‘No, it was heavier than that. Woollen, I’d say; it looked expensive.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘I’ve got no idea. They’d give it to the widow, I guess.’
‘Okay,’ the crime scene investigator said. ‘You’ve got a supposed drunk who turns out to be a hit-and-run victim. With that knowledge, if you think back to the scene, can you recall anything that might be of interest to me?’
‘Nothing,’ Brown replied, instantly.
‘That took a lot of consideration,’ Dorward growled. He turned to Pye. ‘This guy’s in the wrong business, Sammy; he should be a chocolate fireguard salesman. They’re bloody useless as well.’
‘Hey,’ the sergeant exclaimed, ‘you hold on a minute!’
‘No,’ Dorward barked. ‘You hold on. You were at the scene of a fatal hit-and-run accident, but you never even considered that possibility. If you had, we’d have had something to work with, because it’s pretty much impossible to kill somebody with a motor car without leaving some sort of a trace. Now we’re several weeks down the road and everything is compromised.’
He picked up his equipment case. ‘Sammy, you might as well leave me to it. There’s nothing you can do here other than get in the way, and listen to me swear. I won’t be long here, and if I find anything that might be relevant, I’ll let you know soonest. If I don’t, well, it’s a no-hoper, so you’re not going to be disappointed, are you?’
Leaving the investigator to his nearly impossible task, Pye had Sergeant Brown drive him to Edinburgh. He sat in the back of the car and the journey was spent in silence.
When he walked into the squad room in the Fettes building, Haddock followed him into his office.
‘Did you get it?’ the DCI asked, as he hung his coat on a hook behind the door.
‘Yes,’ his sergeant replied. ‘One of the deputies had the case file in his out tray, ready to go to the fiscal with a recommendation that they write it off as an untraced hit-and-run, with no fatal accident inquiry necessary. He seemed a wee bit nonplussed when I told him we were taking an interest in it. The cheeky bastard asked me whether we were having to invent crimes to keep ourselves busy.’
‘He sent you the file, though?’
‘Oh yeah, once he’d had his wee moan. I’ve been through it; there’s not much to it. Apart from the PM report, there’s the two cops’ statements, and another from the barman in the Nether Abbey. I’m a bit suspicious about that. He was interviewed by Brown and Raymond, and the way it reads . . .’
‘You think they were coaching him?’ Pye asked.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me. One minute he’s saying he’s not sure how much Mackail had to drink, the next he’s saying he was unsteady on his feet when he left.’
‘What about his pals? What did they say?’
‘They weren’t interviewed.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘Do I have my Joker mask on?’ Haddock retorted. ‘They’re not even named on the report. The way I see it, Brown and Raymond preferred the official version to be that Mackail might have been partly culpable himself, so that the fiscal wouldn’t look too closely at their performance.’
The DCI nodded. ‘You could be right. Brown certainly wasn’t in a rush to help Arthur Dorward, and he got quite aggressive when he was challenged. What did the post-mortem say about Mackail’s blood alcohol level?’
‘A hundred and thirty milligrams per hundred millilitres; not quite three times over the driving limit. In other words, he’d have been a bit pissed but he shouldn’t have been falling about.’
‘What about the rest of it?’
‘He died from massive internal bleeding; his spleen was ruptured, and his liver was torn. Several ribs were fractured and one had pierced his lung. He’d a broken right hip as well.’
‘Poor guy,’ Pye said. ‘CID should have been informed on the night. I’m going to have that pair,’ he promised, ‘and their inspector too.’
‘How long is it since you’ve been in uniform?’ Haddock murmured.
‘Come again?’ his boss retorted.
‘You heard. Brown and Raymond reacted to what they saw, a badly injured man on the pavement. The priority was get him to hospital; that’s what happened, but his injuries were unsurvivable. They were in the middle of a hectic night shift, and they followed their instincts.’
‘What about Laird?’
‘She was off duty at the time,’ the DS reminded him. ‘When she was advised she probably realised straight away there had been a screw-up, but she hid behind protocol to protect her guys.’