Blind Eye, page 21
Yes, she was a tough cookie, and getting tougher by the day. She had to.
The bald publican had looked at Murray as if she’d come in on someone’s sole the last time, even before he knew she was polis. Standing behind the bar, still piled with glasses waiting to be cleared, he was looking even more hostile now, with Strang asking him to supply a list of his regulars.
‘Not sure what you mean by that. Folks come in here all the time and there’s none of them look as if they’re underage, so I don’t check their ID.’
He was looking pleased with his reply. Murray said, ‘There’s a list of initials here. Recognise any of them as matching any of the “folks” you do know that may just happen to come in?’
He took a cursory glance. ‘Nuh. Can’t say I do.’
Strang said, very smoothly, ‘That’s a real pity. We have reason to believe that an illicit business may be operating from these premises. Are you the licensee?’
The man scowled. ‘Yes.’
‘Your name, sir?’
‘Joe Mackeson.’ He spat out the words.
‘Well, Mr Mackeson, as you know the conditions for keeping a licence are extremely strict. Any illegal transactions carried out on the premises would tell against renewal. The licensing board is very particular.’
‘Never seen any sign of anything like that,’ he said. But he had shifted uneasily, uncomfortable for the first time.
He looks like an old lag, Murray thought suddenly, just as Strang said, ‘You are not obliged to answer this question. Have you a prison record? I do have to explain that if you refuse, we can go back and check.’
‘Never let go, do you?’ Mackeson said bitterly. ‘It was years ago; I’ve done my time. They know all about it.’
‘I’m sure. But as you say, we never let go. Perhaps I can ask for your cooperation now.’
‘Or else you could get me closed down, is that it? And even if I help you out and you set up some of my customers, I could still get closed down?’
‘I’m not going to promise anything. What I can say is that if you don’t, your denial of involvement won’t seem credible.’
Mackeson was blinking rapidly now and licking his lips. Murray, who had learnt in her school playground that kicking a man when he was down might not be nice, but it was usually effective, said, ‘There’s a JM here.’ She pointed to the list.
‘Where did that come from? What’s it a list of, anyway?’
‘Not at liberty to say,’ Strang and Murray said in unison.
‘Initials don’t prove anything.’ The protests were getting feebler.
Strang said, ‘An early plea to what seems like minor criminality would be very well received.’
‘And if it led us to the main instigators, that would help too,’ Murray added.
They left with names to set against the initials with only half a dozen missing, along with Mackeson’s agreement to make a statement at Tarleton police station the next day.
‘Great result,’ Strang said, as they walked to their cars.
‘I was glad to get out of there before he had a stroke,’ Murray said. ‘His face was getting more purple with fury by the minute.’
‘He’s right, of course – initials don’t prove anything. But there may be others in the syndicate who’ll crack under a bit of pressure.’
‘I’ll take these names and feed them through ACRO. Something tells me we may find quite a few of them featuring in the records.’
‘Send me a copy. I’d better get back to Fettes Avenue and try to catch up with the DCS. It always pays to keep her in the picture, and I’ll action opening up the incident room again too. It looks as if we’re going to be busy.’
‘That’s good. I hate not having enough to do.’
Murray drove back in a good mood. It had even stopped raining; she was working more closely with Strang than ever before and it looked as if they might be in for an interesting time tomorrow.
That her thought had carried an echo of the words of the famous Chinese curse didn’t even occur to her.
Detective Chief Superintendent Jane Borthwick was in a meeting, DCI Strang was told, but would call him when she returned. It was only a mild irritation; it would give him time to get his thoughts in order before he talked through the latest developments with her.
The copy of the list of initials, with such names as they’d been able to assign, pinged through from Murray and he read it with some satisfaction. There was a report from DI Gunn; the bank manager had indeed expressed concern to Ritchie about his finances and though his cash transactions had never been discussed, they were able to establish that none of the sums in the notebook’s credit columns had been paid in; presumably Ritchie had quietly trousered the cash. That was all good stuff to show the boss.
