by Val Penny
“That won’t be happening any time soon, Jamie. But this is all old news. What’s so important?”
“Well, I was there when the car was brought in, and it wasn’t Squires or The Lizard that brought it. I knew it wasn’t Squires when he tried to get it back the first time he came, when you were there. And I’d have recognised Lenny The Lizard anyway. He’s with my mam now.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. Not anybody I knew. I’ve been trying to think. I can’t remember much, but it was a guy with a foreign accent.”
“What did he look like?”
“Black hair, beard, ordinary really.”
“Do you remember what he was wearing?”
“Dunno. Just a suit, I think. Nothing special, but smart enough. A suit. Looked like a businessman who needed to get his car seen to. What do they look like?”
“Businessmen don’t usually run around in ten-year-old cars. Not successful businessmen, anyway, do they, Jamie?”
“Well this one did.”
“What colour was his suit, Jamie?”
“I don’t know. Dark, grey, something like that, I suppose. It was nothing special.”
“Who took the car for the test drive with Jenny?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be calling you. I’d have killed the tosser myself.”
“Would Gary have seen the man who went out with Jenny?”
“No, he’d gone home by then. He’s left altogether since Jenny was found. Frankie saw the man though, I think. Wait.” Jamie put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Frankie, did you see the man who wanted to take the Volvo for a run?”
“Aye, but I didn’t know what he wanted cos I was leaving as he went in. But I suppose it was the same one. Jenny said she’d help him and I could just go. I wish I’d stayed now.”
“Jamie, can I speak to Frankie?” Mel asked.
“Okay. I suppose so, but no flirting,” Jamie teased as he handed the phone to his cousin.
“Frankie, what did the man you saw look like?” Mel asked.
“I don’t know. About my height; maybe, five nine, five ten-ish, light brown hair, a beard. Sharp dresser, nice grey suit, light grey shirt and a tie. Don’t see a tie so much now, really,” Frankie said thoughtfully.
“I’ll need a statement from you about this, Frankie. I’ll call over to the showroom tomorrow. Pass the phone back to Jamie, will you?”
Mel arranged to see Jamie at the showroom the following day too, then ended the call.
“Hey, Frankie, if that pretty wee copper is coming to the showroom tomorrow, I’ll need to take a shower and so I’ll be all smart and looking great: she won’t be able to resist me,” Jamie said.
“I only see two problems with this, Jamie: one, she has managed to have no trouble resisting your chat so far, and two, you need to keep your cast on that arm dry.”
“That’s where you come in, my man. Can you get a black plastic bag and some packing tape out of the kitchen and help me cover up me cast?”
“Aye, hang on,” Frankie murmured.
He came back with the bag and tape that Jamie had asked for and a sharp pair of kitchen scissors. The young men bickered and argued.
“You need to take your shirt off, you’ll no get it over the bag,” Frankie said.
“Aye, and you’ll need to tape the hand end as well as at the elbow. Don’t stick that tape to my skin, it’ll rip all my skin out and take my hair off and hurt tae buggery.”
“Shut it, Jamie! You wake the twins and you’ll be sorting this yourself.”
The rest of the procedure was conducted in silence. When Jamie was happy that the results would keep his arm dry, he crept upstairs to take his shower.
***
Frankie watched Jamie climb the stairs then glanced at his own face in the living room mirror. His acne was not as bad as it had been before the twins were born, but the pimples and blackheads that stared back at him still caused him grief. Then Frankie had an idea. A stroke of genius. While Jamie and the girls were upstairs he had the kitchen to himself, so he would give his face the scrub he was sure would sort the problem. He rummaged around under the kitchen sink and found one of those little sponges for washing the dishes. It was soft on one side and rough on the other. Frankie smiled as he set about his plan. He lathered the washing-up liquid in his hands. It cut the grease on the dishes; he hoped it would work on his skin as well. He stood at the kitchen sink and rubbed the lather over his face and neck and then picked up the little sponge. He rubbed the rough side firmly down the sides of his nose and across the crease of his chin. It hurt. It must be doing him good.
