‘Try to find it.’
The DCC smiled. ‘I’m not in a position to do that.’
‘Pah!’ Asmir Mustafic spat. ‘No, you can’t and you won’t. All you can do is come in the night, with your uniforms and your lights and your cars to waken us and our children. I came to Britain to be safe, but it is still the same. Police here no carry guns, but you hate us the same.’ He drained his glass and stood. ‘I sorry, Derek, I had enough of this talk that will go nowhere. I go somewhere else, then back to caravan.’
They watched him as he left. ‘Sorry about that,’ said Baillie as the self-closer pushed the door shut. ‘Az is one of the old school, pure gypsy. He’s been with the group for a couple of years now, but he’s still suspicious of everybody and everything. I keep him close to me, otherwise he’d be isolated, even in our small group,’
‘Where’s he from?’
Baillie smiled. ‘Where are any of us from? That’s the essence of the traveller; he’s a nomad. We may call ourselves different things. I’m a Scottish traveller, Az is Roma, then there are the New Age people, who left settled communities for a life on the road. We’re all different, but we’re all the same. Your question should have been, “Where’s he from, last?” If it had been, I’d have said he came from Bulgaria. Hugo Playfair brought him in.’
‘What’s Hugo? New Age?’
‘Mostly he’s a wanker, but yes, that’s the category I’d have to put him in.’>
‘If you don’t like him, why do you let him stay with you?’
‘I couldn’t kick him out if I wanted. You seem to have me marked out as a leader, but I’m not. I’m a spokesman, at most. I don’t command the group. Fact is, the traditionalists like Asmir Mustafic see me as a dangerous radical for speaking to a gorgio like you.’
‘Gorgio?’
‘That’s the old gypsy word for . . . everybody else, I suppose.’
‘Is Playfair a gorgio?’
‘Most of our group would say he is. But the fact is, he can be useful from time to time . . . at least his charity can. If we need legal advice, Hugo can fix it. If we wanted to challenge your council’s interdict, for example, he’d get us a brief.’ He saw Skinner’s expression darken. ‘Not that we will,’ he added. ‘It would be a waste of his group’s money.’ He grinned. ‘I suppose being a cop you’ve got a down on lawyers.’
‘My father was a lawyer and so is my daughter. Mind you, I’m not sure I’d want her marrying another one.’
‘How about another policeman?’
Skinner frowned. ‘She nearly did once. Fucking disaster. People like me, we’re too autocratic for Alex; we can’t help it, it’s in our nature. And Andy, her guy as was, is just like me.’
‘So Az and Hugo were right; your natural reaction is just to move us on.’
‘It probably is,’ he admitted, ‘or has been up until now. But my duty is not to give in to that instinct, rather to make an informed judgement. The hardest thing for people like me, for gorgios, as your man would say, is to understand you. We see your groups and instantly we have an image in our heads.’
‘Cher.’
‘What?’
‘Cher. Remember that fucking song of hers, “Gypsies, tramps and thieves”? I bet that goes through your mind when you see our camps. Don’t deny it; if you know it, you’ve thought it.’
Skinner nodded, sadly. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I can’t deny it.’
‘Fucking disaster for our people, that song. Whatever her intentions, even if they were innocent, it gave voice to a stereotypical image, and it’s been a millstone hanging on us since it was written.’ For the first time, the DCC saw a flash of real anger in the man, but it vanished as quickly as it had flared. ‘Why do we do it, you ask me?’ he continued. ‘Because for most of us it’s our culture, our environment, our tradition, the way we were raised. For generations we’ve travelled, taking our labour and our skills wherever they were needed, wherever we could sell them, whether it be picking potatoes, vegetables, or berries, or if you go back far enough, mending pots and pans. My own specialty is machinery. I’m an engineer, and I service motorised lawnmowers, and even tractors and the like, on small farms. Sure, we’ve had our bad apples down the years, but so has your society and more of them, man for man, than in ours, I’ll bet. My God, sir, they’re what’s kept you in a job, and what’s put you in that fine house up the hill, to be outraged by the likes of us. Your own bad bastards, that is, not ours, for we can take care of our own troublemakers.’ Baillie’s voice was rising, but still he was smiling, challenging.
