Fatal Last Words

Eighty-one

‘That’s it, Stevie,’ said George Regan, ‘all my stuff, like Neil told me to do.’

‘Does it bother you?’ Pye asked, looking at the folder that his colleague had laid on his desk.

‘Are you having a laugh? Of course it doesn’t bother me. I’ve made DI when I thought I might not. If the bosses say that my investigation has effectively become part of yours and that they’re to be rolled in together, I do not give a fish’s tit. It’s a bonus; it means that Lisa and I can get back to solving the usual in our rural beat, which tends to be along the lines of, Who Shot Roger fucking Rabbit?’ He glanced around the suite, and beamed. ‘It’s a real crappy office you’ve got here, by the way,’ he said, without a trace of sarcasm. ‘Nearly as bad as Torphichen Place. Ours is really nice; best I’ve ever had.’

‘I know,’ Pye agreed wistfully. ‘I used to be stationed out there, remember.’

‘Well, don’t plan on moving back. I mean to be there for a long time; until I get found out, in fact. Not that you would. You’re on the fast track, son; everybody knows that.’

‘Kind of you, George, but I’m the jammy bastard that got promoted early into dead men’s shoes, when Stevie got himself killed. That’s what everybody knows.’

‘Shite! You’re the lead investigator into one of the highest profile crimes we’ve ever had, and you’re going to get a result that’ll make you.’ He paused. ‘You are going to get a result, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean by that,’ Pye confessed. ‘If you mean that we can close the book on who killed Glover, Mount, Collins and your guy, Mustafic, or Andelić, yes. If you mean that we catch the guy, that’s another matter. I’m stymied there; it’s over to the big boss now.’

‘But when he cracks it, and lets you announce the arrest, like he always does, you will take the media credit, won’t you?’

‘Oh yes,’ Pye chuckled, ‘you can be sure of that.’