Grievous Angel

Fifteen

If Alex was taken aback, in the light of our morning phone conversation, to find Alison in the car when I picked her up from Daisy’s, she made a brilliant job of hiding it. I felt ashamed of myself for putting her in that position, and deeply embarrassed that she should have seen me as a two-timing SoB. I had a flash of her later in life and knew what I’d do to someone who’d treated her as I had Alison. I made a mental note that I’d have to apologise to her, first chance I had. I made a second note to come clean with Alison too, but that moment would have to be chosen very carefully.

I tried to block my indiscretion from my mind as we settled in for the evening. Alison had gone out at lunchtime and bought herself a jumpsuit and fresh stuff for next day. I changed, so did Alex, and the three of us slopped around, looking for all the world like the nice wee domestic unit that we’d sworn not to become.

While my daughter went off to take care of her homework and, no doubt, to catch up on Airburst FM while she was at it, I started the evening meal, a starter of anchovies on tomato bread, Spanish style, followed by fried chicken, with steamed green vegetables. Alison stood in the kitchen, watching me at work, and sipping white wine. She was still talking shop. I tried to put her off, but she persisted. ‘What happened,’ she mused aloud, ‘to make these three men victims? There must have been something, something serious. Could they have been dealing drugs?’

‘It’s possible,’ I conceded. ‘But how? Look at their jobs. A bus mechanic, a DIY shop assistant and a man who spends six weeks at a time out on the North Sea. None of those occupations are conducive to that business. Plus, if they were dealing, chances are at least one of them would have shown up on our radar on the drugs squad. Have you checked Weir and McCann for criminal convictions?’

‘Automatically; McCann was clean, Weir was arrested at a Hibs Rangers game six years ago and done for breach of the peace. In other words, next to nothing. Maybe Telfer will throw up something, but he’s got the sort of job that probably requires a degree of vetting, so I’m inclined to doubt that.’

‘Let’s put drugs to one side then,’ I said. ‘What else?’

She emptied her glass and went to refill it from the bottle on the work surface. ‘No idea, but whatever it is,’ she ventured, ‘it may have happened within a fairly small window. Yes, it could be anything, a long-held grudge, but the only point of contact among them that we know about was two weeks ago…’ she looked at the wall clock, ‘.. . almost exactly two weeks ago, when Redpath met McCann and Telfer in the Guildford Arms, two days before Telfer said he was due back on the oil platform. So it’s possible we’re looking for something that happened within that period.’

‘Then let’s look,’ I told her, ‘wherever we can.’

‘What would you do?’

‘Well, if Telfer was off the pitch from Friday… I’d look at our own incident reports, for anything happening that Wednesday and Thursday that’s still open, and see if I could find a line of inquiry.’

‘Look where? Division by division?’

‘You shouldn’t have to: us department heads report everything important to the head of CID. Alf’s exec should be able to show you everything within that time frame, and you can take it from there.’

My kitchen masterpieces were ready at seven thirty. Alex had just served the starters… one cooked, the other dished it up, that was our deal… when the inevitable happened. Alison’s mobile ringtone sounded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, looking at its display. ‘It’s Mackie. I’ll tell him I’ll call him back later.’

‘No, don’t do that. Take it now, it’s all right. You can catch up.’

I listened to her half of the discussion: ‘Damn it! Never mind. You did? Excellent. Does he indeed? Thanks, see you tomorrow.’ She ended the call, and turned to her anchovies and tomato bread.

‘Well?’ I asked.

‘It’ll keep. I’ll tell you when we’ve eaten.’

‘ Pas devant les enfants? ’ my daughter murmured.

Alison blinked. ‘Pardon?’

I frowned. ‘She’s showing off her French. “Not in front of the children?” is what she’s saying. Yes, kid, exactly so.’

‘I’ll eat in my room if you like,’ Alex snapped.

‘If that’s your choice,’ I told her sternly.

She glared at me, picked up her plate and stalked out of the room.

‘What the hell is up with her?’ I exclaimed, as the door slammed.

‘Given her age,’ Alison replied, quietly, ‘I could think of a couple of things, but the fact that she’s just lost her grandpa, her late mother’s father, might have quite a lot to do with it.’

Yet again, I felt like Shit of the Week. I excused myself and followed Alex upstairs. Her bedroom door was closed; I knocked on it. ‘Go away!’ she yelled.

‘Don’t pour water on a drowning man, baby,’ I called to her. ‘I’m here to say sorry. Can I come in?’

I waited for a few seconds, until I heard, ‘If you must.’ I stepped inside. She was sitting on her bed; the starter was on her desk, untouched. She looked up at me; her eyes were moist. ‘What are you doing, Dad?’

‘Making a complete buttock of myself, by falling out with the girl I love more than anyone else in the world.’ I sat beside her and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘I really am sorry, kid. I might be this great detective, but sometimes I don’t have a clue what’s going on inside my own head. I put you on the spot tonight without thinking about it. I’m an idiot.’

‘No you’re not. You’re just like me. Grandpa’s died, and now you can’t stop thinking about Mum and you’re hiding from it. Mia’s not right for you, Pops.’

‘I know that,’ I told her. ‘Maybe Alison isn’t either, but she’s good for me, and that’s a start.’

‘Then we shouldn’t leave her down there on her own any longer, or she might go.’

I let her lead the way downstairs and followed her into the dining room. Our guest was still there, but most of her starter wasn’t. ‘I’m sorry, Ali,’ I told her. ‘Our little domestic is over. She can speak whatever bloody language she likes from now on.’ I leaned over and kissed her: in front of the child, a first.

‘I might as well tell you now,’ she said cheerfully, ‘while you two catch up.’ I nodded, with a chunk of bread and anchovy in my hand.

