Hour Of Darkness

Twenty-Four

I was still contemplating my departed visitor, after walking him to the lift, when Sandra Bulloch knocked on my door and slipped into the room. ‘Your friend Mr Jackson seems like a nice chap,’ she said, with a smile and a glint in her eye.

‘He is,’ I replied. I was amused by her reaction to Lennie; Sandra’s normally a very serious person, and it was the first time I’d seen her even hint that there was another side to her.

‘How old is he?’ she asked, not quite casually enough. ‘Late thirties?’ she suggested.

‘No, he’s in his mid-forties.’

‘He wears it well.’

‘Yes, he’s an ascetic. His life is almost monastic, you might say.’

‘Mmm. Does that mean he’s single?’

‘Yes it does. You might say he lives the way he does because he’s single.’

She stared at me. ‘Uh? I don’t get that, sir.’

‘He was convicted of his wife’s murder. He says he didn’t do it. Yes, I know most of them say that, but I believe him. He did kill another couple of people though, no question.’ I chuckled at her confusion, then explained who Lennie Plenderleith was, and had been.

‘He’s a charming man,’ she said, her enthusiasm dampened, ‘but I’ve heard that said about Crippen. Can we expect him to become a media celeb when he’s released?’

A good question, and one I hadn’t considered. ‘Probably not,’ I surmised, ‘for that would drag up his past. When he does get out he’ll only be Lennie Plenderleith to his probation officer. To the rest of the world he’ll be Dr Dominic Jackson, practising psychologist. But,’ I continued, ‘you didn’t come in here to ask for his phone number.’

‘No, sir,’ she agreed, ‘I didn’t. While you were engaged, you had a call on your private line from Chief Constable Steele, in Edinburgh. She asks if you could call her back.’

‘Of course.’

‘Shall I get her for you?’

‘No,’ I told her, ‘I’ll ring her myself. I’ve got another task for you. A life sentence prisoner named Peter Hastings McGrew was released from Kilmarnock Prison recently. I want you to find out what he gave as his address and who his probation officer is.’

‘If I’m asked why, sir.’

‘You can say that he’s a person of interest.’

‘And if I’m asked of interest to whom?’

‘Then you’ve got my permission to yell at whoever asks you.’

As my exec left me, I picked up the phone and dialled my old Edinburgh number. Maggie Steele picked up on the second ring.

‘Chief Constable,’ I said, ‘I’m told that you rang me. First McGuire, now you. Can’t you people leave me alone?’

‘You’re a hard habit to break,’ she laughed, ‘but it’s necessary. Mario told me that he’d been in touch with you about the Bella Watson murder. This is a completely different matter.’

‘Formal or informal?’

‘Let’s begin with informal, and take it from there. Imagine the shit hitting a giant wind turbine.’

‘That would spread pretty far,’ I conceded. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘I’ve got a missing officer, and his wife is nowhere to be found either. A bloodstained hand towel was found at their home, and forensics have established that it’s hers. . the blood, that is.’

‘How long?’

‘Have they been missing? Possibly as much as forty-eight hours.’

‘Is their car gone?’

‘Yes,’ Maggie replied, ‘and the duvet from their bed. The house was tidy, no signs of a disturbance, but their bedroom was in a mess, as if someone had packed and got out of there in a hurry.’

‘How do you know they used a duvet? They might have slept under a sheet in the summer.’

‘We found a cover in the tumble dryer. It’s a fair assumption.’

‘Yes it is,’ I admitted, ‘but all you’ve told me so far is that a couple have run off. How much blood was on the towel? Was it just a pinprick or was it a whole armful, to quote Tony Hancock?’

‘No, it was less than that. There was a little more in the kitchen.’

‘Come on now,’ I said. ‘She might have been chopping onions and cut a finger; we’ve all done something like that. She might have had a nosebleed. It might be completely unconnected with their disappearance, yet clearly you’re pressing the panic button. They could just have done a runner from a crisis situation; unmanageable debt, for example.’

‘They’ve abandoned two children, Bob,’ Steele told me. ‘They were left with her mother, like, just left with her. There was no contact, no nothing. The woman is frantic.’

‘Okay, I’m convinced,’ I conceded. ‘Something’s up. Now are you going to tell me who it is? I doubt that it’s a rank and file officer, or you wouldn’t have your knickers in such a twist.’

