‘He’s connected to a couple of people we’re interested in eliminating from a murder investigation. I appreciate that you’re a respectable property developer, but I’m wondering, did your late brother ever mention any other people in Edinburgh who might have been acquaintances of Church’s?’
His face was expressionless. ‘I can’t think,’ he replied, slowly, ‘that any of my brother’s friends would have felt the need to move in his circles. Let me get this right,’ he continued. ‘Are you saying that Mr Church has business interests in Edinburgh, ambitions even?’
‘No, that’s not my view. He ran out of ambition a while back, from what I’ve been told. I’m trying to establish whether he might have provided services to someone who has.’
Holmes blinked. ‘If that’s the case,’ he said, ‘you might want to find that person before Mr Tony Manson does.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ I told him. I stood up, abruptly. A finger moved and the chair rolled backwards for a couple of feet, then stopped when it became clear that I wasn’t moving towards it. ‘I must be going,’ I said. Another finger moved, but on his left hand; a few seconds later the door reopened and the two carers came in.
‘Please show Mr Skinner out, Vanburn,’ Holmes instructed. ‘Do call again, Mr Skinner. You’re an interesting man.’
Takes one to know one, I thought as I left. Even in a wheelchair Perry Holmes ranked as one of the most imposing men I’d ever met. I found myself regretting that I’d never confronted him in his prime, before he’d been wrecked by Billy Spreckley’s bullet. I understood why Tommy Partridge had become obsessed by him. I’d probably have been the same in his shoes. But I’d have had a better chance of nailing him. Even crippled, he was supremely self-confident. When a guy has an ego that size, it’s a weakness. Fuck, I should know.
I headed back into town. The Discovery really was a pile of shit, but it was kept reliable by our mechanics… and the radio worked fine. I switched it on; Airburst was still tuned in and Mia was past the halfway mark in her three-hour stint. I felt myself throb at the sound of her voice, and I knew then that I would keep our date. ‘Shit!’ I said aloud, as I remembered something very important. Luckily I spotted a late-hours Boots as I drove through Tollcross. I pulled up, and bought a supply of condoms… for the first time in at least fifteen years. Why would anyone want them flavoured? I wondered as I surveyed the range on offer. The answer didn’t come to me until I was on my way out of the shop.
Is there a God?
I’m past fifty now, and no nearer to answering that one to my unshakeable satisfaction, but I do believe, against all logic, that there is a force that guides our daily lives and that it is one perverse son-of-a-bitch. I hadn’t even restarted the car when my mobile sounded. It was six o’clock and Airburst would have been in its news break, so I thought it might be Mia, but a glance at the screen told me different. It was Fred Leggat.
‘Boss,’ he began, ‘are you in the vicinity?’ There was an urgency about his voice.
‘Near enough. Whassup?’
‘Newcastle,’ he replied. ‘It’s blown up in our faces. Milburn and Shackleton have turned up. Dead.’
‘Eh?’ I gasped. ‘How?’
‘Well. It wasn’t an accident. They were found in a hotel in South Shields, on the seafront. They’d been there for a couple of days, sharing a twin room. They were seen last night in the bar, but not today. The “Don’t disturb” sign was left on their door, so housekeeping left them alone until about an hour ago. They knocked, got no reply and went in with a pass key. Both men were in there, dead.’
‘Bugger!’
‘I’ll second that. What do you want to do?’
I didn’t have to consider my answer. There was only one possible. ‘Go there. What else? They’re our prime suspects for Marlon. If we can’t put them in the dock at the High Court, there’ll have to be a public Sheriff Court hearing, and someone will have to give evidence of their death. I’m not bringing Newcastle cops across the border.’
‘Who do you want to send?’
‘Nobody.’ I didn’t realise it at the time, but Perry Holmes’s crack about me ‘delegating the shitty end’ had irked me. ‘I’m going myself. Is Martin still there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then tell him he’s won some overtime. I’ll take him with me. What-’ I was interrupted by a rap on the passenger window. I turned to see a traffic warden glaring at me, book in hand. I was on a yellow line. ‘Hold on, Fred,’ I snapped. The Disco didn’t boast electric windows; I had to reach across to the handle. ‘What!’ I shouted.
‘You’re parked illegally,’ the man replied. It was May, but he had a dewdrop at the end of his nose; for some reason that wound me up even tighter. ‘And don’t use that tone of voice to me.’
I pulled out my warrant card and thrust it at him. ‘CID,’ I yelled. ‘And I’m dealing with an urgent call. Now fuck off before I book you, for loitering.’
‘Don’t you-’
‘Go!’ I roared. He did, shuffling away, grumbling to himself. God help his next victim. I should have regretted the incident, but like many of my colleagues, I had a sneaking dislike of our street-walking counterparts. ‘The custard cops,’ Alf Stein had labelled them, for the colour of their hatbands, and the name had stuck.
‘Okay, Fred,’ I said. ‘I’ll be ten minutes. Tell Martin to fire up his pussy wagon. He’s driving; I want to get there tonight, and my car won’t do that.’
I drove back to Fettes as quickly as I could. Mia was still on the radio. As I parked, she cued up a music track, and I called her mobile. I told her that I couldn’t make our date. ‘I’ve got to go and look at two stiffs in Tyneside. I’m sorry.’
‘Work happens,’ she said, sympathetically. ‘When will you be back?’
‘God knows. Probably midnight, earliest.’
‘I’ll wait up for you. Call me from the road.’
‘We’ll see,’ I told her. ‘If I haven’t rung by eleven, turn out the light and go to sleep.’
Martin’s Mazda probably wasn’t designed with guys our size in mind, but we squeezed in, and the engine was certainly juicy enough. The traffic was light, so we made good time, but there was so much road noise in the passenger compartment that I had given up trying to talk to him before we reached Dunbar. We were through the Tyne Tunnel by eight o’clock. The Northumbrian CID had faxed through detailed instructions on how to reach our destination. I navigated, along a route that kept us close to the river, until eventually we reached its mouth. We couldn’t have missed the hotel if we’d tried. There was a crime scene van right out front, and an ambulance. The entrance to its car park was partially blocked by a traffic car.
I badged the uniform who was on guard duty. He peered at my warrant card, and came to something approaching attention when he saw my rank. ‘Who’s in charge?’ I asked him.
‘That would be DI McFaul, sir. He’s probably in the van.’
Martin parked the Mazda as far away from the action as he could. Getting out was a damn sight harder than getting in had been; it struck me that maybe I needed to change my exercise routine and work on staying supple. We walked across the car park, to the mobile office. Steps led up to a door in the side. Martin stood back, to let me lead the way, but I told him to go first. ‘Don’t be shy. You’re a cop too. Recognise rank, but don’t defer to it all the time.’
I followed him inside. The unit was little different from ours in Edinburgh: untidy, smelly and badly lit. There were two people, seated at desks, a man in plain clothes, thirties, tubby, dark, greasy hair, plain clothes, and a woman, younger, neater, uniformed. ‘Excuse me,’ Martin said to the detective. ‘We’re looking for DI McFaul.’
He looked up; his stress was evident. ‘And who the fuck are you?’ he drawled, annoyed by our interruption.
I saw my young DC’s shoulders flex very slightly, inside the leather jacket. ‘We’re the pros from Dover,’ he replied, calmly. ‘I’m Trapper John and this is Hawkeye; in his case it’s Detective Superintendent Hawkeye. Now who the fuck are you, please?’