Funeral Note

Andrew Martin, Director, SCDEA

Mario McGuire and I go back a long way, fifteen years at least, to when he was a plod and I was still a raw detective constable. I’ve made chief officer status, and he’s only one rung short, so you could say that our careers have developed along parallel lines. You could say that, but I’ve always believed secretly that Mario has more ability than me, but less ambition.

I played rugby in my youth, at a very high level, but I set it aside when the job demanded, for that was my priority. As far as I know Mario never played any organised sport in his life, and certainly not rugby; probably just as well, because I’d have hated to have scrummed down against him. But if he had, and had been given the choice between an international future or early entry to CID and a fast track to the top, he’d probably have grinned that piratical grin and gone on to win a boxful of caps for Scotland. . or Ireland, or Italy, as he’d have been qualified for all three.

He and I do have one thing in common; it’s a link on which nobody ever comments, but I’m only too well aware of it, and I know he is.

Both of us made the same mistake: we each married cops. Mario and Maggie Rose got together on an investigation years ago, when they took the concept of undercover policing very literally indeed; they drifted into a union that seemed happy at first, until the smiles left their faces and the whole thing fell apart. Maggie had a brief breakdown, and Neil McIlhenney dropped a hint about a suicide attempt, but I didn’t pry.

Mario moved on, giving the force a wide berth second time around in his choice of partner, and I hear that Paula’s pregnant: great. Maggie remarried also, only she stuck her head in the lion’s jaws for a second time. But that’s too painful even to think about; it would only depress me.

Karen and me? That’s a long story. At first, she and I. . honestly, it was lust, pure and simple. Then I had a bad day at the office, a very bad day; my counsellor told me I could expect to experience posttraumatic stress and I told him he could expect to experience my boot up his arse, because I had always been mentally tight and able to walk away from a bad experience then move on to the next good one.

But he was right. I did have problems in the aftermath; nightmares, cold sweats, all the stuff that was only supposed to happen to other people. When they hit me, Karen soothed the fever when I needed it and I decided that what she gave me was what I wanted for the rest of my life.

And yes, I decided that I was well and truly over Alex Skinner.

I’m a Catholic, something else that McGuire and I have in common. But he’s pretty much lapsed, whereas I’m devout. . when it suits me. That’s why I went off the end when Alex had a termination without telling me. No, let’s be totally honest, Andy. While that was the reason I gave to everyone, myself included, I know now that the real truth was that I resented the fact that she’d made what was in effect a career choice that didn’t fit with the way I’d imagined our future.

I’ve known Alex since she was a teenager, a kid not as precocious as she looked, following her then single dad around like a puppy, and eyeing up every woman he ever dated, even Alison Higgins, whom he did a lot more than date, as a potential interloper.

When she grew up, she did so fast. The kid just disappeared and someone completely different took her place. When she and I got together, as she was moving into her twenties, I hadn’t kept up with her development as a woman, not at all.

Confession: I was pretty dumb where the female psyche was concerned. I had spent too much of my time sowing wild oats to notice that society had moved on from the one I’d grown up in. My mother was a traditional housewife, and I thought of my new young fiancee along those lines. Bottom line, I saw my career as more important than hers.

Alex? Homemaker? Mistake.

When he realised what had happened to us, her father actually apologised to me. I remember it well. ‘Your trouble, Andy,’ he said, ‘is that you’re an old-fashioned Scots proddy cunningly disguised as a Tim. There’s a lot of John Knox in you, not far from the surface. Okay, you might not see women as weak, sick and impotent like he did, and in the workplace you accept them without question as your equal, but at home, whether you know it or not, you’re still the sort of guy who wants the little woman there, tea on the table, kids fed and bathed, when you get home at night. I should have realised it earlier and warned you off, for my daughter will never be like that. I’m sorry, mate, for both of you.’

At the time I told him that he was talking bollocks, but he was right, as I proved with Karen, for that’s exactly what I made her into. I took a strong vibrant woman, encouraged her to leave a job that she probably did as well as I do, and in the process I diminished her being. Where once we had been two pieces of flint, in the end she and I couldn’t manage a spark.

Alex and I, though, we always did that. When our paths crossed again, after a few years, we found that our flame had never gone out, for all that we had stamped on it, hard.

Yet I insist, that wasn’t why Karen and I finished. ‘It isn’t unfaithful Andy I can’t live with any more,’ she told me in the end. ‘It’s the boring middle-aged fart you’ve become at home and the person you’ve made of me.’

We could hardly post that on the bulletin board, so when I moved out, everyone and his uncle assumed they knew why.

So, Alex and Andy, where are we now? Not where we were, and that is for certain. She will never give me dominion over her and I will never want it, never again. Yes, we have a relationship, but no, there’s no commitment on either side. The only rule is the one that she made, after her first surprise visit to my place, that neither of us will ever arrive unannounced on the other’s doorstep. What she does when I’m not there, I have no idea; and my job as Director of the Serious Crime and Drugs Enforcement Agency involves quite a lot of travel.

It was by sheer chance that I was around when Bob Skinner called me to ask if I could do him a professional favour. ‘No worries if you can’t handle it personally, but if you can’t, I’d appreciate it if you could send me someone senior to sit alongside Mario.’

But I was clear, and to be honest, I saw it as a chance of a long weekend in Edinburgh, since the interview he wanted me to do would inevitably last too long for me to get to my base in Paisley for any sort of meaningful work.

My SCDEA badge didn’t work when I arrived at the police head-quarters building in Fettes Avenue, not even with ‘Director’ on it in bold print. The door security officer didn’t know me from Morecambe and Wise. . his lack of humour was written all over his face. . and he made me wait until I could be fetched by someone from CID.

