Lethal Intent

Thirty-five

'Have you heard?' Bob Skinner asked, as McIlhenney came into his room, but the sight of his friend's expression gave him all the answer he needed.

'About Dan's daughter? McGurk told me just now. She's in a deep coma, he said. Bloody awful isn't it? Just turned twenty apparently. The big lad out there's in a terrible state. He was friendly with the Pringles, and so he knew the girl very well. Gas, was it?'

'So Jack told me. Ray Wilding said something about a faulty room heater.'

'She was in student accommodation, wasn't she? Surely these things have to be inspected annually.'

'I've no doubt they are. The university'll be all over it, but I've told Jack to get one of the technicians from our forensics lab out there to examine it.'

McIlhenney sighed. 'What a bloody week we're having,' he exclaimed. 'First George Regan's lad, and now this.'

'I meant to ask Dan about the Regan investigation this morning. I'd better give Mary Chambers a call instead.'

'She'll tell you that they're ready to send the file to the Fiscal as an accidental death. At least that's what Maggie told Mario yesterday.'

'Mmm,' Skinner murmured. 'I'm glad that's sorted. I'm desperately sorry for George and his wife, but a formal verdict is probably the best way for them to get closure. That could be a long way off for Dan and Elma, though, I reckon.'

'Maybe, but I'm not so sure he'll recover as well as George Regan. He's older, and he's tired, plus…'

Skinner nodded. 'I think I know what you mean. Dan's quite a volatile guy under the surface and, let's not mince words, we all know he likes a drink.' He frowned. 'Neil, if it comes to it, you know about bereavement counselling; could you give him any advice?'

'If I thought he'd take it from me, sure, but given that he and I aren't close, it might be better if you suggested it to him… and to George, for that matter. There's an organisation called Cruse; it's national, but it has branches here. All its people are trained to a pretty high standard.'

'Do they help?'

'They helped me.'

'Give me the details, and I'll pass them on.'

'You could get the human-resources people to do it,' McIlhenney suggested.

'I know I could, but there are some things I don't delegate.'

'There are many things you don't delegate.'

'So it's been said,' the DCC admitted, with a brief smile. 'Anyway, you wanted to see me. What's up?'

'It's the Albanian thing, and it might be as well if Amanda Dennis was here.'

'She and Green are using a room along the corridor. I'll ask her to join us.' He made the call; the two men sat and waited for around a minute, until the door opened and the MI5 officer stepped into the room.

'Thanks, Amanda,' said Skinner, once she was seated. 'Neil's got something for us. Fire away, Chief Inspector.'

'Yes, sir. My wife and I had dinner with Mario McGuire…' he looked at Dennis '… he's a friend of mine, a detective superintendent in Leith… and Paula last night, and he and I had a private discussion. Don't worry,' he said hastily, 'I didn't spill all the beans, but I did ask him if he knew of any contacts. He gave me a lead, to a bloke who runs an allegedly Turkish restaurant down in Leith, only he's not Turkish by birth, he's Albanian. He goes by the name of Peter Bassam.'

'Indeed?' He had Dennis's attention. 'Have you had him checked out?'

'First thing this morning. Alice Cowan ran him down with the DSS and the Home Office immigration section; she found out that he's here because he's got a German passport, thanks to his grandfather, an SS officer who deserted to Albania from Greece when the Germans got out of there, and sired his mother. He applied for citizenship through the German embassy in Turkey four years ago and it was granted.'

'So he's legit: he has a right to be here?'

'Yes, he's a European Union citizen.' McIlhenney smiled. 'But there is one thing about him that caught my attention, thanks to young Alice, who dug deep enough to find it. He calls himself Peter Bassam, but that's not the name on his passport. His given name is Petrit Bassam Kastrati.'

Skinner chuckled. 'Is it indeed? I can understand why he doesn't use his surname, but why did he change the other, I wonder?' He looked at his colleague. 'Sounds as if he bears investigation. Any ideas?'

'I've got one. While Alice was doing her research, I took a run down to Elbe Street and checked out his place. It was closed, of course, but he's got a sign in his window saying that he's looking for a waiter.'

'And you were thinking?' Dennis asked.

'I was wondering, to be more accurate, whether Sean Green has any experience in that line of work.'

She looked at Skinner. 'Sean's experience is pretty broadly based. He's been under cover in pubs before now; I'm sure he'd be prepared to play the waiter. Is this a formal request?'

The DCC considered the question, then nodded. 'I reckon it is. Do you have to clear it?'

'Only with Sean; I never force people into undercover assignments.' She smiled, fondly. 'He's never turned one down, though.'

'Okay, ask him. He'll need a new identity, references, and the ability to back them up. How long will that take?'

'That can be in place tomorrow. But what about the state of his face? Won't that invite questions?'

'Sure, but that won't be difficult. Couldn't you build it into his cover story, as a reason for being sacked?'

'Screwing the chefs wife at his former place of employment, for example? Good idea: he could certainly pull that off. It would be quite in character in fact. My only small doubt is that he's been exposed in this city only recently.'

'We can take that chance,' said McIlhenney. 'Clubbers don't eat Turkish in Leith. They hang out in the yuppie bars in George Street and go on from there.'

'In that case, I'm convinced. We'll give him a hair-dye job and spectacles as added cover, just in case, but let's go. He'll need an address, but I can do that. Let's just hope that sign hasn't gone from the window by tomorrow.'