In his summing up, Barclay’s lawyer struggled manfully to present a reasonable case for a not guilty but his frustration showed, and it was clear Barclay was losing – and losing badly. The detectives had expected him to pull a legal miracle out of the hat, but to their surprise, it hadn’t come.
Macallan leaned over to O’Connor. ‘Can you believe this?’
‘He’s a coward. He’s getting what he deserves. The judge is just about to brief the jury and send them out so let’s go get some lunch.’
O’Connor’s shortcomings had just about been exposed during the investigation, but they’d had their break and he was all polish again, firmly back in favour on the executive floor.
They left the court together and walked down the Royal Mile. The sky was a pulsing blue, a cool sea air being pushed over the damp cobbled street and up into their faces. It was a good feeling, and although the investigation had left them sapped of energy, they would be able to put it behind them once the verdict was returned – at least in part. Dealing with unnatural death marked the soul, and those feelings drifted around the subconscious mind forever, occasionally breaking through with a reminder of what might lie in wait for an unsuspecting victim or an unprepared detective.
They pushed into the warm, beery atmosphere of a High Street pub and found a space at the bar.
‘They’ll give us a call if the jury’s coming back in, but we should have plenty of time for lunch and to start planning our trip away.’
Macallan sat back in her chair; he’d taken her completely by surprise. ‘Superintendent, what are you suggesting?’
‘What I’m suggesting, Chief Inspector, is a week – that’s one whole week – in a nice little place on the west coast of France near Royan. All paid for – all you have to do is bring a toothbrush.’
She reached over the table and took his hand.
‘Grace.’ He didn’t know what to say next. She shook her head and squeezed his hand tight as he brushed his free thumb across the wet trail on her cheek.
‘It’s just that when I left Belfast, I honestly never thought I’d feel this way again, or that a decent man like you would want to be with me. So much has happened to me, and I thought I’d never leave the Troubles behind, but I’m here with you now and that’s all that matters.’ She wiped her eyes and gave him a watery smile. ‘I’ll be fine – sometimes we girls need a wee cry – now let’s eat,’ she said, grabbing a menu.
He nodded and began to study his menu as if there was much of a choice between steak pie and fish and chips.
‘One thing I need to mention – it was supposed to be in confidence – but Felicity Young came to see me, and I’m not quite sure how to handle it so tell me if you have any thoughts. I know you get on really well with Mick Harkins. In fact, I can’t remember him taking to anyone the way he’s taken to you – especially someone who outranks him.’
Macallan sat back. She still hadn’t found time to trap Harkins in a bar and get to the bottom of what was bothering him, so she kept quiet and let O’Connor continue.
‘Apparently everything was great after they got together, and we all saw the change in Mick. He’d cut down on the sauce and stopped visiting the fast fooders every night. Miracles can happen it seems, and he even said to me at one stage that he was looking forward to retirement, which was not the Mick Harkins of old. Anyway, at some point during the investigation, he seems to have nosedived and Felicity thinks he’s back on the edge. Apparently he’s necking the whisky again as if the world’s supply is coming to an end, and she’s worried sick he’s ready to walk out on the relationship. I can speak to him, but I know him well enough to know he won’t share it with me. I’ll have a go because he deserves that, but if there’s anything you can do without breaking my confidence with Felicity then feel free.’
The nagging feeling that had been chewing the edges of Macallan’s subconscious was back, and she was annoyed that she’d been too busy to listen to the alarm bells that had been ringing for her where Harkins was concerned. Being a DCI was about more than grabbing the headlines – sometimes it was playing nursemaid to a team of tough but damaged human beings – and Harkins had deserved better from her.
‘Christ, I did sense something,’ she admitted to O’Connor, ‘but I thought I’d let it be until we got this thing put to bed. We’ve not had the regular pub nights we had when we were both sad singles, and I assumed Felicity was filling the hole in his life. I could kick myself because he was so good to me, and I care about him, but he’s more messed up than the rest of us put together and I should’ve been paying more attention.’
O’Connor sighed. ‘His yearly appraisal’s due so let’s see if anything comes out of that first. He’s long overdue a week’s leave so I’m going to insist that he takes it now before the next mess falls on the squad. If we mention any of the modern interventions like a counsellor then he’ll probably throw me out of the nearest window. Anyhow, we’ll take the next few days wrapping this up then we’ll head to France, and I’ll arrange that Mick goes off when we come back. If we’re no further forward after that then you can take him to the pub and work your womanly magic, but hopefully the break is all he needs.’
They stayed off the booze – that could wait till after the trial – and walked back to a coffee shop near the court, chewing the fat like a teenage couple and enjoying every moment of each other’s history, the small stories that meant little on their own but helped to build a deep relationship. O’Connor’s phone went off in the late afternoon, prompting a nod to Macallan and they headed back to the court, hurrying across the old Lawnmarket where many a villain had kicked his last in front of a baying Edinburgh mob.
59
Barclay was composed and it appeared as if he’d resigned himself to the result, but he looked good again, healthy – certainly not the shattered wreck that O’Connor and Macallan had charged with murder in a cold, dark interview room.
