Evidence of Death

by Peter Ritchie

  They spotted a free taxi and McGovern opened the door to jump in.

  ‘Chief Inspector, how are you?’

  Macallan turned and found Billy Drew, smiling broadly. He looked fit and had obviously been hitting the weights when he was inside. He’d always been a fitness junkie, but Macallan wondered if his shape had something to do with a dose of steroids, which were as available inside as out.

  ‘I’d love to say I’m delighted to see you, but I’m not. And it’s Superintendent now.’ Macallan faced him head-on and kept eye contact.

  ‘No problem, Superintendent. I just want to live the quiet life and be a good citizen now. Say hello to Mick Harkins if you see him. I’d love to have a drink with him some time.’

  McGovern took a step towards Drew and Macallan put her hand on his forearm. ‘Not now.’ A smile spread across her face. ‘Some other time, Billy.’

  She turned and stepped into the taxi, letting out a long sigh when she was out of sight of Billy Drew. ‘What next?’ The phone rang just as she finished the sentence and it was the chief super’s secretary. McGovern watched her face pale and tense up.

  She put the phone back in her bag. ‘Great – just great. He wants to see us after the briefing. That’s bound to be a pain in the arse.’

  She hadn’t had a cigarette for months but at that moment she would have killed for a lungful of the poison.

  23

  When Macallan arrived at the office the early-shift team were back in, buzzing with the high that infects surveillance officers after a good day when they hadn’t lost the target and there’d been no major cock-ups. Within half an hour they would fall flat with the reverse drug effect – the adrenalin high diving to an exhausted low.

  Thompson had led the team; she looked like she’d aged five years and was already getting what were known as ‘detective’s lines’. Even Botox wouldn’t erase those marks, left by the intense pressure of the job.

  Macallan watched the team laughing and stripping off their kit, both men and women getting changed without a thought for modesty. She smiled because they were the best, and the problem with covert squads was that they were what it said on the tin. Joe Public never saw them, only their limp imitations on television. Elsewhere you might find the fuckwits who cut their finger climbing a wall and sued the force for stress, and it was that image of the force that seemed to stick in the public’s media-bombarded minds. The women and men Macallan saw in front of her would have run through brick walls for the job and then gone out and got pissed together as just part of a day’s work.

  ‘I’m going to a meeting with the chief super, guys; I’ll join you for the debrief in about twenty minutes.’

  The team murmured in what sounded like understanding and a subliminal message of ‘you poor bastard’. They all knew the man for what he was.

  Macallan was about five minutes early for the meeting, and when she saw the chief super’s secretary was in her office and on her own she smiled and closed the door behind her. The secretary looked up and returned the smile. It was warm, and Macallan knew she hadn’t miscalculated.

  ‘I need a favour . . . in confidence,’ she said. Macallan didn’t know any other way to do it, and there wasn’t enough time to prevaricate.

  ‘What can I do for you, Superintendent?’

  ‘Straight to the point. When I spoke to you the last time you looked uncomfortable with my colleague. Cards on the table, your chief super has it in for me, but I’ve no idea what I’ve done. I need a friend. That’s the question.’

  Macallan waited while the secretary poured a glass of water and for a moment withdrew inside herself before she answered. ‘I’m retiring quite soon, Grace. You don’t mind me calling you by your first name?’

  ‘Of course not. I don’t even know your name.’ Macallan felt embarrassed at the admission.

  ‘It’s Shona, a proper Gaelic one because I was born on Lewis. Came to Edinburgh when it seemed like the other end of the world and exotic.’

  There was a sad light to her eyes and Macallan wondered what she was carrying after all her years working for the top career men. She’d heard a story that one of them had convinced the secretary that he loved her, which had lasted till the chief constable at the time had told the man that the affair would cost him a chief’s job. If the story was true, the secretary never got over the man. Macallan knew exactly what that meant.