‘Would you like to take a guess?’ she asked.

‘Aw, come on, Maggie! No party games.’

‘I’m serious. You’ve got the best instincts in the force. I’d like to know which of my senior officers you think is capable of going off the rails.’

‘If you must,’ I sighed. ‘Well, leaving you out of it, and also big McGuire, and taking a broad view. .’

I paused, considering the possibilities. ‘George Regan’s a sound bloke, but his wife has never got over losing their son, and neither has George, completely. She’s borderline crazy, so is it possible that she’s talked him into a suicide pact? But what am I talking about? You mentioned children, plural. George junior was an only.

‘Of course,’ I exclaimed, as the answer hit me between the eyes, ‘there’s only one obvious candidate: a man with a history of depression, alcohol abuse, and as volatile as they come. It’s David Mackenzie, isn’t it? The guy I plucked from Strathclyde, without ever realising that his colleagues through here were lining up to wave him goodbye.’

‘I’m afraid it is.’

‘Has he been under stress lately?’

‘Self-inflicted, but yes. He’s had trouble settling into Neil’s old job, and he had to be more or less reprimanded at the weekend. Now Mario and I are blaming ourselves for putting him there.’

‘Then stop bloody blaming yourselves,’ I retorted. ‘Blame me for making him your problem in the first place; I could have got rid of him, but my sheer stubborn pride wouldn’t let me. What are you doing about the situation?’

‘We’re treating it as a suspicious incident,’ Maggie replied, ‘but keeping it confidential. We’re not making any public statements or appeals, not until Thursday at the earliest. Ray Wilding’s the investigating officer, working alone. Because of something that was found on Mackenzie’s computer, he’s looking at ferry terminals.’

‘All of them?’ I exclaimed.

‘We’ll have to. A computer check by all the major companies on bookings might lead us to him, but I’m not holding out any great hope. The security on outward Channel and North Sea crossings is a long way from perfect. In practice, you can book under an assumed name, without giving a vehicle registration. They, or he, if our worst fears are realised, could be out of the country already. They could be anywhere by now.’

‘If.’

‘Everything’s “if” just now, Bob. If we can’t find Mackenzie’s details or registration number on the ferry companies’ lists, Wilding’s plan is to ask forces at each terminal to look at CCTV, without knowing they’re searching for a cop. That’s where I’d like your help.’

‘You’re wondering if he might have gone north, to the islands, rather than south, to Europe?’

‘Either that or to Ireland,’ she said. ‘There’s a route from Troon to Larne on your patch as well as all the CalMac ferries and lots of smaller ones. There are as many ferry routes within Scotland as there are to foreign countries from the entire United Kingdom.’

‘I’ll put people on it.’ Two names came to me, a matched pair. ‘In fact, I’ll put my best on it. Tell Ray Wilding that somebody will be in touch. But there’s one thing to consider, Maggie: this is David’s old patch. I hear what you’re saying about confidentiality, but people here will have known him and it might help if I share the name. Don’t worry, I can trust the officers I plan on using to be discreet.’

‘Whatever you think best.’ I heard the worry in her voice, and sympathised. Every conscientious officer will fret about the job from time to time, but once you reach the chief constable’s office it goes to a whole different level.

‘Thanks, Bob,’ she continued. ‘Us cops, we’re just ordinary people with a warrant card, so I’m still hoping that the pair of them will turn up with their tails between their legs and full of apologies, but we have to picture the worst, then act as if it’s happened.’

‘I know. The bugger is, it usually has. Anyway,’ I told her, ‘this is my day for doing you good turns. I’d like you to pass something on to Mario for me. Tell him that I’ve spoken to Bella Watson’s landlord, and he’s put a quite unexpected name in the frame, one that he will know from the days when he was fresh out of uniform. . if he can remember that far back.’

I was frowning as I hung up, then walked the short distance to Sandra Bulloch’s office.

‘I want you to give someone a message from me,’ I told her, ‘but before you do, I’d like you to call Strathclyde University. Have them find Mr Jackson and ask him to call me back. They can tell him that I want to consult him professionally.’

I smiled to myself. ‘Didn’t I just tell him that we’d work together some day?’