Grievous Angel

Ten

I gave up trying to sleep just after six; apart from my pressing work problems, Thornton’s visit was weighing heavily upon me. He was the last of our parents’ generation, mine and Myra’s, and such a hearty fit guy, that it had never occurred to me that he wouldn’t be around for my fiftieth birthday, and for a few after that. I tried to imagine what I would say to Alex when ‘It’ happened, but I couldn’t. Instead, I had a vision of Jean, Alex and myself in the front row of the church where Myra and I had been married, and my eyes filled with tears.

I rose and took my time about getting ready for the day. The face that I saw in the mirror as I shaved was creased and lined, with dark bags under the blue eyes. My hair was all over the place, and looked greyer than ever. I could still find a few dark strands, but they were as outnumbered as the Spartans at Thermopylae. They had begun to retreat on the day that I cut off a lock and put it in Myra’s coffin, and had been quickly overcome by the silver hordes.

‘Vulnerable?’ I grunted. ‘No, you’re just a sad old bastard.’

I chose a suit, a pale cream linen thing that was meant to look crumpled… or so I’d been told by a dickhead in Austin Reed, who hadn’t bothered to tell me that it would need dry cleaning after almost every wearing. I complemented it with a black shirt, but didn’t bother with a tie. I remembered my admonition to McGuire about flashy dressing but disregarded it; I wanted to leave my image with the man I’d be seeing that day long after I’d left him.

I was on my second coffee, and had run almost half a loaf through the toaster, when Alex joined me, also dressed for action. ‘Why did Alison go?’ she asked, a little anxiously, as she filled a bowl with cereal. ‘Did you have a row?’

‘No, of course not,’ I reassured her. ‘She had a work call.’

‘Oh,’ she said, relieved. ‘That’s all right, then.’

I laughed. ‘There will come a day in your life, kid, when you get a business call at half past one in the morning. When it happens, I promise you that it will not be all right.’

‘Lawyers don’t get calls in the middle of the night.’

‘No? I reckon that if this career choice of yours is definitive, it’s time I introduced you to a couple I know. There’s a man called Mitchell Laidlaw, one of my five-a-side football chums. I’ll ask him if he’ll have a talk with you. And there are a couple of advocates that you ought to meet.’

She shrugged. ‘If you want.’ Then she turned to what was really on her mind. ‘This trip of Grandpa’s, Pops. Do you know where he’s going?’

‘No,’ I said… honestly, I believe. ‘I haven’t a clue.’

‘I think it’s weird, going on holiday and not knowing where you’re going.’

‘Not at all. People used to do it all the time, before the days of packages to bloody Benidorm, back when you went on holiday in your own country, not in other people’s. When I was a kid, we went to Fife.’ That was the only place my mother would go, but I didn’t tell Alex that. She looked at me with a kind of pity.

I was in the office by quarter to nine, but I wasn’t first. McGuire was there before me. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the suit. ‘You really do need to meet my tailor, boss,’ he said.

I waved a middle finger in his direction and retreated to my sanctum. I hung my jacket on a hook… no sense in creasing it more than necessary… sat behind my desk and called Alison’s mobile. ‘How’s it going?’ I asked. ‘Has Dan got a result yet?’

‘Can’t talk now,’ she replied, quietly. ‘Office?’

‘Yes.’

‘Give me five.’

I replaced the phone in its socket and waited, looking out into the outer office, and waving, first to Andy Martin, then Jeff Adam, as each arrived. The DS stuck his head round the door. ‘Want me to get back on to Newcastle, boss, and ask them to dig up that car auction manager?’

‘No. Get them to give you his name and number and call him yourself. Cut out the middle man.’

‘Will do.’

Alison called back a couple of minutes later, on my mobile. ‘Sorry about earlier,’ she said. ‘I was with Mr Pringle.’

‘Nuff said. I understand. Where are you now?’

‘I’m back at Gayfield now, in the ladies. Did you get a decent night’s sleep after I left?’

‘Log-like,’ I lied. ‘How goes it?’

‘No result, but we do have a witness, though. Mr Pringle’s team did a door-to-door; they knocked up everyone living in the area. The owner of a mews house in Jamaica Street Lane told them that he came home just after midnight and was just closing his garage after putting his car away, when a man came running past him, heading in the direction of India Street. He gave a decent description: twenties, tall, slim, clean-shaven, black hair, khaki-coloured cotton jacket.’

‘That’s a start.’

‘More than a start. Bob, this is the same man; I’m sure of it.’ Just what I did not want to hear. ‘He’s changed the hair, as you said he would, but the rest of the description matches Wyllie’s. And that’s not where it ends. When you called earlier we’d just left the home of the manager of the Giggling Goose, a man called Ferrier. We ran the description past him. He told us that it fitted someone who’d been involved in a dust-up in his pub, earlier on. What you have to understand is, his customers aren’t exclusively gay; there’s no sign over the door, and his clientele’s usually mixed.’

‘Bet on it,’ I said. ‘I’ve had a pint in there myself before now.’

‘Okay, so you know what it’s like. Well, according to Ferrier, a wee bit before twelve, our man bought a pint.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘Yes, as far as Ferrier could tell. Anyway, as he was backing away from the bar, he bumped into two guys and spilled his Guinness all over them. It was his fault, but he started to swear at the other two, and it got a bit heated. There were a couple of homophobic remarks, and Ferrier told them to shut up. Khaki jacket wouldn’t, though. He called them a couple of wankers, said they were hiding behind the barman’s apron, threw what was left of the Guinness in their faces and headed for the door.’

‘Did they go after him?’

‘Only one of them. The other one, his pal, tried to stop him, but he shook him off. He went charging out and he never came back.’

‘Did nobody go and look for him?’ I asked.

‘Ferrier said that about ten minutes later, his mate asked him to mind his drink and went looking for him. He came back though, and said he couldn’t see him. That’s not surprising. Just at the end of the lane, where it splits, there are a few steps leading down into the courtyard of the Jamaica Mews flats. The body was hidden down there in the shadows, out of sight of the lane. It was only found when a couple of girls tripped over it on the way home. It was a hell of a mess; multiple stab wounds, big ones, including one in each eye.’

‘So the khaki jacket would be pretty bloody,’ I suggested.

‘Not necessarily. He must have died very quickly, for there wasn’t as much spread of blood as the number of wounds would suggest.’

‘Have you got an ID for him?’

‘No, he had nothing on him. Ferrier didn’t know him by name and there was no wallet found. He had one when he was in the pub, so khaki jacket must have taken it.’

‘Fuck!’

‘I agree, but what’s it to you?’

I told her of my fear. There was a multiple murderer out there, or there would be when Weir’s life support was switched off. It was always possible that Alf Stein would take over the hunt himself, but that wasn’t his style, not when he had the Serious Crimes Unit up his sleeve to put a bit of PR gloss on it.

‘What should I do now?’ she asked.

