The Roots of Evil (Bob Skinner)

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Maybe a patrol car gave him a lift part way and left him to walk the rest, to sober him up,’ Hamilton suggested.

  ‘Strictly against the rules, Ronnie; you know that, after that man froze to death years ago.’

  ‘Some of the folk we’ve had transferred in don’t know that story; they might be a bit lax with those rules. Whatever, he’s clearly not by the roadside, as we were told, he’s not playing Worzel Gummidge in the middle of the field . . .’

  ‘But he could be lying behind that wee row of trees on the other side of the fence,’ Newman pointed out, peering in that direction. ‘Come to think of it, I’m sure I can see a shoe; let’s find if there’s anything in it.’

  The copse was only a few yards short of the speed limit sign. She led the way towards it and climbed nimbly over the wire fence. Her bulkier colleague made no move to join her. ‘Is it muddy over there?’ he called out.

  ‘No, it’s okay. Ronnie, there’s somebody here right enough.’ She moved towards the figure, stretched out at the base of the trees. He was well dressed, in a thick camel coat. The shoes that had caught her eye were patent leather, reflecting the weak late-morning sunshine. ‘Come on, sir,’ she called up, ‘the party’s over, it’s time to call it a day. Your pretty balloon is well burst . . .’

  The man was lying face down; leaning over, she turned him on to his side . . . then recoiled. ‘Oh shit,’ she muttered.

  The fence wire sang as Hamilton put his weight on it. ‘You need to stay on that side, Ronnie. This fella’s not waking up any time soon. Move the car along to the other side of the trees,’ she tossed him the keys, ‘and bring some tape if we’ve got it. We’re going to need CID here, medical examiner, the works. This man’s been shot.’

  Seventeen

  ‘He was always well dressed, Sauce,’ Alex Skinner said. ‘You know that. You worked with him when he was in CID.’

  ‘That was a couple of years ago,’ Haddock pointed out. ‘I remember him being smart, but I don’t remember ever noticing a designer label on his shirt. There was barely anything else to be seen when we went through his house. But your father told me you made a point of never going there, so you won’t have seen it.’

  ‘That’s what I let my dad believe, but the fact is, Griff never invited me. The last time I saw him, I suggested it, but he put me off. He told me he was involved with someone else; I accepted that, and I was happy for him. I was in and out of the place often enough when we were next-door neighbours, but Spring was there then so I never stayed overnight. If we were having, let’s call it a sleepover, he’d come into my place; then my life got complicated for a while and I moved. After Spring left, when we were both single again, I thought that might change, but no, he never once asked me there. The opposite; he would suggest that he come to mine. Mind you I was with Andy Martin for some of that two-year period, so it didn’t arise for a while. When that ended, I turned to him for comfort and a little joy.’ She smiled.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked, quietly.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘When you were with Andy, didn’t it arise?’

  She gazed at him for a while, then sighed. ‘Maybe, once or twice. It got frustrating at times; in hindsight I could sense Andy drifting away from the relationship. He’d say it was just work, but finally, after being stood up a couple of nights on the trot, I called Griff and asked him if he could come over. He was hesitant at first. He knew I wasn’t asking him over for a coffee, and I guess he was worried that screwing the chief constable’s girlfriend might not be a great career move. Lust overcame logic, though . . . it always did with us.’ Her voice faltered for a second.

  ‘Just the once?’

  She shook her head, quickly. ‘No, more than that,’ she admitted; then she grinned. ‘You’ve been talking to his sister, haven’t you? You and she probably think I’m a right slapper, but I’m not, I promise. There isn’t a man had breakfast in my apartment, or anything else, other than those two.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he confirmed. ‘I did talk to her. She said that Griff blamed those times for him being moved out of CID. He was sure that Andy Martin had found out and was getting even with him. He even thought that Andy had been having you watched. Do you believe that?’

