by Val Penny
“Yes, and his first names are Christian Cyril,” grinned Tim.
Aiden smiled.
“And you are dead meat, young Myerscough,” Hunter growled. “Let’s go in.”
As he walked in, the only thing Hunter could hear (over the sound of a ghetto blaster playing Angels by Robbie Williams) was the sound of Ishbel Kozlowski weeping and sobbing into a handkerchief.
“This is going to be a difficult one,” Tim whispered to Aiden. “She was so young.”
“I have yet to attend a jolly funeral,” Aiden replied.
“I think the boss is planning mine now.”
“You got that much right,” Hunter said grimly.
The three men sat at the back of the church. They watched carefully as each mourner entered the building. They hoped to see someone unexpected walk in. Sometimes a killer would go to the funeral just for another rush of excitement. Not today.
Just as the doors were closing Jamie and Frankie snuck in and took seats at the back in the row opposite Hunter, Tim and Aiden.
Hunter noticed Jamie’s eyes were red. Frankie must be tense too, Hunter thought, because he had been worrying the acne on his face and two spots were raw.
Jamie looked over and caught Tim’s eye. He nodded to him and then Jamie blew his nose to hide the fact he had started to cry again.
It was a short service, followed by a miserable eulogy in the graveyard outside. March in Edinburgh usually offered bright, if cold, weather. Today was overcast, wet and windy. It seemed fitting weather for the occasion. Hunter, Tim and Aiden paid their respects to Jenny’s mother and went to shake Jamie by the hand before they made their escape.
“The man who took the Bentley for a drive came back in,” Jamie said quietly to Tim.
“When?”
“A day or two ago. I meant to phone you, but I forgot. He’s one of the folk you showed us pictures of. The one with light brown hair and the proper beard. You know the one I mean?”
“Yes, I do. I’ll get back to you if I need to, Jamie. Are you going to the wake?” Tim said.
“No. Jenny’s mam didn’t even want us here. Me and Frankie are off home.”
***
“Aiden may have escaped to the mortuary, young Myerscough,” Hunter said, “but today you and I are in for the double matinee.”
“So I understand, Sir. Where is Mrs Pratt being cremated?” Tim asked.
“The small Pentland Chapel up at Mortonhall Crematorium.”
“My mum’s service was in the main chapel up there. God, that was a fucking awful day.”
“I imagine it was. How old were you?”
“Fifteen. Ailsa was only thirteen and Dad was in bits. He’s never been the same since. I just didn’t notice.”
“Of course you didn’t; you were a kid!”
“It doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty. He did his best for us, but his pronunciation of my French vocabulary was shocking,” Tim said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Always difficult to get pronunciation right with a plum in your mouth,” Hunter teased him.
“Ha, ha,” Tim said. “How is your son getting on?”
“Cameron? That’s another thing I hold a grudge about. Fucking Arjun Mansoor introducing him to cocaine. He’s still in rehab. The cost is horrendous.”
“Are you sure I can't help with that cost, Sir? You know how much family means to me, and I have the trust money from my mother now. I would be only too happy to help.”
“You know I believe you, Tim, but no thank you. I’ll manage. Still, I appreciate that; it is a generous offer.” Hunter looked at Tim. He thought this young man was so different from his father and was a credit to his mother.
“I mean it, Sir. No strings, just between us.”
“Like my name?”
“Sorry, Sir. Let me know.” Tim blushed.
Again, Hunter and Tim sat at the back of the congregation. They sat and watched as the mourners came in and took their places to the sound of Robbie Williams singing Angels.
“Déja entendu,” Tim whispered to Hunter.
Hunter saw Rachael’s sister, Sarah, come in and sit near the back too. She must be representing the hospital, he thought. Hunter then noticed Brian Squires walk in with Kasim Saleh. The little man was almost hidden in Squires’ shadow. Donald Blair, the lawyer, walked in soon after them with Lucky Buchanan. Lenny The Lizard shuffled along in front of the coffin mopping his eyes. He made his way to the front row of seating.