‘You should tell Dan Pringle what you know, and then bring Alastair up to speed when he gets back from Perth. They’ll report to Alf, and next thing you know,’ I sighed, ‘I can see now, it’ll be pass the fucking parcel to yours truly.’

I left her to follow my suggestions, or not, as she chose, and went back to my own day. Once everyone had arrived I pulled my team together, and brought everyone up to speed on developments in the Marlon murder investigation, the van, the Newcastle connection, my Friday visit to Lennie Plenderleith, what he’d told me about the reason for Tony Manson’s absence, and the speed with which he’d been moved in to ‘babysit’… some baby!… Bella.

‘What do we read into that?’ Fred Leggat wondered.

‘It says to me that Marlon’s death was as big a surprise to Tony as it probably was to the boy himself. We can expect that the man will be taking it very seriously, now he’s back. I’m going to see him this morning to make sure that he knows he’s in our thoughts.’

‘But are we any closer to understanding why Marlon was killed?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know about any of you guys, but I’m not. Newcastle: that’s all we’ve got.’ I looked across at Jeff Adam; he was at his desk, seated, leaning forward, shoulders hunched, phone pressed to his ear, in his left hand, scribbling in his notebook with the other. I waited till he was finished.

He turned in his chair as he replaced the phone, with a small involuntary jump as he realised that every eye in the room was focused on him. ‘What?’ he exclaimed, provoking a round of laughter. It made me feel good. I was brought up to believe that a happy team was usually a successful team. (Too bad that my dad didn’t realise what was happening within his own small squad.)

‘A name,’ Adam announced. ‘I have a name. The Transit was bought by one Glenn Milburn, number seventeen Woodvale Avenue, Wallsend, Newcastle.’

‘Real name, or could it be a fake?’ I asked.

‘Not very likely, boss. The auction house insists on proof of identity from all buyers. Milburn produced his passport, so unless that was a phoney, it’s him. The manager even gave me a description. Big bloke, face like a front-row forward, he said. Whatever that means.’

‘Usually it means that only a short-sighted mother could love it,’ Martin chuckled.

‘Excellent, Jeff,’ I told the DS. ‘A good start to the day.’

‘How do we play it, boss?’

‘You talk to your Newcastle CID contacts; check with NCIS to see if this Milburn has a record, known associates, and so on. You’d better get down there.’ I looked around the team and settled on McGuire. ‘Take Mario with you. I want this guy lifted, I want a name for the second man, and ideally I want the pair of them in our custody by this evening. As a minimum, I want Milburn. Before you set off, though, you must see the fiscal’s office about getting a warrant from a sheriff to arrest Milburn, and his pal if you can put a name to him, and bring them here. The rights to legal access are different in England and I don’t want this investigation hindered by some fucking lawyer arguing about jurisdiction.’

He nodded. ‘Understood, sir. I’ll speak to Davie Pettigrew. He’s my tame fiscal.’ He looked at McGuire. ‘Mario, you make the call to Newcastle. I’ll give you a name.’

‘Good enough,’ I said, just as the phone rang in my room. I went back to my desk and picked it up.

‘Jesus, Bob, that was a bit embarrassing last night,’ Detective Superintendent Alastair Grant began. ‘I didn’t know about you and Alison Higgins.’

‘You still don’t, buddy,’ I warned him.

‘Sure, that’s a given. But still, it was a surprise, especially after she cut you like a knife on Saturday in the Sheraton. Mind you,’ he chuckled, ‘it does explain why she cut you like a knife. Who was that gorgeous brunette you had on your arm?’

‘A witness,’ I replied, abruptly.

‘She’s not a hostile witness, that’s for fucking certain.’

‘Listen, Alastair,’ I warned him, ‘if all you’ve got to do with your day is get yourself on my shit list, you want to find something else, sharpish.’

He laughed. ‘When the man of mystery gets caught out twice in two days, you can’t expect it to go unremarked.’

‘Fine,’ I retorted, ‘but if it doesn’t go unreported I’ll come looking for you.’

‘Don’t worry, my mouth will stay shut…’

‘And nothing will be said to Alison.’

‘Absolutely not, no.’

‘Good. Now,’ I asked, ‘is there another reason for this so far annoying phone call?’

‘I take it she told you what it was all about,’ he said.

‘You shouldn’t assume that.’ I paused. ‘But let’s say that I forced it out of her.’

‘It’s the same bloke in each case, we’re sure,’ he volunteered. ‘I’ve suggested to Dan Pringle that we should take the lead in both inquiries, but he’s on his high horse. He says that his is a murder, while ours is only attempted, or maybe even just serious assault.’

‘That’s a crap argument and we both know it. You outrank him; don’t suggest, man, bloody tell him.’

‘I would, but he’s been to Alf.’

I laughed, softly, seeing a bandwagon heading in my direction. ‘Go on,’ I murmured.

‘And Alf says-’

‘That he’s not holding your jackets while you sort it out,’ I offered, ‘and that the lead in the investigation passes to me?’

‘That’s right,’ Grant admitted, after a moment’s hesitation.

‘Does he want me to go and see him?’

‘No, he’s at what he calls an inter-force CID exchange today, although I’m sure I heard the swish of swinging golf clubs in the background when I spoke to him. He asked me to pass it on to you, and also to give you any assistance that you need. By that, he meant manpower.’

Since I had known what was coming, I had thought it through. ‘Make that woman-power,’ I told him. ‘I want Alison to lead both stabbing investigations, working out of your office, but reporting to me.’

‘Shouldn’t she move to Fettes for the duration?’ he asked.

‘No fucking way, man,’ I retorted, ‘and I shouldn’t have to spell out why.’

‘No, maybe not,’ he conceded. ‘Do you want anyone else?’

‘Assistance as necessary, but for the moment I’ll assign a couple of people to work with her. Tell her what’s happened… it won’t come as a surprise… then ask her to come up here right away, so I can brief them all together.’

As I hung up, I turned my thoughts to planning my day. While I’d been speaking to Grant, the force press officer had left a message with Fred Leggat, wanting me to update the media on the Watson investigation, but my new inquiry would have to be dealt with too, and that would grab most of the headlines. I could have done without it, but I didn’t trust the press guy to handle it on his own. He was a police officer, a veteran uniformed inspector, who’d been put there to see out his time. He was known among the senior ranks as ‘Inspector Hesitant’. He was fine for reading out prepared statements, but I couldn’t trust him to handle questions without pissing in the soup.

I’d been lobbying Alf Stein for a while about the need for a specialist professional in that office, and he’d taken it to the Command Corridor, but he’d run up against the age-old blocker, ‘budget considerations’.

I called Inspector Hesitant back and told him to call the media in for ten thirty, then went outside to see Brian Mackie and Stevie Steele. Brian knew Alison from our drugs squad days, so it made sense for him to work with her, and I wanted to see how the younger DC functioned under a bit of pressure.

