Minto nodded, ‘Aye’ – reducing eight forces into one is a good idea in principle but you’d think we’d built a guillotine outside Holyrood given the reaction from the Police Federation, Superintendents’ Association and ACPO.
As they passed Agnes, Dunbar smiled. She did not. ‘Do you suppose she has her knitting behind there?’ he whispered.
‘Sorry – what?’
‘Madame Guillotine,’ Dunbar added, as they rounded the corner. Watt’s guffaw echoed around the building as they made their way out.
***
Tyler looked back at Archie English as once again he scanned the street for his next potential caller. On this occasion he was disappointed and skulked back inside.
‘What do you make of him, Sean?’
‘Only ma’ an’ da’ call me Sean.’
‘What do you make of him – Falk?’
‘Got more than his share o’ baggage by the sound of it an’ celibate he may be – but as queer as any diva at CC Blooms.’ Tyler scowled. ‘Gay bar – up Old Town,’ he explained.
‘Ahh, haven’t come across it. Does Archie strike you as capable?’
‘Not sure, ma’am, but I would nae cross him off my list.’
‘Dunbar has,’ she said curtly as she got into the car.
Falk slid in behind the steering wheel and studied her. ‘He has!?’ He seemed genuinely surprised by her news.
She nodded. ‘But I haven’t – and he’s written off the gangland angle.’ Falk looked less surprised by that. ‘Is it a sore point?’
‘What?’
‘Him and Doc Monaghan?’
‘Don’t think he loses any sleep over that mad bastard.’
‘His accident? Was it?’
Falk eyed her suspiciously. ‘It was investigated – the locals were looking for a truck or courier vehicle of some kind that was seen by another motorist travelling at speed. The same driver found the boss’s car minutes later but – they got naewhere.’
‘His wife’s car,’ she corrected. ‘Had she upset anyone that might –?’
‘As I said ma’am – it was looked into.’
‘And did anyone look at this Doc character for it?’
‘It crossed my mind and a few others. We’d been piling the pressure on Doc’s organisation for a while but – there was nothing to connect him to the accident other than their enmity, but I wouldn’t put anything past Doc.’
‘Did you have any joy when you turned those stones over?’
‘Nae ma’am,’ he replied as the engine coughed into life.
‘You don’t have to call me ma’am when we’re alone, Falk.’
‘Aye, I do, less I forget myself in the office. I’m old school, ex-forces reared on a rank structure and ner’ weaned off it.’
‘I see. There’s a pub just up there, pull in – let’s have one for the road.’
‘Aye, aye, Cap’n – that any better?’
She smiled and nodded towards the pub. ‘Another point of view is called for,’ she added, as Falk swung the car into the kerbside.
As she had hoped, a couple of locals were having a bar lunch – a pint and a packet of crisps. She took her lime and soda over to a table beside the window, to be joined by Falk a minute later carrying his pint of lager.
‘I’d better drive back,’ she said, eyeing his pint disapprovingly.
‘One for the road, you said.’
‘Figure of speech.’ Falk shrugged and took a long draw. ‘So, nothing came of your street crawl?’
‘Nae ma’am – unless you count, Chick Pea Little losin’ a toe as dismemberment.’
‘Say again.’
‘Don’t suppose they’ve come across one up the glen?’ Her look told him that she wasn’t in the mood for games. ‘Gamblin’ debt that became a, never-had-a-job, nor-ever-want-a-job-day-loan, that got called in an’ cost him a toe – aye an’ he’ll lose another yin next week unless he comes up with the cash.’
‘Barbarians!’ she hissed with disgust. ‘And Chick Pea is?’
‘Craig Patrick Little – C-P – Chick Pea, one of Gowrie’s finest. It’d be easier to go through the books an’ tick off what he has nae done.’
‘Sounds peachy!’
‘Nae, definitely Chick Pea!’ he responded with a grin, ‘serves the wee shit right – he’d see his bairns go without before he’d skimp on any o’ his ean vices.’
They were drawing attention just as DI Tyler had hoped, and Falk was under no illusion as to why. Tyler’s trouser suit clung to her slender frame like Lycra, showing off every curve. Falk couldn’t imagine that many girls who frequented the pub were anywhere near as shapely or good looking.
