He threw his arms in the air. ‘Anyway, it’s not for me, none of it.’
‘Mmm,’ said Martin. ‘You say that now. Wait till the time comes: you may have no choice in the matter.’
‘I’ll always have choice, mate.’
‘We’ll see.’ He looked at his watch. ‘What’s keeping the troops? I said six sharp.’
‘It’s two minutes before. They’ll be here.’
As it turned out, less than a minute later, the door opened, and Mackie, McGuire and McIlhenney came into the room.
‘Evening, gents,’ said Skinner. ‘Sorry about the surroundings, but this was the most central place we could think of. Let’s try not to be here long.
‘Brian, do you want to kick off?’
Mackie nodded his shiny head. ‘We’ve got the preliminary post-mortem results, sir. Sarah’s hunch was right. There was no water in the lungs. Lord Barnfather died of heart failure. The estimated time of death is around seven on Sunday evening, just as the tide was starting to come in.’
The DCC whistled softly. ‘The poor terrified old man. What a way to go.’
‘I can smell a culpable homicide plea here, Boss,’ said McIlhenney. ‘The defence could say that the guy only tied the old fella up to frighten him, and that when he came back to release him he found him dead. That’s unless it’s a woman, of course.’
‘Oh aye, and what’s he or she going to say about the cyanide in Archergait’s jug?’ asked Mackie, with a touch of sarcasm. ‘I was just trying to give him a belly-ache?’
‘Where’s the proof that this is the same person?’ the sergeant countered. ‘Even if we make an arrest in this case, there’s no saying that we’ll be able to charge the suspect with Archergait’s murder.’
Skinner rapped the table. ‘Enough, enough. You may well be right, Neil, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’re nowhere near catching anyone yet, for either crime. Go on, Brian.’
The Superintendent nodded. ‘I’ve spoken to the Nature Reserve Ranger, Boss. He said that there were quite a few people around on Sunday afternoon. Okay, he did say again that not many people go out to the submarines, but still there’s a fair chance that someone will have seen Lord Barnfather with his killer.’
‘That raises another question, surely,’ said McGuire. ‘For the old man to walk all that way out across the sand with someone, wouldn’t it mean that he knew him?’
‘That’s a possibility,’ Mackie agreed. ‘Although it’s one of several. He could have been persuaded to go to look at the subs, for some reason. Or he could just have been taken by the arm and forced, if his attacker was strong enough. We’ll look into it, don’t worry, but the first priority has to be to get a description of the person we’re after.’ He looked at Skinner and Martin. ‘I’m proposing to issue a statement, through Alan Royston, appealing for anyone who was in the Reserve on Sunday afternoon and evening to come forward for interview.
‘Someone saw something, even if they don’t know it.’
‘Go ahead with that,’ said the DCC, ‘but don’t just ask Alan to issue a release. Call a briefing and make the statement yourself. A personal request for help always gets a better response.’ He hesitated, then glanced at Mackie again.
‘There’s one group you might have a problem with, though.’
‘Who are they, sir?’
‘Gay men. The beach out beyond the Reserve is pretty remote, so not many of the twitchers go that far. In recent times it’s become quite well known in Gullane and Aberlady as a discreet gathering place for gays. Every so often, Charlie Radcliffe used to raid it, until the Civil Liberties people complained, and the Chief told him to leave them alone.
‘They’re far less likely to answer your appeal.’
Martin leaned forward. ‘Mind if I make a suggestion?’
‘Of course not,’ said Mackie.
‘How about sending Maggie and Karen Neville . . . in civvies of course . . . out there in the afternoon and evening, on Saturday and Sunday? They won’t frighten anyone off, or make them feel threatened.’ He looked at McGuire. ‘You don’t mind making your own tea for a couple of nights do you, Mario?’
The inspector grinned. ‘Who do you think makes it most nights?’
‘I’ll do that, Andy,’ the Superintendent agreed. ‘I’ll speak to them both tomorrow.’
‘Fine.’ The Head of CID turned back to McGuire. ‘How are you two getting on?’
‘Like a house on fire today. Now that the real reason for our investigation is out in the open, we’ve had people seeking us out.’
‘Aye,’ McIlhenney interjected, ‘like the head of the security firm that looks after Parliament House. He was shitting himself that his outfit might wind up carrying the can.’
‘That’s right,’ the inspector confirmed. ‘Him for one. We let him off the hook though. His boys can’t be everywhere at once. Their main task is to watch the doors and keep an eye on the busy corridors, rather than the quiet ones.
‘We did pick up one piece of intelligence over a cup to tea with Colin Maxwell. Old Archergait and his son . . . the Advocate Depute . . . hated each other’s guts.’
‘Did they, by God,’ muttered Skinner. ‘I didn’t pick up any hint of that from Norman King on Monday. Full of rage, he was.’
‘Apparently so, Boss. The old judge used to go on about him to Maxwell when they played golf. He used to say that even as a wee boy, he was a sneaky bastard. He thought nothing of him as a lawyer either; said that he’d never have made a bean if he hadn’t been his father’s son.
‘We had a chat with a lady Silk I know, one who’s in the same stable as King. She confirmed the hatred, but she gave us the other side of the story. She said that according to the son, the old judge was an absolute monster at home. He used to thrash everyone who upset him, including his wife, with a big leather belt. As soon as the boys were old enough, apparently, they moved out. Old Archergait never gave them a penny towards their education, according to Norman. He said that his mother had money and that she paid their way through Watson’s, then university.
‘According to King, when she died, she left no will, and old Archergait pocketed what was left of her wealth. The sons got nothing. Norman claimed that he knew that she had made a will, because he helped her to write it. In it, she left all her dough to the sons. He tackled the old man about it, but Archergait said that she had changed her mind and burned it. He said that if the brothers wanted anything, from her or from him, they’d have to go to Court for it.’
‘Some story,’ muttered Martin. ‘It’s just as well for him that he’s got an alibi.’
McGuire shook his head. ‘That’s another interesting thing, sir,’ he said. ‘After we heard all this talk, I thought we should maybe check that out. So, rather than alert the Crown Office to what we were after, I got Neil to call a pal of his on the
‘You mean he could have been in Edinburgh when Archergait was murdered?’
‘Not
‘Well, well, well,’ said Skinner, ‘that does open up a line of investigation, doesn’t it.’
He threw his head back and gazed at the ceiling, thinking as the others looked on. Finally, he looked once more at Mackie, then at McGuire. ‘Let’s not get too excited about this, lads; cold-blooded patricide is one of the rarest crimes in the book. But still, let’s follow it through.
‘We need to answer two questions. One, if Norman King’s hated his old man for years, what could have happened to make him decide to do him in now? Two, what possible reason could he have had for killing Lord Barnfather as well?’ He stopped as a frown spread across his face.
‘There’s a third question too. If there is a link between Archergait and Barnfather, does it extend any further? Tomorrow, Mario, you and Neil have another word with your pal Maxwell. He seems to know everything that goes on in Parliament House.’
He turned to Martin. ‘This meeting has cost me my dinner, Andy. I think I’d better go back to see the Lord President right now. Christ, he might be on the hit list as well.’
