‘I’m no’ bothered about their birds,’ Provan said. ‘I want to know whether any of them spoke to Rogozin, or argued with him.’

  ‘Now you ask me, there was an exchange between them. Big Art Mustard saw him and said hello, but Mr Rogozin more or less ignored him. Then Jimmy said, “Sorry about yesterday,” and Mr Rogozin looked at him and said, “You’ll be sorrier when your contract is due. You’re a crap player,” or something like that. For a second it looked like Jimmy was going to have him, but Art held on to his arm and pulled him away. That was when the other man tapped Rogozin on the shoulder and they left.’

  ‘Can you remember when Pike left?

  ‘About an hour later. Flowers and the girl went just after Rogozin, but the other two stayed later; they were doing well, both of them.’

  ‘Did they leave together or separately?’ the DS asked.

  ‘Together,’ she replied, ‘but whether they split up when they were outside, I have no idea.’ She looked at him. ‘Does that help you?’ she asked.

  ‘Time’ll tell,’ he told her. ‘For now, it gies me another fish to fry.’

  Sixty-Eight

  ‘Have you given any more thought to the proposition I floated before you?’ Maggie Steele asked.

  ‘When have I had time?’ Skinner countered, with a gentle laugh. ‘I’ve spent the last week and a bit undermining the spurious case that my former junior colleagues built against my daughter’s client.’

  ‘Don’t I just know it,’ the chief constable admitted. ‘And you’ve bloody well succeeded,’ she added. ‘I’ve just had a call from Sammy; he reported the development directly to me, given that Mario’s away on holiday and Marlowe’s on a course, and I told him to give me updates as they happen.’

  ‘Who the hell’s Marlowe?’ he interrupted.

  ‘He’s a detective chief super; he was uniform in Grampian before the amalgamation, and before my predecessor saw fit to make him crime coordinator. He’s the line manager for Sammy and all the other divisional CID people.’

  ‘Never heard of him; that shows you how detached I am already.’

  ‘So detached you got a result,’ she exclaimed, loud enough for him to hold his phone a little away from his ear.

  ‘You were right,’ she continued. ‘It looks like Annette was killed in the kitchen of the downstairs apartment,’ Steele continued. ‘Arthur’s team found a blood smear there. It’s been sent for analysis and comparison, but they also found a full set of her right-hand fingerprints on a work surface. Arthur reckons she grabbed it while she was being strangled, and pressed hard. There’s more work to be done, but that’s conclusive as far as Baker’s prosecution is concerned. I spoke to Rocco de Matteo just before I called you and told him to advise the court that he won’t proceed with the indictment against him. I suggested also that he hold a press conference, but he demurred on that. There will be a briefing, but the woman Benedict will take it.’

  ‘Hah!’ Skinner laughed, loudly. ‘My daughter is going to love that,’ he said. ‘She and the advocate depute do not get on. She and her client will of course hold a media event of their own, but I’ll ask her to go easy on the Crown. I don’t care about de Matteo or Benedict, but I don’t want to embarrass the boys.’

  ‘Did they screw up, Bob? Should they have been more thorough?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he declared, firmly. ‘If you or I had been in their shoes, with what they found, the CCTV of Chaz going in and out, the belt, the bloody training top, the text, her phone dumped along the road, we’d have reacted in exactly the same way. We’d have charged Baker and been confident about going to trial. We wouldn’t have gone looking for anyone else. Fuck me,’ he chuckled, ‘they’d have convicted O. J. Simpson on that evidence.’

  ‘In that case I’m reassured,’ she said. ‘What should I do with CID, Bob?’ she asked. ‘Give me some advice, please. How would you make it operate more smoothly?’

  ‘Put Marlowe back in uniform. The very fact that I’d never heard of him means he hasn’t been doing his job. Put a criminologist in his place, looking for national crime trends and recommending action areas and priorities, but have the divisional people report to Mario directly, or to an ACC. As for Edinburgh, in practice Sammy’s doing a detective super’s job, so make him a detective super, and bump Sauce up so he can act as an SIO if necessary. Give him his own space.’

