Private Investigations (18 page)

Thirty

‘Do you think he meant it, Sauce?’ Sammy Pye murmured, as he parked on a yellow line on St John’s Road. He had been quiet throughout the drive from the Fettes building.

‘Nah,’ the DS replied, dismissively. ‘The DCC was winding you up.’

‘I’m not so sure. I’ve known Mario McGuire for a lot longer than you have; I reckon I can tell when he’s serious and when he isn’t.’

‘Then the chief was winding him up.’

‘Unlikely. Only two guys ever did that: his mate Neil McIlhenney, who’s a commander in the Met these days, and Bob Skinner. You don’t know Andy Martin either; you were a wet-eared plod when he left for Tayside. He might be a smooth operator on the outside, but inside he’s a hard, ruthless bastard. Look at the way he treated Alex Skinner.’

‘How did he treat her?’ Haddock asked. ‘You’re right; I’m new on the block as far as that’s concerned.’

‘He had it off with her when she was barely out of her teens. Big Bob went ballistic when he found out, but they got engaged, he calmed down, and Andy was flavour of the month again. Then he chucked her . . . nobody ever found out why . . . and went off and married Karen Neville. A couple of kids later, he walked out on Karen, and he was back in with Alex. Karen rejoined the force and moved back down here from Perth. Then the top job came up, Andy got it, and it was all off again with him and Alex. On top of that, Karen’s got a DI promotion through in the west, and so Andy can be nearer his kids.’

‘And nearer his ex-wife too?’

Pye shook his head. ‘No, there’s not a prayer of that happening. Karen’s a pal from way back; we’re close still, so I know that even if the thought crosses his mind, he’ll get nowhere. She’s done with him.’

‘And I suppose the chief knows,’ Haddock ventured, ‘that you and Karen are close. Do you think . . . ?’

‘That he might have it in for me? Fuck, that never occurred to me. I’ll tell you one thing, Sauce,’ he growled, ‘if he does try to second me into some backwater desk job, I’m not having it. I’ll be off.’

‘You can’t. What would you do?’

‘I don’t know, but I’d find something.’ Pye smiled. ‘Maybe I’d join Bob Skinner.’

‘Join him in what?’

‘In whatever he’s doing. I don’t buy in to all this media stuff, or the Security Industry Authority board job that’s just been announced. There’s too much cop in him to walk away from it altogether. He’s an investigator; it’s what he does. It’s in his blood.’

‘How does he feel about his pal now,’ Sauce asked, ‘after what he did to Alex?’

‘I don’t know. The only thing I will say is that if you hurt her, you are in more trouble than you could ever imagine, and I don’t care who the fuck you are.’

Pye took the key from the ignition and laid a crested ‘Police on duty’ card on the dashboard. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go and lean on these two clowns.’

The detectives stepped out of the car and walked the few yards to the door of the takeaway. There were no customers, but Ian Harbison was behind the service counter. As they entered, he did not react; instead he continued staring at the wall. Radio Forth was playing in the background, a news reader halfway through a football news story.

‘Drizzle,’ Haddock said quietly, turning the sign on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’. Harbison jumped, and turned to face them.

‘You two,’ he murmured. ‘What I just heard on the radio: it’s true, is it? Dino’s dead?’

‘Afraid so,’ the DS replied. ‘And Singer.’

‘Yeah? Bloody hell!’

‘What time did they leave here yesterday?’

Drizzle stared. ‘What are you talking about? They were never here.’

Pye glared at him. ‘That’s not what the pathologist says. Unless some other takeaway was doing a venison special yesterday, they were here.’

‘If they were, I never saw them,’ he insisted. ‘I told you, if I’d seen Dino, I’d have called you. But . . . I was front of house in the afternoon. Jagger was in the kitchen.’

‘Is he there now?’

‘Yes. Hold on.’ Harbison turned and opened the door behind him. ‘Jagger,’ he barked. ‘Get your fucking arse in here!’

