Hour Of Darkness (16 page)

Thirty-One

‘How far did he go?’ Sauce Haddock asked, seated, with his feet planted on his DI’s desk.

‘He got off at Darlington,’ Jack McGurk told him from his chair in the corner of the office cubicle. ‘He strolled off the platform all nonchalant, with a rucksack over his shoulder, straight into a reception committee in the shape of two transport cops and an armed support team from the local force. They went on the assumption there was a firearm in the rucksack, and had him down in the ground in seconds. He’s being brought up here this morning.’

‘Are they sending him back on the train with an escort?’

‘No, he’s being driven up. The English are taking him as far as the border; I’ve got a car waiting for him there.’

‘When do we get to interview him?’ Sammy Pye asked.

His colleague shrugged. ‘As soon as I’m done with him, Sam, but I can’t tell you how long that’ll be. He may be your prime suspect, but he’s nailed on for the murder that I’m investigating, and the chief super says that gives me first crack at him. The drugs people will want to interview him as well, for sure, but they can wait. They’re a bit embarrassed. Apparently they had no idea he was a dealer; he’d never appeared on their radar at all.’

‘In that case they must be loving us, since we gave them the red faces by finding the stuff . . . even if it was by accident.’

McGurk smiled. ‘Don’t be looking for a Christmas card; that’s all I’ll say.’ He glanced at Haddock. ‘Oh, by the way, Sauce, when they cuffed Booth in Darlington, he screamed. They took him to the local hospital, straight away, so he couldn’t claim police brutality later. He had an X-ray and they found a couple of broken bones in his hand.’

There was real malice in the young DS’s eyes. ‘That’s the best news I’ve had for a while, Jack,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased that I left a mark on that bastard, ’cos he sure left one on me. You know that after he kicked me, Sammy made me get myself checked out in A&E?’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘You’re going to charge the man with serious assault as well as murder, I hope.’

‘Too fucking right we are!’ the acting DI declared. ‘Of course that means the prosecution’s going to need medical evidence about the nature and extent of your injuries.’ He grinned. ‘The doc was satisfied you were okay, I take it; you can never take too much care of the family jewels.’

‘Aye, she was.’

‘She? Did you tell Cheeky it was a woman?’

‘Not a chance. We have no secrets, but sometimes it’s best to leave out the odd fact.’

‘Speaking of family jewels,’ Sammy Pye said, ‘we’re going to need the box that we found in Booth’s flat. It’s central to the case we’re building against him.’

‘That’s why I came down here,’ McGurk told him. ‘This is a very unusual situation. We’re both investigating the same guy for different murders in different locations. We need to be bloody careful that neither of us contaminates the other’s evidence chain.’

‘That’s true,’ Haddock agreed. ‘So give us the jewel box and Bella Watson’s sparklers. They’re our motive.’

‘They surely are, and if you don’t have them, you don’t have the beginnings of a case against him.’

‘So?’

Pye raised a hand. ‘I see where Jack’s going with this,’ he murmured. ‘If he gives us the jewels, just like that, we could be fucked. We didn’t have a search warrant, so we’re on shaky ground using them as evidence.

‘Let’s make some assumptions here. I doubt that Patrick Booth is a major drug importer himself; that means he’s a rung on a ladder. In that racket, normally you’d expect that whoever’s at the top of that ladder would brick it when he heard that the guy’s been arrested. He’d be liable to do one of two things. He’d either try to have him killed while he’s on remand . . . not the easiest thing to do, I don’t care who you are . . . or he’d hire him a very good brief, probably Frances Birtles, or somebody of her stature.’

‘Frankie Bristles,’ the DS chuckled. ‘We’ve met her before, haven’t we, Jack, when we worked together?’

McGurk nodded. ‘We have, so we know how sharp she is. If she does wind up representing Booth, none of us will need telling what she’ll do as soon as you introduce those jewels as evidence. She’ll want to know that they were legally obtained.’

‘Granted,’ Haddock argued, ‘but we were invited in and we had reason to believe there were Class A drugs in the house, and when we looked for them . . .’

‘And who invited you in?’

‘Oh fuck,’ he sighed. ‘Vicky’s hardly going to confirm that, not without a medium.’

‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ Pye said. ‘Without the jewellery box, we have nothing. Sure, Booth’s prints will be at the scene of Bella Watson’s murder, and we’ll have his DNA there too, but we bloody well know he’s been there, with Vicky and the child visiting her so-called auntie. We’re got that from Karen’s witness, Mrs McWhatsername, and I’m sure that Frankie Bristles or whoever it is that defends him will be able to prove, through her again, that the victim was seen alive after that visit.’

‘In that case, what are we going to do, Sam?’ Haddock asked. ‘Do we need to do anything? He’s done for killing Vicky, for sure.’

