He was a big man dressed in a well-tailored suit, with a booming voice and a cultivated air of authority.
‘I apologise, sir, but before I answer, what exactly is being alleged here?’
‘No allegations, I’d just like to know why you’ve been doing what you’ve been doing, that’s all. I’m getting significant pressure from those above me who believe you’ve gone rogue. This is a complex investigation, and your actions could compromise it. You understand that, surely.’ His tone was soft, and almost sympathetic, but there was something else there. He was clearly under some pressure.
Max decided that being a little cagey was perhaps the wisest option. ‘Sir, am I being investigated for disciplinary purposes? If so, I should really be served a regulation twelve notice of investigation, and am I to require federation representation?’
‘Max, we really don’t want it to come to that. You’re a great cop, with a terrific reputation, but you can’t be acting like this. It could compromise the investigation. Now, please, just stay out of it. Those above me are concerned that you’re not acting professionally.’
‘Sir. It is my belief that the desire to resolve this case is blinding some people to the evidence that the Hardie family have killed Duncan Ferguson and now Willie Leitch. It seems these matters aren’t being properly investigated. There are other members of the Leitch family who I’m concerned are at risk, right now.’ Max’s voice was low and respectful, but each word almost seemed to make the detective chief superintendent flinch.
Something flashed in White’s eyes. He looked down at his notebook and then let out a sigh, his voice changing to a concerned tone. ‘Max, you’re a great officer, a real asset to the force, but those above me are concerned that your mental health may be having an impact on your decision-making. They’ve raised your issues following matters in London and the fact that you withdrew from occupational health interviews after the shooting. This is making them nervous.’
‘That’s a private matter, sir,’ Max said, feeling the darkness begin to creep into his vision. It always happened like this – a creeping, cold darkness that was invisible, but very real. He felt his cheeks begin to flush and the anger that had been absent for some time start to rise.
Ross spoke for the first time since the meeting began. ‘Pal, just listen to the boss; no one wants to screw you over, but you can’t go blasting about Scotland on a private crusade. You must know this.’ Ross’s usual bumptiousness had gone, to be replaced with a sympathetic, softer tone. Max felt his anger rise even more. Every bastard was against him here, but he kept his lips tightly pursed and his head lowered.
‘Sorry, but I’m ordered to refer you to occupational health,’ said White. ‘And that referral is mandatory. As of this moment, you are on sick leave until you’ve been assessed. I believe that your judgement is impaired. Go home, Max, take some time and come back when you’re ready and refreshed, and once you’ve seen OH, okay? Ross, make sure he gets home safely.’
Max felt the darkness rise, a hot anger. His fists were clenched so tightly that he felt his nails bite into his palms. He took in a slow, deep breath, as his counsellor had once made him practise. Strangely, it was one of the few useful things he took from therapy.
As quickly as the darkness had risen, it subsided to be replaced with a sense of calm. Max smiled. ‘Well, if I am mental, there is no harm in me saying the following, sir. Fuck you.’
27
Max and Janie didn’t speak for some time on the thirty-minute journey from Gartcosh back to Max’s place in Culross. Max didn’t even moan about Janie’s odd choice of music. He just let the mellow jazz wash over him, lost in his thoughts as he stared out of the window, part of him regretting his lambasting of the most senior detective in the homicide command.
‘You okay?’ asked Janie, as they pulled up outside his cottage.
‘Couldn’t be better, mate,’ he said, aware of the irony in his voice. ‘For once, your music choice is welcome.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Meaning?’ Max asked, turning to her.
‘Just that? What are you going to do? Occupational health and that?’
‘I’ll see them, I guess, if they make the appointment, but that won’t be for some time. If they’re anything like the Met, they’ll have one counsellor for the whole of Police Scotland,’ said Max, shrugging.
‘You’d be right. A friend of mine got really sick after being shot at. That and her dad dying and she was in a mess. Took months to get an appointment. You’re not even sick.’
