The Last Witness by Denzil Meyrick Page B

had to say something.
    ‘Indeed not, Jim. Most unusual.’ Donald was clearly troubled, which worried his subordinates. ‘Under normal circumstances these events, as distasteful as they are, would have been viewed as being wholly unconnected; that is, until one looks at the last known movement of the helicopter and the identity of the murdered man in Glasgow.’ Donald paused, displaying the skills of the storyteller. ‘Peter MacDougall, petty crook, drug dealer and, most pertinently, younger brother of Frank – who needs no introduction.’
    ‘Fuck’s sake.’ Scott was sitting forward in his chair, looking at the floor.
    ‘I believe the deceased was a friend of yours, DS Scott?’ Donald said.
    ‘I widnae say “friend” as such, sir,’ Scott replied, clearly affected by this news. ‘I wiz at school wi’ him. We grew up in the same street, that’s all.’
    ‘Well, far be it from me to pry into your tortured personal relationships, Brian. That is, unless something inappropriate has been going on, in which case . . .’
    ‘Sir,’ Daley interjected firmly, not bothering to hide his irritation, ‘this is not getting us anywhere. Please can we just get on with it?’
    ‘How forceful, Jim. Your new management responsibilities must be suiting you. The CID team from Cumnock have been working on this all night. The helicopter was registered to a Henry Parr, a retired Royal Navy pilot, who passed some of his time by carrying out commercial contracts – ferrying golfers about and so on. However, at first glance it would appear he worked only infrequently, spending much more time at his holiday home in the Bahamas.’
    ‘Which is hard to do when you only have a navy pension to sustain you,’ Daley observed.
    ‘Exactly,’ Donald affirmed. ‘On examination of the aircraft’s satnav, it would appear he spent a few minutes at a point somewhere off the North Antrim coast, a specific position he had programmed into the machine. That was prior to landing in Ayrshire – his final flight.’
    ‘And Peter MacDougall – do we have anything more on his murder?’ Daley enquired.
    ‘Your colleagues at London Road are working hard on that, but you know the East End, Jim. Nobody saw anything, and the CCTV coverage isn’t exactly comprehensive. Most of the street is derelict. All we know is that he left the pub along the road minutes before he was killed.’ Donald sat back in his chair. ‘Because of the delicate situation concerning his brother, the WPP have asked me to pass on the news about Peter.’ He steepled his fingers in front of his face, waiting for a response.
    ‘We’ve got tae break cover an’ tell Frank that his brother has been killed?’ Scott was incredulous. ‘Can they no’ dae that themselves?’ he added, shaking his head.
    ‘At last, it speaks,’ Donald said. ‘The murder of Peter MacDougall has changed things: Witness Protection was reasonably relaxed, as I told you both yesterday, after themurder of the Dowies. That is now no longer the case. The form is that if they believe there is a viable threat to someone on the programme, they liaise with local law enforcement, wherever that may be. In this case, gents, that is us. It’s our pleasant duty not only to inform him that his brother has been murdered, but tell him about “you know who” and persuade him that another change of identity and location would be, well, most prudent.’
    ‘Prudent?’ said Scott. ‘If I wiz him I’d be on my bike quick smart, an’ nae mistake, before this ghost, or whitever it is, comes knockin’.’
    Daley walked over from the window where he had been standing and leaned on Donald’s – his – desk. ‘I’m still all at sea with this, sir.’ He pointed his finger into the desk. ‘For a start, if this is JayMac – and surely that is open for debate at the very least – how has this happened? People don’t just come back from the dead.’ He looked down at Donald, who squirmed in his chair, not