Mario came down himself. He was ready to take a piece off Cerberus, but I hauled him away before he could do too much damage. ‘That’s the trouble with these civilian staff,’ he growled, ‘no nous, no initiative. Ah, it’s not their fault, I suppose. The politicians want to see as many uniforms on the street as possible so we con them by hiring civvy security officers. We have to vet them to make sure they’re legit, and that takes time, then once they’re in the job, they don’t have any flexibility about them. Last month, one of them made Aileen wait down here until Gerry Crossley came to collect her. You can imagine what happened when Bob found out.’

‘Oh yes,’ I laughed. ‘Has the fall-out cleared or is the place still radioactive?’

He walked me up to the head of CID’s office. It hadn’t changed a bit since it was mine, save for the photo of Paula (and bump) on the desk and a couple of very classy landscapes on the walls.

I took a guess. ‘Your mother’s work?’

He nodded. ‘That’s what she retired to Italy to do. She gives them away, you know.’

‘Literally?’

‘Well, no,’ he conceded, ‘she’s still a Viareggio. No, she sells them through a gallery in her village, when they’re easily good enough for her to get them into an outlet in Firenze and make three times the money.’

‘How does she feel about being a granny?’ I asked.

‘Ecstatic. She’s talking about moving back to Scotland. I’m doing my best to talk her out of it, but I’ve never been any effing good at that.’ He frowned, suddenly. ‘Hey, by the way, I’m sorry about you and Karen. Haven’t seen you since it happened, but. . You know, sorry.’

‘Yeah, thanks; appreciated. Now, brief me. Bob only gave me the bare bones yesterday. What am I here to do?’

‘He said that you don’t know Jock Varley. . Inspector John Varley?’

‘No, I don’t in any personal sense of the word. I know who he is, obviously, but we have never actually met face to face, not that I can recall.’

‘And you would,’ he snorted, ‘given your legendary memory. You’re right; he’s spent virtually all his career in uniform, while you’ve been in CID. The situation is that he has an in-law called Freddy Welsh, whose name came up in an operation that the Torphichen Place team had under way. There was a meeting between him and our target, and Varley stopped it with a phone call.’

I asked the obvious. ‘How did he know about it?’

‘His niece told him. DC Alice Cowan.’

I did know her. ‘Special Branch Alice?’

‘Not any more, she got booted off SB about a year ago for tipping off Uncle Jock about something else he was involved in. Obviously you didn’t know that.’

Actually, I did. ‘Oh shit, yes, he was that guy.’ It came back to me. I’d been in a similar situation then, an outside force officer brought in from Tayside as an objective eye, but not too objective.

‘You got it. Varley was, very briefly, a suspect in a murder investigation, but he was exonerated.’ Indeed: I had come very close to meeting him at that time. ‘He was in Livingston then, and he was moved to Gayfield afterwards, diplomatically.’

‘How seriously are we taking this?’ I asked.

Mario stared at me; he was offended. ‘Very. We don’t want you to help us rubber-stamp a cover-up here. Nothing is off the table in terms of action as far as we’re concerned. If you say at the end of the day that we should hand the whole investigation to another force, or to your agency, we will do that.’

That was what I’d wanted to hear. ‘That’s good. You want me for just the one interview, then?’

‘That’s all it was going to be,’ he said, ‘but I’ve had a rethink overnight. I saw Alice myself yesterday; she said she’d co-operate and I suspended her, pending a full hearing. But I want us both to interview her as well, again so that you’re happy with the way I’m proceeding.’

‘Fine, but there’s another officer in the chain, as I understand it. What about him?’

Mario frowned. ‘He’s being dealt with separately; I’ve taken a statement from him and I’m satisfied that he’s guilty of no more than careless talk. But I don’t want to handle the discipline. He’ll be on Maggie’s carpet later on.’

‘But shouldn’t I interview him too,’ I wondered aloud, ‘as part of this process?’

‘That wouldn’t be appropriate, Andy. It’s DC Montell, and he has. .’ He hesitated, and I knew why.

I nodded, and said it for him. ‘He has a history with Alex. You’re right; that disqualifies me. But let’s be clear; you’re satisfied that he hasn’t done anything that could possibly be seen as criminal.’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Okay, that’s enough for me,’ I said. ‘Is he suspended too?’

‘Hell no! That would have emptied the Leith CID office; Sammy Pye would have done his nut.’ He paused, his face twisting into a grimace. ‘Would you believe, I called him “Stevie” the other day? At a meeting Maggie was at, too.’

I shrugged. ‘Come on, they worked together. It’s an easy mistake to make. Plus it would show her he’s remembered.’

‘That’s what Maggie said; it didn’t stop me looking for a hole to hide in, though.’ He stood. ‘You ready to go?’

‘Sure. Downstairs?’

He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve had Varley held overnight, down at Leith. We’ll go there.’

Bob had said no half measures when he’d asked for my help, but that took me by surprise. ‘You serious? He’s a cop and you’ve held him in custody?’

‘I’ve got grounds,’ he insisted. ‘If he wasn’t a cop, what would I have done, or what would you?’

He was right; I don’t take prisoners either.

Mario drove us down to Leith, since I’d walked the ten minutes from my place to Fettes. There are no attractive police offices in Edinburgh, damn few anywhere for that matter, but at least the building on the corner of Constitution Street and Queen Charlotte Street has the benefit of being old. It has an impressive pillared entrance and if the stone was cleaned up it wouldn’t look bad, not the best piece of architecture in the city, but the most distinguished nick, and certainly more attractive than Torphichen Place; to my eyes that’s always managed to combine age and ugliness.