‘Then there’s the show people,’ he continued, ‘the funfairs, like you had here a couple of weeks ago on the Goose Green for your village games day. You welcome them, as much as you resent us, because your kids like them, yet they’re travellers, just like us. That elderly couple whose dogs you had to walk this morning; chances are they took their grandchildren to the shows, paid them on to the merry-go-rounds and the waltzers, and bought them candyfloss till they had to hose it off them. Did they think anything of it? No. And the irony is that in a different year, for he’s been here with his stall on occasion, my cousin Zak could have been taking their money. Mr Skinner, we are to be used when it suits your community and shunned when it suits you.’
He finished; the DCC sat quiet for almost a minute.
‘Derek,’ he said at last, ‘you’ve given me food for thought. Maybe sometime you’d like to tell the First Minister and her colleagues what you’ve just told me.’
‘I would in a minute. But for now, we’ll still have to move on, again. Once the council has its interdict, you’ll enforce it?’
‘I’m afraid so. I might understand you better now, but that will still be my job.’
Thirty-one
‘I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you, Mr Pye. My diary is full today, and this was the only time I could fit you in.’
The DI nodded. ‘I understand, Lord Elmore,’ he replied, having detected nothing but sincerity in the judge’s apology. ‘And I appreciate you making the effort. But then you’ll understand more than most the importance of a murder inquiry.’
‘Mmm.’ The judge pursed his lips. ‘Indeed.’ He paused, glancing through the first-floor window of his study, watching the neighbourhood postman as he made his way along the narrow, car-packed Ann Street. ‘We’ve encountered each other before, haven’t we?’ he asked.
‘Yes, we have, sir,’ Pye replied. ‘Six or seven years ago, in the High Court, an armed robbery trial; the accused was a guy called McTurk. I was a constable then.’
‘That’s right.’ Lord Elmore, a small, trim, white-haired man, turned to face him, peering over the top of half-moon spectacles. ‘Defence counsel gave you a bit of a going-over, as I recall, but you handled it pretty well.’
‘Well enough for you to give him fifteen years.’
‘Did you think that was too stiff?’
‘You won’t find many police officers complaining about sentencing being too severe, especially when the accused carries a sawn-off and threatens to blow a jeweller’s head off with it.’
‘The appeal court didn’t share your view. They reduced it to ten, so Mr McTurk will be eligible for parole in a couple more years. Mind you, he was unlucky in one respect.’
‘What was that, sir?’
‘His counsel made a complete balls of the trial. If I’d been defending, I’d have got him an acquittal, or worst case a Not Proven verdict, which has the same effect. The conviction hinged on a DNA sample in a balaclava helmet found in a bin, along with the shotgun, a couple of hundred yards away from where the robbery took place. McTurk claimed that he had left the garment in a pub, and there were traces on it from another person.’
‘Yes, but we found traces of lubricant from the shotgun inside his jacket.’
Lord Elmore smiled. ‘You found traces of the same lubricant, that’s all. I’d have established reasonable doubt with that, no question. That said, the thought doesn’t keep me awake at night. The man
was as guilty as sin, and I was quite happy to send him down. I only wish my brother judges had been as robust at appeal. The politicians didn’t like the line they took, that’s for sure. Bruce Anderson was particularly scathing.’
‘Do you know Dr Anderson, sir?’ asked Haddock, standing by the door.
‘Ah, it speaks,’ the judge exclaimed. ‘Of course I do. I was appointed to the Supreme Court during his time as Secretary of State, and when Archie Nelson was Lord Advocate. I don’t think Archie . . . Lord Archibald, as you will know him . . . was too keen on my appointment, but Bruce was persuaded that the bench needed toughening up.’ He looked up at the young DC. ‘I know what you’re going to ask me next. Was I a witness to the spat between him and the late Mr Glover? The answer is yes, I was, well within earshot, in fact. Who started the argument? Ainsley Glover did, beyond a doubt; he had a penchant for mischief. Was Bruce in some way responsible for his death? Of course not; the idea’s preposterous.’ He turned to Pye. ‘I know you’re regarding this death as a homicide, on Hutchinson’s say-so, but to be honest, you have more faith in him than I have. I’ve cross-examined him as defence counsel, I’ve presented him as a prosecutor and I’ve seen him as a witness from the bench. He’s an opinionated little man and when he hits on a theory, nothing will shake it loose. Whatever tale he’s fed you, if I were you I’d be looking for an alternative to murder as an explanation. Drunk diabetics run a risk.’
