Murmuring the Judges

62

If Detective Sergeant Stevie Steele noticed the knowing look which Karen Neville threw in his direction as he entered the Head of CID’s outer office, he did not react to it. Instead he walked over to Sammy Pye’s desk.

‘Mr Martin wants to see me,’ he said.

The detective constable beamed up at him. ‘I know, sergeant. He asked us to take you in as soon as you arrived.’

Steele frowned. Neville’s glance had not unsettled him, but there was something in Pye’s tone which did. ‘Did he say what it’s about?’

‘He wouldn’t tell us, sarge. Come on, let’s not keep them waiting. You’re two minutes late as it is.’

Pye stood. ‘Tell you one thing though,’ he whispered, mischievously. ‘If you thought that Russian was tough, you should see Andy Martin on a bad day.’ As Steele’s jaw dropped, he led the two sergeants across the room, rapped on the Head of CID’s door and stepped inside.

‘DS Steele’s here, Boss,’ he announced.

‘Bring him in, then,’ said Martin, rising from behind his desk and moving over to the conference table, at which sat DCC Skinner, waiting.

The acting Chief grinned at the sergeant, registering his apprehension. ‘It’s all right, Stevie. Have these two been taking the piss?’

Steele glowered at Pye for a second. ‘One may have, sir.’

‘Sit down,’ said the DCS. ‘Have you got the names of those TA soldiers you told me about?’

‘Yes, sir.’ He took a notebook from his pocket and opened it. ‘They’re. .’

Martin held up a hand. ‘Let me guess at some of them. One’s named Sergeant Charles Collins.’

Steele looked at him, astonished.

‘Yes, Boss, Curly Collins.’

‘Found shot dead in Colinton this morning.’

‘Eh?’

‘That’s right. Let me guess another. Sergeant Ryan Saunders.’

Steele nodded slowly.

‘Found near West Linton a few days ago, shot. . executed. . in exactly the same way as Collins. Hands tied, made to kneel, jabbed in the back with a knife, or possibly even a bayonet, to bring the head up then. . Bang!

‘A few days before that, Saunders, in uniform, paid two and a half grand in cash for a diamond pendant in Raglan’s, where, shortly afterwards, a major diamond robbery took place. That, of course, is the shop where Arlene Regan’s boy-friend worked. The same Arlene Regan who pulled the pints for Saunders, Collins and their pals up in the TA Club.’

Skinner leaned forward. ‘My turn to play now. I’ll give you two more. First, Nathan Bennett.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Steele, ‘known as Big Red. But I had to get on to the Ministry of Defence to get his details. He was registered as an ex-serviceman, but he was never in the Territorials.’

The DCC was surprised, but he went on. ‘Missing two fingers from his left hand. Shot dead in Saughton Prison while awaiting trial for the Dalkeith bank hold-up.

‘My second guess. Malcolm McDonnell.’

‘Yes, sir. Big Mac, a Sergeant during his service. But he was the same as Bennett. An ex-regular, but he was never a TA member either. I had to go to MoD for him too.’

‘That’s curious too. Anyhow, McDonnell was a prison officer, stationed at Saughton. He disappeared after Bennett was assassinated, having set him up to be killed.’

Silence prevailed for a few seconds, until Stevie Steele sent it packing. ‘That’s very good, sir,’ he said. ‘Do you and Mr Martin want to try for the set?’

Skinner laughed. ‘No, it’s your turn now. Who are the others on your list?’

The sergeant looked down at his notebook. ‘Sergeant Rory Newton, sir, still serving. Nickname Bakey, because that’s his trade. Works in a supermarket as an in-store baker in Piershill. Address, 27 Feather Street, Danderhall.

‘Corporal Alan Clark, still serving. Nickname Tory, though I can’t think why. Works in a gents’ outfitters in George Street. Address, 43a Derbyshire Street.’

Detective Chief Superintendent Martin looked along the table at the young sergeant. ‘And these six were all big mates, you say.’

‘Thick as thieves, sir, according to Mr Herr.’

‘Literally. We’ve found them, Stevie. Some, maybe all of these, are our bank gang. Those robberies were carried out with military precision, we reckoned. No bloody wonder, because the team are soldiers!’

‘So who’s knocking them off?’ Skinner pondered. ‘It looks as if someone involved in this wants all the money for himself.’

‘That leaves us with Newton or Clark, Boss,’ Martin answered. ‘Of them, it could turn out to be the one who’s still alive.’

Stevie Steele raised a hand, as if he was in a classroom. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he ventured, tentatively, ‘but there was another man. Barry Herr mentioned him. The others called him Hamburger, nothing else. He was only there occasionally, but Arlene was keen on him.

‘He wasn’t a member of the Mess, though, and the nickname meant nothing to the TA people.’

‘No one knows his real name?’

‘No, sir.’

‘We’ll have to find him, nonetheless,’ said Martin. ‘But first, let’s pick up Newton and Clark. . pronto. Superintendent Pringle is on his way up here. Stevie, you and he can go to the place in Piershill for your baker man. Sammy, you and I will head for George Street, to pick up this Tory chap.

‘That’s unless one or the other of them isn’t face-down in another wood somewhere.’