Scotland, a casino in Glasgow, a video hire chain and three private hire and taxi businesses. McGrew is one of two directors of all the companies; the other’s his sister, Alafair Drysalter.’
I whistled.
‘It gets better,’ he laughed. ‘The companies were all set up two years ago, to acquire the assets of an earlier company, called Conan plc. Its sole director was one Perry Holmes. Even I know who he is.’
I leapt out of my chair. ‘Come on, you two boys, with me. Fred,’ I called to Leggat as we headed for the door, ‘we’re off out.’
We were in Frederick Street before McGuire ventured the question. ‘Where are we going, boss?’
‘You’re a detective, Mario,’ I chuckled. ‘You tell me.’
‘Back to see Alafair?’
‘Good try, but not yet. Andy?’
‘Register House.’
‘Nearly. In fact, it’s New Register House, but you’re on the right track.’
I parked in Register Place; on that occasion I did leave a ‘Police business’ card, with the force crest and the chief constable’s facsimile signature, showing on the dashboard. It wasn’t there to be abused, but it was easier than having tickets written off. I led the way round past the Cafe Royal and the Guildford Arms, where Charles Redpath had encountered Don Telfer, and through the front entrance of New Register House. It’s a fine edifice in its own right, although it was created by the Victorians as a mere overflow from, and is hidden behind, Robert Adam’s Register House, built in the previous century, a public building in which Scotland’s national archives are housed.
As a cop you make some professional friends, and if you’re wise you’ll keep them throughout your career. Jim Glossop was one of mine; I’d known him for ten years and during that time he’d cut a few corners for me. I asked for him at the front desk. As we waited, I explained to the boys the reason for our rush from Fettes. ‘When Violet McGrew and her kids lived in Hamilton, she led the neighbours to believe that she was a widow. Maybe that was true, but then again. ..’
‘Mob-handed, are we, Bob?’ Jim Glossop exclaimed, as he appeared through a door on my right.
‘New playmates. I thought they should meet you; Mario McGuire and Andy Martin, detective constables both. I need a parentage check, Jim. Two people, brother and sister: Peter Hastings McGrew, date of birth March fifteen, sixty-five, birthplace uncertain, and Alafair McGrew, no d.o.b. but she’s seven years younger than him. Mother’s name Violet, now deceased; I’d like to know who Daddy was… or rather, is.’
‘Or daddies,’ he pointed out. ‘You’re making an assumption.’
‘There’s a good reason for it,’ I assured him
He made a few notes on a small pad he was carrying. ‘Give me fifteen minutes.’
Rather than wait idly, we went for a stroll down into Princes Street. The two DCs spotted a sandwich stall and headed off in search of coffee; I went in the other direction, to a nearby book store. I was short on reading matter, so I picked up a couple of paperbacks; one of them was called Let It Bleed, a yarn featuring the latest adventure of a fictional Edinburgh cop who was beginning to gather attention. I didn’t know if he was based on a real-life character, but if he was, I’d worked with a few candidates.
I was a minute or two late returning; Jim and the boys were all waiting for me when I stepped into the foyer. ‘Results,’ my friend announced. He handed me two photocopied extracts. ‘Both children were born in Rottenrow, that’s the main maternity hospital in Glasgow. You were right, same father, but he and Miss McGrew never went through a marriage ceremony. Indeed, as you’ll see, they don’t appear to have lived at the same address.’
I turned my back on the trio and walked across to a corner. I closed my eyes for a second or two as I laid a private bet with myself, then opened them and stared at the top sheet, ignoring everything else and focusing only on the section headed ‘Father’s name and address.’ And there it was: I’d won my bet. Peter Hastings McGrew and Alafair McGrew were the children of one Peregrine Holmes, better known as Perry.
I was smiling as I faced my officers once more. I handed one of the extracts to each of them. ‘There you go, lads,’ I exclaimed. ‘The whole bloody world, me included, thought that Holmes disposed of all his dodgy businesses after he was shot, all the stuff that was linked to the drugs trade, the prostitution, the protection, the money laundering. But he didn’t; he simply transferred them to his kids, and nobody noticed. We thought he’d gone away, but he hasn’t.’
