Quintin Jardine - Murmuring the Judges

McGrigor, a big, beefy, red-faced countryman, nodded. ‘Will do, sir. This is the time of year when there tends to be more cash sloshin’ aboot down there. The hotels are full, and the fruit farmers are selling off their produce. Can I ask one thing, though?’

‘Sure.’

‘Well,’ the bulky detective began, ‘you said we were needing a name. Surely we’ve already got one; this boy Bennett. Can we no’ get anything out of him?’

Martin glanced at Superintendent Mackie, who leaned forward, looking down the table at his colleague. ‘Bennett’s pleading Not Guilty, John. His defence is that he dropped his credit card in the bank earlier, and that the money we found on him came from gambling. On-course bookies, he says, and of course he can’t remember who they were.’

‘That’s a pile o’ shite,’ said McGrigor. ‘Sorry Mags,’ he added.

‘Don’t fucking mention it,’ DCI Rose said quietly. Even the studious Brian Mackie laughed at her reproof, knowing how much his deputy disliked being patronised in any way by male colleagues.

‘I know that, John,’ he went on, ‘but that’s his story. I’ve interrogated him for hours, so has Maggie, so have two of my most intimidating sergeants. Still he sticks to it. In my view, the man is scared.’

‘Or he’s expecting his family to be looked after when he’s inside?’ suggested Dan Pringle.

‘He doesn’t have a family. No, my impression is that Bennett believes that if he talks he’ll be killed.’

‘Maybe I’ll have a chat with him,’ said Martin from the head of the table. ‘I can do that, now that his trial’s been aborted.’

‘When will it begin again?’ asked McGrigor.

‘As soon as they can dig up a judge,’ the Head of CID replied.

‘An unfortunate remark in the circumstances, sir.’ Neil McIlhenney’s growl took everyone by surprise, including Martin, who grinned at the big man on his left. He liked the sergeant, not least for his irreverence.

‘Maybe so. Still, I’m pretty sure that’s how old Archergait would have wanted to go. In harness, so to speak.’

‘Oh aye?’ muttered McIlhenney.

‘Enough of the judge jokes!’ cried the DCS. ‘Okay, lady and gentlemen, let’s get to it. The Boss is due back on Monday; that’s four days from now. I’d like some sort of a result by then.’

He stood up, signalling that the meeting was over. Moving over towards Mackie, he took him by the elbow and drew him into a corner of the room. ‘Can I have a word about an unrelated matter, Thin Man,’ he said quietly. ‘I know you haven’t been on your patch for too long, but does the name Bernard Grimley mean anything to you? He used to own a hotel out Lauder way.’

The Superintendent knitted his brows. ‘I can’t recall having heard of him, Andy. Should I have?’

‘Probably not. I’m just flying a kite. Alex’s firm are appearing against him in a case in the Court of Session, and she thinks they’re on a hiding. From what she said, Grimley’s a bit shifty, and I just wondered. .’

‘I understand,’ said Mackie. ‘I’ll ask the lads back at Haddington if they know of him.’

‘Thanks. You might have a quick word with the criminal intelligence people in Strathclyde as well. He used to have a pub in the South Side of Glasgow.’

‘Okay. I’ll let you know.’

‘Good man. Don’t spend too much time on it though. Putting a stop to these robberies is absolute top priority. I’m certain that there’s one ruthless, clever bastard behind all of them. What makes me really angry is that he thinks he’s cleverer than us. I want to be there when he finds out that he was wrong!’

Martin looked around the low coffee table in the Deputy Chief Constable’s office. The astute McIlhenney had suggested that they use Skinner’s room for the meeting with the bank security chiefs, since two of their number were retired Assistant Chiefs, who would appreciate the courtesy of an invitation into the Command Corridor.

Six men and one woman faced him. On his instructions, Sammy Pye had invited heads of security from the four established clearing banks, from two recently converted former building societies, and from the two largest remaining mutuals. Five had accepted at once, two others, with no regional head of security in post, were represented by area managers, while the eighth, a building society, had declined the invitation.

The Head of CID looked seriously at each visitor as they settled into the low leather seats. Four of them, each well into his fifties and running to fat, fidgeted so uncomfortably that he wondered about the wisdom of McIlhenney’s strategy.

But then Ronnie Manuel, the bulkiest of the quartet, and a former ACC in Tayside, smiled back at him. ‘I guess we should be honoured that you’ve invited us in here, Mr Martin. Bob Skinner has become something of a legend, so to be in his office. .’

The younger man grinned. ‘The name’s Andy. We thought you’d like it,’ he said. ‘On top of that, Bob’s room has the most comfortable seats!

‘If you’re all settled into them,’ he went on, ‘let me tell you why you’ve been invited here.

‘I believe that you’ve got a big problem.’ As Martin blurted out his blunt message, he looked at Manuel, who was head of security of the Bank of Scotland, at David Sullivan, a trim ex-soldier from the TSB Bank, and at Moyra Lamb, regional manager of the Nationwide Building Society.

‘You three have experience of it, having all been robbed recently. This rest of you are in the firing line.’

‘You mean the hold-ups?’ said Ms Lamb. ‘The Bank’s, the Clydesdale’s, and ours?’

‘That’s just what I mean,’ the Head of CID acknowledged. ‘We’re satisfied that they were all the work of the same people. We believe that we are faced with a highly organised, well-trained team which is targeting bank branches, in and around Edinburgh.

‘I’ve invited you here to alert you to the continuing danger, and to advise you as strongly as I can to put all your branches on maximum alert.’ He paused, and looked around the table once more. ‘May I ask whether any of you have increased security lately?’

Harry Durkin, who had been Head of Special Branch in Strathclyde until taking early retirement five years before to join the Clydesdale, shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t speak for the rest, Andy, but I’m always reviewing our security operation. And from what David was telling me on the way in, the branch that he had turned over the other day was kitted out with all of the standard stuff. . video surveillance, bullet-proof glass screens for staff, a silent alarm system linked to the nearest police office.’

He shook his head, making his heavy jowls wobble. ‘But when three guys walk in with shotguns and tell all the staff to get out front or they’ll shoot one of the punters, they can’t do anything but comply. Once the bank staff are under their control, the bank is busted; simple as that.’

‘I know that,’ agreed Martin. ‘Like you said, though, Harry, you never stop trying to make them harder to bust. Look, in the last two robberies, the team has taken the tapes from the video surveillance equipment. That’s easier and surer than disabling the camera.’

Eyebrows rose around the table. ‘Have they, by God?’ muttered George Hudson, a former Grampian ACC, now employed by the Royal Bank.

‘Indeed they have,’ his host emphasised. ‘So let me suggest this to you. Either move the video units out of the branches into other buildings. . your nearest police offices, for example. . or install duplicate recording equipment. It wouldn’t even need to be functional, just realistic enough for the robbers to be shown it and given a tape.’