Grievous Angel

Fourteen

Normally I will roll into wakefulness like waves on to a beach, steadily, in small advances, until my tide has risen and I’ve emerged from the last episode of whatever dream I’ve been having, from wherever I’d been during the night.

But not that morning. My sleep-bound adventure wasn’t drawn from my imagination: it was a full colour replay of the previous evening, beginning with the struggle to escape from Martin’s MX5 in the car park outside the cruddy hotel in South Shields, then taking me, step by step, back along the way, until I was standing once again in Winston Church’s kitchen, staring at his ravaged body on the table.

When his intestines started to move like snakes, that’s when I came to, in a hurry. Only I didn’t, not completely. I sat up, eyes wide open but taking nothing in. I was awake, but my consciousness remained in that bloodbath in Morpeth. I recall shouting something. Whatever it was, it made Mia reach up and take hold of my left arm. But I didn’t know it was Mia, did I? So I wrenched it free, violently, then slammed it across her chest and twisted round, forcing her down on to the bed and pinning her to it as my right hand gripped her throat.

‘No,’ she screamed. ‘Bob, no! It’s me, it’s Mia, it’s all right.’

That was enough… thanks, God, for that one… to bring me back. If it hadn’t been, I might have crushed her windpipe. I saw the fear in her eyes, and took my weight off her, then gathered her into me. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ I whispered. ‘Bad dream.’

She wriggled in my grasp, trying to free herself. I let her go and she pulled away from me, staring at me as if she’d woken up with the Blagdon Amateur Rapist. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, again. ‘I thought I was. ..’ I smiled, weakly, hoping to reassure her. ‘Call it a Stephen King moment, eh?’

‘Call it nothing!’ she shouted. ‘You scared me. I thought you were going to kill me. Is this normally what happens after you have a bad day at the office?’

‘No,’ I retorted, unreasonably irked, ‘but I don’t usually sleep with anyone, so maybe I wouldn’t know. Calm down. I had a nightmare, okay?’

She put her fingers to her throat; I could see the red marks that mine had left. ‘No,’ she moaned, on the verge of tears, ‘it’s not okay! This is not how I wanted it to be. I don’t need violence in my life! I’ve had enough of it. Men!’ The ferocity of her sudden scream took me by surprise. ‘You’re all the fucking same! All bastards. Go, will you, just get dressed and go.’

‘Mia…’

‘Fuck off!’

It’s impossible to be dignified when someone’s glaring at you as you’re trying to get the other foot into your briefs, so I gathered up my clothes, and my overnight bag, and took them through to the bathroom. I ran the Philishave over my chin a few times, then showered quickly, and dressed, same suit and shoes but a change of everything else. I was almost ready when my phone sounded.

It was Alex. I hadn’t even looked at the time until then, but the readout told me that it was two minutes past eight. ‘Morning, Pops,’ she said, and a huge warm feeling of relief surged through me. She was my foundation, the real keystone of my entire existence. I’d lost sight of that truth for just a little while; focusing on it put everything back in balance.

‘Where are you?’ she asked.

I didn’t want to tell her, but I couldn’t lie. ‘In the bathroom,’ I replied.

‘Possibly too much information, Pops. Whose bathroom?’

She was my daughter so it stood to reason that she’d be a persistent interrogator. ‘I had to go to Newcastle last night,’ I told her, irrelevantly.

‘Ah, so you stayed over?’

‘Well, no…’

She wasn’t giving up. ‘You’re at Alison’s, then?’

‘No… Alex, don’t ask, okay?’

‘You’re at Mia’s!’ she exclaimed. She sounded triumphant; she’d got me and she knew it.

‘I give up,’ I said. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Pops, be careful.’ Her sudden concern astonished me.

‘What do you mean?’ I almost stammered. ‘You’re not giving me.. . big-people advice, are you?’

‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant be careful with Mia. Don’t get serious or anything. She’s not right for you.’

I felt just a little huffed. ‘What do you mean? I thought you liked her.’ I wasn’t sure whether I was defending my taste in women or the woman herself.

‘I do. She’s a friendly person, and she’s good on the radio, and she went out of her way to be nice to me which meant for sure that she fancies you, but she’s different, so different from you. You don’t belong together.’

‘And what about Alison?’ I challenged.

‘I like Alison more than I like Mia, and she would be right for you, maybe, but that’s not going to happen. If it was you wouldn’t be in Mia’s bathroom at this time in the morning.’

I was comforted. She didn’t know everything, I thought, until I realised that, actually, what she didn’t get was the truth about her old man, that he was as weak as most other blokes when it came to women, as easily led by his dick.

‘Don’t you worry yourself,’ I declared. ‘Neither of those things is going to happen. No kitchen-sharing, I promise. Now bugger off to school. What are you doing today anyway? A post-grad in adulthood?’

‘Double maths, Spanish and English this morning, as it happens. See you tonight?’

‘See you tonight,’ I confirmed. ‘And you’re cooking, since you’re so bloody grown up all of a sudden… and so territorial when it comes to the kitchen.’

I slipped on my jacket and ventured out of the bathroom. I’d hoped, maybe even assumed, that Mia would be waiting outside, contrite, with tea and toast, and maybe even a full Scottish on the hob if I was lucky. But she wasn’t. The bedroom door was still closed. ‘Fuck her,’ I whispered, angry and more than a little humiliated, as I walked out, closing the door firmly so that she’d know I’d gone, but just short of slamming it like a petulant kid.

I was first into the office, but only just. Andy Martin arrived just as I was starting on my copy of that morning’s Saltire newspaper. It was my barometer; I took its journalism and its editorial line seriously, which I didn’t do always with the other blacktops. There was nothing in it about either of the murder inquiries. That pleased me in one way and worried me in another. It meant that there was no immediate public pressure on me for a result in either case, but worried me because I’d expected a harder time from them, on the Weir-McCann investigation at least. My reading was that the paper was sitting on the story, not wanting it to run out of steam, in case.. . in case there was more, in case there was a third murder. At that moment, that was my biggest fear. Two down. How many more to go?

I looked up and saw Martin standing outside my door, as if he was considering whether or not he should knock. I waved him in.

‘Hi, Andy,’ I greeted him. ‘I thought I told you not to be too sharp getting in this morning.’

‘I couldn’t sleep, boss. I didn’t see any point in hanging about the flat.’

‘Lucky you. I wish I hadn’t slept.’ I’d never been more sincere.

‘Bad dreams?’

I nodded. ‘The worst. You had breakfast?’

‘Coffee, that’s all.’

I stood. ‘Come on then, let’s go to the canteen. When I’m feeling fucked I always refuel.’

The staff catering was just as good as that in the senior officers’ dining room, and every bit as traditional. Cops need feeding properly. I filled a plate with fried egg, sausage, bacon and black pudding, then topped it off with a fried potato scone, just for luck, to be washed down with a huge mug of tea. Martin had the same, only more so. ‘It’s a training night at Raeburn Place,’ he explained.

‘Are you still serious about rugby?’ I asked.

‘The day I stop being serious about it, I’ll have played my last game. I may have dropped out of the top flight, but I’m still as committed as ever. I owe that to the other fourteen guys in the team.’

‘Think that way in CID and you’ll be fine,’ I told him.

We ripped through our breakfasts like a chainsaw through a tree, then turned our attention to the well-stewed tea. I looked at the DC over the top of my mug. I’d known him for less than a week, and we were hardly equals in rank, but I was starting to think of him as a friend. ‘Have you got a bidey-in?’

He blinked at my question. ‘A what?’

His surprise made me chuckle, and realise how far from my roots I’d travelled. ‘Sorry, I forgot that’s more of an east coast term. Have you got a live-in girlfriend?’

He shook his head. ‘No, not just now. I did have, but that went tits up about nine months ago.’

‘Whose fault?’

‘Nobody’s, really. We didn’t fall out or anything. She wanted it to go further than I did, that’s all, so we split. I still see her from time to time; we’re still good friends.’

