‘Naebody.’
‘Where did you stay?’
‘In a hotel. It was called the Three Kings: that isnae its Spanish name, like, but that’s whit it means in English.’
‘Los Tres Reyes,’ Wilding murmured.
‘Aye, that wis it. It wis a barry hotel like.’
‘A what?’ asked Mackenzie.’
‘Barry means “good” in Edinburgh-speak, sir,’ the sergeant explained.
‘Aye, good,’ Big Ming concurred. ‘Fuck knows whit it cost: Gary paid for it wi’ his card, and he gi’ed me money for petrol an’ ma drink.’
‘But you met nobody when you stayed there?’ Wilding asked again.
‘Naebody.’
‘Didn’t the whole arrangement strike you as odd? A free trip to Spain three years on the trot?’
‘Gary said it was a bonus, like; tax-free, like.’ His face fell as a thought struck him. ‘Yis’ll no’ tell the Inland Revenue, will yis?’
‘If I find out that you’ve been making all this up, Mr Smith, the Inland Revenue is going to be the least of your worries. If I find out that you’ve missed out the smallest detail, likewise. What was the name of the garage?’
‘Ah cannae remember. It was in a place called Carrer. . that’s whit they ca’ streets there. . Ortiz, that’s all Ah ken.’
‘What happened when you dropped the car off?’
‘Nothin’. Ah just said tae the bloke there that Ah wis frae Edinburgh, and he took the keys aff me. When Ah went back, he gave me them back; Ah never had tae pay nothin’, like.’
‘Did you notice anything about the car when you picked it up?’
Big Ming looked puzzled. ‘Naw. Naebody had been usin’ it if that’s whit yis mean. Ah’d have kent frae the petrol tank. Naebody had been smokin’ in it either, and a’ thae Spanish folk smoke. Gary would have gone mental if any cunt hid been smokin’ in his motor.’
Wilding glanced sideways at Mackenzie. ‘A minute outside, sir.’
‘Yes. I think so. We’ll be back in a minute, Mr Smith.’ The two detectives rose and left the room. ‘That was a very nice kite, Ray,’ said the chief inspector, as the door closed. There was more than a trace of sarcasm in his voice. ‘It would have been nice to know in advance that you were going to fly it, though. We’re a team and we should operate that way. I don’t like surprises from my own side of the table in mid-interview.’
‘I’m sorry you feel that way, boss. I didn’t pre-plan anything: the idea just came to me as we spoke. I had no idea where it was going to take us.’
‘So what are you thinking?’
‘That we should get hold of Starr’s car and take it apart: see what traces we find in it.’
‘Do you think Big Ming’s as dumb as he’s letting on?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir, but if he was doing what we think he was, he’s hardly going to come right out and tell us about it, is he?’
‘He didn’t strike me as that quick on his feet, I admit. Can you remember if there’s a garage at Starr’s house?’
‘Yes, there is. The door opens on to the lane behind.’
‘Then let’s see if the car’s there: if it is we’ll have it taken up to the park behind Fettes.’
‘I’ll alert DI Dorward. His people will have to strip it.’
‘They’ll need help: I’ll phone the local Mercedes dealership and see if they’ll lend us a mechanic. We’ll need a specialist for this job.’
‘You’re sure about this? I don’t want to handle the flak on my own if we spend all this time and money and the thing comes up clean.’
Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you trust me, Wilding?’ he asked.
‘It’s an old principle, sir, called covering my arse.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence! Don’t worry, I’ll sign off on it. Gary Starr wasn’t the sort of man to hand out free holidays, least of all in his car. Besides, I’ve got my own reasons for following this through. Ray, when I was on the Drugs Squad I reckoned I knew all the sources and all the suppliers, except one. I’ve never been able to pin him down, until now.’
‘Should we inform the Drugs Squad, and the SDEA for that matter?’
‘No, we’ll run with it for now. I’m not letting them in on it until I have to.’
‘Are you not going to tell Mr McIlhenney?’
‘No, I’m fucking not! Are you suggesting I don’t have authority here?’
‘No, sir, it’s your shout.’
‘Thank you for that,’ said the chief inspector, sarcastically. ‘Now, before we go up to Starr’s place, make that call to Dorward. I’m going back in to see Smith.’
Mackenzie stepped back into the interview room with a grin on his face. Big Ming saw it and looked even more nervous. ‘Did you really never ask any questions about these free holidays, Mr Smith?’
The man shifted in his seat once more, sending another stale blast across the table. ‘Listen, mister, you didnae know Gary. He was a’ right, but he didnae like being asked questions. If Ah had, then Eddie Charnwood would have got the freebies.’
‘I doubt that, Mr Smith: Mr Charnwood would certainly have asked what it was all about.’ To his surprise, Mackenzie felt a sudden wave of sympathy for the hapless witness before him. ‘Ming,’ he found himself saying, ‘I’ve got some bad news for you. Starr had another business interest apart from bookmaking. He was a cocaine dealer, and it looks as if he set you up to import the stuff for him.’
The last vestige of colour drained from the big man’s face. ‘Naw,’ he whimpered.
‘I’m afraid so: we still have some checks to do, and we’ll need to keep you here while we make them. If it’s confirmed, you’ll be asked to remember every last detail of those trips to Spain, and to help us identify everyone you spoke to or saw at that garage. It’ll be your way out of the situation. Do you understand me?’
The man nodded his greasy head. ‘Aye.’
‘Good man.’ Mackenzie rose to leave, then stopped. ‘You know, there’s one thing about all this that still puzzles me. We know that Starr lied about the incident in the shop on Friday. There was no attempted armed robbery: he mutilated that lad, deliberately. So why the hell did he call the police afterwards?’
‘He didnae,’ Big Ming muttered.
The detective stared at him. ‘What did you say?’
‘It wis me that got the polis. When Ah went in the shop, after the boy bumped intae me, and saw that finger lyin’ on the counter, Ah got such a fricht Ah ran back oot again. Ah saw a panda car turning intae Evesham Street, and Ah flagged it doon. Gary wisnae pleased: Ah could hear him in the shop cryin’, “What the fuck are ye daein’?” but it wis too late by then.’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘An’ ye ken whit? Ah still ken that boy frae somewhere.’
‘In that case,’ said Mackenzie, ‘I think we should put your time with us to good use, by showing you some photographs. Maybe you’ll spot him again.’
Thirty-two
Outside, the last light of day was almost gone: the man sat at the table and looked out of the upper-storey window, his hands clasped around a mug of coffee to disguise the fact that they were trembling. His thick brown hair was still slightly damp from the shower, but he was freshly shaved, and dressed in crisp clean clothes. When the door opened behind him, he did not turn round for one simple reason: he was afraid. He had heard the gunshots earlier: he wondered about Sewell and whether when the sun rose next morning it would reveal a freshly turned patch of earth in the garden. And he wondered whether there was a second grave waiting.
Two figures, one male, one female, walked round the table and took seats opposite him. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Hassett,’ said the woman. ‘I am Detective Inspector Dorothy Shannon, and this is Deputy Chief Constable Bob Skinner, although I believe that you may have met already.’
‘We have,’ said Hassett, slowly. Some of the fear left him: these were police officers, therefore the aftermath was being handled officially. Still, there had been those gunshots.
It was as if Skinner had read his mind. ‘Sewell was a hopeless case,’ he said. ‘I knew as soon as I saw him, earlier this afternoon, that it would have been a waste of time interrogating him. I could never have relied on anything he told us. That was his choice: he knew what it would lead to.’