The man's chest puffed out aggressively. 'Ah havenae done anything.' He turned suddenly on his wife. 'You havenae been nickin' fae the Co-op again, have ye, ya bitch?' he said, loudly. He made towards her, raising his right hand, as if to hit her. Before he had taken more than two steps Mcllhenney grabbed him by the wrist and swung him round.
Grayson made the merest of gestures towards him with his free hand, bunched into a fist, but stopped abruptly, as common sense, or self-preservation, took over. 'Wise man,' said the sergeant, giving the wrist a quick, painful squeeze before releasing it.
'Look,' said Skinner, 'for once we don't want to talk to you about anything you've done. We're looking for help with an investigation.'
Mick Grayson, subdued, looked at him. 'That's a'right then,' he said, managing, amazingly, to sound condescending. 'Whit is it?'
'We're told that you two were out on Saturday night, and that at around eleven you were having an argument just outside the vil age hal .'
Grayson looked blank. 'Were we?' he said.
His wife narrowed her eyes, her hand going to the bruise on her cheek. 'Aye,' she muttered, fiercely. 'We were.'
Her husband's eyes dropped. 'Oh aye, so we were.'
'What was the barney about?' Mcl henney asked.
Rose Grayson glowered. 'That yin bought himself a pint and…'
Her voice soared with indignation, '… a whisky wi' the last of our money, and never got anything for me. Honest taste God, he's a miserable wee toerag wi' a drink in him, so he is. Come taste think of it, he's a miserable wee toerag a' the time.'
'Aye,' said Skinner,' but he's your miserable wee toerag, isn't he?'
He went on quickly. 'Right, we've got you two at the foot of the hill between the Post Office and Bissett's, having a ding-dong. Now think careful y. On your way past, and while this was going on, did you see anyone in the phone box?'
Mick Grayson shook his head. 'Naw,' said his wife.
'Think carefully, I said. This is important.'
Husband and wife, reproved, knitted their brows. But eventual y, they shook their heads. 'Naw,' said Mick, 'Ah honestly cannae remember.'
The DCC sighed. 'Well did you see anyone at all in the area?'
There was a pause. Rose looked at her spouse, a new hesitant look in her eyes. 'Well,' she said finally, more to Mick than to the policemen, 'there was yon man.'
Grayson nodded, briefly, but it was enough. She looked back to Skinner and Mcl henney. 'We were havin' a bamey, like you said. I shoved Mick and he hut me. Just after that, this man appeared, door the hill, well-dressed like. Ah said taste him, 'Did you see that, mister?'
He nodded his head and just went on. 'Some fuckin' gent you,' Ah shouted after him.
'He stopped at that, and he said taste Mick, 'Don't hit the lady, then.' He'd have walked on again, but Mick took a swing at him.'
'So what did he do, this man?' urged Skinner.
Grimly, unexpectedly, Rose Grayson smiled. 'He flattened the wee toerag, didn't he? Only hit him the wance, but he laid him as broad as he was long.' The smile broadened into a grin.
'Then what?'
'He turned away, got intae a motor in the vil age hal car park, and drove off, back up the hil. He just missed runnin' Mick over. More's the pity,' she added, sincerely.
Skinner looked at Mcl henney, and shook his head. 'Describe him,' he snapped.
She shrugged. 'Wee bit smal er than you, slim like, dark hair.'
Mick Grayson shook his head. 'Naw, he wisnae like that. He was tal er than yon man, and he had fair hair.'
'Come on,' Mcl henney barked, 'make up your minds. Fair hair?
Dark hair? Tal? Short? Which is it?'
'Ah'm right,' said Rose.
'Naw ye're no'!' her husband insisted.
'Jesus Christ!' shouted Skinner, exasperated. 'We're agreed, then, that he wasn't a bald-headed dwarf He looked at Rose. 'How about his car? What colour was it?'
'Light,' she answered. 'But it was shining orange under the street light, so a couldnae tell for sure.'
'What make?'
She shrugged. 'Ah dinnae ken things like that.'
The DCC sighed. 'Okay, one last thing. When the guy got to the top of the hil, did he turn right or left?' She looked at him, befuddled.
'Towards North Berwick, or towards Aberlady?' he asked, patient once again.
She paused, then nodded. 'North Berwick. He wis heading for North Berwick,' she announced, with a smile of satisfaction.
Skinner nodded. 'Good. Something at least. Right, that's as far as we can take it. Come on, Neil.' The policemen headed for the doorway, until Skinner turned. He pointed at Mick Grayson.
'You,' he said, evenly. 'If I ever hear that you've hit your wife again, I'l have you barred from every pub in East Lothian.' He 102 strode off, leading Mcl henney out, into the fresh air.
'What a pair of disasters,' the Sergeant exploded, outside.
'Say that again,' Skinner agreed. 'Still, we've got something at least. Assuming it was our man, he was heading out of Gul ane.
There's nowhere beyond the Post Office where he wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb.'
29
'Does it take you any further?'
Skinner shook his head. 'Not real y, Pam. I had hoped that we'd come up with a description of the guy, but not a double dose. That's worse than useless. We can hardly announce that we're looking for someone who's either tall and fair or stocky and dark, or issue two photofits.'
'Which one do you think is most likely to be accurate?' she asked.
'Hah! Take your pick on that one. The Graysons were both pissed as rats. The only thing she was certain about was the direction he took away from the scene.'
'And does that help?'
Skinner knitted his brows. 'Maybe it does. It tells me that if he does have the boy hidden, it isn't in Gullane itself. As I said to Big Neil, most of the holiday houses are to the west of the village. The eastern part was built much later. The houses are closer together, on smaller plots, and nearly all of them are occupied.'
'So what do you do next?'
'I've spoken to Andy. We've pretty well decided to tell the press tomorrow that we're widening the search to East Lothian. We can't knock on every door in the county, but there are quite a few empty properties in North Berwick. We can check them, at least.'
She looked at him doubtfully. 'Is there much chance of a result?'
He smiled, sadly. 'Next to bugger al,' he admitted. 'But what else can we do? Andy'11 set the ball rol ing at his press briefing tomorrow.'
He leaned back on the couch, the remnants of his late supper still on a tray in his lap, and sighed. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.
'Cheer up, love,' she said. 'At least the investigation's still doing something'.
'Yes, but to what purpose? It's been three days since that phone cal: three days since the guy said that we'd hear from him again.
