‘Do we know what she did about it?’
‘Not from her, but Mrs Dennis told Jimmy that she called back shortly afterwards to say that it had been taken care of.’
‘I can see why you’re asking about Steele. His investigation is the only thing we’ve got live at the moment that would trigger that sort of incident. So why did Dennis call the chief?’
‘I think she just wanted to make sure that it had been put to bed, because of the individual involved, the person whose identity MI5 were protecting. She told the chief, and this mustn’t leave this room, that it was Bob Skinner.’
‘Fuckin’ hell!’ the head of CID exploded. ‘It must have been Montell doing the digging,’ he continued. ‘Stevie told me that he was going through Zrinka Boras’s computer records to see if they threw up any recent contacts. I’d guess he was checking her incoming e-mails, and found one from him.’
‘What are we going to do about it?’
The chief superintendent chuckled. ‘Hey, Brian, you’re the man from the Command Corridor. You tell me.’
Mackie ran his hand over his bald dome in a trademark gesture. ‘No, I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to order you to do anything. This is a major investigation, and if you think this information will have any bearing on it, you’re at liberty to advise Steele, and have him show you the content of the e-mail. If the pair of you feel it necessary, you’re authorised to visit Bob, to tell him about it.’
‘You mean interview him, as in eliminate him from our enquiries? Thanks, pal, for dropping this one in my lap.’
‘What’s your thinking?’
McGuire gazed at him, hard. ‘My thinking, Brian, sir, is that I can spot the buck being passed a mile off, especially when it’s aimed at me. Well, I’m not catching it. I’m saying fuck-all to Steele, and I’m going to pretend that you haven’t been here. Can you imagine, for one second, what would happen if we did what you’re hinting at? No, if we even discussed it, and one hint of that conversation found its way to the media?’
‘Yes, but. .’
‘Brian, do some joined-up thinking here. Why do you think that the security service keeps an eye on big Bob’s private e-mail and mobile numbers? I know he’s a heavy and everything else, and that he’s been well involved with them over the years, but it’s more than that. You and I both know that he’s not just the DCC any more, he’s the partner of Aileen de Marco, this country’s First Minister.’
Forty-seven
When Steele collected him from his apartment building DC Griff Montell looked a different man from the one he had encountered on his arrival at the office. He was clean-shaven and well scrubbed. He had changed from the previous day’s clothes into black cords and leather jacket, worn over a white shirt that looked as if it might have been taken from the packet in which it had left Marks amp; Spencer. Only his brown-tinted sunglasses offered any hint that he might be feeling less than fresh as a daisy.
‘Do we know where Amy’s salon is?’ he asked, as he slid into the passenger seat beside the detective inspector.
‘Yes, it’s along Raeburn Place, just before you get to Edinburgh Accies’ rugby ground. There’s a big clue. It’s got “Mervyn” over the door.’
Steele found a parking place in the side-street beside the sports ground. As he had said, the hair salon was only a few yards away. As they entered they saw a girl’s back, as she bent over a customer, rubbing so vigorously at her head that Montell winced. At first he thought that she was Amy, until she stood straight and he realised that she was older and taller.
As they stood in the doorway a man came towards them, tall, slim, in his thirties and wearing a violet smock that almost reached the ground. ‘Good morning, officers,’ he said. ‘I’m Mervyn. What can I do for you?’
Steele smiled. ‘It’s that obvious, eh?’
Mervyn eyed Montell up and down. ‘You don’t look like the public-health department, that’s for sure.’
‘We’d like to see Amy Noone, please.’
‘So would I. I’ve got four clients in already, and she hasn’t turned up. I know she was upset yesterday, but I really need her.’
‘Has she called in sick?’
‘No, and that’s the bugger of it. She doesn’t seem to be at home. I called her half an hour ago, but got no answer. Her big fat boyfriend doesn’t know where she is either; I rang him too. He told me that they had a drink last night, and that it seemed to cheer her up a bit.’
‘Indeed? Well, thanks, er, Mervyn. We’ll go and check her place anyway, just in case she was in the toilet when you rang her. When we find her we’ll give her a lecture about responsibility, and advise her to get along here, pronto.’
‘Don’t be hard on her,’ said the hairdresser. ‘She’s never let me down before, and she really was in a state when she heard about Zrinka and Harry.’
‘We’ll be gentle as piglets,’ Steele promised him.
Amy Noone’s tiny apartment was in a cul-de-sac off a side-street from Comely Bank Avenue. Once it had been a garage, or even a stable, but in common with most of the buildings of its type in Edinburgh, it had been converted for human habitation. It was one floor up, but the entrance was at ground level, with a buzzer and intercom. Montell leaned on the button for a few seconds. They waited, but no sound came from the speaker grille.
‘No luck,’ the DC exclaimed. ‘Maybe she’s gone home to her mum for a day or two. Come on, Amy,’ he called out, ‘you’re holding up our investigation.’ He thumped the black door with the side of his right fist. It swung open.
‘Jesus, Griff,’ said Steele, ‘you haven’t broken the bloody lock, have you?’
Montell peered at the door frame. ‘No, boss, I haven’t; it must have been on the latch.’
‘Careless,’ the inspector murmured, ‘or. . Let’s take a look.’
A short narrow staircase, with rails on either side, rose up to the little flat. Steele led the way, opened the door to the living area, stepped inside and stopped in his tracks. ‘Aw, fuck!’ he moaned.
Amy Noone was lying on her back in the centre of the room, facing the morning sun and bathed in its light as it streamed through a big dormer window. She was naked, and her face was peaceful, as if she was in a dreamless sleep. Her dark hair, which had been in a ponytail when they had visited her the day before, was loose and neatly arranged, allowing them to see that it was streaked with honey-blonde highlights. Her arms were stretched out by her sides, palms down.
‘The bastard,’ Montell hissed. ‘This is just too much.’
Steele saw that behind the glasses his eyes were squeezed tight shut. ‘Hey,’ he said gently. ‘Hold it together.’
The DC nodded. ‘I will, boss, don’t worry. But you and Tarvil were talking to this kid only yesterday, and now look at her. Why the hell did he need to kill Amy? She wasn’t an artist.’
‘Neither was Harry.’
‘His body was hidden. Amy’s is laid out just like the other two.’
‘Yes. Now let’s stop making assumptions and get back to being professional about this. Don’t move; stay exactly where you are and look around. What do you see?’
Montell did as he had been ordered: slowly, carefully, he gazed round the room, doing his best to take in every detail. ‘I see a pink towelling dressing-gown, thrown over one of the dining chairs. There’s a T-shirt on top of it, and a pair of pants on the floor beside the gate-leg.’
‘Yes, go on.’
‘I see two mugs on the work surface, next to the sink beside the kettle, and a jar of coffee with the lid off. And a spoon. There are coffee granules spilled on the work surface.’
‘What don’t you see?’
The detective looked around the room for a second time, and then a third. ‘A bed,’ he replied eventually. ‘This is a studio apartment, she was in her night clothes at one point before she took them off, but I don’t see her bed.’
‘No,’ said Steele, ‘because it folds up into the wall, there, between those two cupboard doors. See? The legs are hinged and they tuck away too, but you can see four marks on the carpet where they stand when it’s down. She didn’t undress for this guy, Griff; probably the opposite. She dressed to let him in, and he stripped her again, after she was dead.’