A few seconds later, Michael Smith appeared, in an apron and a white trilby, frowning. ‘What the fuck’s up wi’ . . .’ He stopped in mid-sentence as he saw Pye and Haddock. ‘Aw no! Gie’s a break.’

‘Dino’s dead,’ his friend said, bluntly. ‘Him and Singer.’

‘What?’ he gasped, mouth agape.

‘It’s just been on the radio. They were found last night, shot dead in a car, up in the Pentlands. Dino didn’t have a car that I know of, but I’ve got a hell of a feeling that there was one parked out the back of this place yesterday afternoon.’

Jagger flared up and took a step forward, his loose lips pouting. ‘Aye, well?’ he snarled. ‘He’s ma mate, so . . .’ Drizzle met him halfway, with a headbutt that landed above his left eye; he howled and reeled back, his hands going to his face.

‘You half-witted twat,’ Harbison snapped. ‘You knew the guy was wanted for taking that kid. We are on probation, both of us. If you get caught helping him, here, in this place, that lands me in it as well.’

‘Did you guys see that?’ Jagger wailed, as he straightened up. A trickle of blood came from a cut on his eyebrow.

‘No,’ Pye told him, ‘and if he banjoes you again we won’t see that either. So tell us: what time was he here?’

‘The back of five,’ he confessed. ‘Like Drizzle said, he came in the back door, him and Anna. There wis a white motor parked ootside. He was scared, ken; they both were, but Dino was kackin’ himself. I asked him if it was right, that he’d kilt that lassie.’

‘What did he say?’ Haddock asked.

‘He said that she was alive when he put her in the motor, and that the boot was padded, wi’ an air hole in it. He said that he ran intae some guy in the Fort Kinnaird car park. The fella came for him, big bloke, hard lookin’, so he legged it.’

‘So why did he come here?’

‘For cash,’ Jagger said. ‘He told me that he’d gone back tae North Berwick, to get his old man’s car and pick up dough frae his flat, but that he bumped in tae polis. Wis that youse?’

Pye nodded. ‘Take us on from there.’

‘He told me he’d got away then caught the train tae Musselburgh. He’d taken his sister’s motor frae the uni, where it’s parked durin’ the day, and then picked up Singer.’

‘Why did he do that?’ the DCI asked. ‘Why did he involve her?’

‘Ah don’t now. Ah never asked him. Mibbe he didnae want tae leave her behind. He wis daft on her, man.’

‘Did you give him money?’

‘Aye. A kept a tenner for masel’, and gave him the rest o’ what Ah had on me, about thirty-five quid. Ah gave him ma bank card too. Ah told him he could have three hundred quid out of that and post it back to me. He said that if Ah wanted, I could take thae fish out ma granny’s freezer, deliver them tae the Chinese in Broxburn and keep the money. He gie’d me the address, ken.’

‘And you gave him and Anna venison burgers, for the road.’

‘Aye. An’ a box o’ crisps and a case o’ Vimto.’

‘Did he say where they were going?’

‘As far away as they fuckin’ could. But he said he had tae meet a bloke. The guy owed him more cash.’

‘But he came to you for money as well?’ Haddock exclaimed.

‘He said they were goin’ tae need all the dough he could raise. He said if they could, they were going tae get on a car ferry and head for Holland and then Poland.’

‘Did he have a passport?’

‘Ah dinnae ken.’ Jagger shrugged. ‘Like Ah said, he was crappin’ himsel’, no’ thinkin’ straight.’

‘And Singer, Anna, how was she?’

‘Like Ah said, she was feart too, but no’ as bad as Dino. She was under control.’ His eyes widened. ‘Aye, that’s right. Ah remember noo; she said she had her passport and that when they got tae the ferry, she was goin’ tae hide Jagger in the boot, just like he hid the kid. She reckoned that once they got tae Holland she’d be able tae use her credit card.’

‘You’re a couple of bastards, you and Dino,’ Drizzle growled. ‘Anna was a nice kid. What the hell she was doing with you bum holes I’ll never know.’

