Bob Skiinner 21 Grievous Angel

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘I see.’ He scratched at his beard. A family of magpies could have set up home in there.

  ‘So think carefully. I know you told the other officers who interviewed you that you didn’t know Archie Weir. Are you still sure that Albie McCann never mentioned him?’

  ‘Absolutely. Weir was my mother’s name before she married my dad. I wouldn’t have forgotten that.’

  ‘I’ll accept that,’ she conceded. ‘Did he ever talk about any other of his schoolmates?’

  He knitted his heavy brows. ‘There was one he mentioned a lot,’ he murmured. ‘I even met him, only a couple of weeks ago. I’d arranged to meet Albie in the Guildford Arms, up in town, for a quick one, about half five. When I turned up, this guy was there too. His name was Telfer, Don Telfer, and he was at Maxwell Academy.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  ‘I suppose. He’s not very tall, about five eight, maybe. Slim guy, well turned out, clean-shaven. He’s got a scar on his face but otherwise that’s about it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where we can find him?’

  Redpath laughed. ‘Yes, I do. In the middle of the North Sea. Let’s figure this out. That was a Wednesday night, yes, and he said that he would be going offshore again on the Friday, for another six-week trip. He works on an oil production platform. He’s the radio officer. He said that he looks after all their communications, and maintains all the equipment. He even runs an on-board broadcasting station.’

  It hasn’t happened very often, but that was one of the times in my career when a witness has said something that’s made the hair at the back of my neck prickle with excitement. There were no prizes for guessing who had given Archie Weir that photocopied page.

  ‘You haven’t seen him since?’ I asked.

  ‘No. That was the only time. I wasn’t with him for long. He and Albie left about half past six, and I went to meet my date.’

  He had no more to tell us, so we thanked him and left. I drove past Haddington then turned left at Herdmanflat and climbed, heading for Aberlady and Gullane. Neither of us spoke, but we had plenty on our minds. I pulled into a parking place at the crest of the hill. ‘Well?’ Alison murmured.

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Let me make a call.’ She took her mobile from her bag. ‘Brian,’ I heard her say when she was connected, ‘have you or Stevie spoken to Mia Watson yet?’ There was a pause. ‘Okay. Tell him that when he does, he should ask her, as well as asking her if she remembers McCann or Weir from Maxwell Academy, whether the name Don Telfer means anything. Before that, though, he should trace all the Donald Telfers living in the Edinburgh area. The one we’re looking for will be aged about twenty-eight, and works on an oil platform in the North Sea. We need to know which one. I want him to find out also if this Telfer subscribes to a magazine called Radioweek. While he’s doing that, I want you to go back to McCann’s mother’s place. Go through his bedroom again, but this time you’re looking for the same photocopy that was found in Weir’s flat. It could easily have been overlooked when it was searched before, because we weren’t looking for it. Call me as soon as you’ve done all that.’ She finished, and turned to me. ‘Did you get that?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Stevie’s going to catch her at the radio station once she comes off air in a couple of hours. Brian’ll let me know if he finds anything at the flat.’

  ‘Good enough,’ I said, as I restarted the car and swung on to the road. ‘That’s all we can do. You realise, don’t you,’ I added, ‘that possession of that photocopy doesn’t actually imply anything. It’s probably entirely innocent, no more than Telfer finding it in one of his trade journals and saying to his buddies, “Hey, lads, remember that Watson lassie at the school? See what she’s doing now?” We can’t read anything more into it.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ she exclaimed. ‘If we find that same photocopy in McCann’s flat, it shows a common interest in the Watson woman. We’ve linked all three men, I’m certain of it, and two of them are now dead, Bob. I can read plenty into that.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right,’ I conceded, with the best grace I could muster. My thinking was off kilter where Mia was concerned. ‘We don’t even need that second photocopy to tie them together. One more chat with Robert Wyllie could be helpful, though; now we know about Telfer, he needs to be interviewed again. That should be easy. A talk with us will brighten his day at Saughton.’

  ‘Didn’t you know?’ she said. ‘His lawyer asked for bail after all, and the sheriff granted it.’

  ‘His choice, but hopefully not his funeral.’ I’d been bullshitting during the interview. I didn’t really see Wyllie as a target. ‘There’s one blessing in this,’ I went on. ‘Unless he’s gone missing too, Telfer’s out of harm’s way on his oil platform. As you say, two down so far. One still to go? I think we have to assume that. But why? That’s the question.’

  ‘Let’s see what Mia says to Stevie; she might have the answer.’

  Fifteen

  If Alex was taken aback, in the light of our morning phone conversation, to find Alison in the car when I picked her up from Daisy’s, she made a brilliant job of hiding it. I felt ashamed of myself for putting her in that position, and deeply embarrassed that she should have seen me as a two-timing SoB. I had a flash of her later in life and knew what I’d do to someone who’d treated her as I had Alison. I made a mental note that I’d have to apologise to her, first chance I had. I made a second note to come clean with Alison too, but that moment would have to be chosen very carefully.