  ‘Not all of it. I could accept that Andy was jealous of him and that, yes, he might have bumped him into uniform out of sheer personal spite. But having me watched? No, absolutely not. If I’d suspected that . . . and I’m not stupid, I’m a cop’s daughter plus you have to be aware of what’s happening around you in my line of work . . . I’d have done one of two things. I’d either have squared him up myself, or if I’d been feeling evil enough, I’d have set my dad on him. He knows a couple of things about Andy that he wouldn’t want being leaked.’

  ‘And yet those two used to be best friends,’ Haddock observed.

  ‘Used to be, Sauce, until Andy’s incredible ambition got in the way.’ She took a breath, frowning. ‘People think he’s gone for good, you know, but I don’t. My guess is he’s just on sabbatical. Aileen de Marco, my former stepmother, used to be a big fan of his. Now that she’s taken her political bandwagon down to Westminster, she has influence with the Mayor of London, and he has a big say in Metropolitan Police appointments, so watch this space.’ She paused. ‘Are you warm enough, by the way?’

  They were seated on two Adirondack chairs on Dominic Jackson’s deck, taking advantage of a break in the rain and the unexpected morning sunshine. The DI gave an almost imperceptible nod, burying himself deep in a heavy leather jacket. ‘I’m good,’ he said. ‘How long are you going to stay in this place?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s open-ended,’ she replied. ‘I realised that I was damaged when I came here; I was as much a patient as I was a lodger. I’m good now. The tenant in my place by Holyrood Park is moving out in three months, when his contract in the Scottish Parliament ends. I could move back then, but Dominic says he likes having me around, that I keep him from getting morose. He shared accommodation with several hundred men for several years, remember. He’d tell you himself that he has trouble adjusting to living completely on his own.’ She grinned. ‘We’ll see how it goes. Do you think Griff had trouble adjusting,’ she asked, ‘after Spring moved in with Mary Chambers?’

  The question took him by surprise, but the answer came easily to him. ‘The opposite,’ he said. ‘The first thing he did was fortify the place.’ He described the security system that he and Singh had discovered.

  ‘He never mentioned any of that to me,’ she assured him. ‘A little over the top, surely. What the hell was he protecting, apart from those designer clothes you were asking about?’

  ‘Lots,’ Haddock replied, moving on before she could press him. ‘Alex, did you and he ever talk about anything other than work?’

  ‘I never talked about mine. Him cop, me criminal defence lawyer; it wouldn’t have been appropriate. He didn’t either, but come to think of it, he didn’t really talk about anything. We’d discuss current affairs, the latest movies, who’d been slagging who off on social media . . . I remember us trying to work out what exactly the fuck an Instagram influencer is and not coming up with an answer . . . but, beyond that, nothing much. Our relationship was physical, not philosophical.’

  ‘He had a scar on his shoulder. Did he ever tell you about that?’

  ‘He said that Spring shot him accidentally with a crossbow when they were both kids.’

  ‘And you believed that?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘No reason,’ he conceded, ‘but the truth is he was shot while he was a police officer in Pretoria. There was an armed hijack, and he was wounded. He never mentioned that?’

  ‘Never.’ She smiled, lightly. ‘Sounds like we weren’t as close as I thought.’

  ‘How did he seem when you were with him? Was he happy, sad, up, down?’

  ‘Same old, same old. Mind you, the last time we were together, the night I had the break-in and he got hurt, he’d
been a bit unsettled before it happened. His mind wasn’t on the job, so to speak; he wasn’t really with me. I got a bit annoyed about that, I asked him what the matter was. The way he reacted, it really pissed me off. That’s when I got out of bed and went into the kitchen for some juice, and was surprised by the two intruders.’

  ‘The way he reacted,’ Haddock repeated. ‘How was it, what did he say that annoyed you so much?’

  ‘It was dismissive for a start; it was as if he wasn’t for sharing, at least not with me. As for what he said, I have no idea what that was, because he said it in Afrikaans!’

  Eighteen

  ‘I notice you didn’t tell her about t’ gold in Montell’s safe,’ DS Cotter remarked. ‘Or the gun.’

  ‘I didn’t think she needed to know that,’ DCI Mann replied. ‘That information stays within the investigating team, and Noele McClair isn’t part of it. More than that . . .’

