boss do that.’ He drew breath, to let his message sink in.
‘Now shut up and listen,’ he went on. ‘The money is stupid, because it won’t get you a result, and because it’s a distraction to my officers. It’s declared an open season for cranks. We’ve already had one medium on the line with the solution, only she doesn’t quite know who the murderer is. But what I’m really concerned about is the rest of what Boras said. I want to lay this out for you. I’ve reviewed the tape and I consider that there is a clear implication that he plans to interfere in our investigation. If he does, I don’t care who or what he is, I’ll charge him.’
‘You’re imagining things,’ Barker protested.
‘Let’s hope so, but if I’m not, be warned, on his behalf. Now, why are you calling me?’
‘I’m following Mr Boras’s instructions. He would like daily reports on the progress of the investigation.’
With difficulty, McGuire suppressed an explosion of spontaneous laughter. ‘He’d what?’ he said. ‘Hey, how about this? Would you like me to give you a desk in the inquiry headquarters? Then you can sit in, and see for yourself?’
‘Well,’ the aide replied, ‘not personally, but I could send a staff member.’
‘Aw, Jesus, man,’ the head of CID sighed, ‘I’m kidding. Listen to me: I have respect for Mr and Mrs Boras and their bereavement, just as I have for Mr and Mrs Gavin and for Colonel and Mrs Paul. I’ll give all of them any information I believe to be appropriate, whenever I can: I’ll give it to them, understand me, not to you. But there are legal constraints on what I can divulge, even to victims’ families. Right now, I suggest that you show your boss the latest press cuttings, for they reflect all that we know. Goodbye, and do not call me again.’
Forty-three
‘How are the phones going, Tarvil?’ asked Stevie Steele, as he hung his jacket over his desk in the main CID room. He only used the detective chief inspector’s empty office when there was a need for privacy or, as Ray Wilding put it, ‘a bollocking to be administered’, although only the sergeant himself had ever been in there for that purpose.
‘They’re quiet, boss. I had that psychic woman on again, though.’
‘Who did it this time? The ghost of Harold Shipman?’
‘She didn’t mention him. But she did say that Padstow’s too young, and that we should be looking for an older man, and fiendishly clever too. She’s gone off the idea of a woman, but she’s sticking to the Professor Moriarty theory.’
‘Since you told her we were looking for a man.’
‘True.’
‘Did you hang up on her again?’
‘No, I thanked her very much and said that I’d pass her information on to my inspector, and that maybe he’d arrange for the picture of Padstow to be made to look a bit more mature. Then I hung up.’
‘Poor woman.’ Steele chuckled. ‘Next time, take her name and phone number, just to make her feel valued.’
Singh stared at him. ‘You don’t go for any of that stuff, do you, sir? Mediums and that?’
‘Absolutely not. Yet I’m a wee bit on her side. Okay, everything’s pointing us to Padstow; normally that would make it easy. But just because he’s left a trail and given us a break, I don’t think we should underestimate him. We don’t know who he really is, he’s still out there, and he’s bloody dangerous. That’s more or less what your lady caller was telling you, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so. Okay, boss, next time she calls, I’ll treat her like my auntie.’
‘You do that, but don’t hang around waiting for her. Ray’s back here today. When he gets in, I’ve got a job for the two of you. I want you to interview a woman called Hope Dell, and a business called High-end Talent, up King George IV Bridge; source the number yourself. She’s Harry Paul’s agent; she’s probably not going to be able to tell you much, but you never know, if he was a target . . . We have to talk to her, and that’s all there is to it. Show her the Padstow picture; maybe it’ll ring a bell.’
He turned and walked towards Montell’s work-station. ‘Griff, you wanted to talk to me.’ The big South African nodded. He looked in need of a shave, and Steele realised that he was still wearing the same shirt as the day before. ‘Have you been here all night?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I was working on this computer till late, so I crashed out in the rest room. I’m fine, though. I had a wash and I’ve been out for breakfast.’
‘I didn’t mean you to do that, man. It’s above and beyond the call.’
Montell raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you going to accuse me of sucking up to the bosses again? I know Wilding doesn’t like me, but I hope you’ll be fair.’
‘Don’t be so fucking prickly. For a start, it’s Detective Sergeant Wilding to you. As for me, I respect commitment, and I won’t make fun of it. How much progress have you made with the computer?’
‘There are a couple of things on it that I need to talk to you about,’ he nodded towards the unoccupied office, ‘and it had better be in there.’
‘Come on, then,’ said Steele, and led the way into the glass-walled sanctuary. ‘Okay,’ he asked, as Montell closed the door, ‘what’s the big mystery?’
‘I’ll get to that, sir, but first, remember that phone number that we saw on Zrinka’s contact list? It was listed under the initials RG?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a pay-as-you-go number, non-contract, the kind you top up, but I’ve managed to trace the owner. It’s an O2 number, one of a batch allocated to the Carphone Warehouse and sold through their outlet at the Gyle shopping centre six months ago. I managed to contact them last night, and they found the transaction and the buyer’s name. They know it wasn’t an alias since it was paid for with a credit card. The phone belongs to Russ Gavin, Stacey’s dad.’
‘Russ? Why the hell would Zrinka have his private mobile number?’
‘Good question, sir, but there’s more to come. Just on a hunch, I asked the company if they have any other listings for that family. They have: the Gavins have a family contract under which Russ, Doreen and Stacey all had phones. We know that Stacey’s was stolen by her killer, but the other two are still active. So why did he need another?’
‘I guess you and I are going to have to ask him that, Griff. But first we should have another talk with Amy Noone, to see if she knows anything.’
‘Yeah, I reckon.’
‘And we will,’ Steele went on, ‘but there was nothing there that you couldn’t have said in front of Tarvil. So what else have you found?’
Montell winced. ‘This is where it gets tricky, very tricky. Remember Drazen’s e-mail and the reference to a man, an important man by the sound of it, contacting her about one of her pictures?’
‘Yes; he said good for her, but don’t get too friendly.’
‘That’s right. Well, boss, when I checked her e-mails I found one from someone saying that he owned one of her works, and he’d like to buy another, or even commission one, as a birthday present for his daughter. The incoming e-mail address was robertmorgan, at downline dot co dot UK. He told her that his address wouldn’t accept replies from people outside a very tight circle, so he asked her to call him, and left a mobile number. I tried to trace that, and ran up against a brick wall. Nobody would talk to me. So I tried to trace the e-mail subscriber through the ISP. Same result.’
‘Why didn’t you just call the number?’
‘I was about to when DI Shannon from Special Branch came storming in here. She threatened to rip my fucking balls off, told me to make no further enquiries and ordered me, as she put it, to make fucking sure that you went up to see her at Fettes as soon as you got in this morning.’
Steele’s eyes blazed with sudden anger, in a way that Montell had never seen before. ‘Hey, boss, I’m only repeating what she said,’ he protested.
‘Don’t worry,’ the inspector told him, ‘I’m not swinging an axe at your neck. Dottie Shannon’s got my home number: if she’s got a gripe with a member of my team she should use it. She wants to see me and she will, but
