Aftershock

Fifty-eight

‘Your Scottish courts don’t waste any time,’ said Becky Stallings. ‘That can’t have taken more than a couple of minutes. I’d have had to write off the best part of a day for this in London.’

She glanced from the gateway to Edinburgh Sheriff Court back towards its doorway.

‘It’s a cost thing,’ McGurk replied. ‘You know how we Jocks are when it comes to watching the pennies. The Scottish Courts Administration lays down the limits: ninety seconds maximum for a first appearance, twenty minutes for a guilty plea, mitigation speech and sentence, one week for a murder trial, two for fraud.’

The inspector gasped. ‘You’re kidding,’ she exclaimed.

‘Sure, but I had you for a second or two, admit it.’

‘You bastard. Somewhere along the line you’re going to suffer for that.’

‘It’ll be worth it. Forget golf: taking the piss out of the English is our real national sport. Hasn’t Ray taught you that yet?’

Stallings let a half-smile cross her face. ‘Our relationship is still too new for DS Wilding to be taking chances.’

‘Jeez. It must be the real thing if that one’s minding his manners.’

‘You’ve worked with him?’

‘For a bit, back in Dan Pringle’s time.’

‘Dan Pringle?’

‘My old boss, latterly head of CID. He retired last year. He didn’t have blue-eyed boys, but. . let’s just say that Ray and I got on pretty well with him. Old-fashioned cop.’

‘What’s he doing now?’

‘Drinking.’

‘Shame. I’ve seen that before, though, an old-timer retiring, then discovering he doesn’t have a life.’

McGurk shook his head. ‘It’s not that with Dan. He lost his daughter, and it crushed him.’

‘Poor guy. You must find the new regime different.’

‘What does Ray say?’

‘We’ve never discussed it. He’s never mentioned Dan Pringle.’

‘We tend not to. But you’re wrong about Mario McGuire, and Neil McIlhenney for that matter. The Glimmer Twins might seem a bit flash. . no, scratch that, they are a bit flash, especially Mario. . but below all that, they’re bedrock. You can trust them.’

‘That’s good to know. The Met’s full of flash guys too, but they tend to be scrambling up the ladder as fast as they can, without caring whose fingers they step on.’

‘Glad to be out of it?’

‘Are you asking me if Ray was just an excuse?’

‘Hell, no!’

‘I’d forgive you if you did, but the answer would be no. Private life first, job second; I’ve always managed to stick to that.’

‘Maybe I should have too.’

Stallings gasped. ‘Oh, God, Jack. Don’t take that personally; I wasn’t thinking.’

‘That’s okay, boss. I tried it your way, but that didn’t work either.’ He looked at his watch, then back towards the court building. ‘They’re taking time turning Weekes loose,’ he said. ‘Bail formalities, I suppose. Either that or Frankie’s got another case in court and he’s waiting for her to chum him out of the building.’ He pointed towards the throng of press and television cameras waiting in Chambers Street. ‘He won’t fancy running that gauntlet.’

‘Is there a back door? Maybe he’s used that.’

‘No, they won’t let him. He’ll be coming this way.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Put it this way: if he doesn’t, some uniforms in there will be looking for a place to hide.’

‘You fixed it?’

McGurk nodded. ‘This guy’s getting no job-related favours. Every other punter comes out the front door: so does he. Besides. .’ As he spoke, the door opened and Frankie Birtles stepped out, followed by her client. As he stepped into the summer sunshine Weekes looked out into the street; a look of panic crossed his face as the camera-bearing horde sprang into life and surged towards the entrance. He started to remove his jacket, to cover his face, the sergeant guessed, as he stepped back through the gate, into the court precincts, out of bounds to the media.

‘A word before you go, Theo,’ he said, taking Weekes by the arm and drawing him to one side. ‘We’ll see him into a taxi, Frankie,’ he called to the solicitor.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘My car’s across the road. I need him back at my office.’ She stood, waiting, prepared to allow the detective privacy.

‘What is it, you great long cunt?’ Weekes hissed at him.

‘I love you too, arsehole,’ McGurk growled. ‘Here it is. I want to make sure you understand what your lawyer agreed to in there,’ he said. ‘Especially the bit about not approaching potential witnesses. I think you’ll find that PC Grey will arrest you herself if you go anywhere near her, and the girl you mentioned in South Queensferry thinks you’re a dick anyway. But if I hear of you hassling Lisanne, whether it’s by phoning her, texting her, sending her emails, whatever, your flat feet won’t touch the ground. You’ll be back in front of the sheriff and banged up on remand. On top of that, I have friends in Saughton Prison. No protective segregation for you, pal: you’ll be on open association with the other inmates from day one, never able to eat without somebody gobbing in your food, never able to take a shower without the fear that you might be gang-banged. With me?’

Weekes’s eyes flashed in a last show of bravado, but only for a second or two. He mumbled something that might have been ‘Fuck off’, then headed towards Birtles, and the cameras, pulling his jacket up and over his head.

‘Nice one, Theo,’ McGurk called after him. ‘Do that and you’ll really look guilty. Tell him, Frankie.’

The solicitor whispered in her charge’s ear. He stopped and glowered at her, but slipped his jacket back on, then followed her out into the street, under the implacable gaze of two dozen lenses as they followed him all the way to her black Mercedes.