Private Investigations (17 page)

Twenty-Seven

‘Did your Cheeky have much to say when you got home?’ Sammy Pye asked his colleague.

‘“What’s that fucking smell?”’ Haddock replied, ‘and that’s word for word. She went on to ask where the fire had been. It shows you how much of a barrier those paper suits really are. How about Ruth?’

‘She said something similar when I crawled in beside her at two o’clock. We should have had a shower after the autopsies, I suppose.’

‘I don’t think Professor Grace was for sharing.’

‘Maybe not.’ The DCI looked sideways. ‘You didn’t have to come, you know. One police witness would have been enough.’

‘Yes I did. You’d already done one yesterday. It’s you that could have skipped it.’

‘Did you sleep much?’

‘You are fucking joking, gaffer, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose,’ Pye conceded. ‘Me neither; maybe a couple of hours. I had coffee for breakfast; I didn’t fancy anything else.’

The DS stared at him. ‘No? I was starving. I’d a roll and black pudding.’

‘Ohhh! Stop it, you bastard.’

‘It’s okay, I’m joking. My nostrils still feel like they need to be steam cleaned. Maybe we can grab something a bit later, after we’ve seen this householder.’

They had retraced their route from the previous evening, past the Flotterstone Inn and past the clearing where the burned-out Aygo still stood, and where crime scene officers continued to work in the cold, crisp winter morning air.

Two hundred yards further along the narrow roadway, Pye slowed, coming almost to a halt as they approached a stone-pillared gate that marked the entrance to a driveway, leading to an impressive white villa. He turned in, parking well short of a double garage that was set to the right of the dwelling.

The crunch of tyres on gravel had announced their arrival. As they walked up to the front door, it opened and a woman stepped into view. She was tall, wearing tan trousers that could have been moleskin, and a check shirt, hanging loose. Her hair was golden brown, with a sheen that Pye reckoned had cost well into three figures at one of the city’s top hairdressers.

‘You’ll be the police, I suppose,’ she exclaimed as they approached. ‘I’m Nancy Walker. You’ve missed my husband, I’m afraid. He had to leave for the office.’

Pye was not impressed. ‘Even though he’s a witness in our investigation, and you were told we were coming to see you first thing this morning?’

‘Even so. Roland is a senior civil servant, gentlemen, very senior; he has a meeting with the Secretary of State at ten, and I think you’ll find that the Secretary of State outranks you.’

The DCI’s eyes narrowed, as he and Haddock held up their warrant cards. ‘I think you’ll find that in this context, he doesn’t, ma’am.’

‘Be that as it may,’ Mrs Walker drawled, as she inspected the credentials, closely, ‘he’s gone and the world is still turning, officer. Life goes on.’

‘Not for Dean Francey and Anna Hojnowski, it doesn’t,’ Haddock snapped, his customary calm disturbed.

‘And who would they be?’

‘They would be, or rather they were, the two people inside the car that your husband reported burning last night.’

For the first time, Nancy Walker’s self-assurance was ruffled. ‘It was a car?’ she exclaimed. ‘I saw flames from the kitchen, a short distance away; Roland went to investigate, then he called the fire brigade, but he didn’t go close enough to see what it was. We heard no more, indeed we thought no more of it, until one of you chaps called us to say we could expect a visit. People died, you say?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ Pye confirmed.

‘That is unfortunate,’ the woman said. She hugged herself and gave a small shiver. ‘I suppose you’d better come in; you might not freeze out here in your overcoats, but I shall, pretty soon.’

She stood aside to allow them to enter a spacious wood-panelled hall. ‘Come along with me,’ she instructed, ‘and I’ll show you the view I had.’

They followed her along a corridor that led to the back of the house, into a kitchen that was flooded with light by the low winter sun. It was a mix of traditional and modern, with an Aga cooker and a farmhouse table, surrounded by fitted units and black granite work surfaces.

