Hour Of Darkness

Fifty-Eight

Karen Neville and Jackie Wright enjoyed basking in the warmth of their triumph in the unmasking of Bella Watson’s unsuspected daughter, for as long as it lasted.

It ended with a phone call from Sammy Pye, asking for an immediate update after having his Saturday interrupted by the head of CID, wanting to know why it had taken the accidental intervention of the director of the SCDEA to unlock the secret.

‘Mary’s being good about it,’ he said. ‘She’s blaming it on Mackenzie, but the way she feels about him at the moment, she’d blame him for global bloody warming. But I slipped up, no doubt about it; it never occurred to me to check whether the victim had any other children. What I haven’t told her, though, is that Sauce and I actually heard about her last night, from young Hicks’s granny.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes, but then we were sidetracked by a call to the monitoring unit, so we didn’t have a chance to log it in. It was on my to-do list for Monday.’

‘Your secret is safe with me,’ Karen promised him. ‘But don’t take it all on yourself; that photograph in the flat kidded me too. We weren’t the first to be fooled either, either. Andy told me that when he was in Watson’s house twenty-odd years ago, with Bob Skinner, it was the same. There were pictures of her and the boys, but no sign that there had ever been a daughter. They wouldn’t have known about her, he said, if Bella hadn’t mentioned her.’

‘And Andy met her then?’

‘Yes, but just the once. She made an impression, though. She was on radio, but from what he said she should have been on telly. Mind you, he was impressionable then,’ she added.

Pye chuckled. ‘I’ll let you into a secret; I am not so old that I don’t remember Mia Sparkles myself. I must have been about sixteen when she was on the radio, on that Airburst station.’

‘She passed me by,’ she commented, ‘but then I was a Radio Forth girl.’

‘Andy’s right about her looks,’ the DI said, softly. ‘I remember her face was on billboard posters for a couple of weeks, and it was a traffic hazard. She had a big audience among teenage kids in and around Edinburgh. She used to talk about things that they were actually experiencing, voice-breaking, periods, wet dreams, that sort of stuff.’

‘From what you’re saying,’ Karen laughed, ‘there must have been a few wet dreams about her.’

‘I’m sure there were. And then she just disappeared. I actually remember tuning into Airburst that day, after school. They trailed her programme as usual, but when the time came she wasn’t there. The previous presenter just carried on, saying that Mia Sparkles had been unavoidably detained, but she never did turn up.’

‘So I gather. Did it make the papers? I can’t recall.’

‘Yes. It was a one-week wonder. The rival radio stations rubbed it in big time, as you’d expect. It was the beginning of a very short end for Airburst. It folded not long after that.’

‘I wonder if she was ever listed as a missing person,’ the DS mused.

‘I’ve been wondering the same,’ Pye told her. ‘To tell you the truth, in my early days in CID, I actually looked her up and she wasn’t. But of course, I never knew her real name was Watson. In fact that makes me think; it might be worth checking again, under that surname. If she was reported missing, and she’s never been found, she should still be on a list, even going that far back. Could you do that for me, now?’

‘Yes, I will,’ Neville said, ‘but what will it tell us?’

‘It’ll tell us who reported her. That might be interesting.’

‘True,’ she admitted. ‘I’ll get on it and let you know.’

‘No!’ he protested, laughing. ‘I’m off duty, remember.’

She left him to the rest of his weekend, and called the missing person records office. It was on skeleton staffing, and as she expected, her request for a trace on a report going back three decades was greeted unenthusiastically.

‘I’ll get back to you,’ the civilian clerk sighed, after he had noted the details.

‘Within half an hour,’ she added.

‘Oh, I don’t know if I can do that,’ the man warned.

‘I do. This is a live inquiry. So pull your finger out, please.’

She left him to it and made herself a coffee from the CID room supply, being careful to drop a pound coin into the kitty tin. She would have made two, but Wright was deep in conversation.

She took it back to her temporary desk, and was wondering whether there was a doughnut shop within walking distance of Queen Charlotte Street, when she was interrupted by another call.

That guy must have taken me seriously, she thought, smiling, as she took it, but the voice on the line, although male, was much older.

‘Is that the officer in charge of the Watson investigation?’

‘For today only, yes. Detective Sergeant Karen Neville.’

‘No DI there?’

‘Afraid not,’ she replied, mildly annoyed. ‘I’m as good as it gets over the weekend.’

‘Of course, sorry, Sergeant.’ The man was contrite. ‘Don’t mind me. My name is Tom Partridge, detective superintendent, retired for more than a few years. There’s something I think I should report to you. I had a visit yesterday from a young man, a very young man indeed. He turned up on my doorstep, wanting to ask me about a book that I wrote after I handed in my a warrant card. It was about the life and times of a villain called Perry Holmes. Have you heard of him?’

‘Yes I have, and I’ve heard of you too, Mr Partridge.’

The old man laughed, softly. ‘The old crank with the bee in his bonnet, eh?’

‘No,’ she contradicted him, ‘a well-respected officer, who left a lot of good things behind him in this force.’

‘You can flatter me any time, Sarge; I love it. Anyway, this kid introduced himself as Marlon Hicks, and it became obvious he was quite upset. He said he’d tried to get a copy of my book from the Central Library. . it’s either that or the charity shops these days. . but the librarian there told him the only copy was out. As it happened, I go there quite a lot and the lady knows where I live, so she sent him along to see me.’

‘Was it wise for her to do that?’

‘Aye, it was fine,’ he replied. ‘I’ve got no problem with it. I know who to let over my door and who to keep on the step. This boy I let in and I talked to him. He told me a very strange story, and a sad one too. He’d just found out the day before, he said, that he was the son of a man called Marlon Watson.’

