It was Rebus’s turn to nod, albeit distractedly. ‘We’ve got to get his phone records — see who he spoke to after I left him.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘A greasy spoon not too far from Ocean Terminal. He liked the bacon rolls there.’
‘The condemned man ate a hearty meal then, as Professor Quant will soon discover.’
‘Do you think I’d be allowed in to watch?’ Rebus asked, brow furrowing.
‘Might not be wise.’
‘True enough — the James Gang are already trying to put a nice big frame around me.’
‘I think you may be exaggerating ever so slightly.’
‘You have to be my eyes and ears, Malcolm. Promise me that.’
‘I’d better go back in. They’ll be phoning Guinness World of Records to measure my bladder.’
Fox turned and pushed open the door, letting it creak shut behind him. Suddenly he was everyone’s eyes and ears... which reminded him. He found Sheila Graham’s number and hit the call button as he began to climb the imposing staircase.
‘Thought it would be you,’ Graham said.
‘News travels.’
‘ACC Lyon told ACC McManus and ACC McManus was good enough to pass it along.’
‘I can still keep tabs on the Christie case.’
‘You sure?’
‘In fact, I’ve got something for you. According to Anthony Brough’s secretary, he’s AWOL — meetings cancelled, et cetera. Seemed to me she was in the dark about where he’s gone or why.’
‘Chickens may be coming home to roost.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I need to give this some thought, Malcolm. Anything else to report?’
‘I’ve been a bit busy since lunchtime.’
‘Your first Major Investigation Team?’
‘I used to head the Professional Standards Unit, Sheila. I’ve played with the big boys before.’
He could sense her smile at the other end of the line. ‘We’ll talk later,’ she said, ending the call as he reached the door to the MIT room.
Alvin James gestured towards the mug on Fox’s desk.
‘I’ve kept watch, so fear not.’
‘Thanks,’ Fox said.
‘Though we’re all a bit disappointed in you, Malcolm.’
‘Oh?’
‘No biscuits,’ Briggs said.
‘No biscuits,’ Alvin James agreed.
‘Plus the longest piss in recorded history,’ Mark Oldfield added.
‘Not that we think that’s what you were doing,’ James added slyly.
‘Well, you’re right — I was on the phone to Gartcosh. I can give you a name if you want to check.’
‘We’re all friends here, Malcolm. Nothing more to be said.’
‘Except for this,’ Briggs interrupted. ‘Next time — biscuits. Digestives, for preference.’
‘Chocolate digestives,’ Sharpe corrected her in a whisper.
The autopsy was booked for 4.30, soon after Chatham’s partner Liz Dolan had identified the body. Fox had been tasked with accompanying her. Her legs had gone from beneath her, and he’d struggled to get her back to her feet.
‘Oh God,’ she kept saying. ‘Oh God, oh God, oh God.’
Fox had been there before and he offered the usual crumbs of sympathy, none of which she seemed willing to hear. She was shaking, clutching at him, holding him in a tearful embrace.
It’s not easy, Liz.
It’s a hellish thing.
Is there a friend I can contact? Family?
Somebody, in other words, to pass the responsibility to.
But they’d never had children, and none of their parents were alive. She had a sister in Canada; Chatham’s brother had predeceased him.
‘What am I going to do?’ she said, voice quivering, strings of bleached saliva at the corners of her mouth. ‘Such a good man. Such a good man.’
‘I know,’ Fox agreed, steering her to the waiting room and a chair. ‘I’ll get us some tea — how do you take it?’
But she was staring at the wall opposite, eyes fixed on a poster showing Edinburgh from the air. Fox leaned out into the hallway, checking to left and right, eventually catching the eye of a passing attendant.
‘Got a family member here who could do with something,’ he pleaded.
‘Valium maybe?’ the man offered.
‘I think she’d settle for tea.’
‘Milk and two?’
‘I’m not sure she takes sugar.’
‘Trust me, they all take sugar...’ The man moved off again in his calf-high rubberised boots.
Liz Dolan was leaning forward in her seat, looking as if she might be about to throw up. She wore black leggings under a knee-length patterned skirt. Her fingers were worrying away at the skirt’s hem as she took in erratic gulps of air.
‘You going to be okay, Liz?’ he asked.
‘Not for a long time.’
‘Tea’s on its way.’
‘That’s all right then, eh?’ For the first time, she met his eyes, so he’d know she was being sarcastic. He sat down slowly, leaving one chair vacant between them. ‘So what happens now?’ she asked eventually, wiping her nose with her sleeve.
‘You’ll want to arrange things — the funeral and such like.’
‘I was meaning you — Rab was murdered, so what do you do next?’
‘Well, when you feel up to it, we’d like to maybe ask you a few things, find out his movements.’
‘He had breakfast with someone — an ex-cop.’
‘Yes, we know about that.’
‘He was in a right flap after.’
‘Oh?’
‘Snapped at me when I asked him what was wrong.’
‘Did he give you an answer?’
She shook her head. ‘But he was upset right up until the minute he went out.’
‘When was that?’
‘Early afternoon. I told him he hadn’t had enough sleep.’
‘He worked evenings, didn’t he?’
‘Five till midnight, sometimes a bit later if it was the weekend.’
‘Had the pair of you known one another long?’
‘Six and a half years.’
‘Since before he retired, then?’
She nodded again. ‘He’d been married twice before. Woe betide those witches if they try to gatecrash the funeral.’
‘No love lost?’
‘You’re a cop, you know what it’s like — long hours, cases that get under your skin but you don’t want to talk about them...’ She looked at him until he nodded. ‘Both his wives ended up going off with some other poor sod.’
‘Did he ever talk to you about the job?’
‘A little bit, after he’d retired. There’d be reunions, and sometimes he’d invite me along.’
‘You’ll have heard a few stories, then.’
‘A few, aye.’
Their teas arrived and Fox offered a nod of thanks to the attendant. The man paused for a moment.
‘Sorry for your loss,’ he said to Dolan.
‘Thanks.’ She seemed mesmerised by the boots as the attendant trudged back to work. ‘Christ,’ she said, softly.
‘Deborah Quant’s the one looking after Rab,’ Fox said. ‘She’s very good, very respectful.’
Dolan nodded and fixed her eyes on the poster again, the mug held in both hands. ‘Being a doorman... well, there were a few stories there, too.’
‘I don’t imagine it’s an easy job.’
‘It’s fine when they’re all behaving themselves, but Rab found that boring.’
‘He liked a bit of a ruck?’
‘Came home with a few cuts and bruises. The girls were the worst, he said. They’d use nails and teeth.’
‘The weaker sex, eh?’
She managed something that was almost a smile. ‘They chatted him up too, though — he liked that bit quite a lot.’