‘And you are still saying that you didn’t know she was going away with Manson?’
‘I didn’t, honest.’
‘Winston Church. When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Last summer, when I gave him a wedge of money to square off what I owed him.’
‘A million, I heard.’
‘And a bit.’
‘He let you run with that size of debt?’
‘I am who I am, mister. I earn silly money.’
‘I suppose,’ I conceded. ‘You haven’t seen him since.’
‘No.’
‘And you don’t know he’s dead?’
‘He’s what? When?’ I was looking into his eyes, and I believed him. Fuck! I thought.
‘Yes. He was murdered, a couple of days ago.’
‘Jesus.’
‘So,’ I continued, ‘you went off to your training camp, without asking your wife where she was going?’
‘Right. I was going to, but I bottled it. I… nothing.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing, flash of pain that’s all.’
‘When did you come back?’
‘Late Sunday afternoon.’
‘Where was the camp?’
‘Dubai.’
‘Did you go for the dogs? We know that your wife wasn’t back then.’
He shook his head. ‘No. I went straight to a supporters’ dinner in the King James Hotel. I was picking up a Player of the Season award, and it was the only night that suited. I got home at half past ten; Alafair was home and so were the dogs.’
I pointed to the cage. ‘So why this?’
‘I don’t know,’ he muttered.
‘With respect,’ I said, ‘that’s bollocks.’
‘Fuck you. I’m not saying anything about it, okay?’
‘Who attacked you? Or aren’t you saying that either?’
‘Too fucking right I’m not. You can sit on my legs and I still won’t tell you. I don’t know him anyway.’
‘Him?’ I exclaimed. ‘One man did all that?’
Drysalter pursed his lips and stared at the cage. ‘Nothing,’ he whispered.
‘Listen,’ I told him. ‘You’re right to be afraid of Manson, but with your help we can put him away.’
He looked up at me again, eyes narrow. ‘Are you really saying this was Tony?’ he asked.
‘I’m like you, Derek,’ I replied. ‘I’m saying nothing. Good luck under the knife, and with your next career. Come on, Mario.’ I turned and left him to his appointment with Mr Jacobs.
‘Do you really think he didn’t know his wife was shagging Manson, boss?’ McGuire asked, once we were outside.
‘Having seen him, I don’t believe that he did. That kid’s naive. He lives much of his life cloistered away with his teammates doing what he’s told, eating what he’s given, even sleeping to a timetable. When he’s not doing that he spends his leisure time in the bookie’s or the casino, so I can understand him being blind to what the wife was up to. But one thing interests me. Somebody gave him a doing, but his first thought wasn’t Manson. Let’s see how that one plays.’
‘What do we do now?’
‘We pay a couple of visits, but in the right order. Did Jock Varley give you the Drysalters’ address?’
He produced a notebook from his pocket. ‘Yes, sir. I’ve got it here.’ He read it out.
‘That’s where we’re going first,’ I told him. I had a notion that Alafair would be at home, and of what we would find there. ‘While we’re on the way, I want you to dig out what you can about her.’
‘I’ve got something already, boss,’ he ventured, with the slightly tentative air of a man who was anxious not to appear to be a smartarse. ‘The photo that my News pal sent me was used alongside an article. It was one of a series of features on players’ wives, Hibs and Hearts, so I got him to send that as well.’
‘Did it tell you much?’
‘Not a lot. It said she’s twenty-five, was brought up in Hamilton by a single-parent mum, who’s now dead, went to the local high school, went to drama school in Glasgow, took modelling jobs between acting parts, her work name being her maiden name, Alafair McGrew, and met her husband three years ago when she did a photoshoot with the Scotland squad. Now, she says, her life is Derek and her dogs.’
‘And her gangster on the side. Come on.’ We climbed into the car and I headed for Blackford Hill. ‘Did Varley interview her last night?’ I asked when we were under way.
‘No, sir. She was out last night when Derek had his…’ he updated the situation ‘… was attacked. He was planning to see her today. But now…’
‘It’s down to us. It was convenient, her being out, Mario, wasn’t it?’
‘Convenient for who, boss?’
‘Convenient for her not to be within miles of it.’
The Drysalter family home, a modern pile that couldn’t make up its mind whether it was Rennie Mackintosh or Art Deco, stood back from the street behind a high wall, but its location meant that any paparazzo with half a brain could climb Blackford Hill and have a clear view of Alafair and Derek at play in their back garden. I parked outside. The gates were closed but, surprisingly, not locked, so I opened them and led the way up the path. As we approached the house we could hear barking from inside. The door opened, just a crack, no more, before we reached it, and a voice from within shouted, ‘I thought I’d locked that gate. Look, bugger off, no press.’
I flashed my badge. ‘I couldn’t agree more, Mrs Drysalter. We’re the police; it’s about your husband.’
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you either. Away you go and catch the guy that ran Derek over.’
‘Open the door, please,’ I said. The crack widened a little. ‘No, all the way, please.’ The dogs were still yowling somewhere in the background.
‘I’m not letting you in.’
‘You’re not required to, but I would like to see you. I’m concerned about your well-being and I need to make sure that you’re all right.’
‘Rubbish,’ she murmured, but she opened it, about halfway, enough for me to see that she was wearing wrap-around sunglasses, barely necessary on a morning that had begun overcast and looked like staying that way.
‘Satisfied?’ she drawled. She’d have slammed the door shut if it hadn’t been for McGuire’s size whatever moccasin blocking the way. As she pushed vainly against his strength, I reached out and whipped the shades away.
Both her eyes were blackened, and swollen, as was the bridge of her nose. I hadn’t noticed before, but her lower lip was puffy as well. She snatched the Ray-Bans back from me and replaced them, but I’d seen enough. I’d expected that, or something similar.
‘I’m still saying nothing!’ she snapped. ‘Now go… or I’ll call your superior officer.’
‘That would be DCS Stein,’ I advised her. ‘But it doesn’t matter. You’ve told me everything I wanted to know. We’re going to do you a favour now; we’re not going to ask you anything at all.’
She took me by surprise; she slumped against the door and started to cry.
I let McGuire administer the sympathy. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, gently. ‘Is he often abusive?’ She nodded. ‘Do you want to make a complaint against him?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered.
I leaned close to her. ‘I think you have done already, kid,’ I murmured, ‘but not to us. Come on, Mario.’
We closed the gate carefully behind us. ‘She had you going there, didn’t she?’ I said.
He nodded. ‘I take a very dim view of domestic violence. I’ve seen too much of it in uniform.’
‘We all do in our time,’ I agreed, ‘and I’m not condoning it. But remember three things: one, she’s an actress; two, she doesn’t know that we know she’s been fucking Manson; three, everybody likes to have the police on their side. She’s hoping we’ll pat her on the head and go away. The bugger is, she’s right; we’ll have to.’
I checked my watch… the clock in the Discovery had packed up in the time of a previous owner. It showed twelve forty. ‘The Police Federation would like you to be going for lunch now, son. But right now, as I speak, she’s in there making a phone call. I don’t want to give the recipient too long to digest it, once he’s heard who turned up on her doorstep.’
The city bypass was fairly close, so I took that rather than head across town. The journey took me twenty minutes, and I’d probably saved the same. The gates swung open even more quickly than before, but then, I was expected. ‘Where are we?’ McGuire asked.