“Crocodile tears,” Hunter said to Tim.
“What is Mansoor’s brother-in-law doing here?” Tim whispered.
“Good question,” Hunter whispered back. “And Lucky Buchanan and Donald Blair? I didn’t expect to see any of them. We shall ask, then we'll get back to the ranch.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Back at the station, Tim was right about his colleagues’ reactions to his new powers of delegation.
“So who made you king of the castle?” Bear asked moodily.
“I did, DC Zewedu,” Hunter said firmly. “Come into my office if you have any problem with that.”
“Not at all, Boss. Excellent idea,” Bear replied. “This better involve biscuits, Timmy boy. We could be here all night. I’ll make the coffee,” he added peevishly.
“Tea for me, please Bear,” Nadia said.
“Now we have about fifty years of diaries that Gillian translated and there are five of us. If we take ten years each, we should get through them as quickly as possible. After all, there’s only a few lines per day,” Tim said defensively.
“Biscuits?” Bear repeated.
“Kit-kats, Blue Riband, Orange Club and Penguins. Oh and I picked up four apples for you, Colin.”
“Good man. Shall I take the first ten years? And give the next decade to you, Nadia?” Colin handed papers out.
“Fine. Here’s your lot, Mel. And yours, Bear,” Tim said. Then he handed a pile of the translated diary entries to Bear with a packet of Kit-kats on top.
Bear grinned. “Okay, you’re forgiven.”
“Just note down anything that indicates why George was so security conscious,” said Tim. “Also anything that suggests who he was afraid of,” Mel added. “And why, I suppose.”
“Yes, thanks Mel,” Tim said.
***
Hunter stopped in to see Mackay before he left the building.
“You slipping off early, again, Hunter?” Mackay asked.
“Hardly, Sir, my shift finished an hour and a half ago. But I did want to speak to you before I leave. There were some interesting mourners at the funeral for The Lizard’s mother.”
“Nobody unexpected at the girl’s funeral?”
“No, Sir,”
“So who was at Mrs Pratt’s, then?”
“Well the usual suspects, including Lenny The Lizard and Squires, but also a few less likely contenders – including the new Lord Buchanan and Kasim Saleh.”
“Saleh? Mansoor’s brother-in-law? Young Lucky Buchanan should be careful about whom he chooses to befriend. And you should have Squires picked up, arrested and held on remand, for the assault on young Jamie Thomson, Hunter. By God! He’ll breach his bail conditions good and proper again and be back to Spain, for Heaven’s sake, if he gets half a chance.”
“Agreed, Sir.”
“But I don’t see how Lucky Buchanan fits in, or why he would want to. He was always wild, but there was never anything illegal or wicked about his conduct.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him, Sir. It may be as simple as Blair is his solicitor?”
“Could be.”
“Also, I do happen to know that there was only one person to visit Akram Mansoor in jail in the days prior to Sir Peter getting the cocaine, and that person was at the funeral. I want to set up a sting. Sir Peter Myerscough has offered to help.”
“Tell me,” Mackay said.
“Sir Peter will ask Mansoor for more coke.”
“He’s not using again, really, is he?”
“
No, Sir, he hands it back to a prison officer who gives it to the governor. The governor has undertaken to phone me and give us prior notice of the visit. Then we will know when that request is approved.”
“Good. Where do you want the sting to take place?”
“In the prison during a routine search.”
“Won’t that be a bit strange?”
“No, Sir. I have spoken to Jamie Thomson. He’ll also be there, and be searched as if he were going to see his dad. I’ll have Tim and Bear going in as if they were visiting Sir Peter; they will be searched too. Then, when the drugs discovery is made, they can make the arrest there and then.”
“Good idea, Hunter. Not in a million years will anybody believe that Ian Thomson’s lad is assisting us.”
“I’m counting on that, Sir. I will have officers covering the entrance and exit gates, and CSIs there at the scene to examine the suspect and their belongings, including their car, immediately.”
