Hour Of Darkness Page 3

  ‘Me too,’ she added. ‘I don’t just want you around; I need you. I’ve tried living without you and it didn’t work very well. I hate to remind you, but you’re over fifty years old and you have a heart pacemaker.’

  ‘Am I? Have I?’ I murmured. ‘Goddammit I’d forgotten!’ That was almost literally true. I’ve had the pacemaker for a few years, to make sure that my heart rate doesn’t drop too low, as in down to zero. It doesn’t affect my day-to-day life, and if it wasn’t for a small lump on my chest just below my left collar bone, nobody but me would know it was there.

  ‘Well, I haven’t,’ Sarah murmured, with a small grimace. ‘That day you fell over, I almost died with you. As a pathologist I know all too well there is such a thing as unexplained sudden death syndrome. I’ve seen it, too often, in young fit men. There they are on the autopsy table and there is no discernible reason why, other than the fact that their heart isn’t beating any more. You may have forgotten about it, my darling, but I never will.’

  I sensed a hovering presence near us. Not John, the proprietor of La Clota, where we had eaten, as I always have on my L’Escala visits, since the earliest days . . . John wouldn’t have hovered; he’d have crash-landed at our table . . . but the tall young waiter who had served us. His face was new to me, but that wasn’t surprising since I hadn’t been in Spain for a couple of years.

  I glanced in his direction, and he moved in, his order pad in his left hand, which had a large sticking plaster across the back. ‘Coffee, senores?’ he asked. ‘Or would you like liqueurs?’ His English was confident, but heavily accented.

  I glanced at Sarah. ‘Coffee will be fine,’ she said.

  ‘Me too,’ I told the kid, once Sarah, my coffee monitor, had given me the nod. ‘But let’s have a couple of sambucas as well.’

  ‘Certainly. What type of coffee, senores?’

  ‘Americano, please,’ Sarah told him.

  ‘And I’ll have a tailat,’ I added. There’s no single word in English for what I wanted, espresso with a little milk, so I used the Catalan.

  He frowned at me. ‘I’m sorry?’

  I switched to Castillian Spanish. ‘Un cortado, por favor.’

  His eyebrows rose, and he flushed a little beneath the tan. ‘Of course. Perdon, senor.’

  I’d embarrassed the lad. ‘No,’ I said, ‘it’s my fault. I shouldn’t be flashing my crap Catalan. So you’re not from these parts?’

  ‘No, senor, I am from the south of Spain. There’s more work on the Costa Brava than where I live; I’m here for the rest of the summer.’

  ‘Good for you, son. What will you do when it’s over?’

  ‘I go back to Cordoba, to start university.’

  ‘To study what?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I will study chemistry, senora.’

  She smiled, and its warmth seemed to wash over the boy. ‘You could do much worse . . . What’s your name?’

  ‘Nacho, senora.’

  ‘Then good luck with your career, Nacho.’

  ‘Thank you, senora.’

  ‘But before you get that far,’ I interrupted, ‘do you know what to do with a sambuca?’

  ‘Of course, senor; I set it on fire.’

  ‘That’s right. But you’d be best to do it at the table, not at the bar. You might want to work here again next summer, and John will not take it too well if you burn down his restaurant.’

  ‘That is true, senor,’ he agreed, with a smile. ‘I will bring matches.’

  He turned and strode into the restaurant.

  Sarah’s eyes followed him. ‘Nice kid,’ she murmured.

  I sensed an unspoken ‘But’.

  ‘But …?’

  She frowned, then shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘One of those “walk on my grave” moments, but it’s gone. I had a strange feeling that I’d seen him before, that’s all. But it’s nonsense, for I’ve never been to Cordoba in my life.’

  Three

  ‘Was it a quiet weekend, Sauce?’ Sammy Pye asked his recently appointed detective sergeant, across the desk in his small office.

  ‘Yes thanks, boss. Yours?’

  ‘Yes, quiet and pleasant. A nice counter to the way we ended last week, with that awful post-mortem.’

  ‘Mine too. I was a bear on Friday evening. Cheeky was great, though. She saw straight away that I was struggling, and put me right. As far as she could, that is. I was still a wee bit on edge, in case we got a call-out.’

