Autographs in the Rain

by Quintin Jardine

  had never mentioned Chase's notorious paper either, any more than had

  Ruth, who had typed it. He might still not have known about it, but for a

  series of heavy-handed hints from Good, which had eventually provoked

  him to exclaim one day, in his own small office, 'Jack, exactly what the

  fuck are you talking about?'

  It had to be that damned paper that lay behind Chase's smirk. Yet if it

  was, why was his aide so clearly shiteing himself?

  188

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  'Ah, what the hell' he thought as he turned into his driveway, "the boss 'II

  tell me when he's good and ready:

  He drove his car into the garage, checked with Marie that Lauren and

  Spencer were fine, then walked the short distance round to Louise Bankier's

  safe house. As he opened the garden gate, he saw, almost hidden behind a

  tall hedge, a silver-grey Renault Megane hatchback. He glanced at the

  registration: Glasgow. Of course, Lucy's. Lou had mentioned that her sister

  was bringing her father through to see her.

  He rang the bell; its echo had barely died before Louise swung it open.

  'Hey,' he said, trying to look severe. 'I thought I told you not to do that;

  take a look through the peep-hole first.'

  'I saw you coming up the path; and eyeballing poor wee Lucy's car too.'

  He smiled as he noticed that she sounded more Glaswegian than ever. 'Come

  and meet the guys,' she said.

  Warren Judd and Elliott Silver had been gone by the time he had arrived

  the evening before to pick her up. He studied them both carefully, but

  politely, as she introduced them. Judd was a short, stocky man, about his

  own age, he guessed; he flashed him a smile and was taken aback by the

  hostility in the look which he shot back. Silver was ten years younger, in

  his late twenties, of medium height and light build, with soft features and,

  unlike his colleague, possessed of a ready, endearing smile.

  Behind them, at the window another man stood. He was big; at least six

  two, bulky shoulders in a denim shirt, black hair cut close. Mcllhenney's

  eyebrows began to rise, unconsciously, until Lucy walked over to him and

  took his arm. 'This is Barren Mason, my boyfriend,' she said. 'He's never

  met my famous sister before.'

  Louise smiled at them, then exclaimed, with more pride in her voice

  than he had heard before, 'And last, but the opposite of least, the most

  important man in my life; Malcolm Bankier, my dad.

  'Dad, this is Neil Mcllhenney, who's sort of looking after me while I'm

  here.'

  The old man in the armchair made to push himself up on a thick brown

  cane. 'You stay there, Mr Bankier, please,' said the detective, laying his

  left hand gently on his shoulder and offering him his right. He settled back

  then shook it, with a gnarled, twisted, arthritic claw, looking not at Louise,

  but at his younger daughter, who was perched on the broad arm of the

  chair.

  'Who is he?' he exclaimed. 'She got another man?'

  'Shh, Dad,' whispered Lucy. 'No, that's not it.'

  The old man's face seemed to brighten up. 'Ah, he's yours then,' he

  cackled. 'Lucy's got a fella.' The young woman flushed.

  'No, Mr Bankier,' said Neil. 'I'm not so privileged. I work for Louise.

  I'm responsible for her accommodation while she's in Edinburgh. I just

  looked in to check on her schedule for tomorrow.'

  'Work for her, you say?' His voice, though wavering, still kept its cultured

  middle-class Glaswegian tones. He waved his stick at Judd and Silver. 'Like

  these two?' Suddenly, his eyes narrowed, and he beckoned the policeman

  tfwards him. As Mcllhenney leaned over, Malcolm Bankier nodded towards

  Warren Judd. 'That wee chap there,' he hissed, loudly enough for everyone

  in the room to hear, 'watch him. Seen him before somewhere. Don't like

  him.'

  Neil could think of nothing to say to fill the embarrassing silence, but

  the old man did it for him. 'Thought I'd seen you before too,' he said.

  'With Louise; long time ago, when she was a lass and my wee Lucy was a

  baby. Not you though; someone else. Sorry.'

  Lucy Bankier glanced up at her sister, who nodded. 'Come on, Daddy,'

  she said. 'Lou says tea will be ready; let's go to the dining room.'

  'She never said a bloody word,' Mr Bankier grumbled, but he allowed

  her to help him to his feet, and out of the room.

  When they were gone Louise looked apologetically at Judd. 'I'm sorry

  about that, Warren,' she said. 'His memory's all over the place these days.

