‘Indeed? So you’re thinking that if you were hanging around there waiting for a shirt-lifter to bash, you couldn’t always be certain who was and who wasn’t.’
She smiled. ‘Your turn of phrase not mine, but yes.’
‘So Mr Wyllie’s been telling us porkies.’ I sucked in a breath. ‘Wasting police time during a murder investigation. Wait till we put that to him.’
We lingered over coffee, to keep our visitor waiting for a little longer, before I settled the bill and we made our way back to Serious Crimes. Andy Martin was at his desk, but McGuire was absent. ‘Have you got him?’ I asked.
‘Yes, boss,’ the blond DC replied. ‘Mario’s keeping him company; interview room three. When I left he was beaming at him like Shere Khan about to have Mowgli for dinner.’
‘Have you read The Jungle Book, or just seen the movie?’ I laughed. ‘We’d better get down there or there’ll only be bones left.’
Alison and I made our way down a couple of flights of stairs to the level where what we called our ‘guest rooms’ were located. Room three was signed ‘occupied’ but I ignored that and opened the door without knocking. I let her go in first, and stood just outside for a few seconds sizing up the scene. Robert Wyllie was sitting at a small Formica-topped table with a madly marked top, on which sat an ashtray
… empty… and a twin-deck recorder. He was slightly built, with a pale face and pinched mouth, frowning and nervous as he faced Mario McGuire, massive and smiling. I knew as surely as if I’d been a fly on the wall that the DC had not said a word to him in all the time they’d been alone together, and from the look of relief on Wyllie’s face as Alison walked in, I judged that he was well marinated. When I stepped in after her, not smiling, his expression became much less certain.
McGuire rose from his chair and went to stand in the corner, but still in Wyllie’s eyeline. Alison and I took his place. I glared across the desk. There’s this thing I’ve always tried to do with a suspect, or a dodgy witness. I lock my eyes on theirs, I never look away, and I never blink. It’s surprising how effective that’s been over the years. I’ve stared down some tough guys, until they were ready to tell me their life stories.
Robert Wyllie wasn’t even a wee bit tough, however much he tried to appear so, in his biker jacket and with his dagger tattoo, carefully located so that the tip always peeked out from under his cuff. It took less than half a minute for him to look down at the tabletop, then to gaze up at Alison, timidly, and exclaim, ‘What?’
‘Don’t look away from me,’ I barked at him. ‘This isn’t a scene from a crime novel. DI Higgins isn’t “good cop”. We’re all “bad cop”, all three of us. We’re all mightily pissed off at you, and do you know why?’
He opened his mouth, but I reached across the table and closed it for him, forcing his jaws together before he could make a sound.
‘Don’t interrupt me,’ I shouted. ‘When you were interviewed about the attack on you and Weir, you told us that it was a mugging gone wrong. You told us that you and your now deceased mate hung around Pink’s bar waiting for a gay to beat up. You told the interviewing officers that it was a homosexual hangout and they bought that story. Okay, the bar staff in Pink’s couldn’t remember seeing anyone matching the description you gave in the pub that night. “Orange hair, officer? No, sorry. But it was very busy, and there was a party of students in, all in fancy dress for some daft student reason, so maybe…” But that’s not why nobody could remember the guy you described, is it?’
I leaned across the table. ‘No, Wyllie,’ I continued, ‘they couldn’t because your story was a lie, your description was a fucking lie, and because of it you’ve sent an entire police investigation off chasing wild geese for a whole bloody week! Pink’s isn’t a gay bar, not for the men at any rate, so your loitering story just doesn’t add up. You and your mate were up to something completely different. This is a murder investigation now, chum; it was serious before, but it’s front page now, so you are in very deep shit with us.’
I nodded to my left. ‘See that tape recorder? That is your shovel. You can use it to dig yourself out by telling us exactly what did happen, or we can just switch it on to record us charging you with wasting police time, perverting the course of justice, and public urination too, if we feel like it.’