‘Polis is it?’ a snaggle-toothed older guy with a grimy waxed bunnet cocked on the back of his head eventually asked, spitting crisp fragments through the gaps in his blackened teeth across the floor. In fact there were more gaps than teeth.
‘I’m Inspector Tyler and this is Sergeant Faulkner.’
‘CID then,’ his younger drinking partner said, turning full circle on his stool, cocking his head to get a better look at her.
‘Correct.’
‘Polis woman fray’ Gala comes by here every noo-an-agin’ – aye but she disnae look’oot like yer’sel, lass,’ he added with a salacious grin. The barmaid and Snaggle-tooth chuckled.
Then the older man wretched and broke into a fit of coughing. Eventually he stopped and turned to look at them again. ‘Hear there’s queer goin’s on up Braur Glen,’ he rasped.
‘Let’s just say the archaeologists have found more than they bargained for.’
‘If it keeps them bloody windmill things off oor hills I say dig the bloody lot up,’ the barmaid interjected.
‘Do you mean a wind farm?’
‘Aye, but we dinnae want one. Course there’s always those that do, an’ if you ask me that’s what all this is about. Missin’ any wind farm workers are ye?’
‘Ach! Dinnae talk shite, Lorna lass – it’s no’ aboot wind turbines – Archie’s bin on aboot that place an’ the Inglis Clan sen’ he were a wee bairn,’ Snaggle-tooth argued, shaking his head. ‘Never known a mon so obsessed with a thing as him an’ that old witch.’
‘Aye, but does he nae think he’s the rightful Laird or summat daft?’ the younger drinker asked. ‘Had a newspaper reporter in here yesterday – askin’ aboot Archie fancy-pants an’ if it were right his family once owned everythin’ aboot ‘ere.’
‘Ach! Naebody kens who owns what up yonder. One reiver clan would scale another, then they’d take it back an’ afore another came along – an’ so it went on.’
‘Why Fancy-pants?’ Tyler asked.
‘Thinks he’s summat, just ‘cos he’s got a bunch o’ college kids diggin’ holes up there. Like anybody aboot here gives a shite what happened three hundred years ago!’
‘Ach! It’ll bring tourists in, Carsy mon – an’ she might no’ even have te draw short measures te make a profit,’ Snaggle tooth said, nudging his younger sidekick.
‘Hey, ye cheeky wee shite, ye!’ – I dinnae force ye to sup here.’ Lorna protested.
‘Archie’s canny enough but –’ Snaggle-tooth continued, then thought better of it.
‘But?’
‘Ach well, I’ve known Archie near enough all his life.’
‘An’ all the boys knew his mammy,’ Lorna cut in bitchily. Carsy grinned but Snaggle-tooth did not appreciate the interruption or remark.
‘That’s nae his fault,’ he chided, ‘a shy wee feller he was too but of late he’s cast all o’ that off. Struts about the place cloaked in his ean importance since the university people turned up. Personally, Inspector, I preferred shy Archie.’
‘Never liked the mon,’ the younger drinker added. ‘Uh! A gypo’s wee bastard that’s all he is, but thinks himsel’ better than everyone else – pish! Fat wee mammy’s lad.’
‘Granny’s lad more like,’ Lorna added with a chortle. ‘His mammy off an’ awa’ wi’ a tinker, so she did.’
‘You did nae even know her an’ Archie had nae say aboot’ who raised him than he had aboot who fathered him,’ Snaggle-tooth protested, getting more vexed with his companions. They ignored the old man and shared a private joke instead.
‘Who represents the landowners and community regarding the proposed wind farm?’ Tyler asked, bored with their pointless sniping.
‘Aye, an’ that’s the sixty thousand dollar question, Inspector – who indeed? Plenty o’ folk objectin’ but naebody representin’ us that I know of,’ Snaggle-tooth replied.
‘Aye, that’s right! We all want to know,’ Lorna added. ‘Whoever does is sitting on a wee fortune but nin’ round here want them things spoilin’ oor hills.’
‘Some lawyer somewhere holds the deeds and titles in trust. Frae Edinburgh.’
Tyler and Falk finished their drinks and left the pub and exchanged knowing looks. She held out her hand and he reluctantly handed her the keys.
