Lethal Intent (19 page)

'I hope that's all it was,' said Pringle. 'He came to see me as well, yesterday morning, to introduce himself in his new role, so he said… although I don't recall ever having a visit from Sir John Govan when he was in that post.'

'What did you talk about? Old times?'

'Not for long. Your name came up pretty quickly. I don't know why, but he's got it in for you, son. He was asking about your split from Maggie and your relationship with Paula. Whether the second caused the first; you know.'

'I hope you told him to mind his own damn business.'

'I did, but I also told him what Maggie told me, that you and she had come to the end of the road, and that she bears Paula no grudges. It didn't stop there, though: he asked me about your business interests. I told him that as your line commander I'm happy with the arrangements you've made and, more than that, I know that the DCC and the chief are too. Did he raise any of this with you?'

McGuire nodded. 'The business part, yes; if he'd raised the other I'd have thrown him through the nearest window. He dropped some hints that I didn't like.'

'Such as?'

'Well, for a start, he said…' He paused as Pringle's mobile phone chirped a few familiar bars of the William Tell overture.

The head of CID grunted his annoyance as he took it from his pocket. 'Yes,' he barked.

As McGuire looked at him across the desk, he saw a sudden and awful change. His colleague's face grew ashen white, and he seemed to collapse into his chair. His mouth moved as if he was speaking but no sound came out. He tugged again at the corner of his moustache, but this time it was as if he was trying to rip it from his face. 'Yes,' he croaked at last. 'I'm still here. I can hear you. I just don't believe it, that's all. Yes, yes,' it came out as a moan, 'I'll be there.' He took the phone from his ear and jabbed at it as if to cancel the call, but his fingers were trembling. It slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.

'Dan!' McGuire exclaimed. 'What's up? What is it?' The man stared at him helplessly; tears filled his eyes and his mouth hung open. 'What is it?'

At last he responded. 'I've got to piss,' he mumbled, then jumped from his chair and rushed out and through the CID office.

McGuire followed him, ignoring the curious looks of his team. He pushed open the door of the male toilet; he found him standing in a stall, urinating, his shoulders shaking. A bell seemed to ring in his head, and he remembered the moment when he had been told of his father's death. He waited until Pringle was finished, and until he had washed his hands, it's family, isn't it?' he asked quietly.

'It's Ross, my daughter,' Pringle blurted out, choking back a sob. 'She's in a student flat on the Riccarton campus. They said something about a faulty gas fire. They said they couldn't revive her; the paramedics took her to the Royal. I've got to go there, Mario.'

He headed for the door, but McGuire blocked his way. 'I'll take you.'

'I'll drive myself.'

'You'd be a danger; I'm taking you, and that's it.'

Thirty-three

'Before I accepted this job,' said Bandit Mackenzie, 'I asked my wife if it was okay with her. She said that it was, not for the pay rise, but for the chance to move to Edinburgh. She thought that running the Drugs Squad here would be like running the marriage-guidance office in a convent. It hasn't taken long for her to know different'

Neil McIlhenney laughed. 'What is it with you Weegies?' he said. 'There's a lot of money in this city; crime follows money, especially the drugs business. The profile might be different here… more coke-sniffing yuppies than in Glasgow… but it's active and it's profitable. Some very good coppers have had your job over the years and none of them have managed to shut it down completely. There's always someone new appearing on the streets.'

'That's what my wife's finding out.'

'Is she giving you a hard time?'

'The beginnings of a hard time. When we were wrapping up Jingle Bell's operation I had a few late nights. Now we're on this operation, I can see a lot more stretching out before me. I got in at three thirty this morning, and she was awake and waiting for me. Thank Christ we're living through here now, or it would be even worse. As it is, it's a matter of time before she starts to suspect that I'm porking Mavis.'

'Why would she think that? Have you got a track record?'

'No, but I might as well have. My wife's a very suspicious woman; she was sure I was having it away with Gwen Dell, my sergeant through in Lanarkshire. She was always dropping hints about us. Eventually I got fed up with it, so I bought a pair of very flimsy knickers off a stall at Barrowland market and left them under the passenger seat of my car. They were gone inside a week; she never said another word about it after that.'

