Forty-four
‘Don’t be in a rush to climb the promotion ladder, Lisa,’ Neil McIlhenney told the detective sergeant. ‘When I opened the door back there, it took me three goes, where it used to be just the one. Rank softens you up; no mistake about it.’
‘I doubt if your pal the chief super would agree with you,’ Regan pointed out.
‘McGuire? Ah, he’s a special case; in the old days he could open them with his head. You know he wears a nineteen and a half shirt collar?’
‘I didn’t realise he had a neck.’
The superintendent chuckled. ‘Only just.’ In the next instant he was serious once more. ‘This man Playfair hasn’t left much behind him, has he?’
‘No, sir,’ the DI concurred. ‘There’s even less here than there was in Mustafic’s van, and a hermit’s cell’s better kitted out than that was. Some dirty dishes and that’s it; he’s even cleared out the fucking fridge.’
‘And he knew that Mustafic’s body had been found?’
‘We have to assume that,’ said McDermid. ‘He approached Sergeant Hope, casually, and asked him what was up. Kenny told him; he gave him a physical description and asked him if it meant anything to him. Playfair replied, “Nothing at all,” and left.’
‘And ten minutes later he was gone. What does that tell you?’
‘That he’s our prime suspect?’
McIlhenney frowned at her. ‘Think that through, Sergeant. If it was Playfair that bashed our man’s head in, then one, why did he ask Hope what the trouble was and, two, why didn’t he clear off last night, straight after he had done it? It seems to me it makes him no suspect at all.’
‘Then why would he run if he had nothing to do with it?’
‘Exactly. We need to find out all there is to know about this guy. Lisa, get on to the charity he worked with. . What was it called, Fred, or something?’
‘REG, boss.’
‘Near enough. Ask them exactly what he did for them; if they have a personnel file on him, find out what’s in it. George, let’s put a description of his car out there, and the number, and get it found.’
‘Yes, but do you think he’ll still be in it?’
‘That depends what he’s got for brains. If he’s panicking, he probably is, but if he’s thought it through, he’s dumped it by now. Make sure that we check all the railway station car parks: North Berwick, Longniddry, Dunbar, Prestonpans.’
‘And Drem, that’s the nearest.’
‘Fine, get it done, soon as possible.’ He paused. ‘George, we’ve got a dead guy on his way to the mortuary. Have we got any physical evidence at all at the scene, or any witness sightings that take us anywhere?’
The DI shook his head solemnly. ‘Dorward’s people have found nothing up around the body. The uniforms have searched the encampment for a murder weapon, with Derek Baillie’s cooperation, and found nothing. The crime scene is fairly isolated, but we’ve spoken to the nearest neighbours and none of them can help us.’ He reached into his pocket, produced the envelope that he had discovered in Mustafic’s jacket, and held it up. ‘All we have are these, the only personal items he had: two photos that might be his family, but equally might not, and a couple of old letters written in Bulgarian. To make it even less decipherable, the lettering’s Cyrillic.’
‘Then let’s find someone from our list of approved translators and turn them into English, pronto.’ The superintendent hesitated, as if considering an afterthought. ‘Where were they, George?’
Regan described how he had found the packet, accidentally.
‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘The only things that tell us anything about the man were hidden away. Could that have been deliberate on his part?’
‘It’s possible. He could have cut the lining.’
‘Then let’s find out. Send the jacket to the lab for examination, but cut the label off and send that to the translator. Maybe that will tell us where he bought the bloody thing. Less than twenty-four hours ago, that poor wee dead guy was having a pint with our chief. He’s got a personal interest in this one, so he’ll expect us to pull out all the stops as we normally would, then look under the pedals as well.’
‘Will that include speaking to him, sir?’ asked McDermid. ‘He met the man, so maybe he has knowledge that’s important to the investigation. In which case. .’
McIlhenney nodded. ‘The answer is yes,’ he told the young sergeant. He smiled. ‘Is that an interview you’d want to carry out yourself, Lisa? Or would you rather delegate it to me?’
Forty-five
‘You know what really pisses me off, Anthea?’ Sammy Pye asked angrily. ‘No, and you don’t give a shit either, but let me tell you. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation, and we’ve got some important questions that need answering, but we can’t, because DC Haddock and I have been sidetracked to deal with you and your miserable little habit, because we had the misfortune to be the officers who found your stash.’
‘My client denies having a habit.’ The woman leaned across the interview table as she spoke, blonde, sharp-faced and just as sharply dressed, in a silver suit. Her name was Susannah Himes, nickname, the ‘Barracuda’; she was Lady Walters’ solicitor, instructed by her father, and the interview had been delayed by half an hour to await her arrival, to the detectives’ intense annoyance. The DI had never met her, but he knew of her reputation as a ‘fixer’ at the top end of the criminal market. (‘The poor people get Frankie Bristles,’ he had told Haddock, ‘the well-off call Himes.’) ‘And it’s Lady Anthea, by the way,’ she added.
‘Your client can deny all she likes, but the blood test results that I have before me say different. So do the packets of brown that we found in the toes of her shoes, in her house. So does the copper teapot, liberally dusted with heroin and with her fingerprints. . and nobody else’s. . all over it. As for her title, Ms Himes, welcome to the twenty-first century. I’m doing her the courtesy of addressing her by her forename; be happy with that.’
‘I’m not happy at all,’ the lawyer replied with a show of belligerence.
‘Aw, cut the bluster, please,’ the DI told her. ‘We both know the game: you’ll earn your fee by persuading the fiscal to reduce the charges against your client in return for a guilty plea, and you’ll keep her out of jail on the back of a promise to enter rehab. Plus, you’re expected to persuade me to bail her this afternoon, pending a court appearance. The first of those aren’t within my control, but the last is, and I’m not playing. Your client will be held in custody overnight, and she’ll appear in court tomorrow; you can make your bail plea to the Sheriff, not to me. But when the fiscal tells her that Lady. .’ he paused ‘. . Anthea, was in charge of a child while zonked out of her head, you might find that your task is that bit tougher.’
‘And what of Dr Anderson?’ Himes shot back. ‘My understanding is that he fled the scene when the drugs were found. When will he be charged?’
‘There isn’t a scrap of evidence linking Dr Anderson to the heroin. It was in her wardrobe, in her shoes, on her premises, not his, and he denies all knowledge. As for his leaving, it’s been established that he had other reasons for that. He’s on his way home as I speak, to collect his daughter. If I were you, I’d be trying to persuade the Duke of Lanark to turn up in court tomorrow in person, to put in a word for his daughter. The Sheriff might just be persuaded to release her into his custody, and we might not oppose that.’
‘How very gracious of you,’ the accused woman exclaimed. ‘Bloody little policeman. As if my father could be summoned to-’
‘Ah, shut the fuck up!’ Pye snapped, silencing her, and startling DC Haddock by his side. He stared hard at the lawyer. ‘We’re finished here, Ms Himes,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘See you tomorrow morning. Sauce, take the prisoner back to the cells and hand her over to the custody sergeant.’