tae the toon, Dean said. He said her faither had been a businessman but that he’d lost the lot.’ The eyes narrowed. ‘And it was him that was kilt like?’
‘It was,’ the DCI confirmed. ‘So Dean knew him?’
‘He must have, Ah suppose.’ He nodded. ‘Aye, probably. One time she and the boy came for the lobster, he gie’d her a crab, a big bugger frae down behind Torness Power Station, for her folks, he said. Free, like.’ A nasty, lascivious grin flickered across his face. ‘He might have been gettin’ something in return, ken. Ah wondered about that.’
‘Where were you on the twenty-seventh of December?’ Haddock asked, suddenly, sharply.
‘Eh?’ Francey exclaimed. ‘How the fuck wid Ah ken? That’s weeks back.’
‘It was a Friday night, if that’s any help.’
‘Friday? Then Ah’d have been in the Golfer’s Rest. Darts night,’ he added.
‘Was Dean there?’
‘Dinnae ken. He might hae been; he sometimes drops in, if he’s got nothin’ else on.’
‘How do you get to the pub?’
Francey looked at the sergeant, warily. ‘Ah walk, son. Ye’ll no’ catch me out like that. Ah need ma licence; Ah’m careful.’
‘And how about Dean?’ Haddock shot back. ‘Is he careful too?’
‘Too fuckin’ right.’
‘He didn’t have a car of his own, did he?’
‘Naw.’
‘He drove your van when he needed to?’
‘Aye.’
‘Did he have his own set of keys?’
‘Naw. We’ve only got the one set.’
‘And on December twenty-seven, did he collect them from you at home or in the pub?’
‘In the pub.’ Francey paused, mouth open. ‘Hey, wait a minute!’ he exclaimed.
‘No,’ Pye said. ‘We’ll settle on that for an answer. Now the really difficult question: did he say why he wanted the keys?’
Staring at the table, the fisherman shook his head.
‘For the tape please.’
‘Naw.’
‘Louder please.’
‘Naw!’
‘Are you certain?’
‘Aye. Ah mind, noo. Ah wis on the oche and he came in. He said, “Ah need the motor.” That wis all. Ah never asked why, I just gie’d him the keys and got on wi’ the game. Ask the lads,’ he suggested. ‘They’ll mind. Thon Grant Rock, he said to me he hoped the lassie didnae mind the smell o’ fish in the back.’
‘When did he bring it back?’ the DCI asked.
‘Dinna ken. It was there next mornin’, and the keys were on the kitchen table.’
‘So you remember that?’
‘Oh aye, Ah mind,’ he replied firmly.
‘Why so vividly, if it was just another Saturday morning?’
‘Dinnae ken.’
Haddock leaned forward. ‘Was it because you went outside and saw the dent in the front offside wing?’
Francey looked away. ‘What dent?’ he muttered.
‘Wrong answer, Chic; the correct answer is “Yes, Sergeant”. We know that on the evening of December twenty-seventh, your van knocked down and killed Hector Mackail in Station Road. We can match the scrape that you never bothered to have repaired to paint on the wall where he was crushed. We can match fibres that were still embedded in that mark when our scientists examined it to the coat that Mr Mackail was wearing when he was killed. We can place your son at the scene from DNA traces left on cigarette ends found there. We can’t place you there, but if you carry on denying knowledge of the damage to your van, we might be inclined to think you knew what it had been used for.’
‘Ah never!’ Francey protested. ‘Aye okay, Ah saw the dent. Who wouldnae? Ah asked Dino how it got there, and he said he skidded on the road intae Aberlady. It’s easy done there in the winter, ask anybody.’ He paused, and resumed his study of the table, and the scratches left on it by previous visitors. ‘Anyway,’ he muttered, ‘what does it matter? Dino’s deid, and the other fella’s no’ comin’ back, so . . .’
‘It matters,’ Pye told him, ‘because it wasn’t an accident. Your son used your van to kill Mr Mackail, quite deliberately. We believe he was paid to do so, just as we believe he was paid to abduct the dead child Zena Gates, and keep her for a couple of weeks in a rented cottage. We need to know who paid him.’
‘Well, don’t look at me! This is all fuckin’ news tae me! Why would anybody want tae do all that?’
‘We’re still working on why. There may be no connection between the two crimes; that’s still conceivable. Dean may have had his own reasons for killing Mr Mackail. Did they have any sort of relationship, any contact that you know of?’
‘No,’ Francey replied. ‘Dean didnae even know the man.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘The