‘I suppose not. But this changes everything, you know. Instead of the locals blaming us, my people will be looking at them. Threats are nothing new to us; until now they’ve been hollow, though.’
‘Listen, Mr Baillie, we’re not jumping to any conclusions. This death will be investigated in the same way as any other, and that means we start by looking at the people closest to the victim, because statistically that’s nearly always where we get a result. Did Mr Mustafic have any enemies within your group? Have there been any disagreements lately?’
‘No, none at all. Asmir wasn’t a disagreeable sort; he was a quiet wee man. He was old school, a gypsy from the east; that means he enjoyed a sort of respect within the community.’
‘When did you see him last?’
‘Yesterday evening. He and I went for a drink, then he left to go somewhere else.’
‘On his own?’
‘Yes.’
‘You didn’t follow him?’ McDermid asked him.
Baillie smiled. ‘And bash his head in, you mean? No, and I can prove that. There was a third person with us. He and I stayed on in the pub for a while, and then we left to walk home, both of us. We got to the foot of Hill Road, then he went his way and I went mine.’
‘We’ll need to talk to him.’
‘I’m sure you will. He won’t be hard to find; his name’s Skinner and he’s your deputy chief.’
Regan grunted. ‘As soon as he hears about this he’ll be finding us. Are you telling me that you and the DCC were the last people to see Mr Mustafic alive?’
‘No, I’m not. I’ve just said he was going somewhere else when he left us. That tent back there was reeking of beer, and he only had the one with us. Az liked a drink, and he’d a few quid in his pocket; he’d have been somewhere till closing time. You ask around and you’ll find out where. Bar staff and their punters give us the eye whenever we go in to a pub — and that’s if they let us over the door. He’ll be remembered.’
‘No doubt,’ McDermid’s tone was sceptical ‘but none of that gives you an alibi. As soon as you and Mr Skinner parted company, you could have gone and lain in wait for Mustafic, ready to smash his head in.’
‘You could make the same suggestion to your boss, Sergeant, but I’m a gambling man and I’ll bet whatever’s in your wallet right now that you don’t.’
‘You will not even think about taking that bet, Lisa,’ Regan warned her, before she could open her mouth to reply. ‘Mr Baillie,’ he continued, ‘I take it that the dead man had a caravan.’
‘Yes.’
‘And a family in it?’
‘No. Az was single.’
‘Do you know anything about his background?’
‘No more than I told Mr Skinner last night. He joined our group two years ago, and he’s been travelling with us ever since. He never told us himself where he came from, but the man who introduced him to us said that he was from Bulgaria.’
‘Who was the man?’
‘His name’s Hugo Playfair. He’s one of us as well. He’s a do-gooder, a big wheel in a charity that stands up for people like us.’
‘Can we speak to him?’
‘You can speak to whoever you like.’
‘And we’d like to see inside Mr Mustafic’s caravan,’ McDermid added.
‘Sergeant, as far as I’m concerned you can see inside every damn caravan we’ve got. I’m as keen to find the guy who killed Az as you are. Mr Skinner’s lawnmower will have to wait for its service, but I’m sure he’ll understand.’
Thirty-six
‘The computer’s arrived, Sammy,’ said Detective Inspector Becky Stallings, her London accent unaffected by her lengthening stay in Edinburgh. ‘Once Jack McGurk’s managed to hijack a monitor and a keyboard, I’ll be able to make a start. Do we need an administrator password?’
‘Not as such; not to open the operating system. The daughter said you just switch it on and you’re in. She’s wireless capable, so you should be able to access the internet through our network. Once you’ve done that, the password for her email account is “rootcanal”, all one word.’
‘Yuk! I’ve had some of that. Is this girl a sadist?’
Pye smiled, imagining Stallings’ expression at the other end of the line. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘she’s a dentist.’
‘Same thing. Once we’ve got into her account, what next?’
‘The second screen name you’re looking for is fatallyg, all one word. That’s. .’ He spelled it out. ‘What I can’t give you is the password he used.’ In the silence that followed he could almost feel his colleague’s frown.
‘Mr McIlhenney didn’t tell me that,’ she sighed. ‘Never mind, I might get lucky. It might be very simple, or he might have tried to be too clever in linking it to himself or someone he knows, that we trip over it quickly. A lot of people do that; I’ve had experience of this sort of stuff before. What I’d like you to do is send me an email with all the personal detail you can on Mr Glover: full name and date of birth, wife’s details, children’s details, his postcode, their postcode, and anything else you think might be relevant. Did he have a profession, apart from author?’
‘He was an accountant.’
‘That could mean it’s number-based. . but he was a wordsmith as well, so maybe not. I’ve never read any of his books. Might there be something in them he could have used?’
‘I’m no expert either. All I can tell you is that his main character’s name is Detective Inspector Walter Strachan.’
‘Spelling as in the footballer?’
‘The same.’
‘That’s something else to go on. As soon as we’re up and running, I’ll start playing around with combinations of that. Meantime, you put that email together and get it to me as quickly as you can.’
Thirty-seven
‘Boss, where are you?’ McIlhenney asked.
‘I’m stuck on the Forth fucking Bridge again,’ Skinner groaned. ‘Roadworks this time. They can’t build the new crossing soon enough for me.’
‘Did you get the list?’
‘Yes, and I have something else for you as well. An apology from Andy for the heavy-handed approach.’
‘None needed. He had his viewpoint and I had mine.’
‘Don’t kid me, mate; your nose was well out of joint.’
‘Maybe,’ the superintendent conceded. ‘I found myself wondering whether he would have acted the same way if Mario had been here.’
‘He would, no doubt about it. He didn’t take you for a soft touch, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’d have behaved in the same way and the outcome would have been the same. I didn’t promote either of you guys to get rolled over by anyone on your own territory. McGuire might have been less diplomatic than you, that’s all.’
‘I shudder to think how McGuire might have been.’ McIlhenney chuckled, then his mood changed. ‘I’ve got some news for you now,’ he said, ‘and you’re not going to like it. It’s probably as well you’re not moving at the moment.’
‘What’s up?’ said Skinner, suddenly anxious. ‘Has the Glover case gone bad on us?’
‘Nothing to do with that. A name, Asmir Mustafic?’
‘I know him,’ the DCC confirmed, surprise undisguised in his tone. ‘He and his travelling friends are camped almost right in front of my house; you must have noticed them yesterday. Don’t tell me, there’s been bother between him and the locals.’
‘Between him and whom we know not, but he’s come off a bad second. The guy’s dead. He was found near the campsite this morning with his head badly dented. The pathologist reckons somebody took a hammer to him.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Skinner gasped. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Midnight, give or take.’
‘But I was with him last night. I had a beer with him in the Mallard.’
‘I know that. He was identified by a man called Derek Baillie; he told the officers at the scene that they’d been with you.’
‘That’s right, although Mustafic didn’t stay long. His ingrained suspicions of anyone with a warrant card were just too strong. Who’s lead officer? DCI Leggat?’