by Val McDermid
‘Wait.’ He snatched at her arm, grasping her sleeve. The dog growled deep in its throat. Markie shook herself free.
‘Changed your mind?’ Her lip curled in a sneer. She clearly thought she had the upper hand. ‘How do I know that there’s any value in what you say you’ve got?’
‘Because I’m not stupid,’ he said, his voice rising in frustration. ‘You wouldn’t have set me on Karen Pirie in the first place if you thought I didn’t know shite from Shinola.’ He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. ‘Look, I’m not going to deny I’m looking after number one here, but I’m trying to do you a favour in the process.’
Markie assessed him, head cocked to one side. He wondered whether she sensed his desperation. ‘Let’s hear it, then.’
‘Do I get to come back to work?’
‘That depends on what you’ve got.’
There was a long moment of Mexican stand-off. Then his shoulders slumped and he conceded. ‘The body in the peat bog?’
‘The strongman?’
‘Heavy athlete,’ he corrected her.
‘Whatever.’ The dog sensed her impatience, giving a soft whimper and leaning into her leg to show subservience.
‘She’s got somebody in the frame for it.’
‘That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Why is that a bargaining chip?’ Cautious now, Markie took a step away from him.
‘The bargaining chip is the name of the person she’s poised to arrest.’ He paused, stretching the suspense.
‘This isn’t an episode of Line of Duty, Sergeant. Spit it out.’
‘Have you heard of Shirley O’Shaughnessy?’
Markie’s eyebrows rose in perfect arcs. ‘Are you serious? Heard of her? I’ve met her. One of those party conference receptions where everybody stands around with their best smiles and promises. She was full of her plans for addressing the housing crisis and the politicians were treating her like she was the Messiah. And you say Pirie wants to arrest her for murder?’
‘She’s the only suspect they’ve got.’
‘What makes Pirie think Shirley O’Shaughnessy shot a caber-tosser in a Highland ditch?’
‘Peat bog,’ he corrected her automatically.
‘I don’t care if it was a bloody pigsty. Why does Karen Pirie want her for a murder? Has she taken leave of her senses?’ He detected a note of hope in her voice.
‘I don’t know all the details. She pretty much shut me out of the investigation. But I do know that she’s put her and Joey Sutherland together at the Invercharron Games, which is the last recorded sighting of him. And O’Shaughnessy ended up buying his van a few months later.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘Obviously there’s more. But I don’t know how much. They were getting pretty frustrated. She had that ginger idiot running all over the place trying to track down where the van was parked in 1995.’
Markie frowned. ‘Sounds like she’s clutching at straws.’
‘Which you don’t want to do around somebody like Shirley O’Shaughnessy,’ McCartney said. ‘Friends in high places, and all that.’
He could almost see the wheels going round as she processed the implications of what he’d told her. ‘No,’ she said pensively.
‘So do I get my job back?’
‘You get a job back,’ she said, distracted. ‘Kilmarnock CID is short-handed. Their sergeant’s gone on maternity leave and one of their DCs broke his leg a couple of nights ago. Report there in the morning.’
‘Kilmarnock? Are you kidding me? What about one of the MITs?’
She laughed in his face. ‘You have got to be joking. Now fuck off to Kilmarnock and try to keep a low profile. You’re drinking in the last-chance saloon, Gerry, and don’t forget it.’ She turned on her heel and stalked off, head high, shoulders straight, dog at her heels.
Kilmarnock? All that for bloody Kilmarnock? He took a vicious kick at a stone. Maybe there would be something better down the line if his information gave the Dog Biscuit what she wanted. But at least now he wouldn’t have to confess his disgrace to his wife and see the look of disappointment and contempt in her eyes.
McCartney walked back to his car, wishing he’d never crossed the paths of Ann Markie and Karen Pirie.
68
2018 – Edinburgh
Bewilderingly, the Hamish Mackenzie magic worked a second time. Karen slept straight through the night, surfacing from sleep in happy disbelief. They’d somehow negotiated an awkward path past the uncomfortable start to the evening. By the time they got to dessert, they were almost relaxed. Not relaxed enough for Karen to accept his invitation to go for a drink at a late-night whisky bar, however. They’d walked down the Mound together, then Karen had hailed a cab to take her home. Hamish was sensible enough to let that mark the end of the evening.
