Pray for the Dying

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘No, we can’t.’

  Her eyes narrowed. A spasm of something strange ran through her, and she realised that it was fear. ‘Dan,’ she murmured, ‘what is this?’

  ‘This, Lottie, is me doin’ something Ah shouldn’t. By rights Ah shouldn’t be talking to you alone. There should be a senior officer in this room right now, probably the chief constable himself. There isn’t, because Ah care about you, lassie, and I want you to know about this from me, first. This might have to be another of those conversations that never happened, like mine with Alec in CTIS, but this is a hell of a lot more serious.’

  He reached across her desk and switched on her computer; it was an old-fashioned tower type, probably on its last legs, and took an inordinate length of time to boot up.

  ‘Dan,’ she said once more, as they waited, but he hushed her, with a finger to his lips.

  ‘They store the CCTV recordings on DVDs,’ he told her, as he loaded a disk on to the computer’s player tray, and slid it into position, then settled into the DI’s chair so that he could control playback.

  ‘I started at the end, like Ah said,’ he began. She looked at the screen and saw a still image of an empty car park, and with numerals in the bottom right corner. ‘These things can hold eight hours at a time,’ he explained. ‘They have a bank of recorders tae cover the whole park. When one disk gets full, another starts, so it’s constant. Ah thought I’d have to go a’ the way back tae seven, but . . .’

  He clicked a rewind icon, three times; the image began to move, as did the time read-out, fast, backwards. Provan’s finger hovered above the mouse until the clock showed seven twenty-eight, when he clicked again, freezing the recording once more.

  ‘Ah nearly missed this first time. Watch.’ He clicked on the ‘Play’ arrow and the images started to move.

  Mann peered at the screen. The park was almost as empty as it had been before; only a few cars remained. Then she saw a silver saloon roll into view, moving jerkily, for the camera was set to shoot only a few frames per second. It came to a stop and as it did so, a figure walked towards it, his speed enhanced. He was carrying a large parcel. She could just make out a face in the front passenger seat, and a hand, beckoning.

  ‘Bazza,’ Provan murmured. ‘Now see what happens.’

  The man she took to be Brown opened the rear door, slid into the back seat, and closed it behind him. Everything was still for a few seconds. Then she saw what seemed to be three flashes, inside the Peugeot, as if someone was sending a Morse message with a torch. Immediately afterwards, the car zoomed off, at high speed.

  ‘That was the execution of Bazza Brown,’ the DS said.

  ‘No doubt about it,’ his DI agreed. ‘So?’

  ‘So, what was wrong with that picture?’

  ‘Enlighten me,’ she growled. ‘Stop playin’ games, Dan.’

  ‘This is no game, kid. The parcel.’ He emphasised the word. ‘Where did Brown get the fuckin’ parcel? Cec never mentioned that. As far as he was concerned he was takin’ his brother to meet a bit on the side. And what was in it? Did he take her chocolates? If he did, it’s the biggest box of Black Magic Ah’ve ever seen.’

  ‘True,’ she murmured. That cold feeling revisited the pit of her stomach. Her old crony was taking her somewhere, and she had a bad feeling about their destination.

  ‘Then there was the time,’ the DS continued. ‘Bazza wanted to be there for seven, yet the South Africans never turned up for another half hour. So Ah ran the recording back to the time Cec told us, like this.’ He rewound once more, stopping at six fifty-eight, with a large black car in shot, near to where the Peugeot had pulled up.

  Provan let the recording go forward, and Mann saw Bazza Brown step out of his brother’s Chrysler, and into the last half hour of his life. He went nowhere, but stood his ground, pacing up and down, waiting, as Cec drove away.

  And then a door opened; it was set in the side of a large warehouse building at the top of the frame. A figure stepped out. He was carrying a large parcel, and he walked towards Brown. There was no handshake between the two, barely a glance exchanged, it seemed, as the bundle was handed over. The second man seemed about to turn on his heel, when Provan froze the screen.

  ‘I need you to confirm, ma’am,’ he said, ‘that the man with Brown is who I think he is.’

  Standing behind him, Lottie leaned over and grasped his shoulder, and the corner of the desk, for support.

