Torn

by Anne Randall

  ‘Talk about bloody entitled,’ said Wheeler. ‘A policeman and a QC trying to pervert the course of justice. And the bloody DCC was in cahoots with them. The DCC knew about it from the off. He wasn’t promoted at the time and Mark Ponsensby-Edward had had him in his pocket. Afterwards, Ponsensby-Edward helped to get McCoy promoted. It’s all rotten. I hate that they were all part of our system.’

  ‘But, now they’re all fucked, Wheeler.’

  ‘Completely.’

  ‘Furlan dumped the body close to the pub to incriminate Cal Moody,’ said Ross. ‘He just couldn’t let go of his hatred for Moody, could he?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Stewart was shamefaced at the briefing. Difficult for him that it was our own.’

  ‘It happens, Ross. Maybe we need to be more open to it? If we had been we’d have cracked it sooner.’

  ‘Do you think that we’ll ever get to know who else was putting pressure on the boss?’

  ‘Doubt it.’ Wheeler sipped her wine.

  ‘The DCC, Mark Ponsensby-Edward, Eddie and Paul Furlan and Skye Cooper. Quite a haul, Wheeler. And the McIver’s been closed.’

  ‘For the time being. I think they’ll reopen. Distance themselves from “rogue members” and carry on. Alistair Brodie’s already given an interview intimating as much.’

  Their food arrived.

  ‘What happened, do you think?’ said Ross. ‘Guys like Skye Cooper who had everything. Fame, fortune, a great future. Why do you think he threw it all away?’

  ‘It’s a compulsion, an obsession. It began with the Marcus Newton trial all those years ago. Bloody Ponsensby-Edward was the defence QC.’

  ‘And George Bellerose being killed in a RTA,’ said Ross. ‘Seems the driver of the van, Owen McCrudden, was part of the bust-up over in Queen’s Park. Glasgow gang culture, the gift that keeps on giving.’

  ‘I know.’ Wheeler started on her food. It was only days since she and Ross had met in the park for breakfast. It seemed much longer. She felt the headache begin again. Rubbed her forehead.

  ‘You going to get to the GP?’

  ‘I’ve already been.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She reckons it’s nothing suspicious.’

  ‘Hope you’re not going to die on me?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  He raised his glass. ‘To Glasgow.’

  ‘To Glasgow,’ said Wheeler. ‘City of Dreams.’

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to my agent Jane Conway-Gordon, Krystyna Green and all at Little, Brown.