The city of light was now in darkness and seemed an eternity away from the place he and Carole had visited on many long weekends over the past year.
He sat on his bed in the darkness, closed his eyes and lay back on the pillow trying to block out the scenes of the other day and concentrating on the happier times with Carole in Paris.
The wonderful daily walks from one end to the other in the two-kilometre-long Champs Elysées. Their only visit to the Eiffel Tower. A fantastic evening at Moulin Rouge. Numerous romantic dinners at quaint French restaurants and early morning strolls complete with breakfasts of fresh croissants and coffee.
Hopefully, some sort of normality would return to Paris sooner rather than later.
Harry, eventually got up, showered and dressed casually in preparation for his working lunch with Blair and Alex at the Ravelston Hotel in the heart of Musselburgh.
Coffee was always the first priority for Harry in the morning. He just could not function without his morning cuppa along with his bowl of corn flakes and beans on toast. Much healthier than the customary Scottish fry-up.
He was a creature of habit when it came to eating but he liked it that way. Going for a short stroll after breakfast was his routine daily. No matter the weather.
Each time he left the apartment he could choose to walk left or right along the promenade. Today he chose left.
The wind was extremely strong with a chill in the air that was uncomfortable, so he had taken the precaution of covering his head with a warm beanie accompanied by a set of gloves and a long heavy overcoat. It seemed a long way from his daily sub-tropical walks in Brisbane with no more than shorts and tee shirt, but still he enjoyed his strolls here just the same.
Walking past the small row of single story houses set back from the promenade reminded him of his primary school which was situated directly behind the houses. He recalled the mandatory football five a side played during the lunch hour which was continued after school every day on the beach. He was convinced this had helped him build durability for his football days later in life.
There were not many people on the promenade today. Most small businesses had closed for the winter and the wind was getting stronger so he decided to cut short his walk and head back to the warmth of the apartment for a quick hot shower before heading off to his designated lunch rendezvous.
He left the apartment and walked around the corner into Bath Street where he had parked his car earlier for the short ten- minute drive to the hotel. As he drove along the road parallel to the beach he caught glimpses of children splashing around in the still waters of the Forth watched by their parents. He always thought that if there had been any sort of decent surf there, which there wasn’t, then this part of Scotland in summer would challenge the south of France for a sought-after holiday resort rather than just catering for the locals and the annual visit from the ‘Weegies’ from Glasgow for the two weeks in July known as the “Glasgow Fair.”
He always enjoyed driving past the quaint Harbourside at the entrance to the honest toun, but progress had changed that and now it was mostly hidden by a new hotel and convention centre known as The Quay.
Blair was already seated at the reserved lunch table in the Ravelston Hotel. “Hi Blair, you must have taken recent lessons in punctual time keeping.”
“Hi, Harry. Good to see you again, take a pew.”
“Thanks. Nice to see you again, although I wish it was under better circumstances.”
As they ordered a beer each and studied the menu they didn’t notice the arrival of Alex.
“Great to see you guys.”
In turn, they all said their hellos.
Alex was a stunning little piece, dressed immaculately. She always looked like she had just left the hairdressers. Dressed in body-hugging faded blue jeans with the customary slits in both knees, plain black tee shirt, short blonde manicured hair complete with a pair of small but trendy jade earrings that matched her eyes complete with a lovely natural tanned complexion. A hand-down from her Asian parents.
Her Brummy accent was a breath of fresh air to the local lingo, although sometimes hard to understand. But that was more than often ignored by the listeners due to her mesmerising looks and bubbly personality. She had met Blair and Harry through their common interest in golf as members of the Duddingston golf course.
“What would you like to drink?” Blair asked.
“I think just a glass of water for the moment.”
“Christ, water comes out of a tap. If someone had suggested years ago bottling it and selling it for more than the price of petrol they would have been taken away screaming in a yellow van,” ranted Blair
Harry ordered Alex her drink from the waiter as they switched their attention to ordering lunch.
During lunch, Blair opened the conversation. “Alex, any new leads?”
“And perhaps you could give us your thoughts as to who the police think may be responsible,” added Harry.
“Well, there’s not much to report at the moment. The underworld has shut down on this crime. Scully and his colleagues are simply unable to give it their full attention as they are grossly undermanned. Most people in the force know of my association with Harry and tend to give me a wide berth on this matter. To be honest Harry, there is no love lost over Alf Hunter or any of his family inside the force but there are other priorities for most of them. Although I wouldn’t put Spencer or Darling in that category. They are good cops and will give it their full attention, as will Scully. However, right now there seems to a whole lot of nothing going on.”
“Okay, how about we just enjoy lunch and spend the rest of the day enjoying each other’s company?” They raised their glasses to Blair’s toast.