He opened the door of the cab for her then leaned in to kiss her cheek. His soft beard tickled and she felt cross with herself for the tingle of desire that ran through her. ‘Shall we do this again, then?’ he asked as she climbed aboard.
‘It would be a pity not to.’
‘I’ll call you, then.’ He closed the door and raised his hand in a wave as the driver pulled away from the kerb. Hamish was very definitely contrite. He’d done his best to recover from his misjudgement and she thought he was sincere. Something was happening between them, there was no point in denying that. But she needed to take it slowly. She couldn’t afford the emotional attrition of an involvement that didn’t work out. Grieving for Phil was still an active part of her life. If Hamish could understand that, they might be able to work something out between them.
Always supposing he felt the same. That she hadn’t snagged his attention only because she was a novelty in his world. She had no way of knowing if that was the case. Time alone would clarify that.
And she had plenty of time.
Her good mood didn’t last long. She’d barely finished showering when her phone vibrated on the bathroom shelf. Karen rubbed her hair then wrapped a towel round her body before she picked up the phone. The message read simply: Fettes. Conference room 2, 9.30. ACC Markie. Karen groaned. ‘What now? How can she not just leave me to get on with my work?’
For once, she wasn’t going to let the Dog Biscuit put her on the back foot. She had no idea what this latest manoeuvre was about, but she was determined not to start the conversation feeling inferior. She dried her hair with care, manipulating it into neatness with a tub of product she’d bought three months before and hardly used. Then tinted moisturiser, a thin line of eye pencil, mascara and a light slick of dark red lipstick. It occurred to her that she was taking more trouble for the Dog Biscuit than she had for Hamish. What did that say about her priorities, she wondered.
Her favourite suit, a lightweight dark green tweed from the outlet mall at Livingston, was still in the dry cleaner’s bag. She paired it with a plain grey layer and buttoned up the jacket to check that the look worked. She’d lost a couple of pounds since she’d bought it, but that only made the trousers sit better on her waist. This time, Ann Markie wasn’t going to be the only one looking the part.
Karen left the car in the Waitrose car park down the street from Fettes. That way she could pick up a coffee on her way to the meeting. Keep it casual, look as if you haven’t got a care in the world about how your unit is running. If running was the word for the way the HCU was operating right now.
She was five minutes early, but the ACC was already installed at the head of the conference table. Markie was in full dress uniform, looking every inch the tailored professional. But for once, Karen felt she matched her boss. ‘You wanted to see me,’ she said, walking in and closing the door behind her. She moved to the chair at the opposite end from Markie.
‘Phone on the table,’ Markie said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Phone on the table. I want to be sure you’re not recording this.’
Karen did as she was told, but said, ‘Last time we met, you were the one wanting a record of what was said. Can I see
your phone too, ma’am?’
Markie held up her phone. ‘As you can see, DCI Pirie, it’s turned off.’
‘Is this more fallout from Gerry McCartney’s stupidity? Because I’m not carrying the can for that.’
‘Is it true that you’re building a case against Shirley O’Shaughnessy?’
Karen was momentarily stunned into silence. How did Markie know about that? And why did she care? ‘She’s a person of interest in the Joey Sutherland murder,’ she said cautiously. And then she remembered the car she’d seen driving away from Gayfield Square. McCartney, of course. If she hadn’t been so distracted she’d have recognised his car right away. He must have weaselled his way back into the building and had a bloody good look round her office. It was the only explanation. But right now, she needed all her attention on Markie.
‘A person of interest? On what basis?’
‘She was with him at the Invercharron Highland Games, which is the last reported sighting of him. Three months later, she became the registered keeper of Sutherland’s camper van, supposedly after seeing an advert in the Evening News. Whoever was responsible for Sutherland’s murder had a reason for excavating that site. And within a couple of weeks of the last sighting of Sutherland, Shirley O’Shaughnessy was selling a parcel of uncut diamonds in London. Allegedly an inheritance from her grandfather, except there’s no record of him ever having possessed such a thing. That was the seed corn for financing her property development business.’
