Hour Of Darkness

Thirty-Three

‘You are brilliant, Sauce,’ Jackie Wright declared. ‘Marlon Ryan Hicks applied for a UK entry visa four months ago. Apparently you need it if you’re from there and want to work in Britain. In June, he applied for a UK passport in that name. They’ve got a file on him; he was told that he would have to change his birth surname legally before he could get one. He did that, and his application’s now live. If you hadn’t thought to check under Hicks, we might never have known.’

‘Don’t tell him he’s brilliant, Jackie,’ Sammy Pye called across the room. ‘The last thing he needs is a seconder.’

‘Ignore him,’ Haddock laughed, as he perched in the edge of her desk. ‘You only have to take orders from him on policing matters. Any other rabbits in your hat? For example, does his passport application have an address on it?’

‘Yes it does, and surprise, surprise, it’s in Edinburgh: number seventeen Port Glasgow Road. I’ve checked it out; it’s a flat belonging to a property company, called Mycroft Residential Limited. The directors are Derek Drysalter, and Alafair Drysalter, but they don’t own it; the shares are vested in a holding company called Rodatrop PLC.’

Pye had moved across to join them. ‘Derek Drysalter?’ he repeated. ‘When I was a kid, in my mid-teens, I remember a guy called Drysalter playing for the Hibs, and for Scotland. I’m pretty sure his first name was Derek. The Hibees paid Newcastle big bucks for him, but his career came to a sad end. He was a hit-and-run victim; his legs were so badly smashed up that he never played again. He did a wee bit on telly as a pundit, then he had a couple of jobs as a manager with Scottish Premier League teams. I haven’t heard of him for a while, though.’

‘The rebranded Marlon Hicks isn’t a footballer, is he?’ Haddock asked.

‘If he is, he’s not doing it professionally. I went on to the DSS again; he was given an NI number under his new name, and he’s found himself a job as a mechanic, looking after a fleet of cars belonging to Sherlock Private Hire.

‘Most people know about them. They’re the biggest luxury car hire company in Edinburgh. If your daughter’s getting married, that’s where you go if you’re out to impress the in-laws. Funerals too. There’s an associated company, Sherlock Funeral Undertakers. It has offices around Edinburgh and the Lothians, but the car firm’s based in Longstone.’

‘Then let’s go up there and have a word with the boy.’ The DS rose and looked at the DI. ‘You and me, boss, or will I take Jackie?’

‘You take her; she deserves it. But hold on; bells are ringing here. Mycroft Residential, Sherlock Private Hire, Sherlock Funerals: those names tend to point in a certain direction. Have you checked these companies out, DC Wright?’

‘Not yet, sir. I was just about to look them up on the Companies House website.’

‘You do that, but I will bet you they are also subsidiaries of the PLC you mentioned, Rodatrop. Did you pick up anything about that?’

‘There’s very little different about it. It has the same directors. The only additional fact I was able to glean is that Derek Drysalter isn’t a shareholder. Alafair is, though, one of two. The other’s a man called Peter Hastings McGrew.’

Pye beamed. ‘You little beauty! It’s you that’s the real genius around here.’

He turned on his heel and walked back into his office, closing the door behind him and leaving the others staring after him, Wright bewildered, but Haddock wide-eyed. As they watched, they saw him drop into his chair and snatch the phone from its cradle.

The DI was unaware of them as he dialled a number from a list on his desk. ‘Sammy,’ Mario McGuire said as he picked up, sounding a shade irritable. ‘I thought I told you to go through DCS Chambers.’

‘You did, boss,’ he acknowledged, ‘and I’ll phone her as soon as I’ve spoken to you, but you’re going to want to know this, soonest. You asked me about a man called McGrew. His name’s just cropped up. We’ve located Bella Watson’s grandson; he calls himself Hicks now, and it appears that he’s working for a company owned by McGrew and his sister.’

He looked up, to see Haddock in the doorway. ‘Loudspeaker.’ The DS mouthed the word. Pye looked puzzled, but did as he asked.

‘Are you sure about that?’ the ACC exclaimed, his voice echoing in the small room.

‘Certain.’

‘But that’s weird.’

‘It sure is, sir,’ Sauce intervened. ‘Don’t ask me my source, please, and Sammy, don’t kick my arse, because I really was going to tell you, only things got in the way, but I’ve spoken to someone who knew Hastie McGrew in the old days. He told me that if he’s around and Bella Watson’s dead, the two could well be connected.’