Quintin Jardine - Murmuring the Judges

‘Grappling with a legal poser, young lady?’ the head of the firm asked.

‘No,’ she responded. ‘I understand the issues in the Provincial Insurance matter, and I think I know the best way of approaching them. I’m sorry, Mr Laidlaw. My mind was wandering there.’

‘I know,’ he said, kindly. ‘It’s not like you to frown like that, Alex. Is it a work problem?’

She sighed, and pushed her chair back from her desk. ‘Yes and no,’ she confessed. ‘It’s partly personal, and partly professional. After our discussion the other day about my possible future with the firm, I broached the subject with Andy.

‘Let’s just say that he has a different vision of the future.’

‘He doesn’t like the idea of you aiming for a partnership here?’

‘No, it isn’t that, so much. Andy has his own ambitions, for the two of us. He knows what he wants, but the trouble is that his vision is likely to conflict with my career plans.’

Laidlaw frowned. ‘You’re not saying he’s told you to choose between him and your career, are you?’

‘He might as well have. What he’s saying is, “Do it my way, or we may not be doing it at all”, and I don’t know if I can accept that.’ She stopped. ‘Look, I’m sorry. It’s our problem and I didn’t mean to bring it to the office. I promise I’ll leave it at home in future and get on with my work.’

‘No, no, no. This is a close-knit firm, for all its size. Tell me how I can help you? Would you like me to phone Andy?’

She looked at him in horror. ‘No, please. That wouldn’t help at all.’

Alex shook her head in a gesture of despair. ‘I really am a silly little cow, you know. My timing always has been lousy. I shouldn’t have raised this at all just now, not while he’s still got this armed robbery stuff on his plate.’

Mitch Laidlaw’s eyebrows rose. ‘Oh? I thought that was all sorted now. At least that’s the impression the press gave me.’

She glanced at him. ‘Don’t repeat this, but that’s what the press are meant to think. Andy’s still looking for someone, the man he believes planned the whole thing and then killed Bennett, Saunders and Collins.’

‘Is that so? The papers are suggesting that these men Newton and Clark did that. They’re talking about a feud within the gang.’

‘That’s just speculation that Alan Royston hasn’t bothered to refute. The man Andy’s searching for has been seen with the gang, and with the woman who gave them the information that set up the diamond robbery at Raglan’s. He doesn’t know anything about him, other than that the rest of the gang all called him by the nickname Hamburger.’

Laidlaw chuckled. ‘So poor Andy and his squad are checking out every fast food bar in Edinburgh looking for suspects, are they? You did choose a bad time for a serious discussion, didn’t you. A man called Hamburger, indeed.’

He looked down at her. ‘To be serious once again, young lady, if you’re willing, I’d like to take you and Andy for supper one night soon. I’m keen to keep you in this firm, and I’d like to talk to you about how we can best do that, and keep your relationship on an even keel as well.

‘I’ll ask my secretary to give you some dates to choose from.’

She smiled. ‘Thanks very much, Mr Laidlaw. I’ll talk Andy into coming along. There’s just one thing, though. No hamburgers on the menu, please.’

The lawyer’s laughter rang out as he opened the door. . then suddenly it stopped, as he closed it again.

‘Alex,’ he said, ‘I’ve just had the daftest idea. Would you like to get your fiancé on the phone, please.’

Sammy Pye looked out of the window of the small room near the Head of CID’s suite. ‘It’s a nice day out there, Mr Ankrah,’ he said. ‘The sooner we’re out of this place the better.’

‘I agree. But this is a job which must be done.’

‘I know. I just need to give my eyes a rest, that’s all.’ He stood up and leaned to one side and the other, stretching his sinews; fingers interlinked, he stretched his arms above his head until they touched the ceiling.

‘What would you think of this weather in Africa, sir?’ he asked.

‘In Africa, Sammy, we would call this. . winter!’ The Ghanaian grinned, flashing shining teeth. ‘When I go home, I plan to invite some officers from Edinburgh on a reciprocal visit. I thought you might like to be one of them.’

‘Lead me to it, sir,’ the young detective constable responded eagerly.

‘And Sergeant Neville, of course. It would be only right to invite you both.’

‘What do you mean sir?’ Pye’s expression was blank innocence.

‘You know damn well what I mean.You may be discreet in everything you say and do, but I am a student of body language. Yours and the pretty sergeant’s give you away to me.’

The DC looked at him cautiously. ‘How?’

‘It is in the inflection of your voice when you speak to each other; the way in which your postures relax. Your bodies are comfortable together; they know each other, and to a practised eye it shows.’

‘But we’re just good friends, sir.’

Ankrah nodded, and grinned again. ‘Yes. But very good friends. Now come on. Let’s finish viewing these tapes.’ They turned back to face the monitor, and Pye pressed the play button on the video recorder.

They were watching one of the sharper, cleaner tapes. The colour was unblurred although the figures moved jerkily on the screen, a result of the slow-speed recording. The tape showed the Galashiels bank, and it had been recorded on a Monday, less than two weeks before the robbery and shooting.

The customers that morning had been few and far between; a burst of men in the first hour of business. . Publicans, Pye guessed, depositing their weekend takings. . but after that they had slowed to a trickle of mostly older people, interspersed by the occasional shop staff member sent out for change.

They speeded the tape, and let it run until the time recorder showed that the lunch-hour was approaching, and until the picture showed an increased flow of clients. ‘Hey, just a minute,’ said Ankrah, suddenly. ‘Slow it down and go back a bit, Sammy. I want to check something.’

The constable did as he was instructed, rewinding the tape until his companion signalled him to stop. The two looked at the monitor as playback resumed in forward mode and at normal speed. As they did so, they saw the figure of a man come into the banking hall; tall, middle aged, fit-looking, wearing a navy blazer with gold buttons, and grey slacks.

He joined the small orderly queue at the back of the public area, waiting patiently as the staff dealt with the people before him. As he waited, he looked sideways and up, towards the wide-angle surveillance camera, once from the extreme right of its shot as it panned around the building, then from the extreme left. On the third occasion he looked directly into the lens. Then, without going up to the counter, he turned and walked, with a slight limp, out of the bank.

‘I know that man,’ said the Ghanaian. ‘I met him quite recently.

‘Have you ever seen him before, Sam?’

‘No, sir. But I’m pretty sure he isn’t on any of the other tapes.’

‘He isn’t on any others that I’ve seen either. I’m sure it’s a pure coincidence that he’s there. Still, Mr Martin asked us to report anything out of the ordinary. So, I shall do just that.’

‘Have you heard from Lady Proud again?’ The Head of CID asked the Deputy Chief Constable as together they gazed at the little man in the loud Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts.

‘No, I haven’t, so I guess Jimmy must be on the mend.’ Skinner grinned. ‘I wonder if he dresses like that on his holidays?’ The little man, his equally garish wife by his side, stood motionless. The statues were among the star attractions in the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, one of the jewels in the capital city’s cultural crown.