14
There was nothing grand about the office of the Head of CID. It was on the same level as the Command Corridor, but smaller and less well furnished than the Chief Officers’ accommodation.
Nonetheless, DCS Andy Martin appreciated its location, beyond a general office where his assistants sat, allowing them to act as a barrier and to filter visitors, deflecting casual callers whenever their chief wished to be left alone.
No one deflected Bob Skinner. He marched into the suite, just after four-thirty, and headed straight for Martin’s door with a nod and a smile to Sammy Pye. He was dressed in light cotton jeans and a polo shirt, and a dark shadow showed on his chin.
‘How are we doing, then, Andy?’ he asked as he stepped into the room.
‘No result, if that’s what you mean,’ the younger man answered tersely. ‘These people are efficient as well as ruthless.
‘We traced the grey Escort to a car park on the outskirts of Gala. The owner’s a Mrs Mason. She works in a shop round the corner, and she says she leaves it there every day. As far as I can gather, they drove another vehicle into the park, stole the Escort to do the job, then just came back and swapped back to their own car.’
‘Or cars,’ said the DCC, ‘unless you know for sure that they all travelled together. It would have been more secure to disperse separately.’
‘That’s true. I’ve no way of telling though. The car park is surfaced, and John McGrigor tells me there were no tyre marks.’
‘How’s big John holding up?’
‘He’s okay. He was very cut up yesterday, but he’s a good professional. He’s being very efficient, just as you’d expect.’
‘How did we trace the car?’
‘Mrs Mason was stopped on her way home. She didn’t have a clue that her car had been used, and nor would we have, but one of the traffic lads who pulled her up noticed blood on one of the back seats. Harry Riach’s blood as it turned out. He was the civilian victim.’
‘I know, I had a look at the
‘He insisted. See that silver braid on his uniform? It means he’s Chief Constable. He said it was down to him and him alone. Afterwards, I think he’d like to have torn Julian Finney’s heart out.’
‘I’ve felt like that, too. Maybe I will some day.’
The tall, tanned DCC poured himself a mug of coffee from Martin’s filter, adding a touch of milk. ‘Have Arthur Dorward’s team finished with the car?’
‘Yes,’ Martin replied. ‘They found nothing, except Mrs Mason’s fag-ends and Riach’s blood. The witnesses said that the guy who shot him was drenched in it: as you’d expect after a contact wound with a sawn-off.’
Skinner shuddered.
‘What do we have then?’ he asked. ‘Anything at all?’
‘One very fine straw to clutch. I went to see Nathan Bennett today, the guy we’ve got banged up for the first robbery. I put the fear of God in him, to try to get him to turn Crown evidence. Somebody’s beaten me to it though. As Brian Mackie thought, he’s been told to plead guilty, or else.
‘But something he said made me think that the threat might not be against him alone. He has an unmarried sister, name of Hannah, out in Bonnyrigg. I’ve checked with Saughton, and she’s the only visitor he’s had all the time he’s been in custody. I reckon someone’s been to see her, to give Nathan his orders, and I suspect that she’s in the firing line should Bennett break ranks.’
‘You going to see her?’
‘First thing tomorrow, I thought. Maybe around eight o’clock. Catch her early, shake her up a bit.’
‘Good idea. I think I’ll come too.’
‘Fine. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.’
Skinner nodded. ‘I’ll be ready.’ He hesitated. ‘No, why don’t you and Alex come to Gullane for supper tonight? We’re having a Thai takeaway. You can stay over, and we’ll leave from there.’
15
‘Why have we never eaten at the Thai place before, Andy,’ Alex burst out enthusiastically. ‘If the takeaway’s this good, it must be even better on the premises.’
‘Probably because I’ve been too embarrassed about the ordering part of it. There isn’t a single name on that menu . . . other than Pard and Prik . . . that I can get near pronouncing.’
‘You are not alone, my friend,’ said Bob. ‘Every time we go there, we order by numbers.’
It was almost nine p.m., but the evening was warm and they were able to eat outside in comfort, on the terrace of Bob and Sarah’s new bungalow in Gullane, into which they had moved two days before leaving for their Spanish holiday.
They had bought the house as part of their ‘fresh start’ agreement, and sold their Edinburgh home and Bob’s old cottage on Goose Green, a quarter of a mile away, the latter for a price which had astonished them both. The bungalow was spacious, newly built on a plot which had once been part of the garden of a stone mansion on Gullane Hill. It had four bedrooms, a massive living and dining area and a conservatory. There was also a study for Sarah who had decided to fulfil a long-held ambition by becoming a consultant forensic pathologist, alongside freelance scene-of-incident work for the police.
The terrace and garden looked out across the Firth of Forth, to the Lomond Hills of Fife, and to the rosy sunset in the west which bathed the four as they finished their meal.
‘This is really beautiful,’ said Alex. ‘When I was a kid, I had this private dream that one day my dad would buy a house looking on to the sea, so that I could just run on to the beach. You’re going to have a great life out here, both of you. Especially now you’ll be working from home, Sarah.’
Her step-mother grinned, running long fingers through her auburn hair. ‘Yeah, that’s a bonus. I have to take an examination here to top up my US qualifications, but I can start practice as an assistant now. I’ve had my first commission, in fact.’
Bob’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘You never told me.’
‘I haven’t had an opportunity,’ his wife said. ‘I checked my e-mail after you left. There was a message from Professor Hutchison, asking if I can assist tomorrow morning at an autopsy he’s performing in Edinburgh.’
‘It’s as well you told me now. Andy and I are off on a visit tomorrow morning.’
Alex raised a hand. ‘No problem,’ she said. ‘I’ll baby-sit. It’ll give Mark and me a chance to get acquainted.’
‘How’s Mark settling in?’ asked Andy, as he forked up the last of his fish in red curry sauce.
‘Very well,’ Sarah replied. ‘He’s a remarkable little boy, and he thinks Jazz is just great. He loves having a baby brother.’
‘It must be a very difficult job for you two, nonetheless, integrating him into a new family.’
‘No, Andy, I’d describe it as a very responsible job. We have to make him feel as loved and secure as he’s always been, and I like to believe that we’re succeeding in that. At the same time we have to remember what he’s been through. He still has times when he withdraws into his grief. The temptation is to throw treats at him to jolly him out of them, yet that’s just what we mustn’t do. He has to work all that out for himself, if he’s to grow into a well-adjusted, happy young man.’
‘But won’t it be difficult,’ Alex cut in, ‘when he’s old enough really to understand what happened to his father and mother? Couldn’t he have big psychological problems when that happens?’
Sarah nodded. ‘Yes, he could. So, as part of his upbringing, we’ll make sure that he remembers them, that he’s under no illusions about their death, but that he comes to see himself as their embodiment. We aim to encourage him to live his life positively, in their memory.’
