‘What can I get you gents?’ one of them asked, in an accent that had not come from any part of the city or its environs. His black hair was slicked back and he wore a uniform that might have looked vaguely Spanish, to someone who’d never been to Spain.
‘You can get us Tomas,’ I replied.
‘He’s no’ in.’
‘My car’s parked next to his. Please don’t piss us about, mate, or I’ll be checking your immigration status.’
The barman’s face flushed, but before I had to lean any harder, a door opened beyond the serving area and a man stepped through it. He was young, still in his twenties and not much older than Martin, but he had the air of a leader about him, and a hint of danger too. ‘Mr Skinner,’ he exclaimed, in an accent similar to that of the barman, but with more edges knocked off. He extended a hand that carried, on the back, a tattoo of a man on a horse. We shook. ‘I saw you on the TV in my office. Welcome to Caballero’s. It’s good to see you.’
‘And you, Tomas. This is DC Martin; remember the name and the face.’
‘I do remember it; the face at least. You were in here a few weeks back; you chinned one of your rugby pals when he got out of order with one of my dancers. You were very impressive.’
I looked at Martin; he shrugged, as if to say, ‘Rather I did it than his bouncers.’
‘Andy, this is Tomas Zaliukas. If you ever heard anyone mention the name Tommy Zale, he’s who they’re talking about.’
‘Please, Mr Skinner; I used to think that name was macho, but now I’m trying to shake it off. I’m proud Lithuanian, proud of my name.’
‘You’ll never manage that, Tomas. It’ll always be hanging around. Now, take us somewhere private, please.’
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘come through the back.’ He led us into an office that was furnished more like a sitting room. On a long sideboard were three television sets, but two were monitors fed by cameras in the bar. One of them was trained on the till. I smiled when I saw it, and he read my mind. ‘You can never be too careful, Mr Skinner,’ he chuckled.
‘I hope you mean that, Tomas,’ I replied. ‘I put my judgement on the line when I backed you for the licence of this place and for your pub in Leith, and I don’t want to be proved wrong.’
He looked offended. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Once upon a time, when you were younger and wilder, you were Tony Manson’s driver, yes?’
‘You know I was. But like you say, I was younger then, not long ashore from jumping ship in Edinburgh. I moved on since then.’
‘And you’re doing well for yourself, I’ll give you that.’ He nodded his thanks. ‘But,’ I went on, ‘as part of moving on, after the Iron Curtain was pulled aside, you brought in a crowd of your fellow countrymen. We both know that some of the stuff they did, for Manson and others, would have landed them in jail for a hell of a long time if it could have been proved, and that you’d have been alongside them, if we could have nailed you for setting it up.’
He frowned, and went tight-lipped. ‘I say nothing about that.’
‘No, and I’m not asking you to. We’re past the bullshit stage, you and me. I don’t pursue lost causes; I prefer to concentrate on keeping you straight.’
‘Okay.’ He was showing more signs of irritability. ‘But now I straight, so?’ he grumbled.
‘Do you know who’s been doing your old job lately, chauffeuring?’
‘No. Why should I? I keep my distance from Tony, and he’s okay with that.’
‘Marlon Watson,’ I said.
‘That’s who?’
‘Yes.’ I sat and waited, watching Zaliukas’s mind work.
It clicked. ‘The gadgie that was found swimming in an empty pool?’
‘That’s the one.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Poor lad. Who did he upset?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. Whoever it was, he used two guys to make his point, unless he didn’t subcontract the job, and that’s not usually how it goes. What I want to ask you, Tomas, without throwing any accusations your way, is this. How sure are you that all your Lithuanian associates are under your control? Would any of them take on freelance work?’
‘If any of them did…’ he murmured.
‘… you’d give us their names.’
‘Sure I would,’ he said, instantly, but I wasn’t convinced. ‘But I trust them all, Mr Skinner, I trust them all. Two of them, you said?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Anything else?’
‘They used a Ford Transit for the job, unmarked.’
Zaliukas shrugged, and grinned; the edginess between us was gone. ‘That’s my boys off hook then. None of them would drive shit like that.’
‘Is he really legit, boss?’ Martin asked, as we left. ‘He seemed to have…’ He stopped. ‘I don’t know quite how to put this, but I’ve come across a couple of people in the short time I’ve been on CID. One was a paedophile and the other was crazy; he had strangled his sister. They both gave me the same feeling, that they were different from the rest of us; it seemed to come off them in waves. I’ve just had it again.’
I was pleased to hear him say that, although I didn’t tell him; it was a big step along the way to being a good detective. ‘I remember the two you’re talking about,’ I said, ‘although I was nowhere near the investigation. Psychopaths, both of them, and very obviously; they should have been stopped before they got as far as they did. It’s not always that simple though. About eight years ago, there was a robbery homicide. It was three or four years before it was solved. Three people were involved. One disappeared without trace; the other two, a man and a woman, were both psychopaths, and classically so, yet they were successful people with conventional lives, and had given no hint of their real selves, even after their crime. Yes, Tomas gives off a vibe, and he might be diagnosed as psychopathic too, that’s possible, but he’s highly intelligent and he’s worked out that the best way forward for him is by putting his brains to legitimate use.’ I frowned. ‘There’s another saving grace too; he’s on my radar, and he knows it.’
I drove Martin back to Fettes. There were no reports of progress from anyone, so I stood him, and McGuire, down for the rest of the day, told the rest of the team to reach me on my mobile if anything did come up, then headed for the Sheraton.
It took me a while to find a parking space, but eventually I nailed one, opposite the Lyceum Theatre. I was ten minutes late when I passed through the Festival Square entrance doors and into the hotel. I kept walking, through the foyer and into the lobby area. It was busy; I couldn’t see an unoccupied table, but I could work out why Mia had been so confident that she wouldn’t be recognised. The Saturday customers were almost exclusively female, not her fans, though, but their affluent mothers. I looked around for her, and spotted her at a table in the furthest corner. She was wearing a sleeveless brown dress, and her arms and legs showed off a golden tan.
I apologised for my lateness. ‘Bloody Edinburgh,’ I muttered, as I sat. ‘The Castle Terrace car park was full so I had to cruise for a bit.’
She smiled, and I couldn’t help noticing, once again, how attractive she was. ‘I thought,’ she chuckled, ‘that policemen had special signs they could leave on their cars.’
‘Like “Doctor on call”, you mean? We can do it in an exceptional policing situation, but we’d draw complaints from Traffic if we tried it on. Plus there’s a further consideration. There are wee neds out there, wherever you turn, and most cars work best with all four tyres inflated.’
‘Neds? Is that not a Glasgow word?’
‘I’m betraying my roots,’ I admitted, ‘but the type is universal.’
A quick frown knitted her brow. ‘Don’t I know it. My late brothers were two classics.’
‘Maybe so, but it’s not a capital offence. Most of them can be cured by having their arses kicked hard enough by the right bloke.’