‘Beyond a doubt.’
Two medium-sized blue suitcases lay on their sides, at the front of the boot, but there had still been more than enough room for the rest of the load to be jammed in behind them: the body of a man, knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them. The eyes were open, staring, and there was a cluster of three holes in the centre of his chest.
‘So, chum,’ Skinner wondered. ‘Who the hell were you, and why did you wind up here?’
Sixteen
‘That’s Bazza Brown,’ DS Dan Provan announced.
Lottie Mann frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Trust me. Real name Basil, but nobody ever called him that, unless they wanted a sore face. The first time Ah lifted him he was sixteen, sellin’ what he claimed were LSD tabs on squares from a school jotter. They wis just melted sugar, but nobody ever complained; he wis a hard kid even then, and he had a gang.’
‘When was that?’ Skinner asked. He had never met the wizened little detective before but he found himself taking an instant liking to him, and to his irreverence.
‘Goin’ on twenty-five years ago, sir. He moved on frae there, though. The next time I picked him up he’d just turned twenty-one and he was sellin’ hash. He got three years for that, in the University of Barlinnie, and that, you might say, completed his formal education. He’s never done a day’s time since, even though he’s reckoned. . sorry, he was reckoned. . to be one of the big three in drugs in Glasgow.’
‘So how come he wound up in a car boot sale?’
‘Ah can’t tell you that, sir. But Ah know you’re going to want us to find out.’
The chief grinned. ‘That is indeed the name of the game, Sergeant.’
He and Payne had called in Mann and her squad at once. They had left the car untouched. Indeed the only change in the scenery since they had made their discovery lay in the absence of Clyde Houseman. Skinner had decided that it would be best if he made himself scarce.
He had expected Lottie Mann to be blunt when she arrived, and had been ready for her challenge.
‘Can I ask what the fuck you’re doing here, sir? I’ve got people out showing pictures of Smit and Botha to every car park attendant in Glasgow, and what do I find? You and DCI Payne, with their bloody car key!’
‘Inspector!’ Lowell Payne had intervened, but his new chief had calmed his protest with a wave of his hand.
‘It’s okay. DI Mann is well entitled to sound off. I was given some information, Lottie, and I decided to evaluate it myself, and to bring you in if I reckoned it was worth it. Get used to me: it’s the way I am.’
‘Oh, I know that already, sir,’ she retorted. ‘Just like I know there’s no point me asking who your source was.’
‘That’s right, but now the result is all yours.’
She had given one of her hard-earned smiles, then gone into action.
The photographer and video cameraman were finishing their work as Provan announced the identity of the victim and he and Skinner had their exchange. They had been hampered slightly by a silver Toyota parked in the bay on the right, but the two to the left were clear.
As they packed their equipment, the elevator door opened, beside the stairway exit, and a woman stepped out, pushing a child in a collapsible pram with John Lewis bags hung on the back. She frowned as she moved towards them. ‘What’s going. .’ she began.
Payne moved quickly across to intercept her, holding up his warrant card. ‘Police, ma’am. Is that your Toyota?’
‘Yes, but what. . It’s not damaged, is it? I can move it, can’t I?’
‘It’s fine, but please don’t come any closer. If you give me your car key I’ll bring it out for you.’
‘It’s not a bomb, is it?’ The young mother was terrified; Payne smiled to reassure her.
‘No, no, not at all. If it was I wouldn’t be within a mile of it myself. It’s just a suspicious vehicle, that’s all. We’re checking out the contents. You just give me your keys and don’t you worry.’
He reversed the Toyota out of its bay and drove it a little way down the exit ramp, then helped her load her bags and her child, who had slept through the exchange.
‘Did she see anything?’ Mann asked the DCI as he returned.
‘No, or you’d have heard the screams. But we need to get a screen round this, now we’ve got the room.’
‘It’s on the way, with the forensic people. We’d better not touch anything till they get here. That peppery wee bastard Dorward’s on weekend duty and he’ll never let me forget it if I compromise “his” crime scene.’
‘It’s well compromised already, Lottie,’ Skinner pointed out. ‘Anyone got a pair of gloves?’ he asked. ‘I want a look at these suitcases. I’ll handle Arthur’s flak. I’ve been doing it for long enough.’
Provan handed him a pair of latex gloves. He slipped them on and lifted one of the blue cases from the boot, laid it on the ground and tried the catches, hoping they were unlocked and smiling when they clicked open.
‘Clothing,’ he announced as he studied the contents, and sifted through them. ‘It looks like two changes: trousers, shirt, underwear, just the one jacket, though, and one pair of shoes. Everything’s brand new, Marks and Spencer labels still on them. Summer wear. Mmm,’ he mused. ‘What’s the weather like in South Africa in July?’
There was a zipped pocket set in the lid of the case, which also sported a Marks and Spencer label on its lining. He unfastened it, felt inside and found a padded envelope. It was unsealed; the contents slid into his hand.
‘Wallet,’ he said. ‘Looks like at least three hundred quid. One Visa debit card in the name of Bryan Lightbody. A passport, New Zealand, in the same name, but with Gerry Botha’s photo inside. Flight tickets and itinerary, Singapore Air, Heathrow to Auckland through Singapore, business class, departure tomorrow evening.’
He lifted the second case from the car and checked its contents. ‘An Australian passport,’ he announced when he was finished. ‘It and the bank card are in the name of Richie Mallett, and the flight ticket’s Quantas to Sydney, again Heathrow tomorrow night. So that was the game plan. Drive to London, fly away home and leave us scratching our arses as we try to find them on flights out of Scotland.’
‘Well planned,’ Lottie Mann observed.
‘Yes, but that’s not what these guys did. The man Cohen was the planner. He made all the arrangements, bought the air tickets, hired the car.’
‘The car,’ she repeated, then turned to Provan. ‘Get. .’
‘Ah’m on it already,’ he retorted, waving the car key with his left hand while holding his mobile to his ear. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s right, Strathclyde CID. I’m standing over one o’ your cars just now, and Ah need to know whose name is on the rental contract.’ He paused, listening.
‘Because there’s something wrong wi’ it, that’s why.’ He waited again.
‘Maybe there wasn’t when it left you, Jimmy, but there is now. There’s a fuckin’ body in the boot. Or dae all your vehicles come with that accessory? No, Ah won’t hold on. The registration’s LX12 PMP; you get me the information Ah want and get back to me through the force main switchboard. They’ll transfer your call to my mobile. Pronto, please, this is very important.’
As Provan finished, Skinner tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Have you ever done a course,’ he asked, ‘on communication with the public?’
The sergeant pursed his lips, wrinkling his two-tone moustache in the process, and looked up at him. ‘No, sir, I can’t say that Ah have.’
‘Then I will make it my business, Detective Sergeant,’ the chief told him, without the suggestion of a smile, ‘to see that you never do.’
‘Thanks, gaffer,’ the little DS replied, ‘but even if you did send me on one, at my age I wake up sometimes wi’ this terrible hacking cough. Knocks me right off for the day, it does.’
Skinner laughed out loud. ‘I could get to like it here,’ he exclaimed. Then he turned serious. ‘Now prove to me that you’re a detective, not some fucking hobbit who’s tolerated because he’s been around for ever. There’s a begged question in this scenario. I’m not wondering about the guy in the boot. You knew who he was, and I know what he was. No, it’s something else, unrelated. What is it?’