We paid a courtesy call on Detective Inspector Sammy Pye as soon as we arrived. He hadn’t expected me, but he seemed pleased to see me nonetheless. He and I, and Alice Cowan for that matter, go way back, to our days in uniform in East Lothian, when I was on sabbatical from CID. He met us at the top of the stairs and led us straight into his office. Through the glass I could see the back and shoulders of Detective Constable Griffin Montell, hunched over his desk with the phone to his ear.

Yes, he did have a history with Alex (they lived next door to each other for a while) but she’d told me that it had never been serious with either of them, and that the physical side of it had ended for good when she’d discovered that he had an ex-wife and two kids in South Africa that he’d neglected to mention. However, he did once get her out of a very nasty situation, which had earned him so many bonus points with her dad. . and with me for that matter, though I barely knew him. . that it would take him a long time to run through them.

‘How is Griff?’ Mario asked Pye, as the DI handed him a mug of coffee.

‘He’s a mess; he’s angry, he’s feeling guilty and he’s resentful, all at the same time. He’s angry that Alice let him down, yet he blames himself for putting her in a position where she felt she had to warn her uncle; all that aside, I get the impression he’s thinking that she’s being too harshly treated.’

‘And how do you feel about that?’

Sammy frowned at me. ‘Feel about Alice? I don’t want her back here under any circumstances, not even out front in a uniform. I’m sorry if that seems hard, but. .’

‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘That was the right answer. . not that my question was a trap. How do you feel about Montell?’

‘I’m sorry for him. I talk to my wife, don’t you?’ Words spoken can’t be recalled, as many a TV pundit has found out after thinking that his mike wasn’t live. ‘Ouch,’ he hissed.

‘That’s okay, Sam. I did,’ I acknowledged, ‘in the certain knowledge that what I said wouldn’t be all over the supermarket checkout queue next morning.’ I turned to Mario. ‘Where is Alice?’

He checked his watch. ‘She should be downstairs. She was told to report here at ten o’clock sharp.’ He drained his mug, laid it on the desk and smoothed down the lapels of his immaculate jacket. ‘Let’s go.’

I followed him out and down to the foyer. ‘Is DC Cowan here yet?’ he asked the desk sergeant.

‘Yes, sir,’ she replied. ‘She’s waiting in interview room two, as DI Pye requested.’ I sensed a vibe coming off her. Inevitably, the suspension must have become public knowledge in the office, and the absence of detail would have led to speculation. Sides would be taken, until the full story was known, and probably afterwards. I guessed that the sergeant was leaning towards another female officer.

If Mario picked it up too, he didn’t react, not even when she added, ‘She has a Fed rep with her.’

He led the way out of reception and through to the interview rooms. He knew the place better than I did, so I tagged along like his nee’bur, as they say sometimes in Strathclyde.

Alice was standing when we walked into the room, in earnest conversation with her Police Federation representative. God, but she had changed since the last time we’d met. She’d been a fairly conservative dresser in those days, and even in CID she’d managed to make her civilian clothes look like a uniform. Her hair had been dark and simply styled, hanging down to her shoulders. She’d also been fairly well upholstered, not fat, I wouldn’t put it that way, but solidly built, if that’s not politically incorrect. . although it shouldn’t be, since I’d say the same about a guy.

The Alice who turned to look at me was clad in what I’m told are called distressed denim jeans and a white, knitted, sleeveless top that emphasised her tanned skin, and the slimness of her arms and shoulders. Her hair was bleached blond, cut short, probably done at home from the look of it, and gathered into spiky clumps, that I guessed were held in place by gel.

The rep stuck his chin out aggressively as he stepped up alongside her. I’d seen his sort before; confrontational by instinct. He was well into his forties, and his face was familiar to me. Mario put a name to it. ‘Sergeant Gahagan,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised to see you here.’

That helped me place him; a capable officer frustrated because his career had stalled at sergeant, and who became active in the Federation as a way of gaining a little more influence, a little more authority. There are a few like him in every professional body.

The Scottish Police Federation isn’t a union as such; indeed by definition it isn’t. It was created by statute in 1919 by the same act that banned the police from membership of trade unions, to give them an acceptable. . to the establishment of the day. . means of voicing concerns about their welfare. It looks after all ranks below super-intendent and it’s run by serving officers, elected to full-time posts. There’s a branch structure as well and within that each force chooses a full-time local representative. Gahagan is Edinburgh’s; why they picked him, given the bag of chips on his shoulder, heaven only knows.

‘Don’t know why you should be,’ he snapped. He thought his position entitled him to leave out the ‘sir’. ‘Detective Constable Cowan is entitled to Federation support, and I’m entitled to sit in on this interview, which I fully intend to do, otherwise it won’t take place.’

Inwardly, I moaned. The idiot was waving a red flag in the face of the bull that is Mario McGuire. He might have thought he was armed with the sword of justice, but it was going to be as much use to him as a strand of wet linguine, cooked just past al dente. I decided to save him.

‘That would be the case,’ I told him, ‘if this was purely a disciplinary matter. But it isn’t. You know who I am, Sergeant?’

‘Yes, Mr Martin,’ he replied.

‘And that I’m now a senior officer in an outside agency?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes what. . Sergeant?’ I murmured.

His body language altered, subtly; his posture became just a little defensive. ‘Yes, sir,’ he grunted. He resembled a man crossing a lively stream on stepping stones, not sure if he was going to reach the next one or take a dip.

‘The fact that I’m here, and that I’ve been asked by the chief constable to be here, should indicate to you that this isn’t an ordinary disciplinary hearing. It’s part of a wider inquiry into a crime that may have been committed and DC Cowan is a potential witness. I can understand why she asked you to be here. .’ I paused as a possibility ran itself past me. ‘You did ask Sergeant Gahagan to attend, Alice?’

