‘Yes, we know,’ Pye said. ‘We know also that he left the hotel last night. Can you tell us when he got back?’

  ‘No, I’m not aware.’

  ‘If he came in after midnight would he have had access to the building or would he have had to call a night porter?’

  ‘There’s a keypad by the entrance door; guests have the code. The porter doesn’t sit here, so he wouldn’t have seen him on the way in.’

  ‘I did though,’ a man remarked. They turned to face him, and saw a tallish middle-aged figure with white hair and a knowing smile on his face. ‘Hello, Sauce,’ he chuckled. ‘You’ve come a long way from that probationer they gave me to baby-sit.’

  ‘Charlie bloody Johnston,’ Haddock exclaimed. ‘The man who wrote the book that every time-serving back-watcher goes by to this day. How are you doing, Charlie?’

  The former PC spread his arms wide. ‘Ye see it all, son. Here, mind that time in the Meadows? You and me in that pea-souper fog, walking smack into that poor bastard hangin’ from a tree. Freezin’ it was and him wi’ no coat either, ’cos wee Moash Glazier had nicked it.’

  ‘I’ll never forget it,’ Sauce laughed, ‘you nearly shit yourself.’

  ‘You too, boy,’ Johnston reminded him.

  ‘I thought you got a job in the press office when you retired.’

  ‘Ah did, but then the set-up was reorganised by yon Andy Martin when he got the big chief job, and there was no room for the likes of me. I’ve been night porter here for nearly a year; I prefer it, truth be told, and so does my wife.’ He looked at the DCI. ‘It’s Sammy Pye, isn’t it? Our paths never really crossed.’

  ‘Yes, that’s me. They didn’t but I’ve heard all about you, Mr Johnston. Legend has it that you started in the job on the same day as Bob Skinner.’

  ‘Absolutely true. From that day on he never looked back and I never looked forward. There’s leaders and there’s the rest. I was always happy being led. Unlike you two, obviously,’ he added.

  ‘We’re all led, Charlie,’ Haddock countered, ‘all save the one at the top, and even she’s accountable to the Scottish Police Authority. So,’ he continued, ‘you saw somebody last night.’

  ‘Aye. I guessed you were talking about Paco Fonter the fitba’ player. He’s the only guest that I saw come in after hours last night. I just happened to be doing my rounds and bumped into him on his way up the stairs.’

  ‘What time would that have been?’ Pye asked.

  ‘I started my rounds at two fifteen; that’s near the end, so it must have been closin’ on two thirty.’

  ‘Did you speak to him?’

  ‘I said “Good morning, sir”, then I felt a bit guilty in case he thought I was taking the piss about the hour he was comin’ in. He was okay though; he mumbled something about fallin’ asleep in his car, and it bein’ the first decent sleep he’s had for a week. Poor lad; we’re all sorry for him, with what happened to his wife.’ He looked past the officers. ‘He’s gone, is he, Carlos?’

  ‘Left this morning,’ the receptionist replied.

  ‘Long shot,’ Haddock said, ‘but did he say where he was going?’

  ‘Not directly, but I know. He asked me if he could use the hotel printer.’ He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb to a black box on a table in the corner of the reception area. ‘It’s wireless, so he was able to access it through the network. I took the document off and handed it to him when it was ready. It was a boarding pass, for a flight from Edinburgh to Madrid; EasyJet, twelve forty.’

  ‘Does that help?’ Charlie Johnston asked.

  ‘It tells us where to start looking for him,’ Pye volunteered.

  The ex-cop’s instincts had always been sharper than he had allowed others to see. ‘I thought you’d nailed the Merrytown head coach for Fonter’s wife’s murder,’ he observed.

  ‘We have.’

  ‘So this is about something else?’

  Haddock grinned. ‘Casual enquiry, Charlie.’

  ‘With a DCI and a DS, at this time of the day? Casual, my arse.’

  Sixty-One

  ‘I appreciate you letting me see these,’ Skinner told Christine Hoy.

