08 - Murmuring the Judges Page 9

Carefully, he rolled Bennett’s corpse on to its back, and winced. There was a ragged black hole in the centre of the forehead. ‘See what I mean?’ said the MO. ‘Exit wound.’

  ‘And some.’ Skinner straightened up, frowning. He looked around the yard, then remembering McIlhenney’s muttered comment, turned and looked at the fence behind him. The top four storeys of a high-rise housing block rose above its highest point. ‘Of course,’ he whispered, then turned to McIlhenney.

  ‘How far away are those flats, would you say, Neil?’

  The big sergeant smiled. ‘There’s the width of a football field outside the yard, then a hundred yards to the road, then the car park of the block. Four hundred yards, I’d say; five hundred tops.’

  ‘I see what you mean, Sergeant. It’d be an easy shot from that roof over there for someone with the right equipment. How tall was Bennett?’

  ‘Looking at him, I’d guess he was about the same height as Mr Martin.’

  ‘Okay, say five eleven. And with that red hair he’d stand out like a Belisha beacon, even in a crowd.’

  Skinner drew the blanket back over Bennett’s body, and stepped over to stand by its feet, with his back to the fence and the high-rise block. He put two fingers to the back of his head, plotting the entry wound, then looked at the ground a few yards ahead of where he stood.

  ‘Before we start searching for a gun, Neil, let’s look for a bullet . . . a high-velocity rifle bullet, bashed out of shape.’ He pointed to a wide area in front of the entry to the yard. ‘And let’s look over there. When the first of the uniforms arrive, grab them and put them to work sifting through that patch of ground.

  ‘While you’re doing that, Mr Martin and I will go across and take a look at the roof of that block, to see if we can find any signs of a sniper.’

  ‘Aye, and if you do, the hundred polis we’ve called out will spend the day interviewing every resident in those bloody flats!’

  Skinner smiled. ‘They chose the job, each one of them. Listen,’ he added. ‘That was a good spot, Neil. Just as well that you didn’t mention it in there, otherwise Dan Pringle would have been well embarrassed. He should have seen that.’

  The big sergeant shrugged his shoulders. ‘The sun’s over there, Boss,’ he chuckled. ‘I think the Superintendent’s avoiding bright lights this morning. I was at that dance last night, too. I saw the state he was in when the taxi came for him.’

  ‘You seem to have survived all right.’

  McIlhenney looked at him disdainfully. ‘Olive’s mother was baby-sitting for us. Not even you would dare to come home rat-arsed to the Wicked Witch of the West!’

  19

  ‘I’ve never known your lot to do that before, Bob: to have Alan Royston call us in for a briefing, give us a prepared statement then refuse to take questions.’

  John Hunter spoke quietly, almost into his pint, as he and Skinner faced each other across their corner table, even though they were out of anyone’s earshot. Most of the other customers in the Stockbridge pub chose to drink at the bar.

  The policeman smiled at the elderly journalist. ‘That’s because I’ve never faced a situation like this before, old friend. I believe in telling it all and telling it straight when I’ve got something to say. But if we had declared open house on questions, there would have been no knowing what the press would have made of it. We were dealing with the Sunday papers there, not with the daily people.’

  Hunter shrugged, picking up the sheet of paper which lay on the table and waving it at Skinner. ‘Fine, but even the statement’s crap. Two murders it says, one in Bonnyrigg, the other in Saughton Prison, but no fucking names. Just the usual shite about next of kin being informed.

  ‘Did you know Royston was going to do this?’

  ‘I told him to play it that way.

  ‘Look, John, why do you think I asked you to come for a pint with me? I mean, I like your company, but on a Saturday I should be at home playing with my kids.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s gone two-thirty. The best part of the day’s blown.’

  He paused. ‘If we had given the full story in there, all hell would have broken loose. As it is, it won’t take the hacks long to find out who the Bonnyrigg victim is. They’ll guess the rest from there. I want to put you in the picture, so that I know it’ll be written properly.’

  The journalist smiled. ‘Now that, I like. You’ll piss off all the editors, though. They’ll have to pay me for the copy.’

  ‘They’ll be glad to, believe me.’

