Mr McMahon's office was at the far end of the building, up a flight of stairs and along a short corridor. The woman knocked on his door and moved out of the way for Tina to go in, giving her a last glare of defiance as she did so.
'The Serious and Organized Crime Agency,' said the man standing behind the desk as Tina shut the door behind her. 'I've not had any dealings with them. Malcolm McMahon,' he said, putting out a hand. 'Pleased to meet you, Miss . . .'
'Boyd. Tina Boyd.'
They shook hands, and Tina took the seat on her side of the desk.
Malcolm McMahon was a big man who looked like he enjoyed a drink. He was good-looking in a brutish sort of way, with slicked-back grey hair fashioned into a widow's peak as sharp as an arrowhead, and a straight one-inch scar edging away from his top lip. He was dressed in a badly ironed shirt and unfashionable striped tie, while his casino clothes – black suit and dress shirt – were hanging up on one wall, next to a bank of eight small screens that showed the gaming area from various angles.
'I hear you SOCA people aren't even police any more,' he said with a smile. 'You're special agents or something. So, what do I call you?'
'Miss Boyd'll do fine.'
He nodded slowly, accepting this. 'Well, Miss Boyd, we run a tight ship here, and we don't tolerate anything illegal, so I don't know how we came to the attention of SOCA. Do you mind if I check your ID again? Just to make sure you are who you say you are. It's amazing how many charlatans there are these days.'
'Sure.'
Tina produced the warrant card from the back pocket of her jeans and handed it to him, noticing the nicotine stains on his thick, stubby fingers as he took it. He examined it carefully before thanking her and handing it back.
'It's about one of your customers.'
'I don't like talking about our customers, Miss Boyd. They value their privacy, and so do we.'
'This is a very serious case, Mr McMahon. If you want me to get official and bring officers down here to interview all your staff, I can. But I'm also prepared to talk off the record, and I can guarantee that anything you tell me will be treated in the strictest confidence.'
'So, you want me to grass up one of my paying punters?' he asked evenly.
Now it was her turn to smile. 'No, I want you to help him. His name's Patrick Phelan, and I know he spends a lot of money in your establishment, and has done so for a long time.' McMahon didn't say anything, so she continued. 'Mr Phelan's gone missing, and we're extremely concerned about his welfare.'
'I don't see how I can help.'
'But you know him?'
McMahon sighed and sat back in his seat. 'Yeah, I know him. He's been coming here for a while. Nice bloke, friendly enough. Not the sort to piss people off.'
'When was the last time you saw him?'
He drummed his fingers on the desk. 'Last week some time. I can't remember for sure, but I definitely haven't seen him this week, and I don't think he's been in. I could check for you.'
'No, it's fine. Who does he usually come in with?'
'Various people. The occasional girl, sometimes with a couple of mates. Sometimes alone.' He shrugged. 'I didn't really know any of them.'
Tina reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a pack of Silk Cut. 'Do you mind if I smoke?' She knew from the way McMahon wasn't settling that he was itching for a cigarette, and from the stale smell in the room it was obvious he usually puffed away in here.
He grinned, and leaned down behind the desk. When his hand re-emerged, it was holding a huge half-full ashtray.
'Didn't realize you were a smoker,' he said. 'Now that it's against the law to have a fag in your own office, I thought I'd best be careful when you came in.'
'That's one law I'm happy to break,' she said, offering him a cigarette.
He took it, and she lit for both of them. A rapport had been struck based on their shared identity as social outcasts, just as Tina had hoped. It was amazing what you could do with a rapport.
'According to his bank statements, Mr Phelan was a big spender, and it didn't look like he was very successful.'
'He wasn't. He'd have a few drinks and he'd start getting reckless. Sometimes it worked – you know, who dares wins and all that – but most of the time it didn't.'
Tina took a drag on her cigarette. 'The thing is, the statements also show that his spending plummeted in the last couple of months, but it sounds like he was still coming here.' She paused. 'Any idea where he might have been getting his money from?'
'We've got credit lines we can extend to valued customers. Pat's a valued customer.'
'But you weren't extending credit to him for two months solid, were you?'
He shook his head. 'No, we weren't. We stopped a few weeks back. He still owes us more than three grand. He asked the other week for more time to pay. He told me he had what he called an alternative means of income. I wasn't happy. I like Pat, but this is business.'
Tina kept her interest in check. 'Did he give you any idea what this alternative means of income was?'