I was impatient to get it all over with; I had a visit to pay that day, as soon as possible, and the enforced delay was annoying me. On top of that, there was something else I had to do, a call I’d forgotten about until Alastair Grant had reminded me, inadvertently.

I might have decided to forget about it altogether, if it hadn’t been for my daughter, and a promise made to her, and… a tingling curiosity inside me that I couldn’t quite manage to suppress.

I rang the Airburst studio, although I wasn’t sure when Mia’s working day began. At nine thirty, it turned out, on that day at least; she was in, and took my call. ‘Hi, Bob,’ she said, in the warm voice that worked so well on radio, and that tingling grew stronger. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘Good, and busy,’ I replied.

‘Before you say anything more,’ she continued, ‘I haven’t forgotten about that demo CD for Alex… but what I did forget was to bring it with me this morning. I’m putting my programme together for this afternoon, then I’m going back home, so if you were free around lunchtime, you could call in and pick it up. And,’ she paused for a second, ‘we could finish that discussion we left hanging in the air on Saturday.’

I ran through my mental diary. Brief Alison; media conference; my priority visit. ‘How much time do you have?’ I asked. ‘I couldn’t make it till one, at the earliest; even then it would depend on where you live.’

‘One would be fine,’ she said. ‘I’m renting a cottage in Davidson’s Mains.’ She gave me the address; it was on the right side of town for where I’d be going.

‘Okay,’ I told her. ‘If anything gets in the way, I’ll call you. By the way, I’ll be talking to the press soon, about Marlon. I’ll be careful what I tell them, but we do have a lead.’

I heard her sigh. ‘Bob, to be honest, I don’t care. Now that you’ve got me extricated from my mother’s clutches, I don’t want any more to do with my family, alive or dead.’

Ten minutes later, the door opened and Alison, all crisp efficiency in spite of her one-thirty start, came into the outer office; she looked around and spotted me almost at once, behind my desk, beckoning her to join me.

She closed the door behind her, and took the seat facing me. ‘You never said you were going to ask for me,’ she said, frowning. ‘First you move me out of drugs, then you second me here.’

‘You’re not seconded,’ I corrected her. ‘You’re working on one specific investigation… the Gay Blade, I’ve decided to call him within this office… and that’s all. You won’t even have a desk here. I’m not messing you around here, Alison. If anything, I’m giving you a real opportunity. Officially, I’m the lead officer, but in practice, you are.’

She frowned. ‘It could be an opportunity to strengthen that glass ceiling if I make a bollocks of it.’

‘No,’ I insisted. ‘I’m not going to expose you to any flak. Officially, I’m out front. If the investigation gets bogged down in quicksand, I’ll take any blame that’s attributed. But when you make an arrest, I’ll be nowhere to be seen, and you’ll be the one on telly. That’s a promise.’

She looked at her hands. ‘I appreciate that, Bob,’ she murmured. ‘But even if it does go well… I’m a bit afraid that I might wind up being accused of fucking my way to the top. Even if nobody says it outright, you know how sexist this place can still be.’

‘Who’s going to think that? There are only two people in the force who know about you and me. As of a few hours ago, Alastair Grant and, before him, Alf Stein. Neither of them will say a word. If anyone else is silly enough to even drop a hint, I will find out about it, and that sad person will find out just how ruthless I can be. Now, let me bring in your new team.’

I went to the door, and called to Mackie and Steele. They joined us, and I filled them in on their new assignment. ‘You’ll be working where DI Higgins determines, and operating under her orders. She’s in complete charge of this unified investigation. Alison, would you like to give us an update.’

‘Yes, boss,’ she replied. She related the stories that I had heard already: first the attack on Weir and Wyllie, next, the provocation and ambush of that morning’s victim, and then she told us something I hadn’t known. ‘We’ve got a possible ID on the latest victim. Half an hour ago, the mother of a man named Albert McCann, aged twenty-seven, called Torphichen Place to report her son missing. She said that he went out for a drink with a pal last night. He didn’t come home, but she assumed that he was staying at the mate’s place. That was until she had a call from his foreman in the Lothian bus garage, where he works as a mechanic, asking where the hell he was. The description she gave matches him exactly, right down to the clothes.’

‘What’s been done about it?’ I asked her.

‘Nothing yet. Superintendent Grant called me to tell me about it just before I got here. He’d asked to be told about all missing person reports as soon as they came in.’

‘Then you know what to do.’

‘Yes.’ She looked at Mackie. ‘Brian, you call Torphichen and get Mrs McCann’s address. If there’s a husband, find out, locate him and get the poor sod to make a formal identification. I saw the body; I wouldn’t want the mother to have to do it if we can avoid it. DC Steele, Brian will get the name of the victim’s pal from his mother. You take a statement from him, and ask him to do a photofit, if he’s any use. Given the time of night that all this happened, his memory might not be too reliable. Once you’re both done, report to me at Torphichen Place. That’s where we’ll be based.’

‘Why not here?’ Mackie asked.

‘I don’t want to be distracted by the rest of this unit’s work,’ she replied, smoothly. ‘We’ll focus better if we’re somewhere else.’ She looked at me. ‘If that’s all, boss…’ I smiled as I nodded; I was relieved that she was beyond calling me ‘Sir’.

When the three of them were gone I closed my office door again and thought about my approach to the media. I was left with only fifteen minutes to prepare, but I knew, pretty much, what I was going to say. I knew also that it wouldn’t involve Newcastle, not until I had the man Milburn in my custody. That didn’t matter, though, for as soon as I announced that the Grove Street and Jamaica Street stabbings were linked, I would be giving them their headlines for the day.

That’s the way it worked out. I didn’t mention McCann by name, not without a formal ID, nor did I touch on the gay overtone, but John Hunter, the city’s top freelance, was shrewd enough to make the connection as soon as I said that the second victim had been in the Giggling Goose just before his death. He went down the wrong track, though, and I had to point out that there was no suggestion that either Weir, or the dead man, was a homosexual.

‘But we can call this guy a serial attacker?’ he persisted.

His income depended on his ability to sell news stories to his media customers, so he was always after a hook to reel them in, but I wasn’t playing. ‘I’ll stick to suspect, John, if you don’t mind, and leave it to your subeditors to add the creative touches.’

Afterwards BBC, STV and Sky wanted interviews for the telly news. It was part of the job, for all that I didn’t like it. Our professional trainers had told me that I look intimidating on camera, and that I should try to be more ‘viewer-friendly’. I told him in return that fearsome was all right with me, and that I wasn’t after Jon Snow’s lot. Still, I gave the people what they wanted, although I did try particularly hard to intimidate the bloke from Sky.

Their faffing about used up twenty minutes of my precious morning, and so it was gone eleven fifteen when I made it back to the office. Fred Leggat looked up as I entered, and I could tell that he was not about to make my day. ‘It’s official, boss,’ he told me. ‘DI Higgins has just called. We now have a double murder inquiry: Archie Weir died this morning, just before eleven.’