  ‘I think you’re a very intelligent woman, and I’m sure you’ve already worked out that my boss is weak and inadequate for the post he holds. His problem is that he thinks he can fly higher, but the chief constable has come to the same conclusion as everybody else and his career has hit the rocks. He’s bitter and wants somewhere to lay blame; because that’s what weak leaders do, isn’t it?’ The secretary looked towards her window for a moment, gathering her thoughts, and Macallan wished she’d got to know her earlier.

  ‘I think your problem is that he sees so much in you that he lacks. He’s conflicted though, and I’ve seen the way he sometimes looks at you.’

  Then, looking intently at Macallan, she added, ‘John O’Connor sees it all.’ Macallan knew his name had been coming, but it still made her heart sink. ‘He has a different problem with you, and I don’t need to explain what you know better than I do. He’s a much more talented man and feels his fall from grace, forgive the pun, was undeserved.’

  ‘The thing is, Shona, I agree with him on that. I never wanted what happened,’ Macallan said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. He has a huge ego, and he’s been wounded by the events. Anyway, he’s manipulating the chief super. He wants his career back on track, and he’s winding up the man from the back. They’re waiting for the slightest problem on your part and won’t miss it.’

  ‘You can’t avoid “slightest problems” in my position,’ Macallan said, almost dejectedly.

  ‘It could backfire though. Remember what that wise old bird Confucius said: before you embark on a journey of revenge, first dig two graves. Don’t be too hard on Lesley Thompson – the girl’s naive and over-promoted already. They’re using her to get to that slight problem. Poor girl doesn’t know that once they’ve finished with her she’ll be left floundering in a rank she can’t handle. Just like the chief super – all it’s done for him is make him an unhappy man.’

  The phone rang and she took the call. ‘He’s free now and asks that you give him a couple of minutes then go right in.’ She smiled encouragingly at Macallan. ‘Just do what you do best. You’re better than them, and I’m sure you won’t let yourself fall to their level. That’s how you’ll beat them.’ Her smile broadened. ‘The Force is with you.’

  ‘Thanks. Think I’ll need all the help I can get – including the Force if I can get it,’ Macallan said as she headed towards the chief super’s door.

  He was in his seat, rifling through a bundle of documents. He looked up, peered over his glasses and smiled, but it was forced and he looked like he had stomach pains. Smiling meant bad news – it had to.

  ‘Sit down, Superintendent,’ he said. ‘I just wondered if you could update me on the Billy Nelson surveillance operation?’

  Macallan ran through their progress and explained that she was about to go into a briefing to catch up as she’d been at court with Bobo McCartney. He wasn’t the least bit interested, and there was no point in describing Bobo’s antics, which would have been a must-tell story anywhere else.

  ‘So we don’t really seem to be making any progress.’ He was still smiling, and she knew that meant he was going to drop something on her.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, and I believe that a full murder squad is about to start on the Fleming case, so the joint effort will make a difference.’ She was talking while trying to work out what the bastard was up to.

  ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

  Here it comes, she thought.

  ‘This region of the force is struggling with the weight of operations and senior officers to run them. Your surveillan
ce and intelligence unit is well staffed, and the Nelson operation is running along without any great problems that I’m aware of. Correct?’

  ‘That’s correct, sir.’

  ‘DCI Thompson is the operational commander. Correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She saw it coming towards her and stifled the urge to ruin her career.

  ‘In that case you’re ideally placed to take over the murder squad and will have the advantage of knowing what the intelligence-gathering operation is about.’

  His eyes glinted with the energy of triumph as he watched Macallan struggle to form a response she wouldn’t regret. She was wearing a dark business suit that she kept for court and formal meetings, and he couldn’t help himself – his eyes slid down to the length of her legs. It was only for a moment, and he caught himself, but two bright red spots appeared on his cheeks.

  ‘You start tomorrow, Superintendent.’ He saw the look of revulsion in her eyes and suddenly felt less confident. His moment of triumph was wasted by a primal urge that would never be realised – at least not with Grace Macallan.

