Nothing else that McGarry had done showed a scrap of real initiative. He had taken a statement from Eden, and had interviewed the part-time crew of the Princess, Hurrell and Hodgson. At least he’d shown the nous to ask those two for their whereabouts at the time of the theft, 3 a.m. on 4 October. Hurrell had been driving Eden and Rachel home to Edinburgh after a dinner at Gleneagles Hotel, and Hodgson had been visiting his niece, in Rochdale.
Beyond that the file was bare. There were notes of visits to marinas in the Firth of Clyde, and of telephone calls to those in its islands, and more remote mainland areas. There had been a discussion with Eden’s insurer, but that amounted to nothing more than a lack of progress report.
The investigation had been founded on a very basic assumption, that the vessel had been stolen by persons unknown with the motive being simple profit. My problem was that it had never occurred to McGarry to look anywhere else. I’d told Eden and Rory, without even having seen the boathouse, that there had to have been inside knowledge in the planning of the operation, and yet that hadn’t dawned on an officer who’d reached detective inspector rank.
Unless . . .
I picked up my phone and called Mario McGuire, mobile to mobile. He must have been home, for in the background I could hear wee Eamon yelling for sustenance.
‘Hi, Bob,’ he said. ‘Got the report?’
‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Have I ever.’
‘Is it okay?’
‘Hah,’ I chuckled. ‘Obviously you haven’t looked at it yourself.’
‘No, I wasn’t in Glasgow today. I had it sent straight to you once it had been pulled from the archive. Is it dodgy?’
I gave him a brief rundown of the contents. As I finished I could hear him gasp. ‘And that’s it?’
‘Yup. That’s as far as it goes. It says several things to me. But the most immediate concern is that McGarry is either stupid, bone idle, or corrupt. In your shoes, I’d be having him investigated, very quietly, to rule out the latter. More than that, I’d be doing what I’d have done in Strathclyde if I’d known about this. I’d be rooting out his entire reporting chain, and looking over every closed investigation that division ever undertook.’
‘Bloody right!’ he snorted. ‘First thing tomorrow, that gets done.’ He paused. ‘Listen, you know the people through in the west better than I do. Short of bringing somebody in from another area, which would be noticed, is there anyone you can suggest to do the job discreetly?’
‘What’s Sandra Bulloch doing now?’ I asked. ‘She was my exec, but I don’t suppose that Andy kept her on in that role.’
‘She’s been promoted DCI, on major crimes,’ he replied. ‘I interviewed her and I can see why you rated her. I’ll put her on it. Will you want to talk to McGarry yourself?’
‘That would be pointless,’ I told him. ‘All that would happen would be me losing my rag. There’s nothing he could tell me that isn’t in his file, unless Sandra comes up with a link between him and anyone connected to the Princess. If she does, it would be good to know, but that’s all.’
‘Will do,’ Mario said, ‘although my money’s very much on stupidity or laziness.’ Then he paused. ‘How are you feeling after what we both saw this morning?’ he murmured.
‘It won’t go away,’ I admitted, ‘and believe me, I’m trying to block it out.’
‘Have you heard from the Menu lately?’
‘Not since this afternoon,’ I replied, ‘when they asked me if I could ID their prime suspect as the driver of the BMW. I did the best I could. They seemed pretty certain, though; I had the feeling I was just being asked out of politeness.’
‘They know for sure now,’ he growled, grimly.
Something in his tone made a piece of the day’s jigsaw click into place.
‘Are you going to tell me,’ I ventured, ‘that the double fatality that Sarah’s just been called to attend is . . .’
‘That I am. I’ve just had Pye on the phone. They’ve been sure from early on that Francey didn’t plan this thing all on his own. It seems that they were right and that he’s picked up the tab for failure, and his girlfriend alongside him. They’ll need dental or DNA identification, though. They were both burned to cinders. Don’t expect Sarah home in a hurry. She’s going to do both autopsies tonight.’
‘Oh God,’ I sighed, then shuddered. ‘What a job she’s gone to. Now I’m wishing she hadn’t had that tuna steak.’
Twenty-Six
Sarah called me from the scene of the call-out, fifteen minutes after my conversation with Mario, to confirm what he had told me, that she was heading to the mortuary from the crime scene.
‘I’ve just called Roshan,’ she said, ‘and he’s on the way there too. I have no idea how long it’ll take us to do both examinations, but you can set the alarm before you go to bed, because I won’t be home. I’ll get some sleep at my place when I’m done and go in to work from there tomorrow.’
‘They’re sure it’s the lad Francey?’ I asked.
‘It’s subject to DNA confirmation, but they seem to be. The number plates on the car are still recognisable. It’s bizarre, Bob; the fire crew leader says it’s his wife’s, and that the dead man’s his brother-in-law. As for the girl, if Sammy and Sauce are right about her identity, they know where she lives, so proving it won’t be difficult.’
‘Doesn’t sound like it,’ I agreed. ‘Mario says that the lads are treating the deaths as linked to the attack and abduction, but I suppose that’s a no-brainer.’
‘Literally,’ she replied, grimly. ‘She was shot in the head. It’s not so easy to tell by looking at what’s left of him but my expectation is that he was too.’
I’ve seen pathologists at work, Sarah among them, more often than I care to remember. It’s horrible, bloody, smelly work, and I knew how she’d look once she was finished. I’ve seen, on occasion, how long she’d spend in the shower after a particularly nasty one, ridding herself of the last possibility of contamination by her subject. I knew that if she changed her mind and came back to Gullane after dealing with Dean Francey and his girlfriend, even in the middle of the night she’d be reeking of expensive shampoo and Chanel Number Five.
‘Go to it, baby,’ I told her. ‘They couldn’t be in better hands.’
I hung up, but some images that I really didn’t want in my head lodged themselves there. In a bid to drive them away I went back to the police report and to the gaps that could be filled.
Eden had given me his mobile number, saying I could call him any time. I took him at his word; when he answered I could hear festive sounds.
‘It’s Rachel’s birthday party,’ he explained, his voice raised. ‘Hold on, while I go somewhere private.’
I waited as the music and chatter faded, then disappeared entirely with the sound of a closing door. ‘What can I do for you, Bob?’ he asked.
‘I’ve got the police report,’ I replied. ‘It’s not the most thorough I’ve ever seen,’ I added, diplomatically. I should explain that for all his failings, DI Randolph McGarry was nonetheless a serving police officer, and I was not about to excoriate him to a civilian.
‘As Mary Chambers told you, the inquiry got nowhere, neither in what used to be the Strathclyde area, nor with any of the other forces who were asked for input.’
‘So it’s a goner?’
‘Probably,’ I conceded, ‘but there are things I can still look at. For starters I want those lists of guests at your floating reception, and also, details of anyone else who was there in another capacity: caterers and their staff, I’d imagine. I’d like them annotated, with an explanation of who each guest is and why he or she is there.’
‘Can do,’ he said, crisply. ‘I’ll put Luisa on it first thing in the morning and have the stuff emailed to you as soon as it’s done.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What are the prospects of success?’
‘I have no idea. To be frank, Eden,’ I admitted, ‘in all my career I’ve never encountered a theft like this. Sure, things have been stolen from boats, and maybe even the odd dinghy or inflatable’s been taken, but in my experience this one’s unique.’