‘We could try offering a reward.’
‘It’s crossed my mind.’
‘Another press conference? Rekindle some media enthusiasm?’
‘They’ve all moved on to the elusive Lord Strathy.’
‘According to one source, he’s hanging out with Lord Lucan in a Monte Carlo casino,’ Tess Leighton piped up from behind her computer.
‘I can check that lead out if you like.’ Christine Esson had her hand raised like a kid in a classroom.
Clarke lowered her voice before asking Sutherland if he was getting any grief from on high.
‘No more than usual,’ he muttered. ‘Though the Saudis have slightly changed their tune. There’s some trade negotiation under way and they’re using our apparent incompetence as leverage. Salman has gone from persona non grata to revered martyr in pretty short order.’
‘Expediency wins the day.’
‘With us as the whipping boy.’ Sutherland stared at the wall. ‘None of which should distract us from the job at hand. You don’t think we maybe missed something early on? Worth another look at the autopsy, the scene-of-crime report—’
‘Why not the forensics too?’ Clarke interrupted. ‘Then we can bring everyone in for interview again and nudge the Met into sifting through their findings for the tenth time.’
‘I’ve reached that point, have I?’ Sutherland asked, looking sheepish.
‘Only slightly earlier than anticipated.’ This time they shared a smile.
‘Guys,’ Christine Esson called out, ‘you’re going to want to take a look at this.’
They started to gather around her desk, Clarke slowed by an incoming text on her phone. It was from Laura Smith.
Turn-up for the books!
‘Well, well,’ George Gamble was saying, breathing heavily after the effort of walking halfway across the room.
‘Looks like Issy Meiklejohn’s doorstep,’ Fox was saying, eyes on the news feed playing on Esson’s monitor. ‘Can you turn the sound up?’
Esson was doing just that as Clarke arrived. Several cameras and microphones were being pointed towards where Issy Meiklejohn stood, her hand gripping her father’s forearm in a show of support and apparent relief.
‘Never knew there’d be such a fuss,’ Ramsay Meiklejohn was saying, his face redder than ever, eyes darting from camera to camera, questioner to questioner.
‘Who instigated this?’ Sutherland was asking. ‘How come we’re last to know?’
‘Shh!’ Christine Esson said. Then, realising what she’d done: ‘With respect, sir.’
‘Just a few days’ much-needed R&R,’ Meiklejohn was explaining. ‘Catching up on sleep; fresh air and exercise.’
‘Somewhere nice, Lord Strathy?’ one reporter yelled from near the back of the scrum.
‘Nowhere that’s getting a free advert,’ Issy Meiklejohn broke in. ‘I’m just glad my father is back in one piece, not that I ever had any concerns. My view is that this whole charade was an attempt by the police to divert attention from their manifest failings in finding the murderer of my friend Salman bin Mahmoud. It’s their inept handling of that case that should be your focus now.’
Her father nodded along, pushing out his bottom lip to underline his wholehearted agreement.
Sutherland was jabbing the screen. It was live video from a local news website. ‘You say you know where this is?’ he asked Fox.
‘Me and Siobhan were there a couple of days back.’
‘Then why in God’s name are you still here? Go fetch!’
‘And if he’s unwilling to play ball?’
‘We’re a murder inquiry and we have questions for him. If he won’t cooperate, place him under arrest.’
Clarke’s eyes were still on the screen, focused on Meiklejohn’s daughter. ‘Might be a two-for-one deal,’ she advised.
‘So be it,’ Sutherland said. ‘Now get moving, the pair of you!’
It was not a long drive from the police station to St Stephen Street, despite the vagaries of roadworks and temporary diversions.
‘Has there ever been a time when Edinburgh hasn’t been a building site?’ Fox said through gritted teeth. They were in his car for a change. Clarke had wound her window down a couple of inches for some fresh air.
‘Are you really not going to tell me what Lyon wanted?’
‘Correct.’
‘But it was to do with Cafferty and the videos?’
‘As the Pet Shop Boys sang, my lips are sealed.’
‘That was Fun Boy Three.’
Fox’s brow furrowed. ‘You sure?’
‘Well, if you’re not going to play nice, maybe I should keep my news to myself.’
‘And what news might that be?’
‘John sent me some pics from a magazine spread at Strathy Castle.’
‘I’ve seen them.’
‘You’ve got some of them on your computer, but not these ones — one of them shows our dear Chief Constable and his wife looking very chummy next to Stewart Scoular.’ She saw him staring at her. ‘Eyes on the road, Malcolm.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘While you were meeting the ACC.’
‘And you kept it to yourself because...?’
‘I was thinking it through. Want to hear my theory?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Say the Chief Constable is one of Scoular’s investors...’
‘I’d think it’s above his pay grade, no?’
‘He could probably manage the odd few thousand — and Scoular would definitely want him on board.’
‘Other investors would certainly be reassured,’ Fox agreed.
‘My guess is, Cafferty found this out.’
‘How?’
‘Probably because Martin Chappell has the sort of name Scoular would want to drop into a lot of his conversations.’ She watched Fox nod slowly. ‘And if we were to find any dirt on Scoular...’
‘That would hasten Chappell’s retirement, so as to hide any potential embarrassment to Police Scotland.’
‘Putting Jennifer Lyon on the throne.’
‘Makes sense,’ Fox said.
‘So now I’ve told you, will you take it to the ACC?’
‘I’ll have to think.’
‘If you do go to see her, I want to be there too.’
‘Duly noted. You didn’t get round to telling Graham?’
‘No, and I think it should stay that way, unless we start to see a connection to the murder.’ Clarke’s phone was buzzing. Not a number she recognised, but she answered anyway.
‘DI Clarke?’ the voice said. ‘This is DS Creasey. I’m a member of the Keith Grant inquiry team.’
‘Yes?’
‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘I’m a friend of John Rebus. He didn’t give you my number?’
‘Actually he did — texted it to me just now, said you’d be a useful contact. Didn’t say you were friends, though.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ll keep it quick — signal comes and goes on the A9. You’ve heard about Lord Strathy’s reappearance?’
‘Yes.’ Fox gave Clarke an inquisitive look, but she ignored him.
‘I’d like to talk to him before he leaves Edinburgh. Is there any way you could facilitate that?’
‘Way ahead of you, DS Creasey. We have a few questions for him ourselves.’
‘Can you keep him busy until I get there? Might take another couple of hours.’
‘A couple? I’m guessing the speed cameras will be working overtime. Strathy will be at Leith police station for as long as we can hold him. Text me when you arrive and I’ll come meet you.’
‘I’m grateful.’
Clarke had another caller waiting. She hung up on Creasey and tapped the icon.
‘Sounds like you’re driving,’ she heard Rebus say.