Did you actually enjoy the stag do you came to?’
‘To be honest,’ the DCI chuckled, ‘I don’t remember much about it. It was mine; but I didn’t choose the venue, my best man did that. He told me afterwards that I wound up dancing on a pole in my Y-fronts. He was lying though; I know that ’cos I wear boxers.’
‘Is there photographic evidence of this event?’
‘No, a couple of the guests vetoed that.’
‘Bloody killjoys!’ Haddock snorted. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘Neither Bob Skinner nor Andy Martin fancied being in any of the pictures. Neil McIlhenney wasn’t too keen either.’
‘What about McGuire?’
‘He was on the other pole.’
‘Right, gentlemen,’ the returning Mary O’Herlihy declared, ‘there you are.’ She handed a sheet of paper to Pye. ‘Those are the numbers. I called the mobile while I was away; got no reply.’
The DCI frowned. ‘You didn’t call the landline, did you?’
‘No.’
‘Good. We’ll run a reverse check on it and find where it’s located. We don’t want to give Anna advance notice of our interest.’
‘What if she shows up here?’
‘Say nothing to her about our visit, but call me on that number.’ He took a card from his pocket and handed it over. ‘We’ll come back.’
‘What if the boyfriend’s with her?’
‘Little chance of that,’ Haddock answered, ‘but if he is, call us and have big Shane keep him company till we get here. I’m sure he’d enjoy that.’
Twenty-Two
‘Is there anything in this part of Edinburgh that isn’t a student flat?’ Sammy Pye wondered, as he and his sergeant walked along Davie Street, searching for number seventy-seven.
‘Not much,’ Haddock replied. ‘I lived here myself for a while when I was one of the rarely washed. My mum was terrified; she thought the place was a fire trap. She was probably right, but it looks as if it’s been refurbished since then.’
‘What was the number again?’
‘Seventy-seven, F two A. That’s it, look.’ He pointed to a backlit panel beside a blue-painted entrance door, then pressed a button.
‘Hi, who’s that?’ a bright young female voice asked.
‘Detective Sergeant Harold Haddock, Edinburgh CID, with Detective Chief Inspector Pye. We’re looking for Anna Hojnowski, also known as Anna Harmony.’
‘Singer? She’s out. I suppose she’s down at Lacey’s, dancing on her pole.’ The speaker fell silent. The DS pressed the button again.
‘What?’ The girl had a low annoyance threshold.
‘We need a word,’ Haddock said.
‘Sure you do,’ she drawled, sarcastically. ‘This is a raid, isn’t it? I’ve heard you lot have been cracking down on students lately, since the national shock troops replaced our so-called friendly local bobbies.’
‘So young and yet so cynical,’ the DS chuckled. ‘If this was a drugs bust, it would be two detective constables ringing your doorbell, and at least one would be female . . . in case of a strip search,’ he added. ‘We don’t give a bugger what you’ve been inhaling, miss. We need to talk to you about Singer, okay? You can come down here if you want but it’s fucking Baltic.’
The young woman gave in. ‘All right, all right. Come on up, if you insist.’ A buzzing sound came from the doorframe; the DS pushed and it swung open.
‘Nice touch about the female DC,’ Pye murmured as they jogged up the two flights of stairs.
The door of 2A was open as they stepped on to the second-floor landing; a tall blond girl in black leggings and a sweatshirt with Prince Harry’s face emblazoned on it stood, waiting. ‘I’m Celia Brown,’ she announced, in a polished accent that came from somewhere well south of Edinburgh. ‘Can I see your ID?’
‘We insist that you do,’ the DCI said as they produced their warrant cards and held them up for inspection.
When Celia was satisfied, she stood aside and let them in; the atmosphere was a cocktail of odours, a mix of cosmetics and fried food. ‘The living room is straight ahead.’
They stepped through the door she indicated. Inside, another blonde, who was lounging on a sofa, frowned at them over her shoulder. ‘Corrie’s on,’ she complained. ‘Take them into the kitchen, Celia.’
Haddock smiled; he picked up a remote from the arm of the couch and pressed a button. The screen froze. ‘I’ve got the same Freeview box,’ he explained. ‘You can watch the rest when we’re done.’
‘Bugger!’
‘And you are, miss?’ Pye asked.
‘Ilse Brogan.’
‘You’re a student too?’
‘Of course, we all are. Celia and I are doing math and economics, Singer’s doing business studies.’
‘Anna’s a student?’
‘Of course. Just because she pays her way by gyrating round a pole