His phone rang. ‘The meeting’s finished,’ Borthwick said. ‘Waste of time as they all are, frankly, but mercifully short. Come on up, Kelso.’
She was sitting looking expectant when he arrived. ‘I hope you have something interesting for me. I could feel brain cells expiring from boredom this afternoon.’
Strang smiled. ‘I’m happy to say I have. Evidence of what looks like a small crime syndicate operating out of the local pub. Sarah Lindsay handed in a notebook that shows Niall Ritchie was involved.’
Borthwick brightened. ‘Now that’s the sort of thing I like to hear. Is she still prime suspect?’
‘Gut feeling is no, but she had motive and opportunity and no problem about finding the means to do it so we can’t strike her off, though I would say there are others appearing in the frame. Can you call up the list Murray has put on file?’
As Borthwick tapped on her keyboard, he explained the context and his conclusions, drawing her attention to the Gresham names. ‘What puzzles me is they’re both big figures on the social scene in Tarleton and the sums assigned to the notebook are small – hard to see why it was worth the risk.’
She thought for a moment. ‘Depends how much other punters paid in, doesn’t it? Ritchie was skint but others may not have been. They could have been doing good business if they established a line from contraband coming into the port direct to one of the bigger players.’
‘Livvy Murray is going to trawl ACRO. She checked out a couple that caught our eye before, and both of them had previous, but after lockdown they suddenly seemed to have gone straight.’
Borthwick raised her eyebrows. ‘Meaning …?’
‘DI Gunn said the force had got demoralised because even if they charged someone, they couldn’t make it stick. Eyewitnesses wouldn’t testify and in the odd case they brought using circumstantial evidence they came up against a top QC who made mincemeat of the fiscal. They’ve had it all their own way. Gunn’s a decent man but not the most effective copper. But now we’ve got this, I’m sure we can get this whole operation mopped up.’
Borthwick said, ‘Mmm.’
She was obviously thinking, so he didn’t speak. At last she said, ‘I’m sure you will, and I accept this is a breakthrough in those terms. But what I can’t immediately see is how it relates to the murder that is the main focus. How do you plan to progress it?’
Strang couldn’t think what to say. She was right, of course; the bloody woman always was. He’d been so worried that the ‘golden hour’ investigation immediately after the crime had yielded so little that he’d been carried away by this small success.
He could only be honest. ‘I haven’t any great plan apart from questioning all the names on the list – check out their movements on the day in question, see what comes up. If the Caddon criminal community is under the cosh, the neds may be more prepared to talk. And of course I’ll be getting more from the forensic accountants when they’ve gone through Ritchie’s papers. They’re working too on the source of the rope that was used. It’s not very sexy, I know, but …’
Borthwick shrugged. ‘That’s the job, isn’t it? “It’s dogged as does it,” my sergeant used to say, and we’re lucky in that the media hasn’t really picked up on it – there’s only been that one snide article about lack of progress today. Did you see it?’
‘Yes,’ he said. Oh yes, he’d seen it, and winced.
‘I think it needs a bit of inspiration, Kelso. Step back from it tonight, take a look at it and tell me what you think tomorrow.’
‘Ma’am,’ he said as he left, feeling reprimanded and even a bit resentful that he’d been having to make bricks without straw. But as he left, he could imagine her retort if he’d been unwise enough to voice the thought – a crisp, ‘Your job to find the straw.’
Sometimes DS Murray thought that her happiest hours were spent sitting at a computer in her favourite corner of the CID room, tucked away where the general bustle of detectives coming and going didn’t bother her, while she lifted all the stones to see what little crawling things were lurking underneath.
