you just now?’ he asked.
‘Pulled up in a service area near Macon. Jazz is asleep in his car seat, and Sarah’s taken Mark to the cafeteria to pick up sandwiches. We’re making good time. It’s ten-forty-five here, so I reckon to make the Tunnel by seven a.m. Look for me at Fettes between four and five.’
‘If you insist, but go easy. See you whenever.’
Andy Martin put the phone back in its cradle, and looked at Alex, sat on the sofa. ‘How did he sound?’ she asked.
‘Angry. As you’d expect.’
‘That’s him all right. He’s a funny mixture, you know. As a dad he was the calmest, quietest man you’d ever meet. I don’t remember him ever shouting at me, even when I was being a right wee tick. Yet at work, he can be so volatile. He hates sloppiness, and avoidable mistakes. He hates crime, especially crime against people.’
‘Don’t I know it.’ He slumped down beside her. ‘I envy him, you know, in the way he can just let it all out. You say he’s volatile, and there isn’t a man in the force who would cross him, yet no one’s afraid of him. He can be ruthless with inefficient people, yet no one resents him. He has the ability to tear strips off folk, even bust them out of CID, yet have them thank him at the end of the conversation.
‘Everyone describes Bob as a great detective, which he is, probably the greatest of his time, yet what they don’t realise is that he’s a great manager too, of people.’ He smiled. ‘A rotten delegator, but a great manager.
‘And part of the reason for it is that he cares, and he shows it. I wish . . .’
Alex put her hand lightly across his mouth. ‘Shh. Don’t wish for anything. Be content to be different. You’re everything my dad is, only you show it in different ways. Where he’s explosive, you’re calm. Where he can be impulsive, you’re always logical.’
She kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘Think of this, my love. I’ve inherited my dad’s volatility gene, and no mistake. If you were like that too, how long would we last as a couple?’
‘Maybe so, but that’s not what I’m worried about.’ His forehead ridged into a deep frown. ‘I know I can’t change my nature, and I’m concerned that through it, I’m becoming brutalised. I have to stay controlled because that’s my way. Now Bob, he’s seen terrible things . . . he’s done terrible things . . . yet through it all, because his emotional make-up allows him to let it out, he remains essentially a very gentle man.
‘Yet look at me. Tonight for example. I get home late, you have dinner ready, you talk about your day, I tell you about my frustration in not having any real leads to these robbers, and about the Chief’s stumbling performance with the press, we put away the plates and that’s it.’
‘That’s fair enough,’ she murmured, taking his hand.
‘But, Alex! Harry Riach’s guts were all over the floor. I saw young Annie Brown at the hospital. Those shotgun pellets tore her to pieces. What sort of a guy am I becoming if I can look at things like that and still be calm, unflappable Andy? Why don’t I cry for the victims?’
‘What do you think you’re doing now?’ she asked him, very gently. ‘You have a very strong mind, my love. You should be grateful that it lets you deal with things like you saw today in that way. It helps you be good at your job and there’s nothing wrong with that. If I can help you, by being your listening ear, and letting you unwind, that can only be good too. I’m not afraid of the details. I’ve seen things too, remember.’ She paused, and shivered, momentarily.
‘D’you know what Sarah told me about Pops?’ she continued. ‘Every time he goes to a murder scene these days, he has to make a conscious effort not to chuck his breakfast, and not to let the troops see any sign of weakness. He copes by being volatile, you cope by being controlled. You’re different men, neither of you any the worse for it.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘Thanks, love. You’re a wise wee soul, aren’t you. I’ll let you be my sounding board from now on. But still, don’t underestimate the effect of this bloody job. When you do it as your dad and I do, it can create a monster inside. We need Sarah and you, to help keep it at bay.’
12
Brian Mackie closed the door of his office and sat behind his desk, looking out on to the early-morning Haddington traffic. He took a small address book from his desk and opened it at the letter S, then picked up his telephone and dialled a number.
‘DCI Afhtab speaking.’The voice at the other end had a strange mixture of accents; it was strongly Glaswegian, but with Asian lurking underneath.
‘Morning Salim, Brian Mackie here, from Haddington.’
‘Ah Brian,’ said Afhtab cheerily. ‘No’ Edinburgh any more then?’
‘Not any more. I’ve been promoted out of Special Branch just like you.’
‘Superintendent it’ll be, then. Congratulations. What can Ah do for you?’
‘I want to consult the Criminal Intelligence Unit you’re running now. Can you give me some assistance?’
‘Of course I can. I’ll deal wi’ it myself; I need to practise using the technology. Who’s the target?’
Mackie paused, as if to restrain Afhtab’s eagerness. ‘The name is Bernard Grimley. He used to own a pub on the South Side of the Clyde, before he sold up and bought a place through here. I’ve asked my lads, but he’s not known to them.’
‘I’ll check. What’s he lined up for?’
‘I can’t say, Salim. It’s sort of unofficial, like in the old days. In fact I’d be grateful if you didn’t keep a record.’
The Chief Inspector laughed. ‘Ah don’t know. Special Branch habits die hard, right enough. You got a secure fax there?’
‘Yes. Right in this office.’ Mackie turned and read the number from a machine on a small table behind him.’
‘Okay. Leave it with me. I’ll ask the Oracle and send you a report . . . one way or the other.’
‘Thanks, mate. I’m due you one.’
‘Guinness’ll be fine.’
Mackie put down the phone and went back to the reports in his in-tray. He worked his way through them in half an hour, then made a call to confirm a lunch appointment with the Area Manager of the Bank of Scotland. Just as he agreed the time, the fax behind him rang and a connection was made.
He watched until the machine had finished excreting a single sheet of paper, picked it up, and read it through. He was smiling thinly to himself as he dialled the Head of CID’s direct-line number.
‘Martin.’ The Chief Superintendent’s voice sounded tired, Mackie thought.
‘Andy, it’s Brian. About that other matter you asked me to look into yesterday. There’s nothing known locally, but I’ve had some feedback from Strathclyde. It’s not going to help Alex, I’m afraid.’
There was a sigh. ‘Ach well. Give me it anyway.’
‘Grimley is known to our colleagues, right enough. He ran a pub called the Fireman’s Lift, in Jeffrey Street. It was a right thieves’ kitchen, and was known to be a contact place for Loyalist paramilitaries over from Northern Ireland on fund-raising trips.
‘Both Special Branch and CID had the place under constant observation, and this resulted in a number of arrests. They also picked up several leads which led the security forces to Loyalist arms dumps in and around Belfast.
‘The single link in all these successes was Bernard Grimley. For most of the time he owned that pub, he was a police informer, until he stopped co-operating around three years ago.
‘Our colleagues reckoned that he’d lost his bottle. When he sold the place it was on their advice. They were scared that sooner or later someone in Ireland, or Glasgow for that matter, would put two and two together and come up with the right answer.’
‘Ahh,’ Martin growled. ‘That cracks it for Alex’s case, I fear. I have a feeling that Mr Grimley’s going to end up quite a bit richer.’
‘Unless you tip off the UVF,’ said Mackie, drily.