  He hasn't a clue what he's saying.'

  'Don't worry about it.' The producer laughed, but, it seemed to

  Mcllhenney, without real humour.

  'I do though. For example, I worry for my sister, left in Bearsden to look

  after him. I give her nursing help, of course, but he goes through them at a

  rate of knots; I've had to move agencies twice. The Alzheimer's has changed

  his personality completely; for one thing it's made him a dirty old man ...

  and I'm not just talking about his toilet habits.

  'It makes me so sad; he's only seventy-five you know, and he wears a

  bloody nappy, yet there are men in their eighties who've as fit as fiddles.

  This started off as one of his better days, too.'

  'Well,' exclaimed Judd, brusquely. 'We'd best leave you with him, then.

  As we agreed, don't you worry about tomorrow. Boy Wonder and I will

  take care of that. See you on Monday, to start the New Town shooting.' He

  turned on his heel and left the room, Silver in his wake.

  .

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  'Your dad's not as wandered as all that, is he?' Mcllhenney murmured.

  'He's right about friend Judd for a start.'

  'He never did like Warren,' she snapped. He felt rebuffed; she saw it

  and apologised at once. 'I'm sorry, Neil; I'm just a bit touchy on that subject.'

  'So'she, I reckon.'

  'Don't take it personally.' Then she smiled. 'No,' she said. 'Take it

  personally if you like.'

  She paused, and looked at him. 'You know who he mistook you for,

  don't you?' she asked.

  'I can make a pretty good guess.'

  'How much has Bob told you?'

  'Very little; only that you two were close a long time ago. But last Friday

  night when we drove back from Gullane, I knew who you were talking

  about. He was the one, eh? The big hurt, twenty-five years ago.'

  'Yup,' she admitted. 'And isn't it strange now, that Dad should mistake

  you for him, you two being such good friends and colleagues and

  everything.'

  She sighed. 'Daddy was furious, you know; furious with Bob, when we

  broke up. I never talked about him afterwards, you know, but once when I

  was visiting home, when Lucy would be about fourteen, he said something,

  in front of her, about having seen him on television.

  'I had to tell her the whole story. Until that moment I hadn't realised just

  how angry he had been.'

  She laughed. 'And then, on Monday evening, when he called in, she was

  here, and they met. I wondered how she'd react, but you know, she just

  melted. She fell for him on the spot, just like me two and a half decades

  before her.

  'I te
ll you, it's just as well he loves his wife, or Bob Skinner could do

  untold damage in my family still!'

  He chuckled. 'Speaking of families, I must get back to mine. I gather

  that you've called off your meeting tomorrow.'

  'Yes. Glenys and I are having another day with the script; the guys can

  finish the location recces. There's only one I want to do myself.'

  'Where's that?' he asked.

  'You'll find out,' she told him, mysteriously. 'On Saturday.'

  190

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  I I

  56

  'Where did you find her, Dan?' asked Andy Martin.

  ",'She turned up at her house in Coldstream, just after five o'clock. Two

  uniforms spotted her and detained her until McGurk picked her up and

  brought her up here to Galashiels. We're just about to question her.

  'So far she's brassing it out, though: she claims she has no idea why we

  want to talk to her. McGurk was smart enough not to play along with her

  though. He's said nothing at all to her, other than that she's wanted for

  questioning. We've let her stew in it so far, but we're ready to talk to her

  now.'

  'Have you seen her at all?'

  'Not yet.'

  'Has she seen a lawyer?'

  'She was allowed to phone her lawyer in Coldstream. He's a real old

  country lawyer with more sense than to go anywhere near a criminal matter,

  so he's sent up the young lad in his office who does what little Sheriff

  Court work he has.

  'He's just arrived, but he can see her at the same time as I do. Jack

  sneaked a quick look at him. He says he looks still wet behind the ears, but

  full of himself, puffed up like a rooster.'

  'Nah,' said Martin dryly. 'There's a difference between a rooster and a

  lawyer.'

  'What's that?'

  'A rooster clucks defiance . . .'

  The Head of CID cut across Pringle's laugh. 'What does McGurk think

  about the woman?'

  'He reckons she's lying in her fucking teeth.' The superintendent glanced

  across his office at the sergeant. 'Mind you, Jack's still a bit upset, after

  finding that poor lass. He's desperate to nail someone for it? I'll make up

  my own mind about her.'

