Lethal Intent (7 page)

He had given her his contact number because, he had told himself and her, he had promised to be there for her whenever she needed advice, but in truth, he wondered if his motive had been more personal. Whatever was in his head, and his heart, he felt an urgent need to speak to her, to make sure that she had kept the promise she had made to him the evening before.

He gave in. He drained the coffee but left half of the bagel, then walked over to a payphone against the wall, and used a credit card to activate it. He punched in her number and waited. Lena McElhone answered. 'Justice Minister's office.'

'Lena, it's Bob Skinner here. Can I speak to Aileen, or is she at lunch?'

'She's in her office, Mr Skinner. Hold on.' He waited for a minute, watching the cost of the call tick higher and higher. 'I'm sorry,' said the private secretary, when finally she came back on line, 'Aileen's very busy and can't be disturbed.'

He grunted in frustration. 'Okay. Tell her I'll call her from Miami once I get there.'

'She expects to be busy all day, sir.'

'She's not clearing her desk, is she?'

'Pardon?'

'Obviously not. Just give her a message, please: tell her I'm glad she's done the right thing, and that I'll be back in Scotland tomorrow morning. I'll call her then, and if her lunch-hour's free maybe she can keep it that way.'

'I'll pass that on, sir. Goodbye.'

Skinner pulled down the cradle, released it again, and dialled the secure Special Branch number. 'Neil,' he said, as his friend picked up the call. 'What's happening? How are the papers handling the terrorists?'

'As you expected,' he replied. 'They're kicking the crap out of the PM and Murtagh. The Nats and the Tories are having a field day.'

'It won't help the terrorists, though. They'll be touching down pretty soon not all that far from where I am right now. I don't fancy their chances of ever leaving.'

'Are you bothered?'

'About what happens to them? In truth, no, I'm not. But I assured Aileen de Marco that they'd be tried in Scotland. I was wrong, and she's been dropped in it. That's what annoys me.'

'You'll both get over it.'

'You sound harassed, Chief Inspector. What's been happening?'

'Plenty, but I can't talk about much of it over the phone. I can tell you one thing, though. Bandit Mackenzie and Andy Martin were playing cowboys last night.'

'Andy was involved?' Then, 'Tayside must be as boring as I told him it would be. Did they get a result?'

'Big time. Bandit's been like a dog with two cocks all morning. He should enjoy it while he can, poor lad: he's about to be given a high-level vasectomy.' The DCC heard McIlhenney pause, as if someone had come into his office. 'Boss, I have to go. See you tomorrow morning.'

Twelve

The tent was still in place, although the body of George Regan junior, aged thirteen, had been removed to the mortuary in the High Street. The King's Stables Road entrance to Princes Street Gardens had been reopened, and a mobile investigation headquarters caravan, white and imposing, now stood where the cars and ambulances had been parked earlier.

George Regan senior and his wife had gone, with the same composure and grace of bearing they had brought with them, to the unspoken relief of their colleagues. The sergeant had understood how difficult their task would be. The violent death of a stranger child always had a profound effect on those who had to investigate it; when the victim was known to them, inevitably it was even worse. George had realised also that he could not be a member of the team, and had made no such embarrassing request.

'You never know what's in a person till you see them in a crisis,' Detective Superintendent Chambers said quietly, facing Stevie Steele across the small table in the mobile HQ. They had been joined there by Detective Chief Superintendent Dan Pringle, the ageing head of CID, and by Alan Royston, the force media-relations manager. There was a fifth person in the command van: Sir James Proud, the Chief Constable, had come to the scene; he sat next to Pringle, silent and solemn.

'Or in yourself, till you experience one,' the DI added. 'Beneath all his normal banter and stuff, George is a bloke and a half

'So let's find out how his son died,' the head of CID pronounced. 'But let's not get ahead of ourselves. We'll reach no conclusions until we have the post-mortem findings. That said, on the basis of what we've seen, provisionally it looks as if it was a straightforward mishap. Young boy out for adventure decides to climb the castle rock, slips and falls, breaks his neck.'

'There were no other injuries on the body,' Steele pointed out. 'Nothing to indicate that he'd fallen.'

