happening at home. And you ain't leaving this room till she has
them."
"Stevie," Rose interposed, 'let it drop."
"Aye, son," Pringle rumbled, 'you do that."
"No way," he answered, evenly. "I've been making the running on this
investigation. It's mine more than Superintendent Rose's, and I am
telling you that we cannot report Sheringham for prosecution."
The chief superintendent seemed to back off, fractionally. "Why
not?"
"Because I've been into his background and his movements in the period;
he doesn't have the ability to make the sort of device that destroyed
the picture, and he hasn't been in contact with anyone who might have.
If the fiscal asked me whether I could give evidence under oath as to
this lad's guilt, my answer would have to be a great big no. I'll
grant you that there's a chance that he might be guilty of making a
stupid call to a vulnerable girl that triggered a renewed episode of
schizophrenia, but as far as I know, being a mean-minded little arse
hole is not an offence punishable under Scots criminal law!"
For the first time since he had come into Rose's office, the
belligerence started to fade from Dan Pringle's eyes. "If you're
feeling Mr. Haggerty's hot breath on your neck, sir," Steele
continued, 'send him along here and let him talk to us. But don't tell
us to do something that's eminently fucking stupid, just to placate
him. Instead, can we have a sensible discussion about the future of
this investigation, rather than just a shouting match?"
The two men stood facing each other, Pringle's agitation contrasting
with the inspector's calm. Finally, the head of CID turned and resumed
his seat on Rose's desk. He glanced at her. "You've got two
apologies, Maggie."
"Accepted," she replied.
He looked back at Steele. "And you, son, have probably earned a place
in my bad books for the rest of my career... or for the rest of the
week at least. Let's have this sensible discussion."
The inspector nodded, and sat back down on his hard wooden chair. "Very
good, sir. I've been doing some private brainstorming, and I've
reached a conclusion about this investigation. We're not going to get
a result here, not until we clear up another enquiry."
"Which enquiry?" asked Rose, puzzled.
"One that we don't even know about yet. I was on my way to talk to you
about this, Maggie," he explained, 'when Mr. Pringle arrived." He
looked at the two senior officers. "Let's consider this for a minute.
Why would anybody really want to blow up a two-bit work of art?"
"For the reason we thought Andrea wanted to," the superintendent
replied. "Misplaced religious zeal'
"And cover it up? You don't really believe that, do you? I don't, not
any more. Look at the precedents; zealots don't mind being caught. The
September the Eleventh hijackers all thought they were going to
paradise in a blaze of glory; there was no attempt at concealment after
the event. I've done some research closer to home too; leaving aside
the sectarian vandalism that happens occasionally in Scotland, the most
famous incident here was back in the fifties, when a man attacked
Dali's Christ of St. John on the Cross in the Kelvingrove Art Gallery
in Glasgow. There was nothing subtle about that; he just walked up to
it and started ripping it up with a blade."
"Aye, and look at the Venus de Milo," muttered Pringle, his normal
humour returning. "Someone knocked the arms right off that."
"He was never caught," Steele shot back. "Let's stay serious, though;
last Saturday's incident was carefully planned. To the extent that we
were even provided with a dead cert suspect that we could grab without
question, one who wouldn't even be prosecuted, but shipped back to the
funny farm, case closed. All that just to burn a dodgy picture and get
away with it? I don't think so."
"An insurance job, then," Pringle muttered.
"Who'd benefit? Only the owner, and that's the Guggenheim in Bilbao,
so you can forget that. In this case there wouldn't be a benefit
anyway, since I'm told that the painting would almost certainly have
fetched more at auction than its insured value, which relates to the
original purchase price. No, I've got another question. Instead of
asking what the benefit of the crime might be, let's ask ourselves,
what was its effect?"
He looked at Rose and saw a smile cross her face. "What was it, then?"
asked the head of CID.
Steele looked up at him. "It tied up just about every fire appliance
in Edinburgh, when the roads were at their busiest. So when there was
a second outbreak in the city centre, very shortly after the Academy
incident, the fire services were unable to turn out in sufficient
strength to prevent major damage being done to the building."