“Take what you need, Hunter. Just keep me in the loop. You’ve got detectives scouring the translations of George’s diaries too, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Fine. Let’s have the briefing tomorrow at ten, and gather together all that we know and how to move forward from there.”
“Good enough, Sir. We'll do that.”
***
Hunter left the station and made his way to The Persevere Bar. He met the rest of the darts team. They had a team meeting once a week. Tonight, Hunter had arrived unusually early. He was early enough for a pie and a pint. That passed for his evening meal.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tim’s seconded group grumbled and complained until he was persuaded to send out for a Chinese take-away. Nadia’s Uncle Fred provided the spread from his restaurant.
“Uncle Fred couldn’t believe this much food was only for five people,” Nadia said as she and Tim set out the dishes and Colin raked about for plates and cutlery.
“Well, it’s for three people, plus Bear and Tim. You have no idea how much these guys can eat,” Mel joked.
As they all loaded their choices onto their plates, the team began to discuss what they had already discovered. It was good to stop for a meal and take time out. They put their heads together to discuss the information they had learned about George.
“You know, for a man who was in and out of here and an integral part of our investigations, we didn’t really know much about George, did we?” Colin said, munching his way through a plate of sweet and sour chicken.
“How much do you really know anybody? We all have our secrets,” Tim said through a mouthful of crispy beef and Szechuan noodles.
“That combination looks disgusting,” Nadia said.
“Maybe, but it tastes delicious,” Tim said.
“It would be a brave man who got between Tim and his crispy beef,” Bear smiled.
“It would be a miracle to get between you and your grub, man,” Tim retorted. “This is really great, Nadia. Full marks for Uncle Fred. So, what do we know about George that we didn’t know when we started?”
“Nothing. Not a single solitary thing,” said Mel in a grumpy voice.
“Well, I know where he got his old Stasi gun and why,” said Nadia.
“Well, go on,” Colin said. “We’re not playing Twenty Questions.”
“I knew he left his village after the Stasi officer’s death. But what I didn’t know was that, when he bent over the officer and discovered he was dead, he stole the officer’s gun and kept it with him as he walked across Europe. He wrote about it when he built a little box safe thingy to keep it in years later.”
“That’s what Gillian told us at your place.” Tim nodded towards Mel and Bear.
“I suppose he was worried about protecting himself,” Colin said.
“Well, it didn’t work very well,” Nadia continued. “When I was at the post-mortem, I saw he had a huge chunk out of the muscle at the top of his left leg. I don’t know when that happened, but he should have used his gun then.”
“I got that bit of the story,” Mel said. “He was chopping wood for an old lady in exchange for a meal and sleeping in her barn, but a pack of dogs set about him and the gun jammed. He tried to get away, but he couldn’t, so he whacked the axe at the dogs to get them off him. He killed one of the dogs and the rest ran away, but not without taking a chunk of his leg with them. When he dropped the axe, he hit his leg with it too. Instead of being with the old woman for one meal and a sleep in the barn, she bandaged him up and nursed him back to health. He was there for six weeks. “It was during that time he became aware of the name of the Stasi officer, Hans Merkel, and learned he had a young son, Max. George felt really guilty. He wrote in his diary that he decided then, as a punishment to himself, he would never have children as he had deprived the boy of his father.”
“For someone who learned nothing, that was quite a speech!” Bear teased her.
“I mean, I didn’t learn anything that helps us.”
“It might,” Tim said. “Anyone else?”
“He always got copies of the local papers,” Mel added. “I don’t know how he did, but even in the early days, he kept tabs on his family.”
“That would be before the internet,” Tim said. “It must have taken a lot of effort to get local papers.”
“Yes. He knew his father and brother had been killed in revenge for his act. When he learned his sister had borne a son, nine months after he fled, he guessed the female members of his family had suffered and probably been raped,” Mel said quietly.
