Lethal Intent (6 page)

She pushed herself out of the low chair and looked down on him. 'You little snake!' she snapped. 'Are you trying to threaten me? Because if you are, we'll see how long you last with me on the back benches throwing rocks at your administration.'

'No, we won't, Aileen, because I won't let you go to the back benches. I want you all nice and docile and co-operative, not working to undermine me; I want you on the front bench where I can keep an eye on you. So you go back to your office and toe the line.'

'And why should I do that?

'This is why,' Murtagh told her, his cold smile back in place. 'You may not care about your own office right now, but do you want to sacrifice Skinner's on the altar of your long-term ambition? He's an outstanding policeman, no doubt, but if he thinks he can play politics with the big boys, he's wrong. I intend to take a lot tighter control over the police service, and I want you as my Justice Minister to be my instrument in that.'

He stood up to face her, still not quite at her eye level. 'You asked me about my conclusions earlier. Here they are: I think you care about Deputy Chief Constable Skinner, and I think he cares about you. So here's what I'm telling you. If you do value each other, you will do what I say, and he will lower his profile and stop interfering in things that don't concern him. Otherwise, regrettably, I will fire you and take my chances, and I will ruin him, without a second thought.'

Nine

'What knife?' Richard Cable looked across the table at the two detectives.

'The knife with which you attacked my colleague,' Bandit Mackenzie replied. 'The knife with which you cut his jacket. The knife that's going to land you in the dock on a charge of attempted murder.'

'It's your colleague that should be in the dock,' said Cable evenly. His voice had little accent, but what there was was cultured, suggesting a comfortable background and upbringing. 'He was the one who did the attacking. I was standing there minding my own business, waiting for my girlfriend to come out of the toilet. My phone rang, I went to answer it and next thing I knew I was having my face bounced off the wall.' He reached up and touched the heavy white plaster that covered his nose. 'This is the result. As soon as I'm released from here, you can expect a formal complaint to the Chief Constable, and probably a civil action too.'

'Feel free to consult a lawyer,' Mavis MacDougall told him. 'We'll stop this interview right now, if you want to change your mind and have one present. Call him; tell him you're being held at Danderhall police office.'

'I don't feel the need for a lawyer at this stage. If and when I do, I will let you know. Can we go on, please? I don't have time for this.'

Mackenzie chuckled. 'Ah, but you do, Mr Cable. Trust me, you do. You've got years for this. Let's go back to your girlfriend. What's her name?'

'If I tell you that you'll haul her in here for questioning and give her a hard time. You don't need to know her name.'

'Can I make that decision for myself, sir?'

'No,' Cable whispered. His eyes had no more expression than they had shown in the club: there was no anger, no defiance, nothing other than boredom.

'When I went into the toilet with Bell,' the detective continued, 'there were two women there, other than DS MacDougall that is: a blonde buying condoms and a red-head with poor personal hygiene.

They left one after the other and walked right past you. So where was this mystery woman? Or were you just fantasising about the sergeant here?'

For the first time Cable allowed himself something that resembled a smile. 'That might be a fantasy worth having, but I'd never seen her until I was hauled off the floor by your colleague. Where is he, incidentally? I'd like another talk with him.'

'He's not taking part in this interview. Plus, if you have any sense, you will not want to see him again. He's still very upset about his jacket.'

'That old rag?'

'It's one of his best friends, I believe.'

'Too bad he cut it, then.'

'And when did he do that?'

'When he produced the knife that he planted on me.'

Mackenzie sighed. 'Mr Cable, we have three witnesses who saw you produce the knife and thrust it at my colleague. You know the scenario: we have Bell on videotape telling me what will happen if he calls you, then he does. You said earlier that you answered the call, but the fact is you didn't. It rang, you checked the number showing, and then you headed for the ladies' toilet'

'Nonsense. I went to answer but I pushed the red button by mistake. Then I was attacked by your colleague, who knocked me down and dropped the knife by my side. Are my prints on it?'

'No, because the handle is covered in a special tape that doesn't take prints.'