‘In order,’ she continued, ‘those three names meant nothing to our potential witness. However, Brian did find that same photocopy in McCann’s room. Also, Stevie traced our Mr Telfer. He lives in Newhaven, he’s a single man like Weir and McCann, he does subscribe to that magazine, by mail order, he works for Shell Exploration, and he is currently on one of their platforms in the Brent field, north-east of Shetland, where he’s scheduled to remain until the end of June.’

‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘It means he can’t do a runner when we go to interview him, unless he’s some swimmer. Do you like helicopters?’ I asked. ‘Personally, I do not, but we can’t wait for him to come onshore.’

‘I’ve never been on one,’ she admitted, ‘but needs must. I wonder if they have newspapers delivered out there.’

I caught on. ‘And if he knows about his two pals? If he does, he might be very pleased to see us.’

‘Can’t he come to you?’ Alex chipped in.

‘He’s only a witness,’ I explained, ‘not a suspect. We’ve got no cause to haul him off his platform if he doesn’t want to come.’

Because of the hiatus, the chicken was a little stringy and the vegetables were too steamed, but I was the only one who complained, and since it was my fault anyway, tough on me.

When we were finished and the dishwasher was stacked, Alex went off to her room to watch a TV serial she’d been following, or maybe she was simply being discreet.

‘Want some music?’ I asked.

‘Mmm.’

I dug out an Elvis Costello hits CD and put it on. The first track was called ‘Alison’. I’ve still got the CD, but I never play that song any more, even though it’s still my favourite by either Elvis. Aileen did once, last year, and I had to explain why there were tears in my eyes.

I sat in my armchair and my Alison sat on me, folded in my lap. She wasn’t wearing shoes. I took her foot in my hand, and began to massage it, very gently. ‘Saw this movie with Myra,’ I murmured, ‘when we were both about eighteen. It was called Stay Hungry. It’s best known today for being one of Arnie Schwarzenegger’s first, but there’s a scene in it where Jeff Bridges and Sally Field are sitting on a staircase and he takes her foot, just like this, and starts talking to her about what a wonderful piece of architecture it is, and…’ I kissed her, ‘… it goes on from there. I wish I could remember the dialogue.’

‘You’re doing all right ad-libbing,’ she purred, then gasped as I reached the soft area at the back of her toes. ‘It obviously made a big impression on you.’

‘And on Myra. She slipped her shoe off, right there in the cinema, and planked her foot in my lap.’

‘We must see if we can find it on video.’ She put her head on my shoulder. ‘What do I give you, Bob?’

It took me a couple of minutes to find what I hoped were the right words. ‘Peace, companionship and good, friendly sex.’

‘Friendly? How about great?’

‘That too, but friendly’s just as important. You set your expectations there, so that when you get to great it’s all the greater.’

She laughed, softly. ‘You talk some real mince sometimes.’

‘I know. I’m more of an action man. So? What do I give you?’

‘You make me feel… not alone. You make me feel good about myself. You give me… as much as a girl could reasonably hope for. But…’

‘Yeah, there’s always a but.’

‘But…’ she continued, ‘there’s still a part of you that’s locked away, a part of you that I’ll never reach. The woman who does. .. she’ll see me off, for she’ll be the one for you. For now, though, there’s one other thing you make me feel and that’s happy. Take it as it comes?’

I nodded. The night before was the past, boxed up, and it could stay there, among my other dark secrets. ‘Deal. We take it as it comes.’

Next morning Alex was up first; we were under no pressure, for we had a call to make on the way into Edinburgh. I waited until the commuter traffic had tailed off before we left. We had talked no shop all morning, but as we passed through Aberlady, Alison raised something that had been on my mind. ‘With everything that’s happening in this investigation,’ she said, ‘I hope we’re all right for sailing this weekend.’

‘Me too,’ I confessed. ‘I’ve got two of them on the go, remember; twice the risk. Thornie’s funeral is sacrosanct. Whatever happens, we will be there. For the rest, we keep our fingers crossed.’

‘But if I have to go offshore to interview this man Telfer…’

‘It’s not just you, it’s the two of us; we’re both going. But I reckon he’ll keep till Monday. Have someone contact the platform operator… Shell, wasn’t it… and make arrangements for us to fly out then. Telfer doesn’t need to know we’re coming either.’

‘But don’t all the platform communications go through him?’ she pointed out.

‘If they do, and Shell play ball, we’ll spin him a line. We can tell him it’s an equipment inspection.’

‘That sounds okay.’ She paused. ‘But Bob, if something else comes up, there’s no need for me to be at the funeral.’

‘I’d like you to be there, come what may.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ she asked. ‘We’ll have to leave our whereabouts with the office. Won’t it be a bit like putting a notice about you and me on the bulletin board?’

‘I’ve already told Fred Leggat where I’ll be going, but you could always tell your troops you’re taking personal time, and leave it at that. That wouldn’t be a lie.’

‘Brian Mackie knows us both. He’ll figure it out for sure.’

I laughed. ‘Ali, I don’t care. When we get into town I’m going to drop you right at the front door of your office, and kiss you farewell. I’m done with furtive. We are as we are.’

We drove on, joining the A1 dual carriageway and heading towards Edinburgh. We were caught up in a short tailback, at the end, but we left it when we took the roundabout outlet that led to the B amp;Q store. Given the time of the morning, the place was a customer-free zone. There was a customer service point just inside the entrance. Alison approached the woman on duty; they had a brief conversation and I saw her show her warrant card, before the loudspeakers boomed, ‘Robert Wyllie to customer desk, please. Robert Wyllie to customer desk.’

