'What the fuck are you thinking about?' says Taylor.
I glance over. Uh-oh. Must have been doing that thing where I was having an internal discussion and was letting it show on my face.
'Politics.'
He looks at me with that wry paternal smile.
'Trying to decide whether you'd shag Sarah Palin or Aung San Suu Kyi?'
The door opens behind us before I can puke my stomach out laughing, and Connor walks crisply into the office. Sits down across the desk. First time I've been in here since the Leander incident. Still feel that vague discomfiture at being forced to sit in the presence of authority. Even, or maybe especially, when it's a total ball sack like this bloke.
'You'll have heard the news,' he says.
He's tired. Hasn't slept at all. Must give him credit for that, I suppose. When he'd first made his preposterous 24/7 speech, I kind of imagined him buggering off home at some time after six, spot of dinner, game of bridge down the club, early night, swan into work about nine. He's still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Hasn't been home.
'There's a task force coming from Edinburgh,' said Taylor, who somehow manages to say the words
'Yes,' says Connor.
He stares at us both for a moment, and I suddenly realise that he's pissed off. I'd been assuming he'd love it all, the attention, the murders on his patch, the meetings with senior constables and government ministers. But of course, of course he's pissed off. He loves being in charge, he's a micro-managing control freak. Needs everyone doing exactly as he wants. And this absurd task force of red-hot genius coppers who have solved every fucking crime they've ever stumbled across — which is why Edinburgh is such a shiny, beautiful, crime-free place to live — won't be coming in here under his charge. There'll be someone arriving to take over, leaving the Superintendent to do his usual thing, dealing with local crime and overseeing us bunch of shit Glasgow polis who are incapable of solving our way out of a paper fucking bag.
'It's understandable,' says Taylor. What the fuck? Connor gives him the imperious eyebrow, but Taylor never was one to be intimidated by authority. 'We thought we were looking for one guy who had committed a grotesque murder on our patch. Now… well, we know it was a pretty damned well-organised murder, and that level of organisation has continued. Maybe it wasn't just the one guy. The victims came from all round the city, and now we've got the internet thing. Presumably it's been done from within Britain, but we don't know if it's from Rutherglen and Cambuslang, do we? Could be anywhere. Indeed, anywhere in the world. I hate it as much as you, but it's understandable.'
'I'm glad you hate it,' says Connor glibly.
Taylor doesn't respond to that. He's said his bit. Makes sense, albeit it wasn't what I'd been thinking. I'm keeping my mouth shut. Not that I've got anything to say anyway.
'We've no option, of course,' adds Connor. 'They want a couple of local officers as liaison.'
He's looking at Taylor. I'm here, but I'm not entirely sure I need to be. Liaison. Taylor's going to be chewing my testicles off when we get out of here, as if it's my fault. Liaison, for fuck's sake.
'I've given them DI Gostkowski and Constable Grant. They've been involved before, they know everything… They do know everything?'
Taylor takes a moment to think about it. He's given the case far more time than anyone else. It's been his case, his priority. How much does he know, how many mental moves ahead has he made on the chess board of the investigation that he hasn't communicated to anyone else?
'Yes,' says Taylor. 'Gostkowski will do a good job.'
'She'd better,' says Connor. 'I'm going to ask her to play both sides.'
Holy crap, now we're talking.
Oh. He didn't mean
'Sir?' says Taylor.
He's genuinely curious, while I'm sitting here with an image in my head of DI Gostkowski playing both sides. Need to get a grip.
'I'm not letting this investigation get away from me,' says Connor. 'I'm not happy about it. I want you two to stay on it. You'll need to be discreet and you'll need to keep out of Edinburgh's way. You've been working it for three months now, Chief Inspector, so hopefully you'll be a few steps ahead. Should be, at any rate.'
He pauses, looks from one of us to the other. Office politics. Holy shit. They all condemn me for the office affair, but shit, that's nothing compared to office politics. That's a fucking battleground, plagued by all sorts of evil pitfalls.
'You will report to me, and Edinburgh will not know you're involved. DI Gostkowski will liaise with you. It will be one way. She'll let you know what's happening with their side, but will not reciprocate, unless I gauge that we should. I very much doubt that she will be given anything like full access to the investigation, but she'll be on the inside and we'll have to wait and see what she can generate.'
'PC Grant?' I ask.
'Will not be in on any of it. She'll be liaising with the task force as intended.'
Taylor sits back. Thinking it through. This has potential to be ugly. There are power games going on, and we're getting sucked into it. That's what he's thinking. Is there a way out? How can he avoid this? It is tempered, of course, by the thought that he'll want to do it too. He really does hate Edinburgh getting brought in.
'OK,' he says. 'How do you want us to work?'
'You do your own thing,' says Connor. 'I'm not a detective, I'm leaving you to it. It's… it's rogue, going rogue. I don't like it, but I like that lot coming here much less. And like I said…'
He hesitates then looks at me.
'… be discreet.'
He nods in the direction of the door.
Taylor rises and I follow him out. Not sure that I've taken a breath in the last minute or so, Connor built up such an air of tension.
We get out his office, the air clears and we stop for a second to look at each other.
'Fucking rogue,' is all that Taylor says, shaking his head.
'You be Danny Glover, I'll be Mel Gibson?'
He gives me the look then heads for his office, his discreet and obedient sergeant in tow.
11
When I say office… Twenty minutes later we're sitting in Starbucks in Hamilton. Just got off our patch, come for morning coffee. The place is jumping. Why make yourself a cup of instant at home, when you can give Starbucks a few quid plus some other stupid amount of money to eat something you didn't know you wanted until you got in here? This is the coal face of the recession. People with nothing better to do than drink over-priced coffee.
As we were walking out of the station, the cavalry were arriving. I wondered if they'd all be dressed in black suits, wearing shades, and have toothpicks sticking out the corners of their mouths. But they were just a bunch of guys. And women. The alpha male wasn't obvious as they walked by. Perhaps they're an autonomous collective.
'I don't know how this ends well,' I say, to break the long silence. Taylor has been drinking coffee and thinking. He shakes his head. In agreement. 'They catch him and we don't, we're wasting our time,' I continue. 'None of us catch him, we're all fucked. We catch him… then what do we do? We take him in there, throw him to the wolves and say,
'There is no end game,' says Taylor. 'Connor's not thinking that far ahead. His nose is out of joint and he's doing the first thing he thought of to fight back. Not a lot else he could do.'
'He could have sucked it up and accepted his place.'