The jury, on the other hand, looked tired; the details they’d listened to had introduced them to a new world, and the pictures of shattered bodies and faces had shown them the reality of serious crime. Not the dramatised TV detective story where you could switch off, have your hot chocolate and then go to bed – these pictures showed people who were really dead or wasted for life, and the truth of what this meant had shocked them all.
When Barclay heard they’d found him guilty of all charges, he didn’t move a muscle, and Macallan had to hand it to him – he had style. She thought he was the kind of man who would have chosen the death penalty for himself if it were possible, because what he faced in the indignity of the awful, mind-crushing routine of prison was probably going to be his own personal version of perdition. The judge rattled off his thoughts about the fall of a fellow advocate, and although it was in the finest lawyerly form, it was almost predictable: ‘a prominent legal figure brought to this’.
Macallan didn’t hear much more; her mind was spinning with everything they would still have to do to wrap the case up, but when the life sentence was passed, her eyes drifted back to Barclay, who turned to her and smiled just before he was led away.
It startled her, and O’Connor noticed, leaning over to tease her. ‘I think he fancies you. Don’t think there’s a future there for you though,’ he said.
Macallan didn’t smile – it wasn’t that funny anyway. She decided that at some stage, depending on appeals, she would see Barclay again, try to get him to talk and see if he could throw some light on any outstanding cases.
O’Connor put his hand on her shoulder and saw her mind was asking questions again, but this wasn’t the time for it. ‘Come on, let’s get the last of the paperwork done, then try and have a go at normal life and interaction if you know what I mean.’
She met his eyes and shrugged. ‘You’re right. Lead the way.’
Barclay was marched out to the wagon and took his seat in the tiny holding space as the van moved off towards HMP Saughton. He heard shouts of abuse from some lynch-mob nutters, cle
nched his fists and tried to keep from shaking. He’d handled it well, so his main aim now was not to come apart and give the mob anything more to sneer at. During his time in remand he’d thought about suicide, but if he was going to do it then it would be done right – it wouldn’t be some failed attempt that could be misinterpreted as a cry for help.
He would try not to think too much about the future until he understood what that meant. Other prominent people had gone inside and survived after all.
He leaned back, closed his eyes and wondered who would come and visit him. Not many from his own world, he guessed. There were plenty professional enemies who’d rejoice at his downfall, but what friends he had were already doing a passing impression of the Apostle Peter, and the future loomed like a grey mist inhabited by predators. Although he’d defended the worst of men, he was a wealthy lawyer, and for some inside that would be enough to make his life hell.
He shivered uncontrollably when he faced the truth that he was a physically weak man who had never been in a fist fight in his life, and the thought of what those men in prison could do to him made him groan out loud.
60
They’d hardly moved from the ancient house they’d rented in the tiny village of Médis, a hidden secret a few miles inland from Royan on the windblown coast of France. It was as close to heaven as two career detectives could get. There was nothing in the village but a baker who brought genius to his art, and despite it being late in the year, there was warm sunshine, although the Atlantic air cooled them at the same time. It couldn’t last – the job was scratched into their DNA – but for now it seemed as if they belonged to some other world.
A few days into their trip, they drove up the coast to La Rochelle, parked near the old port and managed to grab a table in a restaurant with a beautiful view of the harbour and the Bay of Biscay beyond. They worked their way through a small mountain of shellfish, hardly needing to talk, laughing and gorging themselves like children. This was time to recharge their batteries – there was certainly no room for restraint, and they’d become intimate enough to drop formal table etiquette for the time being.
They didn’t want the day to end and knew that there would never be another one like it. Times like these were precious, unique, and they’d both seen enough of the dark side of the world to know that life was mostly about getting by, so if you could grab a few good moments along the way, then that was a result.
Macallan could tell that O’Connor had been holding something back from her, and like all these situations it would take time for him to share. What was it with men, she wondered, thinking they could hide themselves from their women? But she would wait and let them enjoy the day, because whatever it was would be related to their real lives, and that could wait for now.
In the end, he opened up a bit quicker than she had anticipated – probably helped along by their second bottle of wine.
‘I’ve been sounded out about a job at Interpol HQ in Lyon.’
It was short enough and direct enough. She lifted her elbows off the table and straightened her back, giving him enough of a non-verbal to tell him she was surprised. She hadn’t anticipated this after their time together – foolishly she’d hoped for something else and rebooted her brain to reality.
‘Christ, you caught me out with that one! So we can go into the details as we go along, but why? And does that mean this was just a short, meaningless break for you?’
She tried to keep her voice matter of fact, but it was difficult to hide the edge in it. She’d naively thought they were learning to share and trust. Was he just another ego in trousers taking advantage?
‘Look, you’ve got it wrong. I should have told you this was in the wind, but I had to work a few things out myself. Up to the day I met you I was a confirmed loner, and that was enough for me.’ O’Connor dabbed the side of his mouth with a napkin and ignored what was left on the plate.