  ‘Oh no,’ she moaned. ‘Oh my God, no. You know it is, Danny. You know it’s my Scott.’

  The sergeant let out a sigh that seemed bigger than he was. ‘Ah’ve never wished in ma life before,’ he murmured, ‘that Ah wasnae a cop. But I do now, so that somebody else could be doin’ this.’

  He stood, and gave her back her own chair. Then he went to the door, opened it and beckoned to Banjo Paterson, who crossed the office and joined them.

  ‘Detective Inspector,’ Provan announced, his accent vanishing in the formality of his voice, ‘in view of what we’ve just seen, and what you’ve confirmed, in spite of my subordinate rank I have got no choice but to ask you to remain here with DC Paterson while I take this matter to senior officers.’

  Thirty-Six

  ‘So this is where it all happens,’ Sarah Grace said, with a smile in her tone as she looked round the room that had become his. ‘This is the nerve centre of Scottish policing.’

  ‘A week ago,’ Bob told her, ‘I would have denied that suggestion, with all the vehemence at my disposal. Today, I’m forced to agree with you.’

  ‘I prefer the command suite in Edinburgh,’ she confessed. ‘It has a more, I dunno, a more lived-in feel about it. This is all very antiseptic, very impersonal.’

  ‘Honey child,’ he laughed, ‘don’t you think that might be because I haven’t had time to stamp my personality on it?’

  ‘Maybe. I’m sure you will . . . as long as that doesn’t involve importing that coffee machine you inherited from your old mentor Alf Stein.’

  ‘It won’t, I promise you. You told me I should give myself a caffeine holiday and that’s what I’m doing. I haven’t had a coffee this week. Are you pleased with me?’

  She grinned. ‘Yes and no. If you really are sticking to it, that might mean I have to give up too. When you’re around, at least. Speaking of which,’ she added, ‘do you want to stop off tonight? The Gullane house will be empty, since the kids are with me.’

  ‘I think I would like that very much, although I do have something to do there, before the place can be truly empty.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Mmm,’ he mused. ‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t reckon either of us would feel right if you did.’

  ‘Ah,’ Sarah whispered. ‘I think I can guess what you mean. Clearing out all the evidence, yes?’

  ‘Yes, at the other party’s request.’

  ‘Then you’re right. That is something you should do on your own . . . unless it involves a bonfire, in which case I’ll be happy to help.’

  ‘Hey, hey!’

  ‘I’m joking,’ she said. ‘The strangest thing happened to me this morning. I saw the newspapers and all of a sudden I found that I don’t bear that woman any ill-will, not any more, however she might feel about me.’

  ‘To be honest with you, Sarah,’ Bob confessed, ‘I don’t believe she feels any way about you, and I doubt that she ever did. She thought I was somebody I’m not. Now she’s found out the truth, she’s happy to make me, and everything to do with me, part of her past.’

  ‘Does that include not trying to take you for plenty in the divorce?’

  ‘That hasn’t been mentioned,’ he grinned, ‘and I’m not going to raise the subject.’

  He loaded a handful of documents and files into his attaché case, an aluminium Zero Halliburton that Sarah had given him as a birthday present a few years before, clicked it shut and picked it up. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Constable Davie, my driver, will be waiting for us in the car park.’

&nb
sp; He turned, and was in the act of heading for the door that led directly into the corridor when he saw a small, crumpled, moustachioed figure in his anteroom, his hand raised as if he was about to knock on the door.

  ‘What the hell?’ he murmured. ‘Hold on a minute, love,’ he told his ex-wife. ‘There’s something up here. Detective sergeants don’t turn up uninvited in the chief’s office without a bloody good reason.’

  He signalled to Dan Provan to enter, but the little man stood his ground. ‘What the fu—’ Skinner muttered. ‘Sit down for a minute, Sarah,’ he said. ‘Maybe the wee bugger’s scared of strange women.’

  He walked towards the glass doorway, then stepped through it into the outer office. ‘Yes, Dan?’ he murmured. ‘Where’s your DI and what can I do for you?’

  ‘She’s detained, sir, downstairs in the office.’

  Skinner had a low annoyance threshold. ‘What the fuck’s detaining her? Has it paralysed her phone hand?’