'It's not my knife, then. I don't carry knives to clubs. Do I look like that sort of guy? I have told you, and you've had time to check it out, I am a salesman with a BMW dealership in London. I had annual holidays to use up and I decided to come to Edinburgh.'

'You were due back at work today.'

Cable nodded. 'But I'm here, thanks to you.'

'You mean you were going to the showroom straight from the nightclub?' MacDougall exclaimed. 'Sure it's only about four hundred miles; no time at all in a Beamer, I suppose.'

'Where have you been living on your holiday?' Mackenzie asked.

'The Travel Inn, at Haymarket: you found my room key-card among my effects.'

'So you hadn't checked out?'

'No, I kept my booking open for another week.'

'So you weren't going back?'

'I kept my options open. I told you, I have a girlfriend; I met her here, and I fancied spending another week with her.'

'Ah, so if we go to the Travel Inn and wait for her she'll turn up there?'

'I shouldn't think so, not if she saw what happened to me. It probably scared the poor kid off.'

'But she was in the toilets. You were waiting for her.'

'She must have come out when my back was turned; before you went in there.'

The drugs squad commander sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 'It's lucky for you I've got a sense of humour,' he said. 'Mr Cable, this is what happened. You and your associate Mr Bell were pushing drugs through that club; Bell sold me drugs on two occasions believing me to be a punter. When he tried it again last night the whole transaction was filmed and he was arrested. Your job was to guard the door, preventing people from interrupting the transaction, and if necessary, to provide the muscle. How do you respond to that?'

'I deny it. I do not know this man Bell. Let me ask you something. When have you ever seen us exchange a single word, or show any recognition of each other?'

'Last night, when he called you on his mobile.'

'Have you checked the ownership of the phone he used?'

'No. Why should we?'

'Because if you do, I think you'll find it belongs to me. I have two cell-phones, one for business, the other personal. My private phone was stolen the other night, in the club. I guess Bell must have taken it. I suggest to you that the call you saw him make was a simple bluff. He picked a number at random from my phonebook and called it.'

Bandit Mackenzie laughed. 'You're good, Mr Cable, really good. You could sell me a car any time. I think we've both earned a break, don't you? Interview suspended at,' he checked his watch, 'ten fourteen a.m., to be resumed later today.' He reached over and switched off the tape-recorder on the table, then looked up, over Cable's shoulder, to the uniformed constable who stood impassively with his back to the door of the small, windowless interview room. 'Take the prisoner back to the cells, please, Barton, and bring along Mr Bell. Let's see how funny he is.' He looked back at Cable. 'Just so you know, you'll be appearing in the Sheriff Court tomorrow morning; you'll be formally remanded then.'

The car salesman smiled again, and winked; the gesture was made grotesque by the puffiness around his eye. 'I wouldn't lay any bets on that, Chief Inspector, if I was you,' he said.

Ten

'When was he reported missing, sir?' Detective Constable Tarvil Singh's voice was flat and toneless as he asked the question. He looked as if he had just seen something that he could not bring himself to believe; in fact, that was the case.

'Ten o'clock last night,' Detective Inspector Stevie Steele replied. 'He and his mates came up town to the Christmas fun-fair in the gardens, and they were all going for burgers afterwards. He was due home at eight; when he hadn't showed by quarter to nine, George and Jen started calling round the other lads' parents. When they got no joy, George called St Leonards, the divisional HQ for where they live, and then he called me.' He looked at the big DC, who seemed bulkier than ever in his white scene-of-crime tunic. 'When I told the chief super, she phoned round the other divisional commanders; just about every copper on duty in Edinburgh's been looking for the lad ever since.'

'Have you let Ms Rose know that he's been found?'

Steele frowned. 'That's no job for me, Tarvil. The chief superintendent will be gutted by this, like we all are. I'm sure that Detective Superintendent Chambers will tell her, but only after she's brought George Regan here and he's formalised the identification.'

Singh looked past him, over his shoulder. 'I've got news for you, boss,' he murmured. 'Somebody's beaten her to it.'

