Quintin Jardine - Dead And Buried

‘Don’t worry,’ she told him, ‘it’ll keep. Bring in the pizzas when you get back.’

They were waiting in the head of CID’s office when Alex arrived, just after seven thirty. She was not alone: the man with her was young, somewhere in the first half of his twenties, if a little careworn. He was taller than either McGuire or McIlhenney, but slightly built. He was well groomed, well dressed and, from his expression, very, very nervous.

‘Thank you for seeing us so swiftly,’ Alex began. McGuire looked at her and saw that this was not the boss’s daughter; this was the razor-sharp young lawyer he knew from his business dealings with what had just become Viareggio plc.

‘This is Raymond Weston,’ she said. ‘He’s here to make a voluntary statement, and I’m here as his solicitor. I know it’s not my specialist field, but I’ve cleared my temporary involvement with my firm, since Raymond would only agree to come here if I accompanied him. Earlier this evening, in the course of what had begun as a social meeting, he told me something that put me in a difficult position as a lawyer, as an officer of the court and, not least, as my father’s daughter. I’ve persuaded him that he must share it with you, but before we go any further, I’d like you to give me an undertaking.’

‘What’s that?’ McIlhenney asked.

‘Raymond is here as a witness, and also, technically, as a complainant. However, what he’s going to tell you will also incriminate him. I want you to promise me that he’ll walk out of here tonight without charge, and with immunity from prosecution.’

‘That’s a big promise,’ said McGuire.

‘I know, but I’m confident you’ll be able to make it.’

‘If you’re that confident, I’ll agree in principle, subject to what Mr Weston has to tell us.’

Alex looked at her client. ‘Raymond, I’m happy with that.’

‘Are you sure? They might still renege.’

‘They won’t. They don’t know it yet, but they need you. Take off your glove.’

Neither detective had noticed that he was wearing a mitten: it was hidden by his long-sleeved raincoat. He removed it and held up his right hand: it was heavily bandaged and the index finger was missing.

‘I’m the man you were looking for,’ he said, ‘the man Gary Starr attacked. There never was a robbery.’

‘We know that now,’ said McIlhenney.

‘I couldn’t come forward at first; I thought I’d be charged with a hold-up.’

‘I can see that, but there was another reason for staying in the long grass, Mr Weston, wasn’t there?’

The tall young man nodded. ‘I’m part-owner of a club in the West End called Secreto. About eighteen months ago, I was approached by a man named Edward Charnwood. He made me a proposition; he said that he had a supply of good-quality cocaine and that he was looking for distributors in nightclubs. He offered me a fifteen per cent cut of everything I sold to my customers.’

‘Why did he approach you?’

‘I have a history. I was arrested a few years ago and charged with involvement in the manufacture of Ecstasy. My father intervened on my behalf, I made a statement and the charges against me were dropped.’

‘You were a Crown witness in the case?’

‘It never made court; the other guy pleaded guilty.’

‘So you accepted Charnwood’s proposition?’ asked McGuire

‘I did. The arrangement was that I’d call in at Gary Starr’s betting shop at eleven sharp every Friday morning, to pick up a supply and to hand over my takings. Starr was Charnwood’s partner in the dealing. They staked me to the first week’s supply and it went on from there. I had to account for all of it, to give them their eighty-five per cent and to show them what I had left if I hadn’t sold out, although most weeks I did.’

‘What prompted Starr to attack you?’

‘Charnwood put his wife into the club one night to check up on me. I didn’t know who she was, so I sold her a bag like any punter. She analysed it and discovered I’d been cutting the stuff, enough to skim an extra fifteen per cent. Next time I went into the shop, Starr was waiting for me. When I put the money on the counter, he grabbed my hand.’ Weston’s face twisted at the memory. ‘He stabbed me with an enormous knife, and he said, “You cut us, we’ll fucking cut you.” I screamed the place down but there was nobody there to hear me. Starr told me that I was getting off light. Charnwood had been planning to follow me home from the club one night and shoot me. He was still holding my hand: I went mad with the pain and hit him with the other one. He let me go and I ran for it. On the way out I bumped into the guy who worked there: I always had to wait for him to go before I went in. That day I was early, so I was waiting outside when he left. I recognised him: he does the door occasionally at the club.’ He looked at McGuire and McIlhenney, from one to the other. ‘That’s my story. Do I have a deal?’

The head of CID looked at Alex. ‘Your client, Miss Skinner, is the luckiest bastard in Edinburgh. One, Gary Starr saved his life: if Eddie Charnwood said he was going to shoot him, he’d have done it. Two, you’re right: we need him in the witness box, not the dock.’ He turned back to Weston. ‘I’d like to be able to do Soraya Charnwood too. Did anyone see you sell her the baggie?’

‘My partner, Double D.’

‘He knew about the coke?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then he gets the same deal, if he identifies her. If he refuses, he’s in the slammer. Jesus, you guys: I won’t kid you, Weston, I’d really love to be locking you up. Your club’s going to be closed down; you know that, don’t you?’

‘I’d guessed as much.’

‘Do you appreciate the favour Alex has done you here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, do her one in return. Don’t ever tell anybody of her involvement in this, and don’t ever go near her again. She doesn’t need her career, or her life, sullied by you. There’s a bit of the deal I’m not going for, but you’ll live with it, for I’m not in the mood to take any chances with you. I’m holding you here overnight: in the morning, you’ll be taken to Leith police station where you’ll make a formal statement to Detective Superintendent McIlhenney. After that, you’ll be released on bail. Don’t try and do a runner on us, for you’ll never get far enough away.’

‘I won’t.’ When Raymond Weston looked up he had tears in his eyes. ‘Believe it or not, I do want to clean my life up.’

‘I’m glad to hear it; just hold that thought overnight. Tell us where we can find your partner.’

‘He’ll be at the club in a couple of hours; his full name’s Denis Diamond.’

‘Okay,’ said McGuire. ‘You sit here while I call a custody officer. Neil, show Alex out, will you?’

‘Sure.’

Alex stood, and patted Weston on the shoulder. ‘The bit about not seeing me again, Raymond, that’s not just from him. It comes from me too. I’d appreciate it.’

He nodded. ‘I promise; and thanks. I do know what you’ve done for me here.’

She had stepped into the corridor when McIlhenney turned in the doorway. ‘One more thing, Raymond: who treated your hand?’

The young man looked round at him. ‘My father. He’s a surgeon. Didn’t you know?’

Nolan Weston made no attempt to hide his irritation. ‘This is very inconvenient, Chief Superintendent,’ he snapped, as McGuire was shown into his room. ‘I was due in theatre at this precise moment, ten o’clock. I’ve had to reschedule and there will be a knock-on effect right through the day. They’re not ingrowing toe-nails either: all of my patients have cancer.’