‘Anna . . . that’s our kid . . . was taken into a surgery near here yesterday afternoon,’ said Cowan.
‘After Zaliukas shot himself,’ Haddock murmured. ‘I wonder if someone guessed we’d be looking into his affairs and, knowing there were trafficked girls in some of them, decided to get them out of sight.’
‘That’s a reasonable theory, Sauce,’ his sergeant agreed. ‘And I’ve got a fair idea who that might have been. One Valdas Gerulaitis.’
Montell’s brow furrowed. ‘Valdas? Describe him, Jack.’
‘Lithuanian, tallish, lean, dark hair, greying and receding, well dressed, bookkeeper by profession but crook by nature. Married to a horrible wee dragon of a woman who’s just inherited a half share in these bloody places.’
‘Anything else?’
McGurk considered the question for a few seconds. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘one other thing, now you force me to recall it. Major dandruff problem.’
‘The Snowman,’ Cowan exclaimed. ‘That was what the girls called the guy who kidnapped them for that very reason. And he told them to call him Uncle V.’
‘Oh my,’ Haddock chuckled. ‘Has he got some talking to do.’
‘Sure, but there’s one anomaly,’ Montell pointed out. ‘The guy who took Anna into the surgery didn’t look a bit like your Snowman, or like we’re told Linas looks, but from what she said, he actually took her out of the place where she was kept.’
‘The massage parlour,’ said McGurk.
‘No. She says that she was in a house above it. Since this is a tenement building, we take that to mean a flat.’
‘Well, let’s check the lot out and worry about who’s who afterwards. If this Linas lived above the store, you never know, he might still be there.’ Pause. ‘I suppose I should call for uniform back-up.’
Although Montell was the junior officer, there was a sense, even if unspoken, that he had taken command of the situation. He shook his head. ‘No, Jack,’ he murmured. ‘If he is there, that would just spook him. Besides,’ he added, ‘this bastard is mine, all mine.’
Thirty-three
‘We don’t like to drop the guy in it, Chief,’ Mario McGuire insisted, ‘but I agree with Neil. We may have lost hours in this investigation because Alan Royston took the easy way out last night. If he’d done what he was asked by Alice Cowan when she asked him we’d have got some media exposure, on air and online, straight away.’
‘So deal with it,’ said Skinner.
The head of CID was taken aback by Skinner’s reluctance; his dark eyebrows twitched slightly. ‘If he was police staff, I would have. But he’s not, he’s a civilian and as such he’s not subject to my discipline.’
‘Exactly. He’s a specialist, an adviser.’
‘And in this case his advice has been crap.’
‘But still, that’s what he is; he doesn’t have the executive power to override the wishes of any police officer. Cowan could have insisted on the release going out last night, but she didn’t.’
‘She’s a DC, boss. Even if she knew she could have called his bluff, she’d have thought twice about doing it.’
‘In which case she should have gone to Sammy Pye . . . OK, he’s on a course . . . to Ray Wilding. It’s down to her.’
McGuire shook his head. ‘With respect, sir . . .’ he began.
The chief constable laughed. ‘With respect,’ he repeated. ‘The polite way of telling a senior officer that he’s talking bollocks. Go on, chum, spit it out.’
‘OK, Alice is a good soldier, as you well know. But she got herself in a hole in Special Branch a wee while ago, and I for one will forgive her reluctance to take the chance of digging another one. If she’d leaned on Royston, he’d taken umbrage and come to me, and I’d taken his side . . . No, it’s my view that at best the man’s judgement was off the mark; at worst, his staff had all gone home for the evening and he just couldn’t be arsed staying on to issue Alice’s release himself. Either way, it’s my view that he should be chinned about it. If you tell me to do the chinning myself, I will, but . . .’
Skinner raised a hand, as if in surrender. ‘Yes, I get the drift. That would leave him open to be on any line manager’s carpet when there was a disagreement, but his contract says that he reports to me or my deputy.’ He paused, considering. ‘I could give this to Brian Mackie to deal with, but I won’t. It’s down to me.’ He looked the head of CID in the eye. ‘You know why I’m reluctant, Mario, don’t you?’
‘I think so, but I’m not going to say it, in case I’m wrong.’