‘Is she in the job?’ I asked.

‘Hell no. She works in PR. I would not fancy having a policewoman as a girlfriend.’

‘No?’

‘What else would you talk about over the dinner table, other than the job?’

‘Your kids, eventually. By the way,’ I added, ‘you’re not supposed to use that word any more.’

He was puzzled. ‘Which word?’

‘Policewoman. There are no more WPCs; we’re all police officers now, everybody. It’s no longer politically correct.’

He grinned. ‘Did I catch an inference there, sir, that you don’t have much time for politicians?’

‘I’ll say it out loud if you like. I can’t fucking stand the breed. There is something completely fucking phoney about them. They’ll be back soon promising us the world in exchange for our votes, and as soon as they have them they’ll fuck off for another four or five years and forget about us, until it’s time to be nice to us all again.’

‘Don’t you like any of them?’ he asked.

‘I admired the last Prime Minister… “admire” being different from “like”. Balls like grapefruits. But the present bloke? I don’t believe he really exists. I’m sure he’s made of fucking latex, like his puppet. As for the new guy, he’s all fucking bouffant and razzamatazz. He went to bloody Fettes, for Christ’s sake, that fucking Gormenghast of a school across the road. “Boys Only” when he was there and now he’s fixing the rules to get more women into Parliament, just because they’re women. That should be a fucking gender-free zone, man. Every MP should be there on the basis of ability; no elector’s choice should be restricted to people who sit down to pee. It’s un-fucking-democratic, Andy, and it’s the mark of the man.’

I realised that I had raised my voice, and was drawing glances from other tables; I stopped. ‘Christ,’ I continued, a little embarrassed and a lot more quietly, ‘listen to me. You’d think I was a misogynist, yet I’m anything but. We need more women in the police force, we need them in the higher ranks and yes, we need them in politics too, but only as long as they get there the right way and not through some artificial process. Our service has been male-dominated from the start. Its thinking is far too narrow, and if I ever got to command rank, I would do everything I could to change that, but that would not include putting “Women applicants only” signs over promotion boards.’

‘You lost your wife, didn’t you?’ he said.

Taken aback, I stared at him. ‘Yes, I did. A while back.’

‘Is that how you and she talked over the dinner table?’

A smile, so broad that I felt my cheeks bunch, spread across my face. ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Exactly like that. We used to go at it hammer and tongs, especially when Myra’d had a couple of drinks and her tongue was really loosened… not that she ever held back much.’

He nodded. ‘That’s the kind of relationship I want,’ he declared. ‘Full frontal, nothing left unsaid. That’s why… your word… bideyins don’t work for me. I want a relationship that challenges me every minute of the day. Clearly you’ve had one, and you’ll never settle for anything else again.’

But I did, for a while. And so did Andy. We’ve got there in the end, both of us, but if we’d recorded that conversation and played the tape to ourselves every day, maybe we wouldn’t have made the mistakes that we did along the way. But, if we hadn’t, then four lovely kids wouldn’t have been born, so… what the hell?

That morning, though, our discussion showed me something very clearly. It told me why, as much as we liked each other, Alison had been right to set limits to our relationship, to draw a boundary line over which neither of us would step. We didn’t fire each other up in that way, and we both knew it.

As for Mia, she was history to me, even then. There was something about her reaction that I knew I wasn’t going to get over. Sure, I had scared her; there was no doubt about that. But she’d known where I’d been the night before, and she’d even known that it connected to her, and yet there had been no shred of sympathy in her, or any attempt to understand why I had reacted in that extreme but completely involuntary way. I didn’t want to reach out to her again, not after the way she’d behaved, and if she’d phoned me at that moment, I wouldn’t have taken her call.

Martin said something to me, but I hadn’t been listening. ‘Sorry, Andy, what?

‘I asked if we were going to see Manson again this morning, boss.’

‘I am,’ I replied. ‘You’re not. Nothing personal, but I may have to lean on him, and it would be more comfortable if it was just the two of us.’ His eyes narrowed a little. I smiled. ‘Hell, Andy, I’m not going to thump him. There needs to be some straight talking, that’s all, and for that it has to be just him and me. Sometimes you have to play by their rules to make any progress.’ I finished my lukewarm tea. ‘Come on. We have to bring the troops up to speed.’

By the time we got back to the office, the rest of the squad, such as it was, had arrived. I knew it wasn’t enough for the continuing job I’d been given, a mixture of ongoing intelligence work, active investigations and pure fire-fighting, of the kind we were involved in at that time, and staffing was an issue I’d have to address. Fred was due for a promotion to DCI, and a move. I’d meant what I’d said to Martin about broadening our thinking. Maybe Alison and I could work together after all. Then there was young PC Rose, the officer I’d met in St Leonards. She’d impressed me, for no reason that would have been clear to anyone else. I’ve always prided myself on being able to spot potential in an instant, by the way someone speaks, looks and acts at first encounter.

But that had to wait; for that time I had what I had. I sat on a corner of Fred’s desk and gathered them around me, him, Jeff Adam and McGuire, with Martin standing alongside me. ‘Okay guys,’ I began. ‘Andy and I had a very active evening down in Newcastle. We’ve got some bad news for you and then we’ve got some worse news.’

I gave them a detailed rundown of the scene that we had encountered at the Seagull Hotel, and of the bleak prospects of identifying the killer of Milburn and Shackleton from trace evidence left behind him. Then I told them of our call on Winston Church, and of what we had found there.

‘The man didn’t mess about,’ I said. ‘It may be that he signed his name in forensics in the old guy’s kitchen, but he was efficient and thorough in the hotel and I don’t expect anything else from him there.’

Leggat and Adam sat silent, frowning; it was young McGuire who spoke. ‘Surely there was a big difference in the nature of the attacks, boss? One lethal wound each in the hotel, but the guy Church seems to have been killed in a frenzy.’

‘Point taken, Mario,’ I told him. ‘But the difference can be explained. From what we saw, neither Shackleton… who died first. .. nor Milburn had any clue they were in danger until it was too late. Shackleton even opened the door for him. At Church’s house, it was nothing like that. He broke in, the old man heard him, paused his porno movie and went to investigate. The intruder had neither the time for subtlety, nor the need; he just attacked. Church tried to defend himself,’ I held up my right hand to demonstrate, then mimicked the attack, ‘but had two fingers severed and his face bisected. Then he was…’ I paused, back in the middle of my nightmare, ‘… he was just ripped open, and died of shock, or blood loss, or whatever the autopsy tells us.’

Leggat winced. ‘So the investigation’s stalled?’

‘As of this moment, it is. We have to hope now that the victims have left something behind that links them to the guy who paid them to do the job. Fred, I didn’t raise any of this last night, because the situation was developing, and because I didn’t want anyone thinking I was telling them how to do their job, but now I’d like you to get on to DI Ciaran McFaul in Newcastle and ask him if he can get us access to the phone records of the three dead men, and also to the call logs of their mobile phones. I’m assuming that they had them; it seems to be de rigueur these days for hoodlums to use pay-as-you-go mobiles, in the belief that they’re untraceable.’

I didn’t say anything to them about my potential dropped clanger with Tony Manson. It wasn’t for sharing at that time. ‘Do that,’ I continued, ‘and ask him to send us copies of the post-mortem reports for our case files.’

‘Do they belong there, boss?’ Adam asked.

‘Of course they do,’ I retorted, just a wee bit sharply. Poor Jeff didn’t have a lot of luck around me. ‘Whatever the Tyneside boys may think, this is our inquiry. We started off looking for the people who killed Marlon Watson, and we found Milburn and Shackleton, and through them Church. As of yesterday we were looking to thumbscrew out of them the identity of the man who set them on him. He was our ultimate target. Now the three Geordies have been silenced. Who else did it? He did. The hired hands have been taken out of the game, but the employer remains, the man we’ve always been after. So you see, Jeff, nothing has changed. It’s a continuous investigation, so Northumbria CID and ourselves are looking for the same man.’