  ‘I have no problem with it,’ she said. ‘The plans to all of the King Robert Village buildings are public documents.’

  ‘I know that, but you could have insisted that I access them like any other member of the public, through the City Council planning department or through the Internet.’

  ‘I have nothing against you, Mr Skinner,’ she laughed. ‘Why should I send you to the planners? Public document or not, those people all have a class in obfuscation included in their degree course. I made some alterations to my house last year: would you believe that I was refused a completion certificate because one of my steps was one centimetre too high! As for the Internet, it’s okay but you can’t really see all of the details, and some of them can even be obscured by official stamps.’

  She handed him a large folded sheet of coated paper, and pointed him towards a table. It was too small to take all of the plan as he unfolded it, but he was able to find and lay out the east elevation.

  ‘I’m only interested in the top two floors,’ he said. ‘They describe them as isolated from those below but what does that mean?’

  ‘They have a dedicated lift,’ the security manager explained. ‘The building has two elevator shafts, but one stops at the sixth floor, while the other goes straight up to the seventh.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ He peered at the drawing, then gave up the struggle and put on his reading spectacles. ‘So what about the stairs?’

  ‘It’s the same.’ She leaned across him and pointed to a detail of the plan. ‘See? There’s a public stairway but it only goes up to floor six. The seventh, and the penthouse, don’t have a stairway as such.’

  ‘What about emergencies? You can’t use the lift in a fire situation.’

  ‘No, but look at the west elevation.’

  He pulled the plan across the table until he found the section she described. The penthouse and the two apartments below had their own stairway, inaccessible from the lower floors; it led all the way down to a door at the rear of the building on the other side from the main entrance.

  ‘They have a back door?’ Skinner murmured.

  ‘Not as such. Each of the three has a self-locking steel fire door; it can only be opened from the inside.’

  ‘What happens if the occupants are out and the lift breaks down? How do they get in?’

  ‘Tough shit,’ she chuckled. ‘But in practice the lift never breaks down. It’s serviced every month, and the tenants are told when it’s being done, well in advance.’

  ‘That got through the planners?’ he asked.

  ‘The original drawings had conventional locks on the fire doors, to allow outside access, but they were changed at the request of the purchaser.’

  ‘That’s a company, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I checked up on the name, by the way. It’s Isle of Man registered. It’s called Sparkle Holdings.’

  ‘You what?’ Skinner exclaimed, wide eyed.

  ‘I think that’s how you pronounce it. It sounds Spanish, doesn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’ I will never allow myself to be surprised by that man again , he thought. ‘I might know who the owner is. If I’m right, he’s very security conscious. I’d like to take a look over there. The penthouse is unoccupied, but it’s still a crime scene so no way can I go in, but can you get me access to the unoccupied apartment?’

  She frowned. ‘It’s unoccupied as you say, but it’s leased by the football club for occasional use.’

  ‘You have access, don’t you, on security grounds?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘What about that funny smell that’s just been reported?’

  Christine Hoy smiled. ‘For a retired chief constable, you’re not very conventional, are you?’

  ‘Never was,’ Skinner admitted. ‘Sometimes I think I’m not very retired either.’

  Sixty-Two

  ‘He was on the flight, no doubt about it,’ Detective Constable Jackie Wright assured her sergeant. ‘EasyJet confirmed it; he had a front row extra legroom seat. He booked a car through their website too, a Jeep Renegade.’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘A week, they said. They gave me the number of the Avis desk at Madrid airport; I checked and a woman there said that he picked it up on time. I’ve got the vehicle registration.’

  ‘Did they ask him for contact details?’

  ‘Yes, but he gave them the Edinburgh address and a British mobile number. The latter was a waste of time: I had a trace put on his phone; it was found in his car, in the long-stay park at the airport.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Haddock moaned. ‘That’s no help. Thanks, Jackie, I’ll take it from here.’

