Aftershock

Thirty-eight

‘You’re looking good,’ said Andy Martin.

‘But different, sir, yes?’

‘That can’t be denied. The uniform suits you, though.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Chief Inspector David Mackenzie snapped his heels together and gave a small mock bow. ‘It’s taken some getting used to, I admit, but the alternative was losing it, leaving the force altogether, and I didn’t need that. I may have said so, when I was at my blackest, but the job’s important to me.’

The two men had met before, on a drugs operation in Edinburgh. It had been successful, but it had started a chain of events that had proved disastrous for Mackenzie, plunging him into depression and a bout of near-alcoholism.

‘I’m different in a few ways,’ he said. ‘For a start, nobody calls me Bandit any more. That persona’s gone for good: when it came to the test, I didn’t have the nuts to live up to it.’

‘That’s not what I’ve heard. It was a bad scene, and you went into it.’

‘Then froze solid, sir. You can’t do that: if you do, you’re putting the lives of colleagues in danger.’

‘That’s true,’ Martin conceded, ‘but, David, you didn’t go to work that morning expecting to go into armed action. You weren’t part of a specialist unit, you just happened to be there at the time. I was told that you volunteered, and that once you were in you went as far as you could. That’s all any of us can do. You’re a damn good officer, and I’m happy to be working with you.’

‘It’s good of you to say so, sir.’

‘Ask around and you’ll find that I never say things I don’t mean. Now, let’s get on with this task. You know what I’ve been asked to do?’

‘Yes, sir. The chief constable gave me a full briefing.’

‘Good. Before we get started, though, that’s five “sirs” in as many minutes. I’ve never been one for formality, among senior officers at any rate, so when it’s just you and me, it’s Andy. Fair enough?’

Mackenzie nodded.

Martin moved behind Bob Skinner’s desk, settled into his chair, and glanced out of the window, across to the deserted Broughton High School, its pupils turned loose to holiday with their parents, or to roam the city’s streets. ‘Right,’ he continued. ‘I’ve been doing some thinking about this overnight and I’ve decided how I want to proceed. The investigation shouldn’t take more than a couple of days, but for its purpose I must be formal, from start to finish. I’m going to be interviewing people I know, guys I used to go to the pub with when I was here. So we’ll do it in uniform, both of us, and we’ll record every word said.’ He smiled. ‘From what I’ve been told, that’s going to cause the Crown Agent a lot of grief, but I haven’t been brought down here to massage his ego.’

‘How do you want to begin?’ asked Mackenzie.

‘I’m going to spend this morning reading the files relating to all the investigations, including the Sugar Dean inquiry. While I’m doing that I want you to speak to DCS McGuire and Detective Superintendent McIlhenney and have them help you compile a list of all the people in this force who had access to those details of the Ballester murders that were kept from the media. Before that, though, I want you to phone the Crown Agent and have him do the same thing, list the people in his office that we need to interview. That’s where we’ll begin, this afternoon. And I want Joe Dowley himself to be our first appointment. There’s something about his whole attitude that I don’t understand, and I’m going to find out what it is.’