‘For killing her, yes, but he’s a long way short of being done for murder. My guess is that they’ll try to plead that down to culpable homicide. Then, come the hearing, the defence will claim that we forced an illegal entry and that when he saw us there he panicked.’

‘That’s bollocks!’ Haddock protested, righteously indignant. ‘What about him booting mine? He’s got to go down for that too.’

‘Oh he will. He’ll get a year to run concurrently with whatever he gets for the homicide, and what will that be? It won’t be mandatory life, remember. Maybe six or seven, if it’s a soft judge who takes pity on him for accidentally blowing the top of his sweetheart’s head off. Hell, he could be out in two or three. I’m not having that.’

‘How are we going to avoid it?’ Sauce demanded.

‘By making sure of our own evidence.’ The DI looked at McGurk. ‘Where is the box just now, Jack?’

‘It’s still at the scene. We haven’t removed anything yet.’

‘Good. Have the drugs squad been over the place?’

‘Yes. There was plenty of residue in the bathroom basin and in the S-bend, plus they found a quantity that the girl had missed, hidden under the mattress of the wee girl’s cot. They say it’s not heroin or cocaine, but a synthetic drug. Whatever it is, they’ve got more than enough for him to be charged with possession with intent to supply.’

‘Even better,’ Pye said. ‘I’ll talk to Mary Chambers and make sure that they convict him on that charge first, so that it can be led in evidence in our case. That might well establish our right to enter. But just to be sure, you and I, Sauce, we’ll get ourselves a search warrant, then we’ll go back there, and we will find our evidence, legitimately.’ He paused. ‘Are you both okay with that?’

‘All the way,’ McGurk agreed.

‘Yes, Master Luke,’ Haddock said.

‘Insubordinate fucker,’ the DI grunted, but he was fond of his nickname. ‘Right, Jack,’ he continued, as the visitor unfolded his tall frame from his small chair. ‘Thanks for coming down.’

‘No worries. Let me know when you’re going in there. It is my crime scene, after all, so Karen or I should be present.’

‘Aye,’ the young DS mused. ‘It’ll need to be done by the book, or our Mr Mackenzie will be all over us when he becomes “operational” again.’

‘I detect a touch of sarcasm there, my young friend,’ McGurk said. ‘I’ve heard that he’s on sick leave . . . suffering from a bad case of wounded pride, it’s been suggested.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I think I speak for all of us when I say I hope he won’t be back.’

‘Amen,’ Pye murmured. ‘The man’s an arse.’

‘I had thought of a different anatomical analogy,’ McGurk countered, with a wink. ‘See you later.’ He headed for the door.

‘You happy with that?’ Pye asked Haddock as soon as they were alone.

‘Sure. I wish we could get Booth right away, that’s all.’

‘No, it’s better that we don’t. It gives us time to get that warrant and make everything legit. Besides,’ he added, ‘Booth might have fallen into our lap, so to speak, but we do have another line of inquiry. We need to follow it up; if we didn’t it would be sloppy and we’d get pulled up on it. Speaking for myself, I’d rather not have Mackenzie pull me up for anything, least of all a balls-up in a murder investigation.’

The DS frowned, but only for a second. ‘Oh aye,’ he exclaimed. ‘The girlfriend of Bella’s son’s, and the potential grandchild. You’re right; we need to find them and interview them, especially given the source of the information.’

Pye nodded. ‘You get my drift. Off you go and see whether our Jackie’s had any luck.’

Haddock nodded and stepped out of the cubicle office into the main CID room.

DC Wright was at her desk; she seemed to come to attention, although seated, as he approached. ‘Sarge,’ she began, until he raised a hand to stop her.

‘Fuck’s sake, Jackie,’ he exclaimed, ‘I know I’m a sarge. Call me Sauce; everyone else does and I wouldn’t want you to feel left out.’

She smiled. ‘If you insist.’

‘How’s your trace going, the one I asked you to do yesterday? Any joy?’

‘Fine, but only up to a point. I used the date of Marlon Watson’s death as a starting off point; approximately three months later, a girl called Marie McDonald Ford gave birth to a boy. Marlon was named as the father and the baby was called after him, with Ryan as his middle name.’

‘Granny must have had a hand in that,’ Haddock mused. ‘Ryan was her other son’s name, the one that was murdered when he was fifteen.’

‘Mmm. Where did the name Lulu come from, do you think?’

‘Real name,’ he murmured, casually.

‘What?’

‘The singer Lulu; her real name is Marie.’

‘Is that right?’ The DC was impressed. ‘Imagine you knowin’ that. She’s old enough to be your mother.’

‘My mother told me. She’s a fan . . . and yes, you’re right. Mum’s ten years younger than Lulu. She’s always saying she wishes she looked it.’

‘I’m sure she does look it. You’ve got a fresh-faced look about you.’

