‘I take it that Hassett and Sewell aren’t able to communicate.’
‘No, they can’t.’
‘Are they close enough together to hear activity around the other’s room?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Do they have windows?’
‘Shatterproof mirror glass: it doesn’t admit any light.’
‘In that case, tell your people to switch off the music and make plenty of noise moving Hassett, but not to tell him where he’s going. Once he’s out of there, stay silent. Go on, catch them before they start.’
He waited while Chalmers phoned again. When he was finished, he said, ‘Come on, big fella, let’s go for a stroll.’ He turned to Shannon. ‘Dottie, come with us; learn some more.’
Leaving Dennis in the hallway, the trio walked out of the front door. ‘How do we get down to the lower level?’ asked Skinner.
‘Over here.’ Chalmers led them along a path and down a flight of stone steps, which opened out into a sunken garden area, enclosed by a six-foot-high stone wall.
The DCC looked around and nodded. ‘Which is Sewell’s room?’
The big man pointed to a double window about twenty feet away.
‘Fine,’ he murmured. ‘Dottie, don’t ask questions, and don’t say anything.’ He took her by the arm and rushed her along the gravel that led past the cell, Winston following, heavy-footed, behind them as they turned into the garden, then stopped. ‘Okay, this’ll do,’ he said, slightly louder than was necessary. ‘Gun,’ he whispered to Chalmers, holding out his hand.
The other man grinned, as he understood what was happening. He took out his pistol and handed it to Skinner. ‘Kneel!’ he barked. Shannon stared at him, then jumped as the DCC fired two shots into the grass, by their feet. The two men retraced their steps along the gravel, past Sewell’s window: Shannon walked beside them but silently, on the grass, as Skinner directed.
It was only when they were back on the upper level that Skinner realised she was trembling. ‘Welcome to the dark side, Dottie,’ he said. ‘I don’t care how hard Sewell is, that’ll have got him thinking. With any luck Hassett heard as welclass="underline" we’ll find out when they’ve got him ready to talk to us, although it may take them a bit longer after that.’
Dennis was waiting for them inside, not in the hall but in a big lounge that looked out on to the upper garden. ‘He won’t fall for it, you know,’ she said.
‘Oh, no?’ Skinner replied. ‘The seed’s been planted. Winston, when we’ve finished with Hassett, make sure that he doesn’t get anywhere near Sewell. I want to keep that one isolated until I’m ready to talk to him. I may even delay it till tomorrow, to let him live with the uncertainty overnight.’ He saw the frown on Shannon’s face. ‘What is it, Dottie?’ he asked.
‘Well, sir, it’s just,’ she began hesitantly, ‘what you said in London about physical persuasion, and what you’ve just done. .’
‘Remember what I said about Galileo,’ he told her. ‘They only had to show him the rack. Sewell’s been trained to withstand this sort of stuff, but every little helps.’
Thirty-one
‘How long did you work for Starr, Mr Smith?’ asked Ray Wilding. ‘Ten years, did you say? And in all that time you saw nothing happening there that wasn’t related to the bookmaking business. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Aye,’ Big Ming replied, ‘that’s whit Ah’m telling yis.’
‘So is Eddie Charnwood.’
‘So why do yis believe him and no’ me?’
‘I’m not saying that’s the case, but you worked longer hours than Mr Charnwood. He had keys, but so have you. In your earlier statement you told us that you opened the shop in the morning to pin up the day’s race cards, and you locked up at night after you cleaned up.’
‘Most nights. Sometimes Gary wid stay on late and Ah’d tidy up the next morning.’
‘So you’re changing your statement?’ Mackenzie snapped.
‘Ah’m telling yis what happened.’
‘And how often did it happen? How often did Mr Starr let you go early?’
‘Ah don’t know, maybe once or twice a month.’
‘Every two weeks or every four weeks? That’s quite a significant difference. Come on, Mr Smith, stretch your big brain, how often was it?’
The witness glared across the interview-room table at the chief inspector. ‘All right, it was every other week, sometimes more than that.’
‘Very good; that’s us gone from once a month to once a week. Listen, chum, you’ll be out of here a lot sooner if you give us precise answers, not guesses and approximations.’
Wilding picked up a sheet of paper from the table. ‘You’re a man of hidden depths, James, aren’t you?’
‘Ah dinna ken whit yis mean.’
‘When you were interviewed by my colleague DS Pye, after the incident in the shop on Friday, you came out with something about Pamplona bulls. He told me you almost took his breath away. When the hell did you hear about them?’
Big Ming shifted in his chair, as if something sharp had dug into him. ‘Ah dinna ken,’ he mumbled.
‘Look at me,’ said Wilding. He waited until the man caught his gaze. ‘You, with your overpowering intellect, tell me that you don’t know when you first heard of the Pamplona bull run, and you expect me to believe you. As my colleague said, don’t piss us about. The rules here are simple: we ask questions, you give us honest answers. Come on, now, try again: how did you first hear of the Pamplona bull run?’
‘Ah’ve seen it,’ Big Ming replied, grudgingly, yet with a touch of pride. ‘Ah’ve been there.’
‘Do you go to Spain often?’
‘Who, me?’
‘There you go again. Answers only, please.’
‘Naw,’ Smith mumbled. ‘Ah’ve only been there a couple o’ times.’
‘How many?’
‘Two or three.’
‘Which?’
‘Three.’
‘And which parts of Spain did you visit? Remember,’ Wilding added, ‘we can check.’
Big Ming swallowed the enormous lie, hook, line and sinker. ‘Pamplona,’ he murmured, ‘just Pamplona.’
‘When?’
‘The last three years, in July, when they wis runnin’ the bulls.’
‘Bullshit!’ Mackenzie exclaimed.
‘Naw, it’s no’,’ the witness protested. ‘It’s true.’
‘And why, with respect,’ asked Wilding, ‘would a Leither like you develop a sudden love for Fiesta de San Fermín and for the capital of Navarre? It’s not your usual holiday. It’s hardly the Costa Brava, Mr Smith, is it?’
‘It’s good there.’
‘Maybe, but it’s about a hundred kilometres away from the nearest beach, and I’ll bet you can’t get Belhaven Best. Why did you go there?’
Big Ming sighed: the extravagant gesture seemed to make his body odour even more intense. ‘Ah went because Gary asked me tae,’ he said wearily.
‘Mr Starr asked you to go there,’ Wilding repeated.
‘Aye.’
‘Why?’
‘He never said.’
‘Come on, Mr Smith. We’ve been doing so well up to now.’
‘He jist asked me to go, honest.’
‘How?’
‘Ah told yis, Ah dinna ken how.’
‘No, Mr Smith, that’s “how” as in by what means, not “how” as in why.’
‘He lent me his car.’
‘He did what? That was bloody generous of him, wasn’t it?’
‘Ah suppose it wis: Ah never thought of it that way, but.’
‘What kind of car was it?’
‘A Mercedes: one o’ they wee ones. It wis a dieseclass="underline" went for ever on a tankful.’
‘How did you get to Spain?’
‘Ah drove it down tae Portsmouth and got the ferry tae Bilbao.’
‘Just you? Nobody else?’
Big Ming gave the detective a look that spoke for itself: he had nobody else.
‘When you got to Pamplona, what did you do?’
‘Ah checked intae a hotel and parked the car in a garage.’
‘You mean a covered park?’
‘Naw, it was a proper garage. Gary telt me tae go there; he said Ah could leave the car there, and pick it up when Ah wis ready tae go back.’
‘How long did you stay there?’
‘Four days, then Ah got the ferry back.’
‘Who did you meet when you were there?’