‘Poor sod,’ I grunted. ‘No surprise, though. Family informed?’

‘The parents were there when he died, Alison said. They approved switch-off of the life support.’

‘Okay, give it to the press office and tell them to put it out.’ I looked at Martin. ‘Andy, you’re with me. It’s time to broaden your education. Have you got wheels?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, boss. My car’s in the park round the back.’

‘So’s mine. Follow me; I’ve got a private call to make after our visit, so it’s best if you travel under you own steam.’

‘Fine, but where are we going?’ he asked. It was a reasonable question, put with no undue deference. From the beginning, his quiet self-confidence was one of the things I liked about Andy Martin. I’ve never met anyone less likely to be accused of being a teacher’s pet.

Nonetheless, that didn’t stop me from stringing him along. ‘You’ll see when we get there.’

He shrugged his shoulders and slipped them into his leather jacket. ‘Okay, a mystery tour,’ he said, cheerfully. I thought of Thornton and turned away, heading for the door.

His car was two bays away from mine; a red Mazda MX5 convertible with ‘boy’s toy’ written all over it. I had to smile. ‘Is that for go or show?’ I asked.

‘A bit of both,’ he admitted. ‘Nice lines, and it’s got the larger engine option, but it’s still not a Ferrari.’ He looked at my Land Rover with something that might have been either pity or contempt. ‘It’ll out-pull that, though.’

‘That would depend on the sense in which you’re using the word “pull”. The Discovery was built with comfort in mind, and in my albeit limited experience, some ladies don’t like to flash their minge climbing in and out of one of those things.’ I tapped the Mazda’s ragtop. ‘Plus, I prefer a car that you can’t unlock with a Stanley knife.’

I led the way out of the car park, and headed west, towards Queensferry Road, driving slowly to wind Martin up. I continued our stately progress all the way out to the Maybury junction, where I took a right turn, past the doomed Barnton Hotel. Eventually I turned into a cul-de-sac off Essex Road, and pulled up.

I stayed in my car as the young DC left his, and reached across to open the passenger door. ‘Game over,’ I said. ‘Do you see that big house up there?’ He couldn’t have missed it, a big stone pile with a grey slate roof, set in an acre of ground. ‘It’s called “Trinity” and it’s the home of Tony Manson, of whom you’ve heard much said over the last few days. Tony would call himself a businessman. We would, and do, call him a criminal. The thing we like least about him is his dealing in Class A drugs. I can’t think of anything that would put a bigger smile on my face, professionally, than locking him up for twenty years or so, but I’ve never been able to do that.’

‘Why not?’ Martin asked, a little too directly, but I let him off with it.

‘Mainly because of the requirements of our criminal justice system,’ I told him, ‘and that long and meaningful word, corroboration. A lone witness isn’t enough to convict. If you and I took a sledgehammer to his door and found half a ton of smack in his cellar, we’d be most of the way there. But if I did it on my own, it would be my word against his that I didn’t plant it; any case that was taken to court on that basis would be chucked out by the judge at the first time of asking.’

‘Have you ever done that?’ He gulped and added hastily, ‘Searched his place, that is.’

I laughed. ‘It’s “no” to the other, by the way. Searched Tony’s place? Of course we have; twice in my time, but purely for show, with no expectation of success. He’s much too clever and too careful ever to go near any of his merchandise, or to let it be brought anywhere near him. He also follows the basic rule of large-scale criminality, and that is…’ I made it a question.

‘Never give an order to one person,’ he answered, ‘that a second person can hear. Corroboration again.’

‘Exactly, Andy; or even overhear. That’s what keeps him out of our hands. Remember the man I told you about, Perry Holmes?’

‘The guy who was shot?’

‘That’s him. Perry was the master of discretion. In much of his life he was legit. He was a big property developer, and he still has a large portfolio. He conducted that business in the normal way, but for one thing, something he brought from the other side. He would rarely be in the same room with more than one person, unless they were architects showing him plans, or lawyers and the like, who were safe because they were covered by client privilege. Latterly he never even went to restaurants, other than with his brother, Al.’

‘It didn’t do him much good, though.’

‘No,’ I conceded. ‘It didn’t make him bullet-proof. And neither’s Tony; so he’ll be taking Marlon’s murder very seriously. Let’s go and talk to him.’

I started the Discovery, and drove up to the double wrought-iron gate that secured the entrance to Manson’s property. There was a closed-circuit camera set on a stone pillar to the right. I opened my window, leaned out, and waved up at it. A few seconds later, the gates swung open, seemingly of their own accord. I cruised through, up the approach road, and pulled up alongside a black Bentley.

The front door opened as we approached. Two men stood just inside; they were dressed in black, and there was a crisp look to them that suggested a military background. One of them stepped forward, raising his hands as if to frisk me. I raised a hand and glared at him. ‘Don’t make the mistake,’ I warned.

He paused, but didn’t back off. ‘Easy way or hard way?’ he asked.

I don’t react well to threats. I feinted with my left shoulder; and the minder reacted by moving to his own left, a wrong move, as it added to the force of the fist that I whipped up from my side and into his gut. ‘Told you,’ I murmured, as he dropped to his knees, and as Martin stepped forward to intercept his mate.

‘Hey!’ The shout came from a doorway to the left of a wide central staircase. ‘Leave it off, you guys. These are the polis. I wouldn’t have let them in otherwise.’

Tony Manson stepped into the hallway and came towards us; he was wearing a shell suit, and his broad, lived-in, pushing fifty face sported a Mediterranean tan. He wasn’t tall, but squat and powerful; nobody had ever got the better of him in his younger days. There are hard men, and then there are those who really know how to fight. He was one of the latter. ‘Sorry, Skinner,’ he said. ‘My new help. They’re not trained to be subtle.’

‘You hired them in?’ I asked, as one helped the other to his feet.

He nodded. ‘From a security consultancy,’ he said as he led us towards the room from which he had appeared. ‘They came highly recommended.’

‘I’d send them back for retraining, if I were you. They’d better not be armed, incidentally.’ Barely two months had passed since the Dunblane massacre, and every cop in Scotland was paranoid about firearms.

‘They weren’t supposed to need shooters,’ Manson growled. He had that air about him, that rare aura of power and potential for the extraordinary that marks some men out from the rest. He and I had met a few times before, and had sized each other up. I didn’t respect him, not in any way, any more than he did me; but I couldn’t say, not honestly, that I disliked him either. It’s hard to define, even now, but I probably regarded him in the same way that someone else might see a business rival. Make it personal, and your objectivity’s at risk. That’s a maxim I’ve always preached to my people, but sometimes it’s been difficult to hold to it myself. One thing I will say for him. When he controlled the drugs trade in Edinburgh, there was no lethal shit on the street; Tony was hot on quality control, if only because he recognised that killing his customers wasn’t profitable.

