‘Hello, this is Captain Sharif. How can I help you?’
‘Good afternoon. I’m Inspector Steele, CID in Edinburgh, Scotland. I’m working on an investigation here and a name’s come up. She was an employee in a Dubai bank and she was a victim in a fatal car accident at the beginning of last year. Aurelia Middlemass, South African.’
‘Excuse me, that name again, please?’
‘Aurelia Middlemass.’
‘I cannot help you on that, Inspector Steele, I am afraid. This department did not investigate that incident. It was handled by someone else.’
‘Can you transfer me to that section, please?’
For a few moments, only light static could be heard, the unmistakable sound of a man considering something very carefully. ‘I do not think so. In the circumstances, I believe it would be better if they called you back.’
‘Sure.’ Steele understood that his identity was being checked; he gave the Torphichen Place switchboard number rather than his direct line. He hung up, and waited, and waited, and. .
It was almost half an hour before the phone rang. When it did, he snatched it up. ‘Yes?’ he snapped.
‘Ouch!’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘Who’s been rattling your cage, Inspector?’
‘I’m sorry, love,’ he said. ‘I’ve been waiting for a call and I’m beginning to think I’ve been pissed about.’
‘Will it keep you late tonight?’
‘I hope not. Why?’
‘I just thought we might do something nice and domestic. Like a food shop.’
He could see her face in his mind’s eye, and he smiled. ‘My favourite hobby. How did you guess? As an alternative, why don’t we go along to Fort Kinnaird, grab a pizza or something Mexican, then go to a movie?’
‘I’ll buy that. Then we can do the food shop afterwards. Asda’s open twenty-four hours, remember.’
‘Okay. By the way, did you have a chance to go down to see Mario today?’
‘No,’ Maggie replied. ‘It wouldn’t have been a good time. They were expecting Americans. I’ll try to do it tomorrow. See you later.’
Suddenly, he was aware of George Regan approaching. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he murmured, and hung up.
‘Good,’ said the sergeant. ‘The switchboard’s got a soldier on hold for you.’
Barely a second later, the phone rang again. He picked it up. ‘Call for you, sir.’
‘Inspector Steele?’ The voice at the other end was deep, and precise. ‘I am Brigadier General Hanif Aqtab. I am assistant chief of police in Dubai, in charge of the Criminal Investigation section. Your call to our Transport department has been referred to me.’
‘May I ask why, sir?’
‘Because of the name you mentioned, Miss Middlemass, the South African lady. She did indeed die here in a motor-car incident, but I am curious. Why do you ask about her?’
‘I’m investigating a fraud, General, from a bank here in Scotland. The principal suspect is an employee of that bank, and she used the name Aurelia Middlemass. I’ve seen her file and her curriculum vitae, and all the details match the woman who was killed in your country. The suspect here appears to have assumed her identity and tricked the Scottish Farmers Bank into giving her a senior position. Unfortunately she has absconded.’
‘She has what?’
‘I’m sorry. She’s disappeared. We’re trying to trace her, but without success. In view of the identity she stole, I’m going on the assumption that she has a connection with Dubai.’
‘Reasonable,’ the General conceded. ‘Do you have a photograph of this woman?’
‘Yes, I do. She had a security pass at the bank; that vanished with her, but they have a duplicate of her mugshot. I’ll have it scanned and sent to you as an e-mail attachment. I took your central address from your website.’
‘Thorough, Inspector. Use the prefix “genaqtab”: one word.’ He spelled it out.
‘Thanks. But may I ask, sir, if this was a vehicle accident, how did you become involved in its investigation?’
‘Because of the other victim. The unfortunate Miss Middlemass’s death was what our allies are fond of calling, these days, collateral damage. Tell me, Inspector, this suspect of yours, does she have an associate, a partner, someone close to her?’
‘A husband, in fact. He’s gone too.’
‘What do you know of him?’
‘He’s an academic chemist, doing a doctorate.’
‘And his nationality?’
‘He claimed to be Spanish, but she claimed to be Aurelia Middlemass, so who knows?’
‘I see.’ He heard the general’s breathing for a few moments; nothing else. ‘Inspector, I can say no more over the telephone. I will arrange for people to come to see you.’
‘How soon?’
‘As soon as it can be done; it will not be long, I promise. When they do come, you may wish to have your most senior commander present.’
74
Skinner called his office as soon as he stepped from the plane on to the air bridge at Edinburgh. As he expected, Jack McGurk was still there. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.
‘Mr Rossi called,’ the sergeant replied, ‘to say the information you requested will be with you first thing tomorrow. DI McIlhenney phoned. He says he needs to see you tonight; he asked me to call him back to confirm as soon as your plane touched down. DCS Pringle rang as well. He said that Stevie Steele’s got an investigation under way that might need your personal involvement, some time soon.’
‘That’s all I need, Jack.’ He groaned. ‘Did he say what he wanted?’
‘No, sir; he said it was essential, that’s all.’
‘If he said that, it is. Is there a car waiting for me outside the airport?’
‘There better be. I ordered it.’
‘Okay. Tell Neil six o’clock.’
He ended the call then dialled Aileen de Marco’s number. ‘Hello,’ she exclaimed breezily. ‘You are calling to tell me you’re going to make it this time, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, it’s okay. I’ll pick you up at seven fifteen as arranged, yes?’
‘No, just go straight to the club. I’ll be ready to leave in half an hour so I’ll take a taxi, and wait for you there, away from the phones.’
‘Fine. See you there.’
Two constables and a Traffic car were waiting outside as he walked through the main door into the cold November evening. They came to something approaching attention as they saw him. He waved them into the car and slid into the back seat, then checked the time: five thirty-five. ‘Blue-light it if you have to,’ he said. ‘I must be in my office before six.’
He made it to Fettes with ten minutes to spare, and was in his chair, looking out of the window, as Neil McIlhenney’s car rolled up the driveway. His eyebrows rose slightly when he saw that there was a man in the passenger seat.
He was waiting in the corridor when McIlhenney led the crew-cut stranger upstairs; as he ushered them into his room, he asked the inspector, quietly, ‘Do we need anyone else?’
‘Absolutely not,’ his friend replied.
Leaving his visitors for a moment, Skinner went along to his assistant’s office and told him that he could go home. When he returned to his office McIlhenney and the other man were standing in front of his desk.
‘Boss,’ the DI began, ‘this is Lieutenant Eli Huggins, from NYPD Internal Affairs Bureau. He’s got a story that nobody else needs to hear.’
The DCC looked at him; he seemed wound up tight. He smiled at him then reached out and shook his hand. ‘You can tell it sitting down, then, Eli. How long have you been in Scotland?’
‘Since eight thirty, sir.’
‘And in all that time has anyone offered you a beer?’
‘No, sir, they have not.’
‘Bloody disgraceful,’ Skinner muttered. He stepped round to his fridge and took out a bottle of Becks and two Cokes, all uncapped. ‘I’m driving, so I won’t. Neil used to be a fat bastard, so he won’t. But you get outside that, and tell me all about it.’
Huggins’s bottle was empty half-way through his story: the DCC stopped him and fetched him another, then listened until he was finished.