‘Actually, sir,’ she replied, ‘I didn’t; he volunteered. I think it was Griff who called him.’

I’ll swear I heard a hungry growl from McGuire, beside me. ‘Do you want him to remain?’ I went on. ‘Even though he’s got no locus here, I’d be prepared to allow it, provided that he says nothing without invitation, and agrees not to reveal anything he may hear.’

‘No, sir,’ she declared firmly. ‘Since I’m going to be talking about my uncle, I’d rather he wasn’t here. That’s what I was saying to him when you came in. Besides. .’ She peered into the bag that was slung over her shoulder, then withdrew a white envelope and handed it to Mario. I looked in her eyes; they were clear and calm.

‘What’s this?’ he asked as he took it. I glanced at it and noticed that the letter ‘R’ was printed on it.

‘It’s my resignation. I reckon I should beat the system to the punch, if you’ll accept it, that is. I’ve got some pension accrued, and I’d like to keep it.’

‘I understand,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry, Alice. I’ll take this, but whether it’s accepted or not. . that’ll be the chief constable’s decision.’

‘Hold on a minute,’ Gahagan protested. ‘There’s no need for that, Constable Cowan.’

She turned on him. ‘Of course there is,’ she snapped. ‘I know it and you know it, or you would if you were halfway to being a decent cop. Now please go away.’

Gahagan picked up his briefcase from the table. ‘I won’t forget this,’ he muttered, glaring at McGuire.

‘Neither will I,’ the big guy promised. ‘You won’t always be a full-time Fed rep, Sergeant, so be very careful who you try to threaten from now on.’

Silence followed him to the door, but it didn’t end with his departure. Cowan stood, backlit by the sun streaming through the small window behind her, with her eyes on me at first, then switching to Mario, then back to me. She wasn’t quite sure who was taking the lead, and at that moment, neither were we.

McGuire ended the impasse by walking round behind her and adjusting the venetian blind to give us complete privacy. ‘Sit down, please,’ he said, drawing a chair out from the table and offering it to her.

She made herself comfortable, and he and I settled down opposite her. There was a dual deck recorder on Mario’s right, with two blank CDs still in their boxes. He unwrapped each one and loaded the machine. ‘Ready?’

‘No.’

‘What’s the problem? Would you like water, a coffee? A lawyer, even?’

She smiled, as if he’d said something funny. ‘None of the above, thanks.’ She delved into her bag once more and produced a second envelope, marked ‘S’. ‘That’s my written statement,’ she announced, pushing it across the desk and leaning forward, shoulders hunched.

‘It’s all I’m prepared to say on the record, so I thought I’d save us all some time by getting it down in advance. It says that DC Montell told me on Wednesday evening, at his flat, that he had to go out for a while. He said that he was sitting in on an operation as a substitute for DS McGurk, who had an important personal appointment. I asked him what it involved, casually, with no specific interest. He said that he and Sauce Haddock were staking out a meeting in a pub between a man called Kenny Bass, and another called Freddy Welsh. Both names were known to me. Bass had been mentioned in connection with another inquiry, about six months ago, but he wasn’t involved, so I never had cause to meet him. But I had met Welsh, socially, several times over the years, most recently at a party in my Uncle Jock’s house a year or so back. He’s a relation of my Aunt Ella, Jock’s wife.’

‘And you phoned your uncle,’ I said. I needn’t have interrupted her, but I wanted to remind her that she was in an interview situation whether she thought so or not, and to exercise a degree of control.

‘Yes, sir, I did.’

Mario stepped in. ‘Why?’

‘My written statement explains that. I had no idea that Inspector Varley would act on what I told him. I passed it on as a piece of family gossip, no more. Obviously, I’m now sorry I did it. The statement includes an apology to the team involved in the Bass operation and also to the chief constable for bringing the force into disrepute. I know that won’t save my job, but I feel it should be there.’

‘You’re right on both counts, DC Cowan,’ I told her. ‘Now, what do you want to say to us off the record?’

Still hunched forward, forearms on the desk, she looked up at me, eyes hooded. ‘What makes you think I do?’

‘I know you, Alice. And so does Mr McGuire. You’re not the sort who gossips.’

‘I did once.’

‘Yes,’ Mario snapped, ‘and Neil McIlhenney and I booted you off Special Branch as a result. You’re not stupid, so please don’t imagine that I am. I don’t buy the notion of you making the same mistake again, on the basis that it was family gossip. It was more than that last time, so come on. We’ll do this off the record for now, if you like, but we do it. Otherwise I hand you back your letter of resignation and you go down the full formal dismissal route, plus I rip up your statement, we caution you formally and I switch the recorder on.’

She sighed and sat back in her chair, running her fingers through her spiky hair. ‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘Off the record.’

‘That’s better. So, why did you call Jock?’

‘I wanted to tell him about Freddy Welsh. The truth is, I didn’t want him to have any nasty surprises if Griff and Sauce wound up lifting his wife’s cousin. I expected him to warn Auntie Ella, not bloody Welsh.’

‘How close were he and Welsh?’

‘I’ve no idea. He was always at family dos, not just the formal ones, but the kind where all the blokes wind up in the kitchen, and all the women are in the front room. As I remember, he and Uncle Jock seemed to get on fine there, but other than that I do not know.’

‘How about you, Alice?’ I asked. I didn’t really know why, but something in her body language told me I should. ‘Did you ever talk to Welsh at these parties?’

She paused, considering. . considering something, but I couldn’t tell what. ‘Yes, a few times,’ she conceded, eventually. ‘I danced with him at a wedding once.’ An eyebrow twitched, and I thought that I caught a slight flush under the tan.

