‘My surname comes courtesy of illegitimacy actually.’ he explained before she went any further. He was tired, frustrated and awash with local myth and history. The three women looked quite taken aback by his abrupt and startling interruption. He met their curious looks wearily. All he wanted explanations for was why those two heads had turned up there and the identity of the person responsible. His blunt interruption was never going to satisfy them.
‘A foundling,’ he added, in a softer tone. Still they waited, expectantly. ‘They had to call him something.’
‘The foundling?’ Tyler asked.
‘Aye! My great, great grandfather – left on a Calvinist preacher’s doorstep in Dunbar, a brand new life but an age old story.’ He shrugged dismissively. ‘Anyway that’s how my family came by our surname. No historic resonance, no blood feuds or enmity with a neighbour that I know of. My bloodline begins with a wee unwanted baby that was named after the town in which he was dumped and another, much more famous abandoned son.’
‘Who?’ Tyler asked.
‘Moses.’
‘They christened him Moses?’ Tyler asked.
‘Yep! Moses Dunbar. Guess it – resonated with a Calvinist Bible thumper.’
‘The law giver.’
‘Sorry?’ Dunbar asked turning to Holmquist.
‘The Hebrew meaning of that name – Moses, and his great, great grandson became a policeman.’
‘Aye’, well, I’m a law enforcer – with a damned sight more than ten commandments to worry about.’
6
Dunbar had been summoned to Fettes Ave, HQ, which meant Tyler had to hitch a ride to Braur Glen with Professor Geary, Shaggy and Zoe. He had left her strict instructions about supervising the line search with emphasis on continuity of evidence. Falk had been given instructions to attend the crime scene and to see that DI Tyler got home.
***
As it was the line search team were old hands at this game and their sergeant was not about to be told how to, ‘suck eggs by you, hen!’ Tyler could have put him on report for insubordination but decided against. Not the best way to make her mark on her first major enquiry. Instead she let it pass with a hard stare that left the man in no doubt he had overstepped the mark. The search team sergeant’s attitude changed completely the moment DS Faulkner arrived on the scene. With Falk standing alongside her the sergeant was all – ‘yes, ma’am, no, ma’am – and hi, Falk, sure, Falk, can I kiss yer’ arse, Falk?’ The search team leader did not actually say that, at least not within her hearing, but he may as well have.
‘Do you scare the bad guys as much as you scare our guys?’ she asked out of the corner of her mouth as they watched the search team inch their way across the site under Professor Geary’s watchful eye.
Falk grinned. ‘Not all of ‘em, there’s some that have nae crossed me yet and others that are either too crazy or too stupid to be scared of anyone.’
‘This Doc Monaghan I hear so much about for instance?’
‘Nahh! Doc’s no’ yer’ run-o’-the-mill heid the baw. He’s in a mean league of his own. One o’ them rare cases that gets grudging respect even around Glasgee – and the Weegie boys dinnae give it readily, especially to their Auld Reekie oppos.’
‘I’ll be interested to make his acquaintance.’
‘Hang around the boss long enough and you will ma’am – nothin’s so sure.’
‘They have history?’
‘Aye, ye could say that. Rivalry more like, Doc hates the boss – I mean, really hates him.’
‘And DCI Dunbar? Does he –’
‘Well, ye’ never can tell what he’s thinkin’ at the best o’ times.’ Falk cut in. ‘Nae love lost, that’s for sure.’
***
One of the drawbacks about making it to the rank of DCI, was the amount of time he had to spend at Fettes. On this occasion though, he wasn’t there long. He had barely touched his coffee before Terry Watt whisked him away to Holyrood. Bad enough that he had been recalled from his first meaty case in almost a year, only to discover Terry Watt wanted him to play back stop at a meeting with the Justice Minister. More galling for Dunbar was that it was regarding the operational protocols for the National Homicide and Serious Crime Unit that the bone idle Detective Superintendent had delegated to his DCI, who was conveniently on light duties and thus twiddling his thumbs. Had Watt done his job, he would not need Dunbar at the meeting. During the drive to Holyrood it became increasingly clear that Watt was not even adequately briefed on the subject to pitch his vision to the minister.
‘You haven’t even read it, have you?’