'You could fall off a pavement and break your neck,' Pringle countered. 'You might not even have to fall. I heard of a case once where a man was waiting to cross a road and a bus drove past too close to the kerb. Its wing mirror hit the guy, killed him stone dead.'

'It was after dark,' said Mary Chambers, 'and wee George was on an eight o'clock curfew. The other kids were all home on time. Yet he sneaked off on his own and tried to climb a cliff.'

'That would be fairly typical George behaviour,' Steele told her. 'He was a lovely lad, but you'd have thought that mischief had been invented for him. And who says that he was on his own? Maybe they were all there. Maybe it was a dare that went wrong. Maybe the other kids panicked and legged it.'

'That's a possibility,' she conceded.

The Chief Constable leaned forward. 'I don't like to intervene in these situations,' he began, 'but we must interview these boys; quietly and discreetly, but we must do it. We need to eliminate… or confirm… the possibility that they were all part of this prank and have all been scared into silence. If they haven't, then to complete the picture we need to find out if anyone else saw George junior, after they all went their separate ways.'

'Very good sir,' said Chambers. 'DI Steele, DC Singh and I will get on to that straight away.'

DCS Pringle grunted. 'Mary, big Tarvil on his own will scare the shite out of those kids just by looking at them. With George gone you'll be short-handed, so I've persuaded Maggie Rose to lend us her young
prot�g�,
PC Haddock, for a while. He's inexperienced, but he's a smart kid, and he's maybe more user-friendly than DC Singh.'

'Okay,' the superintendent conceded, 'but we'll need to get on with it. George Regan gave us the boys' names, and told us where to find them. Two of them are at Heriot's, and the other four are at Castlebrae, where George junior was. We'll try to interview them at school, but first we'll have to contact the parents, tell them what's happened and give them a chance to be present when we speak to their sons, or get their permission to do it with a teacher present. These are minors, so we'll have to ask the schools if they can lay on counselling for them afterwards.'

She looked at Steele. 'You take young Haddock and handle the pair at Heriot's. I'll do the Castlebrae lot with Tarvil.'

'What about the media?' asked Alan Royston. 'We'll have to make an announcement soon. I'd like you to take a press briefing. How about midday?'

Chambers nodded. 'I'll do it, but not until two o'clock; give us a chance to speak to the boys first. Once we've done that I'll have a better idea of what I'm going to say.'

Thirteen

Bandit Mackenzie smiled. 'A good night's work, would you say, Mavis?'

'And half the day as well,' the sergeant replied, drily. 'You might as well lock them up for the night and let us get home for some rest ourselves.'

'You've got no stamina, MacDougall,' he taunted. 'I can go on for ever after I get a good result; there's no buzz like it.'

'If you really believe that, you're a sad bastard… sir. I've been on duty for over thirteen hours, several of which I spent sealed in a toilet, sharing the moments as females relieved themselves. Now I would like a pizza, a shower, and a change of clothes, preferably before my boyfriend gets home this evening, or he'll smell me before he sees me.'

'Your boyfriend's a plumber; he'll never notice. Come on, I fancy another go at Bell.'

'He's not going to make a statement, however long you go at him. Guys like that don't. We showed him the video and all he did was shrug his shoulders and say you planted the drugs on him outside. All he's offered to plead to is stealing Cable's cell-phone. He's taking the piss, Bandit. He knows what's going to happen, but he's determined to make it as difficult for us as possible.'

'Let's try Cable again, then.'

She laughed. 'We'll definitely get nothing out of him. He's a really cocky one. I wonder what his background is.'

Mackenzie grunted. 'He's an international man of mystery, as far as I can see. He's got no traceable background, other than as a vendor of German motors. Still, I fancy another go at him. It would be good if he coughed: then we wouldn't have to stick Andy Martin in the witness box.'

'The only way he'll cough is if he catches the flu.'

'He's been in the cells long enough for that. Let's have him.' He pushed himself from his chair, in the office they had been loaned by the Danderhall station commander. He had almost reached the door when the phone rang. MacDougall took the call, frowned, then replaced the receiver. 'We've got a visitor. He's coming up to see us.'

'Who?'