‘Ah, fuck you,’ Jagger sighed. He looked at Pye. ‘So what happens now?’ he asked. ‘Ah’ve told yis what Ah know.’

‘This is what’s going to happen,’ the DCI said, smiling. ‘This is the bit I like. Do the honours, Sauce.’

‘My pleasure, gaffer. Michael Smith, he began ‘I am detaining you under Section Fourteen of the Criminal Procedure, Scotland, Act, nineteen ninety-five, because I suspect you of having committed an offence punishable by imprisonment, namely giving assistance to a person or persons you knew to be fugitives to escape from the police.

‘The reasons for my suspicions,’ he continued, ‘are the facts that on your own admission, the suspects were here yesterday afternoon after you knew that one of them was wanted by the police in connection with a serious crime, and were given financial assistance by you.

‘You will be detained to enable further investigations to be carried out regarding the offence and as to whether or not you should be reported for prosecution. You will be taken to a police station where you will be informed of your further rights in respect of detention.’

The DS stopped, then added, ‘It’s a bit of a mouthful, but it means you’re lifted, Jagger. When you’re sitting in the remand wing in Saughton, I want you to think on this. If you’d done the right thing by the dead child and called us when Dino and Singer turned up here, they’d still be alive, and you wouldn’t be locked up. I hope you choke on your porridge, pal.’

Thirty-One

‘Is this really a holiday resort?’ Haddock asked, as he drove carefully through the narrow, crowded streets of the seaside town.

‘Absolutely,’ Pye assured him. ‘In the old days they called this the “Biarritz of the North”. It’s still popular. You’re thinking like a young single man, Sauce.’

‘I’m not single! We’re a couple.’

‘No, you’re a Dinky: as in, Dual Income No Kids. It’s the same as being single, in most ways. When you think of a holiday, you think of getting on a plane and getting off somewhere twenty degrees warmer. When you think of a beach it has to be so bloody hot underfoot that you can’t walk on it.’

The DS grinned. ‘That just about sums it up, I’ll admit.’

‘Then wait till you’re like Ruth and me, with Junior to look after. We did it once, the package holiday thing. Nightmare. Getting him on and off the plane, to the hotel, never taking our eyes off him while he was crawling about near the pool, finding something he could eat without him spitting it out.

‘Ever since then we’ve rented a cottage. Next summer we’re going to CenterParcs in the Lake District. If it’s warm at the weekends and we fancy the beach, we take him to North Berwick, or over to Fife. Elie’s nice, or would be if it had more facilities.’

‘We’ll bear all that in mind,’ Haddock said, ‘in five years’ time, or maybe in ten. Meanwhile, in this place there isn’t even a yellow line we can park on.’

‘Go back to the police station,’ the DCI suggested. Haddock was about to take his advice when a space opened up for him, as a Volvo estate pulled out. ‘See? Patience.’

‘Not my strongest suit,’ Haddock grumbled. ‘Don’t we have DCs who could be doing this job?’

‘Yes, but it’s one for us. I want to see Dino’s flat, not hear about it second hand. The boy Jagger can stew in the cells at Fettes until we’re ready for him.’

‘Are we going to charge him?’

‘Too bloody right we are. I’ve already told the depute fiscal as much. He may have talked to us eventually, but what you told him was spot on. His help and his silence sent them to their deaths.’

‘He could say he confessed under duress.’

‘The only possible duress was applied by Drizzle’s forehead, and that was part of an altercation. Sauce,’ he said, ‘the Crown Office might decide eventually not to prosecute because he wasn’t under caution when he told his story, but he’s going to be charged and stuck up in court before anyone’s had a chance to think too deeply about it. Apart from anything else, he’s media fodder. It’ll be reported as a positive development.’

‘And get you brownie points with the chief?’ Haddock murmured, laughing.

‘Us,’ Pye countered grimly. ‘If this thing winds up in the unsolved column nobody’s going to come out with pass marks at the next review . . . apart from Jackie, ’cos I’ll make sure she does. Now, where is this place?’

