Steele nodded. Carefully, he replaced the empty drawers in the desk, then helped McGuire to turn over the heavy sofa. They checked underneath it and under the rest of the furniture in the room but found nothing.
They continued the search through the rest of the upper floor of the house, turning over mattresses, rifling through drawers, turning out the pockets of every garment hanging in Alec Smith's wardrobe, even checking inside the pill and plaster boxes in the bathroom cabinet. They moved downstairs through the dining room and into the kitchen, finding nothing but a large supply of Baxter's soup, a fridge well stocked with soft drinks and small bottles of Belgian beer, breakfast cereal, tins of nuts and a large box of sunflower seeds.
'Liked his nuts,' Steele commented.
'Had them burned off,' McGuire countered, dryly.
Finally they made their way down into the cellar; apart from a bulk supply of dog food, stored on a high shelf, there was nothing there but tools, as Arthur Dorward had reported earlier. There were no windows, only a door; McGuire opened it and found half a dozen steps leading back up to the level of a small lawn. As he stepped back inside, he found Steele examining a white line which ran round the wall, about four feet above the level of the stone floor.
'What do you think this is, Mario?'
'Looks like a tide-mark.'
'Yes. I reckon this place must be susceptible to flooding, maybe when there are high tides and bad weather combined. No way he's going to store anything down here.' The Sergeant looked up. 'That's us then. What's left to do?'
'We go up into the attic. Then we go back to every room that doesn't have a fitted carpet and lift the floorboards. I promised you a long hard day, Stevie, and I meant it.'
26
The elderly Probation Officer stared across her desk at the Detective Chief Superintendent. 'I don't know if I like this, Mr Martin,' said Roberta Nelson. 'Ever since he's been under my supervision, Angus Morrison has been a model parolee.'
'I'm sure he has,' the policeman replied, evenly. 'Gus was pretty stupid as a would-be terrorist, but even he would know that the first rule of the turf, if the Parole Board gets soft with you, is that you're nice to your supervising officer.'
'That's a very cynical attitude.'
Martin sighed wearily. 'No, it's a universal truth. You see people like him at their best; all too often I see them at their worst.'
'I know Angus,' the woman insisted. 'He has a good job — I arranged it for him myself — as a van driver with Scottish Power.'
The Head of CID laughed. 'That's ironic; he was nicked trying to blow up one of their pylons.'
'He's paid for that mistake. He's a model employee; never a day's sick leave, never late for work. He never misses a meeting with me. No, no, no. I will not have you treat him as "one of the usual suspects". I refuse to co-operate with you, point-blank.'
'Ms Nelson, it isn't a matter of you co-operating with me. I don't even want to co-operate with you. I'm not asking you, I require you, to give me the present address of Gus Morrison, so that I can eliminate him from police enquiries into the murder of the man who arrested him and who gave evidence against him at his trial.'
She snorted. 'Hmm! I know how the police work. You'll arrest him, you'll intimidate him, and you'll leave him believing that there is no such thing as a reformed offender in your eyes. And we know where that leads, don't we? Straight back to prison.'
The detective leaned forward in his chair. 'Lady, you know damn well that a significant proportion of people convicted of crimes and offences in Scotland are under probation orders at the time, or re-offend shortly after completing a period on probation. I promise you I'm not going to railroad Morrison; I'm simply going to find out whether or not he killed Alec Smith.' He stood. 'Now: unless you'll swear under oath that he was with you all last Friday evening, I'll have his home address, please, and that of the depot where he works.'
The woman shot him a last look. She had said her piece, but they both knew that she was not in a position to deny him what he wanted. She went to a filing cabinet, took out some papers, and copied some details from them on to a note pad.
'There.'
Martin took the note from her, with slightly exaggerated thanks — no point in rubbing it in — and left her office.
Gus Morrison's work address was a Scottish Power depot in Portobello. Andy drove straight there from Roberta Nelson's Haymarket office, not in his MGF but in a white Mondeo which he had taken from the police pool. Detective Constable Sammy Pye was by his side, borrowed back from Dan Pringle's team for the occasion, and grateful to be relieved of door-knocking duty.
They found the Depot Manager's office without difficulty, just after midday. 'Angus Morrison?' said Walter Gough. 'Oh aye, Gus. He's out with an emergency crew just now. Due back in half-an-hour, though. He might be early, ye never know.
'What d' yis want him for? He's no' in bother again is he?'
'No. This is just part of the parole supervision process,' Martin lied. 'How's he doing, anyway?'
'Gus? He's fine. He's only been with us a few months, since he got out, but he's never been a problem. Quiet bloke, like, and there's something a bit sad about him. The probation woman said his girlfriend hanged herself in the jail. Is that right?'
'Yes, I'm afraid so. Some people just can't do the time; men as often as women for all that the papers would have you think.'
'Aye well, no wonder Gus is a bit odd then.' 'What do you mean?'
Gough hesitated. 'Ach. It's just that the rest of the lads are a bit wary of him. They catch him talking to himself every so often.'
'About anything in particular?' 'Nan, nothing they can make out.'
They heard the sound of an approaching vehicle, a noise of wheels on gravel. Gough glanced out of the window of his small office. 'That's his van now. How long will yis want him?' he asked as the two policemen stood.
Martin shrugged. 'Give him the rest of the day off?'
'Aye, that's no problem. One of the other lads can drive if we get another emergency call-out.'
The Head of CID glanced at his file photograph of Morrison and showed it to Pye as they strode towards the big van. They flanked him as he stepped out of the driver's door. He was big, over six feet and bulky. His nose had been badly broken once, and blue stubble showed on his chin. Real hard case, thought Pye.
Martin showed his warrant card, briefly, so that none of the other workmen could see. 'Gus,' he said in a friendly voice. 'We need to talk. Come on along with us.'
'What for?' Morrison growled.
'We want to buy you lunch, that's all.' One to each arm, gently but securely, they walked him across to the Mondeo.
27
'I think I should close down the headquarters van, Mario,' said Maggie Rose, 'and base the investigation out of Haddington from now on.'
Her husband nodded across the table at which he and Stevie Steele were sitting. Their faces were streaked with dirt and their clothes were dusty. Each was in the process of emptying a can of lager; four more lay in a bag at their feet.
'You might as well, Chief Inspector. I've dug up as much of North Berwick as I'm about to. What a wasted day!'
'Not exactly,' the Sergeant ventured. 'That desk might have gone for auction with a gun in it, and those keys too if you hadn't known about that drawer.'
'No,' said McGuire. 'Absolutely not. The furniture specialist in any sale-room would have looked for that drawer right away. I'd rather it was us found the gun than him, though; that could have been embarrassing. We might have had a struggle keeping it out of the papers.'
'Aye,' laughed Steele. 'The Evening News is getting everywhere just now. Did you see their story yesterday on that other investigation. There was some very specific stuff in that. The guy who wrote that story, Blacklock: he's big Jack McGurk's brother-in-law. Did you know that?'