Wyllie’s shoulders slumped. ‘Okay,’ he whispered, ‘but you’ve got to give me protection.’
‘No, mate,’ I told him. ‘You’ve got to tell us the truth. After that we’ll see what you’re worth.’
Alison checked that there were fresh tapes in the deck and switched it on, then she spoke, identifying everyone in the room. ‘Mr Wyllie,’ she continued, ‘please give us your account of what happened on the night you and the late Archie Weir were attacked. I repeat Detective Superintendent Skinner’s earlier warning that any further statements you make that are found to be false will make you liable to be prosecuted.’
‘Aye, okay,’ he grunted.
‘Speak clearly, for the tape,’ she admonished him. ‘Now go on, but take your time; you need to get everything right.’
‘I will, I will,’ he said, loudly. ‘Okay, Archie and I didnae wait outside Pink’s that night, like I said before. We were in the pub ourselves. So was the bloke that stabbed us. He didnae have orange hair either. It was black; everything about him was black. His jacket, his polo neck, his troosers.’
‘Did he have a moustache?’ I asked.
‘No, he didnae; nor even a stubble.’
‘What made you notice him?’ Alison continued.
‘It was him that noticed us. He came up to the bar for a drink, and he bumped into Archie. Then he gave him the look, like, and said, “Watch it, mate.” Archie said, “What are you fuckin’ on about? You bumped me.” Then the guy said, “That’s the fuckin’ least of it. Hard man, eh.” Archie just shrugged and said, “Aye, fine, have it your way,” but the guy wouldnae let it go. He said to Archie again, “Fuckin’ hard man, eh,” and he kept on lookin’ at him.’
‘Did anyone notice this exchange?’
‘No. The bloke was quiet-spoken, ken.’
‘Did you become involved?’
‘Me? No’ me. I thought he was drunk at first, but I saw that he wisnae. He was fuckin’ spooky though, I’ll tell you. I could see that Archie was a wee bit scared, ken. He just said, “No, no’ me, sorry, pal,” and turned his back on him. The guy leaned over and whispered, “See you later,” then he went away.’
‘But not for good?’
‘Ah could see him in the mirror behind the bar. He was standing at the back of the bar, near a’ those students, but he’d his eyes on us too. After a wee bit, he put his pint on the shelf behind him and he went off tae the gents’. I told Archie… he was still shakin’, ken
… and I said, “Let’s get out of here.” And we did. We got fuckin’ out of Dodge like, and headed up Morrison Street as far as Grove Street. I never thought he’d come after us, but he did. We never heard him though, or even saw him. The first Ah knew was when he stabbed me in the leg. I yelled and I went down, but he didnae bother wi’ me after that; he went after Archie before he could move and he stabbed him, half a dozen times at least.’
‘Can you describe the knife?’ I asked him.
Wyllie winced. ‘It was fuckin’ sharp,’ he whimpered. ‘It was big, no a wee dagger like, or a flick knife, but that’s all I can tell ye.’
‘Okay. Go on.’
He blew out his breath. ‘Archie stopped movin’ after a while. Ah thought he was dead, then the guy came back to me and I thought I was too, but he never touched me. He just said, “Tell no one, or you’re on the same train to heaven as your pervie pal there.” He was walking away, when the other bloke came round the corner and found us. He never ran or anything, just kept on walking, and the bloke never even looked at him.’
‘That’s borne out by the other witness’s statement,’ Alison confirmed. ‘He only referred to finding the two wounded men. He never mentions the attacker.’ She frowned across the table. ‘So, Mr Wyllie,’ she continued, ‘that’s the truth, is it?’
He nodded.
‘The tape doesn’t have a camera,’ I growled. ‘You need to say it.’
‘Yes,’ he exclaimed, ‘it’s the truth. Honest.’
‘So where did all that other shite come from? Why did you make it up?’
‘I had tae say something. I didn’t want you lot asking questions and findin’ out about the guy pickin’ on us in the pub, so I just made up that story about queer-bashin’. I don’t want him coming after me.’