‘There it is.’ The DS nodded towards a doorway on the other side of the road, where Sergeant Tweedie stood, waiting. ‘Did you get the keys?’ he asked her as they crossed.

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘The landlord wanted to come with us, but I told him that wouldn’t be appropriate in a criminal investigation. He liked that.’ She grinned. ‘It’ll give him something to tell his pals in the Nether Abbey at the weekend.’

She led them through a door that opened directly from the street into a dimly lit corridor. The detectives counted three flights of stairs, until there were no more to climb.

‘You two won’t remember DCS Pringle, who used to be head of CID in the old force,’ Pye told the sergeants as they reached the top. ‘By the end of his career he used to insist on being given a detailed description of a call-out. If there were stairs involved he wouldn’t go. Stevie Steele, God rest him, told a story about the last time he did, a visit to a fourth-storey flat. When they got to it, they found the door painted purple. Stevie said Pringle’s face was about the same colour.’

He stood back, as Sergeant Tweedie produced the keys. Only the Yale was needed. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said, moving to one side, then following them into the attic apartment. It was small, but freshly decorated, with a dormer window that allowed a view across the putting green and towards Fife.

‘What are we looking for?’ she asked, as the trio put on rubber gloves.

‘Anything that links to associates of Francey,’ the DCI replied. ‘Did you get anything out of Chic when you gave him the death message?’

‘Nothing useful,’ Tweedie told him. ‘Like you told me to, I asked him to make a list of his son’s associates. The only names he gave me were people he drank with in the County and the Ship. I know them all, just like I knew Francey. There are a couple of rowdies in there, but nobody who I’d consider for a minute for this sort of thing.’

‘Did he mention Callum Sullivan?’

‘No; nor his nephew either. I’ve been asking around and my impression is that he and the boy Maxwell Harris were no more than acquaintances. The kid was struggling for friends when he moved here, and that’s why he latched on to Francey.’

‘Friendly enough for him to have been in Mr Sullivan’s garage and seen the car, though,’ Haddock pointed out.

‘True,’ Tweedie conceded, ‘but you know what I think? I think Dino smelled money, so he cultivated the kid, just to see what might come out of it. And at the end of the day, something did.’

‘The red BMW.’

‘Exactly. I was suspicious as soon as I heard that he helped Maxwell polish the cars. That was far too much like work for Dean Francey. There had to be something in it for him.’

‘As there was,’ the DS murmured. ‘Far more than he could handle.’

‘Hey!’ Pye’s call came from the other side of the room, by the window. He had lifted the television set down from the cabinet on which it stood, then opened the rectangular unit and looked inside. ‘I might have something here.’

He reached into the box and took out a passport, and then a brown envelope with an elastic band securing it from the outside. He carried both to a gateleg table that stood against the wall.

He removed the fastening from the envelope then slid out its contents: a wad of cash, secured tightly by another elastic band. Holding the bundle carefully, he rippled through the notes with his thumb.

‘Used notes,’ he murmured. ‘Clydesdale Bank issue, on the outside at least.’

‘How much is there?’ Haddock asked, as the DCI returned them to the envelope.

‘I’m not a bank teller, and I don’t want to handle them any more than I have to, not until the scientists have had a chance to print and swab them. But, if they’re all tenners, as they seem to be, I’d take an uneducated guess at five grand.’

‘Do you think that’s payment in full, or a first instalment?’

‘The latter surely,’ the DCI suggested. ‘Didn’t Jagger say Dino was going to meet a guy who owed him money?’

‘Hold on,’ the DS exclaimed. ‘If it was half in advance and he was going to collect another five K, why did he need Jagger’s thirty quid and his bank card?’

‘We know that. He and Singer were going away for good; and maybe also because after the utter bollocks he’d made of the job he was sent out to do, he might have had doubts about whether he would actually get paid the rest.’

‘Are you sure the money relates to the abduction?’

Both men turned and stared at Lucy Tweedie as she asked her question.

‘This much I am sure of,’ Pye said, quietly. ‘He didn’t make it selling frozen fish as fresh to Chinese restaurants.’