Private Investigations (10 page)

‘I understand that,’ she replied, quickly. ‘I wasn’t looking for specifics, rather for general information: what lines of inquiry they might be following, stuff like that. DCI Pye isn’t saying anything at the moment.’

‘If that’s so,’ I assured her, ‘it’s because there isn’t anything he can say. Who’s covering the story for you? Lennox Webster, your crime specialist, I assume.’

‘Yes, she’s on it,’ June confirmed.

I paused, thinking about practicalities and ethics. ‘Okay, pretend you’re her,’ I suggested, ‘and ask me some non-specific questions as an expert source.’

She smiled. ‘Such as?’

‘What are the priorities of the investigation likely to be?’ I began. ‘Answer: there are likely to be three. Number one, identify the child, if that hasn’t been done already. Two, identify the driver of the car in which the body was found. Three, establish cause of death. Practically, of those the third is the most immediately important. Until you do that you don’t know what you’re dealing with. Suppose you get lucky and catch the driver straight away, you need to know what the offence is.’

‘Abduction and murder, surely,’ June exclaimed.

‘No,’ I contradicted her firmly. ‘Nothing is sure until you have all the facts. The only assumption I’d be making is that the child didn’t climb into the car on her own and pull the boot lid shut.’

She looked up. ‘She was in the boot? You didn’t mention that earlier and Pye didn’t tell us either.’

‘In that case, you never heard me,’ I retorted.

‘You sound as if you actually saw the child, Bob.’ Her blue eyes were piercing. ‘It was you who found her, wasn’t it?’

I nodded. ‘The guy drove into my car,’ I admitted. ‘But you must not print that.’

‘Bob,’ she protested. ‘That makes the story even bigger.’

I like June, and I respect her as a journalist, but I glared at her. ‘Rubbish,’ I snapped. ‘The story can’t get any bigger. It’s a dead child; nothing tops that.’

At once, I regretted my anger. ‘June, one day I’ll have to stand in the witness box in the High Court and tell a jury what I saw, but until then I do not want to be a public player in the story. Look, I’m not trying to order you here; I’m asking you as a friend. If my involvement does leak, from within the police force or anywhere else, you’ll have exclusive rights to anything I can say without breaking sub judice rules, but until then, sit on it, please.’

She sighed, then smiled. ‘You know,’ she murmured, ‘I had this same conversation with my dad once.’ June’s father is Tommy Partridge, a retired detective superintendent. ‘The circumstances weren’t quite the same but the principle was. He said much the same as you did; I ignored him and ran the story. It drove a wedge between us for a couple of years. So this time,’ she paused for a couple of seconds, ‘I’ll do what you ask, as a way of making up to him.’

I remembered the incident. I was head of CID when it happened and I was hard on Tommy. I made a mental note to call him, tell him what had happened, and apologise for my lack of understanding.

‘Pye said there were no signs of physical assault,’ June continued.

‘There weren’t,’ I confirmed, ‘none that I could see. That’s another reason why I’m advising you to back off from labelling it murder. You might have to recant on it.’

‘Who’s doing the post-mortem?’ she asked.

‘Joe,’ I replied. ‘And I’m glad. It’s going to be tough enough across the dinner table in our house tonight without Sarah having been involved.’

I left her to it and went back to my own office, quietly pleased that I hadn’t known any more about the investigation. I felt a loyalty to my new employer, and didn’t like the potential for conflicts of interest with my old one.

That situation was not improved when my mobile rang. It was Sauce Haddock, and he was in a hurry.

‘Sir, we need your help,’ he began. ‘We’re in North Berwick. We’ve pretty much eliminated the owner of the BMW as a suspect, but we’ve come across someone else who might be a possibility. He has a record, and I’ve established that we have a recent image on file.’

I didn’t need him to go any further. ‘Email it to me right away, and I’ll take a look. I’m in my Edinburgh office so I’ll be able to view it on a decent size screen. Make sure they send it maximum resolution. I only had a glimpse of the guy, so my eyes will need all the help they can get.’

