Fatal Last Words

Thirty-seven

‘Boss, where are you?’ McIlhenney asked.

‘I’m stuck on the Forth fucking Bridge again,’ Skinner groaned. ‘Roadworks this time. They can’t build the new crossing soon enough for me.’

‘Did you get the list?’

‘Yes, and I have something else for you as well. An apology from Andy for the heavy-handed approach.’

‘None needed. He had his viewpoint and I had mine.’

‘Don’t kid me, mate; your nose was well out of joint.’

‘Maybe,’ the superintendent conceded. ‘I found myself wondering whether he would have acted the same way if Mario had been here.’

‘He would, no doubt about it. He didn’t take you for a soft touch, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’d have behaved in the same way and the outcome would have been the same. I didn’t promote either of you guys to get rolled over by anyone on your own territory. McGuire might have been less diplomatic than you, that’s all.’

‘I shudder to think how McGuire might have been.’ McIlhenney chuckled, then his mood changed. ‘I’ve got some news for you now,’ he said, ‘and you’re not going to like it. It’s probably as well you’re not moving at the moment.’

‘What’s up?’ said Skinner, suddenly anxious. ‘Has the Glover case gone bad on us?’

‘Nothing to do with that. A name, Asmir Mustafic?’

‘I know him,’ the DCC confirmed, surprise undisguised in his tone. ‘He and his travelling friends are camped almost right in front of my house; you must have noticed them yesterday. Don’t tell me, there’s been bother between him and the locals.’

‘Between him and whom we know not, but he’s come off a bad second. The guy’s dead. He was found near the campsite this morning with his head badly dented. The pathologist reckons somebody took a hammer to him.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ Skinner gasped. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Midnight, give or take.’

‘But I was with him last night. I had a beer with him in the Mallard.’

‘I know that. He was identified by a man called Derek Baillie; he told the officers at the scene that they’d been with you.’

‘That’s right, although Mustafic didn’t stay long. His ingrained suspicions of anyone with a warrant card were just too strong. Who’s lead officer? DCI Leggat?’

‘No, Graham’s on holiday, like half the bloody force. George Regan and Lisa McDermid are running it.’

‘George? I’m fine with that. McDermid’s a bit new to CID, but he’ll keep her right. Do they have any leads so far?’

‘You and Baillie are their only suspects so far.’ He paused. ‘I’m joking, OK! But George says that Baillie’s worried about how his people will take the news.’

‘They’ll take it quietly, or else. I’m having no confrontation between them and the village; tell George to make that clear to Derek Baillie. I assume that his investigation will begin in the encampment, with those who knew the guy. I’m not saying there’s nobody in Gullane who’d do something like this, but I really would like to think there isn’t. Step one, look at Mustafic’s life and his relationships and establish a potential motive. It’s unlikely to be robbery, I’ll tell you that now. The man arrived from eastern Europe a couple of years ago, without a bean and without much English. He earned his keep doing casual jobs or helping other travellers with theirs. Plus I think he had a bit of charity support; there’s a pushy wee guy among the group who fronts for a body called Rights for Ethnic Groups; name of Hugo Playfair.’

‘But travellers aren’t ethnics.’

‘Not in Scotland, technically, but they’re treated as if they are. I have the word of the First Minister for that.’

‘Kid-glove treatment?’

‘No. By the book, but nothing that smells of harassment. Regan will probably need a statement from me. Tell him I’ll take care of it. What’s he doing now?’

‘Heading for the campsite to see what he can find out about Mustafic; to interview the travellers and, if he can, to check out their tool kits, to see who’s got a big hammer, ideally one with blood, bone and brains sticking to it.’

‘Hah,’ Skinner barked, sourly. ‘We should be so lucky.’ He fell silent, but only for a few seconds. ‘What about the Glover investigation? How’s that going on? What about Anderson?’

‘Even as we speak,’ McIlhenney replied, ‘the smooth young knuckles of Detective Inspector Pye should be chapping on his door.’

‘Good. Let’s hope he’s in.’