Pray for the Dying (63 page)

Forty-Five

Detective Sergeant Dan Provan sat at his absent boss’s desk staring at the notes he had made. He was unsure of the significance of what he had discovered. Instinctively he doubted that it had any relevance to the investigation on which he was engaged. But one thing he did know: it was well outside his comfort zone as a police officer.

He had spent most of his thirty-something year career catching petty thieves and putting them out of business, sorting out those who thought that violence was an acceptable means of self-expression, or in one short but horrible chapter, pursuing and prosecuting those he would always refer to only as ‘beasts’, sicko bastards who preyed upon children, their own on one or two occasions, leaving them with physical and emotional scars they would carry through life.

Always, those issues had been clear, and he had known exactly what he was doing and why. But this stuff, Glasgow hoodlums coming up with big red ‘hands off’ notices on the national intelligence database, and the latest, Mauritian mysteries, it was all unfocused, and way outside the rules of the game that he was used to playing. Yet it excited him, gave him the kind of thrill he had experienced as a young man, before it had been washed away by a river of sadness and cynicism.

When the door opened he did not look up. Instead he growled, ‘Banjo, will you fuck off! Did Ah no’ say Ah want to be alone in here?’

‘Indeed?’ a strong baritone voice replied. ‘Anyone less like Greta Garbo I cannot imagine.’

Provan gulped and shot to his feet. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said to the chief constable. ‘Ah thought it was DC Paterson. Around here we’re no’ used to the brass comin’ tae see us. Always it’s the other way around, and usually for the wrong reasons. As a matter of fact,’ he continued, ‘I was just about tae ask for an appointment wi’ you.’

Skinner laughed. ‘You make me sound like the fucking dentist. Sit down, man, and relax. Before we get to your business, I’ve got another task for you. Not a very pleasant one, but I reckon you’d rather do it that anyone else.’

‘Sounds ominous, gaffer.’ He took a guess. ‘Scott Mann?’

‘Got it in one. ACC Gorman and I have not long finished interviewing him. He’s going to be charged.’

‘Conspiracy to murder?’ the DS murmured.

‘No, he’ll only be charged with theft. We’re satisfied that he had no specific knowledge of why Bazza Brown wanted the uniforms. He’s heading for Barlinnie though, or Low Moss.’

‘Still,’ Provan countered, ‘all things considered, that’s a result for him. It’ll no’ be nice for Lottie and the wee fella, but a hell of a lot better than if he got life.’

‘True, but it’s not as simple as that. There will be a co-accused, Sergeant Christine McGlashan, who works in the store warehouse.’

Provan stiffened in his chair. ‘Christine McGlashan?’ he repeated. ‘She used to be a DC, until she got promoted back intae uniform. She worked alongside Scott in CID and it was an open secret that he was porkin’ her. But that was before he met Lottie. Are you gin’ tae tell me he still is?’

The chief constable nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. You’ll see that’s why you’re the best man to explain the situation to Lottie. That said, if you think it’s Mission Impossible, you don’t have to accept it. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds and I’ll handle it myself.’

‘No, sir, Ah’ll do it. You’re right; it’s best she hears that sort of news from someone who knows the both o’ them.’

‘Thanks, Dan. None of this is going to go unnoticed or unrewarded, you realise that?’

‘Appreciated, boss, but that “Thanks”, that was enough. There’s no way you could reward me, other than promotion to DI, and I wouldn’t accept that. I am where Ah want to be. If you can make sure that for as long as Ah’m here Ah’ll be alongside the Big Yin, tae look after her, that’ll be fine.’

‘For as long as I’m here myself, I’ll make sure that happens. That’s a promise, Dan.’

‘In which case, Ah hope you stick around.’ He frowned. ‘What’s happenin’ tae McGlashan?’

‘She’ll have been arrested by now, and on her way here. You and Paterson can interview her, but make sure you listen to the recording of Mann’s interview first. Once you’ve done that, you can charge them both, then release them on police bail, pending a Sheriff Court appearance.’ He took a breath, then went on. ‘Now, what were you coming to tell me?’

