for supper one night soon. I’m keen to keep you in this firm, and I’d like to talk to you about how we can best do that, and keep your relationship on an even keel as well.
‘I’ll ask my secretary to give you some dates to choose from.’
She smiled. ‘Thanks very much, Mr Laidlaw. I’ll talk Andy into coming along. There’s just one thing, though. No hamburgers on the menu, please.’
The lawyer’s laughter rang out as he opened the door . . . then suddenly it stopped, as he closed it again.
‘Alex,’ he said, ‘I’ve just had the daftest idea. Would you like to get your fiance on the phone, please.’
80
Sammy Pye looked out of the window of the small room near the Head of CID’s suite. ‘It’s a nice day out there, Mr Ankrah,’ he said. ‘The sooner we’re out of this place the better.’
‘I agree. But this is a job which must be done.’
‘I know. I just need to give my eyes a rest, that’s all.’ He stood up and leaned to one side and the other, stretching his sinews; fingers interlinked, he stretched his arms above his head until they touched the ceiling.
‘What would you think of this weather in Africa, sir?’ he asked.
‘In Africa, Sammy, we would call this . . . winter!’ The Ghanaian grinned, flashing shining teeth. ‘When I go home, I plan to invite some officers from Edinburgh on a reciprocal visit. I thought you might like to be one of them.’
‘Lead me to it, sir,’ the young detective constable responded eagerly.
‘And Sergeant Neville, of course. It would be only right to invite you both.’
‘What do you mean sir?’ Pye’s expression was blank innocence.
‘You know damn well what I mean.You may be discreet in everything you say and do, but I am a student of body language. Yours and the pretty sergeant’s give you away to me.’
The DC looked at him cautiously. ‘How?’
‘It is in the inflection of your voice when you speak to each other; the way in which your postures relax. Your bodies are comfortable together; they know each other, and to a practised eye it shows.’
‘But we’re just good friends, sir.’
Ankrah nodded, and grinned again. ‘Yes. But very good friends. Now come on. Let’s finish viewing these tapes.’ They turned back to face the monitor, and Pye pressed the play button on the video recorder.
They were watching one of the sharper, cleaner tapes. The colour was unblurred although the figures moved jerkily on the screen, a result of the slow-speed recording. The tape showed the Galashiels bank, and it had been recorded on a Monday, less than two weeks before the robbery and shooting.
The customers that morning had been few and far between; a burst of men in the first hour of business . . . Publicans, Pye guessed, depositing their weekend takings . . . but after that they had slowed to a trickle of mostly older people, interspersed by the occasional shop staff member sent out for change.
They speeded the tape, and let it run until the time recorder showed that the lunch-hour was approaching, and until the picture showed an increased flow of clients. ‘Hey, just a minute,’ said Ankrah, suddenly. ‘Slow it down and go back a bit, Sammy. I want to check something.’
The constable did as he was instructed, rewinding the tape until his companion signalled him to stop. The two looked at the monitor as playback resumed in forward mode and at normal speed. As they did so, they saw the figure of a man come into the banking hall; tall, middle aged, fit-looking, wearing a navy blazer with gold buttons, and grey slacks.
He joined the small orderly queue at the back of the public area, waiting patiently as the staff dealt with the people before him. As he waited, he looked sideways and up, towards the wide-angle surveillance camera, once from the extreme right of its shot as it panned around the building, then from the extreme left. On the third occasion he looked directly into the lens. Then, without going up to the counter, he turned and walked, with a slight limp, out of the bank.
‘I know that man,’ said the Ghanaian. ‘I met him quite recently.
‘Have you ever seen him before, Sam?’
‘No, sir. But I’m pretty sure he isn’t on any of the other tapes.’
‘He isn’t on any others that I’ve seen either. I’m sure it’s a pure coincidence that he’s there. Still, Mr Martin asked us to report anything out of the ordinary. So, I shall do just that.’
81
‘Have you heard from Lady Proud again?’ The Head of CID asked the Deputy Chief Constable as together they gazed at the little man in the loud Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts.
‘No, I haven’t, so I guess Jimmy must be on the mend.’ Skinner grinned. ‘I wonder if he dresses like that on his holidays?’ The little man, his equally garish wife by his side, stood motionless. The statues were among the star attractions in the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, one of the jewels in the capital city’s cultural crown.
The two policemen had decided to take a break from their offices, and from their telephones which had been ringing all morning, reminding each of them that the two investigations which had been dominating their lives were only a small part of their respective workloads.
‘What have you got on this afternoon?’ Martin asked.
‘I’ve got to prepare for the Police Board tomorrow. Councillor Maley and her clique are bound to try to ambush me with a few awkward questions in Jimmy’s absence. I’m damned if I’ll give them the satisfaction of catching me out.’
‘Send ACC Elder.’
Skinner laughed. ‘He’s a nice guy. How could I do that to him?’
They left the American tourists frozen in their little world, and moved through to the next room. ‘You any further forward on Mr Hamburger?’ asked the DCC.
‘I’m afraid not. Kwame Ankrah and Sammy have finished the tapes. Apart from Ankrah spotting some bloke he met with me in another context, and who’s got fuck all to do with this, they came up with zero. How about your source?’
‘He’s come up with nothing so far other than confirmation that, apart from Saunders and Collins, who fought in the Falklands, the six didn’t soldier together.’
‘I thought Bennett was there too.’
‘No, he must have been bullshitting about that. He lost his fingers in a training accident.’
‘That doesn’t take us any further forward, then does it,’ mused Martin. ‘I did have one odd phone call this morning,’ he said, ‘from Mitch Laidlaw, of all people.’
‘What was that about?’
‘Apparently Alex had mentioned to him that the investigation had stalled. He had her call me up, just so he could ask me if I was old enough to remember the original Perry Mason television series. That was all. I asked him what he was on about, but he just laughed, and said it was only an idea.’
Skinner stopped and looked at him. ‘And are you old enough?’
‘Hardly. Haven’t a fucking clue what he was on about. That series was early sixties stuff, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. Even I barely remember it. I don’t get the joke either. It’s not like Mitch to waste chargeable time kidding on the telephone. He’s probably told Alex; she’ll put you out of your misery.’
He paused. ‘Speaking of Alex . . .’
‘There’s still tension in the air, Bob.’
‘Knowing my lass, I didn’t think it would go away overnight. One thing though, Andy. I know she’s well mature beyond her years, but part of her is still a kid. You’ve got to let that bit continue to grow.’
‘Sure,’ Andy retorted. ‘But what if she grows into . . .’ He stopped short.
‘. . . into her mother, you were going to say. I don’t think there’s a cat’s chance of that. Looking back, I can see now that there was always something secretive, and manipulative too, about Myra. The first party we were at
