‘Have you tried calling your phone?’
‘Goes straight to voicemail.’
‘Could he unlock it if he wanted to?’
‘Facial recognition, so I doubt it.’
‘Tracking?’
‘Never bothered setting it up.’ She saw that Clarke was looking at the phone lying on the table close to the iPad. ‘A trick I learned from my ex — keep your business and personal lives separate.’
‘Which phone did Francis take?’
‘Business. Which is a blessing, I suppose, since I’ve put work on hold.’
‘Stephanie did a wonderful job of our flat,’ Cheryl said quietly.
‘Yes, about your flat.’ Clarke pulled back her shoulders. ‘Bit of additional bad news — neighbours reported a break-in.’ She watched Cheryl’s mouth fall open. ‘It’s a bit of a mess and there are some breakages. Plus you’ll need a locksmith.’
‘What happened?’ Stephanie demanded.
‘From the CCTV, two delivery drivers got in. We reckon they just kept pushing buttons until someone unlocked the door. They were carrying pizza boxes and wore motorbike helmets, visors up but mouths and noses masked.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Cheryl said, her voice trembling.
‘How much damage did they do?’ Stephanie added.
‘Broken vase,’ Esson recited, ‘some art that will need reframing...’
‘Bastards.’
‘Mostly stuff just needs picking up and put back in drawers.’
‘One thing they did do,’ Clarke added, ‘was strew the place with a powder that I’m pretty sure is cocaine. Would they have found it in the flat, Cheryl?’
‘I don’t...’ She looked to her sister for guidance.
‘Francis used the stuff,’ Stephanie answered. ‘Not my sister, though.’
‘Ever partake yourself?’
She stared at Clarke. ‘Very occasionally.’
‘Would Francis’s stash have been easy to find?’ Clarke asked Cheryl.
‘I don’t think he kept any at home. It was just for nights out, maybe at a party.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
Cheryl nodded.
Clarke signalled to Esson and began to rise to her feet. ‘If you’re worried about security,’ she told Stephanie, ‘we can maybe make officers available. No promises, though, we’re hellish stretched.’
‘Gina Hendry said the same. She was here first thing.’ Stephanie’s focus shifted to her sister, who was cupping both hands around the mug as she held it up to her mouth. ‘You can’t go anywhere near him, Cheryl. You know that, right?’
‘Of course,’ Cheryl Haggard said quietly, blowing across the surface of the liquid and studying the ripples her breath made.
Clarke and Esson had almost reached the front door when a buzzer sounded. Stephanie Pelham checked the screen on the wall. It showed a man standing at the gates to the driveway. She pushed the intercom button.
‘James, what the hell do you want?’
‘I heard about Cheryl. Just wanted to know if I can help.’
‘You can help, as a matter of fact — sign the bloody divorce papers and get this over and done with. Now sod off back to wherever you crawled out of.’ She lifted her finger from the intercom button and turned towards the two detectives. ‘If I open the gates for you, he’ll take it as an invitation.’
‘We’ll soon disabuse him,’ Clarke assured her, before turning to Esson. ‘You get in the car, I’ll walk to the gates.’ Esson nodded her understanding.
Stephanie Pelham unlocked the door. Clarke nodded a goodbye and strode down the driveway, Esson catching her up just as the gates were beginning to open. James Pelham was sitting in a white saloon. He got out again at the sight of Clarke. She had her warrant card open in front of her.
‘You’re not wanted here, Mr Pelham,’ she stated.
‘It’s my bloody home!’
‘It was once.’
He looked exasperated and dragged his fingers through his hair. ‘Are they okay, though, Steph and Cheryl?’
‘They’re fine.’
‘She won’t talk to me on the phone, won’t meet me for a drink... I’m just trying to be reasonable here.’
‘And the reasonable thing to do right now is leave.’
Esson had brought the car roadside, but had stopped in front of the gates, blocking any attempted entry. Clarke watched the gates start to swing slowly closed.
‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘how well do you know Francis Haggard?’
Pelham thought for a moment. ‘The girls would go off together, but our services weren’t usually required. I probably met him once a month, maybe less.’
‘Get along okay?’
He met her gaze. ‘Not particularly. Nothing really in common.’
‘Ever see signs of a temper?’ Clarke watched Pelham shake his head. ‘No hints that he was mistreating Cheryl?’
‘Not until recently — and by then Steph and I had parted company.’
Clarke saw that Esson was drumming her fingers against the steering wheel, wondering what she was missing. ‘Thank you for your help. Don’t let us detain you.’ She headed to the car and got in.
‘He’s older than he looks in the papers,’ Esson commented. ‘The phrase “washed-up” springs to mind.’
‘It’s a shame, isn’t it?’ Clarke said, fastening her seat belt.
‘I’m practically in tears here. Back to the office?’
‘Actually, I’ve got another destination in mind, Christine, I’m just not sure you’re going to like it...’
Malcolm Fox was waiting on the forecourt when Alan Fleck got back from road-testing a BMW. As he locked the car, he gave Fox’s Mercedes a good look.
‘Bought from new?’
‘I prefer getting my wheels from reputable dealers. It’s been a while, Mr Fleck.’
‘Long enough for you to switch from Complaints to Gartcosh.’
‘Who’s been whispering in your ear?’
‘What do you want, Fox?’
‘I want what’s due.’
Fleck narrowed his eyes. ‘And what’s that?’
‘Your head on a plate.’
‘You’ve tried that before, remember?’
‘I certainly remember Kyle Weller’s death in custody — I’m sure you do, too.’
‘Accidents will happen, as they say.’
‘But Tynecastle was always more accident-prone than most.’
‘As I recall, you did everything short of hiring a proctologist, and you still drew a blank.’
‘Kyle was by no means the only one. You’ll not have forgotten Tony Barlow — guy spent a month in hospital and a year doing physio.’
Fleck folded his arms. ‘Never proved we had anything to do with it.’
Fox gave a cold smile and pretended to scan his surroundings. ‘Did Cafferty help bankroll this place?’
‘A lifetime’s savings, as bank records will confirm.’
‘He gave you a taste for it, though, didn’t he? Fast cars, I mean. When you helped him ship all those hot ones to Europe.’
‘Why don’t you go waddling back to your little desk job? It’s all your fat arse is fit for these days.’
Fox shook his head slowly. ‘I’m here now, Fleck. And I’m not going anywhere until I’ve heard what Francis Haggard has to say.’
‘Saying is one thing...’
‘Only takes one to start, though, in my experience. That gets the fear going, and others soon join in.’
Fleck took a step towards him. ‘I get it, Fox, I really do. You’d rather hang a history lesson like me out to dry than anyone still on the force.’ He paused. ‘There’s some I could point a finger at — not all of them dead and buried, though at least one is well on his way.’