‘First you tell my dad to sling his hook, and now it’s my turn — is that it?’
She walked towards him again, pacing each step. ‘I really don’t want that to happen.’ She made to press a hand against his chest, but he flinched, half turning from her. ‘Just remember, if you ever think of doing something stupid, it’s Gaby you’d be hurting, much more than me or Fraser. I suppose I’d better let you get back to work.’ She glanced over her shoulder towards the lock-up’s interior. ‘Might as well fold up that camp bed, eh? Doesn’t look as if it’s going to get much use now.’ She sucked in some smoke and began walking up the lane to where her car was parked.
Tommy Oram watched her go, jaw clenched. She lifted one hand, knowing he’d be looking, and waggled her fingers in a goodbye gesture. He opened the van door and peered into the canvas bag, but couldn’t for the life of him think if he had everything he needed.
Just before lunchtime, King and Ritchie leaped up from their desks and marched towards Trask’s office, rapping on the already open door and heading inside.
‘Looks promising,’ Esson commented to Clarke. Fox was already out of his chair and listening at the doorway.
‘Gold stars coming their way,’ Clarke agreed.
When they reappeared a minute later, they were followed by Trask, who was holding the sheet of paper they’d handed her.
‘Cab driver at Central,’ she announced to the room, ‘remembers picking up a drunk from our tiki bar on Great Junction Street. The passenger was memorable because he had to be woken up when they reached their destination, that destination being Till’s Casino in Corstorphine.’ She favoured King and Ritchie with a look they soaked up like Caribbean sun. ‘Colin and Jason, I want you to get a statement from the driver, see what else he can add.’ Looking around the room, her eyes fell on Gamble and Leighton. ‘George and Tess, you two go see the manager at Till’s. We need to question all the staff who were on shift that afternoon and evening, plus check any security footage the casino has. And let’s pray they don’t wipe it after forty-eight hours.’
If Trask had noticed the disappointed looks on King and Ritchie’s faces, she didn’t let it show. Clarke knew how they must be feeling, though — a chat with a cabbie was definitely the runner-up prize.
‘I know the place,’ Gamble was telling Trask.
‘Thought you might, George. Just don’t succumb while you’re on duty, understood?’
Clarke looked to Tess Leighton for an explanation. Leighton’s partial nod hinted that her partner had had some issues with gambling. Clarke was impressed that Trask knew. She’d obviously vetted the team at some point.
As the four detectives prepared to leave, Esson rounded her desk and leaned down towards Clarke’s ear. ‘So Gamble’s a gambler — I’m sure there’s a term for that.’
Clarke noticed that Malcolm Fox was approaching.
‘While we’re waiting,’ he said to Esson, ‘maybe you can spare Siobhan for an hour? There’s someone I’d like her to meet.’
‘Maybe she feels need of a wingman,’ Esson retorted.
‘I think I’ll be fine,’ Clarke told her, lifting her jacket from the back of her chair.
27
They parked outside a row of colony flats in Shandon. Clarke had never been inside one before, but she knew the layout. You accessed the ground-floor property one side of the building, and its upper-floor equivalent via steps around the other side. She didn’t know if they were unique to Edinburgh or what the reasoning was behind them, but they were usually found in what had been — and sometimes still were — working-class areas. Fox seemed to know his way, locking his Merc and leading Clarke briskly through the gate, along the garden path and up the steep stone staircase. He was obviously expected, as the red-painted door was open by the time they reached it.
‘Hello again, Josephine,’ he said to the middle-aged woman standing there. ‘This is DI Siobhan Clarke. Siobhan, this is Josephine Kilgour.’
Kilgour led them into an overheated living room stuffed with knick-knacks. A plug-in electric heater was supplementing the radiators, yet she still felt the need for a buttoned-up cardigan, below which Clarke reckoned there were at least three further layers. The woman sat down heavily on the room’s only armchair, leaving Clarke and Fox the squishy sofa. There was obviously to be no offer of refreshments. Clarke peeled off her jacket before she sat, Fox doing the same with his dark woollen coat.
‘He’s persistent, I’ll give him that,’ Kilgour said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Her voice was a west coast rasp.
‘I just wanted DI Clarke to hear a little of the background,’ Fox explained.
Kilgour’s eyes fixed on Clarke. ‘He thinks if he keeps chipping away, he’ll end up with a statue of me in court giving testimony.’
Clarke had noticed a couple of framed photos of a much younger Kilgour in uniform. ‘You worked at Tynecastle,’ she commented. Kilgour’s gaze shifted to Fox.
‘I didn’t want DI Clarke prejudging anything,’ he explained. Kilgour considered this before turning her attention back to Clarke and drawing in a breath.
‘Me and Tynecastle go back a ways,’ she began. ‘Even to before Alan Fleck was promoted to sergeant. That’s how old I am. You’d have been in primary school.’
‘Secondary maybe,’ Clarke couldn’t help correcting her.
‘But you joined the ranks after the worst of it — the worst of it for women like us, I mean. My very first day, I turned up at the station in my brand-new uniform, blouse starched, shoes polished. I was hauled into the locker room. They pulled my skirt up, stamped me with the words “Police Property”. Just one big fat joke to them, of course, and if you couldn’t take it, you were a killjoy. That became my nickname, by the way — from Kilgour to Killjoy.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Tynecastle wasn’t the only posting I had, but it left its mark, deeper than a bit of ink. We were supposed to make the tea while the best jobs were given to the men around us. It’s why so many of us couldn’t hack it.’
‘Still seems to be the case,’ Clarke said. ‘When I paid a visit, I didn’t see a single female face.’
‘Oh, there’ll be some — not allowed otherwise these days — but they’ll have their heads down and most will end up requesting a transfer. That’s what I did. But the job never felt the same afterwards. I quit as soon as I could.’
‘The rot goes way back, Siobhan,’ Fox interrupted, ‘and the stories are legion. But Josephine and the others have taken the decision to put it behind them and not relive it in court or an interview room.’
‘Reminds me, I forgot to check if you’re taping this.’ Kilgour looked at Clarke. ‘He tried one time, the cheeky sod, but I was wise to him.’
‘You remember what my excuse was?’ Fox asked her.
‘It showed how badly you wanted him,’ Kilgour said, nodding.
‘Him?’ Clarke prompted.
‘Alan Fleck,’ Kilgour obliged. ‘Tynecastle changed for the worse when he arrived, and worse still as he climbed the heap.’
‘Josephine had left by the time of the attack on Tony Barlow,’ Fox informed Clarke, ‘but she knew about it all the same.’
‘Didn’t seem to bother them that they’d screwed up. They had a whip-round at the station and sent it to his bedside. Just another casualty of the conflict...’ She looked at Fox, her eyes moist at the corners. ‘I don’t blame you for trying, but at the same time, I do, because it’s me that has to relive it.’