‘Have so,’ Watt protested indignantly. ‘It’s just – well, there’s a lot to take in what with Minto tying it to DI Tyler’s epic pile o’ shite on intelligence-led policing initiatives.’ Dunbar eyed him askance. ‘Dinnae’ look at me. Her report’s being feted as force policy and recommended for immediate implementation.’
‘You binned it before you got to the bottom of the first page!’
‘Aye well, ye’ know me. I cannae be doing with all that jargon an’ waffle,’ Watt grumbled.
Dunbar knew him all too well. ‘So, Briony’s report is policy now is it? Whereas my report’s still up for discussion.’
‘Pilot!’ Watt corrected, ‘and – ours – adopted in principle.’
‘Maybe I should have punctuated it with jargon.’
‘Ahh, but then the Chief would nae have known –’ He suddenly fell silent.
‘That you didn’t write it! Have you taken my name off it?’
Watt almost blushed but he was too shameless to feel genuine guilt. ‘Course not, I simply added mine and listen,’ he added conspiratorially, ‘this is really important – when we get sat down with him, we have to sell it. That’s why you’re here.’
‘I’ve nae sales experience, sir.’
‘You know what I mean, Alec – it’s your baby really and the Chief Super’s worried about how this enquiry at Braur Glen will pan out.’
‘You mean what it’s going to cost, I presume.’
‘Aye, well it disnae grow on trees, Alec. So we thought your investigation can be the pilot for the protocols as proposed in the report.’
‘It already is – if not officially. I’d already thought of testing it and –’
‘Dinnae say that to Minto,’ Watt cut in sharply, ‘he’s set aside funding for a pilot – we could use it to take some or all of the pain out of meeting the cost of yours.’
‘Christ Almighty! Is this what we’re reduced to – playing political charades to get our hands on a pot of gold?’
‘Ach, this is nothing, mon – we’ve got the home advantage what with Holyrood being on our doorstep, but oor former Strathclyde, Grampian, Central and Tayside oppos ran very slick charm offensives. There’s all sorts of shenanigans going.’
‘That! I can believe,’ Dunbar muttered. ‘So why didn’t you ask Briony to sit in on this meeting? I could have –’
‘Minto’s up to speed on her report, Alec, hence it’s green-lit, whereas ours –’
‘Mine!’ he cut in pointedly.
‘– the minister feels needs a wee bit more clarity,’ Watt continued, blushing slightly.
‘Shoe!’ Dunbar said as he swung his car into a parking bay.
‘What?’
‘S-C-H-U – schu – the Serious Crime and Homicide Unit. We drop the word national and rearrange the order of the others. Now that we’re the Police Service of Scotland – one force instead of eight – all departments have been nationalised, so the word “national” is a gimme, wouldn’t ye say?’
‘Schu! Aye, I like it,’ Watt chirruped, stepping from the car. ‘Schu! We can sell that!’
‘Jesus! After all these years in the job I end up a shoe salesman.’
***
Lawrie Minto MSP and Cabinet Secretary for Justice appeared without his suit jacket, sporting a garish pair of braces and glowing with a carefully crafted bonhomie that had become his trademark. Beneath t
he hale and hearty facade however there lurked an old school political bruiser. He noticed Dunbar’s cocked eyebrow and grinned.
‘Always wear braces,’ he explained, as he gave them a twang before offering his podgy hand. ‘Around this place there are those who cannae look at a mon’s belt without punching below it,’ he explained with a chortle. He scanned the landing, ‘Agnes, organise some coffee would you?’ He eyed the two senior detectives, who nodded their approval, ‘and shortbread – in ma private chambers.’
The dour middle-aged harridan that had greeted them a few minutes earlier acknowledged the instruction with a curt nod and a cold, disapproving stare. Dunbar got the impression she considered waiting on a couple of coppers below her pay grade – or her dignity at least.
***
Archie English showed them through to his sitting room where DI Tyler immediately noticed that the settee had been completely cleared of books and magazines.
‘It’s been one visitor after another – police, reporters, neighbours, nosey-parkers – I’ve never been so popular,’ he explained with barely contained glee as she and Falk took their seats. ‘No Detective Chief Inspector Dunbar today?’
‘Recalled to HQ,’ Tyler explained.
‘Ahh, so I’m being discussed at the highest levels now.’
‘Not sure why he’s had to go, Mr English, just know that is where he is.’
‘So who is this?’