I switched on my computer, opened my email programme and waited, but not for long. Within five minutes a small window in a corner of the monitor told me that I had mail. I clicked to open the message and then again for the attachment.

The man had been photographed against the usual dirty white background. I’d seen that sullen expression a few thousand times, and read the same bored resignation that showed in his eyes. There was a booking number on the image, and a name, ‘Dean Francey’. It meant nothing to me, but the face did.

I had seen him before. I looked at the mugshot closely, then closed my eyes, and tried to imagine the face that I had seen, briefly, behind the wheel of the BMW before the reflected sun blinded me, and then again for a fraction of a second as he jumped out of the vehicle and took to his heels.

It was him, I told myself, and yet . . . could I put my hand on a bible, take an oath and then declare that to a jury?

The truth was, I wasn’t sure. My gut said ‘Yes’, but my professional caution said ‘Wait a minute’.

Haddock had called me from North Berwick; the town is three or four miles from where I live and I go there regularly, alone, with friends, and with the kids, when they want to swim in the town pool. Assuming that Francey had a local connection, it was possible that I might have seen him casually in a completely different context.

However I judged it probable that he was the driver, so I called Sauce back and told him as much. By that time, he and Pye had viewed video footage from the shopping centre and were prepared to go firm on the identification.

I thought about going back to June’s office and sharing, but only for a couple of seconds before deciding that would be a breach of trust.

As it happened I didn’t have time to dwell on it, for my phone rang again, almost immediately. I stared at it. ‘If ever I want a quiet life,’ I told the empty room, ‘all I need to do is drop this fucker into a bucket of water.’

But I’m not in that place yet, so I slid the indicator across the screen to answer, knowing from the readout that the caller was Mario McGuire.

‘Yes or no?’ I asked him, passing on the preliminaries.

‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘You’re not surprised, are you?’

‘Maybe just a little,’ I admitted. ‘I thought Andy might take a position of principle.’

I couldn’t see Mario, but I could sense his smile. ‘That did cross his mind, but fortunately it didn’t dig itself in. I assured him this would be a one-off, and that satisfied him.’

I felt a flash of annoyance. ‘Gracious of him.’

‘Come on, Bob,’ the big guy said. ‘You know he wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.’

‘Do I?’ I countered. ‘Do you think he’d have turned down Jimmy Proud, or Graham Morton, his old boss in Tayside? I don’t, not for a second. With me, it has to be seen that he’s doing me a big favour.’

‘He is,’ Mario suggested, ‘but that’s not how this played out. Look, as far as he’s concerned you’re like Banquo’s ghost, only potentially worse, ’cos you’re very much alive.’

‘How about you?’ I asked. ‘Do you feel the same about me?’

‘Hell no!’ he protested. ‘Not for a second; nor does Maggie, or anyone else. But Andy’s the chief now, and he needs to feel secure in his chair.’

‘Jesus,’ I exclaimed, ‘are you saying he thinks I’d try to undermine him?’

My one-time colleague let his silence speak for itself.

‘Then it’s time he grew up,’ I said. ‘I will support him in any way he wants, short of coming back into the service. You tell him that from me.’ I paused. ‘Tell him something else too; I know about the Scottish Police Authority chair coming up next year, and I know what the gossip’s saying. For the record, there’s no way I’d take that job, ever. I spent the latter part of my career doing my best to ignore people like that, and there is no sodding way that I will ever become one of them.’

‘I will tell him that,’ Mario replied, ‘word for word. And I’m sure it’ll be a big weight off his mind. ‘

‘Good,’ I declared. ‘Now, when am I getting the
Princess Alison
investigation file?’

‘I’m having it retrieved and couriered through to you in Gullane,’ he told me. ‘It’ll be with you this evening. Have fun.’ I expected him to end the call, but he carried on. ‘Just one thing, and this comes from me, not Andy. You might be working for Eden Higgins, but he’s a civilian. These papers are for your eyes only. He doesn’t get to see them.’