‘Abandonment, sexual abuse, self-worth issues, wind farms, disputed titles, fortunes to be made or lost – he’s staying on my list,’ she said, as they got back into the car.
7
The front doorbell rang and Dunbar frowned, turned away from his iPad and looked over his shoulder.
‘Ordered in?’ Elspeth asked.
Dunbar checked the time, 8:30pm, looked down at the screen of his iPad and smiled wearily at his wife as she peered back at him quizzically from the screen. ‘Nope, popped into Henderson’s on the way home.’
‘Ooow, you idle bugger. Won’t cook.’
‘Can’t cook,’ he cut in.
‘Liar! What did you have?’
The bell rang again. He sighed and reluctantly dragged himself off the couch and headed for the hall. ‘Carry out – cauliflower and blue cheese soup and the Spinach Tian.’
‘Ooow lovely, but – a bit of an odd combo.’ The bell chimed again.
‘Worked for me – yeah, yeah, I’m coming,’ he called out.
‘Sounds urgent, want me to call back?’
‘No, hang on; I’ll get rid of them.’
‘Could you taste anything else after the blue cheese soup? – And would you please stop waving that thing about! I’m getting queasy.’
He opened the door. ‘Rinsed with Rioja between courses.’ DI Tyler was walking away. ‘Briony!?’
Tyler stopped and turned to see her boss framed in his doorway and down-lit by the porch light. Dunbar had ditched his suit jacket and tie but clearly had not been home long enough to get out of his suit altogether.
‘Sorry about calling unannounced, sir.’ She walked back towards him. ‘There was –’
‘Who is it?’ Elspeth asked.
‘– something I wanted to run by you before –’ Tyler suddenly realised he was holding an iPad. ‘Oh, sorry are you –’
‘Work!’ he replied.
‘Well yes, I –’ Tyler responded.
‘No I was –’ he wafted the iPad ‘– talking to my wife, on Skype.’
‘You’re doing it again,’ Elspeth whined.
Dunbar raised the device to look at the screen. ‘Sorry.’
‘Briony? Is that that hot new inspector with the seriously cute butt you told me about?’ Elspeth enquired. Dunbar cringed and saw Tyler chew her lip with amusement. Elspeth had begun to use butt instead of arse since she started spending so much time around Americans. It irritated him, and she knew it. He turned the screen towards Tyler to show her that they were speaking via Skype, and let Elspeth judge for herself.
‘I think the word I used was ‘pert’,’ he corrected.
‘Waaay too cute for a cop!’ Tyler gave his wife a twee wrist wave. ‘Hi babe,’ Elspeth responded, raising her glass. ‘I know him, he rarely hands out compliments, and when he does he understates to spare my ego. Pert translates to cute and cute to – I think I hate you.’
‘Moving on,’ Dunbar interjected.
‘Oh, and as for that big macho cop rep – all front. So don’t let him bully you. Well, Alec, cuter butt than mine?’
‘Err, no – no!’ Dunbar cut in, turning the screen back to himself and shaking his head emphatically. He shrugged apologetically at Tyler, who smirked and nodded her agreement whilst mouthing, ‘right answer.’
‘Liar! And you never mentioned she was drop dead gorgeous. Don’t keep a pretty girl waiting in the cold, darling. I’m going to be late, I’ll call you tomorrow, mwa-mwa.’ The screen went blank. He stared at it for a moment. There was always a meeting and as for this mwa-mwa air kissing nonsense, yet another irksome mannerism she had adopted whilst scaling Edinburgh’s social heights – and another one he could live without.
Elspeth grew up in Brunstane, for God’s sake! Her dad was a ganger on the railway and her mum a school dinner lady –working-class diamonds, as cultured as haggis and neeps and justifiably proud of Wee Ellie, their extremely successful daughter. Dunbar stepped aside and gestured for Tyler to enter. Tyler caught her breath as she walked down the hall.
‘Woah! Top quality bricks and mortar, boss.’
‘Elspeth! We could barely afford a flat in this neighbourhood on my pay grade.’
