Free Murder in Adland by Bruce Beckham Page A

of fresh North Sea air.  ‘But I missed the fells.’
    ‘I was a
bit like that in London, Guv.  It’s a crazy city – absolutely
brilliant in many ways.’
    ‘Aye, well
– you can be my tour guide tomorrow.’
    DS Jones
nods.  They refer to their planned itinerary, which will take them this
evening by air to the English capital, where tomorrow they will meet with the
southern contingent of the agency, GT&A .  For a few moments
they eat in silence, perhaps each recalling their times in the respective
metropolises.  About half way through his second burger, Skelgill picks up
the conversation.
    ‘What did
you make of Lady Goldsmith’s performance?’
    DS Jones grins
at his facetious attribution of the title.
    ‘She didn’t
stand on ceremony when it came to dishing the dirt, Guv – Miriam
Tregilgis was right when she said Elspeth Goldsmith knows everything there is
to know.’
    ‘Kicking up
dust, do you think?’
    DS Jones
ponders this question.
    ‘Maybe, Guv
– she’s not stupid – and she must realise that we would have
Dermott Goldsmith in our sights, given he gets control of the company. 
She wasn’t slow to suggest why some of the others might have been unhappy with
Ivan Tregilgis.’
    ‘Think that
was a faux pas – mentioning the cross-option agreement?  She was
more forthcoming than his Lordship.’
    ‘I don’t
know, Guv – I suppose at least it shows they haven’t conspired not to
tell us.  Maybe Dermott Goldsmith was knocked out of his stride yesterday
– by the shock of the murder?’
    Skelgill
shrugs.
    ‘Aye, maybe
– but he was composed enough when it suited him.’
    Skelgill
again becomes silent while he tackles the remainder of his meal.
    ‘There were
a couple of things in that call, Guv – forensics and whatnot.’
    ‘Aye?’
    ‘There’s no
trace of anyone but Ivan Tregilgis having been in that bed – not a hair
– no signs of sexual activity.’  (She gives a diplomatic
cough.)  ‘No prints on that master key – nor on the kukri, as we
know.  However – remember the other kukri – the one that was
in the holder on the wall?’
    ‘Aye?’
    ‘It has
Krista Morocco’s thumbprint on the handle.’
    ‘Interesting.’
    DS Jones
glances at her superior, but he seems to have nothing to add.  She remains
silent herself, as if she is trying to think through the implications of this.
    ‘Whatnot.’
    ‘Sorry,
Guv?’
    ‘You said
forensics and whatnot.’
    ‘Oh, yes
– it’s about Grendon Smith, Guv – the sacked employee.’
    ‘Don’t tell
me – he once had an audition for The Killers ?’
    DS Jones
chuckles.
    ‘No, Guv
– but he does have a dodgy alibi for Saturday night – claims he
slept in his car – stayed out all night somewhere in Norfolk –
apparently he’s a twitcher.’
    Skelgill
looks disappointed.
    ‘You almost
had me interested then, Jones – I thought you were going to tell me he’s
a fisherman.’

16.  FETTES
AVENUE
     
    ‘Dan Dare. 
Long time awa’.’
    These words
are uttered by a stocky man with short grizzled hair and a stern expression; aged
probably in his late fifties.
    ‘Can’t keep
a bad penny down, Cammy.  So, how’s it going, me old mate?’
    ‘Ach, yer
seein it, mon, yer seein it.’
    ‘Still not
speaking English, then, eh?’
    ‘Tch. 
Are ye nae going to introduce me to this bonny lassie?’
    ‘DS
Jones.  I’ve warned her about you.’
    ‘I bet he
didnae tell ye fifteen years back he saved my skin?’
     
    *
     
    Skelgill’s plan
is to leave his car at Edinburgh airport, and travel to and from London, and
collect it upon their return – when they can interview Dermott Goldsmith. 
To facilitate this, and deal with one or two other administrative issues
– such as obtaining a printed copy of the draft post mortem report on
Ivan Tregilgis – he has called upon his contacts in the Scottish
police.  As such, they are welcomed at the force’s Edinburgh HQ, Fettes
Avenue. (Skelgill’s little joke is that this