Fortunately, DS Adam wasn’t as smart as Andy Martin. It didn’t occur to him to ask why it had taken almost a week for them to be taken out of the game.

I headed for the door. ‘I’m off out,’ I told Leggat. ‘Call to make.’ I smiled as I left them, feeling vaguely like a German spy. I’d just recalled a great line from a marvellous old war movie, Ice Cold in Alex, something along the lines of, ‘When a man takes a walk in the desert with a spade, never ask him where he’s going.’ You should see it sometime, if you haven’t.

I drove out to Barnton, enjoying the roominess of the Discovery, in contrast to Martin’s space capsule. I switched on the radio, hoping to catch a news bulletin. Airburst FM’s morning presenter was in full cry, his voice a frantic, kiddie contrast to Mia’s mellow, much more adult tones. I gave him the bum’s rush and switched to Radio Forth, which represented my Edinburgh, not that of another generation. I was still bitter over the way the morning had begun. I found myself hoping that Mia would phone, so that I could release my verbal safety catch and let her have both barrels. Hell hath few furies like a man who’s just been left standing in a woman’s bedroom with his clothes bunched in his hands, doing his best to leave with dignity.

I knew the routine at Manson’s place second time round; I showed myself to the camera and, after a few seconds, the fancy gates swung wide. But I wasn’t prepared for the changing of the guard. I hadn’t reached the door when it was opened, not by either of the boys I’d seen before, but by Lennie Plenderleith.

‘Morning, Mr Skinner,’ he greeted me, as quiet and polite as ever. In those days, I used to wonder occasionally what the other side of Lennie was like, but I always decided that I didn’t really want to know, unless it was unavoidable. I’d never sought my reputation as a hard man… and I knew I had one, make no mistake. It had been bestowed on me by the folly of others who’d thought they were tough themselves, and word had spread.

‘Morning, Lennie,’ I replied. ‘Is the boss in?’ The Bentley had been outside, so I’d assumed that he was.

‘Yes. He saw you on the screen; he’s waiting for you in his office. Go on through.’

Unescorted, I followed the invitation, and entered Tony’s sanctum. My second surprise in as many minutes: he wasn’t alone. He was at his desk, and seated alongside him as if she was taking dictation was Bella Watson. The sight of her sent me, mentally, straight back into her daughter’s bedroom, but I got myself out of there in a hurry before irritation showed on my face.

‘Hello, Detective Superintendent Skinner,’ Manson exclaimed, affably. The clarity of his enunciation made me suspicious.

I jerked a thumb back in the direction of the door, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

He understood. ‘I got rid of the A Team,’ he told me. ‘Pair of fucking wankers. Without their shooters they were useless, as you proved. The big man on his own is worth three or four of them, so I asked myself, why am I spending more money than I need? I don’t like having him guard my door, though. He’s miles too good for that. To tell you the truth,’ he mused, ‘I wish I could put him somewhere safe; being around me can be risky.’ It was interesting; I’d never seen him in such a contemplative mood before. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘once I’d decided to move him in for a few days, it made sense to move Bella in here too.’

‘I was goin’ tae call you,’ she said, sourly. ‘When will I be able to arrange Marlon’s funeral?’

‘As far as I’m concerned,’ I replied, as I occupied the chair that faced across the desk, ‘you can do it now. It’s not my call, but I don’t think the fiscal’s office will object. They might not let you cremate him, but it should be okay to have a burial.’ I couldn’t resist having a go. ‘It won’t be a very big affair, though,’ I added. ‘Just you and Tony and Lennie, by the looks of it. I don’t see your daughter turning up, not after you putting the black on her.’

‘She’ll no’ be missed,’ Bella hissed. ‘Jumped-up wee tart.’

‘Mother of the Year,’ I laughed, then turned back to her boss and mentor. ‘With two extra mouths to feed you must be running short of groceries,’ I said. ‘I think Lennie should take Bella to Safeway to stock up. Don’t worry, you’ll still be protected. I’m here.’

He understood me; I’d come for a very private chat. ‘Aye, okay,’ he responded. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and produced a roll of twenties, peeled off a few and handed them to Bella. ‘On you go,’ he told her.

‘Ah checked this mornin’,’ she protested. ‘We don’t need anything.’

‘Well go tae the fuckin’ casino then,’ he snapped, ‘but go somewhere.’

She flounced out, all legs and attitude. For the first time I could see that she was her daughter’s mother.

Manson grinned as the door closed on her. ‘Now you see why I don’t have her move in,’ he chuckled. ‘What a fuckin’ life that would be. What’s that daughter of hers like then? I’ve only heard her on the radio. And what was that about her blackmailing her?’

‘Mia’s also a piece of work,’ I replied. ‘The other was a family misunderstanding that’s been sorted out now.’

‘Ah,’ the gangster murmured. ‘Miss Sparkles doesnae want anyone to know where she’s from. I get it. I don’t blame the lassie either. I must pay more attention to her.’

‘I wouldn’t, if I were you.’

There was something in my eyes and he read it. ‘Oh aye,’ he exclaimed. ‘Is the detective superintendent warning me off? Has he been there himself?’ He chuckled. ‘I think he has, I think he has indeed.’

‘Turn the tape off, Tony.’

He stared at me. ‘What tape?’

I leaned across the desk. ‘Do not fuck me about,’ I growled. ‘You’ve had a recorder running since I walked in here. Your voice is different, louder and clearer, and we both know why. Now, are you going to turn it off, or do I have to find it and do it for you?’

He knew when to fold ’em, did Tony Manson. ‘Aye, okay,’ he conceded. He opened the drawer at his left hand, produced a microtape recorder and disconnected it from a pen stand on his desk. ‘Looks realistic,’ he said. ‘You’d never know the ballpoint was a mike.’

‘That will bring you down,’ I warned him. ‘Vanity is a fatal weakness for a guy like you. And trying to get something on me would have been pretty bad for your health as well. Gimme the tape.’ He removed it, without protest, and handed it over. ‘And the one you made last time.’ He smiled, went back into his desk drawer and handed me another micro-cassette in its box.

‘There’s no more,’ he said. ‘I promise. Now, Skinner, why are you here?’

‘I want to find out how stupid you really are.’

‘You know I’m not.’

‘I thought I did, but something’s happened to make me doubt myself, in that respect at any rate. When I was here last, I fed you some information that should have stayed within the investigation. I even ran a couple of names past you. I did that because I believed that if you could have helped me, you would have, quietly, just between us two. What I did not believe was that you would act on that information in a way I wouldn’t like or in a way that would embarrass me. So imagine what I felt when I was called down to Newcastle last night and shown the bodies of the guys we had firmly in the frame for Marlon’s murder.’

Thunderclouds formed on Manson’s brow. ‘Are you winding me up?’ he asked, in a hiss that might have been the direst warning to someone other than me.

‘Not for one second, Tony. Now tell me, did you have anything to do with this… and be fucking sure you look me in the eye.’

He did. He held my gaze and he didn’t blink. I saw the real man, the near monster, not the front he’d been hiding behind until then. ‘No I did not,’ he replied, in the same voice. ‘I swear, on your daughter’s life.’

He was trying to send me a message, to say to me, I know you, I know your weakness, should you ever push me too far, copper. But he’d got it wrong: he didn’t know me at all. I felt my volcano ready to erupt, but I kept the plug in.

‘Let me promise you something,’ I said, holding his gaze. ‘If you ever mention my daughter again to me, or if I ever hear of you mentioning her, then I will take that as a threat to her. And… I … will… kill you. I’m a cop, Tony. I can find the means to do that and suffer no consequences. So let’s have that clear between us.’

He considered me anew, and he nodded. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘No threat implied. If I ever had cause to come after you, it would be you alone.’

‘I can live with that.’ I paused. ‘You wouldn’t. Now, repeat, you’re giving me your word that you had nothing to do with the deaths of these three men.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, somebody’s hoping I’ll believe that you do.’

He relaxed a little, hid behind the mask once again. ‘That had dawned on me,’ he drawled.