She’d got a few squirming under the spotlight of investigation this afternoon. About half a dozen of the names on the list turned out to have previous convictions mainly related to minor crimes, carrying a fine rather than a custodial sentence, for petty dishonesty of one sort or another, but significantly they all seemed to have turned over a new leaf since lockdown. There was one who’d had a deferred sentence for domestic abuse but nothing else. Then there were the four who had done time.
Blackford and Muir she knew about already. Joe Mackeson, the publican, was also one, with a number of convictions for violence that culminated in nine months for GBH eight years ago, but nothing since. The fourth, though, was a real surprise.
Rob Gresham had spent eighteen months of a three-year sentence in Barlinnie as one of the less senior members arrested when a crime gang, with a long history of warehouse robberies, reset, car thefts – pretty much you name it – was busted by the Glasgow force.
From what she knew about Rob – that he’d been Linden Moncrieff’s partner, that he’d been supporting Sarah Lindsay when Strang had first spoken to her, that he was part of a wealthy family – she hadn’t expected anything like this. Out of the whole seedy lot of them, he was the only one who demonstrably had roots in organised crime. Her brain started buzzing.
Was Kelso still here? He’d only said he was coming in to report to JB, but he often had paperwork – there were always other ongoing investigations.
She called his number. ‘Are you still in the office, boss?’ she asked.
‘No, Livvy. I’m at home. Did you want something?’
He was sounding a bit down. ‘Doesn’t matter. Tomorrow will do. Just, I found out Rob Gresham was jailed for involvement in a big Glasgow gang – thought you’d like to know. I’ve got an idea about that—’
‘Do you, indeed!’ His voice was suddenly brighter. ‘I could come in, or – do you know where I live?’
Her heart gave a little jump. Of course she knew where he lived – she’d driven past the cottage a hundred times, wondering what it was like inside, wondering if she’d ever be close enough to the boss to merit an invitation to visit. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘Shall I just pop over? I can pass the details through now.’
‘Yes, do that, Livvy. It’ll give me time to see what it suggests to me and then we can brainstorm. I’ll have a beer waiting for you.’
Murray was almost breathless with anticipation as she sent off the notes she’d made. It was what she had always hoped for – that Kelso would see her as not just a problematic junior but a colleague and even – dare she think it? – a friend, now that he’d invited her to his home instead of coming back to the station for a formal meeting.
It was a gloomy evening with darkness gathering, but she felt so cheerful she could swear the sun was shining as she parked in one of the narrow streets behind the little square of fisherman’s cottages. Strang’s was an upside-down one and she had to climb a wooden staircase to reach the front door.
He had it open before she got there and ushered her to a seat by the window overlooking the Firth of Forth. She looked about her as he went to fetch the promised beers. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, some sort of bachelor pad, perhaps, but this was a charming room, with pale walls and a velvety grey sofa piled with cushions. There were a couple of striking pictures on the walls and two big table lamps were lit in anticipation of the coming darkness. More like a woman’s room, she thought – and of course, it had been home to his dead wife. She felt a real pang of sadness for him; she’d never heard that he’d looked at anyone else since.
‘Lovely house,’ she said as he handed her the can.
‘Thanks,’ he said, but absent-mindedly; he was sitting down at the laptop on the table between them already. ‘I’m feeling a bit bruised after my session with JB. She doesn’t feel we’ve got very far and the Waterfoot Tavern stuff is very much a side issue and we’re being diverted from what happened on the day Ritchie was killed.’
Murray bit her lip. ‘Ah. Bit of a slap in the face, really.’
‘I should have seen it coming. It’s hard to think of a reason why the syndicate should want to kill him and set off a major police investigation – after all, they tried to get Lindsay to back off Doddie Muir so we wouldn’t come sniffing around.’
‘I suppose that’s right. But look at this – the records are really interesting. Being picked up for pretty minor stuff was common, then suddenly that stops. If you look at the date, it seems to be just after lockdown, sort of like lockdown acted as a barrier that they’d managed to put up. After that, the police couldn’t get anywhere. Did it just give them space to get organised or something?’