  He walked into Pye’s small private office; when they had moved to the old Edinburgh police HQ building from the Leith office, they had nicknamed it the ‘bollocking room’, but only in jest. The DCI had a light touch as a man manager, and a pleasantly even temper; he rarely raised his voice to a junior officer, not least because his famous ambition masked a degree of insecurity. He could never be certain that their roles would never be reversed. With Haddock he was sure that they would, given time.

  ‘Paco’s out of reach,’ the DS announced. ‘Jackie tracked him as far as the car hire desk in Barajas airport, but that’s it. We’ll need help from the police in Spain from here on.’

  ‘With one of their own nationals, they might need a European arrest warrant for that,’ Pye observed.

  ‘Do we want to go that far?’

  ‘That’s something I’ve just discussed with Lottie. Her blood’s up; she thinks we should go for one and have him arrested in Spain, but I’ve got a problem with that.’

  Haddock nodded. ‘And I can guess what it is,’ he said. ‘It came up in the inspector’s exams. An EAW can only be issued to enable a prosecution; it can’t be used just to pick somebody up on suspicion.’

  His boss grinned. ‘I know you passed your promotion exam, Sauce; you don’t need to remind me. You’re right, of course. And that’s my problem. Lottie feels that she’s got enough to go to that stage. I don’t. She’s got Paco turning up at the casino, demanding to see Rogozin and being turned away. We’ve got him arriving back at his hotel at an hour that would have allowed him to kill the guy and hightail it back to Edinburgh.

  ‘But before I ask for a warrant,’ he continued, ‘I’d want to place him for sure on that walkway with Rogozin later on. Lottie reckons that her wino witness is enough to do that. I don’t. If I was a Spanish prosecuting judge, I’d be very hesitant about extraditing one of my own people on the basis of somebody who only identified him as “Angry football man”. If I was the Glasgow procurator fiscal, considering whether that’s enough to charge Fonter, with no other supporting evidence, I’d be doubtful. On the other hand, if the police insist, he’ll have a tough time turning us down. I just don’t know.’

  ‘Is it your decision, gaffer?’ the DS asked. ‘Mann and Provan are the investigating officers; they’ve been told to keep us in the loop, that’s all. Could Lottie not go and bully the fiscal herself?’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘and the fact that she hasn’t tells me that she has her doubts too. She doesn’t want the buck stopping with her.’

  ‘And neither do you. So?’

  Pye gave a great sigh, puffing out his cheeks. ‘I’m probably going to bottle it and move said buck on.’

  ‘When’s DCC McGuire back?’

  ‘Not till Friday; it’ll need to go to the chief again, and I don’t want her thinking that I’m being indecisive.’

  ‘Which is what you are, chum; ducking out of taking a decision.’

  The DCI scowled. ‘What would you do, Braveheart?’ he retorted.

  ‘Me?’ Haddock laughed. ‘I’d pass the buck, too; but in the other direction. I’d be telling Lottie it was her call. What does Provan want to do?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but the way she was talking, his inclination is the same, go for it.’

  ‘Then that’s what’ll happen. She never overrules him. He might be wee and wizened but he’s a bloody brilliant detective. She might be his DI, but he’s her role model.’ He grinned again. ‘Just like you’re mine. Know what?’ he added. ‘I reckon all key decisions should be taken at DS level. We’d probably get them all right and if we did screw up, well, we’re less in the spotlight than the senior ranks.’

  ‘I could bring myself to agree with that,’ Pye conceded. ‘I’ll take your advice and kick the ball back to Glasgow, but . . . I’d like to make a positive contribution. See if you can raise Cisco Serra on his mobile and ask him if he knows where Paco might head in Spain. If we can pin him down to a location without actually asking the Policia Nacional to arrest him . . .’

  The DS nodded. ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘We’ll be ready to go if we do get a warrant.’ He rose and stepped back into the CID suite.

  Personal details of everyone interviewed had been retained in the case file, ‘The Murder Book’, as the media were fond of describing it. He found Serra’s number at the top of the very brief statement that Jackie Wright had taken from him on the day after the crime had been discovered. It had an international prefix that he recognised as Spanish, but when the call connected he heard a British ring tone.