He led us into his study. I’d been there before, with warrants; he’d let my team search with no attempt at hindrance, in the certain knowledge that we’d find bugger all. It was a nice, spacious room, oakpanelled, although Manson’s taste in art was too modern to hang there comfortably. The Vettriano… original… was okay, but the Howson looked out of place.

I told him as much. ‘I like it,’ he replied, simply. ‘What do you want me to do? Loan it to the National Gallery? Go on, take a seat. I’ve been expecting you, after Lennie told me you’d paid him a visit.’ He looked at my companion, studying him. ‘New boy?’ he asked.

‘This is DC Martin, Tony. Remember the face, for you’ll be seeing a lot of it from now on.’

‘Oh aye? I thought you were in a different outfit now.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, but I’ve still got an interest in you, don’t you worry about that.’

‘I won’t. I’ve never worried about you, Skinner, and I’m not going to start now.’

‘You’re watching your back, though. The military two-step out there’s evidence of that. Marlon’s murder’s got you rattled.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘For a start,’ I told him, ‘your gates are closed. That’s unusual. Also, those two out there are minders. You’ve never needed their sort before. Marlon, poor lad, couldn’t mind his fucking manners, but you were happy with him. They’re signs of a lack of confidence, I’d say. What are you worried about? What could Marlon have told our friends from Tyneside to make them stop bouncing him off the swimming pool floor? Not that it did him any good, even if he did spill the beans.’

Manson growled, deep down in his chest. ‘Marlon didnae have any beans to spill, the poor little bastard. I don’t know what gave anybody the idea that he had.’

‘Somebody seems to have thought so,’ Martin said.

He glared at the DC. ‘It speaks!’ He turned back to me. ‘Why did you mention Tyneside, Skinner?’

‘Because that’s where Newcastle is, and that’s where we’re in the process of lifting a suspect, and possibly two if we’re lucky. Does the name Glenn Milburn register with you?’

‘No,’ he said, looking me dead in the eye. I believed him. ‘Should it?’

‘You might want to remember it.’

‘Newcastle?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. We traced the van that was used to snatch and transport Marlon. It’s now a pile of burned-out and tangled metal. Milburn bought it at auction about ten days ago; for that job, it looks like.’

He frowned. ‘Skinner, I don’t even know anyone in Newcastle, apart from a bolshie Customs bastard at the airport that gave me a hard time last night.’

‘If you did, would you tell me?’

He grinned. ‘No, but I don’t, so I’ll tell you that, no worries.’ The smile was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. ‘How did they get hold of the boy, Skinner? It wouldnae have been that easy. He wasn’t exactly Frank Bruno, ken, but he was hefty enough and he usually had his wits about him.’

‘We’ve got no idea, Tony. Neither has his mother.’ I caught his eye again. ‘What’s with you and her anyway?’

‘Bella and I are… friendly, like. As far as anybody can be friendly wi’ Bella, that is. I took an interest in her after her brother shot the Holmeses. I know as well as you do that she told him to do it, and I wanted to make sure she wasnae angry with me as well. And,’ as he paused, an angry gleam showed in his eyes, ‘I was sorry for her as well. Gavin Spreckley was a nasty shite and deserved all he got, but it was out of order what they did tae her boy; only a kid, for fuck’s sake. Bella has her uses; she’s got a good brain and when she drops into any of the saunas she’s fierce enough to keep everybody on their toes.’

‘You let her live in that shithole, though.’

‘I’m no’ going to move her in here, man,’ he protested. ‘She’s no’ exclusive, ken.’

I chuckled. ‘That’s pretty well known. Who were you with in Ibiza, by the way?’

‘You mind your own fuckin’ business, Skinner. She’s got nothing to do wi’ this so keep her out of it.’

I could live with that; I couldn’t see that it was relevant either. I changed tack. ‘What was Marlon’s working day, Tony? You don’t have an office other than this. Where was he based?’

‘Here. He came here every morning, drove me anywhere I wanted to go, in the Bentley, minded the door for me, just like those two out there, checked the mail for me… put it through the scanner, ken. ..’

‘Scanner?’ Martin repeated.

‘Metal detector. You never heard of letter bombs, son?’

‘While you were in Ibiza,’ I resumed, ‘what was he supposed to do?’

‘The usual: come here, sit by the phone, watch the telly. If something was really important and he or Lennie couldnae handle it, get in touch with me. But he never did.’

‘So when he left home on Tuesday morning, this is where he’d have been coming?’

‘Aye, but before you ask, he couldnae have been snatched from here. He wouldnae have let anyone through the gates, and the whole place is alarmed, and monitored remotely. State o’ the art. Ah’ve had foxes set it off before now.’

I’d known that; it was on his drugs squad file. ‘Did Bella ask you to take Marlon under your wing?’ I asked him.

He winced. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘That was my idea. I gave the boy a job to keep him close to me. He had bad habits. He was always lookin’ for a fight, as if he’d tae prove something… like we all do when we’re kids, I suppose… and I heard he was carrying a blade. I didn’t want him going the same way as his brother and his uncles, so I brought him in close, where he’d be safe.’ He snorted. ‘Safe! Fuckin’ safe. Glenn Milburn, you said.’

‘I did, and he’s mine, Tony, understand that.’

‘You’d better keep a close eye on him then,’ he rumbled.

‘Why do you think I told you his name?’ I asked. ‘To put you in the loop, and to protect him; because you know that if he should choke on his cornflakes in the remand wing, you will now be the very first person I’ll be looking for.’

He nodded. ‘Revenge is bad for business, you’re sayin’?’

‘Exactly. Not as bad as me, but bad enough. Listen, could Marlon have been mixed up in something that you didn’t know about?’

He stared at me derisively. ‘Nah, no chance of that.’

‘Are you sure? Remember, he’s from a lawless family. I had to rattle his mother’s cage the other day. I found out that she’s been extorting money from her own daughter.’

‘She’s got a daughter?’ I stared at him; for the first time in my life I’d surprised Tony Manson. ‘Christ, she’s a close one. Where’s she been hiding her?’

‘She escaped a long time ago,’ I told him. ‘Tony,’ I continued, ‘I’m going to give you one more chance. We’ve got this Newcastle link, but we don’t know what’s behind it, not yet. Before this day’s out, I hope to be interviewing this man Milburn, and I will not be holding back on him. This is a murder investigation; if you do have any information that might help us, or even any suspicions, then it’s in your interests that you tell me now. If you don’t, and I find out later that you’ve been holding out on me, then I will throw the biggest book I can find at you, as hard as I can.’

I stood; Martin followed. Manson looked up at us. ‘We’ve been here before, Skinner, a few times, and you must ken by now that there’s no way I’ll ever set foot in the High Court, no’ even as a witness. I’ll tell you again, I know nothing about Newcastle, and I’ve got no idea why anyone would want to do that to Marlon. But, I’ve got no reason not to help you find out why the boy was killed, so anything I hear, you will, one way or another. As for this guy Milburn, give him a good one for me, and tell him no’ to be stupid enough to ask for bail.’

