Fallen Gods

Eighteen

Maggie Rose found the divisional CID office in Torphichen Place depressing at the best of times; on a Sunday morning, with the normal buzz of the rest of the building reduced to a murmur, it seemed to drop to a new level of drabness.

The faces around her were keen, though, and in the main, fresh. Stevie Steele, on her right, was as sharp as the razor that had shaved him.

Opposite her across the table, Detective Constable Alice Cowan sat straight-backed, disturbingly young, but in no way overawed. On either side of her, Ray Wilding and George Regan, detective sergeants both, leaned back in their chairs, exchanging glances behind the girl's back.

And in the doorway, carrying a tray with six mugs, PC Sauce Haddock looked at least three years older in plain clothes than he did in his baggy uniform.

"Okay," the detective superintendent began, as Haddock found a place on the table, and began handing round mugs, 'let's get on with it. I'm sorry to pull everyone in on a Sunday, but this one can't wait till tomorrow. It's already taken on a high profile, and we can't be seen to be holding back on it.

"I'm giving it priority, and so, I have to tell you is the head of CID.

Mr. Pringle would have taken this meeting himself, but he had an engagement last night, so he's sent Ray Wilding, his exec, both as a member of the team and to report back to him." The irreverent George Regan, who had served directly under Dan Pringle in the past and knew his Saturday night habits, grinned broadly, but she let it pass.

"There's another in-house consideration we'd all do well to remember," she continued. "The chief constable was on the invitation list for yesterday's event; as it happened, he couldn't go, but that doesn't mean that he won't be taking a keener interest than usual in our progress.

"Right; you all know the gist of what happened yesterday, but the forensic people, ours and the fire specialists, have taken it a bit further. Detective Inspector Steele will bring you up to date."

She leaned back from the table and picked up her mug, looking sidelong at Steele. Since his promotion he seemed to have grown in authority every day; she knew that Bob Skinner had marked him out, and that the DCC was rarely wrong… on a professional level at any rate. Quickly, but comprehensively, the DI set out the results of the forensic investigation. He explained that while there was a possibility of the device having been triggered from outside the gallery, the thickness of the Royal Scottish Academy's walls and the timing of the detonation made it, in his view, unlikely.

"Too risky; the device was an expert job, and I don't believe that whoever planted it would have taken any chance that it might not have gone off. So, what we're left with, potentially," he concluded, 'is a room full of blue chip suspects. But before we get there, before we start digging into everyone's background and interviewing people who might try to make very big waves about it, we have to make sure that the perpetrator isn't right before our eyes, thanks to the Academy's security cameras.

"So all of us," he glanced at Haddock, 'and that means you too, young Sauce… you're not just here as the gopher… are in for the job we love to hate, identifying people from poor quality security videos, and looking for someone who shouldn't be there."

Steele paused and smiled. "I know, I know. You're going to tell me that you don't know everybody there, so how can you identify them. But we do know everyone who's signed in, and thanks to the very discreet cooperation of DI Mcllhenney's friend, the Scotsman picture editor, who's in charge of the biggest photo library in town, George and I have come up with a list of mug-shots to match most of the people on the guest list… not just the signed-in list, because we have to allow for the possibility of people just walking past the reception table.

There are those who expect everyone to know them, and who won't wear badges for that very reason.

"Those whose photos we don't have will be mostly the partners of guests, but quite a few of them are on that list as well." He stopped as DS Wilding raised a hand. "Ray; question?"

"Yes, Stevie; why don't we bring in the organisers to help us spot all the legit, guests?"

"I'll bring in David Candela if and when we have to, but I don't want to trouble him at this stage. And anyway, there's no guarantee that he'll know every spouse of every business associate. We do have one secret weapon, though."

"Who's that?"

"My mother-in-law," Maggie Rose answered with a smile. "Mrs. Christina McGuire. She was on the guest list, and although she didn't attend, she knows just about everybody who's anybody in Edinburgh on a business or social footing. She's agreed to look at all the faces we can't identify. There won't be many left after that, I can promise you."

"In an ideal world," Steele went on, 'we'll be left with just one unidentified face. Correction, in a truly ideal world we'll spot someone who isn't on the list but who is on a Special Branch file … that's why Alice Cowan is here, by the way… and we'll have our prime suspect."

He leaned forward on the table, showing Maggie his clean, sharp profile, and making her think, unexpectedly, of Paula Viareggio. "The tapes we're really interested in," he said, 'run for about an hour and a half, from the arrival of the first guest, through the incident, and thereafter. They come from four different cameras. I've had them copied, and enhanced as far as is possible… which isn't very much … and I've split them into six lots. We'll each have a video player, we'll each have a different section of tape and we'll each have a complete set of mug-shots, with a name along side it. With all of us working at it, Ms Rose and me included, it's shouldn't take too long.

"So let's get at it, and see if we get lucky."