‘What?’
‘One of my colleagues doorstepped Alex Shankley this morning.’
‘That was insensitive.’
‘They’d actually gone looking for his son, but it was the dad who answered the knock.’
‘Hang on, this was whose home?’
‘Derek’s. A tenement flat in Partick.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thing is, the father said they couldn’t talk to the press until they’d spoken to you lot.’
‘Very wise.’
‘Siobhan, he was meaning today. That’s why I’m back at my post.’
Clarke returned to the MIT office and crossed to the window, peering through a grubby pane down to Queen Charlotte Street. ‘I don’t see you,’ she whispered, Graham Sutherland being within earshot.
‘I’m round the corner. Probably explains why Malcolm Fox didn’t clock me.’
‘Hang on a sec...’ Clarke left the office again and headed to the small room set aside for Fox and the box files. He was seated beside Tess Leighton, the pair of them deep in discussion, heads close. Clarke retreated along the corridor.
‘When was this?’
‘Not five minutes ago. He was meeting someone.’
‘Who?’
‘When you got in that spot of bother, you weren’t the only one. It was the same guy who grilled me.’
‘Brian Steele?’
‘With his shadow parked up nearby.’
‘Steele and Edwards were here?’
‘For a friendly chinwag with Fox. He hasn’t mentioned it?’
‘He’s not seen me to speak to.’
‘What’s ACU’s involvement with all of this, Siobhan?’
‘No comment.’
‘Something’s being hushed up, something about the crime scene.’
‘Is it?’
‘Come on, Siobhan. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t know.’
‘And what is it you think you know, Laura?’
‘Well, the handcuffs, for one thing.’
Clarke pressed her lips together for a moment. ‘So now you know why ACU are involved — someone’s leaking. If I had to guess, I’d say someone in the lab or on the scene-of-crime team.’
‘Could be anybody really, couldn’t it?’
‘If you go public, ACU will think it’s me again.’
‘I know. That’s one reason I’m waiting.’
‘The other being?’
‘You obviously don’t want it known about. Makes me think you’re scared it’ll either frighten someone off or else people will jump to the wrong conclusion.’ Clarke stayed silent. ‘Steele and Edwards were in uniform when the Bloom case happened. Did they happen to work on it, Siobhan?’
‘I can’t discuss that. What will you do about the handcuffs?’
‘It’ll break sooner or later.’
‘Can you give us a day or two?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You’re right, Laura. If you’re the one with the exclusive, ACU will come for me.’
‘Which is why I’ll probably give it to someone else, let them grab the glory.’
‘You’d do that?’
‘Saves us both a bit of grief, don’t you think?’
‘Thanks, Laura.’
‘That last mess with ACU, I do feel just a little bit responsible, you know.’
‘Consider the slate wiped.’ Clarke ended the call and watched as two men were led up the stairs and told to wait at the door to the MIT room. The elder of the two looked resolute, the younger hesitant.
Derek Shankley and his father.
12
The interview room at Leith police station. Clarke and Sutherland one side of the table, father and son the other. Four mugs of tea. Two sugars for Alex Shankley and the exact same for Derek.
‘Thank you for making the effort, sir,’ Sutherland told the retired detective.
‘It was Derek’s idea.’
The slight change in the son’s face gave the lie to this. Derek Shankley wore a black leather biker jacket over a white T-shirt. Fashion, Clarke reckoned, would always win out over comfort. He looked cold, the jacket zipped almost to his neck. He had studs in both earlobes and a shaved head. Though clean-shaven, he had kept traces of his sideburns. His father had a chiselled face, but was slightly stooped, the years having taken their toll.
‘You not recording this?’ Alex Shankley asked.
‘Unless one of you is here to confess?’ Sutherland’s smile told them he was joking.
‘We’re here to save you the trouble of making us come. It’s hellish news about Stuart and we want to give you our thoughts.’
‘Yes, I should have said...’ Sutherland turned his attention to Derek. ‘We really are very sorry about Stuart.’
Derek nodded solemnly. He hadn’t aged much since the days of Zombies v Bravehearts. Clarke wondered what his secret was.
‘I was just watching you, Derek,’ she said conversationally. ‘The film you were in with Stuart.’
He almost snorted. ‘Weren’t we terrible?’
‘You looked to be enjoying yourselves, though.’
‘Well, you know what it’s like on film sets.’
‘Actually, I don’t.’
‘We want to know how we can help the inquiry, DCI Sutherland,’ Derek’s father interrupted, placing his hands flat against the table. ‘We want Stuart’s killer brought to justice.’
Sutherland nodded thoughtfully. ‘Have you had much to do with Stuart’s family, Mr Shankley?’
‘Not much.’
‘Yes, that’s what they said. Sent your condolences?’
Shankley made a show of clearing his throat. ‘I don’t have their address.’
Clarke watched as Derek raised an eyebrow — his father had just lied again.
‘Derek didn’t have much to do with the family after Stuart’s disappearance,’ Sutherland commented.
‘What have they been saying?’ the father snapped.
‘That they tried contacting him but he wasn’t very communicative.’
‘They never really liked me,’ Derek conceded. ‘I thought they blamed me.’
‘Blamed you how?’
‘In their eyes, Stuart might have been running from me.’
‘Why would he have done that?’
‘He wouldn’t.’ Derek’s eyes were glazing with the beginning of tears.
‘No tension between the two of you? No arguments?’
Derek looked to Clarke. ‘You saw us in that film — what do you think?’
‘Like I said, you were enjoying yourselves.’
‘We always did.’ He folded his arms as if to affirm the statement, the leather creaking.
‘How about you, Mr Shankley?’ Sutherland’s focus was still on the older man. ‘Did you have any issues with Stuart?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Quite comfortable with Derek’s sexuality?’
‘He’s my son, isn’t he? Of course I am.’ It sounded a line that had been used many times before. Derek turned his head to look at his father. That makes three, Clarke reckoned. Three little white lies.
‘Are you,’ she asked Derek, ‘still in touch with friends from those days? Friends Stuart would have known?’
‘Some, yes.’
‘It’s just that we’re compiling a list of people we need to speak to. If you could help us with addresses or phone numbers...’
‘Sure. I’ve no classes today.’
‘You still teach media studies?’ Clarke watched him nod. ‘And are there jobs waiting for your students at the end of the course?’
‘Not as many as there were, and the ones that are there often don’t pay. They’re supposed to be working for the contacts they’ll make, for the good of their CV, or because the internship’s so wonderful why would they ever want paying to be part of it?’ He rolled his eyes while Clarke turned from son to father.
‘There’s something I need to put to you, Mr Shankley. It concerns Rogues nightclub.’