The hired bodyguards were in the hall as we walked to the door. The one I’d banjoed gave me what I think was meant to be a meaningful look, but he couldn’t hold on to it when I eyeballed him back. I made a mental note that if I ever retired and went into the security business, I’d never employ people who thought they were tough, only those who knew they were and didn’t need to show it.

I drove Martin the short distance to his car. ‘Well?’ I said, as he opened the passenger door, ‘what did you think of Terrible Tony?’

‘Dangerous and resourceful,’ he replied, firmly. ‘How did he get where he is?’

‘By moving in on a guy who was less resourceful than him.’

‘What happened to him?

‘They said at the time that he went into the construction industry.’

He frowned. ‘Wouldn’t that have been a matter of record?’

‘Does euphemism mean nothing to you?’ I asked. ‘There was a new office block being built down in McDonald Road at the time. The story was that he became part of the foundations.’

‘So where did these Holmeses fit in?’

‘I told you: while Tony was king of the midden in Edinburgh, Perry Holmes was the undisputed Scottish number one. He was an importer on a massive scale; he distributed to people like Manson across the country.’

‘Why did nobody cut him out?’ The lad asked good questions.

‘One or two tried. Perry was a property developer too; still is, from his wheelchair. On you go now, get your arse back to Fettes.’

I let him exit the cul-de-sac ahead of me, and watched him as he zipped along Essex Road. By the time I reached the Maybury roundabout, he was out of sight, so he didn’t see me make the left turn into Quality Street. I’d forgotten that I was going to call Mia, but she must have been looking out for me, since she opened the door of her little single-storey house just I was pulling up outside.

She was dressed much as she had been the first time we’d met, jeans this time, and another Airburst T-shirt. ‘Hi,’ she said, smiling as I took the two steps that was all the tiny path from the gate required. ‘Welcome.’

‘This is nice,’ I told her as I stepped straight into a bright living area that must have taken up half of the total floor space. It had been freshly refurbished, and twin doors led to a small conservatory that still had a look of newness.

‘Isn’t it,’ she agreed. ‘It’s a bit like your place but on a much smaller scale.’ She glanced at a clock on the wall, above a white painted fireplace with a high mantelpiece; it showed one o’clock, on the dot. ‘You’re on time.’

‘My last visit didn’t drag on,’ I replied, ‘and it was close to here, out in Barnton.’

‘Handy. How much time do you have?’

I shrugged my shoulders, noncommittally. ‘Some.’

‘That’s good, for I’ve made us some lunch. Ham salad okay?’

‘Spot on. Thanks, Mia, you…’

‘… shouldn’t have!’ she laughed. ‘Now we’ve got the automatic responses over, let’s get down to it.’

She led me into the conservatory, where two full plates waited, on a small round table, with a bottle of sparkling water and two glasses. It was warm in the sunshine, so I hung my jacket over the back of a chair. We sat and she poured. There was a package on the table, white cardboard about six inches square. She handed it to me. ‘The Spice Girls,’ she announced. ‘Alex will love them; they’re going to be big. They are really, really different.’ She laughed. ‘Listen to me: “really, really”. They’ve got to me. You’ll understand what I mean when you’ve heard it a couple of times. There’s a phrase in there that’ll live forever.’

I watched her as we ate. She seemed different from our earlier meetings, more relaxed, bubblier, more like the woman whose voice and attitude were pulling kids into her audience at a rate to rival the Pied Piper… ‘The Pie-eyed Piper of Hamilton,’ was Thornton’s version of the name, and it came to me then. The thought of it made me frown and realise that I’d broken the promise to call him that I’d made to myself.

Mia spotted the change in me. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘There was; I could see it. A flash of pain. What’s wrong, Bob? Hard times at work?’

‘It’s not getting any easier,’ I admitted, ‘but that’s not what it is. I had some bad news yesterday, family news.’

‘Oh dear. Someone close?’

‘The closest I have left, apart from Alex. My father-in-law. He came to see us, to tell me that he’s ill.’

‘Oh God,’ she sighed. ‘How ill?’

‘Barring a miracle, terminally.’ I took refuge in the salad for a while.

‘How’s Alex taking it?’ she asked when we were both finished. She stood, and picked up her glass. ‘Come on, let’s sit in over here.’

I joined her, on a white cane sofa, that looked out on to the tiny enclosed garden. ‘Alex doesn’t know,’ I said.

Mia whistled, softly. ‘You can’t keep a secret like that from a girl her age.’

‘Thornton’s insistent on it. He’s told her that he’s going away on a trip,’ I smiled, ‘to far-off and exciting places. He wants to spare her from what’s going to happen.’

‘That’s well meaning of him but,’ she took my hand, intertwining our fingers, ‘he’s not going to be around to pick up the pieces, Bob. He’s going to be dead, and when Alex finds out that his illness was kept from her, she’s not going to blame him, she’s going to blame you. If you don’t tell her, she’ll be hurt worse than if you do, and so will you.’

‘I promised her granddad though, Mia.’

‘Then you have to tell him why you can’t keep that promise. I don’t want to sound like an agony aunt, but Bob, love, who’s the most important person in your life?’

I stared at her. ‘Alex, of course.’

‘And what’s the most important thing in your life?’

I didn’t have to think about that one for long either. ‘My relationship with her.’

‘Then don’t damage it. Her childhood is over… Pops. She’s come through puberty, and she’s starting to think like a woman. That’s a process that accelerates pretty fast, I can promise you, and it’s bloody difficult for any parent to keep up with it, let alone a single dad.’

I was frowning again. ‘But I don’t want to hurt her at all,’ I protested. ‘That’s why I agreed to what Thornie asked.’

She touched my chin and turned my face towards her. ‘She’s going to be hurt anyway. It comes with the territory of adulthood.’

I sighed. ‘Point taken. Thanks for that, counsellor.’

That’s when I kissed her. It wasn’t something that I’d anticipated, or ever imagined. It just happened, that’s all, a reflex response to our proximity. She responded, very gently, her lips exploring mine, her mouth opening slightly, her tongue flicking my teeth. Until then, I’d held the private belief that kissing is overrated, no more than the opening gambit of the chess game between two people that leads to mating. With Myra and me, it had been rough and tumble, like our sex. With Alison… it was something we barely did, we usually cut straight to the chase. But Mia could kiss like nobody I’d ever encountered before; it was full of subtlety, tender and modest, yet inviting, too. Have you ever noticed how strong a spider’s web is, how, once it’s woven, it can withstand a tempest? That’s the best analogy I can conjure up for Mia’s kiss, the softest thing imaginable, yet once it had drawn you in, there was no escape.

‘Is this the talk we were going to have?’ she murmured, as we surfaced.

