Dead And Buried

Fifty-three

For all its ugliness, Bandit Mackenzie liked the Fettes building. He had spent most of his service out in the sticks of Glasgow and North Lanarkshire; his spell at the centre of affairs in Edinburgh, in his role as head of the Drugs Squad, had been stimulating. The Leith posting reminded him of Cumbernauld, which had been by no means the highlight of his career.

He had to ask the doorkeeper for directions to McIlhenney’s new office. It was three floors up in the main office wing; he climbed the stair with a frown on his face.

The detective superintendent was standing in the doorway, waiting for him. ‘Hello, Bandit,’ he said, as he ushered him into the room. ‘That was a hell of a long half-hour.’

‘Traffic,’ Mackenzie grunted.

‘That’s always the tale in Edinburgh. Take a seat.’ There was no offer of tea or coffee; the chief inspector was surprised, until he remembered that McIlhenney drank neither. ‘So, David,’ he began, ‘what have you got to tell me? How’s the Starr investigation going?’

‘We’ve just seen his ex-wife; she’s a right brassy cow, but she’s well alibied for the time of death. So’s her husband: he’s a long-distance driver. Before that we saw Starr’s current girlfriend, Mina Clarkson. Nothing there: she had the occasional bet in his shop and he gave her one equally occasionally. That’s us done with interviewing family and associates.’

‘Leads?’

‘A few; we’re following them up.’

McIlhenney leaned across his desk. ‘And where exactly are you doing that? Pamplona in Spain? How about that?’

Mackenzie felt his chair shift under him, and realised that instinctively he had pushed it backwards. ‘I had occasion to call the police there for assistance,’ he said.

‘So I gather. And in their turn, the Guardia Civil, which has jurisdiction over all drugs crime in Spain, had occasion to call the Scottish Drug Enforcement Agency and ask them what the hell you and the local plods were doing poking your nose into an operation on which the two of them have been co-operating for months. This led to the director of the SDEA calling the head of CID and asking him much the same thing, and not very politely either. Since he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. . well, you can imagine his reaction. Mind you, you nearly didn’t have to imagine: it took all my powers of persuasion to get him to leave this to me.’

‘Neil. .’

‘Shut up!’ the superintendent snarled. ‘How do you see me? Good old Neil, amiable guy, soft touch, string him along: is that it? Was that what you thought? Well, I’ve got news for you, pal. That’s the face I show to my wife and kids, to colleagues I trust and to people I like, people who don’t upset me. Those who do get to see the other side, like you are just now. Chief Inspector, you may be pissed off about being moved to Leith, or you may be carrying some residue from the St Andrews operation. I do not know and I do not fucking care. What I do perceive is an arrogant bastard who’s on a one-man mission to prove that he’s better than anyone else in this department, and who’s prepared to jeopardise anything in its pursuit. Well, Bandit, you may be prepared to put your own career in the crapper, but don’t think that you can drag mine along with it. You don’t agree with what I’m saying? You believe your own press cuttings? You want to take me on? Try it. I’ll fucking bury you.’

Mackenzie looked back at him, making an attempt to summon up some belligerence, some sort of a defence against the onslaught, and then he folded. ‘Neil, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have told you about the drugs and the money. I was out of order. It won’t happen again.’

‘True; not on this investigation at any rate, because you’re benched.’

‘You mean I’m suspended?’

‘No, you’re on holiday. You and Cheryl are decorating the bathroom, and you’ve been planning it for some time. I’ll see you a week on Monday; then we’ll talk about second chances.’