Murmuring the Judges

22

‘You’re here that bloody often, sir, ye’d be better just robbin’ a bank and gettin’ locked up.’ The Saughton gate officer was in a surprisingly cheery mood for someone at work on a Sunday.

‘In the circumstances,’ said Andy Martin, ‘you’ll forgive me if I don’t find that very funny.’

He drove on through the gate and parked once more outside the admin. block, then made his way inside, and upstairs to the Governor’s suite. Sammy Pye, whom he had picked up en route, followed on his heels.

The outer office was empty, but the door to the Governor’s room was ajar. Joyce Latham, Deputy to Ian Whiterose, was waiting for him inside. Privately, Martin was pleased that the unshakeable woman, whom he knew well, was on duty that day rather than her excitable boss.

They exchanged pleasantries, and Mrs Latham offered coffee. The Head of CID was about to decline, remembering the tar which McIlhenney had produced the day before, when she added, ‘Gold Blend.’

She took her seat behind the Governor’s desk as if it had been made for her. ‘That was a terrible business yesterday. Between you and me, Andy, I’ve gone on and on at the Service about the height of that fence, and about the overview from those flats.

‘They’ve always agreed with me, but there have always been other spending priorities. I bet I’ll get attention now though.’

‘I’ll bet you will,’ the policeman agreed. ‘Was the problem common knowledge among the staff?’

‘It was a joke. We used to have relatives going up on the roof of the flats and holding up banners saying “Happy Birthday, Jimmy” or Willie or whatever. Eventually we insisted that the access door should be locked.’

‘You should have insisted on fitting the lock as well. The one the Council installed could have been picked by a kid with a piece of wet spaghetti.’

He leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee. ‘So, Joyce,’ he said. ‘Have you identified the two officers I asked about?’

‘Yes, I have. Malcolm McDonnell and Tibor Albo.’

‘Albo?’

‘Yes. He says he should be in the Guinness Book of Records for the world’s shortest Polish surname! He’s on duty today; McDonnell was on the rota too, but he called in sick.’

‘Call him back, then, if you wouldn’t mind, and tell him to recover. Otherwise we’ll go and get him.’

Mrs Latham looked at him in surprise, then nodded and looked up a telephone number from a list in the top right-hand drawer of the desk. She dialled and waited for thirty seconds and more, before cutting off the call and trying again. ‘He must have recovered already,’ she said. ‘No reply.’

‘Do you have an address there?’

She nodded, picked up a pen and, reading from the contact list, scribbled on a notepad. She tore off the page and handed it to Martin, who passed it in turn to Detective Constable Pye. ‘Take my car, Sammy, find out where Mr McDonnell is, and bring him back here. While you’re doing that, I’ll see Albo.’

He handed his car keys to the young detective, who left without a word.

‘What’s this about, Andy?’ asked Mrs Latham as the door closed behind him.

‘Probably nothing,’ said the detective. ‘But after three months of keeping his mouth shut, and asserting his wide-eyed innocence, Nathan Bennett was taken out to make sure he stayed silent for good about the man behind the Dalkeith bank raid. His sister was killed for the same reason.

‘When I saw Bennett on Friday, he let something slip which made me suspect that Hannah had been threatened. When she was murdered, that was confirmed.’

‘And you’re concerned that the killer had a source inside here, passing him information about Bennett?’

‘Spot on, Joyce. Albo and McDonnell were in the room when I interviewed Nathan. No one else could possibly have known what he said to me.’

‘Why were they in the room? Didn’t you make them wait outside?’

‘I would have, but one of them was difficult about it, so rather than waste time finding you or Ian to order them outside, I let them stay in.’

‘Which one raised the objections?’

Martin frowned as he pictured the two men in his mind. ‘The older one.’

‘That’ll have been Malcolm McDonnell. He’s at least ten years older than Tibor. Big man, moustache, dark hair?’

‘That’s him. How well do you know him?’

‘Not that well. I’ve never had any complaints about him from senior staff. He does his job and he keeps order. The prisoners don’t like him much, but he’s not here to win popularity contests.’

‘Can you remember how long he’s been in the job?’

Mrs Latham picked up one of two buff-coloured folders which lay on the desk. ‘Four years. He did his first year at Gateside in Greenock, and then transferred here.’

‘What did he do before that?’