In the early days of my professional relationship with big Mario McGuire, when he was just a brash kid, it didn’t occur to me for one second that he was a deputy chief constable in waiting. I smiled as I thought of the man he’d become. ‘As you wish, sir,’ I murmured. ‘As you wish.’

Fourteen

For all that she tried to present a confident front to her seniors, Detective Constable Jackie Wright felt that she had yet to find her feet in CID. She saw her main strength in sourcing information, and she was pleased that she had been able to help in identifying the child who had been found dead in Edinburgh that morning, but at the same time she recognised that a civilian clerk with computer skills and a contact list could have done the same job.

To compound her doubts about her own value, there were some occasions when she found herself frustrated, all options exhausted, and with nothing else to do but to go to Sauce Haddock, and admit failure.

‘I’m sorry, Sarge,’ she said. ‘I’ve got as far as I can. The Ministry of Defence are not coming close to being cooperative. All they’ve done is to confirm that David Gates is a naval lieutenant, and that he’s currently on service, an officer in the submarine section. They won’t put me in touch with him and they won’t even promise to pass a message to him.

‘The man I spoke to was unbelievable. I told him that it was essential that we speak to Lieutenant Gates, but it cut no ice. He wouldn’t guarantee to get any information to him, or give me a contact number for him. I don’t know what to do next.’

‘You’ve done it, Jackie,’ the DS told her. ‘You’ve told the man’s employer that we need to speak to him, and now you’ve reported it up the line to me. I couldn’t have done any more and I doubt the DCI could either.’

‘But the way they behaved, Sauce,’ Wright protested. ‘It’s ridiculous.’

‘There’ll be operational reasons for it,’ Haddock told her. ‘The man is a submariner; you’ve established that. These people go on cruises for months and for a lot of that time they’re submerged. If that’s where he is, let him stay there.’

‘But he needs to know!’

‘Does he? If he is on sensitive active service, what would it do to him to get news like that?’ The young sergeant paused to consider his own question, then continued with another. ‘Who was your contact in the MoD?’

‘His name’s Blackett; he’s in the naval personnel department.’

‘Then go back to him,’ Haddock instructed. ‘Get him to guarantee that as soon as Lieutenant Gates is in a position to be contacted we’ll be advised and given facilities to interview him. If he gives you any trouble, remind him that the number two ranking minister in his department is an MP for a Scottish constituency, then ask him whether he fancies being named in a phone call from our boss to one of his bosses. If he brushes you off after that, let me know. I saw the look in DCC McGuire’s eyes at the crime scene this morning. If we asked him, he’d make the call in a second.’

‘Okay, Sarge,’ Wright replied. ‘I suppose it isn’t important that we speak to Gates right away,’ she conceded.

‘What makes you say that?’ the DS countered, sharply. ‘If not right away, we need to interview him as soon as possible, make no mistake.’

‘But he can’t be a suspect if he’s a few thousand miles away.’

‘Suspect, no, but regardless of his location, he’s a victim. And, regardless of his location, he’s a potential witness. Do he or Grete have any enemies? Does either of them have a bunny-boiler ex-partner out there? Until she recovers consciousness, if she ever does, only he can tell us. How sensitive is his naval job? Could the attack and the abduction be connected with that? As for him being a suspect, stranger things have happened . . . and if he is party to a conspiracy, what better alibi than to be sitting under a polar icecap or somewhere similar at the time of the crime?’

‘Okay, Sarge. I’ll call Blackett back, right away.’ The young DC sighed. ‘I’ll never be any good at this job, will I?’

‘Hey, don’t be like that,’ Haddock chuckled. ‘You are good at it.’ He turned to Pye who was in the driver’s seat as they headed along the A1, towards Edinburgh. ‘Isn’t she, boss?’

‘You’re doing fine, Jackie,’ the DCI said into the car’s Bluetooth microphone. ‘I’ve had to deal with these MoD people. They can redefine difficult if they’re that way inclined. If you really want, I’ll phone Blackett myself, but I’d rather you had the pleasure of telling him what DS Haddock said will happen if he doesn’t loosen up.’