‘The thing you asked me tae do, sir,’ Provan responded. ‘Ah’ve got a result, sort of. There’s a hospital in Port Louis . . . that’s the capital of Mauritius,’ he offered, with a degree of pride. ‘It’s called the Doctor Jeetoo. Its maternity department has a record of a patient called Antonia Day Champs. She had a baby there, a wee girl, on May the twenty-third, two years ago. It was born by caesarean section, and she was discharged a week after. The address they had for her was in a place called Peach Street. I checked the local property register; it said it’s owned by a woman called Sofia Day Champs.’

‘Toni’s mother,’ Skinner volunteered. ‘She got knocked up and went home to Mum.’

The sergeant sniggered. ‘Makes a change from goin’ tae yer auntie’s for a few months, like lassies used tae do in the days before legal abortions. Ah wonder why she didnae have one herself, given that she was such a career woman. Her clock must have been tickin’ Ah suppose.’

‘Who knows?’

‘I spoke to the ward sister. She said she remembered her. She said that a woman came to visit her when she was in, but no husband. There was one man came to visit her, though; much older, about seventy. The sister heard Sofia call him “Grandpa”. She said his face was familiar, like somebody she’d seen in the papers, but that whoever he was he was pretty high-powered, because the consultant was on his best behaviour when he was there, and Antonia had a room tae herself.’

‘Then I guess that could have been her father. Marina told me he was a bigwig in government, and Sofia was his mistress. So what about the birth registration, Dan?’ the chief asked. ‘That’s what I’m really interested in.’

‘Then you’re no’ goin’ tae like this. Mauritius is more modern than ye’d think. All the latest records are stored on computer. The doctor who attends the birth gives the parents a form tae say that it’s happened, but that’s the only written record, apart from the official birth certificate that the parents are given when they register it. And you have tae do that; it’s the law. The government guy Ah spoke to checked the whole period that she was out there after the twenty-third of May, and there is no record of a birth bein’ registered. He’s in no doubt about that.’

‘Bugger!’

The DS held up a hand: it occurred to Skinner that one day he would make an excellent lollipop man. ‘However,’ he declared, ‘he did say that he’d found an anomaly. On the thirtieth of May, a week later, there were forty-six births notified, but when he looked at the computer, he noticed that number seven two six four is followed by seven two six six. There’s a number missing; he had his computer folk look at it. They said it had been hacked. How about that then, boss? D’ye think Grandpa was powerful enough to have the record removed?’

‘I doubt it, Dan,’ Skinner replied. ‘But I know someone who is.’

Forty-Six

‘So much for the tour of the capital,’ Lowell Payne grumbled.

‘We drove past the Tower of London, didn’t we?’ Neil McIlhenney pointed out. ‘And if you went up on the roof here and found the right spot, you’d be able to see the top of Big Ben. Not only that, you’ve seen the home of the mighty Arsenal Football Club. All for free too, in the most expensive city I know.’ He grinned. ‘Tell you what. You check in with the King in the North and I’ll take you for a pint and a sandwich. It’s getting on past lunchtime and I’m a bit peckish myself.’

‘I’ve been trying but he’s not in his office, and his mobile’s switched off.’

‘Maybe he’s still doing that interview you told me about.’

‘If he is and the bloke hasn’t been charged yet, he’ll be entitled to get up and walk out.’

‘He’s probably still hiding under the table. Big Bob doesn’t like bent cops, even ex ones. Try him again, go on.’

The DCI took out his phone and pressed the contact entry for Skinner’s direct line. He let it ring six times, and was about to hang up when it was answered.

‘Lowell?’

‘Yes, Chief.’

‘How’s it going down there? Got anything useful?’

‘Some, but don’t get excited. We’ve worked out how an Israeli ex-paratrooper and disgraced spook hit man came to get a job as a jewellery buyer with a London mail order company. His late father-in-law was Mossad, once upon a time.’

‘Surprise me,’ Skinner drawled, with heavy sarcasm. ‘How did you find that out?’

‘We decided to be forthcoming with his mother-in-law. She was equally frank in return; she told us.’

He chuckled. ‘Giving the guy a job, that’s one thing; marrying your daughter off to him might be taking it a bit too far.’

