Zigic left his desk and went out onto the floor.
Riggott and Parr were discussing golf, he quickly gathered, the bets they’d each been placing on the Women’s Open and how, miraculously, neither of them had lost money yet.
‘There you are, Ziggy.’ Riggott turned on his heel, spread his arms wide. ‘Thought your backside was welded to that chair.’ He pointed at Parr. ‘Swedish women for the team championships. Mark my words, that’s where the smart money’ll be laid.’
Parr grinned at him. ‘I’ll take that tip. Thank you, sir.’
‘Right, so, what’s going on with your dead one?’ Riggott asked, taking a step back as if he needed to do that to appreciate the scope of the board.
‘We’ve got plenty of leads but very little forensic evidence,’ Zigic said. ‘Prime suspect right now is the woman he spent the evening of his death with.’
Riggott chucked his chin up at Portia Collingwood’s photograph. ‘Aye, she’s got trouble written all over her.’
‘We’re checking her alibi right now. Hers and her husband’s.’
‘The husband?’ Riggott’s thin grey eyebrows went up but his attention shifted swiftly to the Paggetts. ‘What about these two? Sure, they’re a rare-looking pair.’
‘They were harassing Josh Ainsworth in the months before his murder,’ Ferreira said, coming up behind Zigic. ‘And I ran into them in the shop opposite his house on the morning his body was discovered.’
Zigic willed her away to her desk but she wasn’t going anywhere, not now Riggott’s gaze was fully turned onto her, his interest piqued.
‘Back to the scene of the crime, aye?’
‘Briefly, yeah. They did a runner as soon as we got near the protest though.’ She nodded towards the board. ‘They’re involved in the demonstration against Long Fleet Immigration Removal Centre.’
Riggott’s face darkened.
‘We’ve got sightings of them near the homes of other Long Fleet staff members, too,’ Ferreira said quickly, seeing the wariness that entered Riggott’s eyes at the mention of the centre. She stood up straighter. ‘The Paggetts are career protestors. Direct action frequently tipping into outright criminality. Both have multiple convictions relating to their political activities.’
‘Anti-terror have anything on them?’ he asked Zigic.
‘Nothing that would suggest they’re capable of murder.’
Ferreira shot him an angry look but this wasn’t the time to back her up. Riggott was getting nervous already.
‘These firebrands have alibis?’
‘We’re still running them down,’ Zigic told him, knowing it hadn’t been done yet but not about to admit it. ‘They gave us a dozen names though, so we’re expecting them to hold.’
Riggott nodded. ‘So, the mistress is your most likely candidate.’
‘Still early days.’
‘Not that early, son.’ He nodded towards the door. ‘Come and have a drink, tell me all about this Portia Collingwood.’
Riggott walked away from the board without a backward glance and Zigic followed, giving Ferreira a helpless shrug as she glowered at him.
They headed along the corridor and past the empty desk where Riggott’s PA had already left for the day. Gone six now and Zigic often wondered how the DCS managed to keep her busy for a full shift anyway. Just how much work could be involved in organising his meetings with the higher-ups and whatever local businesses and dignitaries came to him looking for support or reassurances or whatever was within his remit to bestow?
A set of golf clubs sat in the corner of the office, so he guessed that had to be organised too.
Riggott went to the shelf where his glory days were recorded in gilt frames and commendations, took a bottle of whiskey from the collection standing on a brass tray and a couple of lead crystal glasses. He didn’t offer, just poured Zigic a measure that was stiffer than he’d want in a spirit of his own choosing, let alone one he didn’t actually enjoy.
‘Now, what’s the situation with Long Fleet?’ Riggott asked, dispensing with any attempt at preamble.
‘They don’t want us in there,’ Zigic said. ‘They’ve been cooperative, up to a point, but I’m not sure how much further we could get if and when we need to talk to their staff again.’
‘Seems like your man had enough else around his arse.’
‘The protest isn’t something we can ignore.’ Zigic took a small sip of his whiskey. ‘Honestly, I’m not convinced anyone involved in it’s a genuine threat but …’
‘But Mel’s gotten all riled up about it.’
‘She’s being thorough,’ Zigic said carefully. ‘I think we all know this has got the potential to be a troublesome case and we need to work every angle.’
‘Troublesome, aye.’ Riggott swirled his drink around in the glass. ‘You always catch ’em, don’t you, Ziggy?’
‘It still looks personal to me.’
‘Ainsworth’s boss doesn’t think so,’ Riggott said. ‘And his bosses are shitting bricks over the negative publicity potential.’
They’d been in touch then, Zigic thought. Securitect bringing their muscle to bear on Riggott or his superiors; the ones they were already in close contact with via the contracts they held with the local council and constabulary, the tenders they likely had ongoing to outsources services he could only guess at.
‘The press don’t seem very interested,’ he said. ‘I don’t think they’ve got too much to worry about.’
‘Best you make an arrest before they catch on. Last thing you want is for this to go national.’
Zigic nodded his understanding, decided to leave it at that. Let Riggott feel the message had been delivered and assimilated, no need for him to jump on their backs about it. The last thing he actually wanted was Riggott micromanaging them up to an arrest.
The Long Fleet machinery being spooked enough to exert their influence at this stage was interesting though. Maybe it was purely the fear of bad press and the effects of that on their share price. Or maybe they were withholding damaging information themselves, hoping that without it the case would develop in a less embarrassing direction.
Riggott sank his drink