  ‘Mmm,’ the DI murmured. ‘But we didn’t, neither of us, and in a way that isn’t good news. It means that the scientific bods haven’t come up with a DNA match for our victim, and that the trawl that we put in place across the force area on Friday for a missing white female, probably in her sixties, with an appendectomy scar and a history of childbirth hasn’t come up with a single possibility.’

  ‘So we’ve got a murder in our hands, but with no way of identifying the victim.’

  ‘That’s the story, Sauce. Plus we’ve got a new boss in the city CID who’s only going to be interested in keeping his clear-up rate at one hundred per cent.’

  Haddock frowned. ‘Am I the only one that thinks his appointment was a bit of a surprise?’

  ‘Hell no,’ Pye retorted, ‘you’d be a minority of one if you didn’t. “Come back, Neil McIlhenney, all is forgiven,” that’s the general view . . . not that the big fella did anything to forgive, before he headed south.

  ‘I know what was behind it, though; my dear wife might not be a Command Corridor secretary any more, but she still has her sources. There are a couple of reasons. First, neither Chief Constable Steele nor ACC McGuire wanted a superintendent as their exec. The truth is, Bob Skinner only put the guy there as part of his rehabilitation after his breakdown. But on top of that, they say that ACC McGuire does not like Superintendent Mackenzie, and vice versa.’

  ‘Uh?’ the DS grunted. ‘Then why . . .’

  Pye laughed. ‘Why did he give him a key CID job? So that he can prove himself one way or another.

  ‘David Mackenzie might have been in a uniform for the last couple of years, clicking his heels and saying “Yes, sir. No, sir” to the high heid yins, but the arrogant bastard that ran our drugs squad and brought the nickname “Bandit” with him when he moved from Strathclyde, that guy never went away. He’s always lurked there under the surface. If you ask me, what Maggie Steele and Mario McGuire have done is let him out again.’

  ‘To piss all of us off?’

  ‘Hardly. They’ll be judged in part by his success or failure. Also, remember this; the fact is that until he crashed and burned, Mackenzie was a good detective; an arsehole, certainly, but a good detective. Bob Skinner would never have brought him through from Strathclyde otherwise, and I cannot believe that the bosses would have put him where he is now out of malice.’

  ‘Why doesn’t the ACC like him?’

  ‘I think it’s because Mackenzie misread him. When he came here he thought he would leapfrog him on his way up the ladder, so he didn’t take him seriously enough, didn’t treat him with the respect he was due. That was a huge mistake. ACC McGuire might be an amiable bloke, but he’s very sharp, and he’s a fucking monster if you get on the wrong side of him.’

  ‘So why’s he put him in the city coordinator job?’

  ‘That’s complicated,’ Pye said. ‘It’s only a guess on my part, but I think it goes back to the time when he was head of CID and Neil McIlhenney, before he moved to London, was in the job Mackenzie has now.

  ‘Those two are the best buddies from hell, the Glimmer Twins, they called them; because of that neither of them ever questioned the other. As a result mistakes were made. I believe that Mario’s learned from that; he chose Mackenzie for that job knowing that their personalities might clash.’

  ‘In which case,’ Haddock suggested, ‘won’t Mackenzie wind up as roadkill?’

  ‘No, because he’s got a buffer between them, Mary Chambers, DCS Chambers; she’s head of CID, remember. Mackenzie
reports to her, not directly to the ACC.’

  ‘She’s no soft touch either,’ the DS pointed out. ‘I was in her division, till we both got moved out.’

  ‘Mary’s fine.’

  ‘But one extra rung away from us.’ He paused. ‘You know, Sammy, I get the impression that the ACC isn’t the only one who doesn’t like Superintendent Mackenzie. I suspect he’s not on your Christmas card list either.’

  The DI smiled. ‘They told me you were a perceptive sod . . . unless women are involved. No, I don’t like the Bandit; I’ll admit that. But it’s an old story, it goes back to something that happened far away from here. If you want to know about it you’ll have to go and ask Bob Skinner.’

  ‘I’ll pass on that one,’ Sauce laughed. ‘I wish he was here, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He might have an idea where we go with this murder inquiry.’

  ‘How we get a head with it, you mean?