‘I think that’s probably the intention. Put me before Professional Standards, and it’s out of their hands, you know, mandatory timescales, supervised by outside agencies, and federation support. Mandatory occupational health could take months and all they have to do is make a touchy-feely phone call to me once a week. Keeps me out of everyone’s hair. This whole thing will be over before I’m back.’
‘Can you fight this?’
‘Maybe, but it’ll take too long.’
‘You think they’re that threatened by you?’
‘Think about it. The Hardies have a direct line into the investigation. They never ask anything of their FLO, because they get it direct from their sources. Ferguson gets killed in very questionable circumstances just before Leitch gets murdered. I’m the only one shouting about it, and they want it to go away.’
‘But why?’ Janie sounded genuinely quizzical.
‘The Hardies want to kill every remaining Leitch. That’s the only thing that will satisfy a blood feud like this, and I’m getting in the way. Careful they don’t start to think you are, because there’s no telling what they’ll do. Hardie clearly has enough clout to alter the course of a murder inquiry. That means one thing: whoever they have on their team is senior. Really senior. This is corruption and I have no idea how high it goes.’
‘Shit.’ Janie’s eyes widened. ‘I knew something fishy was going on, but I thought it was just laziness, you know. Low-hanging fruit and that. What are you going to do?’
‘Janie. It’s probably best you stay away from me. You have a terrific career ahead of you, despite being a little odd, and associating with me, right now, could ruin that.’ Max made an attempt at a smile.
‘You don’t know me very well, do you – even if you’re the only member of the team to make any effort to actually get to know me?’
‘I guess not.’
‘When I joined the job, I always had one thing uppermost in my mind. Whatever happened, whoever was involved, I would never do anything I wasn’t happy with, morally or legally. I want to help. You’re a good man, and you don’t deserve this. Someone in Police Scotland is happy to let people die. That’s just fundamentally wrong, on every level. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.’
‘Thanks, I appreciate you more than you realise, and I promise, I don’t think you’re weird. Well not that weird, anyway.’ Max forced a smile.
‘So, what do we need?’
‘I need to find out who the conduit is.’
Janie looked quizzically at Max.
‘There will be a link between Hardie and his bent cops. Usually an ex-cop, probably sacked or possibly retired under a cloud. He will be the link between the cops and the Hardies. It may even be that the bent cops won’t know who they’re working for and possibly the Hardies won’t know the identities of the bent cops. We find the conduit; we have somewhere to start.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘Maybe, but it’s a long shot. See if you can inveigle yourself into the team drinks when the MIT have one. Find out who the pissheads are on the MIT and, if they’re Freemasons, all the better.’
‘That might be difficult. No one invites me anywhere. They think I’m a posh, stuck-up bird – you know that.’
‘Good point, well made, although not true. Well, not all of it.’
‘Too kind. Anything else I can do?’
‘Yes, Duncan Ferguson has a brother in Spain. Can you discreetly f
ind out as much about him as possible?’
‘Sure. Anything else?’
‘Willie Leitch had a sister somewhere, and an ex-wife. I’d like to know where they are.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thanks. I can’t tell you how much it means to have someone on my side.’
‘No problem. You take care, right?’
‘Sure thing, but you don’t have to do this. I can fight my own battles.’
‘Yeah, I do. Now piss off, Sarge,’ said Janie, a broad smile on her face.
Max laughed and got out of the car, which moved off as soon as he slammed the door.
Then he felt it, a shiver that shot up his spine as the lizard part of his brain told him something wasn’t right. A combat indicator, but what was it?
Then he realised: where was Nutmeg? She always came out to meet any car, without fail. Where the hell was she?
‘Nutmeg?’ he called out and followed it with a whistle. He felt the panic begin to nip at him as he ran up to the front door of the house. Trying the handle, he found it to be locked tight, which was to be expected. The house seemed to be secure, but it didn’t seem right. He jogged up to where she often slept during the day, but her bed was empty, just her favourite toy, a squeaky pig, lying on it. He unlocked the door and ran into the house, calling, ‘Nutmeg,’ as he did. She was nowhere to be seen.