  ‘I don’t understand, sir.’ His embarrassment calmed her. She knew this wasn’t the time to fight, and the more she struggled the less she would gain. It was a done deal, and she thought he would probably enjoy any hopeless resistance she might offer. ‘Who’ll run my team?’ Macallan asked, but she already knew the answer.

  ‘I would have thought that was obvious. DCI Thompson will get a temporary promotion to super while you’re away on the murder squad.’ He was tapping the end of a pencil against the desktop in an unconscious attempt to release the tension in his body.

  ‘Sir, it’s my opinion that DCI Thompson is far from ready for that role. She lacks confidence, and the wrong call on the current work could cost the force.’ She decided that that was enough – anything else would be a waste of breath. She couldn’t see him, but O’Connor’s fingerprints were all over the moves. The politics were too subtle for the chief super. O’Connor would know that the chances of getting the Nelson gang for murder were slim and the job would be a grind. If it failed it would be a very public failure, and she would be in the right place to take most of the flak.

  On the other hand the surveillance operation was covert and very little would be exposed to the public, whatever its successes or failures. Lesley Thompson would be fireproof while Macallan went down in flames. If she ended up having any success with the murder then the chief super would take the plaudits, like a great football manager who’d made the right substitution at the right time.

  ‘Once again I must caution you on your attitude to DCI Thompson. You clearly have a problem with a fellow officer’s progress through the force. Try not to worry about the fact that she’ll pass you in rank in the not-too-distant future.’ The words hung in the air and stank with the venom they contained.

  She decided to make one last pitch before she left. ‘Can I at least use Felicity Young and her analysts?’

  He didn’t care; he had no real understanding of what analysts did. ‘Of course – I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of anything that will help the investigation.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  There was nothing more to say, and the chief super watched the backs of her legs as she walked from his office. He squeezed his hand into a fist and the pencil broke, piercing his skin. He threw the remnants into the bin under his desk and cursed.

  The secretary watched her pass the office and mouthed the words ‘chin up’. Macallan, stunned and trying to hold it together, nodded but couldn’t manage a smile in return.

  Think positive, Grace – don’t let the bastard get to you, she thought, and repeated it several times as she strode through the dull corridors on a detour to the canteen to get some coffee – she needed time to straighten up and didn’t want the team to see her hurting. One thing was certain: she would go and see Harkins when she was finished for the day.

  When Macallan arrived back at the office she found Young had joined the debrief, so she decided to wait till it was over to break the news to them.

  ‘What have we got so far then, Lesley?’ she asked. She struggled to keep her face neutral, and no one in the room missed it. Macallan wondered how much Thompson knew already and wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d been briefed before her.

  Thompson looked tired and struggled with describing the technicalities of the day’s work.

  McGovern, to his credit, stepped in diplomatically when Thompson started to drift. ‘Billy Nelson hasn’t been doing anything too obvious or that looks like criminality at the moment, which isn’t much help. On the upside though, he has been seen to use public phone boxes to make some of his calls, and that’s always a good indication that they’re business related. We think there might be a pattern developing with the calls, but it’s too early to say what it might be just yet.’

  Macallan watched Felicity Young scribble furiously; the analyst loved trying to work out patterns where they weren’t obvious.

  McGovern continued, ‘We’ve got the exact times the calls were made, and our guys are going in right after and ringing the force number so we can pinpoint what number was called.’

  ‘Good, Jimmy, anything else?’ Macallan said, admiring his understated professionalism.

  ‘He’s still going walkabout in the university area so I think we’ll put footmen up his arse the next time if that’s okay? He’s up to something there, and we need to find out what it is.’

  He looked at Macallan for agreement and she turned to Thompson. ‘What do you think, Lesley?’

  Thompson, surprised by the question, agreed without figuring out whether it was a good idea or otherwise.

  ‘Felicity, how’s the intelligence side coming along?’