‘According to this he was a delivery driver. Prior to that he was in the forces, for five years. Before that he had a number of jobs, and he was a professional boxer.’

‘Is he married?’

‘Divorced.’

‘What about Tibor Albo? What’s his background?’

She opened the other folder and glanced through it. ‘Albo’s been in the Service for six years. He left school at eighteen, did two years of a computing course at Jewel and Esk Valley College, then joined us. He’s engaged, from what I can remember.

‘He has a good record, and he’s within six months of a promotion.’

‘Let’s have him in, then.’

Joyce Latham nodded, and picked up the phone once more, dialling an internal number. ‘Mr McGroarty? DG here. Would you send Officer Albo up to the Governor’s office, please, straight away.’

They waited for five minutes before there was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ called Joyce Latham, and a young fair-haired man in uniform stepped into the room. He was taller than Martin, and just as solidly built. His eyes gave a flicker of surprise as he saw the policeman, but it passed as he came to attention before the Deputy Governor.

‘Stand easy, Albo,’ she said. ‘Take a seat.’ She turned to Martin. ‘I’ll leave you alone, if you wish.’

He nodded. ‘If you would, please.’

When they were alone, he stood up, and leaning against the desk, turned to face Officer Albo. He smiled, but not with his eyes. ‘Tibor,’ he began, ‘someone in this prison has passed on information which set up Nathan Bennett and his sister to be murdered.

‘She was a nice-looking woman, Hannah Bennett. Quiet, Christian, conscientious, kept a nice house, kept a roof over her brother’s head, even though he was a difficult bugger. I only ever saw her once. She had a knife sticking out of the side of her head and she had shit herself.

‘When I find the person who passed on that tip about Nathan, he can sit all fucking day and say, “I never knew”, but it’ll cut no ice with me, or with the Crown Office. We owe it to Hannah to see that he goes down as an accessory to murder. When he does, he’ll be sent here.

‘That’s a nice thought, isn’t it. A screw banged up in his own prison. A lot of guys are HIV-positive in here, aren’t they?

‘When I find that man, there’ll be only one way out, and it’ll be through the witness box, giving evidence against the man who paid for the information.’ He paused and the smile left his face.

‘Do you have anything to tell me, Tibor?’

The young man was white-faced in his chair, but his voice was even and controlled, with no trace of panic. ‘No, sir.’

The detective stared at him, long and hard. ‘Did you hear what Bennett said to me on Friday.’

‘You told us not to listen, sir.’

‘Aye, but did you hear?’

‘Barely, but then I really wasn’t listening. I could see Nathan was scared, though.’

‘How well did you get to know Bennett?’

‘Quite well. He was a strange bloke. I think the Falklands left a bigger mark on him than just his hand.’

‘Did he ever talk to you?’

Albo nodded. ‘I was the only one he did talk to.’ He looked up at Martin. ‘They all need it, sir. Even the really tough guys. Someone to talk to. Some of the staff don’t want to know, but I see it as part of my job, to lend an ear to someone who really needs one. It’s a hell of a thing, locking a man up in a place like this for half his life. . maybe more.’

‘What did he tell you? Did you ever ask him about the robbery?’

‘You never ask them anything, sir, other than about their families. That’s all Nathan talked about most of the time. . his sister. He said that she was really good to him, and that he was afraid that he was ruining her life.’

‘What did he mean?’

The young man shrugged. ‘That he was getting in her way. That because he was there, living with her, it made it tough for her to have a proper relationship. He never said so outright, but I guessed that he took part in the robbery to raise the money for a place of his own.

‘He did say to me one day though, that the worst thing he had ever done was to get her mixed up in his life. “It never had anything to do with her,” he told me, “but now she’s in it up to her neck.” I guessed that she had been involved in the crime in some way, but I suppose now I know what he meant.’

‘Did you never think to tell anyone this?’ Martin asked. ‘You’re not a priest, man.’

‘Some of these guys think we are. I think we have to respect that. Did you never keep a confidence in your job?’

The Head of CID nodded, in silent acknowledgement of the point. He knew that was how criminal intelligence gathering usually worked.

‘Were you surprised on Friday, when Officer McDonnell insisted in staying in the room with Bennett and me?’

‘A wee bit, sir. But Malky’s like that. He can be a real book operator sometimes. He was right, of course; we’re supposed to stay with the prisoners at all times.’

‘How did McDonnell get on with Bennett?’

