Quintin Jardine - Murmuring the Judges

Jim Glossop stood up from his chair. ‘I hope that’s helpful to you. I’ll be off now, but if there’s anything else you need, you know where to find me.’

Skinner escorted his visitor all the way to the front door. ‘Thank you very much, Jim,’ he said. ‘Look, it’s just possible that your colleague might be required as a witness at some point. If that looks likely, I’ll tip you off. Thanks again, and goodbye for now.’

At the top of the stairs he turned right instead of left, and strode through to Martin’s suite. Nodding briefly to Karen Neville, he opened the door of the inner office. ‘Andy, come with me for a minute.’

Back in the Chief’s room, he picked up the papers which Glossop had left. ‘Remember the Court action that Alexis was involved in until a few days ago?’

‘Yes?’

‘You told me the name of the pursuer. Remind me: what was it?’

‘Bernard Grimley.’

Skinner nodded. ‘That’s what I thought.’ He took the adoption certificate from the folder and handed it to the DCS. ‘He’s Beattie Gates’ son.’

‘Remind me again. Who was the judge at the hearing?’

‘Lord Coalville.’

‘Right! He was her trial judge. I’ve been trying to figure out, if the deaths of the three Appeal judges were linked to the Gates case, why the trial judge who gave her a fourteen-year minimum wasn’t the prime target.

‘It could be that with the way that compensation action was going, Coalville was too valuable to kill.’

He looked up at the astonished Martin. ‘You had Mackie make some inquiries about Grimley, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ The Head of CID searched his orderly memory. ‘When he ran his pub through in Glasgow he was a police informant.’

‘When did that stop?’

‘About three years ago.’

‘That coincides with the time that Grimley decided to trace his natural mother, and found that she was Beatrice Lewis, later Beatrice Gates, convicted murderess.

‘Alex’s case was running when Archergait was killed, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘So he’d have been in Court. I wonder how he could have gained access to cyanide?’

‘Through his work,’ said Martin, quietly. ‘He’s a metal finisher by trade. Alex told me he’d gone back to the tools after his business went bust.’

Skinner felt a cold fist grab his stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle. ‘We’re on to something here, Andy. Have you ever seen this man?’

‘Yes, twice; up at the Court.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘He’s a nasty piece of goods for a start. He was crowing over Adrian Jones after the judge announced his findings, and there was something really vicious and unpleasant about it. He struck me at the time as a real evil bastard.’

‘Right, now describe him physically.’

‘Well, he’s early forties, as you know. Tallish, but not a giant. Medium build, clean shaven, dark hair. Not the sort of man who’d stand out in a crowd.’

‘In that case, answer me this. If you didn’t know either of them very well, or even at all, could you mistake Norman King for Grimley from around thirty yards away?’

Martin started at him, understanding. ‘Yes, you bloody well could!’

The big DCC slammed his left fist into his right palm. ‘Let’s have him, then and let’s stick both King and him up in a line-up before our gallery-owner friend.’

‘Yes,’ said Martin, ‘but first, we should find out where he works. Maybe Mitch Laidlaw will know that. As soon as we pick him up, we should find out whether there’s a discrepancy in the firm’s cyanide stock!’

‘You do that. Try to lift him tomorrow morning, Andy. Do it yourself, very quietly, early doors. Why don’t you take Kwame Ankrah for back-up; give him a taste of action. Then have Neville and Pye make that check at his firm as soon as you’ve got him in custody.

‘Meanwhile, I’m going to phone Lord Archibald, to let him know that he, and the Home Advocate Depute, may be off the hook.’

‘Bob Skinner, you are like a cat on hot bricks tonight. Look, it was your idea to get a baby-sitter and go out for supper, so come on. . talk to me.’

Reproved, the big policeman looked sheepishly at his wife as they sat in the window seat of the Mallard Hotel bar. At the far end of the room, the inevitable golf party discussed the triumphs and disasters of their day on the links, as they settled in for a long night.

‘Sorry love. My mind was way ahead of me. I was thinking of Andy, going along to Humbie tomorrow to lift this man Bernard Grimley.’

Sarah grinned. ‘You’re really pleased with yourself over that, aren’t you. Normally I have to coax stuff like that out of you. Not tonight though; you were hardly over the doorstep before it all came pouring out.’

He picked up his beer, glancing at her wickedly over the top of the glass as he drank. ‘I think I have a right to be chuffed with myself,’ he agreed contentedly, wiping foam from his top lip with the back of his hand as he spoke. ‘That was a classic piece of detection. And who pulled it off? The Boss, the backroom boy, the desk jockey, while all the whiz kids were scratching their heads.’

He gave a sudden, short, explosive laugh, causing the lady behind the bar to start and look across at their table. ‘My love, you should have seen the look on Andy’s face when I told him who Beattie Gates’ son is. Moments like that come but rarely in a career, and they are to be savoured.’

‘You are sure he’s the one?’ she ventured.

‘As sure as God made wee green apples. It’s Grimley; I know it. We’ve put the whole jigsaw together.’ His smile grew nostalgic. ‘I had a second autopsy done on Lord Orlach by the prof. from Glasgow, for corroboration at the trial. They’re re-burying him tonight; the old boy can rest easy now.’

A young waiter arrived to clear away their dessert plates. As he left, Sarah moved round in her seat, closer to her husband. ‘What about the other jigsaw puzzle, though?’ she whispered. ‘Not so triumphal there, are we?’

‘One at a time, please,’ he answered. ‘Let me have a moment longer up on my cloud.

‘You’re right though. We’re still scratching around on the other one. I fear that our mystery man’s nickname, Hamburger, can only refer to his eating habits. The only alternative theory turned out to be a spoof by Mitch Laidlaw.’

She dug him in the ribs with an elbow. ‘Go on, then, desk jockey. Do it again. Let’s see you stretch that big brain of yours.What’s before you that you’ve overlooked?’

He took another swallow of William McEwan’s Seventy Shilling Ale. ‘Nothing that I can think of. Adam Arrow’s checking out the military end for me. . He sends his best wishes, by the way. . but so far, that hasn’t taken us any further.

‘Apart from Barry Herr, the TA Club manager, who doesn’t know his real name, the last people who could identify Hamburger were Tory Clark and Bakey Newton, and they did a runner as soon as they heard, courtesy of a certain detective. . soon to be uniformed. . chief inspector, that Curly Collins had been bumped off.’

‘What, they just upped and off?’

‘That’s how it was reported to me. According to Dan Pringle, Bakey Newton was listening to Radio Forth at his work when the news story was broadcast. He stopped what he was doing, made a couple of calls, and disappeared. . never to return.’

‘A couple of calls?’

In an instant, Bob’s brow became furrowed. ‘As far as I know, that’s what the witness said. If she meant it literally, one call was certainly to Tory Clark. I wonder if we know who else he phoned?’

He squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you, love, for helping me pick that up. I’ll have Big Neil check it out tomorrow. He could have been calling his bookie, his mistress, the organiser of his lottery syndicate. On the other hand, he could have been calling. .’ His voice tailed off for a few seconds.