  ‘Excellent cooperation from the PSNI and we’re building a good profile of Nelson. He’s a complicated and interesting man. I should be able to give you a full intelligence picture on him in a day or two. The phone records are coming in, and we’re nearly up to date. He seems to have the mobile we know about for non-criminal use, but they all make mistakes. However, the surveillance logs show him as being seen making calls on a mobile at times that don’t show on the records of the one we know about.’ She pulled the glasses off her nose, which meant she was warming up. ‘I believe he has another mobile, and I’m doing some work to try and resolve that. The sightings of him using public phones show that he’s smart and capable. All very professional, but these problems can be solved.’ She put the glasses back on the end of her nose. ‘There’s almost nothing coming from his home phone, but I am interested in his walkabouts in the university area and would like any information on what he’s doing.’ She put her papers back on the desk. ‘That’s all I have for now.’

  ‘Thanks for that. And Jimmy, Felicity and Lesley – can I see you in my office?’ They nodded, following her in without question.

  As she told them the news, she noticed how surprised McGovern and Young looked compared to Thompson. Macallan knew then that her earlier suspicion had been correct. She tried to convince them that everything would be fine, determined not to show how she really felt. ‘Even though I’m going to be with the murder squad, I’ll still be closely involved. It’s just the way the job is.’

  Macallan went into the main office and told the rest of the team, trying to make it seem like just another day at the office, but they picked up the vibes. The silence that followed the announcement said it all.

  ‘When we put this lot away I’ll be back and the drinks will definitely be on me.’ She looked straight at Thompson, who dropped her gaze to the floor.

  Later in the day, McGovern came into Macallan’s office just as she was wrapping a scarf round her neck and held out his hand. ‘Make the bastards weep – and I don’t mean Nelson.’

  She bypassed the hand and pulled her friend close. He was surprised by the warmth. Macallan always seemed to be on her own little island, but he’d known her long enough now to see she was a woman who could be strong a
nd soft in equal measures.

  ‘Christ, I’m still trying to get over Fergie retiring at Man United and now you!’ he said, trying to lighten it up.

  She left without another word.

  Macallan began walking home, and the Christmas trees she saw starting to sprout in the windows along Stockbridge just confirmed that she needed a diversion. She tapped Harkins’ number into her phone.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Jesus, Mick, your diplomatic skills are getting worse. I need a drink and perhaps a weep. Can I come round?’

  ‘Fuck that. I’m now hobbling on my sticks to the bookies so why don’t you call me a cab and I’ll meet you somewhere.’

  ‘Brilliant. What about memory lane in the Bailie?’

  ‘The Bailie it is and you’re on the bell.’

  Macallan felt her spirits lift. Harkins had that rare ability to make her take herself less seriously – in other words he was a master piss-taker and knew exactly how to draw the swelling out of the most inflated ego. She knew she had a tendency to see herself as a victim and Harkins would remind her that it was all just shite.

  She waited at the bar and resisted the temptation to get one in before Harkins arrived, but with the rate that Harkins consumed alcohol she didn’t need a start. She felt her phone tremble, saw Harkins’ number and prayed that he hadn’t called off or just couldn’t make the journey. ‘Mick.’

  ‘I’m stuck at the top of these fucking stairs and need a hand.’

  Macallan loved Harkins. There was never a dull moment with him. She’d forgotten that the Bailie was a basement bar, and of course he would struggle on the walking sticks.

  When she opened the bar door and saw him leaning on the fence at street level she felt a whole mix of emotions for the man. She missed him in her team, but he’d really fucked up on the Barclay case. She wondered if he knew about Billy Drew and how he would react. She could forgive Harkins his faults because the mistakes he’d made weren’t mistakes at the time. There had been few or no rules about informants when he’d become involved with Jonathon Barclay, and what he was guilty of was the philosophy of ‘noble cause’. He’d paid a heavy price with his injuries, and she just couldn’t help liking the mass of contradictions that made up the man – and as he often liked to remind her, ‘At least I’m interesting.’