Staff discipline must have been good, for only seconds passed before I saw him appear at the far end of an aisle. He saw me too, and stopped in his tracks. I shook my head, smiled and beckoned him on.

‘What now?’ he sighed, as he approached. ‘You folk never let go. What are you going to charge me with this time?’

‘Nothing,’ said Alison, affably. ‘Another couple of questions, Mr Wyllie, that’s all.’

‘About what?’

‘That would be whom. Do you know, or know of, a man called Donald Telfer?’

He frowned, but only for a second. ‘Aye,’ he exclaimed, as if he was pleased to come up with an answer we’d like. ‘He’s a pal of Archie’s. They were at the school thegither.’

‘Ever met him?’

‘Once or twice. He’s no around all that much; he works on the rigs.’

‘What sort of a man is he?’

‘A clever bastard.’ Wyllie’s summation was instant. ‘He’s got a good job there, on the technical side, he told me. Likes a drink, though. They’re no’ allowed any when they’re away, but he makes up for it when he comes back.’

‘Is he aggressive on it?’ I asked.

‘No, he’s different. He gets quiet and gets a nasty look about him.’

Alison took over again. ‘We want to ask you about a couple of days during the week before last. The Wednesday and the Thursday. Can you remember what Archie Weir was up to on those days?’

He nodded vigorously. It seemed that impending prosecution had turned him into the world’s most cooperative witness. ‘Oh aye. We were here as usual on the Wednesday. I mind, ’cos that’s our old folks’ discount day. The place is always heavin’ wi’ pensioners. I asked Archie if he fancied a pint after work, but he said no, that he was meeting Telf, and another bloke from their old school, ’cos Telf was back off tae the rig at the weekend.’ I thought he was finished, but he wasn’t. ‘They must have got well hammered,’ he continued, ‘for Archie called in sick the next morning, and he was off all day.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘Absolutely,’ he assured her. ‘Will that help?’

‘We’ll know in due course,’ she replied.

‘I meant, will it help me?’

‘If it helps us make an arrest,’ I intervened. ‘We’ll need you as a witness, so you’ll be off the hook. Fair enough?’

‘Aye,’ he said. I’d just dealt him a ‘stay out of jail’ card, and he knew it.

Alison thanked him and we left him to get on with his day. ‘Well,’ she exclaimed. ‘That was worth doing.’

‘Too right it was. Next step being-’

‘You don’t need to tell me,’ she admonished me. ‘As soon as I get to the office, I’ll check with the bus garage and find out whether McCann turned up for work that Thursday. And that photocopy; it still interests me.’

‘Mia told Steele she couldn’t remember the names,’ I reminded her. ‘And the article doesn’t necessarily connect. The likeliest explanation is that it was Telfer showing his pals how well their old schoolmate was doing, no more than that.’

‘Granted,’ she said as I drove off. ‘Okay, I’ll have someone check on McCann’s whereabouts. Mind you, if he did turn up for work bright as a button…’

‘I know,’ I sighed. ‘If Telfer was a suspect we could bring him to us, otherwise it means we’re still on that fucking helicopter.’

‘Come on, Braveheart,’ she chuckled. ‘They can’t be that bad.’

‘They are. Nasty smelly things and most of their pilots go deaf in later life. Please God let us find something reported on those days that fits the three of them.’

‘Eh,’ Alison ventured. ‘How do I approach DCS Stein for this information?’

‘I find that on your knees usually works. But happily, you don’t have to go that far. He has a bright-eyed, wet-eared assistant, DC Dorothy Shannon, a friendly girl, from what I’ve heard. She gets the reports, and she’s your point of contact. Mention my name, and she’ll give you what there is.’

‘As long as she hasn’t been friendly to you,’ she murmured.

‘I only go for inspectors and above; offers of friendship from the lower ranks are rejected.’

I dropped her at the front door of her office and set her on her way with the promised kiss. It was witnessed by PC Charlie Johnston, who was many things but not a divulger of information unless it suited his purpose of the moment.

When I walked into the Serious Crimes Unit, the four guys were at their desks. Leggat, Adam and Martin were all heads down, but Mario McGuire jumped to his feet as soon as I entered. I flagged him to follow me into my room. ‘You have the look of a boy with an apple for the teacher,’ I declared as I hung my jacket on the back of my chair. ‘Peel it for me,’ I said as I sat.

‘I think I’ve got a name, boss. That useless airport rep spent an hour airside before she got round to calling me, but finally she did, about half an hour ago. Tony Manson had an aisle seat, and the passenger sitting next to him was a bloke called Hamilton. But in seat D… he was in C… there was a woman called Alafair Drysalter, Mrs.’

‘That’s not the most common name in Edinburgh,’ I remarked. ‘In fact, I can only think of one.’

‘That’s right, boss. Derek Drysalter, the Hibs player. I’ve already checked with the council department that keeps the voters’ roll. There’s only one Drysalter household in Edinburgh. Derek and his wife, Alafair.’

‘Fucking hell, Mario,’ I chuckled. ‘Footballers’ wives. What does that old ram Manson think he’s at?’

‘Whatever it is, he’s a lucky bastard.’ He took a sheet from the file he was carrying and put it on my desk. ‘I know a guy on the Evening News picture desk,’ he said. ‘I can trust him to keep his mouth shut, so I took a chance and asked him to check their library. He faxed that across to me a couple of minutes ago.’

It was a photograph taken, going on some artwork in the background, at a Hibs gathering. The couple shown were in their early twenties, both dolled up in designer evening clothes. He was tall and lean, with the build you’d expect on someone who’d scored twenty-seven goals in the season past, more than half of them with his head. She was a stereotype, all blonde bouffant with professional make-up and wearing a dress that looked as if it was held up only by her nipples.

