Murmuring the Judges

86

Afterwards, Andy Martin never could work out in his mind the exact sequence of events.

He never knew what had happened first; whether it was Kwame Ankrah’s left shoulder slamming into his side, taking him to the floor, whether it was the shotgun blast, or whether it was the sniper’s bullet shattering the window glass and tearing into Adrian Jones’ head.

Whatever it was, in the immediate aftermath, he lay on the ground, his chest heaving and his heart hammering, peculiarly fascinated by Jones’ twitching right leg as it did its dance of death. It had all happened too fast for him to be frightened. That would come later.

He was surprised that the sound of the motorcycle registered at all as he lay there, but it did. He scrambled to his feet, trying but failing to pull Ankrah with him, and ran out of the cottage. By the time he reached the lane, the engine noise was fading in the distance, and all he could see was a mixture of dust and exhaust.

He went back inside the house, and into the living room. Ankrah had pulled himself into a sitting position, his back against one side of the fireplace. He was wearing a dark suit, but nonetheless Martin could see that his right shoulder, and the right side of his face were bleeding.

‘You’re hit,’ he burst out, anxiously, if unnecessarily.

The Ghanaian nodded, the movement making him wince. ‘I’ve had worse than this at home. I caught a few pellets from the shotgun, that’s all.’

He looked over at the body. ‘He was a bad loser, was our Mr Jones. If Grimley had known what he was dealing with, he’d have been a bit more careful about crowing over his victory in the Court.’

Martin’s features twisted in an unfamiliar snarl. ‘He obviously didn’t fancy his chances at appeal.’ He turned and walked through to the kitchen, tearing open drawers until he found three clean dish-towels, which he used to pack against the wounded man’s shoulder and to wipe his face.

‘Thanks, Kwame,’ he said, quietly. ‘If you hadn’t decked me there, I’d probably have caught most of that blast, whether or not Jones was dead when he pulled the trigger. You hold on now, I’ll get help.’

He used his mobile to call Fettes and summon police and medical assistance. Next, he phoned Skinner. The DCC was in the shower, but Sarah answered. ‘Morning, love,’ he said. ‘It’s Andy. Would you ask Bob to come to Grimley’s cottage up behind Humbie, asap. Tell him someone beat us to it. . no, scratch that, tell him two people beat us to it.’

Replacing the phone in his pocket, he went back to the kitchen and made two large mugs of hot sweet tea. Handing one to Ankrah, he took his own, and sat down on Bernard Grimley’s couch with his faceless body at his feet.

‘You never said you had a sniper in the woods, Andy,’ the African muttered, wincing again as he spoke.

‘I didn’t. I haven’t a fucking clue who he was.’ Gently, at first, he began to shake.

The violence of his rigor had passed, but he was still on the sofa, trembling slightly, when Skinner arrived, a few minutes after the emergency medical assistance. He stepped into the room without a word, and looked down at each of the bodies on the floor. ‘So, Mr Jones,’ he whispered. ‘You couldn’t let it lie, could you.’

He glanced back, over his shoulder. ‘I passed an ambulance on my way in here,’ said the DCC to Martin.

‘That was Kwame; but he’s okay. He took a few slugs from Jones in the shoulder and in the side of his face. Flesh wounds, that’s all.’

‘How about you?’

‘Nothing a change of jockey shorts won’t put right. That big Ghanaian in the ambulance saved my life though. Him and the bloke outside.’

He looked up. ‘I’m confused, Bob. Confused! I’m fucking bewildered. Why should Jones kill Grimley? Okay, he was stuffed in Court, but the insurers picked up the tab.’

Skinner smiled back at him. ‘He killed him because that’s the kind of man he was, son. Try calling him Hamburger. He was the seventh member of the armed robbery gang. . the Boss, the planner.’

‘Eh?’

‘Adam Arrow just drew the picture for me. Remember Mitchell Bloody Laidlaw’s joke? He didn’t know it, but he wasn’t kidding. Our Ham Burger was a District Attorney right enough. . in the Army.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Jones was a captain in the Advocate General’s office. Bennett and McDonnell worked for him; he prosecuted Clark and Newton at courts martial. But before he went into that line of work, he fought in the Falklands with Collins and Saunders. Natural-born killers, the three of them were, apparently.’

Martin gave a final shudder and pushed himself to his feet. ‘But why the robberies?’

‘Work it out with me. Jones may have been a shit-hot criminal lawyer in the Army, but in the gentle world of civvy street, and civil law, he wasn’t so good. He proved this once and for all by landing his firm with a compensation claim from this fellow.’ He nodded down at Grimley’s body.

A cough came from behind him. ‘Can I begin in here, sir?’ asked Arthur Dorward, in his white tunic. The Inspector looked disapprovingly at his senior officer’s clothing.

‘Aye, sure Arthur. We’ll be in the garden.’ Skinner led the way outside through the front door. The morning sun shone on a green-painted wooden bench. The two friends sat down on it, side by side.

‘Jones must have seen that he was finished as a lawyer after that,’ the DCC continued, ‘or at least condemned to a career which was beneath his ambitions and his dignity. So he decided to look for an alternative source of income. Having seen crime first hand, he knew the best way to go about it, and the mistakes to avoid.

‘He figured too that, basically, us coppers are pretty thick. If it isn’t obvious to us, it’s never easy.’ Skinner shifted on the hard wooden bench.

‘Once he had made his decision, well, he was an officer, after all, so he recruited his own platoon. Adam checked the guest list at Paras reunion dinners. They show that he kept in touch with Collins and Saunders. He must have made a point of keeping track of people, for he was able to recruit Newton and Clark, his old customers, then Bennett and McDonnell, his old assistants. Jones knew all these guys personally, though only Rocky and Curly, and Tory and Bakey, knew each other.

‘But they all knew, in different ways. . Rocky and Curly from the battlefield, Bakey and Tory from Court, Big Red and Big Mac just from being around him. . what their pal Hamburger was capable of.

‘He brought them all together, he formed the so-called Paras group up in the TA Club, and they used that as a base to plan their campaign. It really was immaculate, Andy. A group as well-trained as that, yet as disparate as that. They set about a short, sharp burst of high-value robberies, with the objective of setting each of them up for life.

‘The highlight was the Raglan’s jewel robbery, which fell into their lap when Jones met Arlene Regan up in the Club. They had a fling, she passed on her boy-friend’s tip about the Russian and his diamond buys, and she and Nick were paid to disappear. McDonnell was too, after he reported that Bennett was looking like talking to you.

‘What d’you think?’

Martin leaned against the back of the garden seat, his eyes closed in the sunshine. ‘We’ll need to find Clark and Newton, and Arlene, to confirm it all, but I’ll go for that. I’ll get a warrant this morning, and we’ll search Jones’ place before the day is out.’

Opening his eyes, he looked sideways at Skinner. ‘Life’s funny, is it not. Grimley and Jones; each chasing different rainbows and each with their hands on a pot of gold, yet they both wind up dead, in the same room.’

He paused. ‘And Jones killed Rocky and Curly?’

‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’

‘I can’t argue against any of it.’ Out of the blue, Andy Martin laughed; it was a mixture of tiredness, elation and most of all, relief at still being alive to enjoy the bright morning, and to plan the uncertain future with the woman he loved.

‘Which leaves us,’ he said, ‘with the Star Prize Question. Who rode off from here on his motorbike? Just who the fuck shot Adrian Jones?’

‘That is something,’ said Skinner, soberly, in contrast to his friend’s borderline hysteria, ‘that I don’t reckon the world will ever know.’