‘Is it now?’ I murmured. ‘So they know more than we do.’
‘Oh yes. In New Scotland Yard it’s regarded as a given. Naturally, they reckon it’s going to be Bob that gets the job.’
‘Word to the wise, my friend. Don’t be calling to congratulate him; your VIPs may not have noticed that ACPOS voted against it the other day, with him leading the opposition.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me, but it won’t make any difference. Some people here would like the same thing to happen in England. They’re watching with interest.’
‘Indeed? Well, maybe once your feet are a bit further under the table you’ll tell them to mind their own fucking business.’
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘you’re tetchy. Is Paula keeping you awake?’
‘No, Paulie is wonderful, blooming, radiant, everything you can imagine.’
‘And running to the bog a lot?’
‘And running to the bog a lot, but she does it very quietly. No, McIlhenney, I am pissed off because it is a lovely summer Saturday morning and I am in the office.’
‘Pity; I’m on my way to the Oval with Spence to watch some cricket. Say hello to Uncle Mario, Spence.’
‘Hello, Uncle Mario,’ Spencer shouted. His voice was starting to break. I felt old.
‘And to you, lad. Don’t let him take you to the cheap seats.’
‘Crisis?’ Neil asked.
‘The worst kind. One of our guys has gone rogue.’
‘Anybody I know?’
‘Jock Varley.’
Few conversations between my soul brother and I are punctuated by silence. That one was, for so long that I thought the connection had gone.
‘Indeed,’ he murmured, eventually.
‘You don’t sound astonished.’
‘I wish I was. I never trusted the man. There was a whisper years ago about him looking after a couple of pubs on his patch, and about withdrawn police objections to licensing extension applications that might have been paid for.’
‘Didn’t you report them?’
‘I had nothing to report. I only heard the stories second-hand. Besides, they probably started with the unsuccessful applicants, just like football fans always reckon the ref’s on the payroll when he gives the opposition a penalty.’
‘But you still remember them,’ I pointed out.
‘Yes, because while these stories do the rounds all the time, it’s not very often that a cop’s name’s mentioned. Varley’s was.’
‘Mmm,’ I mused. ‘Give it some more thought, Neil, if you would. If you can add any details, for example when this happened and the pubs involved, that might be useful next time I have a face-to-face with the man.’
‘Will do; there’s a chance of rain here so I may have time to do it today.’
‘Thanks. While you’re at it, maybe you’d think about a guy called Freddy Welsh.’
‘Now that’s a name I’ve heard. Let me think. Yes, when I was in the Branch, I had a look at him for an outside agency. The one I’m with now, in fact. They didn’t tell me why they were interested and I didn’t ask.’
I was puzzled. ‘Did you report it to the boss?’
‘No, he was on holiday at the time, and I found nothing to report, so it never came up when he got back. You won’t find a file on him for the same reason. However,’ he paused, ‘he is bent.’ He said it so firmly that I was surprised; Neil’s middle name would be circumspection, if only he could spell it. ‘I don’t know how, and I couldn’t get anywhere near proving it at the time, but he is. I turned his business inside out, and he never knew a thing about it. Couldn’t find a hair out of place.’
‘So why are you sure he’s twisted?’ I asked.
‘Precisely because I couldn’t find a hair out of place, man. Have you ever known a business that was absolutely spotless, where none of the staff had as much as slipped a sandwich or a Mars bar on to their petrol receipt?’
‘CID?’ I suggested. I’d just found twenty cigarettes and a Playboy magazine on one of those, in the expenses claim of a detective chief inspector.
‘Better get out of the office, bruv,’ he replied. ‘Clearly, your brain needs more oxygen. Okay, we’re here now,’ I heard him brake, and then a sigh, no, two of them, ‘and bugger it, the rain’s starting.’
After he’d gone I checked the London weather forecast on my computer; mainly fine with showers. Not too bad, but what did they know really?
I was looking up Sunday in Edinburgh. . warm, sunny, five per cent chance of light rain. . when there was a knock on my door. ‘Yes!’ I shouted; it opened and David McKenzie, in uniform on a bloody Saturday, stepped into the room, followed by a man who had to be the chief’s ex-brother-in-law, and by a woman. It took me a second or two to put a name to her, then it dawned: Lisa McDermid, detective sergeant, newly transferred to Special Branch with George Regan, over the moans of old Fred Leggat. I wasn’t expecting her.
‘Sit yourselves down,’ I said, moving across to my table. I was ready for another coffee, but Mackenzie doesn’t, Payne was a guest, albeit a hired one, and if I’d asked McDermid, as junior officer present, to go and fetch four from the canteen, there would probably have been a sexism complaint, for that’s the reputation she carries, so instead I looked in my fridge, found a six-pack of Pepsi with four left in it and handed them round.
I looked at David. ‘Fire away,’ I told him. ‘What have you got?’
‘Varley,’ he replied, with a vehemence that I hadn’t seen in him since the old days. ‘By the balls.’
Payne held up a cautionary hand. ‘Maybe,’ he murmured.
‘Come on, Lowell,’ Mackenzie exclaimed. ‘Of course we do.’
‘Yes, I know,’ the Strathclyde man said. ‘On the face of it we have, but on the basis of what we’ve discovered, what charge could be laid against him?’
‘Guys,’ I interrupted, ‘I’m not here to chair a debate between you. Enlighten me, and I’ll tell you what we can do and what we can’t.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ The superintendent’s tone was even but his eyes let me know that I must have barked at him just a little, and that if he ever overtakes me in rank he’d remember it.
‘The Varleys’ domestic accounts are unexceptional,’ he began. ‘They take us nowhere. However, there’s another that we weren’t meant to know about. It’s in First Caledonian’s offshore division, and there’s a hundred and thirty-seven grand sitting in it, paid in, over an eight-year period, by a company called Holyhead SA.’
‘Spanish?’ I asked.
‘Andorran. Lowell’s been in touch with the British consulate in Barcelona and they’ve checked for us. The titular is an Andorran lawyer, but the beneficial owner of the company is Freddy Welsh.’
I shrugged. ‘Bloody obvious, that; Anglesey Construction, Holyhead SA. . the Welsh connection, get it? The offshore account: whose name’s it in? Jock’s?’
‘No,’ Mackenzie admitted. ‘It’s in his wife’s.’
‘Then DCI Payne is right. What are you going to charge Jock with? We might be able to do her for money-laundering, but if the cash in Holyhead’s come from Anglesey Construction, tax paid, then we’re stuffed on that too.’
‘But it hasn’t.’ I turned to McDermid as she spoke. ‘There’s no connection between the two,’ she continued. ‘Welsh’s accountant swears he knows nothing about it. I’ve just spent some time interrogating him. He wasn’t pleased either; we had an extended session last night. All the money going in and out of Anglesey Construction is accounted for.’
‘So the Holyhead cash comes from another source, or sources,’ I muttered, to myself mainly. ‘How much is in it?’
‘About seven million,’ Payne said.
‘Jesus,’ I gasped.
‘It’s an investment vehicle and it’s done very well over the years; external deposits are about four and a half, over an eight-year period.’
‘Eight years,’ I repeated. ‘Same length of time as Ella Varley’s offshore account’s been open?’ I asked McDermid.