'Bob Skinner's hatchet man.'

'Eh?'

Mackenzie still wore his bewildered expression when the door opened, and a large man stepped into the room. He recognised him at once, but even as they shook hands he struggled to put a name to the face. 'DCI Neil McIlhenney, Special Branch,' said the newcomer, by way of an introduction. 'Our paths did cross a couple of weeks ago, if only briefly.'

'Ah, of course. You're the guy that's married to the actress. What can we do for you? Do you want our autographs for the wife?'

McIlhenney looked at him, stone-faced. 'Save the flash act for the punters, friend. You've got two prisoners in the cells downstairs, Bell and Cable.'

Mackenzie's smile vanished. 'Yes. So?'

'So you're letting them go.'

'I'm what?' the drugs squad commander cried out, spontaneously. It was the first time that Mavis MacDougall had ever heard him raise his voice.

'They're being released, without charge. You will shred all transcripts of interviews and give me all your tapes. Destroy any paperwork you may have relating to this operation. The record of their booking in here has already been erased.'

'On whose authority?'

'Mine. I'm Santa Claus, come to them early.'

Bandit regained his composure. 'You're a DCI, pal. Last time I looked, so was I. You'll need to give me more than that.'

McIlhenney gazed at him. 'No, I won't. You'll do as I ask. But before they leave this building, I will be speaking to your prisoners; alone.'

'And what about Spike Thomson? They'll go straight back to his place and chib him.'

'No, they will not. They will not go near Spike Thomson again, or his place.'

'And who's going to tell them that?'

'I am. Now, give me the tapes, please.'

Mackenzie glowered at him, but took four cassettes from his pocket and handed them over.

'Thanks,' said McIlhenney. 'For what it's worth, I'd be brassed off too, if I was in your shoes. I'm sorry, but this is the way it's got to go.'

'Okay,' Bandit acknowledged. 'I understand. I know that Bell's got form, but Cable, is he an undercover cop, then?'

'Please don't ask, and please don't mention his name again, not here, at home, at Fettes, not anywhere. I know it's frustrating, but…'

'Understood,' Mackenzie conceded, grudgingly. 'Even if I do act flash on occasion, and even if I'm new in Edinburgh, I'm a professional.'

'Fine,' said McIlhenney, as he turned to leave. 'Just one more thing. Come and see me in my office tomorrow afternoon, please. Five minutes to three, no later, and don't talk about that either.'

Fourteen

Although she had been a police officer for over twenty years, Mary Chambers had never faced a press conference. She had been given communications training in Glasgow, where she had begun her career, and Alan Royston had briefed her well, but still she felt uncharacteristically nervous as she read her prepared statement to the media, gathered in a conference room at the divisional headquarters in Torphichen Place.

It was brief, naming the victim and describing the circumstances of his disappearance and the discovery of his body. When she revealed that the dead boy was the son of Detective Sergeant George Regan, a collective murmur rippled across the room. Most of the journalists present knew Regan; all of them recognised a page one headline when they heard it.

She completed her text, laid the single sheet of paper on the table and looked out over her audience inviting questions.

'How are you treating this death, Superintendent Chambers?' asked a grizzled veteran in the front row.

'John Hunter, freelance,' Royston whispered in her ear.

'On the face of it, Mr Hunter,' she replied, 'it's a tragic accident. I'm never keen to anticipate pathologists' findings, but I'm not expecting anything from the autopsy to change that view. However, we are keen to speak to anyone who may have seen George, in Lothian Road, or King's Stables Road.'

'When was the last known sighting of the boy?'

'He and his friends parted company in Princes Street, at the foot of Lothian Road. George lived on a different bus route from the rest of them. We've spoken to all of the boys, and they all describe him as heading for the bus stop in front of St Leonard's Church, just after seven fifteen. The spot where his body was found isn't far from there. The medical examiner put the provisional time of death at eight p.m.'

A woman raised her hand. 'Iris Staples,
Evening News,'
she said. 'Was George a bit of a daredevil?'

'George was a normal active boy,' Detective Inspector Steele answered, from the side of the room, 'with a keen sense of adventure. I knew him, but I'm not going to stick any labels on him.'