'But he was a vigilante,' Steele protested.
'And an elder of his church when he lived in Pencaitland.' McGuire smiled at him, a dangerous, high-intensity grin. 'Have you never thumped anyone, Sergeant? Remember that guy who slashed Maggie's arm? She heard what you said to him when you had him on the floor, with your knee in the middle of his back. Something about cutting his fucking ears off, wasn't it?
'You were talking earlier on about what the Boss did to that big Russian. I know what he did; Dan Pringle told me. I'd have done much the same in his shoes, except I might have given him an extra kick in the balls, just for luck. Between you and me, I think the way Smith handled the Basra business was just bloody wonderful. You've seen the file; you know what he did to that kiddie. The London murders were exactly the same. The man was an animal. Good for Alec on that one.' 'But still…'
'Aye, I know. You could argue that sometimes the real strength lies in not using your power. But that man Basra deserved to be in the ground. As for Lawrence Scotland, ask yourself this? How many lives did Alec save when he put the fear of God in that bloke?'
'Maybe, Mario. But maybe, too," the fear of God wore off and cost him his own life.'
'Let's find out. That's your lot, then?'
'Yes. What have you got?'
'Eff all… that I fancy at any rate. Let's work our way through the rest, although the further back in time we go, the less we'll get, I'm sure. We'll do it though, report progress to Maggie and then take a real close look at Gus Morrison, and Lawrence Scotland.'
20
Dan Pringle sat behind his desk, like a bear in his lair, when there was a single sharp knock on the door. Before he could call out, 'Yes', it swung open and Alan Royston, the police force's Media Relations Manager burst into the room, clutching a newspaper. Royston was a mild-mannered man; the Superintendent had never seen him roused to anger before. Still, he reacted to being on the end of it.
'What the hell's this, Alan?' he demanded as the door closed. 'You might have fucking wakened me, bursting in like that.'
'I'm sorry about that, Dan,' the Press Officer retorted, 'but I do not like it when officers go behind my back, making unauthorised statements to the media. It undermines me and, frankly, it makes me look like a bloody Charlie.' He waved the tabloid in the air; Pringle could see from the mast-head that it was a copy of Edinburgh's 'other' daily, the Evening News.
He unrolled it and laid it on Pringle's desk. There, on the front page, was the e-fit likeness which the Superintendent had sent for publication a few hours before. 'They gave us a good show,' he grunted.
'Fine,' Royston snapped. 'But look at the heading, Do you know him? Police fear they never will. Look at the copy too, at this line in particular.' He picked up the paper. 'Listen! Senior officers investigating the case admitted privately that they are pessimistic over their chances of ever identifying the mystery man, far less finding his killers? And this. The victim 's face was battered to a pulp, he had multiple fractures and several toes and fingers had been cut off. None of that stuff came from me, Dan, none of it. I used only the statement that we agreed, saying that we were confident of a speedy identification and of further progress thereafter. I said that the man had died of serious head injuries, and no more than that. I didn't give any details, far less all that material. You've got a tip-off man on your team.'
Pringle nodded, his own anger simmering now. 'Aye,' he growled. He stepped over to the door opened it and crossed the corridor to the CID general office. He threw the door open. 'Sergeant McGurk,' he bellowed, 'My office!'
The tall young sergeant followed him, crossing the corridor in a single stride. Pringle grasped the News and thrust it at him. 'Read that crap,' he barked, 'and tell me if any of it came from you. Because if it did, the Head of CID and I have made a big mistake and you're in for the fastest demotion in the history of this fucking police force!'
McGurk went white as a sheet; he tore the paper from Pringle's grasp and began to read. 'None of it, gaffer,' he exclaimed when he had finished. 'Not a word of that came from me. I swear on a stack of Bibles.'
The Superintendent stared up at him, eyes narrowed. 'A big stack?' he growled.
'As big as you like.'
'Do you know the guy who wrote the story?' McGurk nodded. 'Paul Blacklock. He's my brother-in-law.' 'Then get him to phone me and swear the same thing. Do it right now, Jack: get going.'
The Sergeant nodded, and left the room on the double.
'Anyone else?' Royston asked.
'Only the divers and the ambulance crew, and they're hardly senior officers investigating. I'll check them all out though. Apart from them, as far as I can remember, the only people who got a close look at that body were the Head of CID and me. I'm really sorry about this, Alan.'
The Press Officer smiled. 'In that case, do something for me. Call Andy Martin and tell him about this; rather you than me.'
21
The Head of CID looked around the outer room of his office suite. Detective Sergeant Karen Neville and Detective Constable Sammy Pye looked back towards the doorway in which he stood. 'What's odd about this picture?' he asked.
'Tell us, sir,' Sammy Pye replied.
'You two are both back behind your bloody desks.' He laughed. 'Even if it is only for a short time. Come on in here, both of you and tell me about the vets.' Neville and Pye stood and followed him into the inner office.
'We've just finished writing up a summary for DCI Rose,' the Sergeant began as they all took seats at the meeting table. 'We've spoken to every bloody vet in Edinburgh and West Lothian. Most of them, nearly all of them keep supplies of this stuff, but they hardly ever use it. Not one of them was aware of any being missing. 'We've checked out their College too — The Royal Dick Vet.'
'Where do they learn about the other bits of the animals, though?' Pye asked, drawing a frown from Martin.
'Shut up, Sammy.' Neville carried on, quashing the interruption. 'We spoke to a professor there. He told us that they only teach the theory, not the practice, so they don't keep stocks at all. He told us all about the theory, though — for example the quantities you'd use to knock down a man would be the same as you'd use for a large chimpanzee.'
'As for administering it, that would depend on the animal,' said the DCS.
'Let's just assume that big Alec Smith would have been a pretty dangerous animal if you'd come at him with a hypodermic in your hand.'
'In that case, you'd have shot him with a tranquilliser dart, usually from a specially-adapted air rifle or air pistol. None of them was missing either, anywhere.'
'How about the zoo?'
Neville shot him a quick, private, chastening look. 'We checked that, of course — and the travelling circus that was pitched out in Livingston last weekend — and an ostrich farm down in the Borders. Nothing missing from any of them.'
'Only one other thing to do, then,' Martin muttered.
'We've just finished doing it. The names of all the vets, all the professional staff at the Royal Dick Vet, and all the zoo and circus people have been fed into the PNC, looking for anything that might connect them back to Alec Smith.
'A complete blank, I'm afraid, sir. Vets are straight-A people to the point of boredom. That really is as far as we can go. Like I've said, we've just finished our report for Ms Rose.'
The Head of CID nodded. 'Right; she's at the divisional HQ today, in Brian Mackie's office. Take it along to her, Karen, and run through what you've done, just in case there are any areas that you and her people might not have covered between you. After that, I want you both to report to Superintendent Pringle down atTorphichen Place. He's short-staffed and needs all the help he can get to put a name to the-Saturday-night floater.'