‘Jesus,’ I murmured. ‘Do we know where the boy Derek was while his wife was pole-dancing with Tony?’

‘At a training camp with the Scotland squad, for the American trip. He’ll be pissed off about missing it.’

Something in his tone made me glance up from the picture. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

He looked back at me, in surprise. ‘Haven’t you seen the papers this morning, boss? Derek Drysalter’s in hospital. Both his legs are broken and both his kneecaps are shattered; hit and run. He was out walking his dogs last night, near their house on Blackford Hill, and somebody whacked him and drove away.’

I stared at him. ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’

‘I wish I was,’ he sighed. ‘He’s a crackin’ player, even if his wife is a slag.’

‘Mario, I wasn’t doubting your word. I’m just wondering about a hit and run driver who’s so accurate that he managed to inflict exactly the injuries you’d want to put on a footballer, especially when the guy’s famously quick on his feet. Were the dogs hit?’

‘I don’t know, boss.’

‘Were there any witnesses to the accident? Did anyone see the car, or even hear it?’

‘I haven’t…’ It was as if I’d eaten his apple and wanted a punnet of strawberries to follow.

‘No, of course not; because you haven’t had time, or been told to do it. No blame. We have to interview Derek Drysalter. From Blackhall they’d have taken him to the Royal for sure. Check that he’s still there.’ I frowned as I recalled something from the sporting almanac in my head. ‘Mario,’ I said, ‘I’m no Hibbie, but wasn’t he a big signing for them last summer?’

‘Yes, a record. They broke the bank for him.’

‘And they signed him from?’

‘Newcastle United.’

‘Wow,’ I murmured. ‘You confirm where Drysalter is, then find out who’s investigating the hit and run, and tell them I want to know what they’ve achieved so far. While you’re doing that, I’ve got a call to make, and then we’re off to see the victim, whether he’s receiving visitors or not.’

As he left to get on with his task, I picked up the phone and called Northumbria CID. DI McFaul was in his office when they put me through. I could tell by just one word, ‘Yes!’ that he was harassed.

‘Ciaran, Bob Skinner, Edinburgh.’

‘Oh, sorry, sir, didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘You’re entitled. No progress, then.’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘and my boss is giving me shit.’

‘I know the feeling. Listen, I need to ask you something, just between you and me. It’s a favour, and it needs to be handled very discreetly, since the guy involved is high profile. The footballer, Derek Drysalter. You may have heard that he had an accident last night.’

‘Yes. From what I read he’ll be lucky if he ever plays again.’

‘I may have a say in that,’ I told him. ‘I’d like you to check something for me, and I repeat, very quietly. When he was at St James’s Park, was he connected with Winston Church, in any way, or was a link even suspected?’

‘Footballers attract a lot of hangers-on,’ he said, ‘and in turn some footballers hang on to a lot of funny people. I’ll have a look.’

I left him to it and went back into the general office. McGuire was still on the phone, so I waited for him to finish. ‘He’s not in the Royal any more, boss,’ he told me. ‘He’s been transferred to the Murrayfield, the private hospital. His consultant’s a man called Jacobs.’

‘Then I’d like to talk to him: the consultant, that is.’

‘That’ll be easy enough, boss.’ He grinned. ‘His secretary says that he wants to speak to us. He’s due to operate on Drysalter at midday, so I’ve made an appointment for you at eleven.’

‘For us, you mean. You’re coming with me.’

He beamed; I’d never seen greater enthusiasm. ‘The investigation into the accident’s being run out of St Leonards,’ he volunteered. ‘They’re still trying to trace the vehicle involved, but they’ve got no witnesses other than Drysalter himself, and his description’s vague. He was found in a pretty deserted street, on the way up to the Royal Observatory, by a man from a house over a hundred yards away. He was screaming loud enough for him to hear above the telly, even from that distance.’

‘Who’s running the investigation?’

‘DS Varley’s in charge.’

‘Not any more he isn’t. Tell Jock that it ties into one of ours, and ask them to send over all the paperwork he’s generated so far.’

‘Will he take that from me, boss? I’m just a front office plod to him.’

‘No, you’re DC McGuire, Serious Crimes. That’s how you introduce yourself, then you ask him, nicely.’

The Murrayfield was a general purpose hospital; it catered for most ailments of the well-to-do in Edinburgh, and of those with occupational health insurance. At first sight it was a smaller version of the hotel that was its neighbour on Corstorphine Road. As we stepped out of the Discovery, an elephant trumpeted; the site was next to Edinburgh Zoo. I’d often wondered whether patients coming out of anaesthetic wondered whether they’d woken up in Africa.

At first sight Derek Drysalter’s consultant might have been an exhibit himself. He was a bear of a man, about my height, and still as muscular in the shoulders and arms as a weightlifter, although he must have been pushing sixty. ‘Paul Jacobs,’ he said as we were shown into his consulting room.

He went straight to the point once the introductions were over. ‘I’m intrigued that we should be calling each other about this, Superintendent. What prompted you, may I ask?’

I wanted frankness from him, so I didn’t hold back. ‘Your patient has become involved in a live investigation on our books. Whether it’s as a suspect or just as an injured party, we don’t know yet, but in the circumstances I need to be certain of the facts of the case.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ the surgeon replied. ‘If this is a hit and run, then the driver’s the most meticulous I’ve ever seen. Take a look.’ He rose, walked across to a lit viewing box, and placed an X-ray exposure on it.

‘This shows a fracture of the right femur, the thigh bone. The impact was from the side, so if this was a car, he was half-turned towards it. The man is six feet one inches tall, so again, if this injury came from a vehicle, it was either a lorry, or it had bull bars fitted.’ He removed the print and replaced it with two more.