‘’Ckin’ hell, you’re turning into a diplomat. OK, a few years ago, there were professional issues between me and Royston, when I was deputy chief. I thought about bulleting him then, but there were personal issues between us as well, so I backed off, in case my motives were called into question. After that, any judgement calls involving him I always passed upstairs to Sir James Proud. But I’m in his chair now, so I don’t have that option. I’ll deal with it; I’ll call him in right now in fact.’
‘Thanks, boss. It’s not as if it’s a sacking offence . . .’
‘Hell, no, not even an official warning, just a slightly awkward conversation, that’s all. As it happens, I need to talk to him about something else, an interesting idea that Maggie’s had and passed on to me.’
‘My breath is bated,’ McGuire chuckled. ‘I’ll clear off, then. By the way,’ he asked as he stood, ‘how is the old chief doing? Have you heard from him lately?’
Skinner nodded. ‘I sure have. He’s bought a house in Gullane, less than a mile away from mine. He’s even talking about taking up golf. He tells me that the Marquis of Kinture has offered him honorary membership at Witches’ Hill. The two of them sit on a company board together.’
‘Maybe somebody will offer him cheap golf clubs, if he hangs around the right pub.’
‘I don’t see Jimmy Proud hanging around any pubs, although when he moves out our way, I may introduce him to a couple. Speaking of Witches’ Hill, are we set to go on that operation Maggie cleared with me?’
‘Sure. You never know, we might even get a result.’
Skinner frowned. ‘It’s not often I get pessimistic, Mario,’ he said, ‘but these are well-organised bastards. We’ll do well to keep pace with them, far less be one step ahead.’
Thirty-four
‘The sign is just the same as the other six we’ve been to so far,’ said
Sauce Haddock, peering at the door of the Softest Touch massage parlour. He put his finger on a brass button on its facing and held it there. The buzz inside was loud enough for the four detectives to hear it clearly, but there was nothing else, no sound of movement, no sign of light through the frosted glass panels.
‘There could be somebody hiding inside, though,’ Alice Cowan suggested.
‘There could,’ Jack McGurk agreed, ‘but since your girl Anna told you that she wasn’t held here, I don’t see us having grounds to force an entry.’
‘On the other hand,’ Griff Montell growled. Next to the massage parlour, there was a heavy green-painted entrance door, with six tenants’ names and doorbells displayed at the side, above a speaker. ‘Flat 1a,’ he read. ‘L. Jankauskas.’ He chose flat 3b and pressed its button. When no reply came after half a minute he went to the next. His third choice, flat 2a, F. Bryan, was the lucky one. ‘Izzat you, Benny?’ a young male voice asked.
‘No,’ said McGurk, heavily, ‘it’s the polis; we need in, but not for you. Open the door then stay in your flat.’
F. Bryan thought for all of two seconds; there was a tone from the speaker, and the door swung open at Montell’s touch. He led the way up to the first floor of the four-storey block, where he saw two doors, facing each other, number 1a on the right.
‘Will we knock?’ asked Cowan.
‘Allow me,’ said McGurk. ‘I’m good at knocking.’ He raised his right foot and slammed the sole of his heavy shoe directly on to the Yale lock. The frame splintered, and the door swung open.
Again Montell headed the charge, silently, with no warning shouts, into a narrow hallway, with four doors off. Each one was open, but nobody emerged to greet them. There were two bedrooms to the right. Both empty, the South African saw as he looked in; the bed in the first was made up, but in the other it was dishevelled, its sheet crumpled and filthy, and a duvet was tossed on the floor.
The house was rank. He sniffed; it stank of sweat, of stale food, and of something else.
‘Griff.’ Sauce Haddock’s voice was quiet, but his tone was laden as he stood in the doorway to the left.
Automatically, Cowan and McGurk stood aside to let him through. He reached the young DC and followed his gaze. In the centre of the main living area, a man lay on his back. He wore a grey thermal vest and jeans, and the ridged soles of his Timberland boots faced them. He had a close-cropped crew cut; his head was shaved at the sides, and his neck lay at an angle that told the whole story of what had happened to him. ‘German hair,’ Montell murmured, remembering Anna’s translated description.
