‘We’ve established through HMRC that under the name Byron Millbank he’s lived and worked in London for the last six years, for a mail order company called Rondar. It operates one of those teleshopping channels on satellite telly. Three years ago he married a woman called Golda Radnor, the boss’s daughter, we’re guessing, going by the fact that her name’s the company’s reversed, and eighteen months later they had a wee boy, named Leon Jesse. According to the General Register Office, Byron was born in Eastbourne thirty-two years ago, father unknown, mother named Caroline Anne Millbank, died on the last day of the last century.’
‘Pity,’ Provan muttered. ‘She missed the fireworks.’
‘I doubt if she was ever alive to see them,’ Skinner countered.
‘Do you think those records are faked, sir?’ Mann asked.
He nodded. ‘And clumsily, by somebody with a knowledge of poetic history. I studied it as an option in my degree. Look at the names: Byron Millbank, out of Caroline Anne. Lord Byron the poet, and two of his most famous women, Lady Caroline Lamb and her cousin Annabella, the one he wound up marrying.’
‘Where does Millbank come from?’
‘That was Annabella’s family name, only it was spelled differently, as I recall.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t know where all that came from. I must be turning into Andy Martin; he’s got a photographic memory for everything. However,’ he continued, ‘there’s a second context, and one that’s more likely to be connected. It used to be a secret, but now one of the most famous buildings in London is Thames House, on Millbank: it’s the MI5 headquarters. Whoever set up Cohen’s identity practically signed their name.’
‘Aye, sir, but,’ Provan interposed, ‘how do you know that Cohen’s no’ the alias?’
‘I know because I’d never heard of him until Five told me who he was, and told me about his career in the Israeli military and then its secret service. I guess,’ he continued, ‘that Mr Millbank had a driving licence.’
Mann nodded.
‘And a passport?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Neither of them more than six years old?’
The DI opened the folder she had brought with her, searched through her notes, then looked up. ‘That’s right. Both issued a couple of months before he shows up on the payroll of Rondar, and on the same day.’
‘To make absolutely sure,’ Skinner instructed, ‘I want you to go to the DSS and see if his records go any further back with them. My dollar says they don’t. Before then Cohen was in Mossad, until he was caught up in an illegal operation and got thrown out.’
‘But what does it mean, sir?’ Dan Provan asked.
‘Probably nothing at all, as far as our investigation’s concerned. My reading is that British intelligence did the Israelis a favour by looking after one of theirs. They gave him a legitimate front and if he continued to take on black ops under his old identity, that was all right with them. They told me about one where he had used Smit and Botha; that was American-sponsored, in Somalia. I suppose he was what the spooks call an asset, but now it looks as if he wasn’t fussy who he worked for.’
The sergeant blew out his cheeks. ‘This is a’ new stuff for us, gaffer. How do we go about investigatin’ MI5, for Christ’s sake?’
‘You don’t,’ the chief told him. ‘Yes, Byron Millbank, he’ll need to be followed up, but I’ll take care of that. I want you two and your team to focus on Bazza Brown. Am I right in believing that the media haven’t made any connection between his murder and the Field assassination?’
‘So far they haven’t. As far as they know, Ronnie Edgar from Townhead’s the SIO on that case, and they’ve only just found out it’s Bazza that’s dead. They’ve been told we’re still tryin’ to identify the victim.’
‘Good. From what I’ve heard of Brown’s history, now that we have released his name, the first thing the press will do will speculate that it’s gang wars. That’ll be fine by me. Let them chase that hare as long as they can. Meantime, you need to look at his family and his associates. Do you know them?’
‘I know the main one; that would be Cecil, his brother,’ Lottie Mann replied. ‘Younger by two years, but they were as inseparable as twins.’
‘Cecil?’ Skinner repeated. ‘Basil and Cecil? Not exactly Weegie names.’
Provan’s eyes twinkled. ‘Remember that old Johnny Cash song, about a boy called Sue? Their old man, Hammy, he had the same idea. He gave them soppy names, and the pair of them grew up as the hardest kids in Govan. The muscle was equally divided, but Bazza got a’ the brains. Ah’ve lifted Cec in my time. He’s no’ likely tae help us.’
‘Lift him again; tell him it’s on suspicion of conspiracy to murder Toni Field. If the brothers were that close, we have to go on the assumption that whatever the connection was to Smit and Botha, Cecil was part of it. See how he reacts under questioning. Whether he was involved or not, he’ll be thinking revenge. If you tell him there’s nobody left for him to kill, he might just cooperate.’
‘He might, sir. Just don’t build your hopes up, that’s all Ah’m sayin’.’
‘Understood. Now, what else do you have to tell me?’
‘The satnav in the rental car, sir,’ the DI said. ‘We’ve looked at it and it was used. Since they’ve had it, they’ve been to several locations. One was in Edinburgh, and another in Livingston.’
‘The first would be when they first met up with Freddy Welsh, their armourer, when Cohen upped and died on them. The second was when they collected the weapons from Welsh’s store. We know that already. Anything we don’t know?’
She nodded. ‘We’ve found out where they were living. Their journeys were to and from a hotel out on the south side; it’s called the Forest Grove. It’s a quiet place, family run, with about a dozen bedrooms. They were booked in for a week, Sunday to Saturday, full board, signed in as Millbank, Lightbody and Mallett. Millbank said they were there for a jewellery convention, and that the other two worked for the South African branch of his firm. The owner knew him; he’d stayed there before, a couple of times.’
‘Do we have dates?’
‘Yes, boss. And yes, we’ve checked for unsolved crimes to match them. There were none, neither in Glasgow, nor anywhere else in Scotland. But there was a watch fair in the SECC each time, so it looks like he was there on legitimate business.’
‘Fair enough; good on you, for being thorough. Who paid the bill?’ he asked.
‘The man the hotel people knew as Lightbody. He settled up on Saturday lunchtime, then they left. The owner, his name’s MacDonald, remarked to him that he hadn’t seen Mr Millbank for a couple of days, and that his bed hadn’t needed making. Lightbody said that he’d been called away to a meeting in Newcastle and that he’d flown back to London from there. Mr MacDonald thought that was odd, for his daughter had serviced the room the first morning he was gone and his stuff was still in it. Thing about the bill, though, sir, it was settled in cash, old-fashioned folding money.’
‘New Bank of England fifties?’
Mann’s looked at him, surprised. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Our investigation in Edinburgh last week, after we found Cohen’s body, led us to a kosher restaurant in Glasgow. The three guys ate there, and that’s how they paid. Does MacDonald still have the notes?’
‘I’m afraid not, sir. They went straight into his bank’s night safe. I’ve got somebody contacting his branch though; they’re probably still there.’
‘Good. The notes from the restaurant are in Edinburgh. If we can match them up with these and they are straight from the printer, we might be able to trace them to the issuing bank and branch.’
‘Wouldn’t that have been Millbank’s?’ the DI pointed out.
Provan shook his head, causing another micro snowstorm. ‘Ah don’t see that. If he’s had two identities, he’s going tae have kept them completely separate.’