‘And?’ She looked back at me, without expression. ‘Come on,’ I said, ‘don’t get coy on us. It won’t help.’

‘Nothing really, he just got a bit smoochy, that was all. It was quite late on, and we’d all had a couple of drinks by that time.’

‘Just a bit smoochy,’ I repeated. ‘Sorry, Alice, but I’ve got to ask this. How smoochy are we talking about here, and did you smooch back?’

The flush deepened. ‘Is it relevant?’ she murmured.

I thought Mario was about to explode, so I kicked him, quickly, under the table, not too hard but enough to get his attention. The volcano rumbled, but didn’t erupt.

‘I won’t know until you tell me,’ I replied. ‘Look, Alice, we can stop this at any time, but as DCS McGuire said, if we do, we go on the record, it’s interview under caution, and we’ll advise you to be legally represented. If you would like us to bring in a female officer, that can be arranged. We’ll take a break for that.’

I stopped, to give her a few moments to consider her options. Mario had cooled down; he even offered to fetch tea or coffee. I’d have been for that, but Cowan shook her head.

‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘Yes, I did smooch back, as you put it. Probably harder than he did. When the dance was finished, we went outside and I had sex with him in the back of his car, in the hotel car park.’ She stared at the tabletop. ‘I’d been without a man for a while, plus I’d had a few drinks, as I said earlier; other than that, no excuses.’

‘No excuses necessary,’ McGuire murmured. He nodded sideways, towards me. ‘If there was a vacancy for guardian of public morality, neither of the two of us would be in with a chance of the job. But what you’ve just told us makes things very difficult.’

‘Why?’ she protested. ‘Sir, it was a one-off; I patted him on the bum when we were finished and sent him back inside to his wife. She and Auntie Ella had been gossiping in the bar, so she never had a clue. That was it. We didn’t exchange phone numbers and neither of us ever mentioned it again when our paths crossed in the future.’

Mario sighed. ‘Alice, the number of times you did it, that’s irrelevant. The very fact of you having sex with Welsh, even just the once, that’s what matters. If this investigation does lead to criminal charges being laid against Jock Varley, you’ll be a key witness, and wide open to any suggestion that you had a reason to warn Welsh yourself that he was walking into something.’

‘Uncle Jock wouldn’t say that,’ she protested.

‘If Uncle Jock winds up in the dock, he’s going to be looking at time inside,’ I pointed out. ‘You have to assume that if his counsel comes up with that as a line of defence, he’ll go along with it. Look,’ I added, ‘I have to put this to you, straight out. Is that what happened? Did you in fact call Jock and ask him to warn Welsh off because of your previous relationship?’

‘Absolutely not!’

‘Did you call him in the hope that he might do that?’

‘No!’ she shouted.

‘Okay. I’ll accept that your anger is genuine, Alice, and that you didn’t. But will the jury believe you if the accusation’s put?’

‘That’ll be up to them, won’t it?’ Her eyes were belligerent.

‘Yes, but before it gets to them,’ McGuire interjected, ‘the Crown Office has to believe you. Alice, I’m sorry, but I repeat, the fact that you screwed Freddy Welsh, even if it was six years ago, does put a whole different slant on this. For a start, it’s a hand grenade chucked right into the middle of this informal, unrecorded, discussion we’ve been having. You’ve told us, we know, and whatever the basis, we can’t ignore it. We will have to include it in the report we make to the fiscal, and he may then have to take a view on whether any conspiracy might have been between Inspector Varley and Welsh alone, or whether you were part of it.’

‘Fuck,’ she whispered.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘you’re wishing you’d kept your mouth shut just now.’

Her laugh took us by surprise. ‘Actually I’m wishing I’d kept my legs closed six years ago. But I hear what you say; it could look bad for me. All I can tell you, again, is that it’s not true. What else can I do?’

He pushed the envelope marked ‘S’ back across the table. ‘Take that away,’ he told her, ‘and revise it, adding in everything that you’ve told us here, and anything else that you haven’t. If Welsh sent you flowers afterwards as a “Thank you” gesture, you must declare that. List every contact you’ve had with him since your encounter. Once you’ve done that, bring it back and we will treat it as if it was in the first envelope you gave us, as if you volunteered everything in it. . as, eventually, you did.’ He turned to me. ‘You all right with that, Andy?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘as long as you understand that after it goes to the Crown Office it’s out of our hands. We can only recommend; any decision on prosecution is theirs.’

‘I understand.’ She picked up the envelope, then looked me in the eye. ‘Should I take legal advice?’

‘That’s up to you,’ I replied. ‘If it’s any help, I would in your shoes. If you want to run your statement past a solicitor before you submit it formally, that’s fine by us. But be wary of anyone who tells you to say nothing at all. In reality, you’ve already said it; while this has all been unrecorded, it’s not privileged, and if necessary we’ll be obliged to disclose its contents. Apart from that though, the fiscal takes a dim view of people who stare at the wall and decline to answer any questions.’

‘Okay. Thanks.’ She stood. ‘Where do I hand it in, when I’m ready?’

‘My office,’ Mario told her.

‘I don’t have to come back here?’

‘No.’

‘That’s good. I don’t want to bump into Griff.’

‘Are you and he. .’

She took a quick bite of her lower lip. ‘He is.’

I walked her back to reception, to the front door. Not that she didn’t know the way out, but I felt that if she was seen with me, looking reasonably relaxed, it would be better than if we’d left her to walk out on her own, head down, every eye in the place following her. ‘So you’re in the doghouse?’ I asked as we reached the door.

‘No, it’s worse than that. Seafield cat and dog home, unclaimed, on death row.’