‘Any idea who?’

He shook his head. ‘Not the faintest, Skinner. I’m hiding nothing from you, honest…’ he chuckled, ‘… and that’s not a word you’ll hear me use too often.’ And suppose I did, I’d always take it with a spoonful of salt.

‘Could it have something to do with Bella?’

‘No. I know all there is to know about her,’ he paused, ‘apart from her taking protection from her daughter, maybe. It couldn’t, believe me.’

‘How did you get together?’ I asked.

‘I saw her at Al Holmes’s funeral, believe it or not. She was two rows back in the crem, wearing a red dress. I liked her style, and her guts. I asked her what the hell she thought she was doing and she told me flat out that she was there to make sure he went up in fuckin’ smoke. What she didnae know,’ he continued, ‘was that Perry had asked me to kill her. He sent for me, in the Western. It was just the two of us, in his private room. He could barely talk then, but he managed to say to me, “Favour time, Tony. I want the Spreckley sister dead.” I told him that he’d have to settle for the brothers, for a man with a bullet in his head and fuck all else wasnae giving me orders.’

‘Are you saying this could go back to Holmes, and that it could be his revenge on Bella?’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘It’s got nothing to do with her. I’ve seen Perry since; I told him that Bella and Marlon were under my protection, and that there were no more debts owed. He accepted that. He’s out of that life now, Skinner, for sure. He’s got lots of money, but no power. Plus, of course, he’s a fucking cripple.’

‘So who? Zaliukas and his Lithuanian chums?’ I suggested.

‘No chance. Young Tommy’s trying very hard to be legit, and I’m encouraging that. He still has his faults, a bit flash, a bit reckless, but I hear he’s got himself a new girlfriend and that she’s bringing him under control.’

‘How exactly are you encouraging him?’

He smiled. ‘Let me put it this way. Your drugs team’ll be wasting its time staking out his pubs.’

Meaning he had put them off limits to his pushers. ‘Are you an investor too?’ I asked.

‘No, the boy doesn’t need me anywhere near him.’ The smile became a soft chuckle. ‘I invest in myself, that’s all. Perry’s the man wi’ the portfolio. Although what he’s going to do with it when he dies.. . and as we both know that could happen any minute… God alone knows. He’s never been married.’

‘Neither have you,’ I pointed out.

‘Maybe not, but my will’s made. It’ll be a while before anyone inherits, though.’

I frowned. ‘Are you sure about that? Maybe you’re next, after Marlon.’

‘It’ll be an idiot that tries,’ he grunted.

‘You’ll tell us if he does, though. That’s not a request, Tony,’ I added.

‘Aye, I will,’ he said. ‘Eventually.’

I left him, lurking and pondering in his den. He had been more forthcoming than usual, once we’d got the tape nonsense out of the way; I didn’t necessarily believe it all, but as far as I could figure, he didn’t have a reason to lie to me.

I headed back to the office. There had been no big breakthrough in my absence. The guys were doing their best, but there was no good news, barely any at all, and the little there had been, discouraging.

‘I’ve spoken to McFaul in Newcastle,’ Leggat told me. ‘They didn’t find any mobile phones on any of the victims. They’ve been all through Church’s house too, and found hee-haw. Their next step, he says, is to track the call logs for their home phones and for Milburn’s taxi business.’

‘That’ll be a waste of time,’ I forecast, ‘but it’s got to be done, I suppose. What about Milburn’s office, and his house, and Shackleton’s?’ I asked. ‘Are they searching those too?’

My impatience must have been showing, for Fred’s look was questioning. ‘Do you really want me to ask them that, boss?’ he ventured. ‘Remember what you said about not telling them how to do their jobs?’

His point was undeniable. He’d never had to deal with a frustrated and restless Bob Skinner before, that was all. Suddenly, I found myself wanting to go home. I hadn’t been there in over twenty-four hours and the few off-duty hours I’d been able to snatch hadn’t helped my general condition. I couldn’t, of course, but I did have a manic need to keep moving. I cast around for things to do. I thought about going back to see Dougie Terry and giving him a harder time than before. I considered visiting my former near neighbour, Jackie Charles, and putting him through the wringer. But there was no point, in either case. It would have got me no further, and occasions such as those were best kept for when there was a real prospect of a result. Then I realised there was something I had promised to do, and forgotten with everything that had gone on. I went into my office and called Alison, on her mobile.

‘Hi,’ she said, making me feel good, and guilty, simultaneously. ‘I thought you must still be down in Newcastle, or that you’d just forgotten about me.’

‘Would I do that ever? We’re going sailing on Friday, remember? I’ve got that to look forward to.’ And a funeral, I thought, sombrely, that as well.

‘Are you ready?’ she asked.

‘Give me a break,’ I pleaded. ‘It’s two days away.’

‘No,’ she laughed, ‘not that. Are you ready for me to come up and see you?’

‘No,’ I countered. ‘You stay where you are. I’ll come to you. No sense in you bringing files up here, just to take them back again.’

‘Are you sure? It’s no bother, honest.’

‘I’m sure. At this moment, I’m better off on the move.’

She chuckled. ‘Ah, it’s one of those days, is it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Do you think I don’t know what you’re like, after the time we spent working together? Come on down then. I’ll get the coffee on.’

She really was good for me. There was a stability about her that seemed to transfer itself to me whenever I needed it, whenever I became as frantic as I’d been. Again, I found myself thinking of the choice I’d made around midnight, and how fucking stupid it had been. ‘Got any Gold Blend?’

‘Take what you get, Detective Superintendent. Nescafe original only here.’

‘I’ll bring some, in that case.’

As it turned out they didn’t have any in the Stockbridge grocer that I called into on my way, but they did have a pretty decent Douwe Egberts instant, and I settled for that.

There was a probationer on the desk when I walked into the Torphichen Place office from the car park at the back of the building. He didn’t recognise me when I came in through the door behind him and wasn’t sure whether to ask for my ID, but I showed it to him anyway. His name badge read PC Ray Wilding. He seemed a bit overawed, and I wondered whether he’d make it through training.

I was halfway up the stairs when I met Alastair Grant, coming down, wearing a Barbour jacket and with his car keys in his hand. He stopped and said, ‘Hello.’ Normally that would have been it with Alastair, for he was a quiet bloke, but he continued. ‘When are you giving me my DI back, Bob?’

‘As soon as I can, mate,’ I retorted, stung slightly by his question. ‘Do you think I’m spinning out this investigation just to keep Alison close?’

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ he insisted: four more than sincerity demanded.

He was a nice bloke, as well as a quiet one, and at once I regretted biting him. ‘One “No” would have been enough, Alastair. Are you pushed, flying one short?’

‘Just a bit,’ he admitted. ‘I’d an armed robbery yesterday, the third from a pharmacy this month.’

‘Drug thefts?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wish I’d known earlier,’ I grunted. ‘I was with Tony Manson earlier; I could have told him it was becoming a problem. He’d put them out of business quicker than we can.’

‘Sure,’ he agreed, ‘but permanently.’ I think I made him nervous sometimes. ‘Ah, I’m just having a moan, Bob; don’t mind me.’

‘I won’t. The Weir murder started off as your inquiry, remember, before Alf slung it over to me.’

‘Very true. I suppose all I can do is wish you luck with it.’

I smiled. ‘I’d sooner rely on methodical detective work, myself. Anyway, I do not feel at my luckiest today. A door barely opens before it’s slammed in my face again. I hope Alison’s going to change that.’

I wished him luck, and carried on upstairs. The layout of Torphichen CID was pretty much like my own, which meant that the detective super had the private office, and the rest had desks in an open area. Alison looked up and smiled as I came in. I held up the Douwe Egberts. ‘This is yours,’ I told her. ‘To be taken home; don’t leave it here or it’ll be nicked. Nothing’s safe in a police office. But, before you put it in your bag, open it and make me a mug.’

‘Fair exchange,’ she agreed.

