Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(51)

‘No, I shouldn’t think so. He had no living relatives and something tells me the remaining Columba staff will give it a wide berth.’

Valentine reached for his seat belt. ‘Let’s get back to the station. I want to see what’s what with Garry Keirns.’

‘He was released about an hour ago, sir. Phil phoned in. He says he can’t find your other guy, the one from the original Columba House investigation.’

‘Den Rennie? What’s the problem there?’

‘Apparently fishing on the Tweed, sir. He’s somewhere in the Borders but nobody knows where. And no mobile either.’

‘When’s he due back?’

‘I didn’t get that far, boss.’

Valentine turned the key in the ignition. As he was pulling out a high-pitched cackle started to emanate from the radio.

‘Bob, you hearing me?’ It was Jim Prentice.

‘Working late tonight again, Jimmy?’

‘I put in more bloody hours than the rats down the docks.’

Valentine smirked into the mouthpiece. ‘What can I do for you, mate?’

‘I take it you’re aware of the tailing operation on that wee scrote from Cumnock?’

The DI’s attention lit up. ‘Garry Keirns?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Yes, I gave the order. Is there some kind of problem?’

‘Depends, where are you now?’

‘I’m in Cumnock, Elizabeth Crescent.’

‘OK, well I’ll get DS Donnelly and DS McCormack to attend.’

Valentine glanced at McAlister – he shrugged and turned down the corners of his mouth. ‘Jim, what’s going on?’

‘The two DCs on detail are saying things are kicking off – or to be more specific, your suspect is kicking off.’

Valentine put the car in gear and started to drive. ‘Where?’

‘A house on Racecourse Road.’

‘I thought that was all hotels like the Savoy down there?’

‘There’s a few houses, for those that can afford them.’

‘And whose house is this we’re talking about?’

‘This is the problem, Bob. It’s a retired MP. We really need someone of your rank down there in case it gets out of hand. You know how these things have a nasty habit of finding their way into the papers.’

‘A name please . . .’ The DI was building up speed on the way back to Ayr.

‘Fallon . . . Gerald Fallon.’





33

The street lamps painted a waxy orange glow on the road surface as Valentine pulled up in Racecourse Road. He spotted DS Donnelly’s car in a side street adjacent to the large Victorian villa that detectives were surveying from beyond a high stone wall. He parked his car behind Donnelly’s, and he and McAlister got out and jogged towards the others.

It was dark now, an amethyst haze covering the higher buildings of the town that made a dark and jagged horizon in the distance. The air was still and quiet; only whisperings could be heard beyond the wall, beneath the willow branches, where the detectives huddled.

‘Phil, what’s going on?’ said Valentine.

The DS turned around. ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought it was Bill and Ben.’

‘Who?’

‘The woodentops the desk assigned to Keirns.’ Donnelly pointed to a pale blue Mondeo that was parked over the road – two officers Valentine vaguely recognised sat inside.

‘They’re a bit wet behind the ears, that pair. Was there nobody else available?’

Donnelly shook his head. ‘Apparently not.’

‘I take it we’ve been brought out here on a wild goose chase?’ said Valentine. McCormack and McAlister were exchanging frowns and head shakes.

‘Well, that pair over there said it all kicked off, but when we got here all was quiet. I can see right into the front room and Keirns is there right enough, but he’s calmed down.’

‘What about the other one – Fallon?’

‘He just brought Keirns a tumbler of something that looked like a wee goldie . . . it seems quite cosy.’

‘Well, maybe it is now. Keep an eye on it.’ Valentine turned from Donnelly and started for the Mondeo. He spotted the two detective constables inside looking away when they saw who was heading over.

Valentine tapped the driver’s window. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Hello, sir.’ The constable appeared sheepish.

‘Tell me what happened then.’

‘Well, your big lad there arrived and ordered us to wait here.’

Valentine shook his head. ‘I’m not on about that. Before DS Donnelly arrived, what was going on at the house?’

The man pulled himself up by the steering wheel and turned his face fully towards the detective. ‘We were at Inkerman Court, the suspect’s place . . .’

‘Carry on.’

‘And he came out, drove here. He was burning rubber, boss, and when he got out the face on him was not pretty.’

Valentine looked into the driveway. He spotted the Range Rover he’d seen at Sandy Thompson’s funeral and recognised the number plate – GF 111. ‘So where’s Keirns’s car?’

‘Round at the old Pickwick. He strolled through, or should I say stomped. When he got to the front door there was a real flare-up, sir.’