Bob Skiinner 21 Grievous Angel (34 page)

‘Aye, go on.’

‘Right. After . . . I stress that, after . . . we’d made that request, the van was found burning, and our suspect, the man Milburn, went into hiding with his associate. Not immediately after the murder, boss, but two or three days after it. What does that tell you?’

‘Leak,’ Stein growled, immediately, looking not in the least like a favourite uncle.

‘Exactly. For a while I had one major concern.’ I told him frankly about my conversation with Manson, including my own recklessness, but said that he was eliminated as a suspect to my satisfaction. ‘It can only be inside, boss; it must have come from one of our number. I trust my people, every one of them, so my assumption is that whoever tipped them off that we were on to them is in Newcastle, not here.’

‘Why didn’t Church go into hiding too?’ the DCS asked, shrewdly.

‘We didn’t have any evidence against him, we still don’t and we probably never will. Sir, I can’t have officers from down there on my team. If I did, I’d have to detach one of ours to keep them under observation.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Point taken, son,’ he murmured. ‘I’d better tell my southern colleague to start looking in his own midden.’

‘No!’ I said. ‘Don’t do that. I don’t want to alert anyone. I want the world to think that we’re closing the Watson investigation with the deaths of these men. I want to put everyone at their ease, including the inside man, for I want him too. When I find him, I’ll hit the bastard hardest of all, for he must have known that he was setting these two guys up to be killed.’

When I got back to the office, I checked on McGuire’s progress. He had managed to track down the carrier, a small charter operation based in Glasgow, but its airport representative wouldn’t release information without her boss’s approval, and he was proving hard to find. ‘If they give you any more trouble, tell him that we’re friendly with HM Customs and Excise,’ I suggested, ‘and that a short-notice VAT inspection can be fixed up any time. That usually works.’

I left him to get on with it, for it was time for me to leave to collect Alison. I called ahead, and she was waiting for me at the front door. ‘Redpath’s been delayed on the road,’ she told me as she climbed in. ‘Tailback somewhere down the A1, his manager says.’

‘When is there not?’ I responded. ‘That’s fine. I’d rather be waiting for him when he gets there anyway. It removes any scope for misunderstanding.’

‘Misunderstanding of what?’

‘The fact that we’re serious. You know what murder inquiries are like; witnesses tend to get nervous when we turn up. If he chose to avoid us, his company could hardly hold him there.’

The haulage depot wasn’t actually in Haddington, but on the outskirts. We found it easily enough, but there was no welcoming committee. The office was a Portakabin and it was locked. A couple of red-liveried lorries were parked in the compound, but there was no one around.

‘I wonder what the manager’s done,’ Alison chuckled. ‘Looks as if he got nervous as well.’

She and I sat in the car and waited, for there was nothing else to do. I told her about the holding statement I’d issued on her investigation, and about the heat that had developed on Tyneside over Church’s murder, but I kept the matter of the leak to myself.

We had been there for fifteen minutes when my mobile sounded. It was Mario McGuire. ‘I’ve finally tracked down the travel company’s managing director, boss,’ he announced, but I could tell from his voice that it wasn’t all good news. ‘He’s got no problem with giving us the name we need, but when he called the Newcastle Airport office to tell the woman there to release it, she’d buggered off for the night. He’s not being obstructive; he says there’s nothing he can do.’

In fact there was; if McGuire shouted loud enough, the director could have contacted his employee as soon as she arrived home and sent her back to give us what we were after. I was about to tell him that when a red articulated truck slowed at the entrance to the yard and turned in. ‘Okay,’ I conceded, ‘but he has to get her in there at sparrowfart tomorrow.’

‘She will be, boss. The company’s got a seven fifteen departure to Barcelona.’

‘I wish I was on it.’ I ended the call, and stepped out of the car. Alison and I waited until the vehicle was parked, then approached as the driver jumped down from the cab, a tall skinny guy with ginger hair and a full beard.

‘Charles Redpath?’ I began, holding my warrant card for him to see. ‘We’re police officers and we’d like a word.’

He didn’t seem disturbed by us, in any way. ‘That’s me,’ he said, his face expectant. ‘What is it? Have you caught the swine that killed Albie? D’you need me for an identity parade?’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ I told him. ‘We’re not at that stage yet. Look, do you want to come and sit in my car?’

