‘If she had one, that would be a possibility. It might even throw up a few more potential targets in this area. We’ll be better able to get on to it when we get into Zrinka’s flat. At the moment the crime-scene technicians are giving it a thorough going-over.’
‘What progress have you made since the press briefing?’
‘We’ve established one thing that might be significant. Three of Zrinka’s pictures are missing; we know that she took twelve pieces out to North Berwick on Monday, to an art gallery called the Westgate. The owner bought one for his private collection and took eight for stock, as many as he thought he could handle at one time, especially since they were unframed. Zrinka told him that she rarely sold work framed. She believed that it was better that the buyer decided how a work should be displayed, and that most artists did themselves no favours by using cheap or inappropriate framing.’
‘Maybe she left the other three somewhere else.’
‘No. We’ve established that. She went straight from the shop to the restaurant and straight from there to the bus. Her art bag was empty when we found it yesterday. The killer’s taken them as trophies, just as he probably took Stacey’s sketch pad.’
‘I’ll go with that. Anything else?’
Steele chuckled. ‘Oh, yes, and with respect, sir, it’s of a lot more immediate use than websites: we can put a face to Dominic Padstow. Stacey knew him, all right, and intimately too. He must have moved on to her from Zrinka. Tarvil’s just back from South Queensferry with a near life-size nude portrait of him that she painted. Russ Gavin’s met him and he reckons it’s just about as good as a photograph, so I’m going to have the face scanned and printed out. If we haven’t turned up an address for him soon, I’m going to be looking for the okay to release it to the media. Meantime, I’m going to ask Gregor Broughton, the fiscal, to declare him a potential suspect, so that we can set aside the Data Protection Act and pull his details from public agency sources.’
‘You know this picture is Padstow? For sure?’
‘Yes. Mr Gavin had the presence of mind to show Tarvil his daughter’s catalogue. She listed every work she ever did, by subject name and number. That includes the portraits that she did occasionally for family and friends. He appears there, by name, in the entry for portrait number nine.’
McGuire whistled down the phone. ‘You’re sending a happy man back to Edinburgh, Stevie,’ he declared. ‘So Padstow didn’t just know both women, he was intimate with them both. Finally we’ve got ourselves a prime suspect.’
‘A suspect, yes, but that’s all he is for now. We need more on him, from both victims’ friends. Griff’s been through Zrinka’s palmtop and found some names there. Not many, though: she wasn’t part of a student crowd, like Stacey.’
‘Is there an Amy among them?’
‘Yes, Amy Noone, seven Blinkbonny Vennel, Comely Bank.’
‘I suggest you start with her. She was there the night Zrinka met Harry, so she may have known Padstow too.’
‘I’ll do that.’
‘You’ll look up Hope Dell too, for contact details for the other band members?’
‘I will, but she’ll have to wait till tomorrow.’
‘Sure,’ McGuire agreed. ‘You’re running things on the ground; you set your own priorities.’
Steele was about to hang up, when he spoke again: ‘Hey, Andy tells me that he’s got a DI vacancy in this division, and no obvious candidates. It has to be one of the great numbers of all time. If I didn’t need you myself I’d have put your name in for it. Too bad: it’s fucking beautiful up here; Maggie would just love it.’
Thirty-six
Maggie Rose had been conscientious throughout her police career. She had never taken time off duty without reporting the fact to a supervisor, and so it was second nature to her to pick up the phone at three o’clock and call Brian Mackie.
‘Hi, Mags,’ he said, as he answered, with warmth in his voice, ‘how’s your day going? Is Mary Chambers up to speed on everything that’s coming up in the division?’
‘It’s fine,’ she replied. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m surprised by the way that people have been coming up to me privately and wishing me good luck. I never knew they felt that way about me. It’s really touching. As for Mary, she’ll be fine; you won’t regret accepting my recommendation, I promise you.
‘Actually, it’s a good time for her to be taking over: the next couple of months will be as quiet as it ever gets. The football season’s over, so she won’t have the fortnightly turnout at Tynecastle to police. That’s the most consistently stressful part of the job, especially when the big teams visit, and Hibs.’
‘I agree with that, for sure. But don’t you go off worrying about Mary either. She will have my full and active support, I promise you, until the moment she gets fed up with me hanging around and asks me respectfully to go away. Even then, she’ll have it, if from a greater distance.’ He paused. ‘You don’t have any plans to bugger off sharp tomorrow, I hope. You’re not leaving without ceremony, I promise you that . . . even if it is only a temporary absence.’
‘No,’ she conceded. ‘I’ll be a good girl. I hope nobody’s expecting a riotous assembly, though. Willie Haggerty’s leaving do may have turned into a right session, but in my condition that would not be appropriate.’
‘No, no.’ Mackie laughed reassuringly. ‘It won’t be ambulances at midnight, I promise. Besides, you’ll have Stevie there to look out for you.’
‘If his investigation allows, I will. I wonder how it’s going. I haven’t spoken to him since breakfast.’
‘Positively, from what I hear. I’ve just had a call from Mario, on the road back from Perthshire. They’ve got a suspect, a guy who seems to have been involved with both of the victims.’
‘An ex-boyfriend? That’s a break. It’ll surprise Stevie too: he’s convinced that these killings are ritual, that the women were selected more or less at random and that there’s something behind them, a sort of purpose.’
‘Is he indeed? Stevie’s a damn good analyst. Still, he could be right in part: ritualistic killings but with sexual jealousy as the motive.’
‘He won’t be worried about his theory being right or wrong as long as he gets a result. Nor will my ex; even less so, I reckon. Have they traced this man, this lover they had in common?’
‘Not yet, but they’ve got a scent and they’re after it.’
‘In that case I may be eating alone again tonight.’ Suddenly she realised how hungry she was, having missed lunch at Aldred Fine’s request. ‘Brian,’ she said, ‘I didn’t just call you up to pass the time of day but to check out of the office for a while. I have a hospital appointment in half an hour.’
‘That’s very formal and proper of you,’ he replied. ‘You’ll never bloody learn, will you? Divisional commanders are their own bosses in these things. Anyway, your kid’s a hell of a lot more important than the job. I’ll see you tomorrow; get on your way.’
Maggie hung up, picked up her bag, took her coat from its hook and left her office. She looked in briefly on Mary Chambers, then headed for the car park.
The mid-afternoon traffic was relatively light, and so she arrived at the Royal Infirmary five minutes early for her three-thirty appointment. When she entered the MRI scan reception area, she was surprised to find Aldred Fine waiting there.
‘I didn’t expect you to be here,’ she told him.
‘All part of the service,’ he replied, as jocularly as his appearance allowed.
As she looked at him, all the experience that she had amassed during her years in the police service told her, beyond reasonable doubt, that he was lying.
Thirty-seven
Stevie Steele looked out of the window. ‘Mrs Boras wasn’t kidding,’ he said. ‘It is a nice view.’
He was standing in the living room of Zrinka Boras’s apartment in Castle Street, looking out of the window across Princes Street and its gardens. The great grey castle, on its rock, was bathed in the light of late afternoon as
