‘He has a good record, and he’s within six months of a promotion.’
‘Let’s have him in, then.’
Joyce Latham nodded, and picked up the phone once more, dialling an internal number. ‘Mr McGroarty? DG here. Would you send Officer Albo up to the Governor’s office, please, straight away.’
They waited for five minutes before there was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ called Joyce Latham, and a young fair-haired man in uniform stepped into the room. He was taller than Martin, and just as solidly built. His eyes gave a flicker of surprise as he saw the policeman, but it passed as he came to attention before the Deputy Governor.
‘Stand easy, Albo,’ she said. ‘Take a seat.’ She turned to Martin. ‘I’ll leave you alone, if you wish.’
He nodded. ‘If you would, please.’
When they were alone, he stood up, and leaning against the desk, turned to face Officer Albo. He smiled, but not with his eyes. ‘Tibor,’ he began, ‘someone in this prison has passed on information which set up Nathan Bennett and his sister to be murdered.
‘She was a nice-looking woman, Hannah Bennett. Quiet, Christian, conscientious, kept a nice house, kept a roof over her brother’s head, even though he was a difficult bugger. I only ever saw her once. She had a knife sticking out of the side of her head and she had shit herself.
‘When I find the person who passed on that tip about Nathan, he can sit all fucking day and say, “I never knew”, but it’ll cut no ice with me, or with the Crown Office. We owe it to Hannah to see that he goes down as an accessory to murder. When he does, he’ll be sent here.
‘That’s a nice thought, isn’t it. A screw banged up in his own prison. A lot of guys are HIV-positive in here, aren’t they?
‘When I find that man, there’ll be only one way out, and it’ll be through the witness box, giving evidence against the man who paid for the information.’ He paused and the smile left his face.
‘Do you have anything to tell me, Tibor?’
The young man was white-faced in his chair, but his voice was even and controlled, with no trace of panic. ‘No, sir.’
The detective stared at him, long and hard. ‘Did you hear what Bennett said to me on Friday.’
‘You told us not to listen, sir.’
‘Aye, but did you hear?’
‘Barely, but then I really wasn’t listening. I could see Nathan was scared, though.’
‘How well did you get to know Bennett?’
‘Quite well. He was a strange bloke. I think the Falklands left a bigger mark on him than just his hand.’
‘Did he ever talk to you?’
Albo nodded. ‘I was the only one he did talk to.’ He looked up at Martin. ‘They all need it, sir. Even the really tough guys. Someone to talk to. Some of the staff don’t want to know, but I see it as part of my job, to lend an ear to someone who really needs one. It’s a hell of a thing, locking a man up in a place like this for half his life. . maybe more.’
‘What did he tell you? Did you ever ask him about the robbery?’
‘You never ask them anything, sir, other than about their families. That’s all Nathan talked about most of the time. . his sister. He said that she was really good to him, and that he was afraid that he was ruining her life.’
‘What did he mean?’
The young man shrugged. ‘That he was getting in her way. That because he was there, living with her, it made it tough for her to have a proper relationship. He never said so outright, but I guessed that he took part in the robbery to raise the money for a place of his own.
‘He did say to me one day though, that the worst thing he had ever done was to get her mixed up in his life. “It never had anything to do with her,” he told me, “but now she’s in it up to her neck.” I guessed that she had been involved in the crime in some way, but I suppose now I know what he meant.’
‘Did you never think to tell anyone this?’ Martin asked. ‘You’re not a priest, man.’
‘Some of these guys think we are. I think we have to respect that. Did you never keep a confidence in your job?’
The Head of CID nodded, in silent acknowledgement of the point. He knew that was how criminal intelligence gathering usually worked.
‘Were you surprised on Friday, when Officer McDonnell insisted in staying in the room with Bennett and me?’
‘A wee bit, sir. But Malky’s like that. He can be a real book operator sometimes. He was right, of course; we’re supposed to stay with the prisoners at all times.’
‘How did McDonnell get on with Bennett?’
‘Much the same as he gets on with everyone else. He treats all the prisoners as if they’re just numbers. If they behave and don’t bother him, generally he doesn’t bother them. Very few guys give Malky trouble though. He used to be a boxer, and he can still handle himself.’
‘Did you ever see the two of them speaking?’
‘Not that I can recall,’ he said, at last.
‘So their relationship was normal in prison terms?’
Albo looked at the ceiling, as if for guidance. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I can’t honestly say that’s true. They never crossed swords, and they never had a conversation that I saw. Yet I have to admit, there was something.
‘Once or twice, when he didn’t see me, I caught Malky looking at Nathan in an odd way.’
‘Define “odd”.’
‘I can’t. He was looking at him in a way he didn’t look at anyone else, that’s all I can tell you. It was as if he knew something about him.’
‘Okay,’ said Martin. ‘Let’s go back to you. Do you ever talk about your work, at home, or in the pub?’
‘Only to my girl-friend.’
‘Did you ever tell her about Bennett?’
‘No. She wouldn’t have been interested anyway. It’s only the big names that excite her. Nathan was small-time. ’
The Head of CID pushed himself up from his perch against the desk. ‘All right, Officer, you can go. However, if anything occurs to you that might help us, I want you to contact me right away. You’ll get me at Police Headquarters at Fettes.’
Tibor Albo stood up, saluted smartly, and left the room. A few moments later, Joyce Latham re-entered. ‘Well?’ she asked.
‘I think he’s okay,’ Martin answered. ‘When did his shift finish on Friday?’
‘Six p.m.’
‘McDonnell’s too?’
‘Yes.’
‘If an officer wants to make a personal phone call during working hours, where does he go?’
‘In theory,’ said Mrs Latham, ‘he uses the pay phone in the canteen. In practice, if they think no one’s looking, the lads use the prison phone in the senior officers’ room.’ The detective’s green eyes flashed. ‘I don’t suppose calls are logged?’
‘Yes, they are. I’ll check Thursday’s count, from the time of your visit onwards.’
As she finished speaking, there was a soft knock on the door. Sammy Pye entered, without waiting for an invitation. He was alone.
‘McDonnell?’ asked Martin.
‘Gone, sir. And I don’t mean gone for the Sunday papers. When I got no answer to his door, I knocked up the neighbours. One of them said she saw him leave last night in a taxi, with a big suitcase and a hold-all. So I tried his back door.’
‘It was open of course,’ said the Chief Superintendent, with a smile.
‘Well, I might have knocked a bit too hard, sir.’ He paused, looking at Mrs Latham. ‘I’ve sent for a joiner to make it secure.
‘There was nothing there. I looked in all the wardrobes, in the drawers, in the bathroom cabinet: they were all empty. There was nothing personal left in the place.
‘No doubt about it, Officer McDonnell has done a runner. And at short notice too. I had a look in the fridge, and there was enough food there for a week at least: eggs, bacon, mince, cooked chicken, orange juice and three litres of milk, unopened. Oh aye, and three cans of McEwan’s lager.
‘Wherever it was he called in sick from, it wasn’t his flat.’
Martin looked at Joyce Latham. ‘We’ve got our answer, I think.