Hour Of Darkness

Fifty-Two

‘No,’ Mary Chambers declared. ‘I have never heard any mention of Marlon Watson having a sister. After you called me I even checked with the ACC. He was involved in the murder investigation, albeit as he says he was brand new in CID, but he swears blind that nobody ever made any mention to him of any sister. Are you sure this woman’s memory is up to it? She is a grandmother, after all.’

‘My granny never looked like that,’ Pye countered, ‘or was half as sharp. It’s a line of inquiry and we’ll check it out.’

‘You do that,’ the head of CID said, ‘but it’s not your top priority. The council CCTV monitoring people have been on, looking for Sauce. When they were told you and he weren’t in, they came on to me. They want to see you, pronto. They’ve been bursting their braces for you and I got the impression they’re looking for a bit of public credit for it.’

‘We’re on our way back to Leith,’ the DI said, ‘but we’ll divert there. As you say, boss, the sister can wait.’

The Bluetooth call went dead just as they reached the traffic lights in Great Junction Street. Haddock, who was at the wheel, made a last-minute lane change and flashed a right turn signal, drawing a horn blast from the driver behind. The man followed him into Leith Walk, and sat on his rear bumper, big in his mirror, headlights flashing and horn still blaring.

‘Fuck this!’ the sergeant declared, slowing.

‘Ignore him, Sauce,’ Pye ordered. ‘If he follows us all the way to the council offices we’ll do him there.’

They never found out whether he would have gone that far, for they were stopped by a red light at the next junction. Immediately their pursuer leapt out of his vehicle and ran up to Haddock’s door. The DS rolled down his window, holding up his warrant card.

‘Can you read that, sir?’ he asked. ‘If not, it says, “Get back in your motor or we’ll do you for breach of the peace.” Understood?’

The red-faced man uttered not a word; instead he weighed up his options and chose correctly.

‘I was in Traffic in my second year in the force,’ Sauce said, as the lights changed and he drove away. ‘I hated having to be polite to people like him.’

When they arrived at the City Council headquarters in Market Street, they had a second argument, with the car park supervisor, but once again the warrant cards won the day. The office was on the point of closing as they made their way inside, but the receptionist had been briefed to expect them. ‘Second floor, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘It’s the door facing the lift.’

The second instruction proved to be unnecessary. As they stepped out of the elevator, a man was waiting for them; a very fat man, in shirtsleeves, with the council logo on his tie. ‘Johnny Halliday,’ he announced, extending a podgy hand to Pye. ‘I’m the team leader here. The front desk let me know you were on your way up.’

‘You’ve got something for us, our boss told us,’ the DI said.

‘Indeed we have,’ Halliday replied, with evident pride. ‘Come and see.’

He led the way into an open-plan work area with more video monitors than either detective could count. Each one was live, with a different view of the city’s streets, displayed four to a screen. ‘This way,’ he said, leading them to the far corner, which was partitioned off from the rest. ‘This is my domain,’ he announced, grandly. ‘Sit yourselves down.’

Three seats were arranged at a table, in front of a flat-screen monitor, on which an image was frozen.

‘What we have here,’ the team leader explained, ‘is the view from the camera that looks up Orwell Terrace. As you probably know, that leads up to Caledonian Crescent. The time is five minutes past midnight on the day after your review window. Now look here.’ He pressed a control on a black box on the table and the screen became active.

As Pye and Haddock looked on, they saw a dark-coloured saloon drive towards the camera, and then pass out of sight as it took a left turn into Dalry Road.

‘Okay?’ Halliday murmured, eagerly. ‘Now.’

As he spoke another vehicle appeared on screen, travelling in the opposite direction, making the same turn, but right, into Orwell Terrace, much more awkwardly than the car had done. It was a light-coloured van, without markings.

‘That’s a Renault Master, long wheelbase,’ their host advised them. ‘Now look.’ He touched another control and the screen froze. ‘I think you’ll find that the registration number is quite legible.’

Haddock leaned forward and read aloud. ‘Eight, zero nine five H N J.’

‘Exactly,’ Halliday agreed. ‘And I think you’ll find that that is a Spanish plate. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’

‘Absolutely,’ Pye told him, feeling his day take a turn for the better. ‘Not just that, it’s when we wanted it, and where. Thanks, Johnny.’

‘I’m not done yet. Hold on.’ He pressed some more buttons and a second view appeared on screen. ‘We don’t have a camera in the crescent itself, I’m afraid, but there is one at the exit of Caledonian Road, and this is what it shows looking up towards Haymarket. This is what it showed fifty-seven minutes later.’

He activated the player; within a minute the same van swung into view once again, heading away from the camera.

‘Outstanding,’ Haddock exclaimed. ‘We’re pushing our luck, I know, but do you have a shot that lets us see the driver?’

‘Unfortunately not.’ The man was slightly crestfallen, but only for a few seconds. ‘However,’ he continued, ‘I can tell you where it went. We have footage of it heading along Queensferry Road and then later in Granton. We lose it in Marine Drive, but I’m confident that it didn’t come back into the city after that.’

He leaned back. ‘I read the newspapers, chaps,’ he said, familiarly, ‘so I know what this is all about. If you in turn know that area, you’ll be aware that there’s a walkway along the foreshore that runs off Marine Drive. In theory it’s pedestrian and cyclists only, but the gate is a bit loose and it can be accessed by a vehicle, even one as large as a long wheelbase Renault Master van. If you’re trying to work out where that poor woman’s body was dumped, my guess is that you’ve found the very spot.’