Skinner's Mission

44

‘See if you can get an ID parade set up for six o’clock. I want to show Heenan to your old lady while that picture is still fresh in her mind.’

McIlhenney laughed. ‘We could hold off for a week and my Miss Smith would still do the business. Old folk like her never miss a trick. She’s probably a nosy old bat and a pain in the arse to her neighbours, but to us, she’s a Godsend.’

‘Still,’ said Donaldson, ‘let’s take no chances. We don’t want her to fall off her perch before she’s fingered Heenan for us.

‘Did the Muirhead woman pick the muscle who was with him out of our mugshot library?’

The big Sergeant nodded. ‘Aye she did, and that’s another cracker. She identified Ricky McCartney. I sent a car round to his house to pick him up, but he wasn’t there. We’ll get him, though. He’s pretty obvious, is our Ricky.’

‘That he is,’ said Donaldson. ‘Mind you, I don’t know what we’ll be able to put to him. According to Angela Muirhead’s story, he never said a word while he was in the house with Heenan.’

‘No,’ said McIlhenney. ‘He just kept eyeing up the furniture as if he was deciding what he would smash first. But he didn’t demand money, or offer violence.’

‘Ricky doesn’t have to offer violence. He is violence.’

‘Fine, but try putting that down on a charge sheet: “Mr McCartney is charged with giving Miss Muirhead’s sideboard a threatening look.” As my Olive often says, I think not!’

‘I know. Chances are he’s heard already that we’ve picked up Heenan and he’s gone to ground for a few days. But let’s keep looking anyway.’

Donaldson stood up from his chair and walked to the window of his second-storey office. He gazed out towards Holyrood Park and the Radical Road. ‘You handle the parade on your own, Neil. I want to brief the armed officers about tonight’s operation.’

‘I thought Mr Martin was having a team talk at eight.’

‘He is, but he told me to handpick the people.’

‘Mmm. Okay, sir. I’ll look after Miss Smith.’ He turned to leave, but as he did, there was a knock and the door opened. A WPC from the main reception area looked round. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said to Donaldson, ‘but PCs Bridger and Fisher are downstairs. They’re one of the Panda teams. They say they have to see you right away.’

The Superintendent frowned. ‘They have to see me, do they?’ He paused, then went back to his desk. ‘Okay, send them up. But this better be important. Stay for a minute, Neil, will you.’

The door closed on the WPC. A minute later, there was another knock. ‘Come!’ shouted Donaldson. PCs Bridger and Fisher seemed to slide into the room. They looked nervous and uncertain as they stood before Donaldson’s desk, caps in hand.

‘Well?’ said the Superintendent, sternly.

‘Well, sir,’ began the older of the two. McIlhenney recognised him as Bridger. They had worked together once. ‘We were called in to help at Slateford last night, on yon boy’s murder.’

Donaldson nodded. ‘So?’

‘Well. I heard the wee doctor say that the time of death was late morning.’ Bridger hesitated.

‘So?’ It was almost a shout.

‘It’s like this, sir,’ said Fisher, coming to the rescue. McIlhenney could tell that bad news was about to break, and that the task was beyond Bridger. ‘We heard that you’ve picked up Tommy Heenan for the murder.’

‘That’s right. We’ve got an eye-witness too, who says she can put him at the scene, just before twelve.’

Fisher sucked in his breath. ‘Ahh. That’s a problem, sir. The thing is, Malky and I were on patrol in Peffermill Road yesterday in the Panda. We saw Tommy Heenan going into his office at quarter to twelve. No way could he have killed the boy Medina.’

Donaldson sat bolt upright in his chair. McIlhenney pushed himself off the wall against which he had been leaning. ‘You sure about that?’ he barked, as the Superintendent glared at him.

‘Come on, Neil,’ said Bridger, finding his voice at last. ‘We’ve known Tommy Heenan for years, and we were no more than ten feet away from him.’

‘Bugger it!’ cried the big Sergeant furiously. ‘I was dead certain we had the bastard. I’d have loved to put him away for murder.’

‘But if it wasn’t him, why did he leg it?’ said Donaldson.

McIlhenney shrugged. ‘He thought he was done. His wife would have been worse than useless as an alibi, and there’s no-one in Peffermill would lie in the witness box for him. I reckon he must have panicked.’

The Superintendent looked up at the two Constables, at that moment the least popular men in St Leonard’s. ‘Okay. You can go.’ As the door closed on them once more, he looked up at McIlhenney.

‘Of course,’ he said, slowly, ‘we could always tell Bridger and Fisher that they were wrong, and go ahead with the ID parade.’

The Sergeant gazed back at him, trying to read his expression. ‘No, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘Not we. I couldn’t tell them that, when I know they’re not.’

With a sigh, Donaldson nodded. ‘In that case, Neil, get a photographer up here to take a shot of the bruise on my leg. If I can do nothing else, I’ll charge the bastard with police assault and stick him up in front of the Sheriff on Monday morning. With his record that should earn him six months.’

‘Small consolation,’ muttered the Sergeant.

‘It’s the best we’re going to do. But maybe we’ll get a result with Ricky McCartney. Maybe your Miss Smith will identify him.’

McIlhenney shook his head. ‘McCartney’s a gorilla, sir. No, the old lady saw someone fair-haired and well-dressed, carrying a Safeway bag, which contained, no doubt, a binliner and four other Safeway bags.

‘She didn’t see Tommy Heenan, okay. But she did see someone who looks bloody like him.’