I watched her as she crossed the room, to the table with the kettle, the milk and the mugs. The place was empty save for a couple of DCs in deep discussion in a far corner, so my study was unobserved. She moved with the confidence of a person who was happy in her skin, on legs that were muscular but beautifully shaped, as if they’d been carved by a master from an unblemished piece of oak. The rest of her body was a good match, but it was the warmth of the being within that I found most attractive. She was too good for me, that was for sure. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered, very softly.

She turned just at that moment, and saw my lips move. ‘I missed that,’ she called out. ‘What did you say?’

‘I said, how would you like to come home with me tonight?’ How weak and indecisive was I?

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but that wasn’t it.’

‘No, I said sorry for not calling you earlier.’

She smiled as she placed a mug in front of me, on a Capital Copiers coaster, on her desk. ‘You boss, me underling. I’m meant to wait until you’re ready.’

‘That’ll be the day,’ I chuckled.

‘That’s the rule,’ she insisted. ‘Anyway, you sounded completely frazzled when you did call, so I took it that you’d had a bad time. Actually, you still look pretty wired.’

I sighed, heavily. ‘Do I? And here was me thinking I was supercop. Yes, we had a fairly testing experience, young Andy and I.’ I told her about our visit to Winston Church and what we had found. I left out the worst of the detail, but I didn’t fool her.

‘So you won’t be passing the crime scene photos round the table after dinner,’ she said.

‘No, I will not. I like my carpet the way it is.’

‘I see. Is there an upside to this?’

I sipped my coffee; I’d made a good choice, I reckoned. ‘For you, yes; you’re not part of the investigation team. For me, no; I thought I could see a way forward, but now I can’t. But that’s not why I’m here. What couldn’t you tell me over the phone?’

‘Not tell you. Show you.’

She sat behind her desk and took a file from a tray. ‘Before I get there, though, we have established a link between Weir and McCann, and it is Maxwell Academy. They were both there at the same time, but McCann was a year behind Weir, and that’s why Wyllie didn’t know the name.’

‘Were they pals at school?’

‘We don’t know. Brian and Stevie are both working on that. They’re interviewing all the classmates that we can find. What’s more important though, isn’t it, is whether they were pals after school, and that’s what we’re trying to establish.’

‘Was Wyllie any help there?’ I asked.

‘I re-interviewed him this morning up at the Sheriff Court, with Stevie… a very dishy young man, by the way; you want to watch him

…’ She winked; I killed my idea of bringing her on to my team full time. Our intimacy had become too great to allow it.

‘No,’ I countered. ‘If I have to, I’ll just send him back to where he came from: obscurity.’

‘Bully. Anyway, Wyllie stuck to his story. He didn’t know McCann and he’d never heard Weir mention him, but he did admit that the two of them weren’t as close as they had been since he became a family man. But there’s still McCann’s pal, Charles Redpath, the guy who was with him the night he died. We’ve still to talk to him again, and we will, soon as he gets back from his run. He’s a lorry driver; works with a firm in Haddington. When we tried to contact him yesterday we were told he was away on a two-day trip to Harrogate. He’s due back late this afternoon.’

‘Tell his employer to hold him there when he gets back. You and I are going out that way anyway. We’ll make a detour and see him together.’

‘I will do,’ she said. ‘But are you sure you want to be involved?’

‘Makes sense. Plus I’m not giving you another chance to size up young Steele.’

‘Okay. Now, the main business.’ She opened her folder. ‘I went to Weir’s flat yesterday afternoon… with Brian, who is in no way dishy… looking for something, anything that mentioned McCann. We’d done the same in reverse at his mother’s place and come up empty-handed, just as we did at Weir’s eventually, but there, I did find this. It was in a drawer, folded. It bears no relevance that I can see to this investigation, but it struck me as curious, and I thought you’d want to see it.’

She picked up a piece of paper, and handed it across to me. I unfolded it and saw that it was a photocopy of a single page. A quick glance at the header told me that it was from a back issue of a magazine called Radioweek, a trade journal, by the look of it. But it was its main article that really caught my eye. The heading was ‘Adding a Sparkle After School’, and it topped a feature about ‘Edinburgh’s newest media star, a girl on the up and up’… Mia Sparkles. There was a photo too, Mia with her best ‘come into my parlour’ look. I stared at it and felt… nothing. What I saw, superimposed by my memory, was the expression on that face the last time I’d seen it.

I read it, carefully. The copy made it appear that she was an Aberdonian; it didn’t mention any earlier Edinburgh connection. Hardly a surprise, I supposed.

I folded it and handed it back. ‘As you say, nothing to do with your investigation. A small coincidence, that’s all.’

‘Isn’t it you who’s famous for saying that you don’t believe in love or coincidences at first sight?’

I smiled. ‘Maybe, but I was lying about the first. That was something I said to give the Saltire crime reporter a good quote, and it’s lived with me ever since. Anyway, we know that Mia went to Maxwell Academy as well. He saw the piece and kept it. So what?’

‘She’s very anxious that nobody should know about her background, is she not?’

‘Yes, but so what? There’s no evidence of anything but casual curiosity on Weir’s part. That magazine article’s months old. Weir could have sold his story to the papers at any time since then, but he didn’t.’

‘True. But maybe he contacted her.’

I couldn’t help smiling. ‘And threatened to reveal his dark secret, so she put a contract out on him? And on his pal, just in case? I don’t think so, Ali.’

She chuckled, softly. ‘No, maybe not. Maybe I’d just like her to have done.’ She paused. ‘Still, shouldn’t it be followed up?’

Procedurally, she was right; but no way was I going to do it, and I didn’t want her to either, for a non-operational reason. ‘Yes,’ I concurred. ‘Tell Brian, or Hugh Grant’s kid brother, to go and see her and ask her if Weir or McCann mean anything to her and if she’s seen either one lately. Do it for the record, then move on.’ I finished my coffee. ‘I’m going back to Fettes. I’ll pick you up from here at four, and we’ll head for Haddington; tell Redpath’s firm we’re coming, and that we’d appreciate it if he waits for us if necessary.’

I went back out to the car park, past young PC Wilding, who started to give me a probationer salute, but stopped when I pointed out that he’d joined the police not the army.

I realised that I didn’t feel like going straight back to the office. I needed clear space to think, and I wasn’t going to find any there. I thought about going up to the castle and parking on its esplanade, but there would be buses, and tourists, hardly an oasis of calm in a sea of storms. Instead, I headed east, through the Grassmarket and the Cowgate, and into Holyrood Park, the Queen’s Park as it’s called sometimes, for that’s what it is. I drove past St Margaret’s Loch and its swan population, and up the rise until I reached Dunsapie Loch. It had less bird life because there were fewer people there with yesterday’s bread. Its car park was empty and that was exactly what I wanted. I got out, leaving my jacket on the hook behind my door, and walked along the water’s edge, then up a short, rocky slope to a point that afforded a view across the firth and all the way down to Berwick Law. As I approached the top I realised that I wasn’t alone, as I’d thought. A couple of kids were lying on the grass about twenty yards away, oblivious of my approach. I didn’t see any cycles, so I guessed that they’d walked up and stopped for what I will call, euphemistically, a wee rest. The law called what they were doing an offence against public decency, but I’ve never been the sort of cop who whips out his warrant card at every opportunity, and suppose I had, I was alone, and so the good old Scots law of corroboration was working in their favour. If I’d had a pebble in my pocket I might have tried to catch the boy on the rise, but I didn’t, so I simply changed direction and left them to their happy distraction.