The sink was below the window. ‘Take a look,’ Mrs Walker said, gesticulating. ‘I was rinsing the salad when I saw the flames.’

The detectives stood beside her; from their viewpoint they saw a thick green stand of leylandii, capped at a height of around twenty feet.

‘It’s for privacy; we can’t see through and nobody can see in, but last night the light of a fire was visible even above that. I called to Roland . . . he was pouring the Prosecco at the time. He came rushing through, swore like a trooper when he saw it and rushed off again.’

‘Didn’t it strike you as weird?’ Haddock asked. ‘I mean, a fire out here in the middle of winter.’

‘This is the countryside, young man,’ Nancy Walker replied stiffly. ‘People do the silliest things here. They think they can park and have barbecues anywhere, any time, and they are all careless with their fires.’

‘In February?’

‘That is unusual, I admit. You’re telling me that two people managed to set their car on fire, with themselves inside it? Too preoccupied, I imagine, to notice anything until it was too late.’

‘Not quite,’ Pye said. ‘Before you saw the light of the fire, did you hear any noises?’

‘What kind of noise?’ She sniffed. ‘People having sex?’

‘No, I wouldn’t expect you to hear that from a couple of hundred yards away.’ A bizarre image of Nancy and Roland Walker leapt into his mind, and then to his relief it went away again. ‘Sounds that might have been gunshots.’

The woman frowned, placing her index finger against her chin. ‘Now you mention it,’ she murmured, ‘yes, I did. I’d just checked the trout that I had baking in the Aga, when I heard a couple of bangs.’

‘That didn’t alarm you?’

She shook her head, firmly. ‘No. Chief Inspector, there are deer in this area, and where there are deer these days, there are poachers. It might surprise you but gunshots are not unusual around here.’

‘Even at night?’

‘Especially at night: that’s when poachers work. I met one, a couple of years ago. He had radiator trouble and he came to the house to ask if we could fill his water can. He was quite open about what he was doing. He told me that he used a night sight; assured me that we were quite safe, that it could tell the difference between a person and a deer.’ She paused. ‘So, are you now telling me that the people in the burning car were shot?’

‘I’m afraid we are.’

‘That’s quite appalling. What is this world coming to?’

‘A good question,’ Haddock conceded. ‘Mrs Walker, have you seen anyone recently who was out of the ordinary?’

‘Around here, most people are out of the ordinary. You may think of this as an isolated spot on the edge of a busy city, but it isn’t. Further on up the road, the reservoir, and the one beyond, are very popular places. They’re stocked with trout; lots of people pass by here on the way to a few hours’ fishing. Some stay longer; I believe there is holiday accommodation. The fact is, if we see strangers here, we don’t give them a second glance.’

‘Don’t you feel exposed?’

‘No.’ For the first time, she allowed them a hint of a smile, although it was condescending. ‘We have complete faith in the police, and we have a very good alarm system, with cameras.’

Pye was about to remark that having a double murder a hundred yards from their driveway might make them think about reviewing their security, when he was interrupted by his phone, vibrating in his pocket. ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured, taking it out.

A warm female voice sounded in his ear. ‘Sammy, it’s Sarah Grace here.’

‘Hello, Prof,’ he replied. ‘It seems hardly any time since we left your place of work. You have been home, haven’t you?’

‘Not for long. There was a question from the autopsies that I wanted to answer as soon as I could,’ he could sense her smile, ‘and now I’m happy to say I have.’

‘Good for you. Does it take us any further?’

‘It might, although it might also need a bit of legwork on your part. Remember the stomach contents that I wasn’t sure about?’

‘I’ll never forget them.’ Pye’s own stomach threatened to heave as he recalled the moments of their recovery.

‘I’ve identified them. Dino and Anna had the same last meal, no more than three hours before they died: venison burger, in a bun. She had mustard on hers, he had piccalilli. I hope that helps you.’

The DCI beamed. ‘Oh I think it might. Thanks, Sarah.’

