When he walked into the hotel’s small reception area, the duty manager recognised him at once: he was not a man easily forgotten. ‘Good morning, Mr McIlhenney,’ he greeted him. ‘Are you here for Mr Mawhinney?’
‘Got it in one, Saeed. Will you call him for me, please?’
‘I will, but I’m not sure that he’s in. He hasn’t been for breakfast yet, I know that; but the last couple of mornings he’s got up early and gone for a walk first. Could be he’s been and gone and I’ve just missed him. I’ll call him.’
He picked up a phone, dialled Mawhinney’s room and waited for a full minute before hanging up and shaking his head.
‘Is his key there?’ the detective asked.
‘No, but that doesn’t signify. It’s a card thing and guests never leave them behind.’
‘I’ll go up anyway and knock his door. Maybe he was in the shower when you called. What’s his number?’
‘One oh six.’
McIlhenney walked up a single flight of stairs and found the room quickly. He knocked on the door, loudly, and called out, ‘Morning call, Colin. You’ve got a nine-thirty appointment, remember.’ He waited, with growing impatience, until finally he gave up and went back downstairs.
He sat in Reception for ten more minutes, grumbling to himself and checking his watch. ‘This is a bit of a damn nuisance,’ he muttered to himself, then took a decision. ‘Saeed,’ he called out, ‘have you got a pass key?’
‘Of course. You want to look in the room?’
‘Just to be on the safe side, we’d better.’ The two men climbed the stairs once more, and the manager unlocked the door to room 106. It was beautifully furnished, and immaculately serviced; its double bed in the centre of the room was made and, apart from a suitcase in a stand behind the door, there was nothing to indicate that it was even occupied.
McIlhenney frowned and took out his cell phone; he found McGuire’s mobile number and called him. ‘Yes,’ his friend replied, unusually impatient, as if he had been disturbed.
‘Mario, if I’m interrupting anything I’m sorry, but did Colin Mawhinney stop at your place last night?’
‘No,’ McGuire grunted. ‘But neither did I. We were at Paula’s for a meal. I stayed there, Colin left about ten to walk back to the Malmaison. Why? Is he not there?’
‘No, the bugger’s out. You sure he knew I was supposed to pick him up to take him to meet the minister?’
‘Absolutely certain; I remember mentioning it to him.’
‘Any chance he misunderstood?’
‘None at all. I was speaking English at the time. I suppose he might have forgotten, though. Best thing you can do is phone the minister’s private secretary and ask her to call you if and when he turns up there. After that all you can do is wait there for a while and see if he comes back.’
‘Maybe you could get some of your boys to check the saunas,’ McIlhenney suggested. ‘He’s a single guy, after all; maybe he’s gone for an early-morning massage.’
‘No, Neil,’ Mario replied. ‘Not this man. Early-morning mass, maybe; massage, certainly not.’
43
It made Stevie Steele feel strange to see someone else sitting behind Maggie’s desk, yet, given their life-changing weekend, it gave him less difficulty than might have been the case otherwise. They had wakened together for the second morning in succession, the difference being that this was a working day.
There had been no awkwardness, though. He had left the en suite bathroom to Maggie and had used the one downstairs to prepare himself for the day. He was not sure what Mary Chambers’s style would be so he had selected one of his better suits, a white shirt and a plain, sober tie.
‘Mmm, smart,’ Maggie had said, eyeing him up as he came into the kitchen.
‘You can talk, ma’am. Are you going to wear that uniform every day from now on?’
‘Why? Does it make me look like an old frump?’
‘Not in the slightest, honey. Does this make me look like a civil servant?’
She had grinned at that. ‘It makes you look like an ambitious young DI who’s out to make an impression on the new boss.’
‘Am I overdoing it?’
‘Not at all. She’ll take that as a compliment.’
She had too. In fact, Detective Superintendent Mary Chambers had dressed much as he had for her first morning in the new rank, in a dark, almost formal trouser suit. Her plain, square early-forties face was adorned by a minimum of makeup, and her dark grey-flecked hair was cut short, but not severely so.
He had made for her office as soon as he had arrived at the station; he had given Maggie a five-minute head start before leaving Gordon Terrace, yet the unpredictability of the traffic flow had resulted in them driving into the car park as if they had travelled in convoy. Twenty minutes short of nine, but his new boss had been there, and for some time too, as the papers piled around her indicated.
‘Let’s sort out the ground rules, Inspector,’ she said, as he settled into the chair opposite, the one from which he had looked at her predecessor so many times. ‘I’m an informal operator, like Maggie, so between us it’s Mary and Stevie, unless you’ve any problem with that.’
‘Fine by me, boss.’
‘Boss!’ she grunted. ‘I like that. It makes me sound like Fergie.’
‘Which one?’ he asked, and they both laughed, breaking any ice between them for good.
‘Maggie’s marked my card about the team. What’s your take on them?’
Steele went through the divisional CID staff one by one, appraising each. He began with Tarvil Singh, but left George Regan till last. It did not escape her. ‘Will I have any bother with him?’ she asked. ‘I’ve heard that Dan Pringle’s his role model.’
‘George is all right; his views of women officers may sound non-PC, but in the main they’re bullshit, for show. He likes to think of himself as a dinosaur, but actually he’s reasonably warm-blooded. That makes him vulnerable to the image of him walking round the track at Tynecastle in a sergeant’s uniform, and aware of the need to do everything he can to avoid that ever happening.’
‘He can cope with having a female boss?’
‘Sure.’
‘One who lives with another woman?’
‘Regan is many things, but he’s not prejudiced. For example, he’s coping fine with having a Sikh for a partner. He’s also coping without having my size eleven up his arse, and he wants to keep it that way.’
‘You’ve got a way with words, young Stevie. Now tell me, how am I going to get on with Dan Pringle? I’ve heard it said that Maggie’s promotion wasn’t his idea.’
Steele frowned. ‘I doubt if Dan was even consulted. He’s only got a couple of years left, at most; moving Mags, and you for that matter, was a strategic decision, and its effects will be felt after he’s gone. Sometimes DCS Pringle feels as if he’s been parked on a siding. . and maybe he has. From time to time that makes him throw his weight about. The only advice I can give you on that is, when he’s right listen to him, and when he’s wrong bloody well tell him.’
‘Thanks, Stevie, I’ll bear that in mind. I won’t have to worry about him for a day or two, though. He called me just before you came in to apologise for not being here to welcome me, but he’s hands-on with this toothpaste crisis.’
The DI looked puzzled. ‘What toothpaste crisis?’
‘Where have you been for the last twelve hours?’ Chambers exclaimed. ‘A guy out in East Lothian was poisoned by toothpaste laced with cyanide. He bought it in Newcastle on Friday. The whole thing’s gone national; there have been emergency announcements on the box and everything. The DCC’s put Dan in charge of the investigation.’
‘Mary, I haven’t seen a news report or read a paper since yesterday lunchtime. Are we involved?’
‘Not yet, and hopefully we won’t be. They’re hauling back all the toothpaste they can and testing it. As of this morning they haven’t found any more spiked tubes, and there haven’t been any other deaths. I imagine there are a lot of yellow teeth in Newcastle this morning, though.’