  Skinner finished his Belhaven Best and went up to the bar for two more pints. Returning, he placed one before Hunter, and saw that the man had taken out his notebook and pen. ‘There aren’t many left like you, Auld Yin, are there?’

  ‘Naw. All these boys and girls with their wee tape recorders. The truth is I envy them their new gadgets. They’re a fucking sight easier than shorthand, but that’s the only way I know.’ He took a bite out of his pint, licking the foamy head from his grey moustache, then looked across at the policeman.

  ‘So. What have you got for me?’

  ‘Before we start,’ said the DCC, ‘I don’t want to be quoted. This is non-attributable; senior police sources and all that.’

  Hunter nodded.

  ‘Right. Victim number one: Miss Hannah Bennett, age thirty-three, spinster, of 17 Garston Avenue, Bonnyrigg. Attacked last night in her home between ten and midnight, and killed with a knife in her back garden.’

  ‘Sex attack?’

  ‘I haven’t got the PM report yet, but not unless he put her slacks and knickers back on afterwards.

  ‘Victim number two: Nathan Bennett, age thirty-seven, currently of Saughton Prison, but normally of 17 Garston Avenue, Bonnyrigg. Shot dead just after nine this morning in the prison exercise yard.’

  The old journalist’s mouth dropped open. ‘Bennett? The guy in the bank robbery trial, where Archergait . . .’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Coincidence?’

  ‘We’ve got no evidence that it isn’t, but be serious: of course the murders are linked. Andy Martin and I found the woman when we went to interview her this morning. You see, Bennett was pleading Not Guilty on instructions. We knew that he was in fear of his life from the ring-leader of this gang.

  ‘We had reason to believe that Hannah was under threat, and that she may have known the man behind the robberies. So we were going to offer her a deal: total protection, and a lighter sentence for Nathan in return for the man’s name.

  ‘He beat us to it.’

  Hunter’s eyes were bright with excitement now. ‘And he arranged to have Bennett killed in prison?’

  Skinner shook his head. ‘No. That would have put more people in the chain of knowledge, and exposed him in other directions. He shot him himself, with a sniper’s rifle, from the roof of a multi-storey block overlooking the yard.’

  ‘You certain of that?’

  ‘Stone-cold certain. Andy and I found footprints in the dirt on the roof. It’s closed off to the residents, but there’s a stairway up to it. The lock had been picked, and the door was open. There was a metal pole lying there that we reckon he could have used to wedge it shut, just in case. On top of that, we’ve recovered the bullet.’

  ‘Aye, but how can you say for sure that it was the killer up there?’

  He paused and took a sip of Belhaven. ‘From the angle of the wound, there’s nowhere else he could have been.’ He grinned, fleetingly. ‘Anyway, one of the footprints matches one that our scene-of-crime team found in Hannah’s garden.’

  Hunter whistled. ‘Jesus.’

  The two men looked at each other across the table. ‘Now do you understand why I’m anxious that all this should be reported properly?’

  ‘You mean that it should be reported the way you want it?’

  Skinner grinned. ‘That’s the same thing, isn’t it? Look, John, after what happened in Gala on Thursday, we’re especially vulnerable on this one. So are the public at large: they’re vulnera
ble to scare stories and to panic.

  ‘Off the record, the truth is that Nathan and Hannah Bennett were our only leads to these robbers. Now they’re both out of the way, this guy will be feeling really pleased with himself. I want to get a message to him that we’re on to him, that he’s given us something new to go on.

  ‘He has, too.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘He’s brought me into contact with him. He’s let me stand where he’s stood, and he’s let me see how he thinks. He’s cocky, this fellow, as well as ruthless, and I’ve never come across a cocky criminal who’s been smiling at the end of the day.

  ‘I want to knock him off balance if I can. That’s why I’d like you to circulate a story saying that the police are closing in on the killer of the Bennetts, that he’s left a number of important leads at both sites which will help us identify him.

  ‘This guy, whoever he is, he’s absolutely sure of himself. I want to undermine that certainty. I want him to know who he’s dealing with, and I want him to be afraid of me.’