‘Sorry, Detective Sergeant Sean Faulkner – Archibald English.’
‘Sergeant?’
‘Aye,’ Falk replied as they shook hands.
‘No offence, Sergeant, but – I’d have thought that an enquiry of this magnitude called for a detective more senior in rank than yourself.’
‘None taken, Mr English but – the reality is that most of the legwork’s done by detectives of constable and sergeant rank.’
‘It’s true,’ Tyler confirmed.
‘Legwork? I suppose so – door-to-door and all that, but interviewing primary witnesses can hardly be classed as legwork. I’d have thought –’
‘I’ve interviewed primary suspects before now, sir,’ Falk cut in, ‘as for you being a primary witness – to what exactly? As I understand it – you found a seventeenth century button in Braur Glen with your metal detector and called Professor Geary in.’
‘A gross simplification of events, Sergeant. The button was significant and indicative of the fact that – I – had discovered the location of the legendary Obag’s Holm,’ Archie corrected, before wagging his finger at Falk. ‘But I suspect you’re trying to catch me out. That’s very naughty of you, trying to provoke me – to impress the pretty Inspector perhaps.’
‘Nobody is trying to provoke or impress anyone – or catch you out, Archie, but –’ Tyler began to explain, but Archie was on a roll and ignored her.
‘Indeed I have dispelled a myth. Fireside tales now – historic fact with its own OS reference, or soon will have. So put that in your pipe and smoke it, Dr Vasquez!’
‘Vasquez? Why Vasquez?’ Tyler asked.
‘Oh, we’ve been corresponding for quite some time. He was adamant that (a) Obag’s Holm was little more than a legend – at best a corral where the Inglis Reivers hid their rustled livestock – annnd (b) that I was looking in entirely the wrong place.’
‘I see – beating the professionals at their own game,’ she observed.
‘A da in ma bunnet for sure,’ he chortled.
Tyler eyed Falk quizzically. ‘Feather in his cap,’ the DS explained.
‘The reason we’re here today is because yesterday you didn’t mention that your tutor, Wilson Farish, was a lodger – that he lived under the same roof as you.’
‘Didn’t I?’
Tyler was quite certain of her facts. ‘No!’
‘Aye, that he did, for a good few years, until –’ he stopped in mid-sentence as if uncertain whether he should finish what he was about to say.
‘Until?’ she repeated.
‘Ach, I don’t suppose it matters now. Bless him, poor Wilson can’t possibly put off his appointment with Saint Peter much longer, his health has been failing for years.’ He stiffened and rubbed his forehead firmly with the two middle fingers of his right hand. ‘Granny began to get rather upset about the amount of time I was spending with him,’ he explained as he busied himself picking imaginary bits off his immaculately pressed trousers.
‘So Mr Farish said. It’s not a particularly big house. I would venture to guess spending time with him was unavoidable.’
‘Wilson had the attic room,’ he added without looking up. ‘Granny found that last steep flight played havoc with her knees – she was a martyr to lumbago and arthritis.’
Tyler eyed Falk and waited for English to make eye contact. ‘Was, Wilson Farish abusing you, Archie?’
When he did, he couldn’t hold her gaze and suddenly seemed irritated by her questions. It wasn’t relevant, nor was it something he wanted to talk about. ‘What is abuse? – Define abuse?’ He snapped.
‘I think you know what the Inspector means, sir,’ Falk said softly.
‘Then no! We – petted that’s all. Little thank-yous – it was a small price to pay for private tuition. Do you have any idea how much a teacher can charge?’
‘I don’t – but sexual abuse is too high a price to pay, whatever he gave in return,’ Tyler replied.
‘Nonsense, a little willy-tickling and sucking the stick of rock never hurt anyone, certainly not me.’
‘Oral sex,’ Falk corrected.
Archie pulled a face. ‘I don’t like that expression. But it happens all the time at schools like Billy Bunter’s. That is, boys’ boarding schools – I loved Billy Bunter stories once I’d outgrown Winnie-the-Pooh. I must have read every one. Wilson said a greedy boy like Billy probably sucked rock for bigger boys and teachers too.’ Tyler and Falk exchanged a knowing look. ‘So you see!’ He grinned mischievously, ‘What’s good enough for all these Old Etonian politicians.’
