Dead And Buried

‘You’re right: I’m sorry. Now, there’s another thought that’s occurred to me. These things; quite often they start in the workplace, and Curle Anthony and Jarvis is a big firm.’

‘You want me to . . . ?’

‘Hell, no! We can’t go crashing in there asking questions: Alex would go bat-shit if we did that. No, I’ve taken care of that already. I’ve spoken to Mitch Laidlaw and I’ve told him what’s happening; he got my drift straight away. First thing tomorrow he’s going to speak to a few people in the office, those he can trust, and ask them to keep their ears to the ground, listening for hints about anyone who might have a crush on my kid. If he comes up with anything, he’ll bring it to you, nobody else, and I’d like you to handle it in person.’

‘Will do. Have you asked Alex about this idea?’

‘Yes. She told me she can’t think of anyone. But she wouldn’t necessarily know, would she?’

‘No, that’s true. Are you going to check in with me while you’re away, or do you want me to give you regular feedback?’

Skinner considered the question for a few moments. ‘It’s best if I call you, I think. My mobile may well be switched off quite often on this posting.’

‘In that case, there’s something I’d like to ask you before you disappear.’

‘Fire away.’

‘It’s about Bandit Mackenzie. I know that Kevin O’Malley’s report was confidential to you and the chief, but I’d like to know what was in it.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s been a bit funny, a shade paranoid. He thinks he’s been bumped off the Drugs Squad.’

‘Did you put him right on that?’

‘Of course, but I’m not sure the message got through.’

‘Kevin says that he’s guilt-ridden. He feels that he bottled it up there, when the bullets started flying.’

‘But he didn’t: he was okay.’

‘Not by his standards. Self-belief is very important to the Bandit. He’d never been in a situation like that before, but he always imagined that if he was, he’d be out front charging the barricades. He found out that night that he doesn’t have what it takes to do that. How he’ll handle that knowledge in the short term, remains to be seen. He’s going to need good management. He knows you, and he likes you; that’s why I put him in your team. Maybe I should have spelled it out. Sorry, mate; my eye hasn’t been one hundred per cent on the ball for the last few days.’

‘No problem. I understand. This Alex thing can’t be helping either. We’ll get it sorted, I promise.’

‘Do you want me to put Bandit somewhere else?’

‘No, he’ll be fine. I’m going to give him Tarvil Singh for a bit of extra support when George Regan gets back.’

‘Mmm.’

‘No?’

‘It’s your call, but maybe you should think about moving Stevie there.’

‘A detective inspector?’

‘You’ve got the whole city to watch now, Neil. You can’t keep an eye on Leith all the time.’

Twenty-three

‘Who did you say is calling?’ asked the telephone receptionist.

‘The chief constable, Sir James Proud.’

‘And why do you want to speak with the chief executive?’

‘That is something I’d rather discuss with him.’

‘We don’t handle police pensions.’

‘That’s not what I want to talk to him about.’

‘If you’ll tell me what sort of pension you are asking about I can put you straight through to the appropriate section.’

‘I give up!’ Proud barked. He slammed the phone back into its cradle, picked it up again, and buzzed his secretary. ‘Gerry, please get the chief executive of the Scottish Public Pensions Agency, down in Galashiels, on the line for me. Don’t be fobbed off with anyone else.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As he waited, the chief constable picked up Monday morning’s Scotsman from a corner of his desk and glanced at the front page. The main headline concerned the Middle East, as was almost the norm; another covered an account of a fatal accident on a railway line in England, while a third seemed to confirm that there would only be one runner for the leadership of the Labour Party in Scotland, and with it, the post of First Minister. A day into the investigation, the Gareth Starr murder had been relegated to the inside pages: a bad sign, he knew from experience.

The phone rang. He tossed the newspaper aside and picked it up. ‘I have Mr Manners for you, sir,’ Gerry Crossley told him.

‘Sir James: it’s Simon Manners here.’ The voice on the line was youthful and friendly, not Scottish, but the chief found nothing surprising about that. ‘This is a surprise. Should I be worried?’

He gave the standard answer to the standard question. ‘You tell me, Mr Manners. Actually, this is an informal approach: I’m looking for some assistance. I’m trying to trace a couple of people for a friend. They were both teachers, at Edinburgh Academy for a while, but they seem to have disappeared off the face of the earth. They’d be of retirement age by now, so I was wondering whether you could tell me if either or both are currently receiving a pension from you.’

‘I see,’ said Manners. ‘This isn’t an uncommon approach, Sir James. Normally they come from ex-wives or even ex-husbands looking out for their rights, and normally we’d ask them to contact us formally. However, in your case, I’ll see if I can cut some corners.’

‘That’s very good of you. Do you have our number, so you can call back?’

‘I won’t need it for now. Just give me the names of your targets and I’ll look them up on our system. I may have more than one hit initially, you understand, but your mention of Edinburgh Academy should help me be precise.’

‘Let’s see how you do, then. The names are Claude Bothwell and Annabelle Gentle.’

‘Gentle as in meek and mild, or Gentile as in not Jewish?’

‘The former.’

‘Okay, here we go. It’s just a matter of keying them into my terminal.’

Proud leaned back in his chair and waited, leaving the Scotsman undisturbed as he held the phone to his ear. Manners was back in seconds. ‘It was definitely Claude Bothwell?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘No joy, I’m afraid. There are contributions credited to someone of that name, but they stopped over forty years ago. He has pension rights accrued, but he’s never claimed them, nor has an executor. He must have left the profession and forgotten to reclaim his contributions.’

‘How about Miss Gentle?’

‘Annabelle, you said?’

‘Yes.’

‘Give me a second.’ Again Proud waited. ‘No, but here’s a coincidence. There are contributions credited to her as well, and they ceased in the same month as Mr Bothwell’s. They haven’t been claimed either. Were you expecting this, Sir James?’

‘Let’s just say it doesn’t take me by surprise. Thanks, Mr Manners. I owe you a favour: don’t hesitate to take me up on it.’

‘That’s easy. If you find these people, let me know. I don’t like untidiness in my records.’

The chief hung up. What he had said was true: Bothwell and Annabelle Gentle had disappeared in mid-career, so abruptly that he had found it hard to imagine that there would be an easy way back into the profession for either of them.