Frankie went back to peer at himself in the mirror in the living room before he decided to continue with his plan and rubbed the rough surface of the little sponge all over his face again. The pimples on his forehead and chin burst, but the spots on his cheeks were harder to rub away. Still, he scrubbed until his eyes watered with the pain and rinsed his face to wash away the muck. Rivulets of blood and a clear, sticky stuff dribbled from the lesions. Frankie grabbed a clean tea-towel out of the drawer and patted his face dry. When he went back to the living room mirror, his face looked red, raw and sore. Maybe this had not been one of his best ideas.
When Jamie returned to the room, he was clean and freshly-shaved in anticipation of seeing Mel the following day. His dressing gown covered his modesty because he would need Frankie’s help to remove the makeshift cover from his cast.
“Frankie! What the hell have you done, man? You look like a scraped pig!” Jamie shouted when he saw his cousin’s face.
“Ssssh. You dope, you’ll wake the twins, Jamie.”
“You’ve done that to your face and say I’m the dope? I don’t think so,” Jamie replied.
“I just thought I’d do my best for tomorrow too and give myself a good scrub,” Frankie whined.
“Well, I can see you’ve done that, but it’s not a good look, Frankie. Don’t look so miserable, lad, we’ll think of something.”
“What?”
“I’ve got it! Go and get the bag of stuff you keep for the twins.”
Frankie looked at him doubtfully, but went to get the bag.
“Is this what you use for their arses?” Jamie asked, taking their cream out and holding it up.
“Aye,” Frankie said.
“Well, Frankie, lad, if it can keep the wee ones’ nappy rash under control, your scrubbed face should be a dawdle.”
Frankie rubbed the antiseptic cream all over his suffering skin. Then he sat for the rest of the evening trying to ignore Jamie’s jibes that he looked like a spooky clown with the thick layer of white cream covering his face.
***
Mel was pleased with the new details she had learned from the boys. Getting it out of Jamie and Frankie might have been like pulling teeth, but it could be important. She was looking forward to sharing the information at tomorrow morning’s briefing.
***
Hunter decided he would ask Jane to accompany him to Arjun Mansoor’s home. If the wife was living there with only her young son, it might be better to be accompanied by a female officer.
Finding a place to park in Gillespie Crescent was never simple at the best of times, and the double red lines on the corner between Gillespie Crescent and Bruntsfield Place didn’t make it any easier. Hunter had to go up and down the street twice before successfully squeezing into a space. He rang the doorbell, and Jane had hardly swept a non-existent piece of fluff from her jacket before the door was opened promptly, almost aggressively. The frown on the face of the occupant changed instantly to bewilderment.
“Who are you?”
“Mr Saleh? I am Detective Inspector Hunter Wilson, and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Jane Renwick. May we come in?”
A small woman bustled from a room at the end of the corridor. The only word she said that Hunter understood was ‘Kasim’.
“Mrs Mansoor, I hope you are well,” Jane said in a conciliatory tone.
Neither Hunter nor Jane understood the words the woman spoke as she disappeared again, but they knew she was not pleased to see them.
“Mr Kasim Saleh, may we come in?” Hunter said again.
The man waved Hunter and Jane into a sumptuously-furnished sitting room and closed the door.
“You are Mr Kasim Saleh?” Hunter asked. He looked at the man solemnly. He was slightly shorter than Hunter’s five feet eleven inches, had black hair and a well-trimmed beard, and wore brown chinos, a light blue shirt and a navy cashmere jumper.
“How do you know my name?” the man asked.
“A traveller from Paris carried your name and this address, Mr Saleh. He does not speak English. He became ill at the Airport and has been taken to hospital.”
“Who is he?” Saleh asked.
“His passport bears the name ‘Hadi Akram’.”
The man looked down and did not meet Hunter’s gaze. “I am not familiar with that name. I will go and ask my sister, maybe she knows the man.”
As he left, Jane whispered to Hunter, “So he must be Mansoor’s brother-in-law?”
Hunter held his finger to his lips and nodded.
