sure no liberties were being taken. If we’d been running the trade we couldn’t have done it better than he did. When Tomas started to break into the pub business, it was easy for him to make his places drug-free from the start, because Manson spread the word that they were off limits. By the time Tony died, Zaliukas was strong enough to make it stick himself.’

‘You sound,’ said Mackie, ‘that you wish Manson was still around.’

‘I do, in a way. Since he met his end, the business he ran with discipline and with the understanding that it’s bad practice to bleed your customers dry has been taken over by people with no morality at all. Fortunately they tend to be stupid and we knock them down pretty quick, but when we do that, in the process we create a business opportunity, and the whole cycle begins again. It’s like that bloke who had to push a rock uphill for all eternity.’

‘Sisyphus,’ Mackenzie volunteered.

‘You can get injections for that,’ the chief constable retorted. He looked up at the wall clock. ‘You people should be getting on with your day.’ As his colleagues stood, he added, ‘My highlight, incidentally, will be lunch in Oloroso with my daughter, to celebrate her appointment as a partner in Curle Anthony and Jarvis. She called me last night to give me the good news. The even better news is that she’s paying.’

‘Congratulations,’ Steele exclaimed.

‘Thanks, Mags, but it was all her own work.’ As the others headed for the door, he put a hand on McGuire’s shoulder. ‘Stay for a minute, Mario, please. Sit yourself back down.’

When Skinner resumed his seat he saw that the head of CID was smiling. ‘What’s tickling you?’ he asked.

‘I’m thinking of what you said about Papa Viareggio. You were wrong. He wouldn’t have done anything to Zale himself; he’d have done what Paula did, more or less. She came to me and asked me to see to the guy as I thought best. He, though, he’d have called somebody else, and Zale would have had that hand with the tattoo nailed to a tree, maybe about ten feet off the ground. I remember when I was about eight or nine, this very old man came over from Italy for a visit. He was Papa’s uncle, Patrizio, and he was fucking ferocious. He wasn’t all that big, but he never smiled, and there was something about his eyes that chilled me; there was no twinkle in them, all darkness. He was, and remains, the scariest man I’ve ever met, and from what Papa told me when I was a bit older, my great-grandfather was just like him.’

‘Jimmy Proud, my predecessor, knew your grandad well,’ said the chief. ‘He liked him, but he reckoned that he’d evolved from a long line of brigands, and that you have a lot of his blood in your veins. He was right, and it’s brought you to where you are now.’

‘I’ll settle for that,’ the DCS confessed, ‘although I’m still surprised by it. When I was a detective constable, detective sergeant was the height of my ambition. I never dreamed I’d get any higher.’ He nodded towards the ceiling. ‘Thanks, Papa.’ He paused. ‘What did you want to talk about, boss?’

‘Zaliukas. I’m still thinking about him. That incident with Beppe could have shaken the last of the cowboy out of him; indeed I thought it had. He built his leisure chain still further, he went into property development, taking old, derelict buildings and restoring them; he won a lot of respect in the business community. There was even a feature on him in Insider magazine. He was about to be up there with the big boys. . and then he went and got himself kicked off the ladder. You know how, of course?’

‘Sure,’ said McGuire. ‘He bought Tony Manson’s massage parlours, from his estate, after his death. And when word of that got around, it reminded every one of those establishment figures who were just about to accept him of what he was and where he’d come from. He was back on the outside.’ He looked at Skinner. ‘Did you know that Beppe was offered those, by the selling solicitor?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘The daft sod was interested, but Nana Viareggio, my mother, and Paula all vetoed it. After that, Tomas Zaliukas bought them. Why, do you think? You’re right, it did cut across what he’d been doing up till then.’

‘I believe,’ the chief replied, ‘that he honestly thought they’d fit into the leisure business that he was creating. If he did, big mistake, Tomas. It wasn’t like buying an old pub and giving it a makeover. The customer base of those places was never going to change. There was a naivety about Zaliukas; he was a family man by this time, happy with Regine and Aimée, the first of his daughters. He may well have thought that there was a market for massage parlours, saunas, and general pampering. He may have thought that was what these places really did, even though he’d worked for Manson and seen them close up.’

‘Or maybe he just thought he could be anonymous,’ McGuire suggested. ‘I heard he set up another company to buy the places.’

‘Maybe, but whatever his motives were he wound up owning a chain of brothels, pure and simple. From being a fast-rising young tycoon, be became “the pimp” behind his back. Sure, he did spend money on the facilities, and he did employ a couple of people who actually were qualified masseurs, of both genders. But the same customers still went in there, with maybe an added twist. He had women turning up and booking the males, looking for the same special services. He had gay blokes going in expecting a hand job from them. Most of his new staff walked out; most but not all. So he gave in to the inevitable, and he ran the places as they’d always been run, on the borderline of legality, clean, but seedy, left alone because they bring prostitutes in off the street. I wonder if that had anything to do with Regine leaving,’ he mused.

‘Whether it had or not,’ said the head of CID, ‘his death isn’t something for us to follow up. The aftermath will be for Zaliukas’s lawyers. The man blew his brains out, unassisted; that’s how it was. Dorward’s people won’t find a scrap of evidence that says anything different.’

‘But he still has to be identified,’ Skinner pointed out. ‘From what you’ve said, he isn’t recognisable, and there won’t be enough left for a dental match-up either. His tattoo isn’t going to satisfy a court.’

‘We’ll get DNA from his car, or from his house, and we’ll match it to the body. That’ll do it.’

‘You’re probably right,’ the chief granted. ‘But the thing is,’ he continued, ‘I want us to investigate it. Unless the post-mortem shows up a credible reason, I’d like to know what it was that drove Tomas to do something as out of character as taking his own life. What’s the responsible division? Arthur’s Seat? Central, yes. I’d like you to have Becky Stallings and her team do some digging. They don’t necessarily have to go looking for Regine, but they should talk to his team, the people who worked for him, talk to everyone who had regular dealings with him. Find out if anything had happened lately, anything serious enough to make him do something as drastic as this.’

‘Is that really our business? We all have to prioritise, boss.’

‘It’s a sudden death, from gunshot wounds. We’re required to make a report to the fiscal, so that he can decide how to categorise it. That makes it our business; let’s just spend a bit more time on this than we normally would on a suicide.’

‘Even if it leads us nowhere?’

‘Even if. .’ he stopped abruptly. ‘My friend,’ he went on, ‘I might be the wearing chief constable’s epaulettes, but I’m still a detective, and I will be till I die. All my career, I’ve found success by following my instincts. This time they’re telling me there’s something not right here.’