The lift doors pinged open and everyone spurted out like the contents of a squeezed pluke.
Rutherford turned and shook Hissing Sid’s hand. ‘Right, well, I’ll leave DS Steel to show you out.’ He marched off, arms swinging, back stiff. By the left, left, left — right — left.
Soon as he was out of earshot Roberta poked Hissing Sid in his immaculately suited chest. ‘Aye, thanks for that.’
He brushed at his lapel, removing the freshly poked dent. ‘Nothing personal, I can assure you, Detective Sergeant. My client asked me to present his photographs for Police Scotland’s consideration, so here I am.’
Tufty fiddled with the keycode lock then held the door open for them.
She patted him on the back on the way past. ‘Get the teas on. You earned yourself a Jammie Dodger the day.’
He mugged a wee smile. ‘Yes, Sarge.’ And scurried off.
An auld mannie in a tracksuit and hoodie was slumped in the plastic seating that lined the reception area. Other than that, the place was quiet.
‘You no’ a bit expensive to act as a messenger boy, Sandy?’
He followed her across the Police Scotland crest set into the terrazzo flooring. ‘Thankfully Mr Wallace’s associates are very generous with their support. And, to be honest, I enjoy a nice walk in the sunshine.’
‘Generous...’ She stopped, one hand on the ‘DISABLED’ button to open the front doors. Frowned. ‘What did you mean: my friends “came to my aid” and so did his?’
‘Did I say that? Well, well, well.’
‘Sandy!’
No reply.
‘You told me you took my case pro bono, because of all those murderers and rapists you got off!’
‘A small fiction. The individual who covered your legal expenses didn’t wish to be named.’
Oh sodding hell.
She backed away. ‘It wasn’t someone dodgy, was it? A bank robber, or a drug dealer?’
‘Quite the opposite. He merely felt that if you knew your benefactor’s real identity you would have refused my help.’
‘Aye, because I’d turn that down.’ She pressed the button and the doors swung open. Sparked up her e-cigarette and wandered outside, puffing away with her hands in her pockets. Supposed to be ‘Mandarin & Guava’ but it tasted more like Fanta. ‘After that two-faced back-stabbing sack of crap clyped on me to Professional Standards, I needed all the help I could...’
She stared at Hissing Sid.
He smiled calmly back. Then raised an eyebrow.
He didn’t mean... He couldn’t!
‘No, no, no, no, no. You are... You have got to be taking the pish. It can’t have been!’
‘Inspector McRae believed your feelings towards him would cloud your judgement somewhat. He’d recently lost someone close to him and inherited a sum of money from their estate, that’s how he was able to finance your defence.’
‘Oh for God’s sake!’
Tufty opened the door to the CID office and stuck his head in. Lund, Harmsworth and Barrett must’ve sloped off for lunch, because Steel was the only one in there, sitting with her feet up on the desk, frowning at the window.
Another four willies had joined the one on the whiteboard, but they looked sad and disappointed. Lacklustre willies whose hearts weren’t really in it.
Bit like Steel, then.
‘Sarge?’
She kept on frowning at the window. ‘Ever get the feeling someone’s just wheeched the tablecloth away, but instead of all the plates and glasses and stuff just sitting there, it all goes crashing down?’
Very profound.
‘You’ll never guess who’s downstairs.’
‘It was McRae. When his girlfriend died the life insurance paid out big style. That’s how he could afford to hire Hissing Sid to defend me.’
‘See? Told you he was a good guy.’
Her face curdled, wrinkles getting wrinklier around her downturned mouth. ‘Mind you: wouldn’t have needed an expensive slippery lawyer if McRae hadn’t landed me in it in the first sodding place!’
That’s the spirit.
‘Anyway: downstairs. It’s Mrs Galloway’s neighbour, the one with the wee kid.’
Steel went back to staring at the window. ‘But why land me in it, then pay a fortune for Hissing Sid to come drag me out? Doesn’t make any sense...’
‘She wants to make a complaint.’
‘Gah...’ Steel’s head fell back. She covered it with her hands and groaned. Sighed. ‘Of course she does, because that’s how this sharny horrible job works. No one helps, everyone complains.’ A grunt and she stood, slouching and droopy. ‘Might as well get it over with.’
A weird Pot-Noodley smell filled the small reception room. Maybe it lived here? Or maybe it had hitched a ride with Mrs Galloway’s next-door neighbour? She sat with her back to the door, in an AFC away-strip tracksuit that looked a bit too shiny not to be a knock-off. Her toddler stood on the chair next to her, drawing swooping loops of red and green crayon on a sheet of paper.
Steel slumped into the chair opposite and sighed. ‘You want to make a complaint.’
Tufty got his notebook out.
A nod sent her pigtail swaying. ‘I do.’ She took a deep breath and blurted it out: ‘I saw Phil Innes kicking in Mrs Galloway’s door. He’s the one who attacked her. I heard everything.’
Tufty wiggled his eyebrows at Steel, mugging a huge grin.
‘Wh...? Is...?’
The neighbour folded her arms. Swear to God, little crackles of static electricity glowed along those shiny tracksuit sleeves. ‘Well? You going to arrest him now?’
Tufty tapped his pen on his pad. ‘Let’s start at the very beginning, shall we?’
After all, it was a very good place to start.
‘... and get on to the Sheriff’s office.’ Steel rubbed her hands together, Mr Burns style. ‘I want a warrant to go through Philip Innes’s place like a kilo of laxative.’
Tufty gave her a small salute. ‘Yes, Captain, my captain.’
She turned to go, just as Big Gary lumbered up the corridor towards them.
‘Hoy! Where do you two think you’re going?’
‘To do some actual police work, Gary. Don’t know if you remember it...?’
He puffed out his chest, making himself even bigger. ‘Not till you’ve seen to the bus-load of people cluttering up my nice clean reception area, you’re not.’ He pointed a finger at the keycode entry door.
On the other side of the toughened safety-glass panel, reception was packed. Twenty, maybe thirty people overflowed the rows of seats, wandering around the place staring at the ‘HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?’ posters.
‘And before you ask: yes, they are here to see you.’
Tufty stepped up to the glass. ‘Wow. Looks like half of Cairnhill Court have turned up!’
He poked at the keycode lock and held the door open for Steel and Gary to squeeze past. Stepped through after them and let it swing closed.
An old man wobbled his way up from his seat and shook his walking stick at them. ‘I want to complain about Philip Bloody Innes. I was short twenty quid and he smashed my telly!’
A young woman shuffled forward, chunky in too tight jeans and a much too tight T-shirt. ‘Phil Innes’s been harassing my mum about a loan. She’s fifty-three!’
A frizzy-haired woman with bags under her eyes and two snotty little kids on a leash: ‘He beat the crap out of my husband.’
Steel held up her hands, mouth hanging open. A couple of blinks, then, ‘Anyone here no’ wanting to complain about Philip Innes?’
Not a single soul.