‘I know,’ Neville said. ‘It was me who told him. We had to interview him in connection with the Bella Watson murder inquiry. . I’m assuming you know about that. . and there was no way I couldn’t tell him why.’

‘Of course not,’ Partridge agreed, ‘but how much did you actually tell him?’

‘Only what was necessary for the investigation.’

‘You didn’t tell him who the police think killed his father?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘No, I thought not, because that’s what he wanted to know from me. Can I ask you, do you know who did it, Sergeant, Karen if I may, and I’m Tommy, by the way?’

‘I think so, Tommy. If I recollect correctly the evidence suggested that Perry Holmes had him killed.’

‘That’s right. Bob Skinner. . he led the investigation. . proved that beyond a doubt. But the case never came to court, see, because Perry’s son, Hastie McGrew, made sure there was nobody left alive who could tie his father to the crime. I never flat out accused him in my book either, but only because the lawyers wouldn’t let me.’

‘Did you tell young Marlon any of this?’ Neville asked.

‘No, I didn’t. I just felt it wouldn’t be prudent, because the boy was very wound up. He said that he’d misjudged his father all his life, and that now he realised that he was a victim and not a bad man at all. He was angry, Karen, disturbed. . unquiet, to use an old word, a characteristic that I observed for many years in the genes of the Watson family.’

‘Are you saying that we should have another word with him?’

‘At the very least,’ the old detective replied. ‘All the more so because I’ve just had a call from my daughter. She’s the editor of the Saltire newspaper. She told me that this morning the boy came into their front office looking for old issues. He told the laddie there that he’d been to see me and that I’d advised him to check all the old cuttings about the Marlon Watson murder.’

‘And did he?’

‘Aye, he did. The lad in the office just happened to mention it later to my June, by chance, after he’d gone. I remember those cuttings, Karen; my June wrote some of the stories and they must have had better lawyers than me because they didn’t leave much room for doubt that Perry Holmes was behind the killing and that his son was involved too.’

‘I’m with you,’ Neville murmured.

‘Good, ’cos I still keep tabs on that crew, and I know that Hastie’s out of jail and back in Edinburgh.’

‘We’re on it, Tommy,’ she said. ‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Don’t mention it. It takes me back to the old days. I wish you luck; he seemed like a nice boy, and I’d hate him to do something daft. There’s been enough of that in his family.’

‘So I gather. Just one more thing,’ she added. ‘Do you know what Hastie McGrew was actually jailed for? All I know is that it was a couple of murders, but no more. What was it about?’

‘I know up to a point. He pleaded guilty so there was no trial, and no evidence led, only statements. The Crown said that he’d killed the two men because he believed they’d been involved in the rape of a family member. Now Hastie only had the one female family member, Alafair, his sister. I assume it was her, but if you needed to know for sure, you might have trouble. The lead detective in the case was Alison Higgins and she’s dead now, so that line’s closed off.

‘Bob Skinner’s the only one left who could tell you,’ he added, ‘but don’t hold your breath. I asked him myself once, and, even though he used to call me “sir”, he refused point-blank to tell me.’

‘I won’t be pushing him,’ Karen chuckled, ‘but I don’t see that it’s relevant, just curiosity in my part. Thanks again. I’ll get on with tracing the boy.’

She hung up and was about to dial Mary Chambers’ home number, when Jackie Wright held up a hand to stop her.

‘This just in,’ she exclaimed, ‘as they say on Sky News. I’ve had a call from Anna Jacobowski. They’re still working flat out on those DNA traces and they’ve come up with a hot one. They can place somebody new in Bella Watson’s flat, but only in the living room: Hastie McGrew.’

‘Say that again?’

The DC did as ordered. ‘Is that significant?’ she asked.

‘Hugely, if the history between the Holmes and Watson families teaches us anything at all. But I have another priority.’

She made her call to Chambers, and reported Partridge’s call. The chief superintendent understood its meaning at once. ‘If the boy knows that McGrew had his father killed. . Karen,’ she continued, ‘could he know that Hastie’s in a nursing home?’

‘He works for him; indeed recently he’s worked with him, with Hastie having been about the place before he fell ill. If there’s been talk on the shop floor, yes, he could know.’

‘Let’s assume he does. Look, I’m at my partner’s place just now; I think you know where that is. Pick me up from there. While you’re on your way, I’ll find out where McGrew’s being looked after, then call ahead to say he’s to have no visitors. I might be overreacting, but rather that than the other way.’

‘Too true. We need to keep him alive; I’ve got some questions to ask him. See you shortly, ma’am.’

Neville was in the act of putting on her jacket when the phone rang again. ‘Take that, Jackie,’ she shouted, but seeing as she looked up that the DC was on another call. ‘Bugger,’ she snapped, but snatched up the handset.

‘I hope this is quick enough for you,’ the missing persons clerk sniffed. ‘Yes, there is a missing person’s file on a woman called Mia Watson. She was aged twenty-seven when it was opened. That’s not yesterday, so we class it as historic, but it’s still open.’

‘Who notified us, do you know?’

‘Yes, it was filed by someone called Alafair Drysalter, and the relationship’s shown as sister.’

‘Sister? Are you sure?’

‘I can read, Detective Sergeant Neville,’ he sniffed.

‘Okay, sorry. Thanks. Nothing else on the file, is there? No notes.’

‘Only one; it was added a few weeks after the file was open. If the person is traced, we’re instructed to advise a Detective Superintendent Skinner, whoever he might be.’