know Bob Skinner too, and a lot better than they do.’
‘All right, I’ll ask them. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, one way or another.’
‘Thanks.’ He turned to leave, then paused. ‘Hey,’ he asked, ‘does the name Robert Morgan mean anything to you?’
She shook her head.
He was about to open the door when she called after him. ‘Stevie!’ He glanced back at her. ‘A mediocre lay?’
‘I had to get through to George somehow.’
‘Slag?’
‘You decide.’
‘Maybe,’ she admitted. ‘I knew he was married. How are you doing these days anyway?’
‘Happy. You? Are you in a relationship?’
‘In this job?’ she replied. ‘You have to be kidding.’
Forty-six
Mario McGuire was beginning to feel more human, although he still looked with a degree of suspicion at the coffee that, eventually, he had allowed Pye to bring him. He was looking through reports on outstanding investigations from the divisional CID commanders when there was a quiet knock on his door and Brian Mackie stepped into the room.
‘Have you heard anything from Stevie Steele this morning?’ the ACC asked.
‘No,’ the head of CID replied bluntly, ‘and I don’t expect to until he’s found this man Padstow.’
‘Has Dottie Shannon spoken to you?’
‘No, but she wouldn’t: she reports direct to the DCC, remember. In his absence she’d go straight to you.’
‘Okay,’ said Mackie. ‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’
McGuire leaned back in his chair. ‘Come on, Brian, out with it.’
‘I’ve just been in to see the chief. He’s just had a call from Amanda Dennis, the acting director general of MI5, telling him that her duty officer had occasion to phone Shannon late last night to complain about one of our people, not in Special Branch, making enquiries about an e-mail address and a mobile number that are on a sensitive list.’
‘Do we know what she did about it?’
‘Not from her, but Mrs Dennis told Jimmy that she called back shortly afterwards to say that it had been taken care of.’
‘I can see why you’re asking about Steele. His investigation is the only thing we’ve got live at the moment that would trigger that sort of incident. So why did Dennis call the chief?’
‘I think she just wanted to make sure that it had been put to bed, because of the individual involved, the person whose identity MI5 were protecting. She told the chief, and this mustn’t leave this room, that it was Bob Skinner.’
‘Fuckin’ hell!’ the head of CID exploded. ‘It must have been Montell doing the digging,’ he continued. ‘Stevie told me that he was going through Zrinka Boras’s computer records to see if they threw up any recent contacts. I’d guess he was checking her incoming e-mails, and found one from him.’
‘What are we going to do about it?’
The chief superintendent chuckled. ‘Hey, Brian, you’re the man from the Command Corridor. You tell me.’
Mackie ran his hand over his bald dome in a trademark gesture. ‘No, I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to order you to do anything. This is a major investigation, and if you think this information will have any bearing on it, you’re at liberty to advise Steele, and have him show you the content of the e-mail. If the pair of you feel it necessary, you’re authorised to visit Bob, to tell him about it.’
‘You mean interview him, as in eliminate him from our enquiries? Thanks, pal, for dropping this one in my lap.’
‘What’s your thinking?’
McGuire gazed at him, hard. ‘My thinking, Brian, sir, is that I can spot the buck being passed a mile off, especially when it’s aimed at me. Well, I’m not catching it. I’m saying fuck-all to Steele, and I’m going to pretend that you haven’t been here. Can you imagine, for one second, what would happen if we did what you’re hinting at? No, if we even discussed it, and one hint of that conversation found its way to the media?’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Brian, do some joined-up thinking here. Why do you think that the security service keeps an eye on big Bob’s private e-mail and mobile numbers? I know he’s a heavy and everything else, and that he’s been well involved with them over the years, but it’s more than that. You and I both know that he’s not just the DCC any more, he’s the partner of Aileen de Marco, this country’s First Minister.’
Forty-seven
When Steele collected him from his apartment building DC Griff Montell looked a different man from the one he had encountered on his arrival at the office. He was clean-shaven and well scrubbed. He had changed from the previous day’s clothes into black cords and leather jacket, worn over a white shirt that looked as if it might have been taken from the packet in which it had left Marks & Spencer. Only his brown-tinted sunglasses offered any hint that he might be feeling less than fresh as a daisy.
‘Do we know where Amy’s salon is?’ he asked, as he slid into the passenger seat beside the detective inspector.
‘Yes, it’s along Raeburn Place, just before you get to Edinburgh Accies’ rugby ground. There’s a big clue. It’s got “Mervyn” over the door.’
Steele found a parking place in the side-street beside the sports ground. As he had said, the hair salon was only a few yards away. As they entered they saw a girl’s back, as she bent over a customer, rubbing so vigorously at her head that Montell winced. At first he thought that she was Amy, until she stood straight and he realised that she was older and taller.
As they stood in the doorway a man came towards them, tall, slim, in his thirties and wearing a violet smock that almost reached the ground. ‘Good morning, officers,’ he said. ‘I’m Mervyn. What can I do for you?’
Steele smiled. ‘It’s that obvious, eh?’
Mervyn eyed Montell up and down. ‘You don’t look like the public-health department, that’s for sure.’
‘We’d like to see Amy Noone, please.’
‘So would I. I’ve got four clients in already, and she hasn’t turned up. I know she was upset yesterday, but I really need her.’
‘Has she called in sick?’
‘No, and that’s the bugger of it. She doesn’t seem to be at home. I called her half an hour ago, but got no answer. Her big fat boyfriend doesn’t know where she is either; I rang him too. He told me that they had a drink last night, and that it seemed to cheer her up a bit.’
‘Indeed? Well, thanks, er, Mervyn. We’ll go and check her place anyway, just in case she was in the toilet when you rang her. When we find her we’ll give her a lecture about responsibility, and advise her to get along here, pronto.’
‘Don’t be hard on her,’ said the hairdresser. ‘She’s never let me down before, and she really was in a state when she heard about Zrinka and Harry.’
‘We’ll be gentle as piglets,’ Steele promised him.
Amy Noone’s tiny apartment was in a cul-de-sac off a side-street from Comely Bank Avenue. Once it had been a garage, or even a stable, but in common with most of the buildings of its type in Edinburgh, it had been converted for human habitation. It was one floor up, but the entrance was at ground level, with a buzzer and