  ‘No, sir, you don’t understand. Ah’ve detained her. Out of bloody nowhere she’s become involved in the investigation. The rule book requires that Ah do that and report the matter to senior officers, plural. In this case, Ah don’t think that means a couple of DIs.’

  The chief’s face darkened; looking up at him, Provan, experienced though he was, felt a chill run through him.

  ‘Where is she?’ Skinner murmured.

  ‘She’s in her private office, boss. DC Paterson’s with her; Ah’ve ordered him not to allow her to make any phone calls or send any texts.’

  ‘You’ve done that to Lottie?’ Skinner said, and as he did he realised how upset the sergeant was. ‘Right, let’s hear about it, but not here.’

  He opened the door behind him and called out to Sarah, ‘Urgent, I’m afraid. Hang on please, love; I’ll be as quick as I can.’ Then he led the way into the corridor and along to ACC Gorman’s office, relieved to see through the unshaded glass wall that she was behind her desk. He rapped on the door, and walked straight in.

  ‘Bridie, sorry to interrupt, but something’s arisen that DS Provan feels he has to bring to the top of the reporting chain. He’s been around long enough to know the rule book off by heart, so we’d better hear him out.’

  ‘Of course.’ Skinner’s deputy rose. ‘Hi, Dan,’ she said. ‘You look as though the cat’s just ett your budgie.’

  The little sergeant sighed. ‘Ma’am, if it would make this go away Ah’d feed it the bloody thing maself.’

  ‘So what do you have to tell us?’ she asked.

  ‘To show you,’ he corrected her. ‘Is your computer on?’

  ‘Give me a minute,’ she said, then pressed a button behind a console that sat on a side table.

  The command suite computers were of more recent vintage than those in the floors below, and so it was ready in less than the time she had requested.

  Provan inserted the DVD he had brought with him into a slot at the side of the screen. ‘This is CCTV footage,’ he explained to the two chief officers, ‘from the Easthaven Retail Park. It was taken on Friday evening. Our investigation established that the two men who killed Chief Constable Field went there at that time, and later Bazza Brown’s brother, Cec, told us that he took Bazza there as well. Now, please watch.’

  He played the recording in the same way that he had shown it to his DI twenty minutes earlier, stopping as the Peugeot roared away from the park.

  ‘That’s your homicide wrapped up,’ Skinner remarked. ‘But where did the parcel come from?’

  ‘Watch again,’ Provan replied, rewinding the recording by half an hour, showing Brown’s drop-off by his brother, the unexpected encounter, and the handing over of the package. Once again, he froze the action to show the newcomer’s face.

  ‘I see,’ the chief constable murmured. ‘Are you going to tell me who that is, now?’

  It was Bridie Gorman who answered. ‘I can tell you that,’ she hissed. He looked at her and saw that her eyes, normally warm and kind, were cold and seemed as hard as blue marble. ‘That is Scottie Mann, one-time police officer until the bevvy got the better of him, and still the husband of Detective Inspector Charlotte Mann. What’s the stupid fucking bastard gone and done? Dan, what was in the parcel? Do you know?’

  ‘I would bet my maxed-out pension, ma’am,’ the veteran detective declared, ‘that it was two police uniforms and two equipment belts.’

  Thirty-Seven

  ‘I’m sorry that took so long,’ Bob told Sarah as he stepped back into his office, ‘but it had to be done straight away, and by nobody other than my deputy and me.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘Can you tell me?’

  ‘In theory no, I can’t, but bugger that. If I don’t I’ll be brooding over it for the rest of the night. Bridie Gorman and I have just found ourselves in the horrible position of having to interview, under caution, the senior investigating officer in the Toni Field murder. Her husband turned up not just as a witness, but as a suspect in the conspiracy. That’s what wee Provan came to tell me, and it must have been bloody tough on him, because the two of them are bloody near father and daughter.’

  ‘Oh my. How did it go?’

  ‘We put the question directly to her and she swore that she had no knowledge of her husband’s involvement, and that if she had she would have declared it.’

