‘We were told ten sharp,’ Laidlaw said.
‘You were misinformed.’
‘Our boss isn’t going to like that,’ Lilley added.
‘Pleasing your boss isn’t my number-one priority, DS Lilley. Now do you want the glad tidings or not?’ Neither man answered, no answer being necessary. ‘Five stab wounds, all from the same knife. Probably an inch-wide blade. Deepest incision is four inches. It went up from under the ribcage, piercing the heart. Almost certainly the fatal blow. Where it came in the pecking order, I can’t say. No signs that he defended himself — no nicks on his hands, for example. It wasn’t a machete, a craft knife or a razor.’
‘Not a teenage gang then,’ Laidlaw stated.
‘Speculation is your game; facts are mine.’
‘How long has he been dead?’
‘Two or three days. His possessions are on their way to the lab, along with his clothes and shoes.’
‘Money in his pockets?’
‘Just shy of sixty pounds.’
‘Probably rules out a mugging, then,’ Lilley commented.
‘A good make of watch, too — Longines. The shirt and jacket were Aquascutum. I believe the family home is in Bearsden.’
‘Even people with money end up dead sometimes.’
‘Especially ones with friends like Cam Colvin.’ The pathologist seemed pleased with the effect his words had. ‘He was with the widow for the identification. Handled her with great gentleness, I must say.’
‘Did he speak to you?’ Laidlaw enquired.
‘I kept a respectful distance.’
‘Respectful as in fearful? Who was here from our side?’
‘Our mutual friend.’ This time the look was for Laidlaw only.
‘Milligan?’ he guessed.
‘DI Milligan tells me he’s been put in charge of the inquiry. That must fill you with as much confidence as it does me, DC Laidlaw.’
‘Did Milligan and Colvin talk?’
‘A few words as they were leaving.’
‘How did the wife seem?’
‘Completely devastated. It’s why we have soundproofing.’
The three men fell silent as the trolley bearing Bobby Carter’s corpse was wheeled out on its way to one of the fridge drawers. A sheet had been draped over the whole. Laidlaw had a mind to ask the attendant to stop so he could take a look at the dead man’s face, but he didn’t.
There would be photographs back at the station. Lots of photographs.
Lilley thanked the pathologist and turned to go. Laidlaw hung back, however.
‘Did Milligan know what time the autopsy was due to start?’
The pathologist gave a nod. ‘Maybe it just slipped his mind,’ he said.
‘Aye, or else he decided to have a bit of fun with me and DS Lilley.’
‘When something’s “a bit of fun”, people are generally amused.’
‘I’m laughing on the inside,’ Laidlaw said as he started to follow Bob Lilley out of the building.
6
‘So one funeral’s already in the planning and it’s put me in the mood for another. Only thing is, this one will be a bit more private — the foundations of a motorway flyover would be ideal. You get what I’m saying?’
Cam Colvin looked at each face in turn across the polished oval table. He’d summoned his men to the function suite of the Coronach Hotel. The manager, Dan Tomlinson, had seen them settled with tea, biscuits and a jug of water. After he’d left, Colvin’s look intimated to the others that, even supposing they’d just stumbled from the baking heat of a parched desert, they weren’t to touch anything. He wanted them focused on his words and his demeanour.
Colvin was not the biggest of men, yet he filled a room without effort. His face was a locked door, with a peephole through which he studied and learned. He had draped his black three-quarter-length Crombie coat over the back of his chair and run a hand through his hair to push it back into place. The cut was slightly long, as though Teddy boys had never gone out of fashion. Ever since his early teens his reputation had been growing. He’d run with a gang and fought with unusual ferocity, never backing down no matter the threat level. But he was savvy, too, and cautious in matters of business. The men gathered here were the few he genuinely trusted. To others it might have resembled a committee of gargoyles, but in Colvin’s line of work you didn’t want staff whose looks put people at ease.
‘I’m judge and jury on this one,’ he went on, ‘and sentence has already been pronounced.’ He ran a finger down the front of his dark tie, as if to ensure nothing was out of place. ‘But he’s alive when he gets to me, understood? It’s my job to do the necessary dismantling, and that process will maybe take a while.’ His eyes scanned the group again. They were still paying attention. There was an empty chair to Colvin’s right. Past that sat Panda Paterson, Mickey Ballater, Dod Menzies and Spanner Thomson. Panda’s love of food would normally have had him on his third or fourth biscuit by now, but he knew to behave himself, today of all days.
‘This is a message to us. It’s telling us something. Somebody out there thinks we’ll leave it alone? No chance. I want you to start asking around, and don’t feel you need to be subtle about it. It’s fast answers I’m after, not diplomacy. See this chair here?’ He patted it. ‘This is where Bobby should be sitting, and it needs to be filled. Hopefully by whichever one of you brings me the news first.’ He paused, letting the invitation percolate. ‘So give me some ideas — where would you start looking?’
‘Pub’s an obvious one,’ Panda Paterson said, his voice like slurry. ‘It’s on John Rhodes’s turf, though.’
‘No “though” about it,’ Colvin snapped. ‘Territory’s a thing of the past until this gets solved.’
‘What about Jenni?’ Dod Menzies offered.
‘Jenni’s difficult,’ Colvin said, shifting in his seat.
‘The wife doesn’t know?’
‘Bobby was always clever that way. I’d rather Monica didn’t find out. She’s got enough on her plate, before you factor in the kids. Besides, stabbed behind a pub — does that sound like a crime of passion to you? No, this was business.’
‘Which brings us back to John Rhodes,’ Spanner Thomson piped up. He had a reedy voice, one that sometimes caused strangers to chuckle or tease him, which they did only until the heavy spanner — his implement of choice — was drawn from his inside pocket.
Colvin pressed his hands together. ‘I’ll maybe be needing a word with John. But let’s hold off and see if he comes to us first. Other routes we should be travelling?’
‘Bobby had no shortage of enemies, boss,’ Mickey Ballater offered. ‘You know that. He was a good enough fixer but lousy at keeping his head down. Number of times I’ve had complaints from clubs and restaurants he walked out of without paying. Anybody resisted, he reminded them who he worked for.’
There were nods around the table.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever done that, Mickey? Or you, Dod? We’re all family here, right? Don’t go speaking ill of the dead.’ Colvin paused. ‘Okay, the man had a bit of history and maybe you need to dig into that. What worries me, though, is how blatant the killing was. Either someone’s putting Rhodes in the frame — someone like Matt Mason — or else Rhodes himself thinks he’s bulletproof. That’s why I see it as a message we need to decode. Not easy for people whose only paper qualifications are for truancy, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to work flat out. I want you busting your gonads on this. Okay?’
Once the nods around the table had satisfied him, he got to his feet and produced a tray from a cupboard. It held a bottle of whisky and six glasses. He poured the measures with due ceremony and handed them round, leaving one in front of the empty chair.