'Jesus, that's a high-risk strategy.'

'It would have been, if I hadn't written "I love you, Cheryl" on them with a red marker pen.'

'What's your wife's name?' asked McIlhenney, casually.

Mackenzie opened his mouth to reply, but caught on, and laughed. 'Nice one,' he said.

'Have you got kids?'

'Three; two girls, and a boy in the middle. You?'

'Two and a half; Lauren's twelve, and Spencer's ten. The third one's due around next Easter.'

'How did they take to your new wife?'

'Great, especially Lauren. It's nothing to do with having a famous stepmother either. It gave her a chance to get her childhood back. After Olive died she decided that she had to look after me; that meant doing everything for me, except for the ironing. She was smart enough to let me do that. As for Spence, he's your average action man, a friendly, open kid. He accepted Lou from day one, and that was that.'

'It must be terrible to lose your wife so young. I don't know if I could cope with it'

'You would, because you wouldn't have any choice, but I hope you never have to.' He leaned across Mackenzie's desk. 'Did you get any leads last night?'

'Nah,' his colleague replied. 'Not a sniff. We went to three clubs, but they were all quiet. We saw a deal go down in one of them, but we let it pass. It was small-time stuff, a bit of hash, and Mavis recognised the dealer. We can go back and get him any time.'

'Or trace him back to his supplier?'

'We know who that is already: it's an Irish team through in the west. If the Albanians had muscled in on them, we'd have found some bodies by now, or noticed a couple of people missing. How about you? Have you picked up anything?'

McIlhenney hesitated for a second. 'Maybe. We had dinner with Mario and Paula last night, and he mentioned somebody. There's no reason to doubt that the guy's legit, but I've got Alice checking him out. If it's worth following up, I'll take it to the boss.'

'Haggerty?'

'I don't report to him. Besides, he and your pal Green have got their hands full going round the charities and the social workers.'

'Rather them than me: it's like getting blood out of a stone, persuading the do-gooders to talk about their punters… sorry, their clients.'

'Willie Haggerty can be more persuasive than he looks.' He stood up. 'I'd better be getting back to my place. Are you and Mavis out on the razzle again tonight?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'Don't be afraid. There's worse ways to spend a night than clubbing with a big leggy female. You could be on the pandas in Muirhouse.'

Mackenzie sighed. 'Cheryl would prefer it I was,' he said. 'At least then she'd know when I was coming home.' He looked up. 'Where's the best place in Edinburgh to buy sexy knickers?'

'Wouldn't know, pal,' McIlhenney replied, cheerfully. 'I don't wear any.'

Thirty-four

Mario McGuire had done a police driving course early in his career. It showed as he carved his way through the traffic, along Seafield Road and then into Sir Harry Lauder Road, heading for the Jewel and the Edinburgh bypass.

Dan Pringle sat beside him, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing. 'They said they couldn't revive her,' he whispered, as they roared on to the A1. 'What does that mean, do you think?'

'They probably needed more equipment than they had in the ambulance,' McGuire suggested lamely. 'Don't worry, Dan. They'll have given her oxygen and everything.'

'Oh, Christ, I hope so.'

'Who was it that phoned you?'

'Ray Wilding, my assistant. There was a general 999 call; one of the officers who responded realised that it was my daughter. There was a photo on her desk and when they gave her my name as next of kin, he twigged who I was and called my office.'

'So nobody's called your wife?'

'I don't suppose so. Do you think I should?'

'It might be wise.'

Pringle took out his mobile and selected his home number; McGuire concentrated on the road, trying not to listen, but he found it impossible.

'Elma, hello, it's me. I'm on my way to the Royal. No, I'm fine, but there's been an incident with Ross, at the university. No, no, don't panic now; I'm just calling you because I thought you'd want to know. Aye, okay, if you want to come that's fine.'

'Tell her you'll have a car pick her up,' said McGuire.

'What? Aye, okay. Elma, just you wait there. I'll get a panda to pick you up. It won't be long. See you there; and don't worry.' He ended the call and looked round, helplessly. 'Who'll I call, Mario?'