‘That’s not what my girlfriend says first thing in the morning. So,’ he continued, ‘Marlon Watson junior. What became of him?’

‘That’s what I meant by “up to a point”. I’ve found a Registry Office marriage record for Marie Ford, two years later, to a man called Duane Hicks, a West Indian, from St Lucia. They had a child together, a girl they christened Robyn, with a “y”. But that’s where it stops. They no longer live at the address shown on the marriage certificate, and there’s no record of either of the kids, Marlon or Robyn, ever attending school in Edinburgh. I’ve just been on to the Social Security department and there’s no record of either Ford or Hicks currently paying National Insurance, or drawing benefit. The same goes for Marlon Ryan Watson; a number was generated for him automatically when he was sixteen, but it’s never been active.’

‘Does Duane Hicks have an NI number, given that he’s not British?’

‘Yes, he does, but he hasn’t paid any contributions for fourteen years. When he did, he was employed as a marine engineer by a firm in Leith. I tried to contact it but it closed down, guess what, fourteen years ago. My assumption is that when Hicks became unemployed they left the country.’

‘If that’s right,’ Haddock said, ‘the first place to look has to be St Lucia, since that’s where he’s from.’

‘Agreed, and I’ve called the High Commission in London. I gave them all the details I have but they say they’d need to check with the government office back home. They’re four hours behind us, so they’ll still be having their breakfast.’

‘Maybe so, but the UK passport office won’t be. How about checking whether Marlon Junior has ever applied for a passport?’

‘Been there, done that. A passport was issued in his name in the year that Marie married Duane, but it’s never been renewed. No passport has ever been issued for Robyn Hicks.’

‘But she could have a St Lucian passport through her father.’

‘Yes, but like I said,’ she hesitated for a second, ‘Sauce, I’ll need to wait for St Lucia to wake up before I can check.’

‘In that case, how about contacting the Home Office in the meantime, and asking whether a St Lucian would need a visa to get into Britain, and also whether one’s ever been issued in the name of Marlon Ryan Hicks?’

The DC grinned. ‘See? That’s why you’re a sarge and I’m just a plod.’

Thirty-Two

‘How strong is this lead of yours, Dan?’ Lottie Mann asked as they watched the ferry being secured to the Dunoon quayside. ‘You know every bloody thing that happens in our force, or in Glasgow at any rate, or you know a man who does. So where did this information come from?’

‘Just this once, Lottie, I’m not telling you.’

‘I’ll pull rank on you,’ she threatened.

‘You could pull my fuckin’ ears wi’ red hot pincers and it still wouldn’t do you any good. And before you say it again, it’s got eff all tae do with the Data Protection Act.’

‘I still find it hard to believe, you know. The concept of David Mackenzie being taken under the wing of a priest, that is.’

‘Why should that be so difficult to cope with?’ Provan challenged. ‘Are you saying you’re surprised he’s a Catholic just because he’s got an old traditional Scottish name, one beginning wi’ Mac rather an O’? All that Rangers versus Celtic stuff isn’t typical of the whole country, you know; they’re just a couple of wee cabals . . . okay, maybe no’ so wee,’ he conceded. ‘Religion in Scotland was full of splits and schisms for centuries. We’re a pretty ecumenical nation: there’s nothin’ in a name.’

‘You and your philosophy and fancy words again,’ she mocked, but only playfully. Her junior officer happened to be her closest friend, and after an act of betrayal by her estranged and newly imprisoned husband, he had become her only confidant.

‘I have my hidden depths,’ he said, ‘as somebody observed last night. But I’m as intrigued as you. If there’s someone I would not have picked out as a former altar boy, it’s Bandit Mackenzie.’

‘Indeed,’ she murmured, as the ferry’s forward platform clanged down on to the stand, and as the dozen drivers on board returned to their vehicles. ‘Father Donnelly. I’ve heard of him, you know. I’ve got cousins in East Kilbride, and they talked about him.

‘He had a high profile in the town. Unorthodox, they said of him but quite a man. The feeling was that he should have been a bishop, but wasn’t because the hierarchy were afraid of him.’ She dug out her car keys from her bag. ‘So, what time’s he expecting us?’

‘He’s not. He doesn’t know we’re coming.’

‘He what?’ she boomed, loud enough for a van driver who was standing five yards away to turn his head and stare at them. ‘Are you telling me we’re going all the way to Tighnabruaich on spec? He could be on his holidays, away on a retreat, filling in for a sick priest. Retired guys do that sometimes.’

‘The man I spoke to in the Archbishop’s office says he hardly ever leaves the place, but aye, we’re turning up unannounced. We don’t just want to ask him where Mackenzie might go in a crisis, do we? We need to allow for the very realistic chance that he might have gone to the man himself. Unorthodox, you said. In my book that also means unpredictable; if our David is there, we don’t want him warned off, do we, Lottie?’