“What about the other one?” Oldham asked Baines.
“Somewhere in Leeds. I don’t have much information, but I’m going to see Detective Inspector Gardener now. He’s leading the investigation, you know. I went to see him yesterday, offer my help.”
The man in the tinted glasses paid for his menthol sweets and headed for the door.
“Are you sure you know who it is?”
“Quite sure. And why he’s doing it,” said Baines. “He might have the police fooled, but not me. I’m on to him.”
Baines headed for the door. The man with the tinted glasses left the shop without holding the door open for Baines. Oldham signed Rydell’s delivery note.
Baines left the shop.
Outside, Rydell watched him go.
Chapter Forty-five
Vincent was once again sitting in an interview room. He glanced at his watch. It was approaching three o’clock; he’d been there for thirty minutes. They had supplied him with coffee and biscuits, but he was tired of waiting. He had better things to do.
Having said that, at least he was safe. Out of reach of Loch Ness.
The door opened. Gardener and Reilly came in and took a seat. The DI dropped a manila file on the table.
“We’re very busy,” said Gardener.
“So am I,” replied Vincent. “But I have important information for you.”
“Like yesterday, you mean?” said Reilly, taking a sip of his coffee. “What is it this time?”
Gardener took a sip of bottled water. “If you have something important for us, we’d appreciate it,” he said. “The last thing I want you doing today is wasting my time. I have enough to do.”
Vincent was offended by the senior officer’s tone. ?
??Isn’t it your job to protect the public?”
“Yes, it is,” replied Gardener. “But all of them, not just you.”
“Is this how you treat people who are being threatened with their lives?”
“Get to the point, for Christ’s sake,” said Reilly.
Vincent passed over his own file. “I’ve received another email.”
Gardener read through the email and the notes he’d made, and then passed it all to Reilly. “Where do you think all this is heading, Mr Baines?”
“He’s going to kill me. It says so quite clearly in there.”
“No it doesn’t. He’s playing games with you. He’s made some reference to an engine driver in 1866 who committed suicide by talking opium.”
“Yes, and the chemist where I live had a break-in this morning. The only thing taken was secobarbital, very similar properties to opium.”
“Coincidence.”
“I didn’t think you people believed in coincidences.”
“Whether we believe in them or not,” replied Gardener, “we’re not stupid enough to think they don’t exist. Okay, let’s play along with your theory. Who is it? And why do you think he wants to kill you?”
“A Scottish gangster called Danny MacDonald.”