‘And?’
‘And so I called it. I had a pint with him last night in a pub up in Nicholson Street; bloody freezing it was, by the way. The heating had packed in. We talked about this and that, and the next thing. I asked what he was doing with himself, and he said that he had some business on the go, an investment in a nightclub, and in a new one that’s opening down at the foot of Dundas Street.’
‘How did he look?’
‘Older than his years, but otherwise okay. Somewhere during the third pint, I finally managed to work your name into the conversation, to see how he’d react. I have to say that “disinterested” is the best description I can come up with. I told him you were doing really well with your firm. He just shrugged and said, “Surprise, surprise. I’ll bet she’s got them all by the balls.” Sorry, dear, that’s a direct quote.’
‘If I had they’d all be a bigger handful than his,’ Alex grunted vengefully.
‘Tut, tut! That’s my young cousin you’re speaking about. Anyway, I came out and told him that you’d been having nasty phone calls.’
‘Jesus, Gina, I just wanted you to track him down for me, not confront him with it.’
‘And how exactly were you planning to do that?’
Alex’s reply was stalled by the surly waiter who came to take their orders. When he had gone to fetch two caprese salads, she said, ‘I hadn’t worked that out yet, but still. .’
‘Well, it’s done. When I told him he just laughed and said, “Tough fucking luck.” I told him it wasn’t funny, and that when your dad’s guys traced whoever was doing it they’d have him for breakfast, lunch and high tea, then make soup with what was left. He didn’t have anything to say to that.’
‘So what do you think? Could it be him?’
Gina frowned, unusually serious. ‘I’d love to say “No,” because he is my kin. I’d even like to say “Yes,” because then it could all be sorted. But honestly, love, I just don’t know.’
Seventy-six
‘One of the great skills of police work, Jimmy,’ said Bob Skinner, his voice sounding weary on the phone, ‘and probably of life, lies in knowing, instinctively, which can is the one with the worms in it. Thus forewarned, you can decide whether or not you want to open it.’
‘That’s as cynical as I’ve ever heard you, my friend,’ the chief constable replied. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m tired, and I’m three thousand miles away from home. Most of all, I’m borne down by the knowledge that however hard guys like you and me labour to protect the innocent and bring the guilty to justice, there’s another level where different rules apply, and where expediency is all that matters. I feel dirty, because I’ve become a part of it myself, and worse, because I’ve dragged a pleasant, upright young woman into it with me and let her see things that she’ll have nightmares about for the rest of her life. She didn’t belong in the dark, and I brought her into it.’
‘That’s not your fault, Bob.’
‘Ah, but it is, it is. When Evelyn Grey asked me to do this investigation for him, I knew what was inside the can. Worms? Snakes, Jimmy; fucking cobras. I could have said, “No, thank you,” but I didn’t: I chose to open it.’
‘Have you killed them all?’
‘All but one. There’s a great big king cobra at the head of it alclass="underline" I’ve still got to take care of him.’
‘That sounds like a tall order. Do you not want to call it quits and come home?’
‘Yes, but I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to finish it.’
‘How are you going to kill a king cobra?’
‘How else? I’m going to charm him. Then when he isn’t expecting it. . I’m going to cut his damned head off.’
As Proud listened to his friend, Kevin O’Malley’s report thrust itself back into his mind. To the chief he sounded lonely, more tense and strung out than he had ever known him. ‘Bob,’ he said, ‘your counsellor has recommended to me that you should be given time off: a six-month sabbatical, he called it, to get you out of the front line. I’m inclined to agree with him. What do you say?’
‘I’m not in the front line, Jimmy; I’m somewhere behind the fucking lines and I’m not even sure who the enemy is any more. Christ, I might be the enemy myself.’
‘Then maybe you should take some time to yourself and work it out.’
‘We’ll talk about it when I get back. But not sick leave: I will not take sick leave.’
‘I’m not suggesting that: it’ll be a formal sabbatical. I’ll send you off to write a thesis on policing; I can arrange for Edinburgh University to publish it.’
Three thousand miles away, Skinner yawned. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Apart from anything else, it would let me spend some time with the kids when they need it, to get them used to the idea of Sarah being gone. Like I say, we’ll talk about it.’ He paused. ‘So, this business of yours: you’ve spoken to the Friend woman, you said. How did she take it when you told her that you were certain her mother was dead?’
‘She was disappointed, more for her daughter than for herself. She’s never known her mother, and she’s a strong woman, so she’ll get over it. At least she’s found an aunt and uncle she never knew she had.’
‘And how about you? How do you feel, now that your investigation’s hit the wall?’
‘You don’t think we’re going to find him?’
‘No. Mario’s got you doing all the right things, but I’ll be surprised if trawling other unsolved crimes gets you a result. It’s a miracle that Bothwell got away with it three times: an obviously clever guy like him wouldn’t push his luck.’
‘But if he’s a serial killer, Bob, surely he couldn’t stop himself?’
‘He isn’t a serial killer, not as the term is commonly understood. From what you’ve told me, he did it for money. His first wife was wealthy and her fortune disappeared with her; you know that Primrose was left money by her mother and you know that the Spanish woman’s father was in the hotel business. It’s quite possible that after he’d got as much out of her as he could, he killed her and moved on. Maybe he took Annabelle with him; she didn’t have a penny so she doesn’t fit the pattern. Maybe she was the love of his life. Maybe, somewhere, she still is.’
‘You think so?’
‘I don’t know. I’m just airing possibilities, that’s all. But that’s all they will ever be, for his trail’s gone cold, unless I’m wrong and your public appeal does get a response, or unless there’s something you’ve overlooked.’
‘I’m pretty sure there isn’t, and if there was, someone else would have noticed it.’
‘If it’s in the file, that’s true. I’ve got to go now, Jimmy. Why don’t you take some time alone, and think everything through. Goodbye now, see you soon.’
Proud hung up and called his secretary. ‘Gerry, ask Mr Haggerty to postpone our meeting for half an hour.’
Seventy-seven
McIlhenney stared across his desk at his friend. ‘I know this isn’t the first of April. I know this isn’t Friday the thirteenth. So why the hell are you sitting in my office taking the piss out of me?’
‘Would that I were; it’s all too bloody true. On his QC’s advice, Eddie bloody Charnwood has withdrawn his statement. He’s saying that it was extracted under threats made against his wife. Now he’s pleading not guilty to everything and he’s going to trial. I’ve just had the Crown Office on the phone breaking the bad news.’
‘Shit. Just when I was starting to look forward to Christmas.’
‘Aye, but there’s worse.’
‘There can’t be.’
‘There is. The Crown Agent is getting nervous about the evidence. He’s saying that Charnwood opened the safe of his own free will, which doesn’t exactly point to guilt. He’s also pointing out that Big Ming was a work colleague and Joe Falconer was a relation, so his prints could have been on their premises from perfectly innocent visits.’
‘Nobody goes to the Wild West innocently, man.’
‘I know that and you know that, but a gullible jury might not.’