‘What is it, Dottie?’ he asked.
‘Well, sir, it’s just,’ she began hesitantly, ‘what you said in London about physical persuasion, and what you’ve just done . . .’
‘Remember what I said about Galileo,’ he told her. ‘They only had to show him the rack. Sewell’s been trained to withstand this sort of stuff, but every little helps.’
Thirty-one
‘How long did you work for Starr, Mr Smith?’ asked Ray Wilding. ‘Ten years, did you say? And in all that time you saw nothing happening there that wasn’t related to the bookmaking business. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Aye,’ Big Ming replied, ‘that’s whit Ah’m telling yis.’
‘So is Eddie Charnwood.’
‘So why do yis believe him and no’ me?’
‘I’m not saying that’s the case, but you worked longer hours than Mr Charnwood. He had keys, but so have you. In your earlier statement you told us that you opened the shop in the morning to pin up the day’s race cards, and you locked up at night after you cleaned up.’
‘Most nights. Sometimes Gary wid stay on late and Ah’d tidy up the next morning.’
‘So you’re changing your statement?’ Mackenzie snapped.
‘Ah’m telling yis what happened.’
‘And how often did it happen? How often did Mr Starr let you go early?’
‘Ah don’t know, maybe once or twice a month.’
‘Every two weeks or every four weeks? That’s quite a significant difference. Come on, Mr Smith, stretch your big brain, how often was it?’
The witness glared across the interview-room table at the chief inspector. ‘All right, it was every other week, sometimes more than that.’
‘Very good; that’s us gone from once a month to once a week. Listen, chum, you’ll be out of here a lot sooner if you give us precise answers, not guesses and approximations.’
Wilding picked up a sheet of paper from the table. ‘You’re a man of hidden depths, James, aren’t you?’
‘Ah dinna ken whit yis mean.’
‘When you were interviewed by my colleague DS Pye, after the incident in the shop on Friday, you came out with something about Pamplona bulls. He told me you almost took his breath away. When the hell did you hear about them?’
Big Ming shifted in his chair, as if something sharp had dug into him. ‘Ah dinna ken,’ he mumbled.
‘Look at me,’ said Wilding. He waited until the man caught his gaze. ‘You, with your overpowering intellect, tell me that you don’t know when you first heard of the Pamplona bull run, and you expect me to believe you. As my colleague said, don’t piss us about. The rules here are simple: we ask questions, you give us honest answers. Come on, now, try again: how did you first hear of the Pamplona bull run?’
‘Ah’ve seen it,’ Big Ming replied, grudgingly, yet with a touch of pride. ‘Ah’ve been there.’
‘Do you go to Spain often?’
‘Who, me?’
‘There you go again. Answers only, please.’
‘Naw,’ Smith mumbled. ‘Ah’ve only been there a couple o’ times.’
‘How many?’
‘Two or three.’
‘Which?’
‘Three.’
‘And which parts of Spain did you visit? Remember,’ Wilding added, ‘we can check.’
Big Ming swallowed the enormous lie, hook, line and sinker. ‘Pamplona,’ he murmured, ‘just Pamplona.’
‘When?’
‘The last three years, in July, when they wis runnin’ the bulls.’
‘Bullshit!’ Mackenzie exclaimed.
‘Naw, it’s no’,’ the witness protested. ‘It’s true.’
‘And why, with respect,’ asked Wilding, ‘would a Leither like you develop a sudden love for Fiesta de San Fermin and for the capital of Navarre? It’s not your usual holiday. It’s hardly the Costa Brava, Mr Smith, is it?’
‘It’s good there.’
‘Maybe, but it’s about a hundred kilometres away from the nearest beach, and I’ll bet you can’t get Belhaven Best. Why did you go there?’
Big Ming sighed: the extravagant gesture seemed to make his body odour even more intense. ‘Ah went because Gary asked me tae,’ he said wearily.
‘Mr Starr asked you to go there,’ Wilding repeated.
‘Aye.’
‘Why?’
‘He never said.’
‘Come on, Mr Smith. We’ve been doing so well up to now.’
‘He jist asked me to go, honest.’
‘How?’
‘Ah told yis, Ah dinna ken how.’
‘No, Mr Smith, that’s “how” as in by what means, not “how” as in why.’
‘He lent me his car.’
‘He did what? That was bloody generous of him, wasn’t it?’
‘Ah suppose it wis: Ah never thought of it that way, but.’
‘What kind of car was it?’
‘A Mercedes: one o’ they wee ones. It wis a diesel: went for ever on a tankful.’
‘How did you get to Spain?’
‘Ah drove it down tae Portsmouth and got the ferry tae Bilbao.’
‘Just you? Nobody else?’
Big Ming gave the detective a look that spoke for itself: he had nobody else.
‘When you got to Pamplona, what did you do?’
‘Ah checked intae a hotel and parked the car in a garage.’
‘You mean a covered park?’
‘Naw, it was a proper garage. Gary telt me tae go there; he said Ah could leave the car there, and pick it up when Ah wis ready tae go back.’
‘How long did you stay there?’
‘Four days, then Ah got the ferry back.’
‘Who did you meet when you were there?’
‘Naebody.’
‘Where did you stay?’
‘In a hotel. It was called the Three Kings: that isnae its Spanish name, like, but that’s whit it means in English.’
‘Los Tres Reyes,’ Wilding murmured.
‘Aye, that wis it. It wis a barry hotel like.’
‘A what?’ asked Mackenzie.’
‘Barry means “good” in Edinburgh-speak, sir,’ the sergeant explained.
‘Aye, good,’ Big Ming concurred. ‘Fuck knows whit it cost: Gary paid for it wi’ his card, and he gi’ed me money for petrol an’ ma drink.’
‘But you met nobody when you stayed there?’ Wilding asked again.
‘Naebody.’
‘Didn’t the whole arrangement strike you as odd? A free trip to Spain three years on the trot?’