‘Much the same as he gets on with everyone else. He treats all the prisoners as if they’re just numbers. If they behave and don’t bother him, generally he doesn’t bother them. Very few guys give Malky trouble though. He used to be a boxer, and he can still handle himself.’

‘Did you ever see the two of them speaking?’

‘Not that I can recall,’ he said, at last.

‘So their relationship was normal in prison terms?’

Albo looked at the ceiling, as if for guidance. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I can’t honestly say that’s true. They never crossed swords, and they never had a conversation that I saw. Yet I have to admit, there was something.

‘Once or twice, when he didn’t see me, I caught Malky looking at Nathan in an odd way.’

‘Define “odd”.’

‘I can’t. He was looking at him in a way he didn’t look at anyone else, that’s all I can tell you. It was as if he knew something about him.’

‘Okay,’ said Martin. ‘Let’s go back to you. Do you ever talk about your work, at home, or in the pub?’

‘Only to my girl-friend.’

‘Did you ever tell her about Bennett?’

‘No. She wouldn’t have been interested anyway. It’s only the big names that excite her. Nathan was small-time. ’

The Head of CID pushed himself up from his perch against the desk. ‘All right, Officer, you can go. However, if anything occurs to you that might help us, I want you to contact me right away. You’ll get me at Police Headquarters at Fettes.’

Tibor Albo stood up, saluted smartly, and left the room. A few moments later, Joyce Latham re-entered. ‘Well?’ she asked.

‘I think he’s okay,’ Martin answered. ‘When did his shift finish on Friday?’

‘Six p.m.’

‘McDonnell’s too?’

‘Yes.’

‘If an officer wants to make a personal phone call during working hours, where does he go?’

‘In theory,’ said Mrs Latham, ‘he uses the pay phone in the canteen. In practice, if they think no one’s looking, the lads use the prison phone in the senior officers’ room.’ The detective’s green eyes flashed. ‘I don’t suppose calls are logged?’

‘Yes, they are. I’ll check Thursday’s count, from the time of your visit onwards.’

As she finished speaking, there was a soft knock on the door. Sammy Pye entered, without waiting for an invitation. He was alone.

‘McDonnell?’ asked Martin.

‘Gone, sir. And I don’t mean gone for the Sunday papers. When I got no answer to his door, I knocked up the neighbours. One of them said she saw him leave last night in a taxi, with a big suitcase and a hold-all. So I tried his back door.’

‘It was open of course,’ said the Chief Superintendent, with a smile.

‘Well, I might have knocked a bit too hard, sir.’ He paused, looking at Mrs Latham. ‘I’ve sent for a joiner to make it secure.

‘There was nothing there. I looked in all the wardrobes, in the drawers, in the bathroom cabinet: they were all empty. There was nothing personal left in the place.

‘No doubt about it, Officer McDonnell has done a runner. And at short notice too. I had a look in the fridge, and there was enough food there for a week at least: eggs, bacon, mince, cooked chicken, orange juice and three litres of milk, unopened. Oh aye, and three cans of McEwan’s lager.

‘Wherever it was he called in sick from, it wasn’t his flat.’

Martin looked at Joyce Latham. ‘We’ve got our answer, I think.

‘Sammy, did you look for personal papers?’

‘Yes, sir. I didn’t find any, though. He’s quite a methodical man is McDonnell. He had a big folder with all his household stuff in it, indexed. There was nothing in the slot marked “Bank”, no account books or cheque books, and the slot marked “Passport” was empty too.’

‘Did you look for an address book?’

‘No, Boss. I thought I’d better report back.’

The Head of CID nodded. ‘Fine, I’ll come down there with you and together we’ll strip the place. First, we’d better call Fettes, and get people started checking the airlines. If McDonnell caught a plane, maybe someone else bought the ticket for him.

‘If he’s sticking to overland and ferry travel, or better still if he’s got a bolt-hole somewhere in Britain, I’m going to give him something to think about.

‘Joyce, can you give me a photograph of McDonnell?’ The Deputy Governor nodded.

‘Good. In that case I’m going to raise Alan Royston, our press officer, and have it circulated nationally, with a statement saying that he’s wanted for questioning in relation to the murders of Nathan Bennett and his sister. After that, I’ll alert police forces throughout Europe.

‘Officer McDonnell has the answer to our problems, and I want him.’