'Only one thing missing, isn't there.'
'What's that?' asked Neville, as Wills nodded, sheepishly.
'A photograph of each delegate,' said the inspector. 'If we'd had those, we could have done this check in a day.'
'Don't I know it,' the Registrar acknowledged. 'It's supposed to be standard practice for University events, but the people who organised this conference are a law unto themselves.'
You might tell them,' McGuire grumbled, 'that when it comes to security, I'm the law around here, and that I don't appreciate having to go round eyeballing two hundred plus people when we could have handled most of it at a desk, if they'd done a professional job.
'Come on, Karen,' he said. 'Say goodbye to Mr Wills, and let's get on down to the conference centre to get this lot looked over.'
31
'Maggie is going to make a full recovery, isn't she?' Bob Skinner asked, anxiously. The wounded chief inspector had served for a time as his executive assistant; she was one of the group of officers whom he regarded privately as his inner circle.
Brian Mackie, another of the select group, did his best to reassure him. The surgeon told Mario that he expects her to be fine. It was a brutal cut, and her arm is full of internal sutures as well as the clips on the outside, but if she behaves herself, everything will heal up fine.'
The DCC nodded. 'Good. But when she's ready to come back to work, it's down to you to make sure she does toe the line. Office duties only until the surgeon certifies that there's no further chance of long-term damage.'
Mackie frowned. 'You tell her that, please, boss; I don't think I've got the guts. You know what Maggie's like; she'll be desperate to get back into the front line as quick as she can.'
'I'll tell her this very morning. I'm going up to the Royal when I leave here.' He looked around Mackie's office. 'I came down here for a purpose, Brian. Allocation ofCID resources is Andy's responsibility, but I don't want you to feel shy about asking him for a replacement for Mags while she's off. I know that overall, we're tight on manpower, but if he asks me for another senior body, I'll accommodate him. We have chief inspectors in uniform with CID experience; I can transfer one of them on a temporary basis.'
The superintendent nodded his appreciation. 'Thanks, sir. But let me try it on my own for a bit. I'll try and fill the gap myself, by getting out of the office more.'
Skinner laughed. 'Who does that remind me of, I wonder?'
'You,' Mackie replied, promptly. 'You've got a lot to answer for; this force is littered with reluctant delegators, made in your image.
'I'm not just indulging myself though,' he continued. 'If I brought someone else in I'd just have to bring him — or her — up to speed on the Weston investigation. No, I've got a great regard for young Steele.
I'm going to team up with him myself.'
Skinner nodded. 'I share your view of the lad. He'll get a commendation for bravery for what he did yesterday; that'll be his second in a fairly short time.' The DCC paused. 'Is that bastard Joseph still downstairs?'
'No, boss. He's off to court. He'll be charged, released without bail so that we don't run into trouble with the hundred and ten day prosecution rule, then rearrested immediately on suspicion of the Birmingham murder. He won't be coming back to this nick, though.
He'll be held in Saughton until escorting officers arrive from down south.'
'Just as well,' the DCC muttered. 'Every minute he spends here, Mario must feel like going down there and battering the shit out of him.' There was a sudden silence in the room; it lasted for one second too long, before Mackie broke it. 'Yes indeed.' Skinner looked at him, an eyebrow raised, opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.
'Joseph's brief came up to see me before he went to court,' the superintendent continued, hastily. 'He said that his client was after a deal; he'd plead guilty to the Birmingham murder if we'd drop the attempt to murder charge, and if the DSS drop their fraud complaint over his false identity.'
'Eh? He'd plead to murder to avoid a serious assault charge, and a DSS fiddle?'
'He doesn't want to do time in Scotland, apparently.'
'So what did you tell the solicitor?'
'What the book tells me to say; that he should take it up with the Fiscal. But I added that personally I didn't give a shit about Birmingham, with one of our own wounded.'
'Quite right too. I'll have a word with Davie Pettigrew myself, just to keep his backbone stiff. Mr Joseph will do time in Scotland for cutting Mags, that's for bloody certain.'
Skinner rose to leave. 'How about the Weston investigation? With Joseph eliminated, it's dead in the water, is it not?'
Mackie smiled. 'Maybe not. I've had a report from that new orthopaedic hospital out in Dalkeith. The Head Pharmacist there wants to talk to me. And she wouldn't tell me why, over the phone. The boy Steele and I are going to see her this afternoon.'
32
The job was relatively simple; in most cases all that McGuire and Neville were required to do was to take one look at a subject, to confirm his presence at the event, and to eliminate him from the list.
However it had to be done discreetly, without anyone being aware that they were under surveillance. The two officers had learned very quickly that they could work most effectively by ignoring those parts of the conference which all delegates attended. The University organisers had split their guests into eight smaller groups, and given them a programme of detailed study and discussion of eight key topics.
It was a simple matter for the detectives to cover one seminar room each, and wait for their subjects to come to them.
Karen Neville sat at her desk at the entrance to Room G, as discussion group Seven began to file in. She wore a badge which identified her as a member of the conference staff, and had before her a list of the members of the group. Beside some of the names she had placed a tiny, innocuous blue dot.
Smiling, she checked each delegate's pass as they reached her, and put a tick against their name on the list. There were thirty-one people in group Seven, which, for a reason best known to the organisers, contained twenty of the female attendees. Neville was accustomed to women sticking together at police events, but somehow, she had not expected economists to behave in the same way. Nonetheless, she checked each lady's badge as carefully as the rest.
Looking at the line, she wondered, for the third time that week, whether there was an international uniform for academics. Not one of them was dressed in anything resembling a formal manner. Most of the women wore trousers, several with shapeless cardigans. Only a minority of the men wore ties, and one or two were unshaven.
Of the eleven men, six were from EU countries and therefore not on her landing card list. Every one was over fifty, and overweight. Of the other five, two were Sri Lankan, one was a dour-looking, bespectacled Australian in a wheelchair, another was a twenty-sevenyear-old American from North Carolina, too young to be a disguised Hawkins, and the last was… not there, she realised. She looked at her list: Wayne Ventnor, the incongruous chemical engineer, had not checked in for the discussion.
As the group settled down and the event chairperson stepped up to the podium, the sergeant counted heads once more; sure enough, there were only thirty delegates present.
As Neville slipped out of the room, she made a mental list of possible reasons for the man's absence; illness, alcohol and boredom were the top three. She walked along the curving corridor, heading clockwise towards Room E, where McGuire was stationed.
She had gone barely twenty yards when she reached, on her right, a makeshift refreshment buffet. It was staffed by two white-coated ladies, standing guard over a tall metal um, a large tea-pot and a range of biscuits, but it had only one customer, a big, long-legged, brownhaired, bearded man. He was seated in a low chair, a coffee before him on a low table, and he was reading a copy of the Independent, through gold-framed glasses. Instinctively she checked her stride and turned into the cafe area; affecting diffidence, she shuffled up to the man and leaned over him, peering at the laminated badge which was clipped to the jacket of his navy-blue suit. It read, 'W Ventnor, Australia.'