"But that wasn't a suspicious fire," Maggie countered. "If it had
been, the brigade would have alerted us right away."
"How many major fires are there in Edinburgh city centre in the course
of the year? Half a dozen in a bad year, that's the answer. Yet last
Saturday, we had two, the one at the RSA, and a second, in an empty
office building in the Exchange, no more than half an hour later. If
that's not suspicious, I don't know what is."
"Have you spoken to Matt Grogan?" asked Pringle.
Steele nodded. "This morning. He told me that it was an electrical
fire, probably starting in a piece of equipment that had been left on,
and spreading rapidly through the wiring of the computer network. There
were sprinklers but they were ineffective because of the type of fire
it was. There was also an automatic alarm system that alerted the
security staff right away. Normally the Fountainbridge Station would
have responded inside three minutes, and the fire would have been
contained, but all their appliances, and those from Macdonald Road, had
been despatched to the relatively small fire at the Academy. It took
them twenty minutes to turn out, given the traffic situation. By that
time all they could do was stop it spreading up or down. The floor
where it started was melted."
The head of CID tugged at his moustache. "But you said it was
empty?"
"Not unoccupied, though; it's the head office of Tubau Gordon, a major
investment manager. And here's something else that's interesting;
normally there would have been people in on a Saturday, Far East
traders following up on Hong Kong deals. Last weekend, though, there
was a general holiday in China, so there was no one there." The
inspector looked at Pringle. "What does that tell you, sir?"
The ageing, crumpled detective grunted. "That I was a fucking idiot
for telling you to shut up. Apart from that, it tells me you'd better
look into that firm right away, to see if you can find a connection
between them and the exhibition fire."
"I have done, sir. Their chief executive was on the invitation list,
signed in, too. When the picture went up in flames, he was right
there."
"Better go and see him, then."
/>
"I plan to, sir."
"Just be careful, then, Stevie. If there's anything in this, then,
unlike me, he's a right clever bugger."
fifty_ Seven
Neil Mcllhenney smiled at the woman as she led him through to what
passed for her office in the New Town basement. "I never thought of
you as a businesswoman, Joanne," he said.
"What are you talking about, man?" she retorted. "I've been in this
business for years."
"Maybe," he agreed, 'but on the shop floor, not in management. What
happened?"
She shrugged her broad shoulders; she looked much different from the
last time he had seen her, when she was working the streets and had
picked up the wrong customer. Joanne Virtue was still a striking
woman, but the blonde dye and heavy make-up had gone. Her hair was
back to what he had guessed was its natural brown, and her face was
scrubbed and fresh. He had wondered on occasion about her age; now,
without the cosmetic cover-up, he could see that she was in her early
forties, a little younger than he had imagined.
"Too many close calls," she admitted. "I can take care of myself, but
every night you go out on the game, you push your luck a bit. I'd been
at it too long, and I was getting nervous. A guy said the wrong thing
to me once, and I had a knife at his throat in a second. He nearly
pissed himself, then he started raising bloody hell. I wound up having
to give him money to stop him calling the polis."
"Would he not have settled for a freebie?"
"What would he have used?" Joanne asked, dryly. "Ah'd scared all the
lead out of his pencil."
Mcllhenney grinned. "So how did you get this job? Or do you own this
place?"
"Christ, no. I manage it for an ex-client, a bloke called Kenny Bass,
from Falkirk. Officially he's in the scrap metal business, but he's
got other things too, like this place, and another one in Broxburn.
He's a nice enough guy, Kenny, but..."
"Sure, he can get a bit severe if he's crossed." The inspector nodded.
"I know Kenny Bass. I know what he owns and I know how close to the
edge he comes. But he's nothing. If he ever gives you any bother,
Joanne, just you tell me."
"Thanks, Mr. Mcllhenney; I'll bear that in mind. Not that I've got
any problems with him, though. For a while I thought I might have, but
I got it sorted." She reached to her left and pulled open the top
drawer of a metal filing cabinet. "Do you want a whisky?" she
asked.