It was my turn to chuckle. ‘Been there,’ I confessed, ‘but I survived.’

‘How? I could use a tip.’

‘Look as pathetic as you can manage,’ I advised her. ‘Eventually someone’ll take pity on you. It worked for me.’

‘Mmm. In that case you might know where I can pick up a length of sackcloth. The ashes of my career are still warm, so I don’t need any of them.’

I hadn’t expected to, but I felt sorry for her. She’d been no more foolish than many, but a lot less lucky than most. ‘Listen, Alice,’ I said, quietly. ‘Once this is all sorted, and some time’s passed, give me a call if you want to.’ I gave her a card. ‘My office number. I won’t make any promises, but you never know. Resignation is probably the right move just now; much cleaner than the alternative, and no public stigma attached.’

‘Thanks, Mr Martin,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

As she walked away, I called after her. She turned. ‘What?’

‘One thing; if you decide to use that card you’ll need to lose the hair gel.’

Mario was still in the interview room when I returned. So were two tall Starbuck containers, and a couple of croissants. I stared at him. ‘Where the hell did those come from?’

‘Paula dropped them in for us. I told her we’d be here about now.’

‘Some girl, Paula. How’s she doing?’

‘Magic. She’s just magic. She’s had all the scans going and every one’s a photo opportunity. The wee fella looks so comfy in there he might not want to come out.’

‘A couple of months without a full night’s sleep and you’ll want him to crawl back inside,’ I told him. ‘Will you be looking to move house?’

He looked at me as if I’d asked him if he wanted a ticket for the next Hearts game, and answered me as if I had. ‘Why the hell would we want to do that?’

‘You live in a duplex, man,’ I pointed out. ‘However many floors up.’

‘We have lifts, Andy, and two parking places in the underground garage.’

‘But lifts break down.’

‘They don’t, actually. They’re serviced more often than a police car, and they’re driven a hell of a lot more kindly.’

‘But the height, the balcony. .’

‘The windows are secure, you couldn’t fall out if you tried, and his name’s going to be Eamon, not Spiderman. Your kids come to visit you from time to time, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you ever worry about them falling in the Water of Leith?’

‘Well, no. .’ I admitted.

‘Exactly. Look, if Paula says we’ll move we’ll move, sure, but as of this moment, she doesn’t want to. Do you see us in a nice big house with a garden?’ He shook his head. ‘Fuck no.’ He killed half his croissant in a single bite.

‘That was a turn-up with Alice, was it not?’ I ventured.

‘Sure was. Getting pissed at a wedding and shagging a married bloke in the car park? I did not have her down for that at all.’

‘Me neither,’ I agreed. ‘But I wonder if Uncle Jock did. Ready for him?’

He raised his coffee. ‘Let’s kill these first. I need the caffeine rush. I always have a couple of espresso shots in my Starbuck’s; does much more for me than any of that ersatz cream they stick on them. Yours is the same.’

I took a mouthful of mine, and imagined that I could feel my heart rate increase by about twenty beats. ‘This is as bad as Bob’s stuff,’ I gasped.

When we were finished Mario dumped the empties in a bin in the corner, then left the room to have Varley brought along from his overnight accommodation. By the time he arrived, brought in by an escort, we were both seated behind the desk, but on the same side. I had binned the unused CDs and two fresh ones, still wrapped, lay beside the recorder.

I’d wondered if I might recognise the inspector after all, but I didn’t. There are over three thousand people in the Edinburgh force, more than the population of many a small township, and it is possible to be a serving officer for years and still bump into strangers, even though they may have been around for longer than you. He recognised me, though; I could tell by the way his eyes narrowed.

Although he’d been held in custody overnight he looked smart. He was wearing his uniform, having been arrested, discreetly, at his office, and he’d been allowed to shave, under supervision, I assumed. Unlikely or not, the last thing Mario would have wanted was a suicide attempt in the custody suite. His grey-black hair was neatly and recently cut and his moustache was as sharp as the edge of a well-trimmed lawn.

‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Jock,’ my companion said. ‘You under arrest, me on this side of the table.’

His mouth tightened. ‘Not funny, sir.’

‘I wasn’t laughing.’ He picked up the CDs, opened them as theatrically as before to demonstrate that they were virgin, loaded the machine, and switched it on. He began with the date and time, then,

‘I am Detective Chief Superintendent Mario McGuire accompanied by Mr Andrew Martin, director of the SCDEA, based in Paisley, present at the request of the chief constable. Please state your name for the recorder.’

‘Inspector John Varley, aged forty-four, a uniformed officer stationed at Gayfield Square.’ He was calm and controlled; no histrionics, no show of indignation over his detention.

‘Again for the record, Inspector Varley, although you haven’t been charged you have been offered the chance to have a lawyer present at this interview, and you have declined. Is that correct?’

‘It is, sir.’

‘You may reconsider that if you wish.’

I knew why Mario was being so particular. For years Scots law allowed the police to question suspects for up to six hours without having access to legal advice. Then, out of the blue, that situation was overturned by a Supreme Court decision, controversial in itself since that London court wasn’t given oversight of Scottish criminal appeals when it was set up. Chaos ensued and since then cops everywhere in Scotland have erred on the side of caution. As a ranking officer, Varley would have been only too aware of the new ground rules, so my crafty pal was making certain that he couldn’t use it to create any loopholes he could slip through later.

But the inspector didn’t seem to have that in mind. ‘No, sir,’ he declared, ‘I’m okay to proceed as we are at this stage. I spoke to a lawyer on the phone this morning and he’s given me general advice on my rights.’

‘Are you happy to have a voice recording only,’ I asked, ‘or would you like video also? Again, that can be arranged.’

