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The manager gulped. ‘Pardon? I didn’t quite catch all of that.’

‘Okay, mate. Let me spell it out for ye’, in words of one syllabub.’

‘My God,’ Terry exclaimed, before he was finished. ‘Mr Provan, I think we’ve had a little language difficulty here. Ajmal’s English is not the best, and your accent is, let’s say, quite regional.’

No, let’s fuckin’ no’ say! With difficulty, the detective managed to keep his thought to himself, as the manager continued. ‘Ajmal left me a note with the registration number of the vehicle and the information that a man had been found dead in the vehicle and that the Glasgow police wanted the name of the hirer. What you’ve just told me is news to me and shocking news at that.’

‘Well, now that we understand each other,’ Provan said, weighing each word to avoid further ‘language difficulties’, ‘maybe yis can get me the information Ah need.’

‘Oh, I have that already, Sergeant. The office where the vehicle was hired. . it’s in Finsbury Park. . was closed last night. I spoke to the person in charge five minutes ago. The vehicle was rented a week ago yesterday, for return by five p.m. yesterday evening. The hirer’s name was Byron Millbank, address number eight St Baldred’s Road, London. I happen to know where that is; it’s very close to what was Highbury Stadium, the old Arsenal football ground, before they moved to the Emirates.’

‘Did he have a UK driving licence?’

‘I don’t know, but I assume. .’

‘We don’t deal in assumptions, Mr Terry. Will they have a record in your other office?’

‘Oh yes. And a photocopy. Not everyone does that but we always do; take a photocopy of the plastic licence and the paper counterpart.’

‘In that case,’ Provan told him, ‘I need you tae get back on to your other office and get those photocopies faxed up to me. Haud on.’ He found a number that he had scrawled on a pad on his desk for another inquiry, a week before, and read it out to Terry.

‘I’m afraid we don’t have fax machines in our regional offices any more,’ he said. ‘Old technology these days.’

‘Well, find one, please. Go to the Arsenal if ye have tae; they’re bound tae have one.’

‘Oh, we won’t have to do that. We can scan the copies and send them.’

‘Eh?’

‘Scan them, Mr Provan. Turn them into JPEGs.’

‘Eh?’

‘Photographic images. Then we can send them to you as email attachments.’ Terry giggled. ‘Or don’t you have email in Scotland?’

Nancy! Provan, an old-school homophobe, kept another thought to himself. ‘Oh aye, sir, we have. It runs on gas, right enough, but we get by.’ He read his force e-address, then spelled it out, letter by letter. ‘Soon as ye can, please; Ah need it within the next half hour.’

‘You’ll have it in ten minutes.’ Terry paused. ‘Can I send somebody along from our Glasgow Airport depot to collect our car?’

‘Eventually,’ the DS told him. ‘Ah’m afraid your car’s a crime scene, sir. Ah’m no’ sure how long we’ll need to hold it for. When we’re done with it, we’ll bring it back to you. We’ll even clean aff the bloodstains fur ye.’

He hung up and turned to Mann. ‘A name for ye, Lottie. The car was hired by somebody called Byron Millbank.’

‘What do we know about him?’ she asked.

‘Eff all at the moment, but we should have a wee picture soon, off his driving licence. Meantime, his name’s enough tae go searchin’ for his birth certificate.’

‘Maybe,’ the DI cautioned. ‘That’s assuming it’s his real name. Let me see the image as soon as you get it, and blow it up as large as you can. I want to let the big boss see it.’

Twenty-Three

‘When it arrives, have them forward it to my email,’ Skinner told Lowell Payne, raising his voice slightly as his car overtook three lorries that were travelling in convoy along the busy motorway that links Scotland’s capital with its largest city. ‘I’d like to see it as soon as I get to the office, although I’m not sure when that will be. I’m not looking forward to my next visit, although it’s one I have to make.’

‘I’ll do that, Chief. I was planning to attend the press briefing. Should I do that?’

‘Mmm.’ He considered the question for a few seconds, as he held his phone to his ear. His Strathclyde driver was new to him; Bluetooth was not an option. ‘Maybe not. The media will be aware by now of your role as my exec, and I’ve been dodging the buggers since last night. But tell DI Mann she should make it clear that we now know for sure that Field was the target. She doesn’t need to say how, but she should rule out any other possibility one hundred per cent. Do we video these events ourselves?’

‘I don’t know,’ Payne admitted. ‘I’ve never been involved in one as formal as this.’

‘Then find out. If they don’t, make sure it happens. I’ve always done it in Edinburgh. I like my own record of events.’

‘Understood. I’ll tell Malcolm Nopper.’

‘Thanks. Something else I’d like you to do. The force area is massive, as we all know; I don’t plan or expect to set foot in every police station on a three-month appointment, but nonetheless I imagine I’m going to be travelling quite a bit. I want to be in complete touch at all times, so I’d like you to fix me up with a tablet computer.’

‘An iPad?’

‘That or equivalent, as long as it gets me internet access everywhere I go and has a big enough screen for me to read. With one of those I’ll be able to read emails at once, wherever I am.’

‘You’ll have one before the day’s out.’

‘Thanks.’ As he spoke, his driver signalled then eased to the left, leaving the motorway. Skinner knew where they were, well enough; Lanarkshire had been his territory until he was into his twenties, even if it had changed since his departure.

‘Why the hell do they call this Motherwell Food Park?’ he mused aloud.

‘No idea, sir,’ his driver replied, believing that an answer had been required. ‘Why would they not?’

‘Because it’s in bloody Bellshill, Constable; it’s miles away from Motherwell.’

‘Is that right, sir?’

‘Trust me on it; I was born in Motherwell, and my grandparents, my father’s folks, they lived in Bellshill. Where are you from, Constable Cole? What’s your first name, by the way?’

‘David, sir; Davie. I’m from Partick; that’s in Glasgow, sir.’

Skinner laughed. ‘I know that well enough. I did some sinning there or thereabouts in my youth. Used to hang out in a pub called the Rubaiyat, in Byres Road.’

‘That’s not quite Partick, sir, but I know where you are. It’s still there.’

‘But not as it was; it was gutted, or “refurbished” to use the polite term for architectural vandalism, back in the eighties. It had a lounge bar. . where you could take your girlfriend; never to the public bar, mind, men only there. . called “The Bowl of Night”. Very few of the punters had a clue where the name came from, but it was famous nonetheless. There was never any trouble there, either.’

Careful, Bob, he told himself. Steer well clear of memory lane, or you could get to like this bloody place all over again.

‘Were you Chief Constable Field’s driver, Davie?’ he asked.

In the rear-view mirror, he saw the young man’s eyes tense. ‘Yes, sir. I wasn’t on duty on Saturday, though. She told me she was being collected by the First Minister’s car. I think she was quite chuffed about that.’

‘So you’ve been to her home before?’

‘Oh yes, sir, often. We’re not far from it now.’

They were moving down a steep incline that led to a complex motorway interchange. To his left, he saw a series of fantastic twisted shapes, the highest of them a wheel. ‘What the hell’s that?’ he asked.

‘Theme park, sir,’ his driver informed him. ‘They call it M and D’s.’

‘My younger son would love it,’ he chuckled. ‘He’s the family action man. The older one would turn his nose right up; he’s our computer whizz kid.’