‘Forgive me, sir,’ said the DI, ‘but you don’t seem to have been too fond of Mr Glover from the way you speak of him.’
‘I confess that I wasn’t. For a start I disagree profoundly with his politics. This country needs Trident if it is to continue to punch above its weight internationally, as we always have done. We’re a force for good in the world, gentlemen. We and the Americans shoulder the responsibility of keeping anarchy at bay. Without us . . .’ He frowned. ‘You’re aware that I’m now a member of the Hague Tribunal?’ Pye nodded. ‘Well, if you saw some of the cases that are brought to us for trial. Ten years on and we’re still rounding up these Balkan butchers. When we do manage to bring them to trial, their influence is still such that the witnesses. . . Ah!’ he broke off, exasperated. ‘Without us and our military strength they’d still be out there, killing people by the thousands, yet the bleeding hearts like Glover would have us throw that strength away. It’s the nuclear deterrent that gets us to the top table; damn fool didn’t realise that.’
‘Dr Anderson professes to be anti-Trident as well.’
‘That’s the political coat he wears at the moment, that’s all. Bruce is an opportunist, but sometimes there’s no harm in that. He’s an outspoken individual, politically, and that’s the most important thing. I hear he’s talking about fighting the parliamentary seat left vacant by Glover’s death. If he does, I expect him to win it. Once he’s at Holyrood, sparks will fly, I tell you.’
‘You’re saying that he stands to benefit from Mr Glover’s death, sir?’ asked Haddock. ‘Have I got that right?’
The little judge smiled at him, gently, without condescension. ‘Young man,’ he replied, ‘in my opinion, all Scotland stands to benefit from Glover’s death, so that line of questioning will get you precisely nowhere.’
Pye intervened hastily. ‘If I can bring us back to the subject, sir. When was the last time you saw Mr Glover?’
‘When Leona, that’s Lady Elmore, and I left the party, at eleven twenty-five; I checked my watch and decided that enough was enough. I’d had a long day, starting with a meeting with Denzel Chandler. I’m retiring soon and will be doing a book. It’ll be a retrospective of my career as a lawyer,’ he explained, ‘with emphasis on the judicial years, and he’s my collaborator. When we abandoned ship, Glover was still there. As a matter of fact, now that I think of it, Bruce left at the same time. We walked home . . . no hope of a casual taxi pick-up in the city on a Saturday night . . . and saw him heading down North Charlotte Street, just ahead of us. We went our different ways and we were home by midnight, as my wife will confirm if you feel the need to ask her.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said the DI. ‘In fact, that just about covers it, sir, unless there’s anything else you can tell us you think might be useful.’
The former Claus Blackman frowned. ‘Useful? I don’t know whether it is or not, but Ainsley was up to something.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not sure exactly, but he’d been asking around.’
‘Asking around?’
‘Yes, or so one of my brother judges told me. Glover called him and asked him a couple of questions about procedure at the Hague. He said that there was a line in a future book that he wanted to get right.’
‘Did it involve you?’
‘Not that he said, but after his altercation with Bruce, I can’t imagine even him being so foolhardy as to portray me in one of his yarns.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s academic now, isn’t it? Poor chap’s dead.’
Haddock smiled at him. ‘So’s Elvis, sir, but his work lives on after him. And they keep coming out with new material, don’t they?’
Thirty-two
‘How are the kids doing with the jet lag?’ asked McIlhenney.
