‘Maybe we should take our time catching him, then.’
‘Don’t let the bosses hear you saying that, pal. Anyway, if you weren’t here, what would you be doing this afternoon?’
‘Shoving a trolley round Safeway,’ Singh admitted.
‘Where?’
‘Sa. . Ah, sorry, I forgot you’re new in Scotland. Round Morrison’s, I should have said. The name changed a few years back. The trolleys are still the same, though. What about you, what would you be up to? Battering some poor sod around a rugby field, I suppose.’
‘Nah, the season’s over. I’d probably have bumped my trolley into yours.’
‘And who are you shopping with these days?’
‘My sister,’ Montell replied, ‘so don’t get any funny ideas. By the way, I don’t think London will be a swan for those two. Interviewing somebody else’s prisoner is never easy, especially when two investigations run across each other.’
‘You sound like you’ve had experience.’
‘I have, back home in the South African Police Service.’
‘What did you do there?’
‘Detective service; serious crime division, including organised crime.’
‘Heavy?’
‘Believe it. Wilding would not be so laid-back there, I’ll tell you.’
‘Ray would be laid-back anywhere. He and the DI flew down together, but they’re on open tickets. I will bet you a nice chicken Balti that he winds up persuading the boss to let him stay over in London till tomorrow.’
‘Deal. If you’re right, bring your wife and we’ll make it a foursome.’
‘With you and your sister?’
‘Maybe.’ As he spoke, the phone rang. ‘Thank Christ,’ he said, ‘I was beginning to think that Padstow had been caught and nobody’d told us.’ He snatched the phone from its cradle. ‘Montell.’
‘Griff,’ came a tired voice, ‘it’s Willie at the front desk. I’ve got a guy here wants to talk to the DI or whoever’s in charge in CID in his absence. Do you and the big fella want to toss for it?’
‘What does he have for us?’
‘He won’t say. He just wants to talk to somebody, and he doesnae look like he’s going to take no for an answer.’
‘How would he feel about “fuck off”?’ The South African chuckled. ‘I’m kidding, Willie. What’s his name?’
‘David Barnes.’
‘Barnes, you say. What’s his connection?’
‘Hey,’ Singh called to him. ‘First name David?’ Montell nodded. ‘He’s Zrinka’s brother; that’s the name he took after he set up his own business.’
‘In that case he’s responding to an e-mail the DI had me send to him. Willie, show Mr Barnes into a vacant interview room, give him a cup of coffee and tell him we’ll join him in a couple of minutes.’
‘Will do, Griff.’
The detective constable hung up. ‘We see him together, Tarvil, okay?’
‘Shouldn’t we get somebody senior in?’
‘Like who?’
‘DCS McGuire? He lives not far from here.’
‘And he’s probably on the golf course, or whatever he does at the weekend. Do you ever want to make sergeant? You don’t do it by shirking responsibility. We’ll call McGuire if it becomes necessary, but only then. Look, I’ll see him on my own, if you don’t want to come.’
‘No, I’ll chum you. Why go downstairs, though? Why not just bring him upstairs?’
‘With photographs of his dead sister and her boyfriend pinned to the whiteboard, and him half-eaten by foxes?’
‘True,’ Singh conceded grimly. ‘I’ll put the phones on divert to Willie. Let’s go.’
The two detectives jogged downstairs to the public entrance. ‘Room two,’ said the desk sergeant. Montell nodded and led the way along a short corridor to a white-painted door; he knocked, and swung it open.
The man who waited there turned to face them as they entered. He was smaller than either of them, but still stood around six feet. He was casually dressed, in blue denims, jeans and jacket, with a white T-shirt with a garish design on the front, tight-fitting and tapering into a narrow waist. On his head sat a baseball cap embroidered with parrots, and a slogan, ‘Margaritaville’.
‘Mr Barnes.’
He looked back at the South African, his ice-blue eyes made all the more vivid by a deep tan. ‘Yes,’ he replied quietly. ‘And you are?’
‘Detective Constables Montell and Singh.’ Griff smiled. ‘Guess which is which. Our senior officers are out of town on the investigation, I’m afraid.’
‘The investigation: does that mean that you know who I am?’
’Yes, we do. You only call yourself Dražen when you’re with your sister, isn’t that right?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘I saw the last e-mail you sent her. I typed the reply, on my boss’s instructions.’
‘In that case, I appreciate the way you used the present tense just now, but it was unnecessary. I know that Zrinka is dead, and how.’
‘I’m sorry you had to find out through the press.’
‘What makes you think I did?’ David Barnes asked him. ‘I flew into Gatwick from JFK early this morning. After I’d picked up my luggage, I switched on my lap-top at a Wi-fi hot spot, to check my e-mails. I found a shedload of messages including a triple urgent one from my secretary.
‘I called my mother straight away and she told me what had happened. I couldn’t believe it; I just couldn’t believe it. I jumped in a taxi, and went straight to their place. We spent some time together. Then I read the rest of my mails; I saw yours, and decided that I should come up to Edinburgh straight away.’
‘You didn’t have to do that,’ said Montell. ‘A call would have been enough.’
‘No, I wanted to see you; I want to find out about the investigation. My father told me that his man Barker has embarrassed everyone, and got himself into trouble. My father and I have been estranged for some time, but he felt that I could do some good by coming to Edinburgh. He feels that Barker’s stupidity may have compromised him in some way. Is that so?’
‘That’s why DI Steele isn’t here,’ Singh told him. ‘He’s in London, putting the thumbscrews on the guy.’
‘I shouldn’t say so,’ said Barnes, ‘but I’m glad to hear it. I never liked that man, although in truth I didn’t mind my father employing him. My dad and I are business rivals, as you probably know by now, and I’ve always thought that Barker was more of a hindrance to him than a help.’
‘Look,’ Montell said suddenly, ‘this isn’t going to be a formal interview and this is a fucking awful place to be stuck on a nice day. If you’d like, we can go somewhere more pleasant to chat.’
‘I’d appreciate that. I’ve never been in a police office before and, no offence, but if this one is typical, I don’t want to be in any others.’
‘Come on, then; we’ll go to the Waterfront. Tarvil doesn’t drink, so he can drive us.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ the big Sikh grumbled, but he fished his car keys from his pocket and waved them towards the door.
Singh had what he sometimes called copper’s luck. There was an empty parking space fifty yards from the Waterfront wine bar, and a spare table in a quiet corner of the conservatory area when they went inside.
‘This is much better,’ said David Barnes, as he chose a seat with a view across the waters of Leith Docks, their surroundings much changed by the construction of upmarket new flats. As he hung his jacket over the chair, the detectives caught a glimpse of vivid embroidery on the back.
‘Yes,’ Montell agreed. ‘Way back, this place was a waiting room for passengers on the Leith to Aberdeen steamship route.’
‘I never knew that,’ Singh exclaimed.
‘It’s true, Alex told me.’
‘It’ll be gospel, in that case,’ said a voice, from behind him.
The South African turned, and looked up at Mario McGuire. ‘Boss, I never saw you when we came in.’
‘That should go without saying: ignoring me would not be good. I’m at a table just round the corner, with Paula.’ He paused, unsmiling. ‘I thought you guys were on duty.’
‘We are, sir, but we felt these surroundings were more appropriate.’
‘In the circumstances I agree.’ He leaned across and offered a handshake to Barnes. ‘My condolences for your loss,’ he said.