Haddock nodded. ‘I want a bite too,’ he growled. ‘That was bloody embarrassing. When you’re asked to check someone out, the fact that he’s dead ought to show up fairly early on.’
They were waiting for the lights to turn green when an incoming call sounded through the Bluetooth speakers. Pye touched a button on the steering wheel.
‘Yes?’
‘Sir, it’s Jackie.’
‘I knew that as soon as you opened your mouth,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘What’s the new crisis?’
‘No crisis, sir,’ the detective constable said. ‘The opposite really. Ms Iqbal from the Western General’s been in touch. Grete Regal recovered consciousness just after ten this morning. She’s stable and you can talk to her.’
‘Call her back,’ the DCI ordered, ‘and tell her we’re on our way.’
They were approaching Dirleton Toll, listening to Pablo Milanés, a Cuban singer who was a favourite of Pye’s wife, when Haddock cut across his Spanish anthem.
‘I’m just thinking, gaffer. I know someone, a girl I was at school with; her name’s Macy Robertson and she’s a business journalist so she might be able to give us some more background on Hector Mackail.’
‘Do we need that?’ Pye asked. ‘Doesn’t being dead cross him off the list of suspects?’
‘It didn’t get Francey off the hook,’ Haddock pointed out. ‘He could have set it up before he walked in front of that car. Hazel knew Francey; he was handy for the job.’
‘Then it went wrong and he came back from the dead and shot Francey and Anna?’
‘Bugger!’ the DS moaned.
Pye laughed at his frustration. ‘Talk to your friend anyway, Sauce,’ he said. ‘There’s no such thing as too much information.’
Forty-Five
When the chief inspector pressed the intercom at the entrance to the intensive care unit, and was told that Grete Regal was no longer there, his instant reaction was one of panic.
Relief took its place as the tinny voice continued, ‘She’s been transferred to the general ward; she’s still on high dependency nursing, but she’s doing fine.’
The two detectives followed the directions they were given; they were uncertain of the layout until Pye spotted Ingrid Rainey, seated in the corridor. ‘That’s the aunt,’ he whispered to Haddock, stepping aside and into the ward office before she saw him.
He showed his card to the senior nurse. ‘You’re here for Grete?’ the man asked. The DCI nodded. ‘Ms Iqbal’s with her just now; she’ll just be a few minutes. Her aunt’s waiting outside her room. Why don’t you have a wee seat with her?’
‘I want to avoid Mrs Rainey,’ Pye confessed.
‘On brief acquaintance I can understand why,’ the nurse murmured.
‘Does Grete know about her child?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ The man pursed his lips. ‘The bloody aunt came out with it as soon as she saw her. Ms Iqbal had arranged a counsellor to break the news, and she told Mrs Rainey as much, but the woman insisted it was her duty.’
‘How much does she know?’
‘The aunt told her that the child was suffocated, that’s all.’
‘That’s not strictly true, but there’s no way of softening a blow like that. How has she reacted?’
‘Ms Iqbal gave her a sedative, but she’s still conscious and responsive. She did say that she wants to talk to you.’
‘That’s right, Chief Inspector,’ Sonia Iqbal said, from the doorway. ‘She is very anxious to speak to you.’
‘You’re okay with that?’
‘Yes, or you wouldn’t be here. I wish I could keep her family at bay, though. You can go in now, if you like.’
‘How is she?’ Haddock asked.
‘She’s remarkably well,’ the surgeon replied. ‘The brain swelling has lessened and she seems to have all her motor functions back.’
‘And her memory?’
‘Vivid, as you’ll discover. I can’t say, though, how much of it is real and how much imagined. Come with me, both, I’ll take you along.’
She led the way along the corridor. Ingrid Rainey’s chair had been vacated; she was waiting inside her niece’s room, standing by her bedside with her back to the door. She was speaking in hushed hospital tones, but both detectives could still hear her well enough.
‘This is what happens when you’re nice to people, Grete. You feel sorry for them, now look at you; look at poor little Zena. I had to identify her, you know.’
‘Fuck’s sake!’ Haddock whispered.
‘Mrs Rainey,’ Pye said.
The woman turned. ‘Chief Inspector. You are here; you can tell poor Grete what happened to her.’
‘We’re hoping that Grete can tell us, ma’am, and we’d be grateful if you’d leave us with her.’