  Hunter looked doubtful. ‘I appreciate that, Bob, but I’m an ethical journalist. I never have filed a report that I knew to be untrue, and I never will.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to lie, man. Those footprints are important. We’re trying to identify the shoe, in the hope that the list of stockists won’t be too big, and that the manufacturer might be able to help us. Some of Arthur Dorward’s team are still going over Bonnyrigg picking up every hair, every piece of fabric, and the rest of them are climbing all over the roof of that high-rise.

  ‘Hannah Bennett’s neighbours were either watching telly, on holiday or in the pub, so there’s not much joy from them, but we’re hopeful that someone in the tower block will have seen the guy while he made his way to his firing position.’

  Skinner looked at his friend again. ‘So, are you up for it?’

  ‘Aye, Bob, I’ll write it that way. But can I say for certain that it’s the same killer, and that it ties in with the bank robberies?’

  ‘You can say that, John.You know that I can’t, officially, in case I’m accused of prejudicing a future trial, but press speculation is another matter. I trust you to handle it right, and to protect me as your source.’

  The old man finished his beer, draining most of the glass in a single swallow. ‘Right then,’ he said, pushing himself to his feet. ‘I’d better be off and do it.’

  He shook his head as he and Skinner reached the door. ‘Christ, and I let you buy the beer too. Wrong of me, that: I’m going to make a fucking fortune. Every newspaper in Britain will take this copy.’

  20

  ‘Thank heaven you’re back, Pops. Jazz has me run off my feet, and young Mark has me mentally exhausted. He’s way too smart for me. I’ve spent half the day giving him a rundown on what lawyers actually do, and the other half trying to keep pace with him at his computer games.’

  Alex gazed at her father and her fiancé as they stood in the doorway of the kitchen. ‘Where the hell have you guys been anyway? It’s ten past seven. If you were golfing, you might have mentioned it before you left this morning.’

  Martin shook his head. ‘I wish we had been, love. You say you’re puggled? What a day we’ve had. Since you’re asking what we’ve been doing, you obviously haven’t been listening to the news bulletins.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Take her away and explain what we’ve been up to,’ said Bob. ‘I’ll make us all some coffee.’

  ‘You can make supper for the boys too,’ his daughter told him. ‘I’ve done my big-sister bit.

  ‘Where’s Sarah anyway?’ She shot over her shoulder from the doorway as Martin led her off to the living room. ‘How long’s a post-mortem supposed to take?’

  ‘I reckon that Sarah’s having a busy day too.’ There was a weariness in Skinner’s voice which made her look at him, suddenly concerned.

  ‘What is this, Andy?’ he heard her say, as she disappeared into the hall.

  Forgetting about coffee for the moment, he prepared supper for the boys . . . pizza for Mark, mashed-down stew, peas, carrots and gravy for Jazz . . . then set it at the kitchen table. By the time he had helped his younger son spoon the last of his custard dessert into his hungry mouth, wiped his face, and seen both boys off to bed, the digital clock on the microwave showed four minutes past eight.

  Deciding that coffee was by now completely inappropriate, he opened a bottle of Valdepenas, and took it through to the conservatory with three goblets, which he found with some difficulty in the new kitchen lay-out.

  Alex looked up at him as he set the glasses on the table and poured the wine. ‘Now I understand why you’re tired.’

  ‘We’ve just looked at the teletext,’ said Andy. ‘Old John’s done the business. We’re closing in on the killer, you’ll be glad to hear.’

  Skinner shot him a wry look. ‘Aye, but closing in very slowly. It’s a bugger about those footprints, turning out to be Clark’s shoes; only one of the most popular brands in the country, that’s all. Practically every independent shoe shop stocks them, not to mention the firm’s own outlets.’

  Alex frowned as she picked up her glass, and as her father sat in a chair beside her, the three of them looked out at the evening seascape. ‘Pardon me for thinking like a lawyer, but since the shoes are so common, doesn’t that reopen the possibility of there being two killers, and of their being unconnected?’

  Bob laughed, harshly and without humour. ‘That’s the only break we’ve had all day. Arthur’s lot found a wee piece of mud on the roof, which he’s certain we’ll match with Hannah’s garden.’

  ‘No, not the only break,’ Andy cut in. ‘We recovered the bullet.’

  ‘Not the casing, though. No way this guy would have left that behind.’

