Quintin Jardine - Dead And Buried

McGuire looked at him; even though he was seated behind his desk he could tell that the man was as tall as his son. ‘I’m sorry about that, Professor,’ he said, ‘but if I’d had you brought down to my office in Fettes, you’d have been even more inconvenienced.’

‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

‘Last night a colleague and I interviewed your son, Raymond. He was brought to see us by a solicitor. He no longer lives with you, I guess.’

‘Why do you guess that?’

‘Because you’d probably have noticed his absence. He was held in custody overnight. This morning he’s making a formal statement at the Queen Charlotte Street office in which he’ll admit his involvement in the distribution of cocaine in his nightclub. I believe that you intervened on his behalf last time he was involved in a drugs situation. I’m here to warn you not to upset the apple-cart by trying that again. I’ve made enquiries; I know that you were at school with the Crown Agent and talked him into cutting Raymond a deal. I tell you, the Mafia could learn a lot from Edinburgh Academy when it comes to old-boy networking. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, sir?’

‘Yes, I think I do. But if you think that you can bully me out of using everything at my disposal to help my son, you’re underestimating me.’

‘That’s the last thing I’ll do, Professor. You don’t need to pull strings this time anyway. Raymond’s agreed to be a Crown witness in the trial of his supplier, Edward Charnwood. His partner in the club has also agreed to co-operate. As a result neither of them can be prosecuted. So you stay out of this, sir, please.’ Suddenly, McGuire grinned. ‘If you do decide to stick your oar in, be warned: I’ve advised my chief constable of the circumstances of the case and the earlier one. I believe that he was head boy at the school when you were in first year. I think you’ll find that he still has the power to give you lines, or worse.’

The ceiling light reflected for a moment on Weston’s bald head as he leaned forward, staring frostily back at the detective. ‘If you assure me that Raymond is in no jeopardy, I will stay my hand.’

McGuire’s good humour vanished as quickly as it had come. ‘Who or what do you think you are, Professor?’ he snapped. ‘Your son’s the luckiest boy in town. Gary Starr may have maimed him but Eddie Charnwood was planning to put a bullet in his fucking head. And why? Because he couldn’t be content with the money he was making feeding the habits of his club members; no, he had to wring out even more by adulterating the supply he was given. He’s a criminal, and if he wasn’t of use to me at this moment he’d be going away for seven years minimum, and neither you nor any of your pals could prevent it.’

‘Do you have any children, Chief Superintendent?’ Weston shot back.

‘No.’

‘Well, if you had, perhaps you wouldn’t be so judgemental. If you think I would stand by and let him be victimised by the police or brutalised by a thug. .’ He stopped, abruptly.

‘He isn’t a victim, he’s a fucking predator. He preys on impressionable kids and turns them into addicts. You know, last night he was crying in my office, promising to go straight from now on. I’d love to believe him, but I’ve heard too many people say that to take it at face value. If you want to help him, be more involved with him, help him point his life in the right direction.’

He paused. ‘But you’ve helped him already in this one, haven’t you? You operated on him after Starr cut off his finger, you closed the stump off properly, and you dressed it, and you kept him hidden in your home, while we were looking all over bloody Edinburgh for him.’

‘And what would you have done, in my shoes?’

‘Given your skills,’ McGuire replied, ‘probably the same thing. But I’ll tell you what I wouldn’t have done. I wouldn’t have operated on Gary Starr as well.’

‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘Raymond told you what had happened; he admitted that last night. He said that he told you why Starr had done it too. And he said that you went absolutely crazy.’

‘And wouldn’t you?’ Weston shouted. ‘That boy is my flesh, my blood, my bone, and I love him whatever he does. To see him hurt, violated in that way by a pitiless animal like that little creep. . What would you have done?’

‘I’ll tell you, man to man. I’d have gone to see him and I’d have beaten the living shit out of him, beaten him to within a centimetre of his life. But what I wouldn’t have done is drugged him, tied him to his kitchen table, cut off his hands before his eyes with the carving knife that’s missing from the set in his kitchen, then let the poor bastard watch his own death flow out of his veins. What sort of a pitiless animal does that? And how the hell, Professor,’ McGuire’s voice rose, ‘did you know that Starr was a little man?’

The surgeon thrust himself to his feet, towering over the still-seated detective. ‘Chief Superintendent,’ he hissed, ‘if you had a shred of evidence to back up that allegation, you would not have come here alone. We both know that. This interview is over.’ He strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Bob Skinner stood against the boundary wall of the small churchyard, listening as the priest intoned the words of committal, watching as the oaken coffin was lowered into the grave. There were few mourners; most were people in their thirties dressed in traditional black. No one present wore any other type of uniform. As they dispersed, they filed respectfully past the bereaved family, shaking hands with the weeping mother, and with the sister, brother-in-law and two young nephews.

He waited until they were gone, and until Esther Craig caught his eye. She said a few words to her husband; he glanced in the Scot’s direction, but did not follow as she walked towards him.

‘Hello, Bob,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming, and for helping us do this for Moses.’

‘Please give my condolences to your family,’ he replied. ‘Whether you tell them what I have to say to you now, well, that’s your choice to make.’

She looked at him, and saw his hesitancy. ‘What is it?’ she asked him quietly.

‘There’s something I held back from you when I saw you last, something you have a right to know. I told you that Moses died on an operation, in a fire-fight.’

‘Yes.’

‘That was true, but there were facts I left out, important facts. The situation, the thing that happened, well, through his beliefs, Moses found himself on what most people would regard as the wrong side.’

‘Was Titus involved?’

The question took him by surprise. ‘Yes, but why do you ask that?’

‘Because my stepfather is a very mysterious man, and because he and Moses were thick as thieves. Where Titus led, he would follow.’

‘In this case, I’m not sure who followed whom; in truth I think they were both manipulated by someone else. But the most important thing I have to tell you is that I was involved in that operation, on the other side.’

‘But you’re a policeman, not a soldier?’

‘Nonetheless, I was.’ As he spoke he saw something in her eyes, and he knew that she was remembering the sensational news coverage from a time not long past, and details that he would rather had been kept secret.

‘That thing,’ she whispered. ‘Your name; I remember now.’

‘That thing,’ he repeated.

‘What happened?’

‘Lots of things happened, and very fast. It was dark and we couldn’t see the faces of the people we were shooting at, but we knew that we had to. When it was all over, I found that I’d shot my friend Adam, your brother Moses.’