He winked at Haddock. ‘Our next port of call, after we do the press briefing,’ he announced. ‘Mrs Walker, thanks for your help. I don’t think we’ll heed to haul your husband out of his meeting with the Secretary of State. Nor will we need a formal statement from you; if there is anything else, we’ll get back to you.’

The DS waited until the front door had closed behind them before giving in to his curiosity. ‘So?’ he exploded.

‘Remember Jagger’s speciality burger yesterday?’ Pye retorted. ‘Well,’ he said, not waiting for Haddock’s nod, ‘after we left, he had two more customers.’

Twenty-Eight

Mario McGuire had ordered that Sammy Pye should be senior investigating officer on both the Zena case and the murders of Dino and Anna, and that he should take a press briefing at the former Edinburgh police HQ.

The DCI was used to being on camera, but he had never been in the hot seat at a formal media conference before such a large audience. He was set to be flanked on the platform by Haddock, for little more than moral support, and by a woman he had never met before. Her name was Isabel Cant, ScotServe’s deputy head of communications, and to Pye, she set new standards in abrasiveness.

‘There’s your statement,’ she said, as they waited in a small room behind the conference hall, five minutes before they were due on stage, and as she thrust a sheaf of paper into his hands. ‘Your Q and A brief is there too, but I’ll field the questions and decide which we can answer.’

‘We?’ Sauce Haddock murmured, beside him.

‘This is a team event, Detective Sergeant,’ she snapped.

‘Fine,’ he chuckled, ‘so where’s my team sheet?’

‘You don’t need one. You won’t be saying anything. This is a very high-profile situation, and very sensitive in media terms. I can’t run the risk of you coming out with information that can’t be revealed at this stage.’

‘In that case,’ Pye intervened, looking up from the text, ‘what’s this doing here? We’re naming the child?’

‘That’s been decided at the highest level,’ she said. ‘The father is incommunicado and could be so for months. In those circumstances, we can waive the “next of kin informed” tradition on this occasion. It’s only ever done as a courtesy anyway.’

‘The highest level? Does that mean the chief constable, or DCC McGuire?’

Cant’s stare reminded him of one of his primary school teachers: he had hated that woman. ‘No, it means the director of communications.’

‘And is that person,’ he began, his voice low and slow, ‘aware that the mother is still unconscious in hospital after surgery? Is he aware that the link between her injuries and the child’s death hasn’t been revealed to anyone outside my team? Is he aware that I don’t want her waking up to find a posse of journos outside her room?’

He took out his phone, scrolled through his contact numbers and offered it to her. ‘There. That’s DCC McGuire’s number. Would you like to call him and tell him what we’re about to do?’

‘I don’t need to. This is my department’s remit. We’re responsible for all media communications.’

Haddock laughed. ‘So you’re going to swan in here and tell an SIO what he can and can’t say about his own investigation?’

‘Welcome to the world of ScotServe,’ Isabel Cant said.

‘Welcome to the world of the Menu,’ Sammy Pye retorted. ‘It’ll still be our arses on the line out there, never yours, so we will make the rules.’ He checked the time on his phone and put it back in his pocket. ‘We won’t be needing you in there.’

‘I think you’ll find that you do,’ she snapped back at him.

‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you call your boss while you’re waiting here, and find out who’s right and who’s wrong about that? Meantime we’re going to do our job the way we see fit.’

He opened the door and stepped into the conference room, leaving Haddock to close it behind them.

Twenty-Nine

‘Are you prepared for the wrath of God to crash around your ears?’

‘If necessary, sir,’ Pye told the deputy chief constable. ‘I made a judgement and acted on it.’

‘And personalities had nothing to do with it?’

‘I hope not. How can I put this? I’d like to think that Ms Cant and I had different perceptions of our relative roles in a police investigation, and that mine prevailed.’

‘Thanks to Haddock slamming a door in the face of a senior civilian colleague?’

‘Not true, sir.’ The DCI winked at the detective sergeant. ‘He closed it very gently.’