‘You own the whole house!? Wow! She sounds like a very cool lady.’ Tyler meant it too, but not what she had expected of her gritty DCI’s wife. And gritty he was – despite appearances. Tyler had done her homework upon learning Molineux had put her name on the DCI’s team sheet. Dunbar’s smooth operator’s carapace hid a rough edge, one that had won him admirers and enemies in equal measure. She had imagined Mrs Dunbar as a fawning homemaker, and that was one thing Elspeth clearly was not.
She was shown into the sitting room, where the subtle opulence continued; classical regency splendour meets boutique chic. What on earth was Elspeth paid she wondered. The Chief Constable would struggle to afford the Dunbars’ home. And if her experience was anything to go by, Alec Dunbar must surely be the target of jealousy as a consequence. It was bad enough being perceived as a middle class graduate. Having reached the rank of DI with just over six years service and with little or no CID experience to speak of, she was aware of resentment in some quarters. So Tyler couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him, living in a manner even the most senior rank could only dream of. Could it be the reason that he had been passed over for promotion for the likes of Watt and Molineux?
Falk had told her over coffee that Dunbar had been promoted to Detective Inspector before Terry Watt had achieved the same rank and not long after Bob Molineux had and, that he was a far more capable detective than either man. Somehow that had not stopped them from overtaking him in the promotion stakes and, as if to add insult to injury, becoming his immediate supervisors. Even allowing for Falk’s fierce loyalty to his DCI, in the very short time she had spent in Dunbar’s company, he had proved far more impressive than his two so-called superiors. Watt and Molineux struck Briony Tyler as apparatchiks, senior detectives whose philosophy appeared to be – ‘follow the trends and adhere to whatever policy the Chief Constable advocates without question’. Maybe it was simply the case then that Alec Dunbar was not sufficiently politically astute to progress to the top level. Not a quality she lacked, and she had attained the rank of Detective Inspector faster than any of them.
‘Elspeth has built her professional reputation on being unflappable under any circumstances,’ he explained. ‘Sometimes she forgets that she’s allowed to – ye know, drop that act with me,’ he added wistfully, as if telling himself rather than his visitor.
If only she would now and again, it would be nice to know that she actually cared. At least on the rare occasions they did row, he caught a glimpse of the passion all marriages need in order to survive. And if nothing else, they lifted the monotonous facade of domestic and social perfection. At first, Elspeth’s independence had proved refreshing, liberating even, particularly so after Maggie’s brand of cloying neediness. But perversely, he had begun to miss his first wife’s rampant, totally unjustified jealousy. Somehow it had reaffirmed how much h
e had meant to Maggie and how much she had loved and needed him. With Elspeth he had the opposite problem. It was almost impossible to tell.
Because Elspeth worked such long hours and loved her job she never complained about his dedication or the unsocial hours he kept. He never had to tip-toe in or apologise for missing dinner. Neither did he have to explain who he had been with or even how much he had spent if he came home stinking of drink, which very rarely happened. Okay, if he were to stumble in blind drunk and crash one of her dinner parties – that would be frowned upon.
Falk’s promotion do had been a close call, but Elspeth had steered him straight past the dining room and her guests, up the stairs into the bedroom and the shower. Then she performed one of her amazing dinner party wind-ups that saw every guest out of the door before he had finished towelling himself down. A feat she could execute without ever alerting them to his state of inebriation or creating the slightest impression that they were being rushed. Little wonder she was so highly regarded by her boss.
Despite the banter, Tyler thought she had sensed tension as they Skyped. Just as she had the night before in the pub with Geary and Holmquist when Elspeth phoned him out of the blue to say she was catching that red-eye flight to Texas. Tyler’s mind quickly raced through the possibilities. Could it be professional jealousy? It’s not unheard of, and judging by his comment, his wife does not need his income to enjoy her life of luxury. Perhaps Elspeth’s job and earning power emasculates him. Or maybe her jet-set lifestyle was a source of envy, he having to survive on a take-away, while she dines out in Dallas, courtesy of her company Amex Card. Tyler had spotted his empty food cartons on the coffee table but no spillage. Not a messy eater then. That was a big tick in her box. Tyler deplored messy eaters. How hard can it be to transfer food from plate – to mouth? And yet, for some, men in particular, it seemed an almost impossible task.
A Deviant Breed (DCI Alec Dunbar series) Page 10