‘You’d think so, but the impression we’re getting is of a popular, charming bloke. The wife’s devastated. It was just starting to hit home when we left.’

‘How about the mother-in-law? How did she take it?’

‘Calmly. She was upset, of course, but it didn’t come as a bombshell to find out that poor Byron had a second line of business. Before we left, she told us she hoped he was better at that than he was at the jewellery buying.’

‘Did you get anything else from your visit, apart from a compendium of Jewish mother-in-law jokes? Did you take his computer?’

‘No, and that’s the real news I have for you. Somebody beat us to it; Rondar Mail Order had a break-in last Friday night. A few small items were taken, but the main haul was Byron Millbank’s computer. I’m sorry about that, boss, but this trip’s been pretty much a waste of time.’

‘Like hell it has,’ the chief retorted. ‘There are three possibilities here, Lowell. One, the break-in was exactly that, a routine office burglary. Two, it was an inside job, staged to hide something incriminating from the sharp eyes of the VAT inspectors. Three, someone who knew about Byron’s background, and the fact that he was no longer in the land of the living, decided to make sure that nothing embarrassing had been left behind him. I know which of those my money’s on. You’ve had a result, of sorts, Lowell. What was only a suspicion until now, it’s confirmed in my book. The cleaners have been in, and not just in London.’

‘But what have they been covering up?’

‘Work it out for yourself. It’s too hot for any phone line, especially a mobile that can be easily monitored. The thing that’s getting to me is that they’ve been too damn good at it. If I’m right, I know what the big secret is, but I can’t even come close to proving it, and the bugger is that I don’t believe I ever will. Our investigation into Toni Field’s murder is dead in the water, as dead as she is.’

‘Are you sure?’ Payne asked.

‘I don’t believe in miracles, brother.’

‘What do you want me to do, then?’

‘You might as well come home. Get yourself on to an evening flight. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

As the DCI ended the call, he realised that McIlhenney was gazing at him. ‘How did he take it?’ he asked.

‘He reckons that’s it. We’re stuffed. He’s going to close the inquiry. He sounded pretty pissed off. I know he hates to lose.’

The chief superintendent shook his heard. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t know. He refuses to lose. You wait and see. He’s not finished yet.’

‘He says he doesn’t believe in miracles.’

‘Then he’s lying. When he’s around they happen all the time.’

Forty-Seven

‘Bastards!’ Skinner exclaimed. The room was empty but there was real vehemence in his voice. ‘It’s like someone’s farted in a busy pub. You’re pretty sure who it was but you’ve got no chance of proving it and the more time passes, the more the evidence dissipates.’

Frustrated, he reached for his in-tray and began to examine the pile of correspondence, submissions and reports that his support team had deemed worthy of his attention. He had planned that it would go to Lowell for further filtering but his absence had landed it all on his desk.

‘Commonwealth Games, policing priorities,’ he read, from the top sheet on the pile. ‘One, counter-terrorism,’ he murmured. ‘Two, counter-terrorism, three counter-terrorism, four, stop the Neds from mugging the punters.’ He laid the paper to one side for consideration later, probably at Sarah’s, and picked up the next item, a letter.

It was addressed to Chief Constable Antonia Field, from the Australian Federal Police Association, inviting her to address its annual conference, to be held in Sydney, the following December.

He scribbled a note, ‘Call the sender, tell them about Toni’s death. If he asks me to do it, decline with regret on the ground that I have no idea where I’ll be in December,’ clipped it to the letter and dropped it into his out-tray.

He worked on for ten minutes, finding it more and more difficult to maintain his concentration. He felt his eyes grow heavy and realised for the first time that he had missed lunch. A week before he would have poured himself a mug of high-octane coffee, but Sarah had made him promise to give up, and he had promised himself that he would never cheat on her again, in any way. Instead, he took a king-size Mars Bar from his desk drawer and consumed it in four bites.

As he waited for the energy boost to hit his system, he picked up his direct telephone, found a number and dialled it.

He hoped that it would be Marina who answered rather than Sofia; and so it was.