He ran next door and banged on John and Lynne’s door. Barking erupted from inside as Tess and Murphy ran to the door, eager to greet him. The door opened, Lynne looking at him quizzically, and the two dogs bolted out rushing around him. Tess was an elderly, shaggy-haired blonde Labradoodle, who serenely sniffed his hand before offering a paw, hoping clearly for a treat.
‘You okay, Max?’ she said, her face puzzled at the alarm in Max’s eyes.
‘Is Nutmeg here?’
‘Aye, love, she’s asleep in the lounge. Something spooked her earlier and she wanted to come in,’ she said. ‘Nutmeg,’ she called.
Nutmeg came trotting along the hall, breaking into a deliriously happy sprint and physically leaping into Max’s arms, licking him in sheer delight, her tail wildly thrashing.
‘What spooked her?’ Max asked, once he had managed to calm Nutmeg down.
‘I’ve no idea; she just came running in with the boys, and didn’t want to leave. Not like her at all. Normally she’s watching for you from about four-thirty.’
‘Has anyone been up here, today?’
‘A small white car came about two. I didn’t pay too much attention, to be honest, but Nutmeg was going crazy. Now I come to think of it, it was just after that when she came to us. She hasn’t been out since, which is strange, right enough.’ Lynne’s face creased with confusion.
‘Ah well, no harm. Thanks, Lynne,’ said Max a knot of concern beginning to form in his stomach. ‘Come on, Nutmeg, dinnertime.’ And the small dog, fully emboldened now Max was back, rocketed out of the house ahead of him, her thoughts focused on her stomach.
Max went to the garage and tipped some kibble into Nutmeg’s bowl, that she delightedly began tucking into. As she ate, Max walked the perimeter of the property, checking all the windows were secure. Max was careful about home security after all his years living in London. Burglaries were not common in Culross, but they did happen with the close proximities of the cities, even if the majority of the crimes were theft of garden equipment or farm vehicles.
Max couldn’t shake the feeling that something didn’t add up. There were no packages, and there was no mail, so who was the visitor? Making an instant decision, Max set off down the track to the road three hundred metres away, Nutmeg trotting at his heels.
Reaching the bottom, he crossed the single-track road and into the steading on the other side. This was a large, open barn that housed several tractors, and various items of farm machinery. The owner, Ewan, was busy working on the engine compartment of an elderly-looking tractor, a spanner in his hand, oil on his face. Ewan’s dog, Jim, a big, scruffy collie rushed over to meet Nutmeg. A few sniffs of welcome and they were soon rushing around the steading, playing.
‘Ach, ya bastard!’ he spat as Max walked into the steading.
‘You okay, Ewan?’
‘It’s this bloody thing. Misfiring like crazy, and I cannae afford to take it in. That thieving Rod Maguire will charge me a fortune just to take a look. You okay?’ A smile flashed on his tough, weather-beaten face. Ewan farmed the fields that surrounded Max’s place and was a kind and funny man. He often came round for a coffee, and kept him supplied with eggs.
‘All good. You still have the cameras covering the machines?’
‘Aye, insurance company insist on it ever since I had the brand-new Row-Crop pinched. Forty-five grand that cost me and the buggers only paid me thirty-eight. Insurance is just another word for fraud, I tell ya.’ He wiped his face with his cuff.
‘Can I take a look?’
‘What at?’
‘CCTV feed. I had a visitor earlier who really spooked Nutmeg, and I want to see who it was.’
‘Anything spooks wee Nutmeg; she’s nae farm dog. She’s a lassie’s dog, you know.’ He grinned, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a large smartphone. He scrolled through the screen until he arrived at what he was looking for.
‘What time?’
‘Around two, or so,’ said Max.
Ewan swiped a little more, staring at the screen, intently. ‘I’ve four cameras, one faces the steading entrance, which will catch your track, perfectly. They all back up to a cloud server which I can easily access from my phone. Quite handy when I want to keep an eye on my machines. Here.’ He smiled, handing the phone over, with a touch of pride. Despite appearances, Ewan was a real gadget man, and he had actually studied engineering at university before taking over the family farm. He sometimes used agricultural modelling to plan his planting schedules, much to the chagrin of his farming colleagues.
