A switchboard answered. ‘Mansion Park Hotel, how may I direct your call?’
Don thought about that question for a second. Then he decided. ‘I just need your address,’ he said, slapping his hand against the horn, letting Sam and Eddie know playtime was over. But Sam was holding up one finger. He had a call of his own and needed to answer it. He spoke a couple of words, then did a lot of listening. Not that Don Empson noticed, he was too busy jotting down the details of the hotel.
When Sam got back into the driving seat, first thing he said was, ‘We’ve got to head back to base.’
‘No way,’ Don argued. ‘I’ve just got Celine Watts’ address.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. And it means we’re going to Edinburgh.’
Sam seemed to hesitate. ‘Boss wants us back home.’
Don was shaking his head. He took out his own phone and punched in Gorgeous George’s number, started talking as soon as the call was answered.
‘George, I know where Celine Watts is, and I think she’s got the bag.’
There was silence for a moment. ‘Is that a fact, Don?’
George didn’t sound right somehow. Don found himself frowning. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘You’re coming back here, Don. Few questions that need answering.’
Don’s heart sank. ‘Look, George, I can fix this. Really I can.’
‘So where’s the money?’
‘Mansion Park Hotel in Edinburgh. Celine Watts has it.’
‘Have you been drinking, Don?’
‘Her name and address were in my car. Guy called Gravy ended up with it and thought Watts had to be a friend of…’ Don choked back the final word.
‘Friend of Benjy’s?’ George said.
‘Yes,’ Don muttered. The truth was finally out.
‘You saying this was his idea and not yours?’ George was asking.
‘It’s nothing to do with me!’
‘The boys will bring you back here, Don, and we can sort it all out.’
Don didn’t know what to say to that. George was asking him to pass the phone to Sam. He did as he was told. He could hear what George was saying. They were to take Don to a pub George owned. Put him in the cellar. Keep an eye on him. George would be along later. ‘Just as soon as I’ve checked out his story.’
Sam started the car. ‘Something you want to tell us?’ he asked Don, passing his phone back to him. Don pocketed it.
‘Not your business, lads. But Celine Watts most definitely is. I thought you’d want her stopped. She’s on the run, with a wedge of cash. If we don’t set off after her right now…’
‘That’s not what the boss wants, Don.’
‘He isn’t always right, you know.’
Sam nodded slowly. ‘All the same…’
All the same, Don knew which way the car would go. They were heading back towards Glasgow and a showdown.
Chapter Eleven. Jane and Bob Share Information
Patrol cars were on the hunt for George Renshaw. His usual lawyer had been told that the police wanted a word. But Jane knew that if Renshaw wanted to disappear, he would find it easy, in the short term at least.
She was back at the station. Andrew Hanley was in an interview room. He’d been reluctant to say anything, until told about the blood-stained shoes and the damage to his car. It would be a simple enough matter to match any flecks of paint to the car he’d reversed into on the garage forecourt. Then there was the newspaper with the meeting jotted down on it.
‘I want to talk to my solicitor,’ Hanley had stated, head in hands, a cold cup of coffee on the table in front of him.
‘Your wife’s in the next room, Mr Hanley. Do you want a word with her too?’
Bob and Jane met in the corridor. They had big smiles for one another.
‘I’m going to be Willy Wonka by the end of this,’ Bob said. Jane patted his arm.
‘We’re not out of the woods yet.’
‘No, but we’re getting there.’ He held up a slip of paper. The list of tasks she had given him. ‘Initial forensic report, same fingerprints on the Bentley and the car in the graveyard. Probably Don Empson’s, but that’ll take a bit longer to confirm. Blood and brain matter on one wing of the Bentley, Raymond’s, I’m pretty sure. And by the way, the Bentley’s owner’s not too happy with the valet job.’
Jane smiled and folded her arms, knowing there was more to come. Bob checked his list again.
‘Blood in the graveyard is the same group as one of the pools in the garage. Again, we’re waiting for a DNA match.’
‘But no blood in the graveyard car?’
‘No.’
‘And none inside either the Bentley or Benjamin Flowers’ abandoned sportster?’
Bob shook his head. ‘But Benjy’s employer says he’s gone AWOL.’
‘Our wounded gunman? Missing, along with some cash and Empson’s BMW.’
‘Find one and we probably find all three.’
‘What about this guy who works at the graveyard, how does he fit in?’
Bob shrugged. ‘Maybe he doesn’t. But a pound to a penny says it comes down to Stewart Renshaw.’
Jane’s eyes narrowed. ‘How so?’
‘Word is, he’s got a new casino looking for planning permission.’
‘Has he now?’ Jane thought for a moment. ‘But he’s on the straight and narrow, isn’t he?’
‘We’ve never had proof to the contrary, if that’s what you mean.’ Bob pursed his lips.
‘Well, well.’ Jane folded her arms, deep in thought. ‘Hanley goes to the garage to pick up a bribe. It goes wrong somehow.’
‘Somebody got greedy.’
‘Benjamin Flowers?’ She nodded slowly. ‘I’d still like to get my hands on Don Empson,’ she said.
‘You need to be patient.’
She stared at him. ‘Meaning what?’
‘Meaning putting the team to work. Stake out anywhere George Renshaw or Don Empson might turn up. At least one of them’s got to be on the hunt for Benjy, and my guess would be Empson.’
‘Hunting his own nephew?’
It was Bob’s turn to nod.
‘So all we can do is wait?’ she asked.
‘All we can do is wait,’ Bob confirmed.
Gorgeous George needs a taxi
It was a short walk from the café to the taxi office. George didn’t go there much, even though he owned the place. Owned all the taxis, too. He had someone else fronting the operation for him, but it was his money behind it, and him raking in the profits. Taxis, his dad had told him, were useful. You could use them for ferrying merchandise and people around the city and further afield. Nobody looked twice at a taxi. George was there because he needed a bit of ferrying himself. His car was at the scrapyard. There was no way he could go back for it. He had two more cars in the garage at his house, but he reckoned police would be waiting for him there too. So instead, he would use a taxi. As he walked into the office, the three drivers stood up. So did the woman who was working the telephone. Magazines and newspapers hit the floor. Mugs of tea trembled in their hands.
One thing they all knew. Somebody was in trouble.
‘Easy,’ George reassured them, holding his palms up. ‘Nothing to worry about, I just need a lift somewhere.’
All three were willing, pretended to be eager even. George pointed to the nearest one. ‘You’ll do,’ he said.