He nodded vigorously. It seemed that impending prosecution had turned him into the world’s most cooperative witness. ‘Oh aye. We were here as usual on the Wednesday. I mind, ’cos that’s our old folks’ discount day. The place is always heavin’ wi’ pensioners. I asked Archie if he fancied a pint after work, but he said no, that he was meeting Telf, and another bloke from their old school, ’cos Telf was back off tae the rig at the weekend.’ I thought he was finished, but he wasn’t. ‘They must have got well hammered,’ he continued, ‘for Archie called in sick the next morning, and he was off all day.’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Absolutely,’ he assured her. ‘Will that help?’
‘We’ll know in due course,’ she replied.
‘I meant, will it help me?’
‘If it helps us make an arrest,’ I intervened. ‘We’ll need you as a witness, so you’ll be off the hook. Fair enough?’
‘Aye,’ he said. I’d just dealt him a ‘stay out of jail’ card, and he knew it.
Alison thanked him and we left him to get on with his day. ‘Well,’ she exclaimed. ‘That was worth doing.’
‘Too right it was. Next step being-’
‘You don’t need to tell me,’ she admonished me. ‘As soon as I get to the office, I’ll check with the bus garage and find out whether McCann turned up for work that Thursday. And that photocopy; it still interests me.’
‘Mia told Steele she couldn’t remember the names,’ I reminded her. ‘And the article doesn’t necessarily connect. The likeliest explanation is that it was Telfer showing his pals how well their old schoolmate was doing, no more than that.’
‘Granted,’ she said as I drove off. ‘Okay, I’ll have someone check on McCann’s whereabouts. Mind you, if he did turn up for work bright as a button…’
‘I know,’ I sighed. ‘If Telfer was a suspect we could bring him to us, otherwise it means we’re still on that fucking helicopter.’
‘Come on, Braveheart,’ she chuckled. ‘They can’t be that bad.’
‘They are. Nasty smelly things and most of their pilots go deaf in later life. Please God let us find something reported on those days that fits the three of them.’
‘Eh,’ Alison ventured. ‘How do I approach DCS Stein for this information?’
‘I find that on your knees usually works. But happily, you don’t have to go that far. He has a bright-eyed, wet-eared assistant, DC Dorothy Shannon, a friendly girl, from what I’ve heard. She gets the reports, and she’s your point of contact. Mention my name, and she’ll give you what there is.’
‘As long as she hasn’t been friendly to you,’ she murmured.
‘I only go for inspectors and above; offers of friendship from the lower ranks are rejected.’
I dropped her at the front door of her office and set her on her way with the promised kiss. It was witnessed by PC Charlie Johnston, who was many things but not a divulger of information unless it suited his purpose of the moment.
When I walked into the Serious Crimes Unit, the four guys were at their desks. Leggat, Adam and Martin were all heads down, but Mario McGuire jumped to his feet as soon as I entered. I flagged him to follow me into my room. ‘You have the look of a boy with an apple for the teacher,’ I declared as I hung my jacket on the back of my chair. ‘Peel it for me,’ I said as I sat.
‘I think I’ve got a name, boss. That useless airport rep spent an hour airside before she got round to calling me, but finally she did, about half an hour ago. Tony Manson had an aisle seat, and the passenger sitting next to him was a bloke called Hamilton. But in seat D… he was in C… there was a woman called Alafair Drysalter, Mrs.’
‘That’s not the most common name in Edinburgh,’ I remarked. ‘In fact, I can only think of one.’
‘That’s right, boss. Derek Drysalter, the Hibs player. I’ve already checked with the council department that keeps the voters’ roll. There’s only one Drysalter household in Edinburgh. Derek and his wife, Alafair.’
‘Fucking hell, Mario,’ I chuckled. ‘Footballers’ wives. What does that old ram Manson think he’s at?’
‘Whatever it is, he’s a lucky bastard.’ He took a sheet from the file he was carrying and put it on my desk. ‘I know a guy on the Evening News picture desk,’ he said. ‘I can trust him to keep his mouth shut, so I took a chance and asked him to check their library. He faxed that across to me a couple of minutes ago.’
It was a photograph taken, going on some artwork in the background, at a Hibs gathering. The couple shown were in their early twenties, both dolled up in designer evening clothes. He was tall and lean, with the build you’d expect on someone who’d scored twenty-seven goals in the season past, more than half of them with his head. She was a stereotype, all blonde bouffant with professional make-up and wearing a dress that looked as if it was held up only by her nipples.
‘Jesus,’ I murmured. ‘Do we know where the boy Derek was while his wife was pole-dancing with Tony?’
‘At a training camp with the Scotland squad, for the American trip. He’ll be pissed off about missing it.’
Something in his tone made me glance up from the picture. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
He looked back at me, in surprise. ‘Haven’t you seen the papers this morning, boss? Derek Drysalter’s in hospital. Both his legs are broken and both his kneecaps are shattered; hit and run. He was out walking his dogs last night, near their house on Blackford Hill, and somebody whacked him and drove away.’
I stared at him. ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’
‘I wish I was,’ he sighed. ‘He’s a crackin’ player, even if his wife is a slag.’
‘Mario, I wasn’t doubting your word. I’m just wondering about a hit and run driver who’s so accurate that he managed to inflict exactly the injuries you’d want to put on a footballer, especially when the guy’s famously quick on his feet. Were the dogs hit?’
‘I don’t know, boss.’
‘Were there any witnesses to the accident? Did anyone see the car, or even hear it?’
‘I haven’t…’ It was as if I’d eaten his apple and wanted a punnet of strawberries to follow.
‘No, of course not; because you haven’t had time, or been told to do it. No blame. We have to interview Derek Drysalter. From Blackhall they’d have taken him to the Royal for sure. Check that he’s still there.’ I frowned as I recalled something from the sporting almanac in my head. ‘Mario,’ I said, ‘I’m no Hibbie, but wasn’t he a big signing for them last summer?’
‘Yes, a record. They broke the bank for him.’
‘And they signed him from?’
‘Newcastle United.’
‘Wow,’ I murmured. ‘You confirm where Drysalter is, then find out who’s investigating the hit and run, and tell them I want to know what they’ve achieved so far. While you’re doing that, I’ve got a call to make, and then we’re off to see the victim, whether he’s receiving visitors or not.’
As he left to get on with his task, I picked up the phone and called Northumbria CID. DI McFaul was in his office when they put me through. I could tell by just one word, ‘Yes!’ that he was harassed.
‘Ciaran, Bob Skinner, Edinburgh.’
‘Oh, sorry, sir, didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘You’re entitled. No progress, then.’
‘No,’ he replied, ‘and my boss is giving me shit.’
‘I know the feeling. Listen, I need to ask you something, just between you and me. It’s a favour, and it needs to be handled very discreetly, since the guy involved is high profile. The footballer, Derek Drysalter. You may have heard that he had an accident last night.’
‘Yes. From what I read he’ll be lucky if he ever plays again.’
‘I may have a say in that,’ I told him. ‘I’d like you to check something for me, and I repeat, very quietly. When he was at St James’s Park, was he connected with Winston Church, in any way, or was a link even suspected?’
‘Footballers attract a lot of hangers-on,’ he said, ‘and in turn some footballers hang on to a lot of funny people. I’ll have a look.’