‘I know Francis,’ he said. ‘As I told you, he’s one of my very best buds. And he does love Cheryl to bits, I promise you.’
‘So you’d reach out to help him, maybe even cover for him? That’s what mates do, isn’t it, especially at Tynecastle? And maybe in turn he’d keep your name out of things...’ Her voice tailed off. She’d been trying not to think about her own relationship with Rebus — trying and failing.
‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’ Driscoll looked from Clarke to Esson and back again.
‘Your accent’s not local,’ Clarke commented.
‘Neither is yours.’
‘I grew up south of the border.’
‘And I grew up north of the border — just a different border.’
‘Northern Ireland.’ Clarke nodded her understanding. ‘Driscoll’s a Catholic name?’
‘So?’
‘So what nickname did you get given?’
‘It’s all perfectly innocent, DI Clarke.’
‘Just banter?’ Esson interrupted.
‘That’s right.’
‘If you hear from Francis, tell him he’d be wise to come see us,’ Clarke said. ‘Meantime, who else should we be talking to?’
‘Nobody’s going to tell you anything.’
‘Closing ranks, eh? Might not serve you so well these days as it has in the past. Try contacting him, will you? Tell him he needs to come in.’
‘If you like.’
‘We’ve just been to his home, actually,’ Esson said. ‘Someone had kicked the door in, made a real old mess.’
‘Our lawless capital,’ Driscoll echoed.
‘Rather than take anything, though, they left something.’
‘What?’
‘Cocaine, spilled all over the floor.’
‘What a waste — and I keep being told it’s in short supply.’
‘Funny way for mates to behave, isn’t it?’ Clarke asked.
Driscoll stared at her. ‘You think we did it?’ He gave a snort. ‘Why?’
‘A shot across his bows?’ Clarke speculated.
‘Dream on.’ Driscoll levered himself up from the table. ‘Now if you don’t mind, there’s proper policing some of us need to be doing, so...’ He gestured towards the door.
‘We can find our own way,’ Clarke told him.
She led Esson back down the corridor, pressing the button to unlock the door. Three uniformed officers filled the reception area, one slightly older than the other two, none of them sporting welcoming looks on their faces. They didn’t say anything and didn’t clear a space, meaning Clarke and Esson had to squeeze past. One of them gave a long, loud sniff, as if trying to pick up a scent.
‘You’d have to be desperate,’ Clarke heard one mutter to another.
‘I’d do you before I’d do them,’ a second voice replied in the same stage whisper.
For a moment, she considered confronting them and taking badge numbers. But she knew they would consider that a win. Instead, as she hauled open the door to the outside world, she half turned towards Esson.
‘I can never remember,’ she said, voice raised loud enough to carry, ‘if they’re called Tynie because of their brains or their dicks.’
‘One doesn’t necessarily rule out the other,’ Esson replied, closing the door after her.
Two patrol cars were arriving, officers piling out. ‘I see we’re too late for the strippers,’ one of the uniforms said.
‘Thank Christ,’ his colleague replied.
There were six of them, all male, all in their twenties or early thirties. They knew damned well who Clarke and Esson were, doubtless alerted by the officer at the desk. Which also meant they knew why they were there.
‘Any of you particularly close to Francis Haggard?’ Clarke asked.
‘Give me a kiss and I’ll tell you.’
Amidst the laughter, Clarke caught the words ‘Nice one, Chris.’ She fixed the man with a look. ‘We’ll have a proper chat later, Chris, yes? See how chirpy you are away from your carers.’
The laughter started up again, and someone thumped the officer called Chris on the back. They began to file into the station, giving last appraising looks as they went.
‘What century is this?’ Esson muttered, following Clarke to the Astra.
‘They’ll be dangerous if they ever learn to make fire,’ Clarke agreed.
Driscoll summoned them all to the locker room. They arrived armed with fizzy drinks cans and chocolate bars.
‘What did they want?’ he was asked almost immediately.
‘It’s as we’ve been hearing,’ he explained. ‘Francis has gone rogue. He’s out there somewhere, nobody knows where. He can’t hide for ever, though, and when they find him, he’s going to start shooting his mouth off. Anybody catches a whiff of him, we need to know. I’d love for that to happen before we all rendezvous at the pub later. But there’s something else.’ He paused, his eyes landing in turn on every man in the room. ‘His flat in Newhaven was turned over, coke dumped on the floor.’
‘Just paying our respects, Rob.’
Driscoll stared at the speaker. ‘Was that the wisest move, Chris?’
‘He needs to know we’ve got as much on him as he has on us.’
‘Well, that’s probably backfired nicely. See, he’s not allowed within half a mile of the family home, so he’s highly unlikely to walk into your scenario. Instead, someone phoned it in, and that brought CID here, sticking their noses in. And the cherry on the top is, they now have more dirt on Francis than was previously the case, since you’ve just flagged up that he likes a bit of hokey-cokey. Giving him even more reason to grass on us to save his neck.’ Driscoll’s voice had been rising throughout, while Chris had seemed to be physically shrinking.
‘So what do we do?’ someone asked into the silence.
‘We talk tactics, maybe with a wiser head than I seem to be seeing around me here. Now bugger off, the lot of you, and give me some peace to think.’
As he watched them leave, he saw that Chris was busy on his phone. Driscoll snatched it from him. The message hadn’t quite been completed. All it said so far was How you doing? Chris grabbed it back.
‘I’m not even going to ask,’ Driscoll said.
‘Keep it that way,’ Chris said, making his exit.
Driscoll sat down heavily on one of the benches that lined the room, staring at his lap for a moment before digging his own phone out of his pocket and returning the call from earlier.
‘Catch you at a busy time?’ he heard Alan Fleck enquire.
‘Couple of visitors.’
‘To do with Francis?’
Driscoll pressed the palm of his hand against Haggard’s locker. ‘You’ve had them too?’
‘Not yet, but John Rebus paid a visit, swiftly followed by someone from Gartcosh. Seems we might be in a queue to get to Francis. But they don’t have you, Rob. If Francis will listen to anybody...’
‘I’m trying. You know the flat at Newhaven is off limits to him?’
‘Stands to reason.’
‘He’s renting a place on Constitution Street.’
‘Rebus told me.’
‘Did he tell you which building, though?’
The silence on the other end of the line lengthened. ‘You’re kidding me,’ Fleck eventually said.
‘What if I told you the flat number?’
‘I’d say that’s one hell of a coincidence.’
‘You might even say we shouldn’t be discussing it on mobile phones.’
‘That’s a good point. Are the Crew still due to meet later?’
‘Four o’clock onwards. You didn’t invite Rebus, by any chance?’