‘It happened on my patch, though.’
‘Forget it. You’re CID, not crime prevention. The guy who should be kicking himself is your man Fairley, for not moving his stock into the main clubhouse till the shop was properly secured.’
McIlhenney hung up, then called Arthur Dorward at the police lab, told him what had happened, and asked for specialist technicians to be sent to the scene. That done, he walked along to Maggie Steele’s office, arriving just as she returned from the chief constable’s morning meeting.
‘I can guess why you’re here,’ she said, as he held the door open for her. ‘You want to know whether we had any false alarm calls last night.’
‘I’ll bet we didn’t,’ he replied. He told her what had happened at Witches’ Hill. ‘Poor old George Regan. He got along there and found Lord Kinture and Proud Jimmy waiting for him. He’s checking out the local possibilities, but I agree with his view that it’s the same crew come back for what they left the night before.’
Steele winced. ‘Word can’t have filtered back to Bob or he’d have mentioned it, for sure.’ Pause. ‘Neil, do you reckon this is worth feeding to the Serious Crime Agency?’
‘I’ve thought about that,’ the detective superintendent admitted, ‘then decided against it. This isn’t serious crime, and it isn’t even organised in the accepted sense. It’s just a clever, opportunist team, operating across Scotland. I reckon it’s best dealt with by CID in the various forces pooling information, so that we can all be on the alert for a sudden unusual burst of 999 calls, and also for signs of the stolen gear appearing on the market. . unless most of it’s been moved on already.’
‘I’ll bet it hasn’t. If they’re as clever as all that,’ she pointed out, ‘they’ll have a disposal plan worked out. First thing we should do is assess the total value of everything they’ve stolen. Let me have a list of all the robberies, with contact points for each. I’ll ask David Mackenzie to pull everything together and see what we’ve got. It could be,’ she ventured, ‘they’re thinking about moving it in one lot.’
McIlhenney frowned, doubtfully. ‘Dunno about that, Mags. The only way to shift that amount of specialist gear would be to open a pro shop of your own.’
Forty-eight
The interview room was in the basement and so it had no windows. Its only illumination came from a low-energy bulb, its walls were bare and the radiator that was its only source of heat had been switched off. Arturus Luksa was shivering as he sat at the small table; it, and two chairs, were its only furniture. He stared up at the tall, grey-maned figure who had just entered the room and ordered his uniformed guard to leave them alone. The man was in shirtsleeves, as he was, but looked altogether warmer, as he settled himself into the chair opposite the Lithuanian.
‘I want a lawyer,’ Luksa declared, trying to force defiance into an expression that until then had looked uncertain. ‘I want Ken Green.’
‘This is Scotland, not England,’ the newcomer snapped. ‘You get a lawyer at our pleasure.’ In the pause that followed the prisoner realised how cold pale blue eyes could be. ‘At my pleasure. And I have to tell you that I am not fucking pleased. I’ve got a lady officer with a knife wound in her neck.’
‘It was only a little scratch. . and anyway, I never touch her.’
‘Don’t insult me, boy,’ the man growled, almost bear-like. ‘We have your prints and DNA on the weapon, and we have her skin and blood on it. We have witness statements from her and from PC Johnston, the officer who decked you. We also have a recording made over Charlie’s open radio of you shouting at Superintendent Chambers as you lunged at her. You are going down, Mr Luksa, for attempt to murder. When we are ready to interview you formally, we’ll do that, and you will have a lawyer present. Obviously, Superintendent Chambers won’t be handling the interview. That will be done by the head of CID and his deputy, who are, incidentally, every bit as displeased with you as I am. This here, now, is just a chat between you and me. The camera you can see up in the corner there, that’s switched off. There’s no two-way mirror; they’re only for cop shows on the telly. There’s no tape recorder, and the lad who was in here with you before has gone for his tea. There’s just you and me, Arturus. You’re not even handcuffed.’ He frowned. ‘Fuck me, I’ve been careless, haven’t I? You’re probably thinking right now that you could go right through me, out the door and be halfway to fuckin’ Lithuania before anyone was any the wiser. And maybe you could. You’re a big lad, you’re nearly twenty years younger than me. Yes, maybe you could.’ The blue eyes fixed on Luksa; suddenly he felt even colder. ‘Except nobody ever has, not in all my career on the force, not in all my life. That’s one reason why we’re here, you see, I actually want you to have a go at me. That means I’ll get to restrain you just like my old chum Charlie did. The difference will be that Charlie does everything absolutely by the book, even when it comes to taking down diddies like you. I don’t; never have done.’ The man stood. ‘So come on, take your shot if you fancy it; I really would like to hurt you, very badly.’
Luksa’s eyes fell to the floor, away from that chilling, unblinking gaze. He grasped the sides of his seat, and shook his head, slowly.
The man sat down again. ‘You’ve disappointed me,’ he said. ‘I thought you had balls. Tomas Zaliukas did; I’ll say that for him. He never made it through me either, by the way. I was looking forward to seeing whether you were anything like as tough as him. Too bad. . for you. I don’t take kindly to disappointment, so you’d better not do it twice. I want you to talk to me, Arturus. I want you to tell me about the girls, and I want you to tell me how the massage parlours came to be closed.’
‘Why should I do that?’
‘Work it out.’
‘I help you, you maybe forget about my mistake with the lady?’
‘That would be the obvious.’
‘I’m sorry, mister. I dunno why I did that.’ He smiled, as if it would make a difference. ‘They came into my home. I have a temper. Sometimes I’m a nutter.’
‘I’ve met a few of those. So what’s it to be?’
‘I dunno. Can I trust policeman?’
‘That’s for you to decide. You can trust any jury in the land to convict you, and any judge to give you at least twelve years. That’s a certainty.’ Pause. ‘Tell me about the girls.’
‘What girls?’
The man glared. ‘Not a good start, chum. Kids from Estonia. Young girls. We’ve confirmed that at least three of them are under sixteen. We know that they were brought in by Valdas Gerulaitis, Tomas Zaliukas’s cousin. As far as we can gather, Valdas never did anything that Tomas didn’t want him to do, so my assumption is that he was behind it. That disappoints me too, by the way; I trusted Tomas to stay legit, more or less. I never thought he’d have got involved with something as low-life as people trafficking.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ said Luksa. ‘Tomas never came near the massage parlours. And I don’t know about no girls either.’
‘Bollocks, of course you do. Don’t lie to me, you’re not good enough at it.’
‘OK, OK! I hear about them, but they didn’t give me one. My place is close to your headquarters; that’s why. Too risky, he said.’
‘Who said?’
‘Valdas.’
‘So Valdas was involved with the massage parlour business.’
‘We send all the cash to him.’
‘Cash?’
‘The money we take from the girls.’ The interrogator nodded, waiting. ‘Look, the way it works,’ Luksa continued, leaning forward as if he was imparting a confidence, ‘everybody pay to come in; they pay for a massage, twenty quid, that’s the minimum, and a sauna, that’s another fiver. That goes through the till if it’s cash, but usually it’s credit cards. What happens with the girls, that’s different; cash only.’
‘Who sets the price?’