Linas Jankauskas’s eyes were wide open, staring upwards, not at the police officers, as they stood around him, but at the ceiling. Not that he saw it, though; Alice Cowan reckoned that it had been a few hours more than a full day since he had seen anything at all.
‘Who did this?’ Haddock whispered as Montell knelt beside the body.
‘Desperate Dan,’ Cowan replied.
‘Eh?’
‘The so-called van driver, who took Anna into the surgery for medical care. That’s how the receptionist described him.’
‘Then she was spot on,’ McGurk murmured, as he contemplated the victim. ‘This Linas was a powerful-looking guy. There isn’t a mark on his face, but his neck’s broken. Whoever did this to him must be the strongest fucking cowboy in the world.’
‘We’d better call Ray,’ said Montell as he stood.
‘Why Ray?’
‘It’s our division, Jack.’
‘Maybe so,’ the sergeant agreed, ‘but we’ve got an interest in this too. This death links directly into an investigation we have under way. You call Ray Wilding, fine, and I’ll call Becky Stallings. They can put their heads together, and when they do, you can bet they wind up running to Neil McIlhenney. But,’ he concluded, ‘we’ll make those calls from outside. We’ve had eight great big coppers’ feet trampling all over this crime scene, so let’s tiptoe very carefully out of here before we contaminate it any more. I seriously do not want that grumpy old sod Arthur Dorward getting mad at me.’
Thirty-five
‘You wanted to see me, Bob?’ The force media manager stood in Skinner’s doorway. Behind him, Gerry Crossley, who had been signed off for the day, was putting on his coat. ‘Will it take long?’ he added. ‘I have a meeting this evening, and I’ll have to be off soon.’
The chief constable felt his hackles, always sensitive, begin to rise, but he forced them back down and smiled. ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Shouldn’t take a minute. Come on in.’
He waited, standing, as the slim, moustached, forty-something Alan Royston took a seat. ‘I won’t offer you a drink, if you’re in a hurry,’ he said, as he slid into his own. ‘Two things,’ he began. ‘First, we’ve got a PC retiring in a couple of weeks, a man called Charlie Johnston. You won’t have heard of him, I don’t suppose. Charlie’s a real time-server, always careful to keep his head below the radar. He and I joined the force in the same month, and he hasn’t taken a step forward since. That said, Maggie Steele has got it into her head that he might make a very useful addition to the civilian staff in the press office, once he hands in his warrant card. I’m inclined to agree with her. I know Charlie’s strength . . . you’ll note I used the singular . . . as well as his weaknesses. So, if he’s up for it, and I’m sure he will be, I’d like you to take him on; an initial six-month probationary period, to be safe, but I’m sure you’ll find him an asset.’
Royston fidgeted in his chair. ‘I’ll take your word for it, Bob, if HR are happy.’
Once again, Skinner bridled, but his smile stayed in place. ‘I won’t be asking Human Resources, Alan,’ he chuckled. ‘I’ll be telling them. We’ll keep it within budget by rotating one of your police staff back into the mainstream.’
The media manager shrugged. ‘If you say so, fine. Now, if that’s all . . .’
The chief held up a hand. ‘Two things, I said. That press release you issued this morning, about the unknown girl we were trying to identify.’ Royston nodded. ‘You’ll be glad to hear we’ve made progress; we know who she is, where she’s from, and how she got here. It’s an ugly story, and I’m going to crap on the guys responsible from a great height.’
‘That’s good to know, Bob. Do you want me to issue another release saying that she’s been identified?’
‘No, because we’re still interested in the guy who dumped her at the doctor’s. No, my concern is this. I’ve got some fairly pissed-off CID officers who said that you were asked to issue our public appeal last night but declined to do so, on the grounds that nobody would have used it until this morning.’
The media manager’s features tightened. ‘That was my judgement,’ he said, curtly. ‘It was late in the evening, and nobody was dead. The morning papers were pretty much made up by then; they couldn’t have used it.’
‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t agree with it, Alan,’ said Skinner. ‘I know a guy called Spike Thomson who’d have had it on radio by ten. One phone call by me to June Crampsey at the Saltire and she’d have squeezed it in. Another phone call to the Scotsman saying that she was carrying it and so would they. Wrap a bit of colour round it and the tabloids would have jumped in too. Sure, we identified the kid anyway, but there’s still our mystery man, and we have reason to believe that he may be important.’