‘Thanks, sir,’ she replied, her self-confidence shored up. ‘I’ll do that.’

‘Straight away,’ Pye added. ‘You’re doing a great job behind that desk, but you should have some fresh air. I’m going to have to attend poor wee Zena’s autopsy, so DS Haddock will need a sidekick when he goes in search of our prime suspect. We’ll be with you in ten minutes.’

Fifteen

‘What’s that building over there? I’ve always wondered.’

Sauce Haddock glanced to his right, following DC Jackie Wright’s pointing finger. ‘Queen Margaret University,’ he replied. ‘How long is “always” in your book? It’s only been there for a few years.’

‘Has it? Seems like forever.’

‘In two hundred yards turn right.’ The mellifluous female voice of the navigation system interrupted their conversation.

‘Can’t you have a male voice on those things?’ Wright grumbled.

‘I believe you can,’ the DS chuckled as he eased into the turn, ‘but everybody picks the bird. You don’t get as confrontational with her. Cuts down on the road rage.’

‘In one hundred yards you will have reached your destination,’ Satnav woman announced.

‘What number?’ the young DC asked.

Haddock drew to a halt. ‘Twenty-four. She’s as good as her word. That’s it, and from the car in the driveway it looks as if there’s somebody in.’

He climbed out of their unmarked police vehicle and walked round to join his colleague. The modern, brick-built semi-detached villa had a small garden in front, laid out mostly in yellow slabs interspersed with squares where shrubs were set in gravel. ‘That’s my style,’ he observed. ‘Minimum maintenance.’

The front door of the house was opened, just as they reached it, by a large black man who seemed to fill its frame.

‘Mr Rattray?’ the DS began. ‘Levon Rattray?’

The householder nodded, frowning as he looked at the warrant cards that both officers displayed.

‘DS Haddock, DC Wright. Is your wife at home?’

‘No, she’s at work.’ The accent was English, metropolitan, Liverpool or Birmingham; the two had always confused Haddock.

‘Then maybe we can have a few words with you. Inside?’

‘Sure.’ Rattray stepped back to allow them entrance to his home, then ushered them through the hallway and into a spacious dining kitchen at the rear of the house. ‘I’m making the dinner,’ he explained. ‘Donna’s due back at five and I’m on night shift at six, so that hour’s all we have together. Do you mind if I carry on while we talk?’ he asked.

‘Of course not,’ Wright replied ‘What do the pair of you do?’ she asked.

‘Donna works at QMU, just up the road. I’m in Fire and Rescue; my station’s five minutes away in the car. There’s no commute for either of us; we’re all right that way.’ He picked up a knife from the work surface and began to slice carrots. ‘Now: what do want to talk about? What’s the bastard done this time?’

Haddock smiled. ‘Which bastard would that be?’

‘Take your choice,’ the fireman replied. ‘Thank God Donna takes after her mother. Her father and her brother are a couple of useless wasters.’

‘You have father-in-law problems?’

‘I would have, but I keep him at arm’s length.’

‘What does he get up to?’

‘Stupid stuff mostly. The nonsense with the fish was the last straw.’

‘What nonsense?’ Wright asked, intrigued.

‘Ahh,’ Rattray exclaimed, then shook his head. ‘Chic’s a lobster fisherman, right?’

‘So we understand,’ Haddock agreed.

‘Well, that’s not all he does. He supplies restaurants in Edinburgh with fish that he says is fresh caught . . . only it isn’t. He buys it off trawlers that are over their quota and he freezes it. The trouble is he uses our freezer when his is full up, without a by-your-leave. That’s to say he used to use ours. About a year ago, I found some packs of frozen vegetables in the bin, dumped. When I looked in the freezer, a big chest thing in the garage, I found it was full of salmon, whole bleedin’ salmon. He bought it from a Norwegian crew who’d brought surplus frozen farmed salmon across to flog in Britain. The things had been dead for a year, but Chic’s plan was to thaw them out and sell them as fresh wild fish to his contacts.’