  ‘As it happens, I have a DI vacancy coming up in Edinburgh,’ she admitted. ‘Becky Stallings wants to be a mum for the next five years, and with Ray Wilding, her other half, having gone across to Fife . . .’ She paused. ‘Okay, that’s the Menu taken care of, but you still haven’t answered my question. What about you?’

  ‘I’m not coming back, Maggie,’ he replied, quietly, ‘not in the way that the First Minister suggests, and not in any way on a full-time basis. If something comes up that you feel calls for my experience, you know where I live, but until it does, I’ve got a family that’s going to become even more demanding over the next couple of months.’

  ‘Fair enough. I’ll tell Clive Graham. How is Sarah?’ she asked.

  ‘Smashin’. Still working but doing all the right things.’

  ‘And Ignacio?’

  ‘He’s going to university next month, courtesy of the Prison Service and the Edinburgh Arts faculty. He wants to be a cop,’ he told her, ‘believe it or not. When he’s ready, I’ll be supporting his application. You might not have me back, but the next generation is coming.’

  Sixty-Nine

  ‘Hold on, Pops,’ Alex said holding up a hand, ‘I have to take this call.’

  Her father nodded, reaching for another sandwich from the plate that sat between them on her desk, watching as she made a quarter turn in her chair to face the smoked-glass wall.

  ‘Solicitor General,’ she said, ‘what a pleasant surprise.’ She glanced at Skinner, winking. ‘Yes, okay, I confess, it isn’t a surprise at all. I’ve heard already.’

  She nodded as she listened. ‘Of course, of course,’ she murmured. ‘Yes, I understand. You were bound to act on the basis of the police report; which made your offer of a deal on a culpable homicide plea all the stranger, since that report pointed very clearly at premeditated murder.’

  She fell silent, smiling.

  ‘Clearly,’ she resumed. ‘If you’d known about the Rogozin relationship from the start, that would have made a difference to the investigation.’

  She nodded again. ‘You’ll desert the indictment in court tomorrow? Yes, my client and I will both be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  ‘What’s your next step? A formal Sheriff Court inquiry into Annette Bordeaux’s death? Mmm, thank you. Yes, me too.’ Her mouth opened as she stifled a gasp. ‘I appreciate the offer, Rocco, but I don’t think so, not at this stage in my career. Maybe in five years or so, but not now; I’m not ready. Yes, see you tomorrow.’

  She hung up, then drank from a bottle of Lucozade.

  ‘Son of a bitch!’ she exclaimed. ‘After he’d eaten his humble pie, he said to me that the incident . . . his description . . . has made him think that he needs to sharpen up the Crown Office act . . . his words again. He actually offered me a job as an advocate depute. Would you bloody believe it!’ she said, indignantly. ‘I might not like Paula Benedict, but she’s more than capable, and she didn’t do anything wrong.’

  Skinner shrugged, amused by her anger. ‘The guy’s a weasel, love. We both know that. More important, his bosses, the First Minister and the Lord Advocate, they know it too. He’s on his way out; I hear that your friend Easson Middleton is the likely replacement.’

  ‘Is there anything you don’t hear?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Not much,’ he conceded.

  ‘Okay, who killed Rogozin?’

  ‘That hasn’t reached me yet. I only know who didn’t: it wasn’t Paco Fonter, it wasn’t Grandpa McCullough and it wasn’t me. Sammy Pye told me that the only relevant witness is a street-dwelling wino who’s facing a week’s detox before he can be interviewed properly, so I don’t envy Lottie Mann her task . . . not that anybody’s too bothered, truth be told.’

  ‘It’s a murder inquiry, Pops,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Into the death of a murderer, rapist and blackmailer. I’m not saying that Mann and Provan will give less than one hundred per cent, but they’re under a fraction of the media pressure that Sammy and Sauce were under. Personally, I don’t give a fuck who killed the guy.’

  ‘Would you say that if you were still a chief constable?’

  ‘Publicly, no; privately, I’d feel exactly the same way. Some people ask to be murdered, and he was one.’

  ‘You’re in no doubt that he killed Annette?’ Alex asked.

  ‘None at all,’ Skinner declared. ‘It’s just a matter of joining the forensic dots. This was a lovely, popular woman with not an enemy in the world. If not Rogozin, who?’