He glanced at it, with the air of someone who’d rather have sat in a hearse. ‘Nah,’ he decreed. ‘We’ll go and sit in the office. I’ve got the keys.’

We followed him across to the Portakabin. Inside, it was Spartan, but I supposed that it served its purpose. There was a small private area to the left of the door, a toilet to the right, and half a dozen full-length lockers against the far wall. Redpath unlocked one of them. A suit and shirt hung inside. He offered us each a seat, but they looked like health and safety rejects, so we declined. ‘What can I do for you then?’ he asked.

‘What school did you go to?’

Alison’s question took him by surprise. ‘Knox Academy, in Haddington. What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Never Maxwell Academy?’

‘No.’

‘So you didn’t know Albie McCann from school. How did you meet?’

‘I used to be a Lothian bus driver; I met Albie in the garage. I didn’t like it, though. Some of the runs can be really dodgy late at night. So I took this job when the chance came up.’

She nodded. ‘Good. That explains the connection between you. The reason for the question is that Albie and Archie Weir, the other murder victim, did go to the same school, although they weren’t in the same year. That’s the only link between them, and we’re wondering if it relates to their murders in some way. If it does . . . we need to find out how.’

‘I see.’ He scratched at his beard. A family of magpies could have set up home in there.

‘So think carefully. I know you told the other officers who interviewed you that you didn’t know Archie Weir. Are you still sure that Albie McCann never mentioned him?’

‘Absolutely. Weir was my mother’s name before she married my dad. I wouldn’t have forgotten that.’

‘I’ll accept that,’ she conceded. ‘Did he ever talk about any other of his schoolmates?’

He knitted his heavy brows. ‘There was one he mentioned a lot,’ he murmured. ‘I even met him, only a couple of weeks ago. I’d arranged to meet Albie in the Guildford Arms, up in town, for a quick one, about half five. When I turned up, this guy was there too. His name was Telfer, Don Telfer, and he was at Maxwell Academy.’

‘Can you describe him?’

‘I suppose. He’s not very tall, about five eight, maybe. Slim guy, well turned out, clean-shaven. He’s got a scar on his face but otherwise that’s about it.’

‘I don’t suppose you know where we can find him?’

Redpath laughed. ‘Yes, I do. In the middle of the North Sea. Let’s figure this out. That was a Wednesday night, yes, and he said that he would be going offshore again on the Friday, for another six-week trip. He works on an oil production platform. He’s the radio officer. He said that he looks after all their communications, and maintains all the equipment. He even runs an on-board broadcasting station.’

It hasn’t happened very often, but that was one of the times in my career when a witness has said something that’s made the hair at the back of my neck prickle with excitement. There were no prizes for guessing who had given Archie Weir that photocopied page.

‘You haven’t seen him since?’ I asked.

‘No. That was the only time. I wasn’t with him for long. He and Albie left about half past six, and I went to meet my date.’

He had no more to tell us, so we thanked him and left. I drove past Haddington then turned left at Herdmanflat and climbed, heading for Aberlady and Gullane. Neither of us spoke, but we had plenty on our minds. I pulled into a parking place at the crest of the hill. ‘Well?’ Alison murmured.

‘You tell me.’

‘Let me make a call.’ She took her mobile from her bag. ‘Brian,’ I heard her say when she was connected, ‘have you or Stevie spoken to Mia Watson yet?’ There was a pause. ‘Okay. Tell him that when he does, he should ask her, as well as asking her if she remembers McCann or Weir from Maxwell Academy, whether the name Don Telfer means anything. Before that, though, he should trace all the Donald Telfers living in the Edinburgh area. The one we’re looking for will be aged about twenty-eight, and works on an oil platform in the North Sea. We need to know which one. I want him to find out also if this Telfer subscribes to a magazine called
Radioweek
. While he’s doing that, I want you to go back to McCann’s mother’s place. Go through his bedroom again, but this time you’re looking for the same photocopy that was found in Weir’s flat. It could easily have been overlooked when it was searched before, because we weren’t looking for it. Call me as soon as you’ve done all that.’ She finished, and turned to me. ‘Did you get that?’

I nodded.

‘Stevie’s going to catch her at the radio station once she comes off air in a couple of hours. Brian’ll let me know if he finds anything at the flat.’