‘What talk was that?’

‘About whether we’re going to see each other again.’

‘I guess it is. What do you reckon?’

She flicked the first button of my shirt with a fingernail. ‘How much time do you have?’ she asked. I knew what she meant, but I didn’t want a quickie; I wanted to be able to dive into her ocean and swim there at my leisure.

‘Not enough,’ I replied. ‘I have to be sharp this afternoon. If all goes well, I’ll be having a very tough conversation with a couple of guys from Newcastle. I won’t be able to make a proper impression on them if I’m thinking of you.’

She smiled. ‘Me too, I suppose. I wouldn’t want to be talking to seventy-five thousand young people and have something inappropriate slip out. So? What happens next?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Could we have dinner one night,’ she suggested, ‘and take it from there? How free are you?’

‘I can make arrangements,’ I said. ‘I have someone who looks after Alex during the day. I can arrange with Daisy for her to stay over at her place.’

‘Then call me when you can fix it.’

‘I’ll do that,’ I promised. We kissed again: just like the first time. I had to force myself to my feet.

‘Go and terrify the bad guys,’ she instructed me, as she walked me to the door.

‘And you go and bewitch a million listeners.’

‘That’s the entire listening audience. We’d have to achieve a hundred per cent penetration for that.’ She giggled, and a hand went to her mouth. ‘But that’s something we can discuss after dinner.’

For all my talk of sharpness, my mind was all over the place as I drove back to Fettes. I was attracted to Mia with a power that I hadn’t experienced since before my fifteenth birthday, and I hadn’t understood it then. I wanted her very badly, but I wanted the moment to be perfect, and the timing to be absolutely right. I began toying with the idea of booking a room, or maybe even a suite, in an upmarket hotel… Gleneagles, say, and damn the expense… for the Friday following. But… I’d left it with Alison that we’d see each other at the weekend. Alison. What about Alison? We’d been straight with each other; it was companionship and sex, nothing more expected or wanted on either side, and surely that carried the possibility that one of us might find someone we really cared about. Fine. And the incident at the Sheraton? I still hadn’t worked that one out, but the one thing I did know for certain, Alison and I had two relationships, personal and professional, and she had to be treated right, on both levels. And then there was my kid. The way I felt at that moment, I had no idea how far a relationship with Mia might go, and Alex had made her feelings pretty clear about another woman… Mia had been right; I had to start thinking of her as such… moving into our house. But looming over it all was the memory of that first, spontaneous kiss.

‘Jesus, Skinner!’ I exclaimed, out loud, as I turned into the police headquarters car park. ‘For once, will you try and think with your brain and not with your prick.’

The first person I saw when I walked into the office was Jeff Adam. Instantly, I had what my very good friend Neil McIlhenney once described, memorably, as ‘a Taggart moment’. They’re rarer these days than they used to be, but when they’re triggered, they’re unstoppable.

‘What the hell are you doing here, Sergeant?’ I shouted. ‘You’re supposed to be in fucking Newcastle picking up fucking Milburn!’

Fortunately, the rock-steady, unflappable Fred Leggat was there to intervene. ‘I told him to hold on, boss,’ he explained. ‘Newcastle CID went to pick him up at our request, but he wasn’t at home, or at work. I didn’t think there was any point in Jeff and McGuire going down there till they had him.’

I felt the hot air escaping from my balloon, fast, but did my best to keep my dignity. ‘Work? What does he do, apart from being a heavy?’

‘He’s a taxi driver. Self-employed. He has a small office in North Shields; he runs a few cabs out of there.’

‘Does he have a wife?’ I asked.

Fred nodded. ‘Yes. She wasn’t cooperative, at first, not until our Geordie colleagues threatened to arrest her for obstruction and hand her kids to social services. A bluff, but she fell for it. Eventually she admitted that he went out late on Saturday night and hasn’t been home since.’

‘Did NCIS come up with anything on him?’

‘Oh yes. Two convictions for actual bodily harm, one for GBH, several arrests but charges dropped for lack of evidence. He’s said to work for the Newcastle big boss, a man called Winston Church… no hill, just Church. His known associates locally are Barton Leonard and Warren Shackleton who works for him in the taxi firm. Leonard used to, until he was given a nice room to himself in Durham jail, for being the getaway driver in an armed robbery.’

‘I take it…’

‘Yes. The Geordies went looking for Shackleton too; he wasn’t at home either, and he’s been missing for about the same length of time as Milburn.’

‘Okay. Good shout, Fred.’ I was left feeling embarrassed by my telly’tec episode. ‘Sorry I went off at you, Jeff. There was no cause for it. Do something else for me, please. Ask NCIS to go back into their computer and ask it if there are any known links between this man Church and Tony Manson. He says that there aren’t, and I doubt if he would deny something that he knew we could confirm, but let’s check it anyway. I’m not saying he’d admit it either, but he wouldn’t let me catch him in a flat-out lie.’

‘Andy said that Manson couldn’t help you,’ Leggat remarked.

‘He didn’t tell us where to look, but the mere fact that he was worried enough to contact a private security firm and hire a couple of ex-squaddies, that tells me he thinks he’s under threat from someone.’ I headed for my office, motioning the DI to follow. ‘Where have we got in this investigation, Fred?’ I asked as he closed the door.

‘Newcastle,’ he replied, ‘and that’s it.’

‘Manson did make a good point,’ I told him. ‘How did these guys get hold of Marlon, so quietly that we haven’t picked up a trace of it? And where did they pick him up?’

‘Could he have arranged to meet them?’ he wondered.

‘It’s a thought. What’s the last sighting of him?’

Leggat frowned, and scratched his head. ‘When he left his mother’s house last Tuesday?’

‘No, Bella said he came home after that, and then went out again. She didn’t know where, though. Pub, probably. Where did he drink?’

‘Search me, Bob.’

‘Sorry, Fred, I was talking to myself there. But there’s somebody who might be able to tell us.’ I called Bella Watson’s mobile from my desk phone; she answered quickly, as if she’d been expecting a call. ‘Do you still have your babysitter?’ I asked.

‘Aye,’ she grunted.

‘Then put him on.’ I waited for the giant. ‘Lennie,’ I said, ‘did you see much of Marlon, in the course of business?’

‘We were in touch,’ he replied. ‘And, of course, he drank in the Vaults.’

‘That’s what I was hoping you’d say. When did you see him last?’

‘Monday. He was in on Monday.’

‘Do you remember anything about him? Was he nervous in any way?’

‘No.’ He paused. ‘Hey, wait a minute, he was in on Tuesday, late afternoon. He brought a licence renewal application for the pub that had come in the boss’s morning mail.’

‘But not in the evening?’

‘No. In fact as he was leaving I heard one of the barmen say to him, “See you later.” But Marlon said no, that he wouldn’t be in. He said he’d somewhere else to go… and he was smiling when he said it, as if it was a hot date.’

