would involve seizing his assets, and the only thing he has of sufficient value is his equity in his mortgaged home. The client’s name is Hector Mackail: Hazel’s dad.’
‘Wow!’ Haddock murmured, reading the DCI’s thoughts as he started his engine and moved off. ‘Are you thinking that Hazel put friend Dino up to kidnapping Grete’s child as a means of making her lay off her dad, using friend Maxwell’s uncle’s car to do it?’
‘It’s a line of inquiry. A kid that age, I doubt it, but could it be her father did? Still, we have a way to go before we get there,’ Pye added. ‘We need to catch Dino and have him point the finger.’
The journey into the city centre passed mostly in silence. They were passing Meadowbank Stadium before the detective sergeant spoke.
‘How are you doing?’ he murmured.
‘Okay,’ Pye replied.
‘I don’t think so. Sammy, you’re not long back from witnessing the post-mortem examination of a five-year-old child. If I was in your shoes, if I was the DCI and you were the DS, you’d still have been there, because I’d have fucking delegated it, as sure as God made wee green apples. That’s what makes you a better gaffer than I’ll ever be, by the way. But you don’t go through something like that and come out of it feeling okay.’
‘Maybe not. I’ll concede that. But it’s not something you share with anyone.’
‘Did you see the mother too?’
Pye shook his head. ‘No, I bottled that. Anyway there was no need, and no point. Grete’s unconscious and will be for some time; it’s possible she’ll never wake up. If she does, she won’t have a crowd of relatives at her bedside, just her formidable aunt. Mother’s dead, and father’s estranged. We need to find him, if we can; whereabouts unknown at the moment. That’ll be another job for our Jackie tomorrow.’
As he spoke, he swung his car round into Royal Terrace, then pulled into a parking space he had spotted. ‘We’ll walk from here,’ he said. ‘It’s just round the corner, in Elm Row.’
‘Do you know the place?’ Haddock asked.
‘I’ve been to Lacey’s once,’ he admitted, ‘at a stag night.’
‘Rough?’
‘Not that bad.’
‘I’d never heard of it until it came up today. I thought all the pole-dancing activity went on up at the pubic triangle, in the West Port.’
‘No, not all; just most of it. You used to live there, didn’t you?’
‘Yup.’
‘What was it like?’
‘Interesting.’
There was a burly doorman on duty outside their destination. ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘You look like newcomers to Lacey’s. The house rules are very simple: look all you like, but touching is not allowed. You want a private dance, in a booth, you negotiate with the ladies.’
‘Thanks for that,’ Haddock growled, showing his warrant card. ‘We’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Ahh,’ the bouncer murmured as he opened the door for them. ‘See the boss about a discount.’
Lacey’s was dimly lit apart from four poles arranged around an oval-shaped bar. Two were in use, by dark-haired, pale-skinned, long-legged women, each wearing a G-string and black platform shoes with six-inch heels, but very little else, and gyrating vigorously to disco music with a heavy, thumping bass.
They were being watched by no more than half a dozen men, three at the bar, the others in a group at a table. Along the walls were a series of booths; two of those had curtains drawn across them with light showing behind.
Pye whistled the opening bars of Tina Turner’s ‘Private Dancer’ as he walked up to the bar. ‘Who’s the manager here?’ he asked a fully clothed blond woman, who was in the act of pouring a pint of golden Peroni that the DCI recalled from his earlier visit as being horrendously expensive.
‘That would be me, officer,’ she said. ‘Mary O’Herlihy.’
‘Word gets around pretty fast in this place,’ Haddock observed.
‘There’s an intercom at the door,’ she replied, as she handed the pint to its purchaser and took the money. ‘Big Shane tells me whenever he lets somebody in he thinks might be a wee bit dodgy.’
‘I think we’ll take that as a compliment, Mary,’ Pye said. ‘We need a word, about one of your girls.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘Anna Harmony. We were told she’s working tonight.’
‘That’s what I thought too,’ the manager replied, checking her watch. ‘Want a drink? On the house,’ she added.
‘Thanks, but we’ll pass on that. When was she due here?’
‘Fifteen minutes ago. But it’s a quiet night. If she’s just late, like she’s missed her bus, no problem. If