‘This is where the so-called driver got really clever. There are fractures to the tibia and fibula of both legs, and both patellae are completely shattered, beyond repair. Since Mr Drysalter would have been unable to stand after the first impact, whichever it was, the driver must have hit him at least twice when he was in mid-air. Stuff and nonsense! The gentleman was attacked by people wielding metal bars or, more commonly these days, baseball bats, in a way that caused maximum damage without putting his life in danger. There are no injuries other than those I’ve shown you; no cuts, no scrapes, no broken skin. That on its own would make a nonsense of the hit and run notion. I don’t have any ethical problem telling you this, incidentally. It’s what I would say if I was called to give evidence in any criminal or civil hearing.’

‘Have you said this to him?’ I asked.

‘That’s not my job; I have to deal with what’s on the table, not establish how it got there. I’ve been instructed by his employer to try to save his career, but if I do, it’ll be the finest achievement of mine. Apart from rejoining the fractures, and at least two of them will need pinning, I’m going to have to rebuild both knees, repair the damaged ligaments and replace both kneecaps. With luck, he’ll be able to walk without crutches in six months, maybe even jog in a further year, but football? No.’

I saw McGuire frown. ‘That’ll be a calamity for the supporters,’ I said, ‘like this one here. Can we talk to him before you operate? I don’t imagine he’ll be up to much for a while afterwards.’

‘Yes, you may; he’s still in his room. He’s full of diamorphine, but he won’t have had his pre-med yet, so he’ll still be compos mentis.’

I thanked the consultant. His secretary led us from his office to a wing on the other side of the building, stopping at a door with the number five. ‘This is Mr Drysalter’s room,’ she announced, and was about to open the door when I stopped her.

‘Fine, thanks,’ I said. ‘But I need to speak to someone before we go in.’ I dug out my mobile and called McFaul. ‘Got anything for me yet?’

‘As much as I’m going to,’ he replied. ‘There was a link between Winston and your footballer when he was down here. Church owned a small bookmaking chain, and Drysalter liked the horses, and the dogs, and occasionally two flies crawling up a wall.’

‘Was he good at it?’

‘Are those lads ever any good? The word is he dropped a million into the old Prime Minister’s pocket. Most of his signing-on fee when he was transferred went to clear off his debts.’

‘Habits like that are hard to kill. Thanks, Ciaran. That’s very useful information.’

‘Do you really think this could be our man?’ McFaul asked.

‘No, but at this moment, I’m not ruling him out completely. I’ll know more in about ten minutes.’

I ended the call, knocked on the door of room number five and walked in. The footballer was alone, propped up on pillows in a hospital bed, his mangled legs protected by a cage. His hair was dishevelled and the stubble on his chin emphasised his paleness. He looked round as we entered and I could see chemically controlled agony in his eyes.

When I told him who we were, he moaned. ‘Oh, not just now, please.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Drysalter, but it has to be. You’re going to be post-op for a while and this can’t wait. We need to find the people who worked you over.’

Fear mixed with the pain. ‘It was a hit and run,’ he protested. ‘I told the other cops.’

‘You lied to the other cops, son. Don’t try it on with me. I’ll make this as quick as I can, and then you can go to sleep for as long as you like. How did you come to know Tony Manson?’

I could see him shrink into himself very slightly, as if he was accepting something inevitable. ‘I’m a member of his casino.’

‘Given your gambling record in Newcastle, I’ll bet he was glad to see you. How much do you owe him?’

‘About forty grand. I’ve got a limit now.’

‘Does your wife go there with you?’

‘Quite often, yes.’

‘Did you tell her to be nice to Tony?’ I asked.

For the first time he looked something other than beaten. ‘No! What the fuck do you mean by that?’

‘How long has her affair with Manson been going on?’

‘What do you mean?’ he gasped. I had an uncomfortable feeling that I really had surprised him.

‘Come on, you know she’s been playing away.’

‘Yes.’ His voice cracked a little. ‘I’ve suspected for a wee while. But I didn’t think it was with Tony, honest to God. No, I don’t believe that.’

‘When did you know about her for sure?’

‘I found out when the kennels rang to confirm a booking for the dogs, while I was away with the Scotland team. I took the call, and I knew something was funny. She’d never said anything about going away. I didn’t let on afterwards that I knew about the booking, and she never mentioned it.’

‘And you are still saying that you didn’t know she was going away with Manson?’

‘I didn’t, honest.’

‘Winston Church. When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Last summer, when I gave him a wedge of money to square off what I owed him.’

‘A million, I heard.’

‘And a bit.’

‘He let you run with that size of debt?’

‘I am who I am, mister. I earn silly money.’

‘I suppose,’ I conceded. ‘You haven’t seen him since.’

‘No.’

‘And you don’t know he’s dead?’

‘He’s what? When?’ I was looking into his eyes, and I believed him. Fuck! I thought.

‘Yes. He was murdered, a couple of days ago.’

‘Jesus.’

‘So,’ I continued, ‘you went off to your training camp, without asking your wife where she was going?’

‘Right. I was going to, but I bottled it. I… nothing.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, flash of pain that’s all.’

‘When did you come back?’

‘Late Sunday afternoon.’

‘Where was the camp?’

‘Dubai.’

‘Did you go for the dogs? We know that your wife wasn’t back then.’

He shook his head. ‘No. I went straight to a supporters’ dinner in the King James Hotel. I was picking up a Player of the Season award, and it was the only night that suited. I got home at half past ten; Alafair was home and so were the dogs.’

I pointed to the cage. ‘So why this?’

‘I don’t know,’ he muttered.

‘With respect,’ I said, ‘that’s bollocks.’

‘Fuck you. I’m not saying anything about it, okay?’

‘Who attacked you? Or aren’t you saying that either?’

‘Too fucking right I’m not. You can sit on my legs and I still won’t tell you. I don’t know him anyway.’

‘Him?’ I exclaimed. ‘One man did all that?’

Drysalter pursed his lips and stared at the cage. ‘Nothing,’ he whispered.

‘Listen,’ I told him. ‘You’re right to be afraid of Manson, but with your help we can put him away.’

He looked up at me again, eyes narrow. ‘Are you really saying this was Tony?’ he asked.

‘I’m like you, Derek,’ I replied. ‘I’m saying nothing. Good luck under the knife, and with your next career. Come on, Mario.’ I turned and left him to his appointment with Mr Jacobs.

‘Do you really think he didn’t know his wife was shagging Manson, boss?’ McGuire asked, once we were outside.

‘Having seen him, I don’t believe that he did. That kid’s naive. He lives much of his life cloistered away with his teammates doing what he’s told, eating what he’s given, even sleeping to a timetable. When he’s not doing that he spends his leisure time in the bookie’s or the casino, so I can understand him being blind to what the wife was up to. But one thing interests me. Somebody gave him a doing, but his first thought wasn’t Manson. Let’s see how that one plays.’

‘What do we do now?’

‘We pay a couple of visits, but in the right order. Did Jock Varley give you the Drysalters’ address?’

He produced a notebook from his pocket. ‘Yes, sir. I’ve got it here.’ He read it out.

‘That’s where we’re going first,’ I told him. I had a notion that Alafair would be at home, and of what we would find there. ‘While we’re on the way, I want you to dig out what you can about her.’

‘I’ve got something already, boss,’ he ventured, with the slightly tentative air of a man who was anxious not to appear to be a smartarse. ‘The photo that my News pal sent me was used alongside an article. It was one of a series of features on players’ wives, Hibs and Hearts, so I got him to send that as well.’

‘Did it tell you much?’

‘Not a lot. It said she’s twenty-five, was brought up in Hamilton by a single-parent mum, who’s now dead, went to the local high school, went to drama school in Glasgow, took modelling jobs between acting parts, her work name being her maiden name, Alafair McGrew, and met her husband three years ago when she did a photoshoot with the Scotland squad. Now, she says, her life is Derek and her dogs.’

‘And her gangster on the side. Come on.’ We climbed into the car and I headed for Blackford Hill. ‘Did Varley interview her last night?’ I asked when we were under way.

‘No, sir. She was out last night when Derek had his…’ he updated the situation ‘… was attacked. He was planning to see her today. But now…’

‘It’s down to us. It was convenient, her being out, Mario, wasn’t it?’

‘Convenient for who, boss?’

‘Convenient for her not to be within miles of it.’

The Drysalter family home, a modern pile that couldn’t make up its mind whether it was Rennie Mackintosh or Art Deco, stood back from the street behind a high wall, but its location meant that any paparazzo with half a brain could climb Blackford Hill and have a clear view of Alafair and Derek at play in their back garden. I parked outside. The gates were closed but, surprisingly, not locked, so I opened them and led the way up the path. As we approached the house we could hear barking from inside. The door opened, just a crack, no more, before we reached it, and a voice from within shouted, ‘I thought I’d locked that gate. Look, bugger off, no press.’

I flashed my badge. ‘I couldn’t agree more, Mrs Drysalter. We’re the police; it’s about your husband.’

‘I’ve got nothing to say to you either. Away you go and catch the guy that ran Derek over.’

‘Open the door, please,’ I said. The crack widened a little. ‘No, all the way, please.’ The dogs were still yowling somewhere in the background.

‘I’m not letting you in.’

‘You’re not required to, but I would like to see you. I’m concerned about your well-being and I need to make sure that you’re all right.’

‘Rubbish,’ she murmured, but she opened it, about halfway, enough for me to see that she was wearing wrap-around sunglasses, barely necessary on a morning that had begun overcast and looked like staying that way.

‘Satisfied?’ she drawled. She’d have slammed the door shut if it hadn’t been for McGuire’s size whatever moccasin blocking the way. As she pushed vainly against his strength, I reached out and whipped the shades away.

Both her eyes were blackened, and swollen, as was the bridge of her nose. I hadn’t noticed before, but her lower lip was puffy as well. She snatched the Ray-Bans back from me and replaced them, but I’d seen enough. I’d expected that, or something similar.

‘I’m still saying nothing!’ she snapped. ‘Now go… or I’ll call your superior officer.’

‘That would be DCS Stein,’ I advised her. ‘But it doesn’t matter. You’ve told me everything I wanted to know. We’re going to do you a favour now; we’re not going to ask you anything at all.’

She took me by surprise; she slumped against the door and started to cry.

I let McGuire administer the sympathy. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, gently. ‘Is he often abusive?’ She nodded. ‘Do you want to make a complaint against him?’

She shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered.

I leaned close to her. ‘I think you have done already, kid,’ I murmured, ‘but not to us. Come on, Mario.’

We closed the gate carefully behind us. ‘She had you going there, didn’t she?’ I said.

He nodded. ‘I take a very dim view of domestic violence. I’ve seen too much of it in uniform.’

‘We all do in our time,’ I agreed, ‘and I’m not condoning it. But remember three things: one, she’s an actress; two, she doesn’t know that we know she’s been fucking Manson; three, everybody likes to have the police on their side. She’s hoping we’ll pat her on the head and go away. The bugger is, she’s right; we’ll have to.’

I checked my watch… the clock in the Discovery had packed up in the time of a previous owner. It showed twelve forty. ‘The Police Federation would like you to be going for lunch now, son. But right now, as I speak, she’s in there making a phone call. I don’t want to give the recipient too long to digest it, once he’s heard who turned up on her doorstep.’