‘Okay, tell me the story and let’s have all of it. I’m tough but I’m only human, and I don’t need any more shit in my life. You knew when I came to the force that I’d left enough baggage behind me to keep an agony aunt going for life.’
O’Connor leaned back in the chair and suddenly looked weary again. Reality was a thousand miles away but they’d have to head back there in a few days.
‘It’s the collateral damage from the investigation plus some job politics. Okay, we got Barclay, but the ACC just can’t stand me and he’s determined to stop my career in its tracks. He blames me for the incident that might or might not have happened at the hospital – and the leaks to the press. I don’t know if I can be arsed with fighting it, and after working abroad, I realised our force is incestuous to its core.’
She felt her anger rising. Another brilliant man more obsessed with his own ego than getting on with life.
‘Don’t you get it, John? It’s nothing to do with the leaks or the hospital. You know that as well as I do. Of course the force is incestuous, and so is just about every other organisation you can name. You’re everything he’s not – that’s his problem. He’s gone as far as he can, is looking at walking the dog and counting his pension, but you have a bit to go yet. He wants what you have but can’t buy the time back, so you’re to blame in his tiny mind. It happens in every walk of life, but I’m only telling you what you know. If you can’t rise above that then you’re not the man I thought you were. You’re vain and invest too much in getting to the top, but you deserve to be there because you have a talent for it. The ACC couldn’t lick the soles of your highly polished shoes. But it’s your call, and I can’t help you on that one. If you want to go to Interpol then good luck with it.’
She became even angrier when a smile spread across his face. A red patch crept up her neck and he remembered the adage ‘red for fight, white for flight’. Macallan was definitely ready for a fight.
‘For God’s sake, I wasn’t about to fuck off to sunny France and forget I ever knew you! I thought you were a hotshot detective? I’d want you to come as well. Okay, it might not be right away, but you speak French and how many Brits can say that? With your background you could walk into any job you applied for. You’ve become a bit of a celebrity, or didn’t you know that?’
He’d caught her off guard again – she hadn’t thought that she might be part of his plan. It didn’t matter though – the plan was wrong.
‘Look, I’m sorry, and if I was included then I’m flattered. But it makes no difference. I’ve not been long enough in Edinburgh to move already, and I’ve only just started to get a night’s sleep without dreaming about an ASU picking me up and bashing my head in. That’s because of you, John, but I don’t think you get what you’ve done for me.’
She crossed her arms, reminding O’Connor of a young girl having a tantrum. She’d amazed him every day he’d known her, and the more he knew, the more amazed he became – this woman who’d slept for years with a gun beside her pillow but was sitting in front of him now suppressing the tears he knew were close to surfacing. She was so vulnerable at times, and he loved that about her. She was real, no pretence – complex but simple, hard but soft, and all his if he wanted her. At first, the thought of giving up his independence for all the baggage she carried had frightened him, but the one thing he knew for certain now was that life with Grace Macallan would always be interesting – and it was a life he truly wanted.
He bunched her hands in his and kissed them. In any other situation it would have felt wrong and she would have put it down to alcohol, but she saw that he meant it.
He looked up and smiled again.
‘You’re right, and maybe I just needed you to say that. I’m a man, for God’s sake – I need a kick up the backside from time to time – so let’s see how it goes, and maybe in the future we can think about a posting abroad when it suits us both.’
‘Okay, it’s a deal, but for the moment I’m happy where I am and we have a job to do with the squad. There’s plenty of time, and career-wise we can achieve good things together,
so let’s just keep enjoying each other and see how it all develops.’
O’Connor had booked a hotel in La Rochelle and some time after midnight they flopped into bed and fell asleep instantly. Walking back to the hotel, trying hard to keep steady, Macallan had felt contented and now she dreamt about good things again – John O’Connor definitely included.
61
While O’Connor and Macallan slept off the booze in each other’s arms, a dark shadow stepped into a car, started the engine and the Mercedes moved off towards Leith to hunt. The man driving the car crawled through the quiet streets, concerned that it might be too late now, but he was ready if the chance was there – it was time to move into the endgame.
He gripped the wheel and the bones of his knuckles showed through the skin as he hunted without success. In his frustration, he hit the dashboard with the side of his clenched fist and cursed aloud, feeling saliva spurt from the side of his mouth.
And then he saw her. She wasn’t far ahead, and he felt a rush of excitement at what was to come. Stopping the car for a moment, he breathed steadily and calmed himself as he watched the woman, who had to be desperate to be on the go at this time of the morning.
She’d spotted him already and moved towards the edge of the kerb, happy there was a punter about that would get her the next bag of powder. She sniffed wetly and tossed her cigarette end into the gutter.
He looked into his mirror. He was fine again, and he had to be. It was all coming to a head, and he wanted to end it in a glorious flourish. He’d done a good job so far, and the finale had to be right or it would all have been wasted.
He smiled at his reflection and ran a hand over his sleeked-down hair, thinking again how good he looked, how much better than the rest he was and how he was just about to prove it.
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