“No she does not know the name either,” Mr Saleh said as he re-entered the room. “Maybe a friend or a relative gave out the name and address and forgot to tell us. It happens with our family.”
“That must be it. Thank you for the explanation, Mr Saleh,” Hunter said. “I am sorry to have troubled you. Thank you for taking the time to see us and helping to explain the note the traveller was carrying.”
“I am happy, of course. The traveller, he will recover, I hope?”
“I’m sure he will, but he was taken to hospital because he was suspected of carrying a great deal of cocaine in his body. If that is found to be so, he will be in hospital for a while, then he will spend a long time in prison for drug trafficking. Anyway, thank you, and please apologise to your sister for us. We did not mean to cause Mrs Mansoor any distress.”
“How long will you be staying here, Mr Saleh?” Jane asked as she followed Hunter towards the door.
“I will stay with my sister while I am taking care of some business for her and her husband, while he is unable to deal with matters freely. Then, of course, I will return to my wife, my home and my own business interests.” The man stood at the door until the detectives climbed into their car and drove away.
Chapter Twenty
DCI Allan Mackay called for silence in the briefing room. He was always curious as to why every briefing room he had visited, up and down the country, smelled of coffee and bacon. He watched Bear lick some grease off his fingers and smiled. Colin popped an apple core into his mouth and crunched on it. Mackay watched him with a grimace. That couldn’t be good for you.
“We have a lot to cover this morning. DI Wilson, I think you can start us off?”
“Thank you, Sir, Yes.” Hunter stood up and cleared his throat. “Tim and I went across to The Bruce Hotel in Belford Road, yesterday. Jane and Rachael had noticed that Lenny The Lizard Pratt was staying there. Jane?”
Jane explained what she and Rachael had seen, and added, for the others’ information, that they had taken a photo of the two men and that Tim had been able to identify the other party as the art dealer Max Merkel.
“I brought The Lizard in to finish questioning him,” Hunter continued, when Jane had finished. “He was not helpful, and he’s out on bail.”
“On what grounds did you bring him in?” Mackay asked.
“Assault to severe injury, Sir,” Tim replied. “He and his goon Brian Squires badly broke Jamie Thomson’s arm at Thomson’s Top Cars Showroom, but we couldn’t hold him so he has been released on bail. He says he’s only here to visit his poor old mum in the Western General Hospital.”
“Do you believe him?” Mackay asked.
“Well, I’ve checked, and there is a Mrs Pratt in Ward 51.”
“But The Lizard is bad news anytime, where ever he is,” Hunter said. “He’s always up to something.”
“My view exactly.” Mackay turned back to Hunter. “Where’s Squires?”
“Back in Spain before we caught up with him, I believe. But I’ve marked his card, and the Spanish police will pick him up for us, if necessary. Anyway, next time he comes home to the UK he will be flagged up as being wanted in connection with an assault. My guess is The Lizard plans to be here, playing the doting son until his mother is fit to go home.”
“Well he’ll not be going back to Spain if he’s only out on bail,” Mackay said.
“That’s the idea, sir,” Hunter replied.
“Sir, Jamie Thomson phoned me yesterday with information,” Mel said. “The Lizard had claimed the missing Volvo car from Thomson's Top Cars was his. When he discovered it had gone missing, he instructed Squires to break Jamie’s arm as punishment. It was pretty harsh for an old car.”
“Yes, Mel? What did the bold boy, Jamie, have to say?” Hunter asked.
“Well, Sir, Jamie said it wasn’t Squires or The Lizard that brought the car into the showroom. It was a businessman with black hair and a beard.”
“Can’t be much of a businessman if his car’s ten years old,” Hunter observed.
“That’s what I said,” Mel added. “What I want to know is how The Lizard even knew the car was there, and why it was worth assaulting the wee muppet, Jamie.”
“That is odd,” Mackay agreed. “And what’s the link between The Lizard and the man who took the car to Thomson’s?”
“I don’t know, Sir. By the descriptions Jamie and Frankie gave of the man who brought the car into the showroom and the man who asked to test-drive the Volvo, they were clearly different men. One had black hair and a beard, the other light brown hair and a beard.”