Eventually I spotted a boulder that was flat enough for me to sit on. I lowered myself on to it and looked homeward, enjoying the peace of the morning, and its sun on my face. Where was I going? I wondered. A week before I’d been chasing druggies all over Edinburgh, doing my best to keep the lid on the sales force and the consumers, knowing all the time that I had no chance of catching the people at senior executive level in the business, because they were as smart as I was and knew that the parts of the criminal code that were restrictions upon me were places of refuge for them. I’d done my time on the drugs squad, beaten all my arrest targets, banged up dozens of salesmen and users, but very few managers, and had looked forward to being rotated. In due course that had come to pass and where was I? Right in the spotlight, running two murder investigations, in which there was no subtlety, only a simple imperative: find the people responsible and take them out of society before they could do it any more damage. I sensed that I was at a, maybe the, pivotal moment of my police career. Alf Stein and the chief had laid out a future for me, but I knew what they hadn’t needed to say: it was all contingent on success. There was an alternative: failure and a fall from the stairway to the stars, as James Proud, in a moment of unprecedented eloquence, had described it. I’d always tried to be honest with myself. I hadn’t always been successful, but I had recognised the extent of my own ambitions. I hadn’t joined the force with the aim of becoming a member of the Superintendents’ Association, and I hadn’t joined because I felt good in uniform. I’d joined to be, not just A detective, but The detective, the man on top, the boss, the man who drove the whole fucking analogy-strewn bus, and I’d been possessed of an ego which hadn’t considered for one second the possibility that I might not be good enough.

But that was what I faced, sitting on that slab of volcanic debris, staring out across the water. Where was I in these two key inquiries that could make my career or wound it, maybe mortally? My fear was that I was stuffed, in both.

I looked for positives in the Marlon Watson murder hunt. On the face of it, we had an acceptable result. We had identified Milburn’s van, and McGuire’s pub manager witness, after a lot of thought, had picked Warren Shackleton from an array of mugshots as one of the men he had seen in Infirmary Street. I hadn’t been sure how he would hold up against an aggressive defence advocate, but that wasn’t a factor any more, since dead men can’t be tried. I was fairly certain also that our scientists would find evidence that would place the two of them at the scene. DNA was coming into use then and in its era everybody leaves a trace behind.

The obvious thing for me to do, in PR terms, was to issue a statement announcing that two men who had been our prime suspects, and one other thought to be involved, were those who’d been found dead in Newcastle. I knew they’d have been the top story in the Tyneside press that morning, and expected them to make the national news, if only briefly.

Yes, I would do that, but not personally, just a couple of paragraphs put out through the press office. I had no intention of exposing myself at a media briefing to follow-up questions to which I had no answers.

On the face of it, I’d be able to close the book on the case. Show the prosecutors our evidence and they’d sign off on Milburn and Shackleton as Marlon’s murderers, no further proceedings necessary. Fine, but I would know that we’d come up short, and so would my bosses. Not only that, there were half a dozen good crime reporters in the city who’d work it out too. Most important of all, though, I’d never be satisfied myself with a job half done. So, the investigation would not be closed. The search would go on, as discreetly as possible, but it would go on, and I’d be judged on the outcome.

As for the Weir-McCann murder hunt, I didn’t feel in touch with that one at all. There had been an early lead in the Watson case, but no such luck with the other. We’d established that the two had been killed by the same man, with the same weapon, but we hadn’t a clue why, and he was still out there. A third murder, and the press would have hysterics. Something had to tie the victims together, beyond the fact that they’d each survived the same sink-estate school, but we weren’t close to finding it. The press clipping about Mia? A curiosity, that was all. No… I frowned… not one, but two: the fact that he had it at all, and the question that it posed. What was a guy who worked on the shop floor in B amp;Q doing with a page torn out of a communications trade magazine? ‘Now that is interesting, Skinner,’ I murmured. ‘Where the hell would Weir have got that from?’ And who the hell’s going to tell us? I added silently, and my flicker of optimism faded. ‘Bugger!’ I sighed, as I stood up, my arse cold from its ancient seat.

I’d left my phone and my house keys in my jacket in the Discovery. A risk casually taken, I realised as I walked back; police officers have no personal immunity to theft. It was still there, though. I could see the car, intact, as I crested the rise. The two youngsters were gone; it could only have been a quickie. I checked the mobile as soon as I was back in the driver’s seat. It showed three missed calls, all from the same number: Mia. As I was looking at the readout she rang again. I hesitated before answering. Indeed, I almost pressed ‘reject’, before I gave in to her persistence and hit the green key instead.

‘Yes.’

‘Bob, it’s me.’

‘I know who it is,’ I replied. ‘I have this clever phone that tells me.’

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I was way over the top this morning. You scared me, that was all.’

‘Yes, I did,’ I conceded, ‘and I’m sorry for that. But you are right, you were way over the top.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry.’

‘Accepted, for fuck’s sake!’ I snapped.

‘So you’re still mad at me.’

‘No,’ I told her, regretting my flash of temper. ‘No, I’m not. Mia, I don’t know what I am, I don’t know what to say. Nothing, I suppose.’

‘I’m not usually like that. I don’t know why I behaved that way.’ She paused for a couple of seconds. ‘But maybe I do,’ she went on. ‘Maybe I haven’t come as far from home as I thought. Do you want to give it another try?’ she asked. I didn’t hear total conviction in the question.

I didn’t have to think about the answer. ‘No, I don’t. It’s not a snub, Mia. And it’s not “Wham bam, thank you, ma’am” either. Last night was great, but this morning was not. Each of us saw a side of the other that we didn’t like, and that’s not going to go away. So best put a full stop after it.’

‘I suppose,’ she sighed, then she chuckled. ‘You weren’t so bad yourself, for a tired old thirty-something. No hard feelings, then.’

‘None. See you around. Who knows, I might even send one of my guys along to talk to your audience about the evils of crime.’

‘Mm,’ she said. ‘That DC Martin would do nicely.’

‘He’d probably agree with you. So long.’

So long indeed, I thought, relieved, and no damage done. As I drove away, it occurred to me that I might have asked her whether she could recall the names McCann and Weir, then remembered that the task was being assigned to Mackie and Steele, and let it lie.

Only McGuire was in the office when I returned, minding the phones while the rest were at lunch. ‘The press officer called, boss,’ he told me. ‘He’s had a couple of people looking for updates on Weir and McCann.’

I called Inspector Hesitant back and dictated a short statement about the Marlon suspects having turned up dead in Newcastle. ‘Don’t go beyond that,’ I warned him. ‘Stick to my script; no initiative to be shown. As for the other one, you can tell them the truth, that we’re trying to establish whether there’s a link between the two victims beyond their schooldays.’ I’d ordered him not to use his initiative; that was something he liked to hear.

I went back out to the front office and sat on the desk facing McGuire. The tailor-made suit had gone, replaced by jeans and a brown suede bomber jacket. It hung over the back of his chair. His shirt had the words ‘Hugo Boss’ embroidered on the breast pocket, and I was pretty certain that it wasn’t a fake from a market stall. I might have been worried about the young man’s expensive tastes, had I not known that he came from a wealthy family.

‘What do you think of the job so far?’ I asked him.

‘As a whole, sir, or CID?’

‘CID.’

For once in our short acquaintance he looked serious. ‘It’s where I want to be,’ he said firmly. ‘Nowhere else. When I joined the force, that was my aim. I’ll tell you, sir, my folks were not best pleased when I told them what I was going to do. I’d three different options open to me: construction like my old man, join my mother in her temp hire business, or go into the Viareggio firm with my Uncle Beppe. I did a bit in each of them, and decided that none was right for me. When it comes to building things, I’m crap. Placing secretaries by the week in banks and PR firms? Look at me, for Christ’s sake. Who could take me seriously?’ I studied his massive frame and agreed. ‘As for my papa’s businesses… I’ll always think of them as his, not my uncle’s; he’s a knobhead… I’d have fitted in there, but I’d have wound up fighting with my cousin Paula.’ I’d run across young Paula Viareggio once, in Madogs while on a date with a girlfriend of brief tenure. She looked sensational, but the word ‘feisty’ could have been coined for her. I could see that she and her cousin would be an explosive combination.

‘So,’ McGuire continued, ‘I told everyone politely that I was going my own way, and I applied to join the force. Do you know how naive I was, boss? I thought you could apply just for CID. It came as a hell of a shock when they told me I’d have to wear a uniform for a while first. But I put it on. I’ve given myself till age twenty-eight to make it. If not, it’s back to importing Italian produce.’