‘Bob Skinner,’ he announced.

‘Good afternoon. This is a pleasant surprise . . . do you have something to tell us about Antonia’s death?’

‘No, sorry. In fact I have something to ask you. When were you going to get round to telling me about Toni’s child?’

He counted the silence; one second, two seconds, three . . .

‘Ah, so you know about that.’

‘Of course. You must have realised that the post-mortem was bound to reveal it.’

‘Yes, I suppose I did. Maman and I hoped you wouldn’t regard it as relevant. It isn’t really, is it?’

‘Probably not,’ he agreed, ‘but when we set out to create a picture of someone’s life, it has to be complete. We can’t leave things out, arbitrarily, for personal, or even for diplomatic, reasons.’

‘No, I accept that now. We should have volunteered it.’

‘What happened to the child?’

‘She’s here, with us. When you visited us the other day, she was upstairs, playing in the nursery that Antonia made for her there. She was born in Mauritius, two years ago. Her name is Lucille; she’s such a pretty little thing. Normally she lives in London, with Maman, in a house that Antonia’s father bought for them. He is widowed now, and when he heard of the child he was overwhelmed. He had never recognised my sister as his daughter, not formally, not until then.’

‘Does he know she’s dead?’

‘Oh yes. Maman called him, straight away. She said he was very upset. So he should have been. I don’t care for the man, even though I’ve never met him.’

‘Who’s Lucille’s father?’ Skinner asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Marina confessed. ‘Antonia never told me, and she never told Maman. But she registered the birth herself, in Mauritius. You should be able to find out there.’

‘That’s right,’ he agreed, ‘we should.’
We should
, he thought,
but some bugger doesn’t want us to.

‘When you do, will you let me know, please. Maman and I have been looking for Lucille’s birth certificate among Antonia’s papers, but we can’t find it.’

‘Sure, will do. But until then we’re guessing. Those men friends you told me about, her lovers: she never gave you any clue to their names?’

‘No, not really. She gave one or two of them nicknames. The DAC in the Met, for example, she called him “Bullshit”, for whatever unimaginable reason. The mandarin she called “Chairman Mao”, and the QC was always “Howling Mad”. Other than that, she never let anything slip.’

‘You mentioned five men in her life,’ the chief said, ‘but when we met you said she’d had six relationships in the time you lived with her. Was the sixth Michael Thomas?’

She laughed. ‘Him?’ she exclaimed. ‘You know about that?’

‘The whole bloody force seems to know about that. He was seen leaving the flat she was renting, far too late for it to have been a work visit.’

‘Then that was careless of her, and not typical. It was very definitely a one-night stand. It was also the only time that she ever had a man when she and I were under the same roof. Actually, I found it quite embarrassing,’ she confessed. ‘The walls were thin.’ He heard what might have been a giggle. ‘It’s very off-putting to hear your sister faking it. Next morning I complained. She laughed and said not to worry, that it had been what she described as “tactical sex” and wouldn’t happen again.

‘No,’ she continued, ‘her most recent relationship was still going on, and had been for at least three months. I’m more than a little surprised that I haven’t heard from the poor man; he must be distraught, for they were close. For the first time I sensed that there was no motive behind the relationship, nothing “tactical” about it.’

‘I don’t suppose she told you his name, either.’

‘Ah, but this time she did,’ Marina exclaimed. ‘That’s why I believe it was serious. She told me he is called Don Sturgeon, and that he works as an IT consultant. She never brought him home and she never introduced us, but I saw him once when he came to pick her up. He is very attractive: clean-cut, well-dressed, almost military looking.’

Skinner felt his right eyebrow twitch. ‘Indeed?’ he murmured. ‘Anything else that you can recall about him?’

‘Yes,’ she replied at once. ‘His skin tone; it’s almost the same as mine. It made me wonder if he was Mauritian too, and that’s what she saw in him.’

‘In this life,’ the chief observed, ‘anything is possible. Marina,’ he exclaimed as a picture formed in his mind, ‘are you doing anything, right now?’

‘No. Maman is with Lucille, so I’m free.’

‘Then I’d like you to come into the office, quick as you can.’