‘It still has to be ticked or crossed off,’ Haddock insisted.
‘Agreed, but that might be easier said than done. Remember, Lieutenant Gates set off all sorts of security alarms last time we asked about him. That might happen again.’
‘And it might not. Stay positive, gaffer.’
‘I’m trying,’ Pye said, ‘but I know in here,’ he tapped his chest with his middle finger, ‘that there’s something we’re just not getting, a link in this chain of events that we can’t see, and my problem is I have no idea where to go looking for it. I tell you this, Sauce, and only you; this new set-up makes me feel completely exposed. Oh how I wish Bob Skinner was here!’
As he spoke, with a huge frustrated sigh, his office door opened, and a familiar voice exclaimed, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’
Fifty-Three
I will carry with me to the grave the expression on Sammy Pye’s face as I stepped into his office. He turned towards me, in his old swivel chair, eyes wide open, jaw slightly dropped, and he murmured, ‘Have the last six months been a dream?’
Even young Haddock was taken aback by my inadvertent timing. He jumped from his perch on the edge of his boss’s desk; for a moment I thought he was about to come to attention.
‘As you were,’ I said.
‘How did you get in?’ he asked.
I grinned at him. ‘Seriously?’
Mind you, I did feel a little weird myself. Twenty years before, that room had been mine, when I ran Serious Crimes as a detective superintendent, surrounded by good cops, among them much younger versions of Andy Martin and Mario McGuire, and with Alison Higgins not very far away.
It hadn’t taken me long after Carrie McDaniels came up with the name Mackail to realise that I had to touch base with the guys. I didn’t rush into it, though. Instead I paid a visit to Mario, not in his office in Stirling but in his very posh penthouse in Leith, in the evening.
My friend, the deputy chief constable, is probably the most dedicated cop I know, if only because he doesn’t need the money and never has done. On his mother’s side he’s a member of one of the most successful business families in Edinburgh, and his dad was a building contractor. He could have taken up either option at any time but he never did. Instead he joined the police force in his early twenties after completing a degree in business administration that he never talks about.
Initially, his choice had something to do with a simple desire to prove to his family that he could be a success in his own right, on his own terms. He achieved that years ago; by that time he loved the job so much that he never contemplated leaving.
I arrived at Eamon’s dinnertime; he’s a little over six months old and looks very like his dad. The sight of him reminded me of what Sarah and I have coming to us later this year.
Mario and I left mother and son to it and went out on to the deck. It was a brilliant, cloudless, starry evening, with a cold edge to it, but an electric space heater made it tolerable.
He understood that I hadn’t come to socialise. ‘I know about it,’ he said, as soon as we were alone. ‘I had Sir Andrew in my ear this afternoon, threatening to boot Mann off the Hodgson inquiry, and out of CID altogether. He did the same with Sammy Pye the other day; if he carries out all of his threats we’ll have no bloody detectives left.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ I asked. ‘I’m deeply involved in this thing, by accident in the main, but if that’s threatening officers’ careers, I’ll back off, just disappear. I can tell Eden Higgins to get somebody else to find his boat and be no more than a witness, in Edinburgh and in Ayrshire. That’s what your boss wants me to do, I’m sure.’
‘I’m sure too,’ Mario agreed, ‘but it’s not what I want. Andy’s vision is of everyone across the country conforming to strict rules and protocols, yet still being expected to maximise clear-up rates. But it’s not mine; in my visits to CID around the country, I’m preaching pragmatism and flexibility.’
I whistled, softly. ‘You’re ignoring him?’
‘That’s not how I see it,’ he replied. ‘My version is that I’m exercising my own authority as DCC Crime. He and I are heading for a bust-up, no question, but I won’t be anybody’s message boy.’ He rolled his massive shoulders inside his heavy jacket. ‘It can’t go on,’ he said quietly, then looked me in the eye. ‘Can you help?’
‘You mean can I sit him down and talk to him?’ I asked. ‘No, we’re way beyond that. We have no relationship on a personal or professional level, not any more.’
‘The service is in crisis,’ Mario murmured. ‘Can you really sit back and watch it implode?’
‘Are you asking,’ I countered, ‘whether I’ll go public and attack Andy’s management? If you are, the answer’s no.’
‘I was thinking more of going private. The First Minister’s a friend of yours.’
‘I’m not so sure that he is any more,’ I said, ‘not since I told him he could stick the chairmanship of the Scottish Police Authority where the sun doesn’t shine. Look, if it gets to the Caine Mutiny scenario, if Andy turns into Captain Queeg and starts counting the strawberries, it’ll be up to you, and Maggie Steele, and Brian Mackie and the other deputies and assistants to sort it out. Effectively the command team of ScotServe is a board of management. If you pass a vote of no confidence in your executive chair, and stand behind it strongly enough . . .’
He nodded. ‘I get it. I think that Maggie and I are heading towards that conversation. She’s his nominated deputy, yet she told me the other day that she doesn’t know what her job is.’
‘Then let it play out,’ I advised. ‘In the meantime, in the current situation, what do you want me to do?’
‘What is the situation?’ he asked.
‘The two investigations are overlapping,’ I told him. ‘By that I mean Zena and the subsequent murders of her abductors on one hand, and the torture and shooting of Jock Hodgson on the other. Their convergence, I know for sure: the link is a man called Hector Mackail. He’s emerged as a person of interest in the disappearance of the Princess Alison. At the same time, I’ve discovered that the Menu have been looking at him as well. I know nothing about their inquiry, but if I’m going to carry on, I need to.’
Mario’s shoulders relaxed and he settled deeper in his chair. He took a deep breath of the frosty air, then exhaled. ‘You must carry on,’ he declared. ‘If you’re willing, I’d be a fool not to use your insight and experience. I want you to coordinate the two investigations, to be the link between the teams, and,’ he paused for a second, ‘to advise as you see fit. You’ll be acting in a private and confidential capacity, but I’ll tell Sammy, and I’ll tell Lottie Mann . . . you’re right, by the way; she is a fucking monster of a detective . . . that any suggestion from you should be seen as a direct order from me.’
I held his gaze. ‘You sure?’
‘Certain.’
‘What about Andy?’
‘I am DCC Crime,’ he replied, ‘until he tells me otherwise. I don’t feel the need to report on every operational matter. Now, let’s get inside; it’s bloody freezing out here.’
As it transpired, next morning I beat Mario to the punch, but only just. Pye and Haddock were still recovering from my surprise, and perfectly timed, arrival when the phone rang. As soon as I heard Sammy say, ‘Yes, sir,’ I knew that he was being given the message.
‘So,’ he said, smiling as he hung up, ‘just like old times.’
‘No,’ I countered, ‘my role will be advisory, that’s all.’