“Again, more recently he wrote that he had felt so guilty that he punished himself by not only denying himself children, but remaining completely celibate for the rest of his life,” Nadia added.
“Wow! George took the weight of the world on his shoulders, didn’t he?” Bear commented.
“That’s interesting, because George became aware of Max Merkel when he was going to auctions for his books. I wonder if Merkel knew about George too,” Tim mused.
“Must have done. All these arty-farty people know each other, don’t they? Does anyone want the rest of these spare ribs?” Bear asked.
“You do!” Mel and Tim said together.
The whole group laughed. It eased the tension.
“If Merkel had a client who collected rare books, he may well have come up against George bidding at auctions. I wonder if Merkel recognised the name,” Colin mused as he reached for the one of the bananas Uncle Fred had put in the box for him. He handed the banana fritters around to the others.
“We know George knew about his nephew too, I wonder if Heinrich knew about George. He said to us he didn’t, but when he was applying for his promotion he told his employers he had family in Scotland.” Tim reached for the rest of the Szechuan noodles.
“Do we know when George put in his reinforced doors and bomb-blast curtains?” Bear asked.
“No, not yet,” Tim said. “We better get back to the diaries.”
By just after two o’clock, Tim felt they had extracted all the information they could from the diaries. Tim let the others go home for a few hours’ sleep before they had to be back in for the start of their shift and the briefing. He re-read the information and smiled. Gillian’s work had been a big help. There was no doubt in Tim’s mind who George was most concerned about when he tried to make his home attack-proof. The postcards that had been sent to him followed one person’s travels around Europe.
It was clear to Tim that there were several people who had wanted to kill George and why. But, even with all the security George put in place, with the enemies he had, the poor old man hadn’t stood a chance.
***
Before the briefing, Tim went to find Hunter. He wanted to inform his boss of the intricacies of George Reinbold’s life that he and his team had unravelled. He found Hunter sitting at his desk staring out of the window.
“Good morning, Boss.”
“Well, it is certainly morning, young Myerscough. Do you have
any good news for me?”
“Maybe not good news, but useful, perhaps.”
“That may be as good as it gets today.”
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“My fucking idiot son has discharged himself from rehab, and I have no idea where he is.”
“Shit, Boss, that’s grim. We should prioritise finding him.”
“Why? He’s an adult and he moved out of accommodation of his own free choice. I am sick of wiping that boy’s backside and I will not worry about him.”
“With respect, Sir, I don’t believe that.”
“You’re right not to. Where is that incorrigible brat? I just want to know he’s safe.”
“I understand, Sir. Could he have gone to Shetland early to spend time with your daughter?”
“He’s not there. I phoned Alison.”
“Shall I instruct our men to be on the lookout for him?”
“Yes, thank you, Tim. You are not a lot like your father.”
“Thank you, Boss, I think.”
“Now, let’s get this briefing started.”
***
Mackay was calling the briefing room to order as they arrived.
“Can we get a bit of hush? DC Zewedu, could you at least make an effort to finish your breakfast before a meeting in future?”
Bear smiled. “This isn’t breakfast, Sir, it’s elevenses. Well, tenses. Breakfast was at seven.”
Mackay shook his head.
Gillian was standing quietly beside Mackay. She had been asked to attend the briefing in case there were any problems or issues with the translation of the diaries. As Tim waved over to her and smiled, she made a phone sign with her hand. He gave her the thumbs-up.
“Are you quite finished with your social arrangements, DC Myerscough?”Mackay asked.
“Sorry, Sir.” Tim blushed.
“Right. Let’s get started, DI Wilson.” Mackay deferred to Hunter.
“Elliott Smith, the governor of HMP Edinburgh, has been in touch. The visit we have been waiting for is at two o’clock today. Arrangements have been made for Tim and Bear to be inside the waiting room where the searches are carried out. You are both known to the mark, but that does not matter because you will be discussing going to visit Tim’s father. As Bear has been a friend of Tim’s since you were both at Merchiston Castle School, that will seem natural.”