  Haddock nodded. ‘Yes.’ Then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he caught up with Pye’s black wisecrack. ‘Aww, fuck off . . . sir.’

  ‘Sorry, Sauce,’ the DI said, chuckling at the younger man’s indignation. ‘I don’t have any more inspiration than you have.’

  ‘That’s what I like,’ Haddock grunted. ‘The smack of firm leadership.’

  ‘Call it delegation.’ Pye leaned back in his chair. ‘Seriously, where do we go? What’s your thinking?’

  ‘Limited as always, but here goes. We have an autopsy report that says the woman died between . . .’ the DS paused to make a quick mental calculation, ‘. . . fourteen and twenty-one days before she was put in the water. She sustained six stab wounds, of which five wouldn’t have killed her; the one that did ripped right through her heart, indicating that the blade was no less than eight inches long. It had a serrated edge, and the pathologist suggested that it might have been a kitchen knife.

  ‘She said also that the angle of entry suggested that the killer stood behind the victim and stabbed her in an upward direction. She was of the opinion that the attacker was male, given the degree of force that must have been needed, given that two of the blows cut clean through ribs and a third penetrated the sternum.’

  ‘What do you read into all that?’

  ‘Not a lot, boss, but I hardly think this was a professional hit. Six wounds but only one meaningful. This is not an expert, surely. A pro would just have cut her throat.’

  ‘How do you know he didn’t?’ Pye asked quietly.

  The DS waved a finger. ‘Touché,’ he whispered, grinning.

  ‘You’re probably right, nonetheless,’ the inspector admitted. ‘Let’s face it, contract killings of senior citizen females aren’t exactly commonplace, not in Edinburgh, anyway.’

  ‘No,’ Haddock agreed. ‘And yet, the body was dumped in the river, no clothes, no jewellery, no nothing . . . less than nothing now, thanks to that effing propeller. Whether it was amateur or professional, there has to have been a degree of premeditation, hasn’t there?’

  ‘Maybe not. Could be the killing was impulsive, an act of rage, and the guy didn’t start to think about disposal until after he’d done it.’

  ‘Postmeditation? Is that a word, gaffer?’

  ‘If that’s what happened, it is now, and I’m claiming it. Come on, Sauce,’ he said, ‘we need to get our brains in gear, urgently, before Detective Superintendent Mackenzie comes battering on the door wanting to know what we’re doing.’

  ‘Then why don’t we get in first?’

  Pye’s laugh had a hint of scorn about it. ‘What, are you saying I should go and batter on his door?’

  ‘Nothing so confrontational: no, why don’t you call him, and tell him we’re having a press conference.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About the victim. So far the media only know that a female body washed up on Cramond Island on Friday. Tell him that we want to call them in to announce . . . and we’re going to have to anyway, one way or another . . . that the post-mortem findings have led us to open a murder investigation, which is stymied because we don’t know who the hell it is that’s been murdered. Then tell him that we want to ask the media for their help, by publishing an appeal for anyone who knows of a sixty-something female in the Edinburgh and Lothian areas that hasn’t been seen around for a couple of weeks.’

  The DI considered the proposal. ‘How do you think that Mackenzie’ll react,’ he wondered, ‘when I ask him for the okay?’

  ‘I’m only guessing,’ Haddock replied, ‘but . . . from what you’ve said about him, he’ll jump in and front it himself.’

  ‘Then let’s find out. Bugger off while I call him. One more thing,’ he added, as the DS pushed himself to his feet and headed for the door that led into the CID office. ‘Edinburgh and the Lothians won’t be enough; this has to be a national appeal. The body was dumped in our territory, sure, but it could have been brought from anywhere.’

  The young sergeant returned to his desk in the open-plan office, nodding a greeting to the two detective constables who made up the unit’s complement. He was checking through their reports on their inquiries into a series of thefts from cars parked overnight in the residential dockland areas when Pye’s hand fell on his shoulder.

  ‘The Bandit reacted just as you said he would,’ the DI murmured. ‘We’re on parade at headquarters at twelve o’clock, and he’ll be in front of the cameras.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Sauce declared. ‘So when this investigation goes absolutely nowhere, as it probably will, his name will be all over it rather than ours.’