  Seventy

  ‘You’re a supporter, I see.’ Jimmy Pike pointed a finger at the small badge that was pinned to Provan’s lapel.

  ‘And proud of it,’ the DS replied. ‘I take the rough with the smooth.’ In fact, he possessed identical badges for Celtic, Rangers, and Partick Thistle, that he wore to suit the occasion and his surroundings.

  ‘It was the rough last Saturday, I’m afraid,’ the player said. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘It wasnae your fault. We’d have had a point at least if you’d taken that penalty.’

  ‘I can’t argue with that, mate. The truth is, I was supposed to take it, but Orlando wanted to show off to his girlfriend, so I let him have it. I should have known better.’

  ‘You don’t rate him then?’

  ‘Not as highly as he rates himself. The only thing I will say for him is that he practises hard.’ He nodded towards the training pitch, where the American had lined up half a dozen balls around the penalty spot and was firing them at the youth team goalkeeper. In the time that they had been watching, four of the shots had been saved.

  Pike turned towards Mann. Did she read tension beneath his confident bearing, or was it simply curiosity? ‘What can I do for you, Inspector?” he asked. ‘Is this about Annie? ’Cos I already told that big fella everything I know about it.’

  The DI peered at him. ‘Which big fella was that?’

  ‘Skinner, his name was. He came here to talk to me and Art and Orlando.’

  Did he, by God? she thought. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘it isn’t about the Bordeaux case. What made you think it should be?’

  ‘I just got word that the boss is off the hook,’ he told her. ‘They’re thinking Rogozin did it, apparently.’

  The two detective looked at each other, sharing their surprise. ‘Fuckin’ Pye,’ Provan growled. ‘He might have told us.’

  The DI said nothing; instead she turned back to the footballer. ‘This is about Rogozin,’ she continued. ‘About his murder. He was last seen alive in the Garrick Casino. I believe you were there too on Sunday evening.’

  ‘Yes, I was,’ Pike acknowledged, cautiously. ‘He was always in the Garrick on a Sunday night when he was here,’ he added.

  ‘I’m told also that you had a confrontation with Mr Rogozin, in the gaming room.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he protested. ‘We had a conversation, that was all.’

  ‘During which, Jimmy,’ Provan countered, ‘Rogozin called you a shite player, or words to that effect, and sort of hinted that you’d have contract problems in the summer. You were going to go for him, only Art Mustard pulled you away. That’s what we were told. Is that what happened? No nonsense now; we’ll be speaking to Art.’

  The footballer grimaced. ‘Yeah, okay, that’s more or less how it was.’

  ‘You were angry,’ Mann said.

  ‘Too bloody right I was angry. Bastard was well out of order talking to me like that in front of the rest of them, in front of Alice too.’

  ‘Alice McDade?’

  ‘Yeah. Orlando was there, so she was too. That’s the way it is these days.’ Unexpectedly, he grinned. ‘It all started on the treatment table; that’s what we say.’

  ‘Did you cool down after he left?’

  ‘Not right away; I don’t forget things like that in a hurry.’

  She nodded. ‘No, you don’t, and sometimes your reaction can be extreme. I did some research on you before we came along here, Mr Pike. You’ve had eight red cards for violent conduct during your playing career, seven in England and one here, in Scotland. You missed the Cup Final in May, because you were suspended for head-butting an opponent the week before. That suggests that when the red mist comes down on you, you don’t think about consequences.’

  ‘Come on,’ he protested. ‘That’s football. Lots of us are different people on the pitch and off it.’

  ‘You’re not, though. Your career was held up by a six-month club suspension when you were eighteen, for an assault on a teammate in training that might have got to court but never did.’

  ‘Yeah, when I was eighteen!’ he protested. ‘I haven’t been in trouble since.’

  ‘Eight red cards is most folks’ idea of trouble, Jimmy,’ Provan pointed out. ‘Come on, son, this is serious. We know what time you and big Art left the Garrick. Where did you go after that? I hope you’re goin’ to say straight back to Edinburgh, but if ye didnae, we’ll find out, one way or another.’

  ‘Art did,’ Pike said. ‘We’d come through together on the train, but I was still fired up by the Rogozin thing; I wasn’t ready to go back. He got a lift from the Hearts boys, and I hung around.’