‘So where’s Peter?’ Martin asked.
‘That’s one question, but we’re cooking by gas here, lads, so let’s see if we can answer another first.’ I glanced at Jim, and took out my mobile. ‘Mind if I make a call?’
‘Not at all.’
I found McFaul’s number and called it, then jumped on him when he picked up. ‘Ciaran, Bob Skinner. I need to know something. The Seagull Hotel: I know there’s no CCTV coverage inside, but what about the car park?’
‘That’s the second thing we checked,’ he replied. ‘Yes, there’s a camera outside, but it’s no great help. People come and go all night, it’s poorly lit and the coverage isn’t complete.’
‘Be that as it may, can you access the tapes?’
‘There aren’t any. It records on to a computer hard disk, stores automatically for two weeks then deletes, a day at a time.’
‘In that case we’re within the window. Don’t get your hopes up, but I’d like you to look at the night we’re interested in for the following vehicle: a black VW Golf GTI, registration number L712FTG. See what you get.’
‘I’ll put people on it. Is this just a kite you’re flying, Bob?’
‘Some might call it that; I’d call it a fucking jumbo jet. Make sure they’re your best people.’
When I finished, Jim Glossop was beaming. ‘This sounds like proper police work,’ he said.
‘And we’re not done yet.’
‘In that case, I did this as well.’ He handed me a third photocopy. ‘It’s an extract of the father’s birth certificate. His parents were Peter Holmes, and Alafair Hastings. That shows you where the children’s names came from. Will that be useful too?’
‘It might be,’ I told him, ‘where we’re going with this. It could give me an edge. Thanks, mate; till the next time.’ I walked back out into the sunlight, my faithful followers close behind.
‘Where is next, boss?’ McGuire asked.
‘For you, lad, back to the office. I need you to try to pin down Peter Hastings McGrew, in case I can’t find him by other means. He’s ex-army, but they don’t know where he is. You’ve got his date of birth, so start with the DSS; they’ll have his national insurance number and a contributions record. It might take you straight to him, but if not, go to British Telecom, and look for subscribers with that name. His car’s taxed, so it should be insured. By which company? Find out. Then there’s the electoral registers…’ I stopped; he nodded. ‘I’ll drop you at the office,’ I told him, ‘then Andy and I will go to the Murrayfield. I need to pay another visit to young Mr Drysalter. There’s something I have to ask him, and he might even know where Peter is, save us some time. He should be back in the land of the half awake by now.’
He was, but not much more than that; his eyes were still heavy from sedation. The doctor on duty had been hesitant about letting us see him, indeed he’d refused at first, then relented when I’d threatened to call Mr Jacobs. ‘Don’t be too long,’ he said. ‘The man’s having a hard time. We have to move his knees every so often, and you can imagine, with the fractures, that’s a painful process.’
‘I hope the physios aren’t Hearts supporters,’ I muttered.
‘Oh no,’ Derek Drysalter sighed when we walked into his room. ‘Not again. Look, whatever you say, I’m not changing my statement.’ The nursing staff had him out of bed, but on a chair with his legs in huge hinged splints, propped on stools and supported by pillows. It was the best they could do, but it didn’t look close to comfortable.
I sat on the edge of his bed and looked down at him. ‘I don’t care about your fucking statement, Derek,’ I told him. ‘Anyway, you’d be wasting your time if you did change it, and ours, for we’d never get a conviction against the guy who worked you over. All I want is the answer to one simple question. When you found out that Alafair was planning an away trip while you were off on international duty, did you go crying to anyone? Specifically, did you go crying to your father-in-law?’ I leaned forward. ‘Don’t lie to me on this, Derek. Don’t even let that idea cross your befuddled mind. You’re not important. This is. What future you have left could ride on you