  ‘Are you saying she’s a suspect?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but she’s still a person of interest. The two men in her life died together, John, and she remains a possibility as the link that brought them there, even if she isn’t aware of it. It’s evident that she hated Coats’s guts, but we don’t really know anything about the true nature of her relationship with Montell, other than what she’s told us.’

  ‘We do, surely. DI Haddock told us that he brushed off Ms Skinner because he was in a relationship with DS McClair. I’ve never met the woman, but I saw her on telly once, after she got one of her clients acquitted in the High Court. In Montell’s shoes I wouldn’t have been doing that lightly . . . and I’m bloody married!’

  Mann treated him to a rare smile. ‘If that ever found its way back to Mrs Cotter . . .’

  He tapped the side of his head. ‘Don’t worry, boss, it’s all in here. I’ve always been more cautious than brave.’

  ‘That makes you an exception then, Sergeant. In my experience men don’t consult their brains at all when making decisions like that.’ She rose from the comfortable chair that she had commandeered and walked across the CID room. ‘DC Wright,’ she said, ‘any joy accessing those bank accounts?’

  ‘Surprisingly, ma’am, yes,’ she replied. ‘I thought I might have to wait until tomorrow, but no. I have Coats’ and Inspector Montell’s, and I’ve been promised Noele’s once my TSB contact clears it with the right level of management.’

  ‘What do they show?’

  ‘Terry Coats’s Bank of Scotland account is very much what I expected. He was chunkily overdrawn; a little over one third of his net salary went out again in child support and pretty much all of the rest goes in mortgage, credit-card and interest payments. He had two credit cards with the bank, both nearly maxed out and an Amex card that isn’t, but a lot of retailers don’t take them. I don’t know how the guy survived.’

  ‘No other in-goings other than his pay? DS McClair said he was a gambler, but they don’t lose all the time. Are we sure he doesn’t have any other accounts? He wouldn’t have been the first guy who tried to hide assets from his ex-wife. I can tell you that from experience.’

  ‘I can’t be certain of that,’ Wright admitted. ‘I started my search based on the information I had from his employer; same with Inspector Montell and Noele. Once I’ve got through that first phase I can widen the trawl.’

  ‘My ex had help from his parents in trying to stitch me up, until Alex Skinner threatened them with a court-enforced audit of their assets, and with HMRC as well. That’s not her usual line of work, I know,’ she added, ‘but her father asked her to do me a favour. Have you checked tax records too?’

  ‘No, ma’am, but they’re all on PAYE so I wouldn’t expect them to be self-assessed. I’ll have a look, though.’

  ‘Do that, but don’t prioritise it. Now, what did you learn from Montell’s banking?’

  ‘About as much as I learned from Coats’s. He was paying much less in child support, and he seemed to manage it better. He made the payments using a banking app called Revolut. It lets you do currency exchanges at market rate and transfers funds instantly. He was never overdrawn, used credit cards to manage cash flow rather than borrow, and was able to transfer small sums regularly from his current account to a savings account. He had fourteen and a half thousand in that.’

  ‘That sounds too good to be true,’ Mann observed.

  ‘He didn’t own a car,’ Wright countered. ‘Think about it; a car is a big liability, unless you run a banger and don’t use it very much. Even then you’re going to be hit by bills for maintenance, MOT, insurance, all the things you need to do just to keep it legally parked on the public highway. If you’re free of that, and a lot of single people who live in cities are, you have a hell of a lot more disposable income.’

  ‘True. More to spend on designer clothes, maybe, but DS McClair said he told her he shopped for them in a cut-price place in Livingston. Take a look at his credit-card spend and see if it bears that out.’

  ‘I have done already, ma’am. I looked specifically for clothing-store purchases but I didn’t find any. Wherever he bought them he must have used cash.’

  ‘He had plenty of that, going by what DI, sorry, acting DCI Haddock,’ Wright thought that she detected a faint trace of irony in her tone, ‘found in his safe. What about . . .’

  ‘Anything to explain it?’

  ‘Stop reading my mind, Jackie, but yes.’