‘Not too bad,’ Skinner replied; his voice had a slight echo, and there was road noise behind it. ‘The boys were up before me . . . that’s unusual, James Andrew could sleep for Scotland . . . but Seonaid went pretty much all through the night. The nanny’s the one who’s suffering most of all; seems to me that children handle travel better than adults. Maybe their body clocks aren’t as firmly set as ours. But if Trish does go without sleep for a few days, she’ll soon be back to normal. She’s on holiday from Saturday, and then she’s heading back across the Atlantic, bound for Barbados to see her sister.’
‘Making you and Aileen full-time parents for a while?’
‘Yes, and I have to say I’m looking forward to it. The boys will be back to school soon, plus tomorrow’s Jimmy’s last day, so I have good reasons to keep close to home and close to the office. This trip to see Andy’s a bit of an inconvenience, truth be told, but I’ve got to do it.’
‘Listen, boss, about what happened between him and me; it all worked out on the end, so maybe it’s best left to stick to the wall, yes?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going up there to tear a strip off him. I need that list of Ainsley Glover’s out of his safe. That’s my main reason for going to see him, although . . . we might have a friendly chat while I’m there. That’s if I ever get there; I’m stuck in a tailback on the Forth Bridge at the moment.’ He paused. ‘Any developments in the Glover situation? That’s partly what I called to ask you.’
‘One. I’ve just had a call from Sammy. Wilding and Cowan have taken a formal statement from Anderson, and he repeated the story that he got in soon after eleven thirty, and didn’t go out again. And just in case he tries to retract and say he got the time mixed up, we’ve got a witness who followed him out of the Book Festival and down the street.’
‘A reliable witness?’
‘Lord Elmore reliable enough for you?’
‘Claus Blackman? You couldn’t get better. I take it that Wilding’s having Anderson’s statement typed up for signature.’
‘He doesn’t have to. The guy typed it up on his own computer and printed it out for them, there and then.’
‘What do you do next?’
‘We’re going to re-interview Sandy Rankin, and get her story formalised. Then we can go to the Sheriff, present Anderson’s account and hers, and get a warrant to search his premises.’
‘Rankin’s a journalist, remember; she may figure out what you’re working up to.’
‘Then let her. I don’t care who Anderson is, he’s lied to police investigating a homicide and thus put himself in the frame. If he gets his name in the papers, that’ll be too damn bad. Many another force would tip off the media before turning up to execute the warrant; at least we’re not going to do that.’
‘It’s a
tempting thought, though,’ said Skinner. ‘I owe Xavi Aislado one, and Anderson as well, in a different way; it would be a good way to repay them both.’
‘Are you serious? I could have someone make a call, if you want.’
‘If I was serious, Neil, I’d make the fucking call myself. There was a time when I might have, but now I’ve got to be spotless.’
‘Sure, you’re going to be chief constable in two days.’
‘Acting, Detective Superintendent, only acting. But still, examples have to be set, and I don’t want our force to be known for pulling stunts for the TV cameras. Hey,’ he called out suddenly, ‘traffic’s moving, at bloody last.’
‘I’d better let you get your eyes back on the road in that case.’
‘Not yet; I’m not finished. Something occurred to me, about that call from Aislado, and the story he spiked for us. Not about what was in it, but what wasn’t. Thanks to DCS McGuire, that avid reader of crime fiction, we know that whoever killed Glover lifted the method of his murder out of one of his own books. The only people we’ve told about the cause of death are his son, his daughter, and his future son-in-law, the Saltire’s ace sports reporter. They all must have read the old boy’s books, so doesn’t it strike you as strange that Ed Collins didn’t include the link to that plot line in the copy he filed?’
‘He’s a sports reporter, boss, not a news man.’
‘Neil, I’m not a journo, but even I know a front-page headline when I see one. “Novelist foretold own murder!” Come on. Why would he leave that out?’
‘Are you saying he didn’t want to go too far in what he wrote?’
‘No, I’m asking, that’s all.’
‘Then so will we. But first we’ll do some checking up at Deacon Brodie’s to see if anyone actually remembers Carol and Wilkie Glover being there on Saturday night. I’ll make sure that Sammy does it too; he’s never met the family, so he’ll approach it with a harder edge than Ray and Alice. They spent half of yesterday with the kids.’
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