Max took the large Samsung to see a full screen showing the entrance to his track in perfect, high-definition clarity.
‘Jesus, this is good. Must’ve cost a fortune,’ Max said.
‘Cheap as chips, man, more than covered by lower premiums, and it’s all tax deductible.’ Ewan smiled. ‘You can scroll through at extended speeds, easy enough, and it’s motion sensitive, so it’ll be easy to find.’
It took only a minute until the clock tripped round to just after 2 p.m., and a small white Mercedes turned into the track, its number plate clearly displayed. It was a new, sporty-looking A-Class, with low-profile tyres, spoilers and skirts.
‘Flash bugger’s car that,’ Ewan said. ‘AMG isn’t it? I bet your crap, rutted track rattled some fillings with that suspension.’
‘Aye,’ said Max, the knot in his stomach telling him that the visitor wasn’t right and didn’t belong.
The car soon reappeared, the motion-sensitive function of the camera making it appear almost immediately, but the time stamps showed it was ten minutes. As the car edged out and turned away from the track, Max paused the footage. The driver was clearly visible. He took in the dark side-swept hair, thick-rimmed spectacles and worn, lined face. Max’s heart jumped. It was the same man he had seen talking to Tam Hardie at the funeral. Why had he been up to Max’s house? It wasn’t a comfortable thought.
‘Can I get a copy of all this? Screen shots and the like?’ asked Max.
‘I can do better than that. I’ll email you the log-in link. Doesn’t hurt me to have more eyes watching my tractors. Is everything okay?’ Ewan said with genuine concern.
‘I’m fine, pal, I just like to know who’s visiting my house and this bastard upset Nutmeg.’
‘Can’t have that, right? I’d best get on; this tractor isn’t going to fix itself.’
28
Back in the house, Max checked each room and window, studying all the locks for any sign of intrusion. He found nothing. The house was as secure as he had left it earlier that day. So that left two options. It was an attempt to speak to Max, or it was recon
naissance. If it was the second, then it meant they would be back. This was not a covert visit; whoever it was didn’t care about being seen by neighbours, and Max was certain that he would have had a cover story, if challenged. If it was a recce, the next visit would be sneakier. Max was both alarmed and excited at the same time. One thing was certain: the visitor clearly knew that Max would not be in, and the bust-up at Gartcosh was public enough for word to have reached him.
This was a worry, but at the same time, it offered an opportunity. Max had loads of experience of surveillance, had covertly followed the worst villains in the UK, so having someone try and follow him, record him or monitor him didn’t faze him even a little bit.
Max grabbed his phone and dialled.
‘Missing me already?’ said Janie.
‘More than life itself. Can you do me a favour?’
‘You know I can. Didn’t we just have this discussion?’
‘I’ll send you a screen grab of a car and an image of its driver, who was, coincidentally, the guy we saw at Hardie’s funeral.’ Max told her what had happened.
‘Wow, good to have paranoid neighbours, but not so good to have Hardie’s man at your place.’
‘No. Tell no one. We don’t know who’s feeding them this shit.’
‘Sure, but for goodness’ sake, be careful. Maybe move away for a bit?’
‘No chance. They don’t know what I know, and this gives me opportunities. Can you check on the car, and try and get an ID on the driver? Be as discreet as possible; use any backdoor methods you can to get the checks done. Keep my name well out of it.’
‘Yeah, that’s no problem. I’ve a nice way of doing checks that won’t flag in the normal way. We used them on a Vice job I led a while back where they suspected a bent cop was involved. Anything else?’
‘Not right now, thanks. Call me when you have something. If I don’t answer it’s because I’m on my motorbike, popping out to the shops for a wee while.’
‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ Janie said, sounding worried.
‘Just shopping, I promise. Speak soon.’ Max hung up. He swiped and clicked at his screen for a few moments before sending two screen shots of the CCTV footage. One of the vehicle with the registration shown, the other zoomed in on the driver.
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