‘Okay, Jimmy, okay. I’ll have them there.’

‘Good, good,’ beamed Proud. ‘Pleased about that. Now is there anything that you have discovered that might be of help to our investigation?’

‘We found two handguns in the Rover’s glove-box,’ Clark replied. ‘One had been fired recently, so we ran tests on McCartney and Kirkbride. We found residue on McCartney’s clothing which indicates that he had discharged a firearm within the last forty-eight hours.

‘I’ll give you the guns, when we hand over the men. They’re not linked to anything in England. We’ve run a ballistics check though the PNC.’

‘Indeed,’ said Proud. ‘We’ll run our own ballistics tests, but I’ll bet we can establish a link with our murder on Saturday night. We’ve identified the victim as Eddie Chang; half Chinese, half Brummie.’

‘Interesting,’ said Clark. ‘The other two were Irish gentlemen, named Maloney and O’Flynn, both with Birmingham addresses. The PNC gave us their details from fingerprints this morning. Maloney did twelve years for attempted murder in Belfast.’

‘He didn’t succeed this time either,’ said Proud, with an irony that was unusual for him. ‘The sentence was a lot tougher, though.’

‘Yes,’ the Englishman chuckled grimly. ‘I don’t think he’ll attempt any more. See you, Jimmy. An ordeal doing business with you, as usual.’ A loud buzz filled the room as the line went dead. Sir James pressed a button to switch off the speaker box.

‘There you are, lady and gentlemen.’ He beamed, hugely pleased with himself. ‘Tact and diplomacy. Amazing what it can secure.’

‘That’s right,’ laughed Skinner. ‘But it’s nothing compared to what you can secure through naked threat. Christ, did you hear the intake of breath when you mentioned arrest.

‘Thanks, Chief, objective achieved.’ He stood up and led Martin and Masters from the room by the side door.

‘Wonderful,’ said Martin, outside in the corridor. ‘I’ll send McIlhenney down there with a team to take possession. Two transport vehicles, though: I want those guys kept apart from now on.’

As she looked at the Head of CID, Pamela Masters could sense that he was buzzing with excitement. ‘Do you want to be in on the examination of McCartney and Kirkbride?’ he asked Skinner.

The DCC shook his head. ‘No, I’ve got other fish in the fryer. You do it, with Donaldson and with Maggie Rose. Let Sammy Pye sit in on it too. He and Mags have done some bloody good work, so he deserves to be in at the kill.

‘But listen, the way the weather’s looking, that won’t be until six tonight, at the earliest. We’re still no further along in the Carole Charles investigation, with which, after all, we started out. McCartney and Kirkbride won’t be ready for interview until six at the earliest. While you’re waiting for them, give that another push. We don’t want it to stall.’

Martin grunted as he followed Skinner and Masters into the DCC’s office. ‘Yes, boss. I’ll do that. I did hear before I came up that there’s a taxi driver who wants to see us about a pick-up he made last Wednesday. Mind you, we’ve had a few of those so far, all of them a waste of time.’

He paused. ‘These other fish of yours. Anything to do with . . . ?’

Tom Whatling’s envelope lay on Skinner’s desk. The DCC took out the print and handed it to Martin. The Chief Superintendent’s green eyes widened. ‘This is it?’

‘Yeah. That’s my Mini Cooper, or at least part of the wreckage. You can see for yourself . . .’

‘It’s been cut. By a hacksaw, I’d say, or maybe a Stanley knife.’ He looked up with a smile, green eyes shining. ‘You’ve done it, Bob. You’ve proved that you were right.’

‘Bully for me,’ said Skinner, glumly. ‘So the story goes on.’

Martin shrugged. ‘It must. That’s evidence for a culpable homicide prosecution at the very least, and the Crown Office would probably go for murder. On the basis of that, stretched resources or not, I’ll open a full, formal investigation.’

‘No. Don’t do that. Leave it to me. I’ve already done some checking. My likeliest candidate seems to be Tony Manson, and we’d have a hell of a job bringing him to trial, on account of his being dead.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘Well,’ said Skinner, ‘while Pamela is taking that negative out to the photo unit, to have the technicians give us the cleanest print they can, I’m going to take a drive out to Shotts nick, to see my old sparring partner, Big Lennie Plenderleith.’

58

‘Quinn. My name is Willie Quinn.’

‘Thanks for coming to see us, Mr Quinn,’ said Andy Martin. The taxi driver nodded a quick, ‘No problem,’ glancing nervously around at the same time. The Chief Superintendent suspected that this man had years of experience of not looking policemen in the eye.

‘For the record, how old are you?’ he asked.

‘Forty-nine.’

‘And your address?’

‘Number ten, Glenfiddich Walk, Southhouse, Edinburgh.’ Martin nodded, imperceptibly, to Neil McIlhenney, standing at the door. Quietly, the big Sergeant slipped out of the room.

‘Who do you drive for, Mr Quinn?’ asked Dave Donaldson, seated beside Martin in the modern airy interview room, directly beneath his office in the St Leonard’s station.

‘Snap Cabs,’ said the small, grey, shifty man.

‘Who’s your boss?’

‘Hard tae say. Ma controller’s a woman called Marilyn Snell, but the guy that collects the money, that’s a Mr Terry.’

‘When you phoned this office, you told an officer that you had information for us about the Carole Charles murder, ’ said Martin. ‘So, what have you got to tell us?’

Willie Quinn shifted uncomfortably in his chair once more, like a man experiencing a culture shock. ‘Last Wednesday, I made a pick-up in Seafield Road. About quarter to nine.’

‘Where, exactly?’

‘Just before the roundabout at the King’s Road. Outside the Balti House.’

‘Okay, go on.’

‘It was a man. Marilyn told me that he’d called because his car had broken down, and he needed a quick pick-up. He had tae be somewhere for nine o’clock.’

‘Can you describe him?’

Quinn screwed up his face, as if the act was an aid to memory. ‘Youngish bloke, in his thirties. He was fairly tall, and light-haired, I think; but mind youse, it was dark, and pissing down.’

‘Anything else?’

‘He wore a big overcoat. Like I said it was raining, so he had the collar turned up.’

‘Where did he ask you to take him?’

‘Tae the Jewel, up across Milton Road, through the roundabout where the tyre place is.’

‘You don’t remember the address.’

Quinn looked sheepish. ‘No. The guy was giving me directions once we got past the roundabout, but I missed a turn. He said that it was okay where we were, then he paid me, got out of the car, and legged it up one of the side streets.’

‘Do you remember what time it was by then?’

‘A couple of minutes before nine.’ Quinn looked over his shoulder as the door opened behind him, and Neil McIlhenney stepped back into the room. He was holding a sheet of paper which he handed to Martin.

‘One thing I don’t get, Willie,’ said the Chief Superintendent, amiably. ‘Why’s it taken you five days to come forward?’

The shifty man shrugged, looking embarrassed. ‘Well, I don’t read the papers much, see. Someone telt me

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