  Wright shifted in her seat. ‘I’ve given it some thought,’ she admitted. ‘We know that Griff, Inspector Montell, possessed a significant holding in Krugerrands; let’s assume that it was legitimate, there being no firm evidence that it wasn’t. It could have been a legacy, it could have been a lottery win that he kept quiet about and invested in gold. They found two hundred and fifty; the cash in the safe might have come from the sale of others. If it did, you’d think there would be a record of their disposal, but I can’t find any in his banking records. That would suggest, supposing that’s what happened, that every one of them was sold privately, for cash. Who would buy them?’

  ‘Jewellers?’

  ‘They might, but more likely he’d have gone to a bullion dealer. There are a few of them around Edinburgh, and I will speak to them all. I’ve called a couple already but they’re closed for the holiday. Tomorrow’s Friday, so they might not open until Monday.’

  ‘That’s good work, DC Wright,’ Mann said. ‘Have you ever fancied transferring to Glasgow?’

  Nineteen

  ‘Who’s the SIO?’

  The question reached the detective from the other side of the small copse. He took two long steps to his right so that he could see the source. His exceptional height made his sterile coverall a tight fit; ‘One-size’ it said on the packet but he was close to being an exception. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘DI Jack McGurk. Who’s asking?’

  ‘Dr Emily Badger, duty pathologist,’ a sharp-featured, dark-haired woman replied. She gestured to her companion. ‘This is my assistant, Denzil Douglas.’

  McGurk thought that he caught a flash of resentment in the man’s eyes. Douglas was a forensic examiner attached to the pathology department, and the two had met before. ‘Hi, Denzil,’ he called out. ‘I thought you’d have escaped New Year duty, given your seniority.’

  ‘There is only me, Jack,’ he grumbled. ‘Cuts.’ He nodded towards the man who stood beside the DI. ‘Hi, Lance. Happy New Year, guys, by the way. We’ll maybe forego the handshake, though.’

  ‘Has life been pronounced extinct?’ Badger asked briskly as, suited for action, she slid between the wires of the fence.

  ‘Technically not,’ Detective Sergeant Lance Anderson told her. ‘That said, the worm that’s just crawled out of his ear makes it better than even money that he’s dead.’

  ‘Leave her alone, Lance,’ McGurk murmured. ‘She’s a bairn. I take it Professor Grace is otherwise engaged,’ he said, raising his voice to address the young pathologist.

  ‘Yes, she is,’ Badger replied. ‘She pulled rank on me, she’s doing the
post-mortems on the two men who were found dead yesterday outside the police station. I’d expected to be asked to assist but instead I was diverted here.’ She moved towards the body on the ground. ‘He hasn’t been moved?’

  ‘No,’ the DI confirmed.

  ‘Not at all? What about the people who found him?’

  ‘They were police officers, brought here by a call from that house over there.’ He pointed across the field. ‘They knew better than to disturb the body any more than they had to. The informant, she assumed he was a New Year drunk.’

  ‘If so, he’s had his last drink. Are we thinking suspicious death? Nobody said when I was called to the scene.’

  ‘Take a look, Doctor.’

  She crouched beside the body. As McGurk looked down at her he saw her frown. ‘Have you seen this?’ she asked.

  ‘Us? Not close up. We’ve played it by the book and waited for you.’

  ‘Then take a look now.’

  He lowered himself down with surprising ease, turned the dead face towards him and peered at it through his varifocals. ‘Very efficient,’ he whispered. ‘Double tap; two shots in the middle of the forehead. Very special forces.’

  ‘So I’m told,’ she said, ‘and quite a coincidence. One of the men I examined yesterday was killed in almost exactly the same way.’ She reached to the back of the head, running her gloved hands over it. ‘No exit wound; nor was there with the other one. That means the bullets are still in there, as they were with him; no sorry, as it was, the Torphichen Place man having been killed by a single shot. You should be able to run a comparison.’

  ‘Oh bugger,’ the DI sighed. ‘It means more than that. It means this just moved above our pay grade.’

  ‘Divisional commander?’ Anderson suggested.

  ‘No,’ McGurk said, ‘above his too. This one goes straight to the deputy chief.’