‘How old are you now?’ I asked.

‘Twenty-six.’

‘Congratulations, kid. You’ve made it two years ahead of schedule.’

His face lit up; he seemed to radiate. McGuire is the most charismatic man I’ve ever known, and I’ve met a few worthy of that adjective. ‘You mean I’m staying? It’s not temporary?’

I nodded. ‘You’re signed up. The head of CID’s approved your transfer from uniform.’

‘Aw, that’s great, boss,’ the big guy exclaimed. ‘Wait till my mate McIlhenney hears about this. He will shite bricks of pure green envy. He and I had a bet on who’d make it into plain clothes first.’

‘Where is he just now, this pal of yours that I keep hearing about?’

‘Intimidating sailors in Leith.’

‘Maybe I should take a look at him too,’ I said. ‘But first things first. Since you are on the strength, give me a view on the Watson inquiry. Where do we stand on it?’

He sucked in a breath. ‘Well,’ he ventured, ‘from what I’ve been told, we know that the guys that wrote him off have been remodelled themselves, and we had no leads beyond them. Newcastle answered the mobile phone question while you were out. No joy there either; none found on any of them. If Milburn and his pal were taxi drivers like they say, that’s beyond belief, so somebody’s mopped them up too, as those guys did with Marlon’s.’ He frowned. ‘Looks like we’re up against it, sir. Down to last resort stuff. Cherchez la femme, and all that.’

‘Say that again.’ I must have spoken sharply, for he looked concerned.

‘Sorry, boss,’ he murmured. ‘I was just being flip. Like the French say, when all else fails, look to the woman.’

I laughed. ‘Maybe you were being flip, but do you know what? You’re going to be a great detective, Mario. There are some, the great majority, like Fred and me, that mix methodical with a wee bit of instinct, but every so often there’s someone who just relies on flair, luck and brass neck, yet gets the job done better than anyone else. You’re going to be one of them; I can sense it.’

He looked at me, puzzled. ‘Thanks, boss, but what the fuck do you mean? Why? What did I say?’

‘Tony Manson’s woman,’ I answered. ‘The one he took to Ibiza. We’ve ignored her all along. We don’t know who she is, and he took pains to make sure that nobody else does either. It’s time we found out.’

‘Maybe, sir, but how? People sign in as Mr and Mrs Smith all the time.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Christ, I do often enough.’

‘Not on an aeroplane passenger list, they don’t. Check it out, Mario, check it out. Manson flew to Ibiza from Newcastle the Sunday before last. Get on to the airport and find out who the carrier was, then contact them and find out who was with him.’

‘There’ll have been a couple of hundred people on board. How’ll we know out of all of them?’

I shook my head. ‘Thank God the magic doesn’t work all the time,’ I said. ‘That would be too much to take. She’ll be the one in the next fucking seat to him, son, that’s how. Now go to it.’

As I left him leafing through the Yellow Pages… he had a lot to learn, but I couldn’t teach him all of it… Fred Leggat, Jeff Adam and Andy Martin returned from lunch. I called the DI into my office and told him about McGuire’s brainstorming, and of the instructions I’d given to the press officer. ‘Make sure that everybody knows the party lines on both, Fred,’ I warned. ‘Nothing beyond; not even pub talk.’

‘Will do,’ he promised. ‘By the way, DCS Stein called while you were out, boss. He said he’d like a word.’

‘How about two?’ I growled. ‘Those being “fuck” and “off ”.’

Leggat laughed. ‘You tell him that, boss. I’ve got a pension to safeguard.’

In truth, I had no reason to moan about Alf. He was my line manager, and he was entitled to be kept in the loop. I walked up to his office, knowing that he’d be there. My stomach was rumbling as I reached his door. I’d burned through my trucker’s breakfast.

‘Come in, son,’ he greeted me. Most of the time, Alf was avuncular. ‘You look fucking knackered. I can guess why. Inspector Hesitant sent me copies of the statements you issued.’ He saw my expression change and added, ‘Don’t go and tear into him, now; it’s a standing order he has. Before that, though, I had a call from my opposite number in Newcastle asking for any help we can give him. There’s a lot of heat on down there. The guy they found after you’d left was a hell of a fucking mess apparently. Something of a local character too, so his death’s attracted special attention. Not just in the media either. He was big in the Masons, so there’s interest within the Northumbria force, at the very top level.’

‘That’s all I need,’ I grumbled. ‘Pressure from the goat-shaggers, as a chum of mine calls them.’

‘Shh,’ Alf whispered. ‘Don’t let Proud Jimmy hear you.’

‘The chief? Is he one?’

‘Aye. High up, too.’

‘Then you must be as well,’ I pointed out, ‘or you wouldn’t know that.’

He beamed. ‘We’ll make a detective out of you yet, young Skinner. Now you know about us, you’d better join yourself.’

‘Not a chance,’ I assured him.

‘Why not?’

‘I’m too secretive for you guys.’

He stared at me, and then exploded in laughter.

‘Let me give you an example, sir,’ I said, then described the scene in Winston Church’s kitchen in all its terrible detail.

By the time I was finished he was pale, and serious. ‘You were there.’

I nodded. ‘Andy and I. After we’d found him, the local talent got a bit nervous about our presence, so we got off our mark.’

‘Good for you. That was the best thing to do.’

‘What does their head of CID want from us?’ I asked.

‘He wants you to share your files on the Watson case, and to take a couple of his officers on to your team. How do you feel about that?’

I bounced it straight back to him. ‘You’re the gaffer.’

‘No, Bob, it’s your call.’

‘Then it’s no, twice. These men were killed because of Marlon Watson.’ As I set out the facts for him, my thinking began to coalesce. ‘They were hired, I believe, through Church, to extract information from him, and they were given a location where they could do the job undisturbed. They did it thoroughly. I don’t know what they were trying to find out, or if they succeeded, but they were not the most subtle interrogators, and they killed him in the process. They were also careless. Early in our investigation we identified the van they’d used in Marlon’s abduction, traced its owner, and asked Northumbria for assistance in locating him. You with me?’

‘Aye, go on.’

‘Right. After… I stress that, after… we’d made that request, the van was found burning, and our suspect, the man Milburn, went into hiding with his associate. Not immediately after the murder, boss, but two or three days after it. What does that tell you?’

‘Leak,’ Stein growled, immediately, looking not in the least like a favourite uncle.

‘Exactly. For a while I had one major concern.’ I told him frankly about my conversation with Manson, including my own recklessness, but said that he was eliminated as a suspect to my satisfaction. ‘It can only be inside, boss; it must have come from one of our number. I trust my people, every one of them, so my assumption is that whoever tipped them off that we were on to them is in Newcastle, not here.’

‘Why didn’t Church go into hiding too?’ the DCS asked, shrewdly.

‘We didn’t have any evidence against him, we still don’t and we probably never will. Sir, I can’t have officers from down there on my team. If I did, I’d have to detach one of ours to keep them under observation.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Point taken, son,’ he murmured. ‘I’d better tell my southern colleague to start looking in his own midden.’

‘No!’ I said. ‘Don’t do that. I don’t want to alert anyone. I want the world to think that we’re closing the Watson investigation with the deaths of these men. I want to put everyone at their ease, including the inside man, for I want him too. When I find him, I’ll hit the bastard hardest of all, for he must have known that he was setting these two guys up to be killed.’

When I got back to the office, I checked on McGuire’s progress. He had managed to track down the carrier, a small charter operation based in Glasgow, but its airport representative wouldn’t release information without her boss’s approval, and he was proving hard to find. ‘If they give you any more trouble, tell him that we’re friendly with HM Customs and Excise,’ I suggested, ‘and that a short-notice VAT inspection can be fixed up any time. That usually works.’

I left him to get on with it, for it was time for me to leave to collect Alison. I called ahead, and she was waiting for me at the front door. ‘Redpath’s been delayed on the road,’ she told me as she climbed in. ‘Tailback somewhere down the A1, his manager says.’

