Zrinka was very much the focal point, but we knew that too. For what it’s worth, I’m still looking at Padstow and, right now, I don’t think the DI will be handing out prizes for heading off in any other direction . . . like your Tuesday theory, for example.’
‘No, he won’t. You’re spot on there; that’s one I will definitely leave on the back burner. What have you got on your desk?’
‘Calls while we were out. Two alleged sightings of the subject, and one . . . Hey, this is interesting: one from the woman I spoke to yesterday at the passport agency.’
‘Why does everything have to be an agency these days?’ Wilding mused, idly.
‘So that the government can kid people on that the public sector is smaller than it really is.’
‘That’s a very profound analysis from a big lummox of a detective constable.’
‘And that’s more than a shade sarky from an idle dick of a detective sergeant. Actually, I’m quoting my old man; he’s so far to the right politically that he’d join the British National Party, if they allowed guys with turbans to be members.’
‘In that case he wouldn’t approve of public money being wasted in meaningless chatter. Are you going to answer those phone calls or not?’
‘If you’ll shut up and let me.’ Singh picked up his phone and dialled the passport service direct line number that had been left for him. He swore. ‘Got it wrong. Your fault for sidetracking me.’ He redialled and this time heard the ringing tone.
‘Roberta Savage,’ said a voice at the other end of the line, in an accent with West Indian overtones.
‘Hello, it’s Tarvil Singh here, up in Edinburgh. You rang when I was out. What is it? Have you found Dominic Padstow after all?’
She laughed. ‘No, don’t build your hopes up. Our database never lies, and it’s impossible to hide in it. No, something happened today that I thought you’d be interested in. Somebody else has been asking after the same non-existent person.’ She leaned on the second syllable of the last word. ‘He’s a popular chap, this Mr Padstow of yours.’
‘Let’s just say he’s much sought after. Who was it that rang you?’
‘He didn’t ring me. It was one of my team who took the call; I just happened to be close by and heard the name being mentioned. I waited until he was finished and then I quizzed him. The call came from a man called Dailey, Patrick Dailey, from the Home Office.’
‘You mean the security service?’
‘No, I don’t. This chap’s in the immigration division.’
‘How did your colleague deal with it?’
Roberta Savage laughed. ‘By the book. He told him that we were established as an agency to protect people from intrusion like this, and that he should go away and get legal authority.’
‘And did he?’
‘Actually he didn’t need to do that: my colleague hadn’t seen a newspaper this morning, so he had no idea that Padstow is a suspect in your investigation. But it seems that Dailey didn’t know that either: he tried to bully my man, “I’m from your Head Office” sort of thing, but when he found that he couldn’t, he gave up.
‘I was suspicious about the approach, and so I called him back myself, to verify that he was who he said he was. I asked him the reason for his enquiry. He got evasive, and told me he wasn’t at liberty to say, but that it didn’t really matter. In return, I told him to go away and read the Data Protection Act.’
‘Nice one.’ Singh chuckled. He imagined that crossing Ms Savage might be a mistake. In the background he heard another phone ring, but paid no attention.
‘Do you have any idea what this might have been about?’ she asked him. ‘Yours is clearly a Scottish investigation; it has nothing to do with the Home Office. I know this, for I worked there myself before transferring here.’
‘I have no idea, but I’m pretty sure that my boss is going to want me to find out. You didn’t run across this man in your time there, did you?’
‘No. He’s new. I checked with a chum: he moved there last year, on a sideways transfer from the DTI.’
‘Okay. Thanks for the information, Roberta. I’ll see how my DI wants me to play it.’
‘Keep my name out of it, please.’
‘Absolutely, Roger. That’ll be no problem.’ She laughed again, and hung up.
Singh did the same, then entered her number into his personal contact book. When he was finished, he turned to Wilding. ‘That was interesting, we’ve got competition from the Home Office. They’re asking about Padstow too. When’s the DI back?’
The sergeant was sitting upright, feet no longer on his desk, his face serious and more than a little anxious. ‘No time soon,’ he replied. ‘That was him. There’s been another death.’
Forty-nine
Happily, Doreen Gavin was alive, well and, as usual, generally bewildered when Steele and Montell arrived at the bungalow in South Queensferry.
‘Why is that car outside, Inspector?’ she asked, as she led them into her living room.
‘It’s nothing to panic about, Mrs Gavin,’ Steele told her. ‘Your husband isn’t home yet, is he?’
‘It’s Friday,’ she replied. ‘Russ doesn’t come home for lunch on Fridays. He’s always away then, out of town on business trips; most weekends he doesn’t get home till Saturday afternoon. In fact, there have been one or two times lately when he’s been away until Sunday. They work him far too hard at that factory, you know.’
Standing behind her, Griff Montell rolled his eyes. ‘He’ll be home today, Mrs G.,’ he said. ‘We managed to catch him at the factory before he left, and told him we’d like to see him here.’
‘But what is it? Have you found Dominic? Has he come forward to help you with your investigation? I’m sure he will when he hears that you’re looking for him.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ As Steele spoke he heard the sound of tyres on the driveway. He waited, silent, as Russ Gavin made his way in to join them.
‘Hello, dear,’ his wife greeted him brightly. ‘Isn’t this a strange to-do? And isn’t it lucky that Mr Steele managed to catch you before you left on your trip.’
‘Yes, Doreen, yes,’ he agreed. ‘It is. I was just about to leave when he called. What can we do for you, Stevie?’
The inspector felt a twitch in his eye at the familiarity, but decided to go along with it. ‘You’ll have noticed the police car outside, Russ,’ he began.
‘What police car?’ Gavin looked out of the window to the street, where the patrol car sat. ‘Ah, yes! You know, I came in so fast I didn’t even notice it. Why is it there?’
‘A young woman called Amy Noone was murdered this morning.’
For the merest fraction of a second, something that might have been fear, or panic, showed in Gavin’s face, but then it was gone, to be replaced by an expression of deep concern. ‘Oh, my,’ he exclaimed. ‘I know that name. I’m sure that Stacey mentioned her on occasion. What happened?’
‘She was shot dead in her home, in exactly the same way that Stacey and Zrinka Boras were killed.’
‘My God, why?’
‘We can only guess at that for the moment, but one thing we know for sure is that she would have been able to give evidence that put Dominic Padstow together both with your daughter and Zrinka Boras, and she would have been able to identify him. I want to be clear about this. You told my officer that you met this man: I gather that Doreen did too. Is that correct?’
Gavin looked at his wife. ‘Yes. That’s right.’
‘Yes,’ she murmured, almost as if she was a spectator at the meeting. ‘I certainly did, whenever Stacey brought him here.’
‘Whenever?’ Steele asked. ‘He was here more than once?’
‘Oh, yes. Stacey brought him out on several occasions, but usually on Fridays, when Russ was away. He stayed the night,’ she glanced at her husband, ‘and I’m afraid I let them sleep in the same room. I suppose that’s why she only brought him on Fridays.’