  ‘Yup. You’re not just a perceptive sod, but devious as well. Just as well I told him the media conference was your idea.’

  ‘You fucking what???’

  Four

  ‘What’s going on downstairs?’ Chief Constable Margaret Steele asked. ‘I saw the media beginning to gather when I came in from my meeting.’

  ‘David Mackenzie’s holding a press briefing,’ ACC Mario McGuire replied.

  ‘Mackenzie is? About what?’

  ‘The headless body that was found on Friday: they’ve run out of ways to identify her so he’s making a national appeal for help from the public.’

  ‘Whose idea was that?’

  ‘He’s claiming credit, and I have no reason to doubt it’.

  ‘Has Mary Chambers okayed it?’

  ‘Retrospectively. He called it and then told her about it. She’s not best pleased about that, but she kept her feelings to herself. She didn’t want the two of them to get off on the wrong foot, and besides, she’d likely have approved it even if he had asked for permission.’

  ‘Why’s he doing the briefing himself? Sammy Pye’s the SIO on the investigation, isn’t he?’

  ‘Not any more, Mackenzie’s jocked him off.’ The ACC held up a hand, to stall her reaction. ‘Maggie, I don’t like that any more than you, but let’s not get steamed up about it. The guy’s probably out to make a name for himself again in CID, maybe in the hope that Bob’ll move him back to Glasgow when the new force takes over. Good luck to him,’ McGuire grunted, ‘it’s the best place for him. What he’s done might look like poor man-management, but it isn’t going to compromise the investigation. I asked Mary to make damn sure he uses a Freephone contact number for calls from the public, so that our communications centre isn’t swamped. You never know, he might even get a result.’

  ‘He might,’ Steele agreed. ‘But isn’t there any other means of identifying her?’

  ‘Nah; all other routes are exhausted. The surgeon who took out her appendix didn’t sign his name so …’

  ‘Funny bugger.’ She smiled, then paused for a second. ‘Mackenzie’s been set up, of course,’ she added.

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘Sammy Pye’s played him, to get himself out of the firing line.’

  ‘Not just Sammy. My former protégé Haddock’s down in Leith now, and I can see his hand all over this. Mark my words, it’s as well you and I have got a good head start on that bo
y. He’s going to go as far in the force as he wants. He’s another Bob Skinner.’

  The big ACC smiled. ‘No, he’s not. There’s a big difference; Bob’s actually gone further in the force than he ever wanted. If he hadn’t had to take the reins in Strathclyde in an emergency, he’d never have gone there, but now he has, he feels that he’s got no choice but to take over as head of the unified Scottish police service. That’s Neil McIlhenney’s reading, and he’s closer to the big man than anyone except Andy Martin. If you want to compare young Sauce Haddock with somebody, make it Andy. He still has plenty of ambition left.’

  ‘And what about you?’ the chief constable asked.

  ‘Me? I never thought I’d make assistant chief, so I’m quite happy. I’ll just sit here and see what opportunities the new set-up has to offer. Given the chance, I’ll go back to CID. As for you, you’ve made it to the top of the tree in the outgoing system, and you’ll get one of the ACC posts in the unified force, for sure.’

  ‘How do you know I wouldn’t rather take the redundancy money? There will be a lot of that on offer, remember.’

  ‘How do I know?’ he repeated. ‘Mags, we used to be married. I know you.’ He leaned on the last pronoun. ‘You’re a police officer; it’s all you’ve ever wanted to be. Now you’re a mother too, and that’s good, but you’re not going to stay at home until wee Stephanie’s off your hands. Even if you did fancy it, you’re way too young to get a pension, so you’ll carry on. Don’t even begin to try to kid me.’

  She looked at him with a gleam in her eye. ‘I never could; it was you that kidded me, remember. How is Paula, by the way, and wee Eamon?’

  ‘They are both blooming, thanks. Being a mother . . .’ his expression took on a glow of reverence, ‘. . . it changes women in a way I never appreciated before.’

  ‘And men,’ his ex-wife chuckled. ‘Go and look at yourself in the mirror.’

  ‘I will, after I’ve dropped in on Mackenzie’s press briefing.’

  ‘No,’ Maggie said, quickly. ‘Don’t do that. Let him have his space, Mario.’