‘When is there not?’ I responded. ‘That’s fine. I’d rather be waiting for him when he gets there anyway. It removes any scope for misunderstanding.’

‘Misunderstanding of what?’

‘The fact that we’re serious. You know what murder inquiries are like; witnesses tend to get nervous when we turn up. If he chose to avoid us, his company could hardly hold him there.’

The haulage depot wasn’t actually in Haddington, but on the outskirts. We found it easily enough, but there was no welcoming committee. The office was a Portakabin and it was locked. A couple of red-liveried lorries were parked in the compound, but there was no one around.

‘I wonder what the manager’s done,’ Alison chuckled. ‘Looks as if he got nervous as well.’

She and I sat in the car and waited, for there was nothing else to do. I told her about the holding statement I’d issued on her investigation, and about the heat that had developed on Tyneside over Church’s murder, but I kept the matter of the leak to myself.

We had been there for fifteen minutes when my mobile sounded. It was Mario McGuire. ‘I’ve finally tracked down the travel company’s managing director, boss,’ he announced, but I could tell from his voice that it wasn’t all good news. ‘He’s got no problem with giving us the name we need, but when he called the Newcastle Airport office to tell the woman there to release it, she’d buggered off for the night. He’s not being obstructive; he says there’s nothing he can do.’

In fact there was; if McGuire shouted loud enough, the director could have contacted his employee as soon as she arrived home and sent her back to give us what we were after. I was about to tell him that when a red articulated truck slowed at the entrance to the yard and turned in. ‘Okay,’ I conceded, ‘but he has to get her in there at sparrowfart tomorrow.’

‘She will be, boss. The company’s got a seven fifteen departure to Barcelona.’

‘I wish I was on it.’ I ended the call, and stepped out of the car. Alison and I waited until the vehicle was parked, then approached as the driver jumped down from the cab, a tall skinny guy with ginger hair and a full beard.

‘Charles Redpath?’ I began, holding my warrant card for him to see. ‘We’re police officers and we’d like a word.’

He didn’t seem disturbed by us, in any way. ‘That’s me,’ he said, his face expectant. ‘What is it? Have you caught the swine that killed Albie? D’you need me for an identity parade?’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘We’re not at that stage yet. Look, do you want to come and sit in my car?’

He glanced at it, with the air of someone who’d rather have sat in a hearse. ‘Nah,’ he decreed. ‘We’ll go and sit in the office. I’ve got the keys.’

We followed him across to the Portakabin. Inside, it was Spartan, but I supposed that it served its purpose. There was a small private area to the left of the door, a toilet to the right, and half a dozen full-length lockers against the far wall. Redpath unlocked one of them. A suit and shirt hung inside. He offered us each a seat, but they looked like health and safety rejects, so we declined. ‘What can I do for you then?’ he asked.

‘What school did you go to?’

Alison’s question took him by surprise. ‘Knox Academy, in Haddington. What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Never Maxwell Academy?’

‘No.’

‘So you didn’t know Albie McCann from school. How did you meet?’

‘I used to be a Lothian bus driver; I met Albie in the garage. I didn’t like it, though. Some of the runs can be really dodgy late at night. So I took this job when the chance came up.’

She nodded. ‘Good. That explains the connection between you. The reason for the question is that Albie and Archie Weir, the other murder victim, did go to the same school, although they weren’t in the same year. That’s the only link between them, and we’re wondering if it relates to their murders in some way. If it does… we need to find out how.’

‘I see.’ He scratched at his beard. A family of magpies could have set up home in there.

‘So think carefully. I know you told the other officers who interviewed you that you didn’t know Archie Weir. Are you still sure that Albie McCann never mentioned him?’

‘Absolutely. Weir was my mother’s name before she married my dad. I wouldn’t have forgotten that.’

‘I’ll accept that,’ she conceded. ‘Did he ever talk about any other of his schoolmates?’

He knitted his heavy brows. ‘There was one he mentioned a lot,’ he murmured. ‘I even met him, only a couple of weeks ago. I’d arranged to meet Albie in the Guildford Arms, up in town, for a quick one, about half five. When I turned up, this guy was there too. His name was Telfer, Don Telfer, and he was at Maxwell Academy.’

‘Can you describe him?’

‘I suppose. He’s not very tall, about five eight, maybe. Slim guy, well turned out, clean-shaven. He’s got a scar on his face but otherwise that’s about it.’

‘I don’t suppose you know where we can find him?’

Redpath laughed. ‘Yes, I do. In the middle of the North Sea. Let’s figure this out. That was a Wednesday night, yes, and he said that he would be going offshore again on the Friday, for another six-week trip. He works on an oil production platform. He’s the radio officer. He said that he looks after all their communications, and maintains all the equipment. He even runs an on-board broadcasting station.’

It hasn’t happened very often, but that was one of the times in my career when a witness has said something that’s made the hair at the back of my neck prickle with excitement. There were no prizes for guessing who had given Archie Weir that photocopied page.

‘You haven’t seen him since?’ I asked.

‘No. That was the only time. I wasn’t with him for long. He and Albie left about half past six, and I went to meet my date.’

He had no more to tell us, so we thanked him and left. I drove past Haddington then turned left at Herdmanflat and climbed, heading for Aberlady and Gullane. Neither of us spoke, but we had plenty on our minds. I pulled into a parking place at the crest of the hill. ‘Well?’ Alison murmured.

‘You tell me.’

‘Let me make a call.’ She took her mobile from her bag. ‘Brian,’ I heard her say when she was connected, ‘have you or Stevie spoken to Mia Watson yet?’ There was a pause. ‘Okay. Tell him that when he does, he should ask her, as well as asking her if she remembers McCann or Weir from Maxwell Academy, whether the name Don Telfer means anything. Before that, though, he should trace all the Donald Telfers living in the Edinburgh area. The one we’re looking for will be aged about twenty-eight, and works on an oil platform in the North Sea. We need to know which one. I want him to find out also if this Telfer subscribes to a magazine called Radioweek. While he’s doing that, I want you to go back to McCann’s mother’s place. Go through his bedroom again, but this time you’re looking for the same photocopy that was found in Weir’s flat. It could easily have been overlooked when it was searched before, because we weren’t looking for it. Call me as soon as you’ve done all that.’ She finished, and turned to me. ‘Did you get that?’

I nodded.

‘Stevie’s going to catch her at the radio station once she comes off air in a couple of hours. Brian’ll let me know if he finds anything at the flat.’

‘Good enough,’ I said, as I restarted the car and swung on to the road. ‘That’s all we can do. You realise, don’t you,’ I added, ‘that possession of that photocopy doesn’t actually imply anything. It’s probably entirely innocent, no more than Telfer finding it in one of his trade journals and saying to his buddies, “Hey, lads, remember that Watson lassie at the school? See what she’s doing now?” We can’t read anything more into it.’

‘Are you kidding?’ she exclaimed. ‘If we find that same photocopy in McCann’s flat, it shows a common interest in the Watson woman. We’ve linked all three men, I’m certain of it, and two of them are now dead, Bob. I can read plenty into that.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ I conceded, with the best grace I could muster. My thinking was off kilter where Mia was concerned. ‘We don’t even need that second photocopy to tie them together. One more chat with Robert Wyllie could be helpful, though; now we know about Telfer, he needs to be interviewed again. That should be easy. A talk with us will brighten his day at Saughton.’

‘Didn’t you know?’ she said. ‘His lawyer asked for bail after all, and the sheriff granted it.’

‘His choice, but hopefully not his funeral.’ I’d been bullshitting during the interview. I didn’t really see Wyllie as a target. ‘There’s one blessing in this,’ I went on. ‘Unless he’s gone missing too, Telfer’s out of harm’s way on his oil platform. As you say, two down so far. One still to go? I think we have to assume that. But why? That’s the question.’

‘Let’s see what Mia says to Stevie; she might have the answer.’