‘No thank you, sir. I don’t want to find myself appearing on Reporting Scotland.’ He allowed himself a small smile, at the reference to another controversy that had followed the release to the media of a filmed interview with a suspect who was later acquitted.

‘All right, let’s get down to it,’ Mario said. ‘Were you on duty on Wednesday evening at Gayfield Square?’

‘Yes, sir, I was. There was a pre-season football match at Easter Road; the division was heavily involved, but I wasn’t at the ground, I was in charge of the office.’

‘Did you received a phone call that evening?’

‘Yes, sir, I did.’

I could see that Varley was doing things by the book, volunteering nothing, making us work for every detail of every answer. I wasn’t having that. ‘Yes,’ I repeated, cutting in. ‘It was from your niece, DC Cowan. She told you that she’d just picked up some gossip from her boyfriend about. .’

‘No, sir,’ he said, sharply. ‘She didn’t say that at all.’

‘Oh?’ I exclaimed. ‘Then what did she say?’

‘She asked me to meet her.’

I tried to hide my surprise, but didn’t quite succeed. Mario didn’t even bother trying to conceal his. ‘She did what?’ he barked.

‘She asked me to meet her; that’s what I said.’

‘So, when you were caught on the station CCTV ten minutes later, you were actually going to meet DC Cowan. That’s your story, is it?’ Varley nodded. ‘For the record!’ McGuire bellowed.

‘Yes, sir, it is.’ The inspector paused, and smiled. ‘Would you like to suspend the interview, sir?’ he asked. ‘I don’t mind.’

The big guy was incandescent; he was anticipating the gambit that was going to be played, and so was I. ‘People who try to take me for a ride, Jock,’ he growled, savagely, ‘they don’t usually like the destination when we get there.’

That sounded too much like a threat for my liking and the recorder was live. Time to intervene, I reckoned. ‘Chief Superintendent,’ I said, ‘perhaps I should carry on the interview.’

He drew a huge breath, then exhaled, very slowly. ‘Perhaps you should, Director,’ he murmured, never taking his eyes off Varley.

‘Where did you meet, Inspector?’ I asked.

‘At the end of the street; the top of Leith Walk.’

‘When DC Cowan called you, where was she?’

‘I’ve no idea, sir. But from the background noise, I’m sure she was on her mobile, not a land line.’

‘I see. So you put on your coat, and left the office?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘Why, sir?’ he chuckled. ‘To go and meet Alice, of course.’

He was trying to wind me up, as he had Mario. ‘Sorry, Inspector. Why did you put on your overcoat? Do you know what I was doing on Wednesday evening, around the time you left the station? I was sat out on my balcony, looking down at the Water of Leith, with a beer in my hand. I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and I was killing midges by the dozen. It was a warm, muggy evening, and you’re telling us that you put your uniform coat on to go out and meet a family member? Enlighten us, please. Why would you do something so strange?’

He shrugged, and smirked at me. ‘I didn’t want to be seen in uniform.’

‘Meeting your niece, and her a cop as well?’

‘Yes, sir. It might seem strange but that’s what I did; you know it, you’ve probably seen the CCTV.’

‘Sure, it’s the “Why” I’m still struggling with. Let’s go back to DC Cowan’s call. Did she say why she wanted to meet you?’

‘No.’

‘Did you ask her why?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why should I have?’

‘Because you were on duty,’ I suggested. ‘In charge of the station. Come on, man; your niece calls and you walk off the job just like that?’

He spread his hands. ‘Point taken, sir. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.’

‘Not accepted,’ I snapped. He was beginning to rile me too. ‘However, that’s probably a matter for a different inquiry. So, you put on your overcoat and stepped out into a warm steamy evening, to meet Alice. Who got there first?’

For the first time, Varley hesitated for a second before replying. ‘I think I did,’ he offered.

‘You think?’ I repeated. ‘Come on, man; this was less than forty-eight hours ago.’ I leaned forward, hustling him.

‘Okay, okay, I was first, definitely.’

‘How did she arrive? Was she on foot? Did she get off a bus?’

‘Taxi. She got out of a taxi.’

‘How was she dressed?’ I fired the question at him.

‘In civvies.’

‘Don’t be evasive, Mr Varley. What was she wearing?’

‘Jeans and a blouse,’ he retorted.

‘So, she hadn’t got dressed up to meet you. Did she seem in a rush?’

‘Yes, I suppose she did.’

‘Make-up, was she wearing make-up?’

He shrugged. ‘You can’t always be sure with Alice.’

‘Come on, Inspector, you must know. We’ve just seen her. She’s got this big bleb on her nose just here.’ I touched mine, on the right side. ‘Was it covered up or not?’

‘No,’ he answered. ‘No it wasn’t.’

Beside me, McGuire didn’t move a muscle. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘We’re making progress. So there you are on the street, the pair of you, she with a bleb on her nose, you sweating like a pig in your uniform coat. That’s the scene, is it?’

He nodded. ‘That’s the scene.’

‘Who began the discussion?’

He frowned. ‘I did, as I recall. I said, “What’s the panic, Alice?” or something like that.’

‘And she said?’

‘Her reply was “Freddy’s in trouble”. Naturally I asked her “Freddy who?” and she replied that she meant Freddy Welsh, Ella’s cousin.’

‘And your good friend.’

He stared at me. ‘I wouldn’t say that, Mr Martin. He’s more a friend of Alice.’

I let my eyebrows rise. ‘Is he? Why do you say that? He’s a cousin of your wife and your relationship with Alice is on your side of the family, not by marriage. So why should he be more friendly with her than with you?’

Varley winced, as if it was paining him to go on. ‘This is where I get into really deep water,’ he murmured. ‘Alice and Freddy, they’ve. .’ He let his voice tail off.

