over his shoulder and then put the image back in his pocket. I retreated to the shadows.
‘Has Jack Deans been snooping?’ Joe’s voice was casual, as if he didn’t care what the answer was. Bancho didn’t look as if he was fooled – and neither was I. But I was surprised.
‘He’s been in touch – tried to pretend he left Darfur because the Sudanese government was going to throw him out – the truth is that sly bastard couldn’t keep away from the biggest domestic news story in years. I hear he’s still chasing awards,’ said Bancho.
‘Vain bastard!’ Joe grunted. I could hear he wanted to ask more; maybe he was sniffing around to see if Jack and I were together. The reception was bad and I knew that Joe would have taken this call outside. He couldn’t risk anyone knowing he was a police informer. Regardless of the circumstances, that would be the end of his reputation in Edinburgh’s criminal underworld – there were no exceptions to this most basic rule, even if he did like to keep a foot in both camps.
I could hear tiredness in his voice; he’d been running around trying to keep me safe. I knew the way his mind worked and felt like a bitch. He would see the threat; every victim would wear my face.
‘Are you properly prepared?’ Bancho asked.
‘Calm down, we’ll nail the bastard. Every criminal messes up. It’s a myth serial killers are smart – how difficult is it to top a wee Romanian girl?’
‘But it’s been in the papers, Joe. Apart from this photograph, there have been no real leads. The photo could be dodgy. How come this guy has the camera at the exact moment?’ Bancho coughed. ‘It makes you think.’
Joe was right, the only reason serial killers got away with murder was faulty witness reports.
‘You remember our deal?’ Joe’s voice rang out in the dim room. Most men were too frightened to renege on any deal with him, and Bancho was no exception.
‘It’s not that easy to just give you five minutes alone with the Ripper – people will notice his injuries.’
‘I promise I’ll be careful, although I don’t feel good about this dawn raid. The Ripper’s not dangling on our hook yet – in my opinion your overtime budget isn’t going to get cut in the near future.’
‘You’re filling me with confidence.’
‘If you see Brodie – make sure she’s safe. The snow’s started and if I know her she’ll be on the Fat Boy. Don’t let—’ Glasgow Joe didn’t get a chance to finish.
‘I’ll pick you up at the casino in an hour – and by the way, I’m not a nursemaid.’
Bancho’s eyes flickered; it had been a long time since he’d interrupted Joe; he switched the phone off and grabbed his coat. As he left I pushed myself into a corner.
I should have known by now to expect anything of Joe, but even I was stunned by the extent of his collusion and involvement with Bancho, not to mention Bancho’s subservient attitude. Who was running this investigation?
I ran up the stairs as if there was no tomorrow. For the dead girls – there wasn’t.
Chapter Twelve
Edinburgh’s Old Town
Sunday 23 December, 3.30 a.m.
I lifted my face and let the fat snowflakes fall onto it, feeling each one cold and clean upon my skin. I was worn out and felt like crap. I stuck my tongue out to catch a speck; it melted immediately but didn’t make me feel any cleaner. The cobbles were covered with a layer of white; it gave the streets an innocence that I’d lost long ago.
There’s nothing like confronting death to fire up your will to live. The roads were lethal and I didn’t fancy spending Christmas in an intensive care unit. Lavender would kill me if nothing else. Snow lay on the Fat Boy too. He was staying where he was, and I’d have to get a taxi home. Easier said than done – the clubs were emptying and the narrow streets of the Old Town were filled with prime examples of binge Britain. Young girls staggered down the road arm in arm, thinking that there was
‘Has Jack Deans been snooping?’ Joe’s voice was casual, as if he didn’t care what the answer was. Bancho didn’t look as if he was fooled – and neither was I. But I was surprised.
‘He’s been in touch – tried to pretend he left Darfur because the Sudanese government was going to throw him out – the truth is that sly bastard couldn’t keep away from the biggest domestic news story in years. I hear he’s still chasing awards,’ said Bancho.
‘Vain bastard!’ Joe grunted. I could hear he wanted to ask more; maybe he was sniffing around to see if Jack and I were together. The reception was bad and I knew that Joe would have taken this call outside. He couldn’t risk anyone knowing he was a police informer. Regardless of the circumstances, that would be the end of his reputation in Edinburgh’s criminal underworld – there were no exceptions to this most basic rule, even if he did like to keep a foot in both camps.
I could hear tiredness in his voice; he’d been running around trying to keep me safe. I knew the way his mind worked and felt like a bitch. He would see the threat; every victim would wear my face.
‘Are you properly prepared?’ Bancho asked.
‘Calm down, we’ll nail the bastard. Every criminal messes up. It’s a myth serial killers are smart – how difficult is it to top a wee Romanian girl?’
‘But it’s been in the papers, Joe. Apart from this photograph, there have been no real leads. The photo could be dodgy. How come this guy has the camera at the exact moment?’ Bancho coughed. ‘It makes you think.’
Joe was right, the only reason serial killers got away with murder was faulty witness reports.
‘You remember our deal?’ Joe’s voice rang out in the dim room. Most men were too frightened to renege on any deal with him, and Bancho was no exception.
‘It’s not that easy to just give you five minutes alone with the Ripper – people will notice his injuries.’
‘I promise I’ll be careful, although I don’t feel good about this dawn raid. The Ripper’s not dangling on our hook yet – in my opinion your overtime budget isn’t going to get cut in the near future.’
‘You’re filling me with confidence.’
‘If you see Brodie – make sure she’s safe. The snow’s started and if I know her she’ll be on the Fat Boy. Don’t let—’ Glasgow Joe didn’t get a chance to finish.
‘I’ll pick you up at the casino in an hour – and by the way, I’m not a nursemaid.’
Bancho’s eyes flickered; it had been a long time since he’d interrupted Joe; he switched the phone off and grabbed his coat. As he left I pushed myself into a corner.
I should have known by now to expect anything of Joe, but even I was stunned by the extent of his collusion and involvement with Bancho, not to mention Bancho’s subservient attitude. Who was running this investigation?
I ran up the stairs as if there was no tomorrow. For the dead girls – there wasn’t.
Chapter Twelve
Edinburgh’s Old Town
Sunday 23 December, 3.30 a.m.
I lifted my face and let the fat snowflakes fall onto it, feeling each one cold and clean upon my skin. I was worn out and felt like crap. I stuck my tongue out to catch a speck; it melted immediately but didn’t make me feel any cleaner. The cobbles were covered with a layer of white; it gave the streets an innocence that I’d lost long ago.
There’s nothing like confronting death to fire up your will to live. The roads were lethal and I didn’t fancy spending Christmas in an intensive care unit. Lavender would kill me if nothing else. Snow lay on the Fat Boy too. He was staying where he was, and I’d have to get a taxi home. Easier said than done – the clubs were emptying and the narrow streets of the Old Town were filled with prime examples of binge Britain. Young girls staggered down the road arm in arm, thinking that there was
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