Steele turned and saw a car that had not been there before, parked beside the ambulance on the roadway near the railway line. He knew it well; as he looked at it, the driver's door opened and Chief Superintendent Margaret Rose, commander of Edinburgh's western police division, stepped out. She wore a heavy coat over her uniform, and her close-cut red hair was tucked neatly inside her cap. She walked across to the two detectives.

'You sure?' she asked the DI, quietly.

He nodded. 'I'm sorry, there's no doubt' He turned and looked over at a large tent that had been erected on the slope that ran sharply down from the western ramparts of Edinburgh Castle; Tarvil Singh had left them and was moving towards it, as if to stand guard. 'I've known wee George since he was eight or nine.' He smiled, sadly. 'Whenever the Regans had a party they'd a hell of a job getting him off to bed.'

'How old is he now?'

'He'd have been fourteen in February, poor wee guy.'

'What happened?'

'The doctor's still in there, but his provisional view, and mine when I saw the body, is that his neck's broken.'

Rose looked up at the towering grey castle. 'Does that mean that he climbed up there and fell?'

'Trying to scale the heights, you mean? It looks like it; a daft boy's trick. He'd have been game for it, that's for sure.' Steele shivered: the December morning was grey and cold, and he found himself wishing that he had brought his own overcoat. 'The body's virtually unmarked. There's some facial bruising, that looks like it was sustained when he hit the ground, but nothing more than that.'

'But it was night-time when it happened, wasn't it?'

'It's Christmastime, Mags. With all the decorations and stuff, this whole area's lit up like a football field.'

'I suppose so. Has George been here yet?'

Steele winced. 'No, not yet; Mary's bringing him… and I wish I didn't have to be here when he arrives.'

'Not his wife, though?'

'God forbid.'

'He may not have the authority to do that. If it was my son…' She broke off. 'Who found him?' she asked.

'He was spotted by somebody in Saltire Court,' said Steele. He pointed at the elegant office block that dominated the far side of Castle Terrace. 'The body can't be seen from the path at all, or from the roadway, but a sharp-eyed worker on the top floor spotted it, took a closer look through a pair of binoculars, and raised the alarm.'

The sound of another approaching vehicle made them look towards the road. 'Oh dear,' Rose whispered. 'Jen is here after all.' The dead boy's mother sat in the back seat of Detective Superintendent Mary Chambers's car. As the two officers moved towards her, they saw on her face the same expression of disbelief that Singh had worn earlier.

The inspector felt a fluttering in his stomach as Detective Sergeant George Regan stepped out on to the hard, rough road. The two friends met, and shook hands formally. 'Jen will stay in the car,' said the bereaved father. 'She wanted to come to the scene, and we didn't try to dissuade her.'

'I'll sit with her,' said Rose, as Mary Chambers came round to join them, her plain square face ashen white.

'Thank you, ma'am,' Regan replied. He drew himself up to his full height, gathering his dignity around him like a protective cloak. 'Let us suit up, Stevie, and then let me see him.'

Steele waved to a crime-scene technician, who brought over two fresh white tunics. He waited in silence while Regan and Chambers put them on, then led the way up the steep slope.

Eleven

Like most people, Bob Skinner tolerated flying, regarding it as a twenty-first century necessity; he believed firmly that those who said they actually enjoyed being in a heavier-than-air machine thirty-five thousand feet above the ground were either liars or idiots.

The part of the whole process that he disliked most was the pre-boarding wait in the departure lounge. The small airport that served Key West, where Sarah had dropped him fifteen minutes before, was reasonably comfortable, and the monitor screens told him that his aircraft was on the ground and was scheduled to leave on time, but still he fretted.

He tried to read a book, a private-detective yarn called
Alarm Call
that he had brought with him from Scotland, but found that he could not give it the concentration it deserved. The small cafeteria was open: he bought himself coffee, and a bagel with cream cheese, but even as he chewed he found himself reaching unconsciously inside his jacket for the cell-phone which, on a whim, he had left at home, so that he could be truly out of contact to all except Neil McIlhenney, Trish, the children's nanny, and Aileen de Marco.