‘They’ve a what? Spell it out, man.’

‘A relationship, sir.’

‘Do you mean a sexual relationship?’

‘Exactly.’

‘How long has it been going on?’

‘For six years that I know of.’

I leaned closer, pressing him. ‘How do you know about it?’

‘I saw them, at a wedding,’ he replied. ‘They’d been dancing, and I saw them go outside. I followed them. They got into the back of Freddy’s car and he gave her one.’

I frowned. ‘That’s pretty specific; you’re sure they had sex?’

‘Her legs were practically round his neck, and his arse was going like a fiddler’s elbow; I was close enough to see. What would you call it?’

I looked at him, letting my face register disgust. ‘You spied on them?’ I gasped, contemptuously.

‘She’s my niece,’ he blustered. ‘I was worried about her.’

‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. ‘Six years ago, Alice was well into her twenties, Inspector. Her sex life was entirely her own business. Did you get a kick out of it? Did you masturbate?’

He stiffened. ‘Fuck off!’ he yelled.

‘So what did you do?’ Mario asked him, rejoining the interview. ‘Did you give them marks out of ten, or did you express your concern to Alice later?’

‘No. I did speak to Freddy, though. I told him he was out of order.’

‘How did he take that?’

‘He said much the same as Mr Martin, that she was a big girl. I never mentioned it again.’

I waited for a little before I picked up the questioning again. ‘Let’s go back to your street corner meeting and to Alice telling you that Freddy Welsh was in trouble. Elaborate.’

‘She said that her boyfriend, Montell, had mentioned his name in connection with a job he’d been pulled into, close observation in a pub up in Slateford. And then,’ another pause, ‘and then she asked me if I’d call him and warn him.’

‘Which you did.’

‘No!’ We’d arrived at the point to which Mario and I had known we were heading. We’d even warned Alice about it, but neither of us had really believed in the possibility. ‘No, I did not,’ he declared, solemnly. ‘I refused point blank. I reminded her that she was a police officer and told her to behave responsibly. Then I left and went back to the station. I was pretty angry with her, as you can imagine.’

‘No, Jock,’ McGuire said, shaking his head. ‘I can’t imagine that at all. What I can imagine is you thanking her, when she phoned you to tip you off that a relation of your wife was in the spotlight. Then I can picture you digging out the phone book to find the Lafayette’s number, and going out to phone it from the call box up the road.’

‘No, sir,’ he replied, quietly, looking at the table.

‘Your prints are on the handset, man,’ he pointed out.

‘I’ve used it,’ Varley conceded. ‘I admit that. I don’t like calling in bets from the office, so when I have a flutter I use the phone box to ring my bookie.’

‘The bar person,’ he fired back, ‘who took the call in Lafayette’s, told DC Haddock that it was a male voice.’

‘Oh yes?’ the inspector challenged. ‘You know Alice, DCS McGuire, so you must realise that she has a deep voice. I’ve heard her sing; contralto, she is. If you heard her for the first time, on a phone line in a crowded pub, could you be sure it was a female calling?’

Mario hesitated, for only a second, but it was enough. ‘See? You wouldn’t,’ he exclaimed.

‘I suppose you realise,’ I murmured, ‘that DC Cowan’s, that Alice’s, story is the complete opposite of yours.’

He nodded, his mouth tight. ‘I suppose I do, but this is my story, and I’m sticking to it.’

‘Why didn’t you want a lawyer here?’ I challenged him. ‘Was it because you didn’t want to trot out that pack of lies in his presence?’

‘I don’t need a brief. I’ve given you my account of what happened, and if it’s at variance with Alice’s, then I’m sorry for her, but it’s her problem.’

McGuire smiled, and looked him in the eye. ‘No, Jock,’ he said ‘it’s still yours. You don’t know your niece as well as you think, if you imagine she’d go anywhere with a big bleb on her face. She’d sooner saw her fucking head off. There never was such a spot. If you’d come clean and told the truth, it might have gone better for you. As it is, I’m going to charge you with attempting to pervert the course of justice.’

Varley’s eyes hardened. ‘The Crown Office will laugh at you,’ he hissed. ‘You haven’t a chance of making it stick.’

‘Nevertheless, I’m going to try. Stand up.’ He rose to his feet. ‘John Varley. .’

When it was done, we released him on police bail, with orders to remain at home until the following Monday morning, when he was to report to the Sheriff Court for an initial hearing. Before he left we gave him one of the interview disks, signed by both of us.

When he had gone, we returned to the interview room. ‘Bastard,’ Mario growled, as he closed the door. ‘Can you imagine that? Trying to stitch his own niece up. What a ruthless. .’

‘Maybe, but he’s right, it is his story versus hers,’ I pointed out.

‘Aye, but he fell for the bleb trick, didn’t he? Well done, by the way; you rushed him into that.’

‘Sure, he fell for it,’ I conceded, ‘but a good defence counsel will blow that away in a trial. It’s not enough to send a man to jail, least of all a cop with twenty-five years’ more or less exemplary service. And you can bet that Alice, in the witness box, will be taken all the way back to that car park, with her legs in the air, screwing a married man. She’ll be shredded. No, big fella, all you’ve got is breathing space, and maybe not much of that, unless you can come up with something more to show the fiscal, something that ties Varley and Welsh together.’

‘In that case,’ he said, gloomily, ‘we’re in the hands of Mackenzie and the Strathclyde guy, Payne. That’s their job. A recovered alcoholic and the boss’s sister-in-law’s husband.’ He sighed. ‘I hope they’re up to it, otherwise, you’re right; Jock bloody Varley might just walk.’