‘Good enough,’ I said, as I restarted the car and swung on to the road. ‘That’s all we can do. You realise, don’t you,’ I added, ‘that possession of that photocopy doesn’t actually imply anything. It’s probably entirely innocent, no more than Telfer finding it in one of his trade journals and saying to his buddies, “Hey, lads, remember that Watson lassie at the school? See what she’s doing now?” We can’t read anything more into it.’

‘Are you kidding?’ she exclaimed. ‘If we find that same photocopy in McCann’s flat, it shows a common interest in the Watson woman. We’ve linked all three men, I’m certain of it, and two of them are now dead, Bob. I can read plenty into that.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ I conceded, with the best grace I could muster. My thinking was off kilter where Mia was concerned. ‘We don’t even need that second photocopy to tie them together. One more chat with Robert Wyllie could be helpful, though; now we know about Telfer, he needs to be interviewed again. That should be easy. A talk with us will brighten his day at Saughton.’

‘Didn’t you know?’ she said. ‘His lawyer asked for bail after all, and the sheriff granted it.’

‘His choice, but hopefully not his funeral.’ I’d been bullshitting during the interview. I didn’t really see Wyllie as a target. ‘There’s one blessing in this,’ I went on. ‘Unless he’s gone missing too, Telfer’s out of harm’s way on his oil platform. As you say, two down so far. One still to go? I think we have to assume that. But why? That’s the question.’

‘Let’s see what Mia says to Stevie; she might have the answer.’

Fifteen

I
f Alex was taken aback, in the light of our morning phone conversation, to find Alison in the car when I picked her up from Daisy’s, she made a brilliant job of hiding it. I felt ashamed of myself for putting her in that position, and deeply embarrassed that she should have seen me as a two-timing SoB. I had a flash of her later in life and knew what I’d do to someone who’d treated her as I had Alison. I made a mental note that I’d have to apologise to her, first chance I had. I made a second note to come clean with Alison too, but that moment would have to be chosen very carefully.

I tried to block my indiscretion from my mind as we settled in for the evening. Alison had gone out at lunchtime and bought herself a jumpsuit and fresh stuff for next day. I changed, so did Alex, and the three of us slopped around, looking for all the world like the nice wee domestic unit that we’d sworn not to become.

While my daughter went off to take care of her homework and, no doubt, to catch up on Airburst FM while she was at it, I started the evening meal, a starter of anchovies on tomato bread, Spanish style, followed by fried chicken, with steamed green vegetables. Alison stood in the kitchen, watching me at work, and sipping white wine. She was still talking shop. I tried to put her off, but she persisted. ‘What happened,’ she mused aloud, ‘to make these three men victims? There must have been something, something serious. Could they have been dealing drugs?’

‘It’s possible,’ I conceded. ‘But how? Look at their jobs. A bus mechanic, a DIY shop assistant and a man who spends six weeks at a time out on the North Sea. None of those occupations are conducive to that business. Plus, if they were dealing, chances are at least one of them would have shown up on our radar on the drugs squad. Have you checked Weir and McCann for criminal convictions?’

‘Automatically; McCann was clean, Weir was arrested at a Hibs Rangers game six years ago and done for breach of the peace. In other words, next to nothing. Maybe Telfer will throw up something, but he’s got the sort of job that probably requires a degree of vetting, so I’m inclined to doubt that.’

‘Let’s put drugs to one side then,’ I said. ‘What else?’

She emptied her glass and went to refill it from the bottle on the work surface. ‘No idea, but whatever it is,’ she ventured, ‘it may have happened within a fairly small window. Yes, it could be anything, a long-held grudge, but the only point of contact among them that we know about was two weeks ago . . .’ she looked at the wall clock, ‘. . . almost exactly two weeks ago, when Redpath met McCann and Telfer in the Guildford Arms, two days before Telfer said he was due back on the oil platform. So it’s possible we’re looking for something that happened within that period.’

‘Then let’s look,’ I told her, ‘wherever we can.’

‘What would you do?’

‘Well, if Telfer was off the pitch from Friday . . . I’d look at our own incident reports, for anything happening that Wednesday and Thursday that’s still open, and see if I could find a line of inquiry.’

‘Look where? Division by division?’