‘Did he perform oral sex on you or you on him?’ Falk asked.
‘It wasn’t sex, it was – oh, what’s the use! Let’s get this nonsense out of the way. Let me see, err – me mostly, sometimes he would. It was just a wee game, like I said, a way to show my appreciation.’ Archie looked at them in turn still genuinely puzzled by their concern. ‘He used to smear honey on it and tell me to close my eyes and imagine I was Winnie-the-Pooh at the honey pot – or that it was a stick of rock or chocolate éclair when I progressed to Billy Bunter books. Tasty treats he called them. Of course it didn’t taste like rock once the honey was gone – or an éclair for that matter.’
‘Archie, he had no right to demand sexual favours in return for teaching you to read and write,’ Tyler explained.
‘He taught me much more than that!’ he snapped, suddenly angry only to check himself and force a smile. ‘I owe everything to Wilson’s devotion to my education – not least introducing me to genealogy.’
‘You owe him nothing. What he was doing is a criminal offence,’ Falk added.
‘Do you hear me complaining? – I shan’t! And you can’t make me.’
‘Are you gay, Archie?’ Tyler asked.
‘Gay, pyff! What a silly word. Call it what it is, homosexual. I’m celibate, so the question is irrelevant.’
‘I think what the Inspector is asking is – did you enjoy his attentions?’
‘Yes, but I was too young to get much out of the other stuff we did but I didn’t mind – really. He was my friend and I was happy to please him and he obviously enjoyed it. If Granny didn’t disturb us before we were done, he invariably ejaculated, “not an éclair without cream?” he’d say.’ Archie chortled at the memory. ‘To be honest, like Billy Bunter I much preferred the real thing. Anyway – by my early teens I decided that if that was what sex is all about I’d just as soon do without.’
‘It isn’t, Archie – especially between an adult male and a very young boy,’ Tyler explained with genuine sympathy.<
br />
‘Virgo intácta, I’m still pure. It’s not as if he sodomised me or anything.’ He preened and shook his head as if that particular conversation was at an end, then beamed a smile and asked, ‘Enough of that. How is your enquiry progressing? Are you out of the professor’s hair?’ he asked. ‘You could lose a fox and hounds in it, couldn’t you? But ever such a nice lady – don’t care much for Doctor Vasquez though. I think my presence when I visit the site embarrasses him.’
‘Another head has been discovered.’
Archie’s eyes became saucers. But it wasn’t shock, it was excitement. ‘Oooow, that’s going to cause a media frenzy, wouldn’t you say? Good Lord yes! No such thing as bad publicity, hey?’
***
Minto led them back out into the corridor. It had been no rubber-stamp job and the shrewd politician had clearly spent far more time mulling over the two reports than Detective Superintendent Watt. Present but semi-detached from the conversation, once or twice Dunbar had deliberately left his Superintendent hanging when Minto posed a probing question directly at Watt – only to rescue him before his obvious blustering threatened to embarrass them all. Served him right! The cheeky bastard had put his name on the report and credited Dunbar on the cover under the heading, ‘researched and compiled by’ –’
‘Of course the real scrap over this unit will be for the Director’s post,’ Watt suggested.
Minto nodded. Watt was fishing and he knew it. ‘The shortlist has been drawn up and the hot favourites are – your Deputy and Strathclyde’s Adrian Moody, with John McFarland the ACC for Tayside an outside bet.’
‘Jock McFarland,’ Watt gasped, ‘the mon’s a butterfly.’
‘Aye, he’s served in three different forces but some might see that as an advantage and you cannot ignore his twelve years with Strathclyde and most of that on CID, Terry. Just because he’s served outside the central belt for the past few years disnae mean he’s out of touch.’ Watt conceded the point with a shrug as Minto continued, ‘The smart money’s on Moody though.’
‘Horses for courses,’ Dunbar muttered.
Terry Watt didn’t notice Minto wink in response. ‘Dinnae let anyone around Fettes Avenue hear you say that, Alec,’ Watt joked, but it was no less true for being said in jest. The rivalry between the Strathclyde Police and Lothian and Borders Police for key positions in the newly formed Police Scotland organisation had been fierce. Not to mention the contention from the other six forces that between them had policed Scotland as separate constabularies prior to the amalgamation.
A Deviant Breed (DCI Alec Dunbar series) Page 9