Chapter 16
Cropley always met his snitch at the Ship Inn pub in Musselburgh. The pub was placed at the very entrance to the honest toun, bit like a fortress to the burgh and the local drinking house to many of the finest underground characters in East Lothian.
Wednesday evening in the pub was darts night where you were sure to find Kevin Wilson.
Kev was a great motor mechanic but preferred to use his skills in car stealing and fencing which earned him a solid reputation amongst the criminal element and of course much more money than he could earn as a traditional mechanic.
His signature uniform was his grey and black donkey jacket he wore with pride and capped off with his French beret giving him a look of an old-fashioned harmless petty criminal. Which in fact is what he was.
His upbringing in the high-rise flats of Craigmillar taught him to become street wise very quickly. A skill he carried forward into his current career. He was like a rolling stone, always on the move.
At primary school, he earned the nickname “Kev the Greek” due to the fact his mother had married a Greek. Much of his teenage years had been spent in Greece where his Greek father still lived but his mother didn’t. She much preferred life in Edinburgh, which funnily enough was sometimes referred to as the ‘The Athens of the North.’
Cropley regularly went into the pub on the way home for a couple of pints. He always selected a seat facing the toilet and the entrance door, as that’s normally where any trouble would come from. He ordered a pint accompanied with a nip. That was his covert sign to Kev that they needed to talk.
Some fifteen minutes later they were sitting in Cropley’s car at their designated meeting point in the Wallyford Park and Drive. “Alf Hunter wants you to do a job on a car in a few weeks’ time. You know the pattern. The occupant doesn’t survive, looks like an accident and no one can pick up any issue with the vehicle.”
“Mr. Cropley, you know I can’t do that. I told you last time that the previous job I did was my last one. I want to see the new addition to my family grow up here on Earth not from the hotel in the sky. I have promised the trouble and strife no more time in prison. I need to settle down and get a proper job and earn some respect in the local community. We like living in Wallyford.”
�
��A new addition, eh?” Didn’t think you had it in you.”
He ignored that comment, although it made him very angry but he knew he had to keep his cool.
“Kev, let’s get some clarity here. You are listening but not hearing. He is not asking your opinion nor is he interested in your present or future plans. He wants you to acknowledge that you are up to the task. He is known to cut off your oxygen if you get my drift. I would strongly suggest that it would be in you and your family’s best interest that you oblige him. You can’t crab walk away from this.”
“No can do.”
Cropley grunted, “I’m not joking.”
Kev replied, “And I’m not laughing.”
“I don’t think you have a choice here. Personally, I don’t' care what he will do to you but I don’t want to see your family harmed.”
“If he ...”
“If he what? Don’t be daft. You won’t be able to do anything to protect your family with a pair of concrete shoes attached to your feet. Be realistic here, you do not have a choice. Call me in the next few weeks with your answer and Alf’s messenger will deliver the targets name as per normal.”
Cropley started his engine and left Kev to wander back to his vehicle. He looked at a broken and frustrated man in the rear vision mirror, but what did he care? He needed to look after himself. Only a short time to retirement. Why did all this shite have to happen now?
He tried to switch off and relax as he drove to his partner’s harbour side apartment in Port Seton, a coastal town only ten minutes’ drive away.
What he didn’t know was that he was the intended target.
Chapter 17
The initial media briefing in any murder case is akin to a feeding frenzy for the reporters and their camera men. The combatants consisting of the press and media faced up against the keepers of law and order. On this side of the microphone was Superintendent Ruby flanked by DCI Scully and DI Spencer.
Superintendent Ruby stepped up to the microphone, which was the sign for the cameras to go off like a popcorn machine in a cinema. He waited patiently until they had finished their collective photo shoot, allowed his eyes to adjust and opened the media briefing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for making the effort to attend today’s briefing regarding the recent deaths of the three people in Portobello. The response from the public has been tremendous to date and we are pursuing a couple of strong leads that show great promise. We owe it to the community to confront these issues. We have located and identified the stolen vehicle seen in the vicinity of the crime and are confident that this will lead us to more information about the murders.
“Happy to take questions. Now, can we start with Raffles?” He pointed to the front row.
Raffles from The Scotsman newspaper stood up. “We know that the deceased were shot. Can you confirm if they were all shot by the same gun? And secondly, can you inform us if Harry Cram is a suspect in the case?”
DCI Scully decided that he would deal with those two questions. “Let me answer the second part of your question first. Mr. Cram has been assisting us with our enquiries and no he is not a suspect. In relation to the question on firearms. At this point in time we are still awaiting a report from Howden Hall and when that information is available we shall release that in detail.”
From the back of the pack came the well-recognised high pitched voice of radio presenter Tessa Alberta. “Following on from your previous answer. Why is it that you allow a second investigation to run parallel with yours?”