‘And how is she supposed to have known where to dig for the bikes?’ Sarcasm, not interest in her voice.
‘Her grandfather was around in Wester Ross at the end of the war. When the bikes were buried. One of the men who was involved died in 1946, a couple of days after a mysterious American turned up in his village looking for him. I believe that was O’Shaughnessy’s grandfather and that’s when he got the map that showed the burial site.’
‘You believe a lot, DCI Pirie. If the grandfather got the map in 1946, why did it take till 1995 for anyone to excavate the bikes? Isn’t that the crucial question?’
Karen knew she should be grateful for the Dog Biscuit’s scepticism. She’d have to make these same arguments to a fiscal to get a prosecution under way. But anyone from the fiscal’s office would give her more leeway to explain her conclusions. Still, she had to keep plugging away. ‘I’ve seen one of the two maps. If you know where to look, it’s clear where to dig. But if you don’t know the wider location, you could drive around for a long time before you’d pin down the site. I suspect Arnie Burke stumbled at that hurdle.’
‘So how did his granddaughter succeed where he had failed?’
‘I don’t know the answer to that. It’s the missing link in the chain. But we can finesse that in the interview, we can—’
‘A chain with a missing link isn’t a chain, it’s a pile of scrap metal.’ Markie didn’t look like a woman delighted at the thought of wrapping up a cold case.
‘I think she’s got a case to answer. I can make the argument to the fiscal.’
Thin-lipped, Markie enunciated very clearly. ‘You’re not going anywhere near the fiscal with this.’
‘At the very least, I need to interview Shirley O’Shaughnessy.’ Karen’s stomach hurt from a mixture of anger and fear that this was all going wrong.
‘No. You will not go near Shirley O’Shaughnessy. That’s an order, DCI Pirie. Leave her alone.’
‘What? I’m supposed to just let this go? Forget about it? A man was murdered and she has justifiable questions to answer. We don’t ignore material evidence.’ Despite her determination to stay cool, Karen heard her voice rise.
Markie leaned back in her chair, a condescending smile on her face. ‘You really don’t see the bigger picture, do you, Pirie? You’re a small-minded woman from a small town. But some of us don’t suffer from tunnel vision. Shirley O’Shaughnessy is a major player in the future of this country. She’s making government housing policy a reality. She’s courted by our political masters. How do you think the government’s going to react to you dragging one of their darlings into an interview room to answer questions on a case from the past that has more holes than a box of doughnuts? Without the goodwill of the politicians, Police Scotland is screwed. Not to mention what the media will make of it. Everybody loves Shirley. She’s the one going to make their dreams come true. But you?’ A contemptuous wave of the hand. ‘You’re only as good as your last front page. And your last front page was Barry Plummer. Your next one’s probably going to be Willow Henderson. You’re on course to being kicked out the door for bringing the force into disrepute.’
Karen swallowed hard. Markie’s tirade hit all her sensitive spots, shrivelling her confidence to a husk. But still, she couldn’t let it pass. ‘So that’s how it is now, is it? If you’re pals with the politicians, if you’re the darling of the rag, tag and bobtail of the Scottish media, you do what you like? Really? Is that our new policy?’
Markie sighed. ‘Don’t be even more naive than I took you for. And don’t think about defying me. I’m going to have a quiet word with Shirley O’Shaughnessy in case your clumsy raking about has got back to her. I’ll reassure her that your inquiries were purely routine and she has no cause for concern.’
‘And what about Joey Sutherland? What about justice for him? What am I supposed to tell his family?’
‘Tell them your investigation has dead-ended. That there are no viable lines of inquiry. I’m sure they won’t have any difficulty believing you’ve failed. Now off you go and see whether you can find something useful to do in your wee back office that doesn’t put all of our futures in jeopardy.’ She stood up, indicating the meeting was over.
