‘The guy who was shot?’
‘That’s him. Perry was the master of discretion. In much of his life he was legit. He was a big property developer, and he still has a large portfolio. He conducted that business in the normal way, but for one thing, something he brought from the other side. He would rarely be in the same room with more than one person, unless they were architects showing him plans, or lawyers and the like, who were safe because they were covered by client privilege. Latterly he never even went to restaurants, other than with his brother, Al.’
‘It didn’t do him much good, though.’
‘No,’ I conceded. ‘It didn’t make him bullet-proof. And neither’s Tony; so he’ll be taking Marlon’s murder very seriously. Let’s go and talk to him.’
I started the Discovery, and drove up to the double wrought-iron gate that secured the entrance to Manson’s property. There was a closed-circuit camera set on a stone pillar to the right. I opened my window, leaned out, and waved up at it. A few seconds later, the gates swung open, seemingly of their own accord. I cruised through, up the approach road, and pulled up alongside a black Bentley.
The front door opened as we approached. Two men stood just inside; they were dressed in black, and there was a crisp look to them that suggested a military background. One of them stepped forward, raising his hands as if to frisk me. I raised a hand and glared at him. ‘Don’t make the mistake,’ I warned.
He paused, but didn’t back off. ‘Easy way or hard way?’ he asked.
I don’t react well to threats. I feinted with my left shoulder; and the minder reacted by moving to his own left, a wrong move, as it added to the force of the fist that I whipped up from my side and into his gut. ‘Told you,’ I murmured, as he dropped to his knees, and as Martin stepped forward to intercept his mate.
‘Hey!’ The shout came from a doorway to the left of a wide central staircase. ‘Leave it off, you guys. These are the polis. I wouldn’t have let them in otherwise.’
Tony Manson stepped into the hallway and came towards us; he was wearing a shell suit, and his broad, lived-in, pushing fifty face sported a Mediterranean tan. He wasn’t tall, but squat and powerful; nobody had ever got the better of him in his younger days. There are hard men, and then there are those who really know how to fight. He was one of the latter. ‘Sorry, Skinner,’ he said. ‘My new help. They’re not trained to be subtle.’
‘You hired them in?’ I asked, as one helped the other to his feet.
He nodded. ‘From a security consultancy,’ he said as he led us towards the room from which he had appeared. ‘They came highly recommended.’
‘I’d send them back for retraining, if I were you. They’d better not be armed, incidentally.’ Barely two months had passed since the Dunblane massacre, and every cop in Scotland was paranoid about firearms.
‘They weren’t supposed to need shooters,’ Manson growled. He had that air about him, that rare aura of power and potential for the extraordinary that marks some men out from the rest. He and I had met a few times before, and had sized each other up. I didn’t respect him, not in any way, any more than he did me; but I couldn’t say, not honestly, that I disliked him either. It’s hard to define, even now, but I probably regarded him in the same way that someone else might see a business rival. Make it personal, and your objectivity’s at risk. That’s a maxim I’ve always preached to my people, but sometimes it’s been difficult to hold to it myself. One thing I will say for him. When he controlled the drugs trade in Edinburgh, there was no lethal shit on the street; Tony was hot on quality control, if only because he recognised that killing his customers wasn’t profitable.
He led us into his study. I’d been there before, with warrants; he’d let my team search with no attempt at hindrance, in the certain knowledge that we’d find bugger all. It was a nice, spacious room, oakpanelled, although Manson’s taste in art was too modern to hang there comfortably. The Vettriano… original… was okay, but the Howson looked out of place.
I told him as much. ‘I like it,’ he replied, simply. ‘What do you want me to do? Loan it to the National Gallery? Go on, take a seat. I’ve been expecting you, after Lennie told me you’d paid him a visit.’ He looked at my companion, studying him. ‘New boy?’ he asked.
‘This is DC Martin, Tony. Remember the face, for you’ll be seeing a lot of it from now on.’
‘Oh aye? I thought you were in a different outfit now.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, but I’ve still got an interest in you, don’t you worry about that.’
‘I won’t. I’ve never worried about you, Skinner, and I’m not going to start now.’
‘You’re watching your back, though. The military two-step out there’s evidence of that. Marlon’s murder’s got you rattled.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘For a start,’ I told him, ‘your gates are closed. That’s unusual. Also, those two out there are minders. You’ve never needed their sort before. Marlon, poor lad, couldn’t mind his fucking manners, but you were happy with him. They’re signs of a lack of confidence, I’d say. What are you worried about? What could Marlon have told our friends from Tyneside to make them stop bouncing him off the swimming pool floor? Not that it did him any good, even if he did spill the beans.’
Manson growled, deep down in his chest. ‘Marlon didnae have any beans to spill, the poor little bastard. I don’t know what gave anybody the idea that he had.’
‘Somebody seems to have thought so,’ Martin said.
He glared at the DC. ‘It speaks!’ He turned back to me. ‘Why did you mention Tyneside, Skinner?’
‘Because that’s where Newcastle is, and that’s where we’re in the process of lifting a suspect, and possibly two if we’re lucky. Does the name Glenn Milburn register with you?’
‘No,’ he said, looking me dead in the eye. I believed him. ‘Should it?’
‘You might want to remember it.’
‘Newcastle?’ he repeated.
‘Yes. We traced the van that was used to snatch and transport Marlon. It’s now a pile of burned-out and tangled metal. Milburn bought it at auction about ten days ago; for that job, it looks like.’
He frowned. ‘Skinner, I don’t even know anyone in Newcastle, apart from a bolshie Customs bastard at the airport that gave me a hard time last night.’
‘If you did, would you tell me?’
He grinned. ‘No, but I don’t, so I’ll tell you that, no worries.’ The smile was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. ‘How did they get hold of the boy, Skinner? It wouldnae have been that easy. He wasn’t exactly Frank Bruno, ken, but he was hefty enough and he usually had his wits about him.’
‘We’ve got no idea, Tony. Neither has his mother.’ I caught his eye again. ‘What’s with you and her anyway?’
‘Bella and I are… friendly, like. As far as anybody can be friendly wi’ Bella, that is. I took an interest in her after her brother shot the Holmeses. I know as well as you do that she told him to do it, and I wanted to make sure she wasnae angry with me as well. And,’ as he paused, an angry gleam showed in his eyes, ‘I was sorry for her as well. Gavin Spreckley was a nasty shite and deserved all he got, but it was out of order what they did tae her boy; only a kid, for fuck’s sake. Bella has her uses; she’s got a good brain and when she drops into any of the saunas she’s fierce enough to keep everybody on their toes.’
‘You let her live in that shithole, though.’
‘I’m no’ going to move her in here, man,’ he protested. ‘She’s no’ exclusive, ken.’
I chuckled. ‘That’s pretty well known. Who were you with in Ibiza, by the way?’
‘You mind your own fuckin’ business, Skinner. She’s got nothing to do wi’ this so keep her out of it.’
I could live with that; I couldn’t see that it was relevant either. I changed tack. ‘What was Marlon’s working day, Tony? You don’t have an office other than this. Where was he based?’
‘Here. He came here every morning, drove me anywhere I wanted to go, in the Bentley, minded the door for me, just like those two out there, checked the mail for me… put it through the scanner, ken. ..’