“If you are referring to Harry Cram, may I remind you he is a very experienced investigative journalist and there is no law that says you cannot conduct a private investigation as long as it does not impede the authorities in doing their job. And to date I am unaware that there are any problems in that area,” Scully replied.
Tessa Albert continued, “Is it true that he has seconded a current police officer to assist him in his investigation?”
“Again, not to our knowledge. It is not a crime to discuss in general these matters in private between two parties irrespective of their positions. It only becomes an issue if confidential information is passed on. That I can assure you is not happening.”
“Can you confirm the identity of the person in the police force we are talking about?”
“No, we cannot. We do not think it is appropriate or required.”
“Can you then confirm that it is not DI Alex Stone?”
“We are simply not in a position to comment.”
“I think we can take that as a ‘yes,’ as you appear to be heavy on rhetoric but void of substance.”
“Most definitely you cannot take it as a ‘yes.’ If there are other important questions regarding this case then we would like to hear them.”
Jim McInally from the Portobello Reporter stood up. “Sir, we are hearing that the husband of one of the victims, Alf Hunter, may be directly involved in this hideous crime. Is there any truth in that?”
“Mr. Hunter, as you would be aware is currently in prison serving a very long sentence and yes we have interviewed him as one would expect, given he was the husband and father of the deceased. At this point, there is no indication that he was involved directly or indirectly in this crime.”
“So, what you are saying is that you really have no idea or leads as to who carried out this crime and why?”
“On the contrary. As we indicated earlier we have a couple of solid leads and we are working on a short list of possible suspects.”
Scully decided he needed to bring the briefing to a close. “That will be all the questions for now. We need to conclude this briefing and get back to solving the case. Thank you for your time and your forthright questions. We trust that you will all be factual as always in your reporting of the information given to you today.”
As the media swarm dispersed hastily to make their newspaper deadlines, the superintendent cornered Scully and ushered him into his office. “James, I don’t need to tell you that the hierarchy will be watching what went down on TV tonight and like me will not be impressed that DI Stone’s name has been raised in connection to the case. You better have a word with her and make sure she doesn’t cross any lines. I will in the meantime give the top brass your assurance that all is in order and we are progressing on the case. Don’t let me down.”
Scully was used to dressing downs from the super, in cases like this. It was his prerogative and he had no problem with that. What he didn’t like was the attitudes of some of the reporters. But they too were only doing their job. It was a pity they weren’t all as professional as Raffles. They could learn a lot from him.
Chapter 18
Councillor Borthwick addressed the weekly Portobello council meeting. “Protesters rallying against councils that approve high-rise developments taller than levels recommended in local plans are missing the point. Height is not the enemy and density is not the devil. What we must oppose are ugly, boring and lazy developments
“When a few hundred people marched down Bath Street last week they complained residents were being squeezed out of council decision-making. But what really sparked their anger was developers being given approval to build at heights and densities above local area plan guidelines. This is something we should all consider when voting on any proposed development in the interest of the Portobello community.”
Councillor Borthwick was so passionate about future planning and that is probably why he was so popular in the community.
Harry agreed with the councillor most of the time but new high-rise apartments on the promenade were inevitable and would help in pushing up the investment he had just made. So, on this occasion, he could not agree.
He enjoyed attending the monthly council meeting as a member of the public when he could and felt that it was his duty to show an interest in what was happening locally. It was a pity that more of the public did not feel the same way.
After the monthly council
meetings, whenever possible, Harry always met for a coffee with Councillor Borthwick in the only decent coffee in the High Street which funnily enough was The Foresters. The barman who fancied himself as a bit of a barista, set about enthusiastically preparing the latte and cappuccino that they had just ordered and both men then made their way to the table they always sat at overlooking the High Street. The noise of the traffic through the open window although annoying, served the purpose of making it near impossible to be overheard.
“Well, that was a passionate speech Hamish. You settled down now?”
“Someone once told me never underestimate the value of marketing yourself. It’s one thing to be heard, but it takes a lot more effort to be remembered.”
“Very good Hamish. I must remember that line, could be useful in my journalistic work.”
Harry had only met Hamish since his return from OZ through the local cycle club where they were both regulars and had a lot in common enjoying each other’s interests and company.
They both took a sip of their recently delivered coffees.
Harry and Hamish went to the same secondary school as well as university but not at the same times.
Hamish was a community man through and through. It seemed a natural progression from his days at university leading the students’ union where he had a genuine concern for the welfare of his comrades to his current passion as a local councillor.
He was a small man, medium build, around mid-forties and maybe gay. Although Harry had never posed the question only guessed. He spoke very quietly but with authority and his appearance was always neat and tidy like his manners.
Born and bred in Joppa, Hamish was passionate about the town and its progress.
“How are you coping with the terrible events of last week, Harry?”
“Working my way through it Hamish. Thanks for asking.”
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