  I tried to block my indiscretion from my mind as we settled in for the evening. Alison had gone out at lunchtime and bought herself a jumpsuit and fresh stuff for next day. I changed, so did Alex, and the three of us slopped around, looking for all the world like the nice wee domestic unit that we’d sworn not to become.

  While my daughter went off to take care of her homework and, no doubt, to catch up on Airburst FM while she was at it, I started the evening meal, a starter of anchovies on tomato bread, Spanish style, followed by fried chicken, with steamed green vegetables. Alison stood in the kitchen, watching me at work, and sipping white wine. She was still talking shop. I tried to put her off, but she persisted. ‘What happened,’ she mused aloud, ‘to make these three men victims? There must have been something, something serious. Could they have been dealing drugs?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ I conceded. ‘But how? Look at their jobs. A bus mechanic, a DIY shop assistant and a man who spends six weeks at a time out on the North Sea. None of those occupations are conducive to that business. Plus, if they were dealing, chances are at least one of them would have shown up on our radar on the drugs squad. Have you checked Weir and McCann for criminal convictions?’

  ‘Automatically; McCann was clean, Weir was arrested at a Hibs Rangers game six years ago and done for breach of the peace. In other words, next to nothing. Maybe Telfer will throw up something, but he’s got the sort of job that probably requires a degree of vetting, so I’m inclined to doubt that.’

  ‘Let’s put drugs to one side then,’ I said. ‘What else?’

  She emptied her glass and went to refill it from the bottle on the work surface. ‘No idea, but whatever it is,’ she ventured, ‘it may have happened within a fairly small window. Yes, it could be anything, a long-held grudge, but the only point of contact among them that we know about was two weeks ago . . .’ she looked at the wall clock, ‘. . . almost exactly two weeks ago, when Redpath met McCann and Telfer in the Guildford Arms, two days before Telfer said he was due back on the oil platform. So it’s possible we’re looking for something that happened within that period.’

  ‘Then let’s look,’ I told her, ‘wherever we can.’

  ‘What would you do?’

  ‘Well, if Telfer was off the pitch from Friday . . . I’d look at our own incident reports, for anything happening that Wednesday and Thursday that’s still open, and see if I could find a line of inquiry.’

  ‘Look where? Divis
ion by division?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have to: us department heads report everything important to the head of CID. Alf’s exec should be able to show you everything within that time frame, and you can take it from there.’

  My kitchen masterpieces were ready at seven thirty. Alex had just served the starters . . . one cooked, the other dished it up, that was our deal . . . when the inevitable happened. Alison’s mobile ringtone sounded. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, looking at its display. ‘It’s Mackie. I’ll tell him I’ll call him back later.’

  ‘No, don’t do that. Take it now, it’s all right. You can catch up.’

  I listened to her half of the discussion: ‘Damn it! Never mind. You did? Excellent. Does he indeed? Thanks, see you tomorrow.’ She ended the call, and turned to her anchovies and tomato bread.

  ‘Well?’ I asked.

  ‘It’ll keep. I’ll tell you when we’ve eaten.’

  ‘Pas devant les enfants?’ my daughter murmured.

  Alison blinked. ‘Pardon?’

  I frowned. ‘She’s showing off her French. “Not in front of the children?” is what she’s saying. Yes, kid, exactly so.’

  ‘I’ll eat in my room if you like,’ Alex snapped.

  ‘If that’s your choice,’ I told her sternly.

  She glared at me, picked up her plate and stalked out of the room.

  ‘What the hell is up with her?’ I exclaimed, as the door slammed.

  ‘Given her age,’ Alison replied, quietly, ‘I could think of a couple of things, but the fact that she’s just lost her grandpa, her late mother’s father, might have quite a lot to do with it.’

  Yet again, I felt like Shit of the Week. I excused myself and followed Alex upstairs. Her bedroom door was closed; I knocked on it. ‘Go away!’ she yelled.

  ‘Don’t pour water on a drowning man, baby,’ I called to her. ‘I’m here to say sorry. Can I come in?’

  I waited for a few seconds, until I heard, ‘If you must.’ I stepped inside. She was sitting on her bed; the starter was on her desk, untouched. She looked up at me; her eyes were moist. ‘What are you doing, Dad?’

  ‘Making a complete buttock of myself, by falling out with the girl I love more than anyone else in the world.’ I sat beside her and put an arm round her shoulders. ‘I really am sorry, kid. I might be this great detective, but sometimes I don’t have a clue what’s going on inside my own head. I put you on the spot tonight without thinking about it. I’m an idiot.’

  ‘No you’re not. You’re just like me. Grandpa’s died, and now you can’t stop thinking about Mum and you’re hiding from it. Mia’s not right for you, Pops.’

  ‘I know that,’ I told her. ‘Maybe Alison isn’t either, but she’s good for me, and that’s a start.’

  ‘Then we shouldn’t leave her down there on her own any longer, or she might go.’

  I let her lead the way downstairs and followed her into the dining room. Our guest was still there, but most of her starter wasn’t. ‘I’m sorry, Ali,’ I told her. ‘Our little domestic is over. She can speak whatever bloody language she likes from now on.’ I leaned over and kissed her: in front of the child, a first.