  'Go and do it, then,' |p Martin. 'Just remember, though; McGurk

  N

  192

  j

  doesn't know as we do that it couldn't have been her hitting the girl on the

  tape.'

  'No, but you don't know that wasn't her we saw framed in the lights of

  that lorry.'

  'True,' admitted the Head of CID. 'Go do it then.'

  Pringle hung up and nodded to McGurk. 'Come on.' He led the way out

  of the room downstairs and into the waiting area. He spotted the lawyer at

  once from his sergeant's description; no more than twenty-five years old,

  smooth-cheeked, looking precociously pompous in a pin-striped suit.

  'Mr Mark Taggart?' the policeman asked.

  'Yes!' the young man exclaimed. 'Inspector, I insist on seeing my client

  at once, or must I speak to your superiors?'

  'That's "Superintendent" to you,' Pringle barked. 'Dan Pringle, divisional

  CID commander, and don't fucking threaten me, son. Now you come on

  wi' us and you'll see your client.'

  'But I want to see her alone,' the young man protested.

  'So does DS McGurk here, but we're all going to see her together, and

  you're going to keep your mouth shut and let us get on with our interview.

  This is a murder investigation, as I'm sure you know by this time ...' The

  young lawyer gulped, almost comically, leaving Pringle to guess that any

  briefing he had been given before he left Coldstream might have been less

  than complete.

  'Your client hasn't actually killed anyone, son, but she still has a few

  questions to answer about her possible knowledge of the crime. I'm not

  going to caution her at this stage; if I decide to in the light of anything she

  says, I'll stop the interview and advise you at once.

  'Until then, you're in there because of my generosity of spirit, and that's

  all.'

  Mercy Alvarez was waiting for them in a small, windowless room at the

  rear of the ground floor of the divisional headquarters building. The air

  was thick with cigarette smoke as the two detectives entered; Pringle felt

  an old familiar pang. The woman glared at them through the blue haze, but

  said nothing.

  The female constable who sat silently with her rose and made to leave,

  until Pringle shook his head, signalling her to stay. He placed twin tapes in

  the recorder on the table, then switched it on, identifying everyone in the

  room for the record.

  'We've got a problem with you, Ms Ah '; ' the superintendent blurted

  193

  AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN

  out, as soon as he had completed the formalities.

  'What you mean?' she snapped.

  'Well, there were only a handful of us who knew that as of Friday, you'd

  have video security installed on your farm. There was you, there was Jack

  and me, and there was our boss, Mr Martin.' He paused. 'Oh aye, and there

  was Kath Adey.

  'All of which makes it very iffy that last night someone should have

  broken into your site and emptied out your tanks. In view of the short time

  that's gone by since the last robbery, it makes me wonder whether someone

  tigped off these guys that they only had a couple of days

  ''What?' Mercy Alvarez interrupted, her dark eyes widening. 'Country

  Fresh? Is been robbed?'

  'Good,' said Pringle. 'I'm impressed by that reaction; maybe I was meant

  to be. But I'm not convinced. Someone told that gang that they had to do

  your place before Friday. Now it wasn't DCS Martin, and it wasn't DS

  McGurk, and it wasn't me. So that just leaves you.'

  'Superintendent!' Mark Taggart exclaimed.

  'Shut up, you! Did you set up your own farm to be robbed, Ms Alvarez?'

  The woman's face twisted in anger. 'No I did not!' she spat. 'Anyhow,

  you miss someone out? What about Kath?'

  Jack McGurk shook his head. 'We don't think it was her, Ms Alvarez.'

  'Why not?' she shouted. 'Why you accuse me, not her?'

  The burly superintendent leaned across the table. 'Because no one's

  bashed your head in, and chucked you in a fish tank,' he said, quietly.

  'Because you're not lying in the fucking mortuary up in Edinburgh, with

  your brain beside you in a stainless steel dish.'

  Dan Pringle was long past the stage in his police career when he believed

  that he could be surprised by anyone or anything. But right there, right

  then, Mercy Alvarez surprised him; she fell off her chair, in a dead faint.

  An hour went by before a doctor certified that she had recovered

  sufficiently for the interview to proceed. She was so shaken that Pringle

  was convinced there and then that she had known nothing of her manager's

  murder.

  His tone was gentler when he resumed his questioning. 'Let's start again,

  Ms Alvarez,' he said. 'When was the last time you saw Miss Adey alive?'

  'At four o'clock yesterday afternoon, when I left the farm, to go home.'