  ‘Still, we can learn things from the bullet. If the ballistics guys can give us a clue about the type of weapon which fires it, we can go round the rifle clubs looking for a match.’ ‘Even if they don’t, I’ll look for a match with every registered rifle in the country.’ Bob sighed, a great tired sigh. ‘And you know what? I won’t find one. This man killed the Bennetts to cover his tracks, not to give himself away. He’ll have used an unregistered weapon.’

  ‘Hey,’ Alex burst out, ‘what happened to Mr Positive Thinking?’

  ‘He’s had a hard day!’

  ‘But, Pops, are unlicensed guns so easy to come by?’

  Her father snorted, disdainfully. ‘Christ, lass, Ireland’s still awash with guns. Apart from that, you should see what gets handed in every time we have a firearms amnesty.

  ‘Still, you’re right to throw my own words back at me. I’ve been tearing about for so long today, I haven’t had time to sit down and think.’

  ‘Why?’ Martin asked softly.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘No, not “Why have you been tearing about?” This is the “why?” we haven’t asked. Why did he decide to close off the Bennetts, now, at this time?’

  ‘I guess he decided that what happened in Galashiels might persuade them to talk after all.’

  ‘That risk’s always been there, to an extent. No, what if he learned that I’d been to see Nathan, and that he’d been a bit wobbly?’

  ‘How would he learn that?’

  ‘I can think of two possibilities: the prison escorts.’

  Bob stiffened slightly in his chair. ‘They were in the room when you interviewed him?’

  ‘That’s right. One of them was awkward about leaving, so I let them stay.’

  For the first time that evening, Bob smiled. ‘Looks like you’re working again tomorrow, son.’

  He reached forward and picked up his glass, but before he could put it to his lips, a slim tanned hand reached down and took it from him.

  ‘My need is greater, believe me.’

  He looked up. Sarah was standing there, in a sweatshirt and jeans. She looked as tired as he had ever seen her.

  ‘Hello, love. How long have you been home? We ne
ver heard you.’

  ‘About five minutes,’ she answered. ‘I looked in on the boys, then I just had to get out of the clothes I was wearing.’

  He reached up and touched the back of her hand.

  ‘Careful, honey,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t want to know where that’s been today!’

  He grinned and headed off to the kitchen to fetch another glass. ‘You’d better bring another bottle,’ she called after him. ‘Dinner can wait for an hour.’

  When he returned she had pulled a swivel chair between his and the settee on which Alex and Andy sat, and had collapsed into it, her legs stretching out before her. He poured himself a glass of wine and finished off the first bottle by topping up everyone else.

  ‘Well,’ Sarah chuckled, ‘sounds as if we’ve all had hellish days, one way or another.’ She glanced sideways at Bob. ‘Sorry, husband, but you’re going to have to wait until tomorrow for Nathan Bennett.

  ‘We just didn’t have time to start on him today. Our first job took a long time, so we didn’t finish with Hannah until an hour ago. I’ll be assisting again tomorrow.’

  ‘Dammit,’ Bob muttered. ‘Still, I sent you the stiff, so I can’t really moan. Did you turn up anything unexpected with Hannah?’

  ‘Nothing at all. No skin under the nails or anything like that. No sexual interference, or recent sexual activity. Death caused, as you saw, by a single knife wound to the brain. Joe had a hell of a job getting the knife out, incidentally. It was very sharp, but still it must have been a massive blow for the blade to be embedded so firmly in her skull.

  ‘The only marks on the body other than the one you saw was a bruise around her upper right arm, as if someone had grabbed her there too, with his left hand.’ She smiled, with a degree of self-satisfaction showing on her face.

  ‘Know what I think? I reckon the man was going to kill her in the kitchen.’ She sat up, swung round in her chair and seized Bob’s right arm in her left hand. ‘I reckon he grabbed her like that, and took the knife from the set that was found on the work-surface. He made a mistake, though.

  ‘From her muscular development, it was clear to us that Hannah Bennett was left-handed. Remember that rolling pin in the kitchen?’ Bob and Andy both nodded. ‘I’m sure Arthur Dorward was spot on. She picked it up with her strong hand and beaned him . . . maybe as he was reaching for the knife. That’s what gave her time to get away . . . not far enough, though.’