Fraserburgh originally, and she had a brother up there: Uncle Michael, Michael Conran. I only ever met him the once, when he came to our wedding.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If you’re looking for Beattie’s bairn, you’d be best to start with him.’
‘Not quite,’ said Skinner. ‘I know where I’ll look first.’
He thanked Mrs Collins and left. He had called in on her at 8:30 a.m. on his way into the office, but rather than heading into the city centre, and Fettes, he drove down from Craiglockhart and swung through Longstone, heading for the west of Edinburgh.
While New Register House, at the eastern end of Princes Street, is the head office of the Registrar General for Scotland, much of his department is based in an out-station in the genteel suburb of Corstorphine. Skinner found a place in the visitors’ car park and strode briskly into the building. A black-suited man sat at the reception desk. ‘Is Jim Glossop in?’ the policeman asked.
‘I’ll just find out for you, sir,’ the clerk replied in a sing-song voice. ‘And your name is?’
‘Deputy Chief Constable Skinner.’
He dialled a number. ‘Hello, Mr Glossop. There’s a Mr Skinner to see you, from the police. Yes, sir. Very good.’
At the receptionist’s request, Skinner signed the log-in book and was given a visitor’s pass. He was just clipping it on to his jacket when the man he had called to see appeared through a door behind the desk. He was in his fifties, stocky, short-necked and thick-chested, conjuring up the image of a barrel on legs.
‘Hello,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘I’ve heard of you. How can I help you?’ His accent reminded Skinner of Adam Arrow’s Derbyshire tones, although clearly it had been subject to other influences.
‘I recall that you gave some valuable assistance to a colleague of mine, Ms Rose, about a year ago.’
‘That’s right. Henry Wills, from the University, introduced us.’
Skinner nodded. ‘I wondered if you could do us another favour, discreetly and informally.’
‘Try me. Come on through ’ere.’ Mr Glossop led the way through to a small but bright meeting room, just behind the reception area. ‘Have a seat.’
As soon as he sat in the uncomfortable tubular chair, the policeman realised that he would rather have stood, but he began nonetheless. ‘My force is investigating a serious crime. We’re on the trail of a potential suspect, but the trouble is we don’t know anything about him, other than his gender. We don’t even know for sure that he exists.
‘I need to find out about a birth. The mother was unmarried, her name was Beatrice Lewis; I believe that it may have been registered in the Fraserburgh area, around, maybe just over, forty years ago.
‘I stress that it may have been. I don’t know for certain.’
‘I see. D’you want to know who the father was?’
‘If possible, yes, although it may turn out to be A. N. Other. But I’m really interested in finding out about the child. My guess is that . . . assuming it was a live birth . . . the baby would have been put up for adoption. Could you trace him onwards?’
Jim Glossop clasped his hands together. ‘Probably. All of us, when we’re born, are given a number; a National Health Service number. It’s a bit like herpes; once you’ve got it, you’re stuck with it for life.
‘What else can you tell me about Beatrice Lewis?’ he asked.
‘She was born in Dundee. She’s dead, but had she survived she’d be sixty. The birth may have been registered by her uncle, Michael Conran, of Fraserburgh.’
As Skinner spoke, the man scribbled notes in a pad. ‘That’s enough to be going on with. Beatrice Lewis, Michael Conran, Fraserburgh, mid to late fifties. Leave me your number, Mr Skinner. I’ll call you as soon as I have anything to tell you.
‘If this woman gave birth anywhere in Scotland under the name you’ve given me, I’ll find out about it.’
79
Alexis Skinner stared through the glass wall of her office. The thing which concerned her most was not that she and her fiance had had a blazing row, but that they had not.
Andy was one of the calmest people she had ever known. She had never seen his temper raised to boiling point. But she knew that the way in which he had switched off, had become even calmer, and suddenly sad, during their argument over careers and babies, was a much more serious indicator of his feelings than any explosion would have been.
They had decided to drop the subject for a few days, to give each other time to reflect. The night before Andy had passed on her father’s advice, to put their problem on a future agenda, and concentrate on being happy today. She knew that her dad meant well, yet also that when he and Sarah had hit their crisis, it was guidance which he had been unable to follow himself. This was something on today’s agenda, and it would determine her future, and Andy’s.
As her mind and her eyes came back into focus, she was aware suddenly of a figure standing in the open office area beyond the glass wall, looking at her intently. It was Mitchell Laidlaw. She gulped inwardly, and went back to the papers on her desk, yet out of a corner of her eye she still saw him move towards her, then heard the soft click of her door opening.
‘Grappling with a legal poser, young lady?’ the head of the firm asked.
‘No,’ she responded. ‘I understand the issues in the Provincial Insurance matter, and I think I know the best way of approaching them. I’m sorry, Mr Laidlaw. My mind was wandering there.’
‘I know,’ he said, kindly. ‘It’s not like you to frown like that, Alex. Is it a work problem?’
She sighed, and pushed her chair back from her desk. ‘Yes and no,’ she confessed. ‘It’s partly personal, and partly professional. After our discussion the other day about my possible future with the firm, I broached the subject with Andy.
‘Let’s just say that he has a different vision of the future.’
‘He doesn’t like the idea of you aiming for a partnership here?’
‘No, it isn’t that, so much. Andy has his own ambitions, for the two of us. He knows what he wants, but the trouble is that his vision is likely to conflict with my career plans.’
Laidlaw frowned. ‘You’re not saying he’s told you to choose between him and your career, are you?’
‘He might as well have. What he’s saying is, “Do it my way, or we may not be doing it at all”, and I don’t know if I can accept that.’ She stopped. ‘Look, I’m sorry. It’s our problem and I didn’t mean to bring it to the office. I promise I’ll leave it at home in future and get on with my work.’
‘No, no, no. This is a close-knit firm, for all its size. Tell me how I can help you? Would you like me to phone Andy?’
She looked at him in horror. ‘No, please. That wouldn’t help at all.’
Alex shook her head in a gesture of despair. ‘I really am a silly little cow, you know. My timing always has been lousy. I shouldn’t have raised this at all just now, not while he’s still got this armed robbery stuff on his plate.’
Mitch Laidlaw’s eyebrows rose. ‘Oh? I thought that was all sorted now. At least that’s the impression the press gave me.’
She glanced at him. ‘Don’t repeat this, but that’s what the press are meant to think. Andy’s still looking for someone, the man he believes planned the whole thing and then killed Bennett, Saunders and Collins.’
‘Is that so? The papers are suggesting that these men Newton and Clark did that. They’re talking about a feud within the gang.’
‘That’s just speculation that Alan Royston hasn’t bothered to refute. The man Andy’s searching for has been seen with the gang, and with the woman who gave them the information that set up the diamond robbery at Raglan’s. He doesn’t know anything about him, other than that the rest of the gang all called him by the nickname Hamburger.’
Laidlaw chuckled. ‘So poor Andy and his squad are checking out every fast food bar in Edinburgh looking for suspects, are they? You did choose a bad time for a serious discussion, didn’t you. A man called Hamburger, indeed.’
He looked down at her. ‘To be serious once again, young lady, if you’re willing, I’d like to take you and Andy