  ‘And waited for Rogozin?’ Mann challenged him.

  ‘No! I didn’t know he was still there. I’d had a good night and I was feeling lucky, so I went along to the other casino, the Riverboat.’

  ‘Did you go in?’

  ‘No. By the time I got there I’d changed my mind. Instead I got a kebab off a stall, walked up to the Central Station and got a Joe Baksi home.’

  ‘A taxi?’ Provan exclaimed. ‘Tae Edinburgh?’

  ‘Sure. I was two and a half grand up on the night.’

  ‘What time did you get in the taxi?’

  ‘Quarter past one on the station clock.’

  Mann pressed on. ‘You didn’t go back to the Garrick, lie in wait for Rogozin, crack his head open on a bollard and chuck him in the Clyde?’

  ‘No fucking way, excuse my French. You try and prove that I did.’

  ‘There’s one way that we can,’ she said, ‘or eliminate you if you’re telling the truth. Mr Rogozin lost a shoe during the attack, and we’ve recovered it. There are three sets of prints on it, including his and the dosser who was wearing it when we found him. We’re thinking that the third set might belong to the person who heaved him into the Clyde after killing him. If you’re innocent, I assume you’ll have no objection to our taking your fingerprints for comparison.’

  ‘None at all. Where do we do it?’

  ‘Right here. Wonders of the digital age; we’ve brought a portable scanner with us. It’s wireless too; we’ll know the result straightaway.’

  Pike laughed. ‘I can tell you now, a home win.’

  Seventy-One

  ‘If I could invent one piece of kit,’ Arthur Dorward grumbled, standing in the hallway of the seventh floor apartment, ‘it would be a reliable handheld scanner that would lift fingerprints and palm prints straight off the surfaces where they’ve been left. Until someone does come up with one that I can trust, we still have to do it the old-fashioned way.’

  ‘You’d still find something to moan about,’ Sauce Haddock observed.

  The scientist glared at him. ‘Cheeky young bastard,’ he growled. ‘If I was still a ranking police officer, and not a civilian scientist, I’d have you on points duty.’

  ‘If you were still a ranking police officer,’ the DS countered, ‘I’d be a fireman or a paramedic.’

  ‘God help either service. Anyway,’ he continued, setting the banter aside, ‘to summarise what we’ve got here. Your revised theory, that the victim was assaulted in the penthouse then brought here and killed here, you can mark up as correct. Gold stars both, clever boys.

  ‘Your suspect Rogozin’s prints are all over the place too. So are the cleaner’s, liberally; she doesn’t do a very good job. She left us a bonus,’ he laughed. ‘There’s a big skidmark on the toilet bowl that’ll give us identifiable DNA.

  ‘The concierge, Cope, whose prints we also have for elimination, there are some of his too, and various others, as yet unidentified. Everything we’ve lifted from here has been scanned, and comparisons run on the database.’

  ‘What about the distribution?’ Haddock asked.

  ‘They’re all over the flat, apart from Cope’s; his are only on the front door and in the hall.’

  ‘How about the fire door handle?’

  ‘Loads there,’ Dorward confirmed, ‘most notably, the victim’s.’

  ‘That fits the theory,’ Pye said, stepping into the discussion, having taken a phone call in the corridor outside, ‘that she came down here to see Rogozin, about a week before her death.’

  ‘Good for you; what might not fit it is the lack of any identifiable prints of his on the handle. That said, there’s quite a few there, the cleaner’s and a couple of the unverified ones: I suppose it’s possible that his were there and have been smudged. Good luck offering that in a criminal court, by the way,’ he added.

  ‘We won’t need to, Arthur. The perpetrator’s dead; this isn’t going to trial. How about upstairs, that fire escape door?’ he continued.

  ‘Shirley did those,’ the scientist said. ‘I left her in the kitchen scanning the results. Come on and we’ll see if she’s finished.’

  He led the way through from the hall, taking care to touch nothing, even though he was in a sterile suit and gloves. His colleague was identically dressed, but looked slightly comical. She was no more than five feet tall and her paper clothing hung on her like a bin liner.

  ‘What have you got, Shirl?’ Dorward asked.