‘What did you do?’ the DS chuckled.

‘Donna and I put it all in boxes. She gave some to her friends in the university, and I spread the rest around fire stations in Edinburgh. The old fart went ape-shit when he found out, until I told him that if he ever tried something like that again he’d be in the freezer himself.’ His broad black face split into a grin. ‘We haven’t spoken much since then.’

‘That’s probably just as well,’ Haddock agreed. ‘But it’s not Chic that we came to ask you about; it’s his son, Dean Francey. We’re looking for him. Has he been in touch with you recently?’

‘How recently?’

‘Like today.’

‘No. I can’t speak for Donna, but I haven’t heard from him for a month or more.’

Wright looked him in the eye, as he took some washed green beans from a colander and picked up his knife once again. ‘You are sure of that?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ he retorted. ‘The little toerag’s Donna’s weak spot, not mine. Any contact I have with him, it’s through her. What’s he done?’

‘We can’t say,’ the DS told him, ‘but it’s a quantum step up from his previous. We need to question him about a very serious crime.’

Rattray’s eyes narrowed. ‘How serious?’ he murmured.

‘As serious as it gets. If he should get in contact with you, we need you to urge him to hand himself in at the nearest police office.’

‘I’ll do more than urge him,’ the man replied. ‘If he comes here, and Donna isn’t around, I’ll sit on him until you get here. If she is . . .’ he hesitated, ‘it won’t be so easy. She’s four months pregnant, and like I said, Dino’s her weak spot. Does she need to know about this at all?’

‘Keeping it from her won’t be possible, I’m afraid,’ Haddock replied. ‘We need to speak to her too, and she’ll have to know why.’

‘Little bastard,’ Rattray growled. ‘I always knew he was trouble. I hope he does come here; I’ll wipe the floor with him for bringing this to our door, whatever the hell it is.’

‘Please don’t do that,’ the DS urged. ‘I’ll go with a citizen’s arrest, Levon, but I don’t want a mark on him when he’s booked in.’ He paused. ‘All that said, I know you think Dino’s an idiot, but he must have enough brain cells to guess that this is the first place we’d go looking for him. Can you help us by suggesting other people he might go to for help?’

‘Friends, you mean?’

‘Yes. Has he ever mentioned any mates to you?’

‘Sure. He’s even brought some here. We’d a big party for Donna’s twenty-fifth and he turned up with a crew. Three of them, all with daft nicknames. There was a guy he called Jagger, on account of his big floppy lips, then there was another they called Drizzle; they said it was ’cos he was thick, wet and got on your tits after a while.’

‘Very good,’ Wright said, ‘but did these characters have real names?’

Rattray nodded. ‘The Jagger fella was called Michael, Mick, I guess, and I think his second name was Smith. Drizzle, his name was Ian Harbison. I asked Dino how he knew them; he said they had the same probation officer, but I don’t know if he was serious.’

‘What about the third one?’ Haddock asked. ‘What was his nickname?’

‘Her,’ he was corrected. ‘The third one was called Singer; she was his girlfriend, and still is as far as I know. Her name’s Anna Harmony, hence the nickname.’

‘Is she a probation pal too?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me, although she did seem like a nice kid. If I was you, I’d be looking at these three to track down my useless, feckless brother-in-law. I’m sorry I can’t give you addresses for them, but Donna mentioned something about the girl living in a student flat somewhere.’

‘That makes her hard to trace,’ the DS said. ‘There’ll be no problem finding the other two, though, through the probation service. We’ll get on to them. Just one more question, and then we’re off. Do you believe that Dean Francey has violence in him?’

Rattray scratched his chin as he considered the question. ‘I’m not the guy to ask,’ he said, eventually. ‘I was a cage fighter when I was younger, so he’s always been careful around me. But he has a temper on him and I could imagine it boiling over if a fella crossed him.’

‘What about a female?’

‘I couldn’t rule that out,’ he admitted. ‘I reckon Dino would do most things if the price was right and there was no risk to himself.’