‘So what did he do?’
‘Reported it to Gayfield, and explained the circumstances.’
Skinner’s face darkened. ‘And what did they do?’
Martin looked at him. ‘They visited each locus with Mr Duff, dusted the doors for fingerprints, didn’t find any, took notes, and filed them.’
‘They had the names?’ Skinner’s voice had a cutting edge. Martin nodded. ‘And they did sweet fuck all?’ Martin nodded again.
Skinner turned, picked up Martin’s telephone and dialled his own extension number. ‘Brian, I want the names of the CID officers who attended reported break-ins at...’ he looked at the note Martin handed to him and read out the addresses,‘ ... on December the ninth, and I want them on my carpet on Monday morning. And tell them to come in their best uniforms.’
He slammed down the telephone. ‘Let them sweat it out for a couple of days.’
His anger, as usual, went quickly. ‘What about keys? Will we need warrants?’
‘The keys are all safe and sound at Curle, Anthony and Jarvis. Kenny Duff will let us have them tomorrow. And there’s no question of warrants, even as a formality. He’s being very co-operative.’
‘That’s good. What did you tell him?’
‘A version of the truth. That our enquiries are continuing and that we need to look through personal papers to pursue them.’
‘Right. Stand down the people for today. We’ll meet here at nine-thirty tomorrow morning. Now I’m off to make it up with my fiancée, and to explain why her Sunday’s going the same way as her Saturday!’
49
The team was assembled in Skinner’s outer office and ready for briefing when he arrived, one minute before 9.30 a.m. Martin, Mackie and Maggie Rose had been joined by two Special Branch detectives, and a young woman in uniform, whom he had not seen before.
The squad stood to attention until Skinner motioned them to sit. Martin began the introductions. ‘Maggie you know, boss. You may also recall these two, DCs McGuire and Mcllhenney.’
He introduced the uniformed girl. ‘You probably won’t have met WPC Aileen Stimson, sir. Aileen is fairly new on the force, but I chose her for two reasons. One, her station inspector gave her as good a report as I’ve ever heard, and two, she has a law degree.’
Skinner nodded to the girl, then rose to his feet. ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector.
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Those of you who are not already in the know will undoubtedly be wondering what can have led me to assemble a squad like this, with such urgency, and on a Sunday morning. Let me tell you.
‘We have reason to believe that there may be a link between the deaths of Michael Mortimer, an advocate, and the first of the Royal Mile victims, and his girlfriend Rachel Jameson, also an advocate, who went under a train in Glasgow, just a few days after Mortimer’s murder. Our friends in the Crown Office insist that she jumped. I don’t believe that. I’m damn sure she was pushed.
‘We know that whoever killed Mortimer did the other three Royal Mile jobs. For a while, that led us down a false trail, and eventually to a certain deranged individual, with a strong revenge motive. Some of you know that much already. But recently, we found evidence that Mortimer’s briefcase had been tampered with after his death, and that Jameson’s had been stolen from the scene of her murder. Now, to top that, we have discovered that the flats of both victims have been entered and searched.
‘So it looks as if the killer was after something from Mortimer and Jameson. We have to find out what that was. Once we know that, we should know why they were killed. From there it should be a short step to whoever did it.
‘Between us, we are going to cover every inch of the personal and professional lives of Michael Mortimer and Rachel Jameson. We will go through their papers looking for anything that is at all odd or out of place-I can’t give you a more detailed brief, but you’re all bright people. You’ll know it when you see it. Chief Inspector Martin will allocate duties.’
He sat down.
Martin stood up and faced the team. ‘Thank you, Mr Skinner. On this operation there will be three search locations, and you will divide into three search units.
‘DI Mackie and DC Mcllhenney will examine all of the papers and effects in Mortimer’s flat. DS Rose and DC McGuire will search Miss Jameson’s place.’ His eyes swung towards the uniformed girl. ‘You, Miss Stimson, will be based at the Advocates’ Library, going over yet again all of the instructions with which the two victims have been involved over the last eighteen months. I’ve placed you there on your own. We have already been through these papers, and so, frankly, I don’t expect to find anything. But we must go back one more time. This is a discreet operation, and if you’re alone, we can give you the cover of a research fellow. With your legal background, you’ll be able to talk to the advocates without attracting suspicion.’
He turned to Skinner. ‘I’ve agreed this with Peter Cowan, boss.’ The ACC nodded his approval. ‘Aileen, your reward is that you can have the rest of the day off. But meet me here tomorrow morning at 8.15 sharp, in suitable civilian clothes. That means sober dress; nothing that will raise the blood pressure of any passing judges!
‘The rest of us will start now. Brian, Maggie, here are the keys. The addresses are on the labels.’
He threw keys on rings to Mackie and Rose. Each key ring was weighted by a Dundas & Wilson card, encased in plastic. Each card bore the practice logo and an address.
‘While you are picking your way through the paper, the boss and I will be digging into the past of both victims, looking for skeletons in their cupboards.’
Martin finished and sat down, returning the floor to Skinner.
‘One last word, although it’s a long one for you lot. Confidentiality. Outside of this room, no one, apart from Peter Cowan at the Faculty of Advocates, knows the full nature of this enquiry. So if word leaks out, I’ll know where to look. So no discussion, even among yourselves in the pub. Keep it tight.’
He looked around the circle of faces before him. ‘Any questions?’
No one spoke or moved.
‘Right, let’s go to work.’
50
Skinner sank into his swivel chair, swung his feet up on to the desk, picked up the telephone and punched in the 041- number which Martin had written out for him.
After a short delay, the call was answered by a man, a man with an old, tired voice. ‘Hello, Jimmy Mortimer.’ The tones were gruff, the accent broad Clydebank.
Skinner introduced himself and explained the purpose of his call.
Jimmy Mortimer grunted. ‘Hm. Yis still don’t hiv a bliddy clue, hiv yis?’
‘We have lines of enquiry to follow, Mr Mortimer, and one requires that we talk to your son’s friends, all the way back to his schooldays. So if you can help me, I’d be grateful.’
‘Look, mister, ma son’s new friends wis all lawyers, and he didnae even have much time for them once he took up wi’ yon poor lassie. Round boot here, when he wis a laddie, his best pal was Johnny Smiley. Nice lad. Always aboot the hoose. He’s a teacher noo; works in Port Glesca High, ah think. Oor Michael said he wis livin’ in Langbank. Is that ony guid tae yis?’
‘It’ll do for a start, Mr Mortimer. Thank you very much.’
Skinner clicked the line dead and called up the switchboard operator. ‘ACC Skinner here, Olive. I’d like you to do a bit of detective work for me. I want to speak to a Mr John Smiley, he’s a teacher, and he lives in Langbank, Renfrewshire, but I don’t have an address for him. He is, or rather was, a friend of a Mr Michael Mortimer. See if you can find him for me, please.’