‘And you, Dottie, and you. Is he in?’
‘Yes, sir. He’s expecting you.’
He was standing by his coffee machine when I opened the door. He’d heard me, for there were two mugs beside it and he was filling them from the pot that stood there, ever ready. When he retired, he gave the contraption to me. To this day, I drink too much coffee and it’s down to Alf.
‘I hear you’ve had a baptism,’ he murmured as he handed me a brimming mug, emblazoned with the image of his namesake, the late great football manager.
‘Yes indeed,’ I agreed. ‘I had to take up the reins early,’ I felt myself scowl, ‘or rather I had them thrust into my hands.’
‘I heard that too. You shouldn’t be so rough on Greg.’
‘Greg’s a bam-pot,’ I growled. Stein shared my west of Scotland origins; he knew what the word meant.
In fact he knew better than I did. ‘No, son,’ he chuckled, ‘he’s a bam-stick. A bam-stick is used for stirring a bam-pot, and that’s what makes him useful.’
‘Either way, he’s shit.’
He looked at me sharply. ‘Bob, you listen to me. The one thing that will hold you back in the job is letting personal feelings screw up your judgement. I don’t like the man any more than you do. Indeed I know things about him that you don’t, things I could use to bounce him off the force tomorrow. I’m not saying that he takes backhanders. Hell no, he dislikes criminals even more than he dislikes you, but he’s got other faults. I keep him, though, because he’s actually a better detective than he’s given credit for. Of all the divisional CID commanders, he’s got the best clear-up rate.’
‘I gather you’ve had a call from him.’
‘No, I’ve had a visit. He complained about you walking into his crime scene and kicking him off his own investigation. He complained about you bringing your daughter with you. He complained about you commandeering three of his officers. He complained about you having personal relations with one of them.’
‘He did what!’ I roared.
‘Calm down, now, while I tell you. I yelled at him too when he said that, and asked him what the hell he meant by it. He told me that Higgins never went back to St Leonards. He said he called her at midnight, and then again at six in the morning, and got no reply, so he drove out to Gullane and saw her car parked outside your house.’
‘I’m going to kill him,’ I declared, quietly and sincerely.
‘No, you’re not.’ Alf smiled. ‘I forbid it.’
‘Boss, I took Alex with me last night because I had no option. Jay effectively dumped the investigation in my lap, and Alison took her home as a favour to me. Yes, she stayed the night, but she was never part of the investigation team, so what’s that to Jay? You know about the two of us, anyway. As for Martin and McGuire, I seconded them because I needed them and because you and the chief made it clear I’ve got the power to do that.’
‘You don’t have to explain yourself,’ he told me. ‘I’m not asking you to. Bob, I sent Jay out of here with his tail between his legs and the threat of organising traffic patrols in Hawick ringing in his ears. The only reason I’m telling you about it is to emphasise what can happen when you make enemies. You’re a bull, son, and you’ve got to develop colour blindness when somebody waves a red flag at you.’
I nodded, chastened. ‘Point taken, boss.’ I frowned. ‘But now you’ve got me worried about Alison. She works for Jay.’
‘Not any more. I’ve told him that he’s forfeited all rights to her confidence as a manager. I’m transferring her to Torphichen Place. She’s going places and he’s not getting in the way.’
‘Good. Thanks.’
‘I did it for her, son, not you.’ He paused and looked at me, not as a colleague, but as the concerned friend of two people. ‘Be easy with her, though, will you?’
‘Of course.’ I didn’t want to prolong that discussion, so I moved on. ‘I want to keep Martin and McGuire.’
‘Fine, I’ll sort it.’
‘And I need two more guys, urgently.’ I gave him a rundown on the murder investigation and explained the Bella Watson situation, then gave him the names of the DCs I wanted.
‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘I’ll order the transfers as of now.’ He frowned. ‘Somebody’s rattling Tony Manson’s cage?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘I don’t like that. Tony’s a ruthless, evil, drug-running, murderous bastard, and all the rest, but he’s the status quo. He’s the devil we know, and you know the saying. If we’ve got a new one on our patch, I want to know who he is. Any rumours?’
‘Macken and Reid have been asking around.’
The DCS snorted. ‘Those two wouldn’t have a clue where to ask, Bob. But you do, and you’ve got the presence to make people talk to you. So has that boy Martin. I saw him play rugby a couple of weeks back, for Edinburgh against Borders. He’s a fuckin’ animal; brute strong.’
I hadn’t picked that up, the night before, or when we’d worked together earlier. He didn’t take it off-field. In truth, when he’d grasped for his cross in the presence of Bella I’d marked him down as a wimp. I’ll bear that in mind, I thought.
‘Where’s your next call?’ Alf asked.
‘I need to interview Bella’s daughter, Mia the deejay. She talks to people for a living; I’ll have to find out if that extends to the police.’
Six
I had no idea where Airburst FM was based, but Martin did, so I took him with me to meet Mia Watson. The studios were located in an anonymous, flat-roofed building on a commercial estate in Sighthill. I’ve noticed that local radio stations tend not to advertise their presence, as if it’s okay for their listeners to phone them but bad news if they turn up on the doorstep. There was no neon sign above the Airburst premises, only a small brass plate on the door, although the cars parked outside, bedecked in the station logo, did give the game away.
The entrance was secure, with a videophone beside the door. Andy Martin announced our arrival and a girl came to let us in, a tiny wee thing with purple hair, a silver stud through her right nostril and another through her eyebrow. Facial ironmongery was starting to become fashionable then. I’ve never been a fan, or even understood it; Alex has had pierced ears since childhood, but has no ambition to go further.
The kid led us to a tiny reception area and asked us to wait there; we did, until she returned and led us through what looked like the newsroom, to an office beyond. It had glass walls, with black slatted blinds that were wide enough open to let us see, as we approached, a young woman, seated at a long table.
Our escort opened the door for us, but didn’t follow us in. Mia Sparkles, nee Watson, stood as we entered. She had brown hair, short, with an Audrey Hepburn look, and brown eyes; she wore very little make-up, a little blusher and lipstick, that was all, and she was dressed in white cotton trousers and a T-shirt bearing the station logo; she displayed it well.
I have this belief, that I can look at people and know what they’re made of, under the skin. As I gazed at Mia, and imagined her mother, it came to me that they couldn’t have been less alike. While Bella radiated hostility and hatred, her daughter was the complete opposite; I couldn’t pin it down completely, but to me, she showed as provocative, enticing, exciting, a person who could connect with anyone she chose. She sparkled, simple as that; I found myself wondering if she’d chosen her radio name or whether it had been given to her.
Not that she was smiling at that moment. Her expression was solemn, for she knew why we had come. ‘I’m Bob Skinner,’ I told her. ‘And this is DC Martin.’
She looked at Andy. ‘It was you called me earlier?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch the name.’ Her attention, and those magnetic eyes, turned back to me. ‘Is this about my brother?’
‘You know, then.’
She nodded and blinked. ‘Yes. My mum called me, this morning.’ Her accent wasn’t a bit like Bella’s either: Scottish, but with no rough edges. Smoother than my Lanarkshire tones, that was for sure.