‘This is DI Siobhan Clarke,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘Siobhan, this is DCI Katherine Trask.’
‘But Kathy will do fine,’ Trask said, shaking Clarke’s hand.
Clarke had heard of her. ‘From Stirling?’
‘That’s right.’
Trask was Clarke’s height and a few years older. Her hair was black and shoulder-length, the lines around her eyes the only part of her face giving any real indication of her age.
‘You’ve been working the domestic abuse case against Mr Haggard,’ Trask continued. ‘That makes you a valuable commodity.’
‘Me and DC Christine Esson both,’ Clarke corrected her.
‘Well, any time either of you thinks there’s something the rest of the team should know, don’t be shy.’
‘Understood.’
‘And you’re okay with the sudden turnaround? From offender to murder victim, I mean?’
‘I think I’ll be fine, but we can’t forget that he was a seasoned abuser.’
‘Yet,’ Fox broke in, ‘there’s plenty of evidence that he regretted his past and was preparing to atone.’
‘He was desperate, Malcolm,’ Clarke snapped back at him. ‘A bent and violent cop who was going to blow the whistle to avoid jail.’
Trask held up a hand, palm outwards. ‘Can we maybe focus on our job, which is identifying and charging his murderer?’ Her eyes were on Clarke, maybe having second thoughts about her selection.
‘Of course.’ Clarke tried to look contrite.
‘Rest of the team should be here any minute,’ Trask said. ‘Neither of you is new to MIT, so you know the drill. Autopsy is scheduled for eleven thirty. We need to get uniforms organised to search for the weapon.’
‘Victim’s phone and computer?’ Clarke asked.
‘Undergoing forensic examination.’
‘Stephanie Pelham can almost certainly ID the second phone found at the scene. Francis Haggard took it from her forcibly.’
‘We’ll get to that in good time, Siobhan,’ Trask stated.
‘If the victim’s phone and computer are at Howdenhall,’ Fox commented, ‘be warned that they sometimes promise more than they deliver.’
‘Then I’m making it your job to chivvy them, Malcolm.’
Trask broke off at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Christine Esson was leading two other detectives towards the MIT office. They could have been mistaken for a tour group, the two new faces admiring the relative grandeur of their surroundings.
‘Looks like we can get started,’ Trask said, giving a slight tug of her buttoned jacket’s hem, after which she was ready.
‘There should be enough desk space,’ she announced to the room at large as she strode in, leaving Clarke and Fox in her slipstream. ‘I’ll let you get acquainted and set up. Couple more faces still to join us, but they’re currently stuck in traffic.’ She walked to a door at the far side of the room and flung it open. ‘Not the stationery cupboard but apparently my inner sanctum — lucky me. The door will stay open, mostly. If it’s closed, there’ll be a compelling reason.’ She saw that Esson was over at the kettle, adding supplies from a carrier bag. ‘Excellent show of initiative. Let’s hope for more of that over the next few days and weeks. DI Fox here, on secondment from Gartcosh, will be doling out your various tasks — just as soon as I’ve told him what those tasks are.’ She crooked a finger, signalling for Fox to join her in her cramped office.
Clarke walked over to Christine Esson. ‘Has Malcolm been on to you at all?’
Esson started peeling the cellophane from a box of tea bags. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Just that some of the things he’s saying about Haggard could have come straight from you.’
Esson had moved on to shaking the kettle, then peering into its depths as if to ascertain how long the contents had been sitting there.
‘He has, hasn’t he?’ Clarke said.
‘Does it matter?’
‘I said last night, I need us to be on the same side, Christine.’
‘We are, if you hadn’t noticed.’ Esson made a sweeping motion, taking in the whole office.
‘So if it comes down to me versus Fox...?’
Esson was saved from answering by two more arrivals, both of them known quantities. Clarke was surprised to find that DS George Gamble had not yet quite retired. He was as stout and red-faced as ever, breathing heavily after surviving the flight of stairs. DS Tess Leighton could not have been more different, pale, tall and willowy, as if she shunned both sunshine and nourishment. They waved a greeting before approaching the DCI’s doorway in order to introduce themselves. Meantime, the two faces new to Clarke were being drawn as if by a magnet to the vicinity of the kettle. They introduced themselves as DC Colin King and DC Jason Ritchie.
‘It’s Jason’s first murder case,’ King said. ‘He’s like a kid at Christmas.’
King was probably only two or three years Ritchie’s senior, but he had about him the air of an older, wiser brother, a role Ritchie seemed happy enough to play along with. Both were sandy-haired, probably early to mid twenties. Ritchie’s cheeks had a pink glow to them, making him appear even younger. He was wiry, while King was bulkier, his shirt straining over his stomach. Clarke and Esson introduced themselves in turn.
‘Have you seen the Courant?’ King asked, waving his phone. ‘The murder’s mentioned there already, including who the victim is.’
‘Someone’s been blabbing,’ Christine Esson said.
‘It’s on Twitter, too,’ Ritchie added.
‘Not surprised,’ King said. ‘I mean, it’s got everything, hasn’t it?’
‘I don’t know, has it?’ Clarke retorted icily.
King began holding up his fingers in turn. ‘Cop turned abuser... police station with a reputation... victim related to tycoon experiencing messy and very public divorce...’ His voice tailed off as he saw the look Clarke was giving him.
‘We’re not here to entertain the public, Colin. Keep that at the front of your mind. Any journalists come sniffing — amateur or professional — you direct them to our media office.’
‘Got it,’ King said, reddening slightly.
‘Do the mugs need a wash?’ Ritchie blurted out, seeking an escape route.
‘Sink is in the gents’, end of the corridor,’ Esson instructed, Ritchie nodding as he scooped up the chipped and tarnished crockery.
When he was gone, Clarke focused on King. ‘Where are you usually based, Colin?’
‘St Leonard’s.’
‘And this isn’t your first MIT case?’
He shook his head, regaining some of his composure. ‘DCI Trask must have been satisfied last time round.’
‘You’ve worked with her before?’ Clarke tried not to sound too interested. ‘What’s she like?’
‘She’s brilliant.’
Clarke nodded in apparent agreement. ‘She’s been a DCI for a while?’
‘Five years, maybe a bit more.’ King looked from Clarke to Esson, wondering where this was going. Clarke knew Esson was probably thinking the same.
‘So is she stuck, do you think?’
‘Stuck?’
‘I mean, could she go further?’
‘Siobhan’s just playing with you,’ Esson said, digging a finger into King’s shoulder. ‘We’ll bring your tea over when it’s ready.’ He started walking back to his desk in obvious bemusement. Esson glowered at Clarke.
‘See, here’s the thing, Christine. Fox is already nice and cosy with her. If she wants further promotion, she needs the bosses on her side, and she knows who it is Fox ultimately reports to. Makes her more likely to listen to his theories and play by his version of events.’