‘The boy was a big gambler,’ he went on. ‘He was intae Terry’s betting shops for thousands. Terry sent Ricky to tell him that he’d let him off, if he fixed a game. The Jambos were playing some second division team in the League Cup, and the other team were great big odds against. It was an international thing, tied intae fixed odds gambling out in the Far East.
‘If ye check the records of Terry’s bettin’ shops, ye’ll find that he didnae take bets on that game.’
‘We will,’ said Maggie Rose, quietly. ‘So what did Jimmy Lee say?’
‘Nothing. Ricky wasnae giving him a choice.’
‘What did he do?’
Mulgrew smiled, almost respectfully. ‘The Jambos were a goal down wi’ half an hour tae go. Jimmy Lee scored a hat-trick and they won three - one.’
‘And that was why he was done?’
The Vulture nodded. ‘That’s right. A couple of weeks later, after a Saturday game.’
‘Who was on McCartney’s team?’
‘Apart from Ricky himself, I dinna ken. I wis supposed tae be on it, but I twisted ma knee lifting a couple of days before.’
There was a pause and silence hung over the room. It was broken by Sammy Pye. ‘Jimmy Lee always said that Hibs fans attacked him. Why would he do that?’
Mulgrew threw back his head and laughed. ‘The boy’s a true Jambo, son. A true Jambo would accuse the Hibees of bein’ behind the Kennedy assassination.
‘And onywey, he knew that if he’d said anything different, it would have been more than his knees that got broken. A true Jambo would rather die than fix a football match, but not if he had another option.’
‘Tell me,’ asked Rose, casually. ‘In all this was the name Jackie Charles ever mentioned?’
The Vulture smiled again, with a trace of scorn. ‘Miss, the name Jackie Charles is
‘Mmm,’ murmured the Chief Inspector, staring at the ceiling. ‘We’ll see. We’ll see.’
She looked back across the table. ‘Where’s Jimmy Lee now?’
‘I can tell you that, ma’am,’ said Sammy Pye, beside her. ‘He’ll be at Tynecastle. The club gave him a job on the commercial staff, selling sponsorship and shaking hands with the guests in the hospitality suites on match days.
‘There’s a home game this afternoon, against Rangers.’
Rose looked up at the wall clock. It showed five minutes past one. ‘In that case,’ she said, pushing her chair back from the table, ‘if we put our foot down, we might just catch the second half.’
Mulgrew looked at the two detectives as they stood up, and as his guards pulled him to his feet. ‘Saughton,’ he said. ‘Remember.’
Maggie Rose nodded. ‘Okay, Evan. We’ll get you back to Edinburgh. And who knows, maybe Dougie Terry and Ricky McCartney can share your old room here.’
39
Pamela Masters looked around the room, and pondered upon fate. It was Saturday afternoon and she was in the Royal Botanic Garden. After an hour of poring through dusty files, Skinner had called a lunch-break. Since the Senior Officers’ Dining Room was closed for the weekend, and since the pubs would be crammed with football and rugby supporters, he had suggested the Garden Cafeteria.
Now he and his new assistant sat at a white wood table. He was demolishing his second chargrilled chicken and salad roll; she was hoping that her ‘Dear John’ message had reached her date, and that he would not arrive ahead of schedule.
‘What school did you go to in Motherwell, sir?’ she asked, as he finished eating.
He laughed. ‘When I was a lad in Motherwell, that question meant, “Are you a Protestant or a Catholic?” That’s if they couldn’t tell from the handshake.
‘The answer is that I didn’t. I went to Glasgow High. Myra was at Dalziel, though.’
‘Me too,’ said Pamela. ‘When did you leave Motherwell?’
‘When I was twenty-one, as soon as I graduated. I did an ordinary Arts degree at Glasgow, to please my dad, then I applied to several police forces. I could have joined Lanarkshire or Glasgow, as they still were in those days, but Myra and I both fancied the idea of Edinburgh. So here I am.
‘Maybe I’ve been here long enough.’
She frowned, and looked at him quizzically. ‘Ach,’ he said, ‘don’t listen to me. I love it here still. It’s just that sometimes, everyone has to make a choice.
‘How about you? What if you had stayed married? Would you still have joined the police?’
‘I’d like to think so,’ she said, her smile restored. ‘But I’d probably have had the regulation two point four weans, and that might have made it difficult.’
‘Do you want to have a family some day?’
She pulled a face. ‘With the right man, probably I would. But I’m not obsessed by the idea. Just as well, because time’s a-passing, and there’s no sign of the right man. For a while I thought Alan might have been, but we just didn’t gel.’ She paused, and leaned back in her seat.
‘You’ve got a child, sir. Do you recommend parenthood? ’
He held up his right hand, palm outward and extended the first two fingers. ‘Two. I have a daughter as well, Alexis. She’s only about ten years younger than my second wife, and she’s a law graduate. If you didn’t know, she’s engaged to Andy Martin.’
Pamela’s big eyes widened expressively. ‘Making it a family business, eh.’
He chuckled. ‘Yes, and to cap it my wife’s a police surgeon. That’s how we met.’ As he said the words, a pang of sadness ran through him, as he recalled the ecstatic early days of his relationship with Sarah, and the laughter left his face.
‘To answer your question, as far as parenthood’s concerned, I can recommend it. As for marriage, right now I’m not so sure.’
‘Do you think the two necessarily go together?’ she asked, matching his change of mood.
‘I brought Alex up as a single parent,’ he replied. ‘I did my best, but she missed out on a lot. Right now, in fact, she’s finding out just how much.’
She frowned again, but before she could ask him what he had meant, his mobile phone rang. He took it from the pocket of his soft, brown leather jacket, and pressed the receive button.
Brian Mackie’s voice sounded in his ear. ‘Can we see you, sir? Urgently. We’ve got something to report.’
‘Sure,’ said Skinner. ‘It’s half one now. My office at two fifteen. Okay.’
He picked up a hint of disappointment in the Chief Inspector’s, ‘Very good, sir.’
The DCC grinned. ‘I know you, Thin Man,’ he said into the phone. ‘You were hoping to be at Tynecastle by then, weren’t you?’
‘Well . . .’
‘Okay, then. Look, Pamela and I are up in the Botanics coffee shop, and it’s quiet as a church. It’s only two minutes away, so get yourselves up here now.’ He ended the call and laid the phone on the table.
‘More local knowledge, Pamela,’ he said. ‘DCI Mackie is an incurable Hearts fan. But then he can’t help it. He’s from Edinburgh.’
They sat and waited, admiring the garden outside, which was edging gradually into its spring colours. After less than five minutes, they saw the slim figure of Mackie and the heavier frame of Detective Inspector Mario McGuire as they strode up the slope towards them. They moved outside to meet them, towards one of the patio tables, well out of earshot of the few other diners.
As Skinner introduced his new assistant, they arranged themselves around the table. ‘Right, Brian,’ said the DCC. ‘What’s so urgent?’
Impending football matches or not, Mackie was always brisk and businesslike. ‘We did the check you asked for, boss. It isn’t complete yet, but a plum fell out of the tree that we thought you ought to know about. I’ll let Mario explain.’