The city bypass was fairly close, so I took that rather than head across town. The journey took me twenty minutes, and I’d probably saved the same. The gates swung open even more quickly than before, but then, I was expected. ‘Where are we?’ McGuire asked.

‘In the belly of the beast. You’ll see.’

For the third time in succession, the door was opened by a different person. Dougie Terry didn’t say a word; he let us in and stood aside. I knew the way by that time.

Manson was behind his desk, contemplating what looked like two burgers, or possibly steaks, each in a big, floury bap. He looked at McGuire as we crossed the room. ‘I see we’ve both got new minders. Skinner.’

I took the fake pen from its stand and broke it in two, then ripped its wire loose. His smile vanished. ‘Hey, what the fuck are you doin’? It’s not switched on.’

‘Who gives a shit?’ I barked. ‘I’m in that sort of mood. Mario, now that you’ve met Mr Manson, you might want to go and have a longer chat with Mr Terry.’

‘You serious, boss?’ the DC asked.

‘Yes, go on.’

I waited until he’d left then headed round the desk. Manson saw that I really was serious; he panicked, opened the top right-hand drawer and reached into it, but I slammed it shut on his hand and pressed hard. ‘Bastard!’ he yelled. I pulled him over backwards, right out of his chair, and took the gun he’d been after. He started to rise, and I slugged him with it, backhanded, across the face. He sprawled on the rug, in a bay window that looked out on to the completely secluded garden, free of onlookers. He wasn’t done, more fool him. I pocketed the automatic as he got to his feet, then hit him, a big right-hander on the temple that knocked him back down, and right out.

When he started to come to, I was in his chair, pointing his own gun at the middle of his forehead, with half a burger in my left hand. ‘That was the biggest mistake you’ve ever made in your life,’ I told him, when he was ready to listen, and I had finished chewing. ‘We were just going to have a chat until you went for the gun. Are you fucking mad?’

‘What gun?’ he mumbled. ‘You brought it with you.’

‘No, I didn’t, but I’m taking it away. There’s an amnesty on just now, post-Dunblane, pre-legislation, and this is going in the river.’ I put it back in my pocket (the safety catch had never been off), picked up the other bap from the plate on his desk and handed it to him.

‘Cheers,’ he said, sourly.

‘Actually, Tony, you did me a favour,’ I confessed. ‘I wanted to give you a slap, very badly. I’m angry, very angry. I’ve just been to see a lad in hospital. You’ve been screwing his wife and now you’ve ended his career for him. You know what? As well as being a fucking criminal, you are an arsehole of the first order.’

‘Nothing to do with me,’ he muttered, then winced as he took a bite from his roll and felt the pain. I’d caught him with the gun between the right cheekbone and upper jaw. His face was swelling and his eye was going to be closed before too long.

‘Where’s big Lennie?’ I asked.

‘He’s gone on holiday for a bit.’

‘Sure. He left last night I’ll bet, via Blackford Hill.’ He frowned and I read his mind. ‘No, forget that,’ I told him. ‘Derek’s story is still that he was hit by a car, but we both know that’s crap. We also know that there’s only one guy in town who’d tackle a job like that alone, against a young, fit guy, and inflict the damage that he’s got. You’re a bastard on that score as well. You like Lennie, yet you used him to do that. What about Bella?’ I continued, keeping the pressure on him. ‘Where’s she?’

‘Back at her own place. She’s got Marlon’s funeral to sort.’

‘And she’s safe, of course, now you know there’s no threat against her.’

‘There never was,’ he replied. ‘She was upset about the kid. We both were. I just wanted her here for a while, that was all.’

I shook my head. ‘I still don’t get it, man. Okay, you’ve got a thing going with Alafair, but she’s a fucking trophy for the likes of you, that’s all. You don’t want to marry her, for Christ’s sake. A week’s nookie in Ibiza and that would have been it, am I right?’

‘Maybe.’

‘So, she goes home, Derek finds out, they have a big fight, he loses it and hits her. And she phones you crying about it. The Tony Manson I know would have said, “Your business,” and hung up on her, but instead you set big Lennie on the guy you’ve been cuckolding, the highest profile sportsman in town, and you break his fucking legs! I do not get that, Tony; I don’t get it at all. Explain it to me, no witnesses; go on.’

He took another bite of burger, with the other side of his mouth, and I finished mine. When he was done, he looked up at me, and said, ‘Just this once, okay?’

I nodded. ‘Okay, if you want.’

‘It was a matter of principle. A message had to be sent; now it has been and the story’s over. I’ll compensate the boy. His debts are wiped at the casino, forty grand’s worth. I doubt if he’ll ever go there again, but if he does he’ll have another ten coming in chips.’

I whistled. ‘That’s the noblest thing I’ve ever heard,’ I told him, ironically; I must emphasise that, in case you thought I was being serious, for irony is very difficult to convey on the printed page. ‘But I don’t get your fucking message.’

‘It wasn’t for you, but trust me, it’ll have been received.’

‘By whom? Derek? For fuck’s sake, Tony. What good’s that going to do now? Oh, and by the way, I’d sooner trust a politician.’ I frowned. ‘You’ve got a lot in common, mind you. They keep on getting away with it, just like you will this time.’

I reached out a hand and pulled him off the floor, then gave him back his chair. ‘No more, Tony, no more,’ I warned him. I patted my pocket. ‘And no more toys either. Once this new ban on handguns comes in, if I raid this place and find any, you’ll be gone for five years.’

McGuire and Terry were outside in the hall when I left, eyeing each other up, the latter more than a little warily. I sensed that something had happened. I patted the DC on the shoulder. ‘And he’s on our team too, Dougie. I’ll bet that hasn’t made your afternoon.’