  ‘I might as well tell you now,’ she said cheerfully, ‘while you two catch up.’ I nodded, with a chunk of bread and anchovy in my hand.

  ‘In order,’ she continued, ‘those three names meant nothing to our potential witness. However, Brian did find that same photocopy in McCann’s room. Also, Stevie traced our Mr Telfer. He lives in Newhaven, he’s a single man like Weir and McCann, he does subscribe to that magazine, by mail order, he works for Shell Exploration, and he is currently on one of their platforms in the Brent field, north-east of Shetland, where he’s scheduled to remain until the end of June.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘It means he can’t do a runner when we go to interview him, unless he’s some swimmer. Do you like helicopters?’ I asked. ‘Personally, I do not, but we can’t wait for him to come onshore.’

  ‘I’ve never been on one,’ she admitted, ‘but needs must. I wonder if they have newspapers delivered out there.’

  I caught on. ‘And if he knows about his two pals? If he does, he might be very pleased to see us.’

  ‘Can’t he come to you?’ Alex chipped in.

  ‘He’s only a witness,’ I explained, ‘not a suspect. We’ve got no cause to haul him off his platform if he doesn’t want to come.’

  Because of the hiatus, the chicken was a little stringy and the vegetables were too steamed, but I was the only one who complained, and since it was my fault anyway, tough on me.

  When we were finished and the dishwasher was stacked, Alex went off to her room to watch a TV serial she’d been following, or maybe she was simply being discreet.

  ‘Want some music?’ I asked.

  ‘Mmm.’

  I dug out an Elvis Costello hits CD and put it on. The first track was called ‘Alison’. I’ve still got the CD, but I never play that song any more, even though it’s still my favourite by either Elvis. Aileen did once, last year, and I had to explain why there were tears in my eyes.

  I sat in my armchair and my Alison sat on me, folded in my lap. She wasn’t wearing shoes. I took her foot in my hand, and began to massage it, very gently. ‘Saw this movie with Myra,’ I murmured, ‘when we were both about eighteen. It was called Stay Hungry. It’s best known today for being one of Arnie Schwarzenegger’s first, but there’s a scene in it where Jeff Bridges and Sally Field are sitting on a staircase and he takes her foot, just like this, and starts talking to her about what a wonderful piece of architecture it is, and . . .’ I kissed her, ‘. . . it goes on from there. I wish I could remember the dialogue.’

  ‘You’re doing all right ad-libbing,’ she purred, then gasped as I reached the soft area at the back of her toes. ‘It obviously made a big impression on you.’

  ‘And on Myra. She slipped her shoe off, right there in the cinema, and planked her foot in my lap.’

  ‘We must see if we can find it on video.’ She put her head on my shoulder. ‘What do I give you, Bob?’

  It took me a couple of minutes to find what I hoped were the right words. ‘Peace, companionship and good, friendly sex.’

  ‘Friendly? How about great?’

  ‘That too, but friendly’s just as important. You set your expectations there, so that when you get to great it’s all the greater.’

  She laughed, softly. ‘You talk some real mince sometimes.’

  ‘I know. I’m more of an action man. So? What do I give you?’

  ‘You make me feel . . . not alone. You make me feel good about myself. You give me . . . as much as a girl could reasonably hope for. But. . .’

  ‘Yeah, there’s always a but.’

  ‘But . . .’ she continued, ‘there’s still a part of you that’s locked away, a part of you that I’ll never reach. The woman who does . . . she’ll see me off, for she’ll be the one for you. For now, though, there’s one other thing you make me feel and that’s happy. Take it as it comes?’

  I nodded. The night before was the past, boxed up, and it could stay there, among my other dark secrets. ‘Deal. We take it as it comes.’

  Next morning Alex was up first; we were under no pressure, for we had a call to make on the way into Edinburgh. I waited until the commuter traffic had tailed off before we left. We had talked no shop all morning, but as we passed through Aberlady, Alison raised something that had been on my mind. ‘With everything that’s happening in this investigation,’ she said, ‘I hope we’re all right for sailing this weekend.’

  ‘Me too,’ I confessed. ‘I’ve got two of them on the go, remember; twice the risk. Thornie’s funeral is sacrosanct. Whatever happens, we will be there. For the rest, we keep our fingers crossed.’

  ‘But if I have to go offshore to interview this man Telfer . . .’

  ‘It’s not just you, it’s the two of us; we’re both going. But I reckon he’ll keep till Monday. Have someone contact the platform o
perator . . . Shell, wasn’t it . . . and make arrangements for us to fly out then. Telfer doesn’t need to know we’re coming either.’

  ‘But don’t all the platform communications go through him?’ she pointed out.

  ‘If they do, and Shell play ball, we’ll spin him a line. We can tell him it’s an equipment inspection.’

  ‘That sounds okay.’ She paused. ‘But Bob, if something else comes up, there’s no need for me to be at the funeral.’

  ‘I’d like you to be there, come what may.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ she asked. ‘We’ll have to leave our whereabouts with the office. Won’t it be a bit like putting a notice about you and me on the bulletin board?’