Karen sat and stared at her. She felt slightly dazed at what she’d been forced to listen to. She’d had her differences with senior officers before, but she’d never doubted their underlying determination to bring criminals to justice. This version of their priorities horrified her.
‘Are you still here?’ Markie said as she swept past on her way out.
You bet I’m still here. And this is not over.
69
2018 – Edinburgh
Karen’s emotional response to Ann Markie’s diatribe had distilled into seething rage by the time she arrived at the office. Jason took one look at her when she walked through the door and froze. ‘What’s happened?’ he said.
‘Apparently our job description’s changed. According to the Dog Biscuit, we’re not here to put criminals away any more. Our job is to keep everybody happy, especially politicians and media hacks.’ She threw her bag on the desk and dropped like a stone into her chair.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘That utter shitehawk Gerry McCartney must have managed to get back into the office after he was canned. He told Markie we’re looking at Shirley O’Shaughnessy for Joey Sutherland. And she’s losing her mind because Shirley is the Scottish government’s best pal when it comes to putting roofs over people’s heads. And obviously that’s way more important than being held to account for murder.’ Karen kicked her wastepaper bin, adding a new dent to its battered side.
‘What? I don’t get it.’
Karen rolled her eyes. She didn’t have the patience for the Mint right now. ‘Who pays for Police Scotland?’ she demanded, each syllable clear and distinct.
With the air of a kicked dog wary of the next blow, he said, ‘The Scottish government.’
‘And who would we be pissing off if we arrest O’Shaughnessy?’
‘I see what you’re getting at,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think the First Minister’s like that.’
‘I agree with you. I don’t believe that’s how she thinks either. But Markie does, and Markie’s our boss. And she’s basically told me to lay off O’Shaughnessy or collect my jotters on the way out the door.’
‘She can’t give you the sack,’ he protested.
‘She can do me for bringing the force into disrepute. It would drag on forever and if she won I�
��d lose my pension as well as my reputation. She’s banking on me walking out the door in disgust, I think.’ The white heat of Karen’s anger was subsiding a little, leaving a cold coal of resentment in her heart.
There was a long silence, then Jason said, ‘So is that it, then? We walk away from it?’ For once, he sounded indignant as well as bewildered.
Karen clenched her fists. ‘Fuck, no. I’ve spent years building the best HCU in the UK. I’ve been fighting the bullies ever since I put on my first uniform and I’m not about to start rolling over now. We’re going to arrest Shirley O’Shaughnessy and we’re going to do it now. Before our supposed superior officer marks her card.’
‘We going to her office, then?’
‘First we find out where she is.’ Karen attacked her keyboard. ‘Get on the phone.’ She dictated a number. ‘That’s her office. Tell them we need to speak to her about a break-in at her flat.’
Jason obeyed. Unlike Karen, insubordination never occurred to him. When the phone was answered, he put on his best official voice. ‘This is Detective Constable Murray from Gayfield Square. I need to speak with Ms Shirley O’Shaughnessy. Is she in the office this morning … ’ He paused. ‘It’s in connection with a break-in at her flat. I need to speak to her in person … ’ He shook his head at Karen. ‘So where will I find her? It is rather urgent, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’ Suddenly his eyes widened and he mimed, ‘Help!’
‘Aye, I’ve got that,’ he said. ‘Till half past eleven. I’ll get over there right away.’ He replaced the receiver and spread his hands in a disconcerted gesture. ‘You’re not going to believe this.’
‘Try me. The morning I’ve had, my disbelief is well and truly suspended.’
‘She’s at a Scottish Government reception at Bute House.’
He’d been right. Karen could barely credit it. ‘With … ?’
He nodded. ‘Aye.’
Her mind raced through the options. They could stake out Bute House, the official residence of the First Minister of Scotland, and try to arrest Shirley O’Shaughnessy as she came out. About fifteen different things could go wrong with that, some of them involving an open-topped bus full of tourists. They could wait outside her office for her to return after the reception. But that left the possibility that Markie could get to her first. If the ACC tried to call her or text her while she was still in the reception, the chances were that O’Shaughnessy would ignore it. But as soon as she left the room, Markie could get to her.