The gates had been opened for us when we stepped outside. Neither of us said a word until we were off the property and back in Essex Road. It was McGuire who broke the silence. ‘What happened in there, boss?’

‘Tony and I had a wee chat. We’re old acquaintances. Don’t be offended that I asked you to leave. Some things are better one on one. I wanted you to see him before we got down to it. I’m sure you’ll bump into him again before you’re done.’

As it happened he did, a few years later; it was a one-sided meeting, though, since Manson was dead at the time.

‘We heard a shout at one point,’ the new DC said, quietly. ‘Terry was for going in there.’

‘Did you have to restrain him?’

‘No, sir. He thought better of it.’

They usually do with him. I grinned. ‘Thanks for your confidence,’ I remarked. ‘It might have been me that was shouting.’

‘I never thought that for one second, sir. Neither did Terry, from the way he reacted. Did you get anything out of Manson?’

‘I’d read the script before I heard the performance.’ I summed up the sequence of events for him, but left out the more physical side of the discussion.

‘If we know all that, don’t we have a chance of a prosecution?’ he asked.

‘Of course. If… Derek Drysalter, who’s getting fifty grand from Manson for pain and inconvenience, plus, I imagine, an insurance payment that might be in doubt if the truth came out, was to change his story and make a complaint, if… a couple of witnesses come forward out of the blue and make it to the trial unbribable or undamaged, if… Alafair confesses to everything including running to Tony after Derek hit her, and if… big Lennie doesn’t happen to have been in a roomful of oath-taking friends at the exact moment the attack took place, then… yes, we might have a chance of taking it to court. The only problem is that none of those things is going to happen.’

I understood his concern. I’d been as idealistic as him ten years earlier. ‘We just have to keep doing our best, Mario,’ I told him. ‘We get most of them in the end.’

‘We haven’t got Manson yet,’ he pointed out.

‘If we don’t, the chances are that someone else will. Look at the Holmes brothers. They thought they were untouchable, until wee Billy Spreckley showed them they were only human after all.’

‘Where does all this leave us with the Watson investigation?’

‘Good question, son,’ I conceded. ‘Back at point one, unfortunately. What were those two hooligans hired to get out of Marlon? The fact that Tony and Alafair were having it away? I can’t see that. At the end of the day who cares other than the Loyal Hibernian Supporters’ Club? And I can’t see them hiring hit men from Newcastle.’

McGuire whistled. ‘I don’t know, boss,’ he chuckled. ‘Hibbies can be very determined people when their club’s involved.’

‘You can joke about it, but that’s all we’ve got at the moment. Whatever they were after, it was serious. They were brought in to do a job, we got on to them and they, for their carelessness, were killed themselves… to eliminate any chance of us reaching the person who hired them.’ I sighed. ‘And then there’s the leak. How did our man find out that we had indentified the van, and the men in it?’

‘We’ve got a mole then,’ McGuire murmured.

‘I’d like to think that Newcastle has, not us. But don’t call him a mole; I hate that analogy. Moles are nice furry wee things. Our traitor’s a reptile, a serpent in our garden.’

‘Does Manson know who’s behind it all?’

I sighed. ‘If he does, then he isn’t worried any more. Bella’s no longer being protected… although he told me he never did think she was at risk… and his own security’s back to normal: Dougie Terry’s not exactly fucking Cerberus guarding the gates of Hell. My feeling is that Tony believes that it’s over with him having sent his message, as he calls it. It might be for him, but not for us. We’ve still got a triple murderer to catch.’

‘So what do we do now, sir?’ he asked, as we neared the office.

‘Us normal mortals, Mario, we just keep going, or we go back over what we’ve done so far and see if we’ve missed anything. You, I guess, just keep relying on flair, luck and brass neck.’

As soon as I was back behind my desk, I called Alison. ‘How did you get on with Alf’s assistant?’

‘I’m no further forward,’ she replied. ‘She did a trawl of all the reports from divisions of incidents from the Wednesday night right through to the Friday, but there was nothing there involving three unidentified suspects.’

‘Bugger. Nothing at all?’

‘There was an armed robbery by two guys from a video store in Leith Walk on the Thursday night. Doesn’t quite fit the time frame and we’re one suspect short.’

‘Nor does it sound like the sort of thing that people get killed over. Go back to Shannon, Ali, and ask her to trawl over two further days, just in case something happened that wasn’t reported until after the event. And this too: get your boys to ask around discreetly for things that might have happened off our radar. For example, any word of a robbery where the victim might have had an interest in not reporting it?’

‘I will do. Bob,’ she seemed to hesitate for a second, ‘do you think we should go back to Mia Watson on this?’

‘And ask her what? She’s already told Stevie that she doesn’t remember any of them.’

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘I wondered whether, if it was woman to woman, she might push her memory a wee bit harder.’

I didn’t really want Alison interviewing Mia, but I couldn’t order her not to, or even come up with a convincing reason why she shouldn’t. ‘Try it, if that’s what you want, but she goes on air soon for most of the rest of the day, and we’re both off the pitch for four days from tonight, including Monday when we go to interview Telfer.’

‘No,’ she replied. ‘We can’t get to see him before Tuesday. By the time we got the train up to Aberdeen it would be too late to fly to the platform and back in one day, but as you said, he’s not going anywhere. I’ve made all the arrangements with Shell. We go up Monday afternoon and leave at seven o’clock on the helicopter. All I have to do now is book us into the airport hotel.’

‘You’d better make it one room,’ I told her. ‘Times are tight; we should save the taxpayer some money.’

She laughed. ‘After a weekend on a seagoing schooner, you might want a suite.’