‘Certainly something happened,’ Strang said. ‘We need to look at what changed. So Rob Gresham was involved in organised crime in Glasgow – what happened after he was released? That would have been three years ago. Did he come straight back home then, or did he only arrive to sit out Covid?’
‘He’d know all about the Caddon and its ways,’ Murray said. ‘Sarah told me everyone knows, basically thinks it’s a bit of a joke.’
‘Right. At some stage, Gresham returns, sees a promising business that could do even better if it had a more professional outlet, and he was the boy to make the link. Lockdown’s the ideal opportunity for organising behind closed doors, introducing omertà—’
‘Probably had that already …’
‘—reinforced with a heavy hand, if necessary. And if something went wrong and charges were brought, they could wheel in a heavy hitter like Vincent Dunlop, QC. I did wonder where the money for his fees had come from but that would be sweeties to a big crime syndicate.’
‘No wonder Michelle was desperate to get her hands on the notebook.’
‘Of course – she’s MG. They must be in it together.’
‘Now that fits,’ Murray said slowly. ‘I don’t know what either of them looks like, but when I went to the pub before, there was this couple sitting together – good-looking older woman, much younger man, very absorbed in their conversation. I wondered if he was her toyboy, but they didn’t act that way.’
She was puzzled that Strang seemed a little uncomfortable when she said that, but he didn’t comment, only saying, ‘We definitely need a long chat with Gresham. The small fry in the pub syndicate might not want to rock the boat, but if for some reason Ritchie was posing a threat to the whole business, the guys at the top would be ruthless. The incident room will go active again tomorrow and they can get busy on interviews. I think we need to show JB that we’re not losing focus – get a spreadsheet up to map the movements of everyone we know about already and the ones we’ve turned up from this. And let’s be positive – you never know what forensics will come up with.’
‘Sounds good,’ Murray said.
Should she make a move to go? It wasn’t quite the same as a meeting in the office; she couldn’t help hoping they might get into something more like a social chat but when he said, ‘That’s fine, then,’ it was clear what he expected and it had all gone so well that she certainly didn’t want to push her luck.
‘Thanks, boss,’ she said, and she had just got up when his phone rang. She noticed that he had reddened a little when he glanced at the name.
He muttered, ‘’Scuse me – I’ll just take this,’ and she stood waiting as he said, ‘Cat, I’m in a meeting. Call you back,’ and rang off. ‘Thanks, Livvy. That was great work. I really feel you’ve moved everything on – and I’ll make sure to mention it to JB. She’s one of your fans, you know.’
Murray should have been jubilant as she went down the wooden stairs. She’d impressed JB and the boss. She’d spent time in his house while they talked as equals. She’d even briefly let herself think that, with time, they might even get – well, closer.
Then the phone had rung. ‘Cat,’ he’d said. That was the name of Dunbar’s devil, and she heard the way he said it. As she walked back to the car, it was almost completely dark, a biting wind was blowing off the sea and she shivered. She didn’t fancy going back to her flat and sitting thinking; she’d call her friend Sacha and go out and get blootered.
When Gunn finished with the banker, he was quite pleased at how it had gone. He went back to the Tarleton station, hoping to report to Strang personally, but he and Livvy had left.
He was free to go back to North Berwick now, but it was still quite early to pack it in. He’d been planning to fix a time with Rob Gresham for tomorrow but with the pace of the investigation picking up, the next day could be busy and that might get crowded out. It would save time if he went along there now on spec; Gresham had said he was usually around the harbour somewhere. He’d thought of a couple more questions too, and he was determined not to be psyched out this time.
The days were shorter now and it was getting quite dark as he drove into the harbour car park. He looked around as he got out of the car and the place was deserted; the weather wouldn’t tempt anyone to linger and though there were a couple of trawlers tied up, he couldn’t see anyone working there. Perhaps he’d have to go up to the main office.