“But they don’t know who they are?” Jane asked.
“No, but they did say they both wore grey suits.” Mel looked up from her notes.
“Fabulous!” Jane rolled her eyes.
“We were also informed of a passenger on a flight from Paris to Edinburgh. The man was found to be carrying a quantity of cocaine internally. We went to see him at the hospital. He was carrying a card with the name ‘Kasim Saleh’ on it, and Arjun Mansoor’s address.”
“How interesting,” Mackay commented. “Did you manage to speak to the passenger?”
“He claims to speak no English, Sir. So Jane and I went to Mansoor’s home. I thought it would be best to attend with a female officer in case Mrs Mansoor was alone in the property.”
“Very wise, Hunter.”
“Thank you, Sir. We did see Mrs Mansoor there, but also the Mr Kasim Saleh named on the card. It transpires he is Mrs Mansoor’s brother. He says he’s here on business for Arjun Mansoor, while Mansoor is inside.”
“What kind of business?”
“Well, Sir, he didn’t volunteer, and I didn’t press him. You see, I didn’t want to arouse his suspicions. Because when I had a look at Mansoor’s prison visitor records, I’d noticed that the only four people who have ever visited Mansoor are his wife, his lawyer Donald Blair, Lenny The Lizard Pratt and Kasim Saleh. I plan to go over to Saughton again to find out anything more I can about Saleh.”
“Keep me in the loop, Hunter. Now, anything on Merkel?”
“Tim and I found Merkel in his suite at The Bruce Hotel and spoke to him. He had certainly not mellowed in his feelings towards George Reinbold over the passage of time. And Mansoor is one of his clients.”
“Really? That man is everywhere, like a bad smell,” Mackay said.
“What has Merkel got to do with George, again?” Nadia Chan asked.
“Gillian Pearson discovered that before George came to this country, he was accused of killing Merkel’s father,” Hunter replied.
“Goodness! I thought George was one of the good guys?” Nadia said.
“He was,” Hunter answered. “He was only a kid when the charge was made. And life in East Germany was no picnic when George was growing up. The Stasi controlled t
he country with a mixture of violence, fear and misinformation.”
“Probably why he came to Scotland. To get away from the Stasi,” Tim said.
“I know I would, if I’d been in East Germany,” Bear added.
“We also managed to speak to George’s nephew, Heinrich Reinbold,” Hunter continued. “He has come to Edinburgh as General Manager of the hotels his company is opening in Scotland. The Bruce is one of the ones they have taken over. He claimed not to know that his uncle lived in the city and that he thought he was the only surviving member of his family. But he could not meet my gaze.”
“Why is he here?” Mackay asked.
“New promotion, Sir. His company runs a chain of hotels and they are spreading into Scotland this year. The company is called Gemuetliche Erholung, and The Bruce is the hotel in Edinburgh that has been bought by the chain. They haven’t changed the name of the hotel; it’s just the ownership that has transferred. Heinrich certainly had no warm, happy memories of his Uncle George.”
“I see,” Mackay said.
“Jane, I want you and Bear to gather photos of The Lizard, Squires, Merkel and Heinrich Reinbold. Show them to your witness. I know she is elderly, but they might just help jog her memory. I am sure there will be photos on line you can download,” Hunter said.
“Yes, Sir,”
“Mel, you and I will go and have a chat with Jamie and Frankie to see if they recognise anyone from photos too.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Nadia and Colin, I want you to trace that Volvo as closely as you can from when it comes back through the Channel Tunnel all the way up the road to Edinburgh. You must be able to get a look at the driver at some point.”
“Yes, Sir,” they said in unison.
“Tim, you and Rachael take over finding out all you can about Max Merkel and Heinrich Reinbold. Liaise with Gillian Pearson in case her translations can add anything to our knowledge.” Hunter paused, and then continued, “Jane, when you went to Katz and Roundall, did you say the Winnie the Pooh book formed part of a collection that we would need to have valued?”
“I think I said something about there being more books. Why, Sir?”