  ‘Do you believe her?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, we do. The poor woman’s in a hell of a state. She alternates between being tearful and wanting to rip her old man’s heart out . . . and she’s big enough to do that too.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘Scott, the husband . . . the ex-cop husband,’ he growled, his face twisting suddenly in anger, ‘will be arrested. In fact it’s under way now. Provan’s taking a DC and some uniforms to their house to pick him up. Their son will see that happen, I’m afraid, but there’s no way round that. DC Paterson and the uniforms will take him away and Dan . . . he’s the boy’s godfather . . . will stay with him till Lottie gets back.’ He chuckled, savagely. ‘She wanted to make the arrest herself! I almost wish that was possible. It’d serve the guy right. No chance, though; she’s out.’

  ‘You mean she’s suspended?’ Sarah looked as angry as he did.

  ‘No, of course not.’ He smiled to lighten the moment. ‘Calm down. No need to get the sisterhood wound up. She’s on an unanticipated holiday, that’s all. She can’t continue on the inquiry, because she’s been hopelessly compromised.’

  ‘Who’ll take over from her?’

  ‘Dan will,’ Skinner replied, ‘reporting to me, just as she’s been doing. I could parachute in another DI, indeed maybe I should, given his closeness to the family, but Scott was a cop himself and it would be difficult to find someone who had never crossed his path.

  ‘Anyway, Provan’s forgotten more about detective work than most of the potential candidates will ever learn, and he’s still got enough left in his tank to see him through. He won’t interview Scott, though. Bridie and I will do that, tomorrow morning. Not too early, though, I want him to stew in isolation for a while. Now,’ he declared, ‘let’s you and I get out of here. Change of plan; we’ll take the train, then a taxi to yours. I can’t have PC Davie drive me through to Edinburgh at this time of night.’

  They took the lift down to the headquarters car park, where PC Cole was waiting. The chief constable introduced the extra passenger, ‘Doctor Grace, the pathologist, from Edinburgh University,’ then apologised for the delay, a gesture that seemed to take his driver by surprise. His reaction rose to astonishment when Skinner told him that the destination was Queen Street Station.

  ‘Are you sure, sir?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Certain. You can pick me up from there tomorrow as well. I’ll let you know what train I’m on.’

  The train was on the platform five minutes from departure as they settled into its only first-class compartment. Sarah grinned. ‘I’m on expenses, or I would be if you hadn’t bought my ticket. What’s your excuse?’


  ‘I’m not quite sure,’ he confessed, ‘since everything happened very quickly at the weekend, but I think I am too. But the truth is that I prefer first, on the rare occasions that I take the train, simply because there’s less chance of me meeting an old customer, so to speak.’

  ‘And that would worry you?’ she asked, eyebrow raised. ‘Are you feeling your age?’

  ‘No to both of those, and not that it’s likely to happen, but I’d rather avoid those situations. I’m not just talking about people I’ve locked up; there’s councillors, journalists, defence lawyers. I don’t like to be cornered by any of them, because I don’t care to be in any situation where I have to watch every word I say.’

  ‘I can see that,’ she conceded.

  No other passengers had joined them by the time the train left the station.

  ‘This preference of yours for privacy,’ Sarah ventured, as it entered the tunnel that ran north out of Queen Street, ‘would it have anything to do with you not wanting to be seen with me?’

  ‘What?’ He laughed. ‘Don’t be daft.’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘There is no woman in the world I would rather be seen with.’

  ‘Apart from Alex.’

  ‘Alexis is my daughter, and so is Seonaid, our daughter, yours and mine. We made her and I am very proud of that, even though I was fucking awful at showing it for a while. You are different, you are you, and I love you.’

  ‘This hasn’t happened too soon, has it?’ she wondered. ‘A week ago, if you’d asked me, I’d never have imagined you and me, here like this, now.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Bob admitted, ‘but I am mightily pleased that we are. It should never have been any other way. I was stupid, and not for the first time in my life. Feeling my age, you asked. Well, maybe I am, in a way. It’s led me to a point where I’m honest with myself about my weaknesses, and the things I’ve done wrong in the past, and strong enough to be able to promise you that I will never let you down again.’

  ‘You realise that if you do,’ she whispered, as the train passed out into the open with leafy embankments on either side, ‘I will do your autopsy myself, before they take me away?’