His eyebrows shot up. "Hell no! It's not even midday yet."
She glanced at her watch. "It's only a minute or two short. Anyway,
that never stopped you before."
"Times have changed."
"And mountains have moved, eh. So what did you want to talk to me
about?"
"About your recent bit of bother, but first I want to ask you about
something else. I've fallen by some information that you might have
had, shall we say, professional dealings in the past with a colleague
of mine, Detective Superintendent Jay. Is that true, Jo?"
"You don't really want to know that, do you?"
"Too damn right I do," said Mcllhenney. "I've got a new job now, one
that means I want to know everything."
"Ah," she exclaimed, 'you have, have you? I heard big Mario'd been
moved, right enough. Some boy, him; his uncle's barely deid, and he
starts ridin' his cousin. Not that I've got anything against Paula,
mind; she's got a touch of the saint about her, has that girl."
"Never mind that; they're only business partners, anyway. So what
about Jay?"
Joanne nodded, once, briefly. "Yes," she whispered. "He was only an
inspector then, though. He used to call by when I was working, and if
there was no one about we'd do a bit of business."
"You mean he paid you?"
"Don't be daft."
"You mean he accepted sexual favours? In exchange for what?"
"Nothing, Neil; he never asked for anything, and I was never stupid
enough to ask him for money. I never had any police bother around that
time though, so I put it down to expenses, so to speak."
"Do you still hear from him?"
"No, not since he got his big job down in Leith." She looked at him
nervously. "What are you going to do with that?" she asked.
"Nothing at all," he told her, 'unless I need to."
"Why would you need to?"
"If there was ever any thought that he might be promoted again; I
couldn't have that."
"Just keep my name out of it, then."
"No worries on that score. Now, this other business; the angry
residents versus the White Rabbit sauna .. . some name that, by the
way."
"Better than a sign of the zodiac, like most of them."
He laughed. "I understand', he went on, 'that the local petition got
knocked back by the council, against the run of play, so they said."
"I don't know about that; as I understand it the committee just told
them tae wind their necks in. It's no' that bad here, Neil," she
protested. "I run this place properly. The guys that were making the
trouble came from the pub on the corner, no' here. My customers are as
quiet as mice when they leave here; the last thing any of them want is
to draw attention to themselves."
"I'll accept that," Mcllhenney conceded, 'but you've left out a bit of
the story, haven't you; the bit about you asking Agnes Maley for
help."
Joanne Virtue flushed. "I never did," she exclaimed.
The inspector frowned. "Have you just been bitten by the stupidity fly
or something?" he asked. "Because that's what lying to me would be;
downright bloody stupid. I'm not suggesting that you went to Agnes; I
know that you did. What I want you to tell me is, why. This place
isn't even in her council ward, yet she laid down the law in the Labour
group to have it kept open, when she's had other places shut on her own
patch. So please don't piss me about; I don't have time for that. Just
tell me the story," he said, 'the whole bloody story. Why Agnes?"
She took a bottle of Bell's and a glass from the filing cabinet drawer,
poured herself a double and knocked it back. "Because she's a
customer," she replied.
"What, you mean she comes here for a sauna?"
Joanne looked at him scornfully. "I think that fly's bitten you now,"
she chuckled. "She's a lesbian, a dyke, a daddy dyke at that, to be
fairly polite about it. She's discreet though; keeps it well away from
home. There's one girl working here who's prepared to ... entertain
her. I don't like it, but I put up with it, because if I didn't, I'd
be shut down in a minute, and that would piss off Kenny'
Mcllhenney did not even try to stop the grin from spreading across his
face. "Is she a regular visitor?"
"Monday evenings and Thursday evenings, regular as clockwork."
"Couldn't be better," said the detective. "What time do your girls
start to arrive?"
"About four o'clock."
"Fine, that gives us time to set up."
"To set up what?"
"A hidden camera."
"What!" she shrie
ked, fear showing instantly on her face. "You can't
do that. I won't let you."
"I'll bet you will."
"But she'll kill me! Or she'll go to Kenny, and he really will."
Thursday Legends Page 36