Royston glared across the desk. ‘Chief Constable, if you’re saying that you don’t have confidence in my judgement . . . well, I think we both know why.’
Skinner set his forced bonhomie aside. ‘Chum,’ he said quietly, leaning forward, ‘if I had let personal issues get in the way of the job, you’d have been long gone. It was my faith in your judgement that kept you here. You fucked up last night, and you know it. I’m telling you, don’t let it happen again.’
‘It won’t,’ the man retorted.
‘Good. Enough said.’
‘Not quite. It won’t happen again because I’m leaving.’
‘Aw, for fuck’s sake, Alan,’ the chief exclaimed, ‘don’t be so thin-skinned. If everyone I chewed out did that there’d be no bugger left here.’
‘It’s not that. I’ve been head-hunted, Bob, offered another position, and I’m minded to accept it. That’s what my meeting this evening’s about.’
‘When did this happen?’ asked Skinner, taken aback.
‘Earlier this afternoon, so no, it didn’t have any bearing on my fuckup, as you put it. I apologise for that, as I wouldn’t like us to part on bad terms.’
‘What is this job? Who’s offered it?’
Royston shook his head. ‘I can’t answer either of those questions, Bob, not at this stage. Listen,’ he added, ‘it’s not you that’s making me leave. Don’t think that for a minute. I just feel stale here, that’s all; it’s time to go.’
‘I see. Is there anything I can say to . . .’ Before he could complete the question, his phone rang. He snatched it up. ‘Yes!’ he barked, before his expression softened almost instantly. ‘Neil, what’s up?’
Royston watched him as he listened to McIlhenney, as his frown deepened, until his brow was massively furrowed. ‘Jesus,’ he whispered, eventually. ‘Two different threads, tied together. Are you going to the scene?’ Pause. ‘Then head on down there. Gimme the address and I’ll join you.’ He snatched up a pen and a pad and scrawled upon it as he listened. ‘Got that.’ He slammed the phone back in its cradle, then met Royston’s gaze. ‘That man we were looking for,’ he said, ‘about the girl: well, we want him even more now.’
Thirty-s
ix
‘Becky’s on her way, sir,’ Ray Wilding told Neil McIlhenney, almost as soon as he had stepped out of his car into the cold Leith evening.
‘No, she’s not,’ the detective superintendent replied. ‘I told her to stay away for now. We had four CID officers find the body . . . I assume they’re still here.’
‘Yes, they’re canvassing the neighbours, to see if anybody got sight of this man. DI Dorward and his team are inside.’
‘Good, at least they’ve got something to do. You and I are here, and we’re going to be joined by others soon. If Becky had come as well, this would have started to look like a Police Federation picket line.’
‘Who else is coming?’
McIlhenney pointed. ‘They are,’ he said.
The sergeant turned to follow the direction of his finger, and saw the chief constable’s black Chrysler ease to a halt on the other side of the street. As Skinner climbed out, so did Mario McGuire from the passenger side.
‘Does this mean that Aileen’s stuck at the Parliament building?’ McIlhenney asked, as they approached.
The chief shook his head. ‘No, it’s a two-car day: most of them are. We leave a big carbon footprint, I know.’ He nodded briefly to Wilding. ‘Hi, Ray, how are you doing? Your people, and Becky’s, walked right into this one, didn’t they just. From what Neil told me, it must have been like a fucking rugby scrum when the four of them went through that door.’
‘I know, sir,’ the sergeant admitted, ‘but big Montell had just come from interviewing the girl victim at the Royal and his blood was up.’
‘It’s OK,’ Skinner told him. ‘I have daughters; I’d have been the same as him in that situation. It’s probably just as well for everyone except the victim that he was dead when they got in there. Come on; let’s take a look inside, see what we’ve got.’
He led the way into the tenement’s common stairway, and up to the flat. A uniformed constable guarded the doorway; he stood just a little straighter as they approached, then stepped aside to let them pass.
20 - A Rush of Blood Page 15