  ‘Cisco,’ the agent answered. ‘Frank, you no’ waste my time. Your offer for my client’s story is laughable. I tell you you got to double it, then we think about it.’

  ‘I won’t be doing that.’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘DS Haddock, CID Edinburgh. I need a word.’

  ‘Sorry; I think you guy from Daily Star .’

  ‘That’s a bit downmarket, isn’t it?’

  Serra laughed. ‘I no’ do business with them, Detective. I just use them ramp up the price.’

  ‘Which client were you talking about?’

  ‘Paco of course; I can’t sell Chaz’s story. He’s going to jail.’

  It was Haddock’s turn to chuckle. ‘You may be in a unique position. My colleagues in Glasgow are very keen to talk to Mr Fonter, in connection with the murder of Dimitri Rogozin.’

  He waited, listening to the agent’s heavy breathing as he absorbed the news. ‘This another joke, yes?’

  ‘For Paco’s sake I wish it was, but they can place him at or near the scene of the crime.’

  ‘It should not be a crime to kill that man. But what you say? I saw on TV, he was in the river.’

  ‘When he was found, yes, but he was killed on dry land.’

  ‘How could they tell?’

  Haddock could see no reason not to explain. ‘He died from a massive head injury, not drowning. Plus, one of his shoes was missing when they recovered the body. It was found on the Clyde Walkway.’

  ‘I see. So why you call me?’ Serra challenged.

  ‘Your client has left the country. He flew to Madrid yesterday afternoon and hired a car. We’d like to contact him and ask him to come back voluntarily, and to do that obviously we need to know where he might have gone. Believe me, it’s in his best interests, and by extension, yours too.’

  ‘You say,’ the agent sneered. ‘You’re telling me it’s best for me to help put another client in jail? How can that be?’

  ‘It’s better he comes back of his own accord,’ the DS replied, ‘than he’s hauled back in handcuffs, and through a forest of cameras as he’s driven away from the airport.

  ‘Let me put it another way that you might understand better,’ he continued. ‘If you know where he might have gone and you don’t tell me, that would be unhelpful. If I found out somewhere down the road that you’d contacted him to warn him of our interest, that would be criminal. I’m a very suspicious guy by nature so, for your own protection, I suggest that you give me all the help you can.’

  Serra sighed, and surrendered. ‘Okay. You say he flies to Madrid and has a car. Then I say you that he most likely go to his parents’ place. They live in a little town called Zamora. It is north of Madrid and north of Salamanca. They have a café bar, it’s called Los Primos, that would be The Cousins in English.’

  ‘Thanks. Is that all you can think of? Does he have friends somewhere else that he might visit?’

  ‘He has some, but you ask me what he most likely do and I tell you it would be go to his mamma. Also he has a place there himself.’

  ‘He does?’

  ‘Yes. When he went to Pugliese, he bought the building where the café is; it’s on Plaza Major, the main square of the town. His parents live on the two floors above. Paco and Annette kept the top floor for themselves when they visit. Is that okay?’ the agent asked. ‘You happy now?’

  ‘If it helps locate him, I will be,’ Haddock answered. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No. Paco has no life outside his folks and Annette.’

  ‘Did you know about his drug use?’

  Serra’s intake of breath was sharp enough to register on the line. ‘How you know about that?’

  ‘We found traces of cocaine in the penthouse; Paco admitted it was his.’

  ‘Then yes, I know. But he stop; he kick it about three months ago. Hey,’ he protested, ‘he was not the only one in that team who took a line. Don’t hit on him for that too.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to, but it’s hard for a police officer to ignore misuse of class A drugs. Listen, I’m thinking that if you’re close enough to a player to know his bad habits, he must be your client. As far as I know you only have three on the Merrytown payroll, including Baker, so you might want to pass a quiet word to Jimmy Pike that we’ll be sharing the information we have with colleagues in our drugs unit.’

  Haddock ended the call and went back to Pye’s sanctuary. ‘I got Cisco,’ he said, ‘and I have a lead. Can you boot up Google Earth on your computer?’