‘Define “odd”.’
‘I can’t. He was looking at him in a way he didn’t look at anyone else, that’s all I can tell you. It was as if he knew something about him.’
‘Okay,’ said Martin. ‘Let’s go back to you. Do you ever talk about your work, at home, or in the pub?’
‘Only to my girl-friend.’
‘Did you ever tell her about Bennett?’
‘No. She wouldn’t have been interested anyway. It’s only the big names that excite her. Nathan was small- time. ’
The Head of CID pushed himself up from his perch against the desk. ‘All right, Officer, you can go. However, if anything occurs to you that might help us, I want you to contact me right away. You’ll get me at Police Headquarters at Fettes.’
Tibor Albo stood up, saluted smartly, and left the room. A few moments later, Joyce Latham re-entered. ‘Well?’ she asked.
‘I think he’s okay,’ Martin answered. ‘When did his shift finish on Friday?’
‘Six p.m.’
‘McDonnell’s too?’
‘Yes.’
‘If an officer wants to make a personal phone call during working hours, where does he go?’
‘In theory,’ said Mrs Latham, ‘he uses the pay phone in the canteen. In practice, if they think no one’s looking, the lads use the prison phone in the senior officers’ room.’ The detective’s green eyes flashed. ‘I don’t suppose calls are logged?’
‘Yes, they are. I’ll check Thursday’s count, from the time of your visit onwards.’
As she finished speaking, there was a soft knock on the door. Sammy Pye entered, without waiting for an invitation. He was alone.
‘McDonnell?’ asked Martin.
‘Gone, sir. And I don’t mean gone for the Sunday papers. When I got no answer to his door, I knocked up the neighbours. One of them said she saw him leave last night in a taxi, with a big suitcase and a hold-all. So I tried his back door.’
‘It was open of course,’ said the Chief Superintendent, with a smile.
‘Well, I might have knocked a bit too hard, sir.’ He paused, looking at Mrs Latham. ‘I’ve sent for a joiner to make it secure.
‘There was nothing there. I looked in all the wardrobes, in the drawers, in the bathroom cabinet: they were all empty. There was nothing personal left in the place.
‘No doubt about it, Officer McDonnell has done a runner. And at short notice too. I had a look in the fridge, and there was enough food there for a week at least: eggs, bacon, mince, cooked chicken, orange juice and three litres of milk, unopened. Oh aye, and three cans of McEwan’s lager.
‘Wherever it was he called in sick from, it wasn’t his flat.’
Martin looked at Joyce Latham. ‘We’ve got our answer, I think.
‘Sammy, did you look for personal papers?’
‘Yes, sir. I didn’t find any, though. He’s quite a methodical man is McDonnell. He had a big folder with all his household stuff in it, indexed. There was nothing in the slot marked “Bank”, no account books or cheque books, and the slot marked “Passport” was empty too.’
‘Did you look for an address book?’
‘No, Boss. I thought I’d better report back.’
The Head of CID nodded. ‘Fine, I’ll come down there with you and together we’ll strip the place. First, we’d better call Fettes, and get people started checking the airlines. If McDonnell caught a plane, maybe someone else bought the ticket for him.
‘If he’s sticking to overland and ferry travel, or better still if he’s got a bolt-hole somewhere in Britain, I’m going to give him something to think about.
‘Joyce, can you give me a photograph of McDonnell?’ The Deputy Governor nodded.
‘Good. In that case I’m going to raise Alan Royston, our press officer, and have it circulated nationally, with a statement saying that he’s wanted for questioning in relation to the murders of Nathan Bennett and his sister. After that, I’ll alert police forces throughout Europe.
‘Officer McDonnell has the answer to our problems, and I want him.’
23
There was something about Bob Skinner’s expression which sent a shiver running through Brian Mackie as he opened his front door. Following his promotion to Divisional Commander, he had moved to a new house in Musselburgh, in the heart of his territory.
‘Hello, Boss,’ he said, managing to show surprise rather than concern. ‘What brings you here? Is it about Nathan Bennett and his sister? I heard about that on radio last night. Bloody awful, eh.’
The DCC nodded. ‘In a way, it’s about Nathan that we need to talk. I was on my way home, so I thought I might look in to see if you were in.’
‘Only just. We got back twenty minutes ago.’ He nodded towards the driveway of the villa, where two cars stood. ‘Sheila’s in the kitchen.’
‘She’s in the kitchen? This must be serious, then.’ The Superintendent had always separated his private life very firmly from his career, but Skinner had been aware of his relationship with Sheila Mackeson, whom Mackie had met during his term as executive assistant to the DCC. She was a director of the consultancy which the police used to recruit civilian staff.
To his surprise, the thin man blushed to the top of his domed head. ‘We’re getting along,’ he said, with a self-conscious smile. ‘She isn’t in there cooking, mind you, just helping me unpack the food shop we did on the way back.’
He held the door open, ushering Skinner into the hall. As he stepped inside, a tall blonde woman appeared in the doorway opposite. She was dressed in shorts and a cotton top, and she held a pack of four toilet rolls in her hand. ‘Where do we keep these?’ she asked, then saw Skinner, and turned as pink as Mackie.
The DCC smiled. ‘Hello, Sheila.’ He glanced at his colleague. ‘Yes, Brian, I’d say you were getting along.’
‘Okay, Boss. It’s a fair cop. Sheila’s moving in with me, as of today.’ Mackie smiled, diffidently, at his new partner.
‘Good for you, mate,’ said Skinner. ‘Good for you, too, Sheila. If I’d known I wouldn’t have come empty- handed. ’
‘Would you have a drink with us, Mr Skinner; to celebrate?’ Sheila asked.
‘Thanks. I’ll have a Coke, or something like that.’
The woman nodded and headed back to the kitchen, as Mackie showed the DCC into his sitting room. ‘What did you want to talk to me about, Boss?’ he asked quietly, as they sat on the shiny new lounge suite.
‘First, I’ve got something to tell you. I understand that you were giving evidence the other day when Lord Archergait died.’
‘That’s right. The old chap took a heart attack, right before my eyes.’
‘No, he didn’t, Brian.’ Calmly, Skinner explained the cause of the judge’s death, watching the other man’s face as the astonishing truth registered.
‘I want you to think back,’ he went on, ‘and try to recall the scene. What happened in the period just before Archergait took his attack?’
Mackie closed his eyes and leaned back, searching his memory, as Sheila came into the room with a tray, loaded with two bottles of Rolling Rock beer, and an iced glass of Coca-Cola.
‘Kilmarnock, the defence counsel, was being a prat,’ he answered at last, taking one of the bottles from the tray. ‘The old judge was getting annoyed with him, and it showed. Then Kilmarnock said something else stupid, and I thought the old boy was about to explode at him. But he wasn’t. He just gasped for air and fell across his desk. I left the box and jumped up on to the Bench to try to help him, but he died in my arms.’
