‘We’ll do that,’ said Steele, rising to his feet. ‘Don’t get up, Mr Regan, I’ll see myself out.’ He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and handed over a personal card. ‘Remember, as soon as Arlene gets in touch, please call me. That’s my number.’
57
There was a loud rap on Andy Martin’s door. The Head of CID glanced at his wristwatch, which was showing 5:55 p.m.
‘Come in,’ he called, ‘whoever you are.’
The door swung open and Detective Constable Sammy Pye stepped into the room. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m beat. I’ve looked at those security tapes until I’m cross-eyed, but I can’t spot anyone who appears on more than one.
‘Mr Ankrah says he’ll have one last go this evening, but I’m done for. Can I chuck it?’
‘Yes, sure, son. It was a long shot anyway.’
Pye shook his head. ‘No, Boss, the theory was right, but the resolution on most of those videos is pretty crap. My girl-friend could have been on one and I wouldn’t have been able to identify her. All we’ve been trying to do was spot the same person on different tapes. But even if we’d been able to do that, identification would have been a problem.’
The Head of CID grinned at his young assistant. ‘I didn’t know you had a girl-friend on the go, Sam,’ he said.
The young detective flushed. ‘Figure of speech, sir,’ he mumbled.
Martin raised an eyebrow. ‘Karen! You still there?’ he called out. A few seconds later Detective Sergeant Neville appeared in the doorway, dressed in a close-fitting grey skirt and a navy blouse which did nothing to disguise her curves.
‘Well, sergeant, have you enjoyed your first day in the nerve centre?’ he asked.
‘Very much, sir. It makes a change from Haddington. It’s nice to be out of uniform.’
The DCS chuckled. ‘I felt exactly the same as you when I left that place.’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘Karen, as I said this morning there are no rigid start and finish times in my office. Do the job and you can keep your own hours . . . within reason.
‘Take young Sammy, here, for example. Some nights he’ll be behind his desk till ten o’clock. Tonight, though, he seems dead keen to get away.’
He paused. ‘Anything else to tell me before you go?’
‘Yes, sir. Superintendent McGrigor just called. He said that he’s finding it hard to get anything on the man Saunders. There was one interesting thing though. When he questioned Mrs Sturrock again, she let slip that he gave her a very expensive diamond pendant a few days before he was killed. Two and a half thousand pounds’ worth.
‘Mr McGrigor said he thought it was a bit generous for an unemployed plumber.’
‘He was right. Did he check it against the stolen property lists?’
Karen Neville shook her head. ‘He didn’t need to, sir. Mrs Sturrock showed him an insurance certificate, issued by the shop where Saunders bought the piece. It was Raglan’s, off Princes Street.’
Andy Martin whistled. ‘Now there’s a small coincidence, ’ he said.
‘Look, before you and DC Pye disappear for the night, sergeant, I’d like you to call Mr McGrigor back and check the date of purchase with him. Then first thing tomorrow, I want you two to go and see Mrs Hall at Raglan’s. Find out as much as they can tell you about Saunders and that piece of jewellery.
‘Most important of all, find out if he paid cash for it. I smell something here.’
58
‘You know,’ said Stevie Steele, ‘I often wondered why the bar in an army base is called the Mess.’
The steward looked round the panelled room and laughed. ‘If you could see the state of some of the lads when they leave here, you wouldn’t need to ask.’
The man, who had introduced himself as Barry Herr, nodded towards his bar. ‘Can I get you a drink, sergeant?’ he asked.
Steele, who had a raging thirst, looked regretfully at the brightly lit ale and lager fonts. ‘I’m driving, I’m afraid.’
‘Have something non-alcoholic, then.’ Herr reached over the wooden bartop, picked up a pint glass and filled it almost to the top with dark cola from the soft drinks dispenser. ‘That’ll no’ do you any harm,’ he muttered, handing it to the policeman.
‘Cheers,’ Steele acknowledged. ‘Now, about Arlene Regan . . .’
‘Ah yes,’ said the steward of the Territorial Army Club. ‘Our Arlene. A real personality girl, if ever I saw one. She let me down, though.’
‘How was that?’
‘She left me in the lurch, about a week ago. She didn’t appear for her evening shift. I spent all night rushed off my feet, all the time expecting her to phone me to explain where the fuck she was, but not a word did I hear from her. When she didn’t turn up the evening after that, I called her, to be told by BT that her number had been disconnected.
‘So I can’t really say I’m surprised that you’re here asking questions about her. What’s she done?’
The detective shrugged his shoulders. ‘Arlene hasn’t necessarily done anything. It’s her boy-friend that we’re after. Do you know anything about him?’
‘I know he existed,’ said Herr, ‘but I’ve never met him. They lived not far from here, so she usually walked home after work. She didn’t talk much about him though, not when she was flirting with the Weekend Warriors. As far as I know he worked in a shop.’
‘That’s right. Raglan’s.’
The man’s eyes widened. ‘What? The place that had that big robbery . . .’
‘. . . on the day Arlene and her boy-friend disappeared. That’s right.’
‘Jesus! No wonder you want to talk to him.’
Steele sipped his cola. ‘Do you know, Mr Herr,’ he went on, ‘whether Arlene did anything more than flirt with the customers?’
The steward frowned and looked at the carpeted floor. ‘I doubt it,’ he replied at last. ‘She could be a bit loud, but behind all that she was a nice girl.’
‘In what way?’
‘She was a decent, friendly, honest lass. The till was never a problem with her. She never struck me as the type to have two-timed her boy-friend. Mind you, she worked here for about three years. She was only living with him for the last two. Maybe at the start there were one or two she took a shine to.
‘There was a big red-haired bloke fancied her; that was his nickname, too. Big Red, his pals called him. But she never treated him as any more than one of the lads.’ He paused.
‘There was another guy she talked to quite a lot, though. He wasn’t a member, but the Paras brought him in every so often. Hamburger, they called him . . . they all had nicknames. Arlene liked him; I could see that. If she was playing around with anyone, it’d have been him, I reckon.’
‘The Paras?’ exclaimed the detective, in surprise. ‘Are they based here?’
Herr laughed. ‘No, that’s what they call themselves. Some of them were once, mind you. They’re a bunch of ex-regulars who joined the TA after they were discharged. Most of them are still in. There are half a dozen of them: Big Red’s one . . . although he hasn’t been in for a while . . . Bakey Newton, he’s another, Rocky Saunders, Big Mac, Tory Clark, and, and . . . Curly Collins.
‘They were always chatting up Arlene, that lot. We have other Friday regulars, but they were the ones she talked to the most.’
‘Would any of them have an idea where she might be?’