‘Jesus,’ McGuire sighed, the sound amplified by the phone’s speaker. ‘You do know that the new media structure was signed off personally by Sir Andrew?’

‘I didn’t, but I hope he’ll support his officers when it leads to a conflict of priorities.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Sammy, cut out the diplomatic language. You were told to release the child’s name and you countermanded that instruction.’

‘As senior investigating officer, sir,’ Pye countered, ‘I take my orders from my line managers. As far as I know, Isobel Cant isn’t one of them.’

‘As far as you know,’ the DCC mimicked. ‘Man, it doesn’t work like that any more. In a force of our size, there has to be a recognised communications structure and the professionals within it must have their own form of authority. If Ms Cant, or Peregrine Allsop, her boss, give you a draft, you have to think of it as coming from Sir Andrew himself. What you don’t do is tell her to stick it up her arse.’

‘That’s not fair, sir,’ Haddock protested. ‘The gaffer was a damn sight more polite than she was.’

‘Butt out, Detective Sergeant,’ McGuire growled. ‘I’ll tell you what’s fucking fair, and what’s not.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Accepted; remember it. Now: incredibly fortunately for you two, I agree with you in this instance, and I’ve managed to calm the chief down. Ms Cant breached the new protocol herself, by not discussing the communications strategy with the SIO and taking his views into account. That’s your wiggle room. You are doubly lucky, in that once I explained your view to Sir Andrew he agreed with that too, albeit grudgingly, and asked Allsop to tell Cant to stay out of your hair for the duration of this investigation.’

‘Thanks, sir,’ Pye said. ‘I knew you’d go to bat for us.’

‘Yeah, well, don’t go taking it for granted,’ the DCC mumbled. ‘You’ll need to make your peace with them both at some point, but for now, do things your way. So,’ he continued, ‘what did you tell the media?’

‘I told them as much as I could. I told them that the results of the autopsy on the dead child led us to continue treating her death as suspicious, rather than murder. There was a lot of grumbling when I said I couldn’t name her . . .’

McGuire interrupted. ‘How did you explain that?’

‘With the truth: that there’s a problem contacting the father. They pressed me on why, but they gave up on it when I told them that the prime suspect in the abduction, and his girlfriend, had been found shot dead in a burned-out car.’

‘Yes, that would get their attention,’ McGuire chuckled. ‘Did you name both of them?’

‘Yes, I was able to do that. The DNA confirmation came through at nine thirty, and the police in Gdansk, Anna’s home town, called us to confirm that they’d spoken to her parents.’

‘Photographs?’

‘Issued. Francey’s we had on file; the university had one of Anna on her admission record. Mind you, I’m sure it won’t be long before the red-tops are using the one that’s on a poster outside Lacey’s.’

‘And their killer?’ McGuire asked.

‘I told them what I told you, sir, that we’re still examining the crime scene. What I didn’t add was, outside that, there are absolutely no leads.’

‘Then you’d better go and get some, lads. In today’s news cycle, that’ll keep them busy for a couple of hours.’

‘Maybe a bit longer,’ Pye chuckled, softly. ‘One of the Fire and Rescue team must have a pal in the
Daily Record
newsroom. Their reporter collared us afterwards; she said they’d had a tip-off that the fire team leader at the crime scene went bats when he saw the car. I’d no reason to “no comment” her, so I confirmed it, and said that the guy was Francey’s brother-in-law. She went off in search of Levon Rattray. As soon as they break that online, the rest’ll have to play catch-up. They’ll be off our backs, for a wee while at least.’

‘Good,’ the DCC said, ‘use that time well; you have to keep ahead of the media on this one. There’s a lot resting on this investigation for you, chum. You’re not completely off the hook with the chief. He might have backed what you did this morning, but you still crossed him. The last thing he said to me was that if you don’t get a result, he’ll think about seconding you to the Communications Department. I don’t think he was joking either.’