scrawled my mobile number on the back, before I handed it to her. ‘If anything occurs to you, something Bella might have said, for example, call me.’
She smiled. ‘You know my mum?’
‘Oh yes, I know your mum.’ I had a quick memory flash. ‘By the way, I’ve got a request from my daughter; she’s a fan. Can she have an autographed photo?’
‘My pleasure,’ Mia replied. ‘I’ll attend to it after my show. I’ll post it to the address on your card, yes?’
‘That’ll do fine. Her name’s Alex.’
‘Will I include her mother and you in the dedication?’
‘She doesn’t have a mother, not any more.’
She frowned. ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
I shrugged, awkwardly; a strange gesture, I know, but I couldn’t help it. ‘It was a while ago.’ In a way that was a lie; to me it was the day before yesterday. ‘Just “To Alex” will be fine.’
We left her to get ready to brighten the airwaves. Andy Martin mirrored my thoughts as we climbed into my Land Rover. ‘Quite a contrast,’ he said, casually. ‘I wish I had a card to give her.’
‘You just keep your mind on the job, mate.’ I was about to start the engine when my mobile sang its song. I checked the oncoming number; it was Alison. ‘Yes,’ I answered, discreetly.
‘Have you been at it again?’ she asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve been transferred to Torphichen Place.’
‘None of my doing,’ I told her, honestly. ‘Are you annoyed about it?’
‘It’s a crap building compared to St Leonards, but no, I’m not. I like Detective Superintendent Grant. But it’s a bit of a coincidence, you have to admit. You stomp all over Greg Jay last night in my presence, this morning he treats me like dog shit, and this afternoon I’m out of there. Was it him had me shifted, do you think?’
‘No, it wasn’t him.’ Too certain, Skinner! I knew it as soon as I’d spoken.
‘Ah, so you did know about it!’
I’d walked into that. ‘Alf Stein told me,’ I confessed.
‘Is it connected to you and me?’ She pressed. ‘Does Mr Stein know about us?’
‘DCS Stein knows everything about everybody,’ I chuckled. ‘I reckon he could blackmail the Pope. Look, come out tonight and have dinner with Alex and me. I’ll tell you the story then.’
‘Bob, I don’t know…’
‘Have you had a better offer?’
‘No, but…’
I brushed her hesitancy aside. ‘Come, and bring a bag. Relax, just a small one. About seven, okay?’
‘Okay.’
I put the phone away, without saying a word to Martin, although I knew that his mind was working and that he’d probably figured out who was on the other end of the conversation. To head off further conjecture, I asked him a straight question. ‘What’s with the cross? You seemed to be very attached to it when we were in Bella’s den yesterday.’
‘I’m a Roman Catholic, sir,’ he replied, quietly.
‘Devout?’
He took time to consider his response. ‘Practising,’ he said when he was ready. And then he added, ‘But I’m a sinner too, just like most people. I draw the line at killing, stealing and coveting my neighbour’s wife, or his ass… especially his ass… but I’m not above fancying his… sister.’
I threw him a sidelong look. ‘You almost said his daughter there, didn’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I confess that I did, but I’m neither wicked nor suicidal.’
‘They’re all someone’s daughter, Andy, the most precious thing a man can have.’ I didn’t want the mood to get heavy, so I moved on. ‘They tell me you don’t turn the other cheek on the rugby field.’
‘That doesn’t pay.’ He grinned. ‘Our Blessed Lord would have made a lousy flank forward. Mind you, He’d have got a game as long as He stood His round in the bar afterwards.’ He paused. ‘My being a Tim isn’t a problem for you, is it?’
‘Shit no. I might have been born a Proddy in Motherwell, but my dad outlawed bigotry in our house. I’ve left all that behind anyway. I’m nothing now. I haven’t been on speaking terms with God since he let my wife die.’
‘I don’t imagine it was His fault,’ Martin murmured.
‘Fucking was. He could have made her drive slower.’ I turned the key in the ignition. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the office.’
Seven
T here were two newcomers in the outer office when we walked in. One of them I knew well.
‘Afternoon, sir,’ said Brian Mackie, tall, dark-suited, sombre, his dome-shaped skull giving the impression that it was trying to push its way out through his hair; eventually it would succeed. ‘Short time, no see.’
Less than twenty-four hours earlier, I’d said my farewells to him, along with the rest of the drugs team. ‘You can run away back there if you want,’ I told him. ‘I’ve got a really lousy job for you.’
He shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t expect any more of you, sir.’ That was as close as Mackie ever got to humour.
I looked at the man who stood beside him. He was a little younger, and shorter, but trim, with a capable look about him, and the face of a born lady-killer. ‘DC Steele?’
He nodded. ‘Sir.’ His handshake was firm and confident. I liked that.
‘Welcome to your new home, gentlemen,’ I said, ‘but you won’t be seeing much of it for a while. I need you to keep watch on someone for a few days.’ I paused. ‘Actually, it’s part surveillance, part bodyguard, but it’s discreet, and the subject mustn’t get a whisper that it’s happening.’ I gave them a rundown on the Bella situation. When I told them where she lived, Mackie grimaced, and I guessed why. ‘I know, Brian, it’s not the sort of place where you can just sit in a car all day. We’ll get you a cover story; there’s a manhole in the street.’ I glanced towards Adam. ‘Jeff, set it up, please; get on to the council and get it opened, and screened off. You two can be working there.’
‘It’s the weekend tomorrow, sir,’ Stevie Steele pointed out.
‘Is your social diary full?’ I asked him.
‘Nothing I can’t get out of, boss, but won’t it look odd to have guys working then?’
‘Anyone asks, say it’s an emergency. Tell them that if you don’t get it fixed their toilets will back up. Go on, get it under way, now, you two and DS Adam. DC McGuire,’ I said, moving on. The big guy blinked at the rank I’d given him, but I’d already decided that he was staying, it was a CID unit, and I didn’t want anyone to think of him as less than a full member. ‘You got those tapes?’
He had and he was keen to show me something. He had a video-cassette player and a monitor set up in a corner of the room. ‘I found this, boss,’ he said as he led me towards it. ‘I’ve already shown the DI.’
The tape had been paused. I looked at the time and date that were frozen on the screen: eight minutes before midnight on the previous Tuesday. The image was monochrome, and slightly blurred, but the camera seemed to be located in the Cowgate, looking east in the direction of Holyrood. McGuire pressed the ‘play’ button and the action started. A couple of cars came into view moving towards the camera, jerkily, since it was shooting at no more than one frame per second, then passed out of shot; the road was clear, until a box-shaped van appeared, at the bottom of the screen, then took a sharp right turn into Infirmary Street, and disappeared.
‘We’ve got that,’ the newly minted DC murmured, then pressed the ‘fast forward’ button, running the tape on. I watched the time readout, as he must have been, for when it reached three minutes past twelve, after one day had moved into the next, he slowed it to normal speed. Another car appeared heading west and as it passed, another van, no, the same van, surely, slowing this time to make the same turn as before.
McGuire stopped the tape and looked at me. ‘That’s a Transit,’ he said, ‘for sure. It doesn’t show again on that tape, but there’s another camera looking along the South Bridge.’ He reached for another cassette box, but I stopped him.
‘That’s okay; just tell me.’
He did. ‘The image doesn’t cover the other end of Infirmary Street, but an identical van appears in shot at six minutes to midnight, heading north, towards the city centre. And there’s another sighting, at seven minutes before one. Again it’s heading away from the camera.’
‘Go on. Your conclusion?’
