Dead And Buried

Seventy-three

‘Hey, big man, you’re a star!’ exclaimed Mario McGuire. McIlhenney held the phone slightly further from his ear. ‘I don’t want to be a Starr: he was left with two bloody stumps where his hands used to be.’

‘You can be anything you like. You’re telling me that Charnwood’s confessed.’

‘That’s right, to importing and dealing in drugs, and to the murders of Smith and Falconer. He was formally interviewed by me and by Rod Greatorix, the head of CID in Tayside; he admitted the lot on tape, and then he signed a statement, in the presence of a solicitor. He’ll be up in the Sheriff Court tomorrow, for a formal remand hearing.’

‘What about the wife?’

‘She’s been released, and her son’s been returned to her. We’d have been struggling to charge her anyway, and her husband’s specifically exonerated her.’

‘We couldn’t do her for travelling with a false passport?’

‘That would be difficult: it was found in Eddie’s possession, not hers, and he would probably say that she thought it was her real one.’

‘Fair enough,’ said McGuire. ‘He might even be telling the truth; maybe she really didn’t know anything about it.’

‘Remind me, friend,’ said McIlhenney, ironically, ‘is the Pope a Catholic?’

‘Last time I looked. He’s still refusing to admit to Starr, you say?’

‘Yes, and we don’t have any evidence against him, other than strong circumstantial. My theory is that he’s worked out that if he does, any judge who heard what was done to him would give him a minimum thirty-year stretch.’

‘He’d be right too. Bugger it, we’ll settle for what we’ve got. It’s party time in Leith and you’re on the bell.’