‘As senior investigating officer, sir,’ Pye countered, ‘I take my orders from my line managers. As far as I know, Isobel Cant isn’t one of them.’
‘As far as you know,’ the DCC mimicked. ‘Man, it doesn’t work like that any more. In a force of our size, there has to be a recognised communications structure and the professionals within it must have their own form of authority. If Ms Cant, or Peregrine Allsop, her boss, give you a draft, you have to think of it as coming from Sir Andrew himself. What you don’t do is tell her to stick it up her arse.’
‘That’s not fair, sir,’ Haddock protested. ‘The gaffer was a damn sight more polite than she was.’
‘Butt out, Detective Sergeant,’ McGuire growled. ‘I’ll tell you what’s fucking fair, and what’s not.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Accepted; remember it. Now: incredibly fortunately for you two, I agree with you in this instance, and I’ve managed to calm the chief down. Ms Cant breached the new protocol herself, by not discussing the communications strategy with the SIO and taking his views into account. That’s your wiggle room. You are doubly lucky, in that once I explained your view to Sir Andrew he agreed with that too, albeit grudgingly, and asked Allsop to tell Cant to stay out of your hair for the duration of this investigation.’
‘Thanks, sir,’ Pye said. ‘I knew you’d go to bat for us.’
‘Yeah, well, don’t go taking it for granted,’ the DCC mumbled. ‘You’ll need to make your peace with them both at some point, but for now, do things your way. So,’ he continued, ‘what did you tell the media?’
‘I told them as much as I could. I told them that the results of the autopsy on the dead child led us to continue treating her death as suspicious, rather than murder. There was a lot of grumbling when I said I couldn’t name her . . .’
McGuire interrupted. ‘How did you explain that?’
‘With the truth: that there’s a problem contacting the father. They pressed me on why, but they gave up on it when I told them that the prime suspect in the abduction, and his girlfriend, had been found shot dead in a burned-out car.’
‘Yes, that would get their attention,’ McGuire chuckled. ‘Did you name both of them?’
‘Yes, I was able to do that. The DNA confirmation came through at nine thirty, and the police in Gdansk, Anna’s home town, called us to confirm that they’d spoken to her parents.’
‘Photographs?’
‘Issued. Francey’s we had on file; the university had one of Anna on her admission record. Mind you, I’m sure it won’t be long before the red-tops are using the one that’s on a poster outside Lacey’s.’
‘And their killer?’ McGuire asked.
‘I told them what I told you, sir, that we’re still examining the crime scene. What I didn’t add was, outside that, there are absolutely no leads.’
‘Then you’d better go and get some, lads. In today’s news cycle, that’ll keep them busy for a couple of hours.’
‘Maybe a bit longer,’ Pye chuckled, softly. ‘One of the Fire and Rescue team must have a pal in the Daily Record newsroom. Their reporter collared us afterwards; she said they’d had a tip-off that the fire team leader at the crime scene went bats when he saw the car. I’d no reason to “no comment” her, so I confirmed it, and said that the guy was Francey’s brother-in-law. She went off in search of Levon Rattray. As soon as they break that online, the rest’ll have to play catch-up. They’ll be off our backs, for a wee while at least.’
‘Good,’ the DCC said, ‘use that time well; you have to keep ahead of the media on this one. There’s a lot resting on this investigation for you, chum. You’re not completely off the hook with the chief. He might have backed what you did this morning, but you still crossed him. The last thing he said to me was that if you don’t get a result, he’ll think about seconding you to the Communications Department. I don’t think he was joking either.’
Thirty
‘Do you think he meant it, Sauce?’ Sammy Pye murmured, as he parked on a yellow line on St John’s Road. He had been quiet throughout the drive from the Fettes building.
‘Nah,’ the DS replied, dismissively. ‘The DCC was winding you up.’
‘I’m not so sure. I’ve known Mario McGuire for a lot longer than you have; I reckon I can tell when he’s serious and when he isn’t.’
‘Then the chief was winding him up.’
‘Unlikely. Only two guys ever did that: his mate Neil McIlhenney, who’s a commander in the Met these days, and Bob Skinner. You don’t know Andy Martin either; you were a wet-eared plod when he left for Tayside. He might be a smooth operator on the outside, but inside he’s a hard, ruthless bastard. Look at the way he treated Alex Skinner.’
‘How did he treat her?’ Haddock asked. ‘You’re right; I’m new on the block as far as that’s concerned.’
‘He had it off with her when she was barely out of her teens. Big Bob went ballistic when he found out, but they got engaged, he calmed down, and Andy was flavour of the month again. Then he chucked her . . . nobody ever found out why . . . and went off and married Karen Neville. A couple of kids later, he walked out on Karen, and he was back in with Alex. Karen rejoined the force and moved back down here from Perth. Then the top job came up, Andy got it, and it was all off again with him and Alex. On top of that, Karen’s got a DI promotion through in the west, and so Andy can be nearer his kids.’
‘And nearer his ex-wife too?’
Pye shook his head. ‘No, there’s not a prayer of that happening. Karen’s a pal from way back; we’re close still, so I know that even if the thought crosses his mind, he’ll get nowhere. She’s done with him.’
‘And I suppose the chief knows,’ Haddock ventured, ‘that you and Karen are close. Do you think . . . ?’
‘That he might have it in for me? Fuck, that never occurred to me. I’ll tell you one thing, Sauce,’ he growled, ‘if he does try to second me into some backwater desk job, I’m not having it. I’ll be off.’
‘You can’t. What would you do?’
‘I don’t know, but I’d find something.’ Pye smiled. ‘Maybe I’d join Bob Skinner.’
‘Join him in what?’
‘In whatever he’s doing. I don’t buy in to all this media stuff, or the Security Industry Authority board job that’s just been announced. There’s too much cop in him to walk away from it altogether. He’s an investigator; it’s what he does. It’s in his blood.’
‘How does he feel about his pal now,’ Sauce asked, ‘after what he did to Alex?’
‘I don’t know. The only thing I will say is that if you hurt her, you are in more trouble than you could ever imagine, and I don’t care who the fuck you are.’
Pye took the key from the ignition and laid a crested ‘Police on duty’ card on the dashboard. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go and lean on these two clowns.’
The detectives stepped out of the car and walked the few yards to the door of the takeaway. There were no customers, but Ian Harbison was behind the service counter. As they entered, he did not react; instead he continued staring at the wall. Radio Forth was playing in the background, a news reader halfway through a football news story.
‘Drizzle,’ Haddock said quietly, turning the sign on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’. Harbison jumped, and turned to face them.
‘You two,’ he murmured. ‘What I just heard on the radio: it’s true, is it? Dino’s dead?’
‘Afraid so,’ the DS replied. ‘And Singer.’
‘Yeah? Bloody hell!’
‘What time did they leave here yesterday?’
Drizzle stared. ‘What are you talking about? They were never here.’
Pye glared at him. ‘That’s not what the pathologist says. Unless some other takeaway was doing a venison special yesterday, they were here.’
‘If they were, I never saw them,’ he insisted. ‘I told you, if I’d seen Dino, I’d have called you. But . . . I was front of house in the afternoon. Jagger was in the kitchen.’
‘Is he there now?’
‘Yes. Hold on.’ Harbison turned and opened the door behind him. ‘Jagger,’ he barked. ‘Get your fucking arse in here!’