‘It sure was, Lennie. Thanks.’ I hung up. ‘Progress,’ I told Leggat. ‘It looks as if Watson went to meet these guys, knowingly or not. How was that meeting arranged, I wonder?’

I picked up the phone again. Manson had two lines in the big house. One was in the directory; the other wasn’t, but it was in my personal collection. I looked it out and dialled it.

‘How the fuck did you get this number?’ he growled, when he realised that I was his mystery caller.

‘Please, Tony. Did you really think I wouldn’t have it?’

‘You lot aren’t listening in, are you? I’ll sue if you are.’

‘No, we’re not,’ I told him, truthfully. ‘We’d need a warrant for that. I can’t speak for MI5, of course; they’re taking an interest in organised crime these days.’ I added that out of pure devilment. ‘I need to know something. Did Marlon Watson have a mobile phone?’

There was a silence, as if he was considering whether to give me the time of day. He must have decided that he had nothing to lose by it. ‘Aye, he had one. I gave it to him so I could reach him any time I needed him.’

‘Contract, or pay and go?’ Silly question, Skinner, I told myself. The phone would be chucked away every time its credit expired and replaced with a new one, new number. Standard practice in the hidden world, even then.

‘What do you think?’ Manson chuckled. I hung up on him.

Leggat was looking at me, waiting for the outcome. I nodded. No more was needed. ‘I’ll check with the mortuary,’ he said. ‘It should be among his possessions.’

‘It should,’ I agreed, ‘so why do I have a feeling that it won’t be?’

It took him less than five minutes to confirm that my hunch had been spot on.

‘Maybe Milburn will still have it on him, when they find him,’ he suggested.

‘He might, if he’s a hoarder, but the SIM card will probably be ashes by now, and that’s where all the call information would have been.’

Fred’s scepticism showed in his face. ‘Does that not strike you as pretty thorough for somebody whose crime file doesn’t mark him out as a thinker?’

‘It does, but let’s wait till we have him in our custody. How did you leave that with Newcastle?’

‘They’re checking all likely haunts, plus the passenger manifests of all recent flights and ferries out of the city. They’re going to give us a progress report at five, if they haven’t found him before then.’

‘Meanwhile we just sit on our hands. I’m bloody useless at that.’ Through my door’s glass panel, I saw Jeff Adam approach. I waved him in, keen to mend a broken fence.

‘NCIS do not have any record of connection between Winston Church and Tony Manson,’ he reported, ‘directly or indirectly. They don’t have any shared associates. Church doesn’t have any known links to Scotland at all. Indeed the intelligence is that he has enough on his hands just keeping control of his own territory without looking to move in on anyone else’s. He’s getting on, and some of his younger associates are reckoned to be hungry. For example, the job that the man Leonard’s doing time for was a robbery of a pub in Durham that’s owned by his brother-in-law.’

That was interesting. ‘So it’s possible that Milburn and Shackleton… let’s assume that he’s the second man… were operating independently of Church?’

‘That could be,’ Adam said. ‘Nature abhors a vacuum.’

I laughed. ‘Hell, Jeff, that’s a bit profound. I know it’s still a while to five o’clock but go and rattle Newcastle’s cage for me.’

‘Meanwhile,’ I murmured as he and Leggat left, ‘what about the other?’ Of course, as soon as I turned my attention to the ‘gay blade’ murders, I thought of Alison, and that made me think of Mia. If I’d known that Milburn and his mate hadn’t even been found, far less on their way into my tender hands, I might not have left her place, and. ..

Distance had lent me a bit of objectivity, but the old saw about enchantment was working as well. I wanted Mia, no question; she filled me with an excitement that I’d forgotten. But Alison: she meant a lot to me, safety, security, friendship, comfort, plus we were there already, a couple of sorts, even if it was only part-time. ‘She isn’t Bella Watson’s daughter either,’ I whispered, then cast the thought aside, as quickly as it had appeared in my mind. I relived that kiss, and I felt myself tingling all over again. Yes, I wanted the woman, but did I have the bottle to take her, and to live with whatever consequences that brought?

I jumped when the phone rang. I snatched it up, barked, ‘Skinner,’ and felt my face flush as soon as I heard Alison’s voice.

‘Sorry,’ she said, cautiously. ‘Are you busy with something?’

Nothing you’d want to hear, I thought. ‘No, sorry, I was miles away.’ Indeed, I’d been at Gleneagles, mentally. ‘Whassup? Where are you?’

‘I’m at the mortuary. Professor Hutchinson is just finishing the post-mortem on Albie McCann. I thought it might be a good idea if he went straight on and did Archie Weir’s and he’s agreed.’

‘That’s an excellent idea.’ But it would be tough on her; sitting in on two autopsies, back to back, so to speak. ‘Do you want me to come up?’ I asked. I had an ulterior motive; if wee Joe Hutchinson’s workplace didn’t stop me thinking about peeling Mia Sparkles like a grape, nothing would.

‘That would be good,’ she admitted. ‘We still don’t have absolute confirmation that they were both killed by the same man, and I’d welcome your input.’

‘Plus you’d like me to hold your hand.’

‘No!’ she snapped, then hesitated. ‘Well…’

‘Hey,’ I told her, ‘if I’d been through the first one, I’d be calling you for company. Besides, depending on what Joe finds, it might be useful for both of us to be there.’

I picked up my phone and my car keys and stepped into the outer office. I told Fred Leggat where I was bound, and confirmed with Jeff Adam that the Geordies had yet to turn up any trace of Glenn Milburn and his mate, then headed for the door.

I was fitting my seat belt when my mobile sounded. I fished it out awkwardly from my jacket pocket. ‘Hi,’ Mia said, quietly, as I connected.

‘Hi yourself,’ I replied. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready to entertain my daughter and her peer group?’

‘I am. I’m in my studio now, getting my playlist and ads sorted, but before I go on air I wanted to talk to you again. That dinner we discussed… can we skip it?’

What? In that first instant, I managed to feel both disappointed and relieved at the same time. ‘Sure,’ I murmured, slowly. ‘If that’s what you want, no harm done, and maybe I’ll see you around.’

She chuckled, huskily. ‘I’d never have taken you for someone with low self-esteem where women are concerned. I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to see you again. The opposite, in fact. Can you make it back to my place tonight, once my show’s finished?’

I felt a trembling in the pit of my stomach. Nerves? Jesus Christ! ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘I’m not sure. Thing is, I’ve got a work commitment that could go on for a while. Plus, it’s a bit late to spring a sleepover on Daisy.’

‘Tomorrow?’

I sighed, audibly, and wondered what she’d read into that. ‘Mia, don’t you want to take time to think about this?’

‘I have done. I’ve been thinking about nothing else since you left. Tomorrow?’

Low self-esteem, no willpower. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘Seven thirty?’

‘Seven thirty.’

‘Lovely. By the way, I’m not on the pill.’