'Wilding. Just tell him to fix it; nearest available car to your house, pronto, then to Accident and Emergency.' He braked, and swore, as he saw that the lights at Sheriffhall roundabout were at red, and that there was a small queue of traffic.

Fortunately it took less than two minutes to clear the junction, for Pringle was almost jumping out of his seat in his agitation. 'Nearly there, Dan,' Mario told him, as they headed through Gilmerton, ignoring the speed limit.

At last, the road signage told them that they had reached the new Royal Infirmary complex. They took the second entrance, and headed straight for the A&E unit, ignoring the car park signs. McGuire jerked to a halt a few yards away from the entrance, on a yellow line.

'You can't park there, Jimmy,' a security guard called out to him, before he had time to close the car door.

'Police,' he snarled, fixing the man with a glare that made him decide that he had more pressing priorities in his life. When he turned back towards Pringle he saw that he was gone, running past an ambulance that stood there, reversed into the wide doorway. It had no crew but its engine was still running.

He broke into a trot to catch up, reaching his colleague just as he arrived at the admission desk. 'Ross Pringle,' he heard him bark at the receptionist. 'She was brought here. Where is she?'

The young man looked up at him. 'Ross Pringle? We havenae had any guys brought in for a while. There was a girl just now, but that's all.'

'Where did they take her?'

'They just rushed her straight through to the emergency room.' He pointed towards a doorway facing the entrance. Pringle turned and ran towards it, with McGuire at his heels, ignoring the receptionist's shout: 'Hey, yis cannae go in there!'

They burst through the double door as if it was made of paper. The area beyond was divided into a number of cubicles. Three were occupied by patients whose injuries were visible and superficial; they were all unattended. The curtains were drawn across a fourth; from behind them, they heard the sound of quiet voices.

The realisation came to McGuire that they should hold back, but it came too late. Before he could stop him, Pringle stepped forward and swept aside the curtains.

Six faces turned to stare at him, but he was unaware of any of them: all he could see was the slim figure lying on the table. She had dark hair, close-cut in a page-boy style. She was barefoot, and wearing pyjamas. The jacket was open; her small breasts were uncovered and several coloured stickers were attached to her chest, leading to a monitor, on which a fluttering heartbeat showed. They could not see her face, for most of it was covered by an oxygen mask.

Nobody spoke. The medical staff continued to stand there as if frozen, gazing at the newcomers. If Pringle was aware of their presence, he gave no sign of it. His eyes were fixed on the table, and on his daughter.

And then he seemed to slump into himself; his knees buckled, and he might have fallen if McGuire had not caught him by the elbows and supported him. 'Come on, Dan,' he murmured. 'Let's just go next door and take care of you.'

Pringle said nothing, for he was incapable of speech, but he allowed himself to be steered into the next, empty, cubicle and sat down on a chair. A white-coated doctor followed. 'The father?' he asked. McGuire nodded. He leaned towards the shocked, ashen figure. 'It's not good, I'm afraid,' he said gently. 'She had a cardiac arrest as she arrived here. We've managed to resuscitate her, but by the time she was found her body had been almost completely starved of oxygen. I wish I could tell you that she'll be all right, but I can't.'

Pringle blinked and looked up at him. 'What? Eh? Aye?' he mumbled. He turned to his colleague. 'Mario, she's not going to die, is she?' He was begging for an answer that could not be given. McGuire, big and hard as he was, found that he could not bear the weight of those eyes on him. A lump came to his throat; he gazed up at the ceiling, fighting to keep his own control as he heard the first sobs.

'What am I going to tell Elma?' Dan Pringle moaned. 'What am I going to tell her mother?'

Thirty-five

'Have you heard?' Bob Skinner asked, as McIlhenney came into his room, but the sight of his friend's expression gave him all the answer he needed.

'About Dan's daughter? McGurk told me just now. She's in a deep coma, he said. Bloody awful isn't it? Just turned twenty apparently. The big lad out there's in a terrible state. He was friendly with the Pringles, and so he knew the girl very well. Gas, was it?'

'So Jack told me. Ray Wilding said something about a faulty room heater.'

'She was in student accommodation, wasn't she? Surely these things have to be inspected annually.'