Funeral Note

Maggie Steele

‘Usually she’s tight-lipped about the time she spent in the Branch. You have to be, because that’s the way it is.’

It was an epiphany moment. As soon as the words left his mouth, I knew what Bob Skinner wanted me to do.

I picked up Montell’s file from the coffee table. His whole police life was in it, and I’d liked what I’d been reading when he’d come into my office. I looked at it, and then at him. I’d done my best to put him at his ease, because I don’t believe in treating people with anything but respect, whatever the circumstances, but I could see that he was still a little on edge.

No way was I going to recommend dismissal; that had never been an option in my mind. It would have set an impossible standard for the rest of the force, and it would have been unjust. Technically, Montell had broken the rules, but I’ve never met a cop who hasn’t done what he had, and I don’t see one when I look in the mirror. He and Cowan were a couple, as Mario and I, then Stevie and I, had been. I didn’t talk shop with either of them over every dinner table, but I shared things with them and they did with me, as Griff had with Alice. We had done so casually; Montell actually had a reason for telling her what was going on, because it had disrupted their plans for the evening.

She’d let him down and she was going to have to pay the price. It was end of story, all done with for her, but not for her uncle, and not for her boyfriend. If Varley went to trial he’d be a key witness, not just in respect of what he had told her, but also where and when. Mario had told me about the inspector’s version of events, and I knew that we would have to knock that story down, by demonstrating if possible that Alice couldn’t have got from wherever she was, to the place of the alleged meeting in the time available. When Griff went into the witness box to explain that, mud would be thrown at him, it would be reported, and among his fellow officers it would stick, fairly or not.

‘You had an impressive record in South Africa,’ I commented, as I laid the file back on the table. ‘Specialist experience of violent crimes, sex crimes, political protection, and good performance reports in every one; sergeant by age twenty-four and scheduled for promotion to inspector, when you upped and quit.’

‘Was I?’ he remarked, sounding genuinely surprised. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘If you had, would it have made a difference to your decision?’

He shook his head. He wore his hair quite long, but not shoulder length. It might have been dark, but the sun had given it straw-coloured highlights, the kind that cost women a hundred quid a pop to maintain. Good-looking with it; I understood why Alex Skinner had been happy to wear him on her arm for a while.

‘No, not a bit,’ he replied. ‘My wife’s lawyer and her good friend the judge stitched me up so tight that I couldn’t afford to be a cop in South Africa any longer.’

‘Will you ever go back?’

He looked me in the eye. ‘That may depend on you, ma’am.’

‘Would you consider a transfer to another force?’ I ventured. ‘With nothing on your record,’ I added.

‘Is that what you’re going to propose to the chief?’

‘It might be in your best interests. What do you think?’

‘With respect, I think no. I like it here, and I’m. . I was. . building a career here. One move on your record is okay for a junior officer, but two? No, I’d rather stay here. If I have to take some flak from colleagues over this thing, if I have to be sanctioned, I’ll ride those out.’

He’d said exactly what I’d hoped he would. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘The final decision on sanctions will be up to the chief, but I’m not going to recommend any. As for the flak, I can do something about that. It is likely that you will have to give embarrassing evidence in a future trial, but there is a way to keep your name off the public record.’

He looked at me, curiosity stirred.

‘In certain circumstances, a judge may direct that police witnesses’ names may not be reported. For example, if that officer is in Special Branch.’ He edged just a little more upright in his chair. ‘As it happens,’ I continued, ‘the chief is looking at some personnel changes there, and there is a vacancy for someone at your rank. DC Singh will be moving to Gayfield, to join DI Wilding, and your overall record makes you an outstanding candidate to replace him. . as long as you understand that there is an extra need for discretion there.’

He nodded. ‘Oh yes, ma’am, I do.’

‘Okay, that’s what I’m going to recommend to the chief, and I do not believe for one moment that he’ll reject my advice.’

He smiled. ‘Ma’am, I came in here not knowing if I had a future, and I go out with a new job. I don’t know what to say.’

I grinned back; I couldn’t help myself. ‘I reckon “Thank you” would just about cut it, don’t you?’

Superintendent David Mackenzie

I wasn’t sure I’d recognise the guy, but I did as soon as I stepped into the chief’s office and saw him sitting at the meeting table. He’d put on a bit of weight since I’d last seen him in Pitt Street, a few weeks before my move to Edinburgh, and he was losing the unwinnable battle against male pattern baldness, but otherwise he hadn’t changed much. Same dark suit and tie, same white shirt, the unofficial uniform of Strathclyde CID, the sort of garb that I’d kicked against when I was one of them.

They said I was flash, and they were right. They didn’t like me, and I can understand why. To be honest, looking back, I didn’t really like me either. I knew how pushy I was, but the nasty streak in me was in full control at the time, so I forgive my peers for the way they felt about me. Mind you, I’d still like to find the comedian who shat in the pocket of my Aquascutum overcoat on the day I left.

I put the notion that it might have been Lowell Payne firmly to one side as we shook hands. His grip was firm and his eyes a little wide, signs of a man just subjected to the chief constable’s ordeal by coffee. From their body language I thought I sensed something between the two of them, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

‘David,’ the boss said, once the reintroduction was done. ‘Welcome. Would you like a coffee?’

‘No thank you, Chief,’ I replied. The kind that he brews is so powerful, it’s akin to the stuff that I have to steer clear of these days. He knows that, though, and when it’s offered it’s only out of politeness.

He handed me an envelope, brown. ‘That’s the latest,’ he told me. ‘It’s a transcript of Varley’s interview by Mario and Andy; you won’t like what you read. That said, do not let it colour your view. There are three things you need to keep in mind in the job you guys have to do: objectivity, objectivity and objectivity. This may be an isolated incident in Varley’s career; presumption of innocence applies. But if he’s guilty of more, then I want to be able to prove it, and more.’ He paused. ‘This is the way it’s going to work. I don’t expect either of you to be investigators; your job is to look for possible lines of inquiry. If you find any you will need leg men, and you will have them, but given the nature of the situation and the fact that it’s possible it may lead to links between a police officer and organised crime, they have to be specialised. Therefore, anything you do trigger will be handled by Special Branch.’

That came out of the blue. I’d assumed that we were looking for backhanders changing hands, nothing deeper than that. It raised a question in my mind and I put it out there. ‘Chief, have you had specific information about this?’

‘Yes, I have, but that’s all I’m going to tell you. Even at my level I have informants who need to be protected. So,’ he continued ‘the Branch: I’ve just made a change there. The officer who was in charge is being moved back to divisional CID duties. Her replacement is Detective Inspector George Regan, and he’ll be your first line of contact should the need arise.’

He looked at me. ‘I don’t think you’ve worked with him, David, but you probably know his back story.’ I did; I nodded.

‘Okay, I suggest that you get along there and introduce yourselves before you leave the building. I’ve briefed him on the Varley situation, so he’s expecting you. Good guy, George. You’ll appreciate that SB operates in its own way, and please remember that. Brief him on anything you turn up then leave him to get on with it. And don’t take the hump when you find that he shares everything with me; that’s his job.’

He rose to his feet, signalling that the briefing was over. Our marching orders were clear; if it’s there get a result, and one that is, given the circumstances, unquestionable.

‘The rest of the material, and there are boxes of it, will be waiting for you at St Leonards,’ he said. ‘I want you to work out of there. Sometimes I think I should do that myself; less of a post-modern shit heap than this place. Or maybe I should work from home; maybe that would be best for everyone.’

What the hell was that about? I thought, as we left.