‘Any names in particular.’
Hungerford considered for a few seconds. ‘All this archaeology just because the body’s been found?’
‘High hiedyins want to be confident no zombies are going to start appearing among the skeletons.’
‘And they’ve given it to you because you used to be Complaints?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
Hungerford nodded while he contemplated. ‘All we really did was dig into the case files and then ask a few questions. It was obvious that mistakes had been made, our own lot negligent or obstructive. Not for the first time, and by no means the last.’
‘You made recommendations?’
‘There were a couple of officers we could have come down hard on if we tried. Steele, one of them was called.’
‘Let me guess — the other was Edwards.’
‘You know them?’
‘They work for ACU these days, based at Gartcosh.’
‘Well, they were just uniforms back then, but playing all sorts of games.’
‘Such as?’
‘They had spare-time jobs, mostly as security. They’d even been part of Adrian Brand’s bodyguard detail.’
‘He needed bodyguards?’
‘Rumours he’d taken money from an Irish gangster connected to the paramilitaries. There’d been a falling-out.’
‘Nothing ever came of it?’
‘Not that I know of. There was definitely something about Steele and Edwards, though — they owned top-of-the-line cars, took expensive holidays. Always the best clothes, designer watches...’
‘All on a copper’s salary.’
‘But like I say, we never quite got to them.’
‘Were they being protected?’
Hungerford offered a shrug. ‘Brand bought tables at a lot of charity dinners, wined and dined his fair share of top brass and MPs.’
Fox grew thoughtful. ‘And after you’d finished with the files...?’
‘They were sent to CCU for a look-see. Nothing came of that, so they went into storage. Whoever’s in charge now, they’ll probably be poring over them, don’t you think?’
‘If they’re on the ball.’
‘Not always the case, is it?’ Hungerford chuckled.
‘Steele and Edwards apart, anyone else of note?’
‘Bloody hell, Malc, my memory’s not what it was.’ Hungerford rubbed his jaw. ‘Mary Skelton — she was all right actually; bit of a looker and very pleasant with it. Doug Newsome — most you could say of him was he was lazy; didn’t always write his reports up with a degree of rigour.’ He paused and smiled. ‘And then there was John Rebus, of course.’
Fox’s mouth twitched. ‘Why do you say “of course”?’
‘My time in Professional Standards, Rebus was never far from a bollocking or a suspension. Did you never cross swords?’
‘Rebus retired at the end of 2006. Well, sort of.’
‘Sounds like you have come across him, though?’
‘John Rebus has a way of turning up. Anything in particular blot his copybook on the Bloom case?’
‘He was mates with the boyfriend’s dad, a cop from Glasgow. Word was, they kept meeting for a quiet drink.’
‘Which might not mean much in itself.’
‘Unless information was being passed along. We never proved anything.’
Fox sat for a moment deep in thought, then he nodded slowly. ‘Thanks for your time, Ray, I really appreciate it. It was good to catch up.’
‘You know where I am if you need me again.’ Hungerford had extended his hand, but not for the shake Fox was about to offer. The palm was upwards, stretched flat. He nodded towards the front of the cab, where the meter had been ticking throughout. ‘Twenty-five fifty,’ he said. Then, with a wink: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll write you a receipt for thirty.’
7
The others had made their excuses after one drink, but Clarke and Sutherland stuck around for a second. He fetched her the tonic water she’d requested, along with a half of IPA to add to the pint he’d almost finished. The bar was about as upmarket as this part of Leith got, meaning cops could feel relatively safe there. All the same, they were seated at a corner table with a view of the door.
‘Sure you don’t want a gin in that?’ Sutherland asked.
‘Don’t want to make a bad impression.’
‘Two gins after work is hardly a disciplinary offence.’ He chinked his glass against hers. ‘Speaking of which...’
‘How much do you know?’
‘Just that ACU thought you were passing stories to a reporter pal.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘And also that you’d used a work computer to try getting the same reporter some information.’
‘I was cleared.’
‘Indeed you were, and you resent having been accused.’
‘I was made to feel like I was a bad cop. I’m not.’
‘These two ACU officers...?’
‘Steele and Edwards.’
Sutherland nodded. ‘Do you hold a grudge against them?’
‘No.’
‘I think that’s maybe a lie.’
‘Depends how you define “grudge”. Would I do them a favour in future? No. Would I want someone to attack them in a dark alley? No.’
‘And if you saw them out having a drink, then climbing into the driving seat...?’
‘I’d phone it in like a shot.’
They both smiled, focusing on their drinks. Clarke leaned back, rolling her head, feeling the tension there.
‘I remember,’ Sutherland was saying, ‘back in Inverness. There was a time-server none of us liked. He had a drink problem, but we covered for him where necessary. Day he retired, there was a party laid on in the canteen with more than a few refreshments. We all clapped and handed him the gift we’d bought, then watched and waved as he headed out to his car, ready to drive home. Traffic had been tipped off. He was stopped, lost his licence.’
‘A sort of justice to that, I suppose.’ Clarke sipped her drink. ‘So did you grow up in Inverness?’
Sutherland nodded. ‘Not much of an accent left, except when I visit family. I notice you’re English.’
She shook her head. ‘Born here; grew up there — I blame the parents. So where else have you been other than Inverness?’
‘Aberdeen, Glasgow, even Skye for a while.’
‘They have crime on Skye?’
‘I like to think I eradicated it.’ He made a little toast to himself. ‘You ever been anywhere other than Edinburgh?’
‘I was on secondment in Glenrothes when Stuart Bloom disappeared.’
‘That was lucky — if you’d been attached to the case, you couldn’t be on my team now. Conflict of interest, et cetera.’
Clarke nodded distractedly. ‘So where do you live these days?’ she eventually asked.
‘Shettleston, in Glasgow.’
‘Can you see Barlinnie from there?’
‘More or less. How about you?’
‘Five minutes from here. Just off Broughton Street.’
‘On your own?’ He watched her nod. ‘Me too. Wasn’t always the case, but you know how it is. I decided to marry my golf clubs instead. I don’t suppose you play?’
‘Do I look like a golfer?’
‘I don’t know — what does a golfer look like?’
‘My idea of fresh air and exercise is the local café and paper shop.’ Her phone buzzed. It was lying on the table to the side of her glass, so she could see that it was the call box again.
‘Not answering?’ Sutherland queried.
‘It’s not important.’