‘CCTV,’ she commented. Fox nodded, tearing at the fat piece of battered haddock.
‘Christ, this is good,’ he said.
‘Found any interesting bicycles?’
He shook his head. ‘Might be something, though. I’ll tell you after.’
Clarke poured two teas, sniffing the milk before adding a dollop to each stained mug. She carried both to Esson’s desk. Having freed up one hand, she lifted a chip from the pile beneath the fillet.
‘Any news from John?’ Fox asked.
‘He sends his love.’
‘I’ll bet he does. I saw about his daughter on the news – formally questioned but not yet charged. That must be shredding him.’
‘You know John.’
Fox glanced up at her. ‘Was it him who tipped off the reporter about Lord Strathy?’
‘Who else?’
‘Bloody typical.’
Clarke stared down at the carton of food. ‘You’re leaving most of the batter.’
‘The healthy option.’
She picked up a sliver and popped it into her mouth. ‘The lack of footage doesn’t mean Issy and her bike weren’t there. I’m guessing Craigentinny has its share of cycle paths; not much call for CCTV on those.’ Fox was nodding to let her know he’d already considered this. ‘Thing is, though, where’s her motive?’
‘Motive is for later, Siobhan. Right now, an actual suspect would be received with thanks. Want the rest of these chips?’
‘You had enough?’ She watched Fox pat his not-insubstantial stomach. ‘In that case, I’ll eat while you show me what you’ve got.’ She lifted the cardboard carton and followed him to his desk. They sat side by side while Fox scrolled through the CCTV.
‘Thing is,’ he began, ‘previously we’d focused on Seafield Road, and the route Salman took from the New Town. But if his destination was the golf course car park, makes sense to look at the streets in and around Craigentinny too. Sadly, the CCTV coverage there is patchy, but I noticed this car.’ He clicked on a frame, freezing it. Headlights; terraced houses; an unremarkable saloon car; the driver nothing more than a smudged outline. ‘No visible passenger. And travelling towards the golf course from the direction of town.’
‘Okay.’ Clarke knew there was more coming. She finished the final few chips while Fox found the relevant clip.
‘This is Seafield Road again, just before eleven p.m. See that parked car?’ He pressed a fingertip to the screen. The car was shown from behind, rear lights glowing.
‘You’re saying it’s the same one?’
‘Same shape, similar colour.’
‘Where on Seafield Road is this?’
‘About fifty yards from the car park where Salman died, towards the city side. Next footage we have, no car.’
‘Driver stopped to take a call, then headed off again?’ She watched as Fox offered a shrug. ‘It’s not much, Malcolm.’
‘I know that. What I’m wondering is, is it worth asking the tech people to play with it and maybe get us a number plate?’
‘What’s your theory?’
‘There’s a meeting arranged at the golf club, but this driver gets there early and finds the car park locked. Drives out onto Seafield Road and parks. He or she knows an Aston when they see one, so when Salman hoves into view, they signal, maybe with a flash of the headlights. Salman pulls into the nearest secluded spot – which happens to be fifty yards behind the parked car. The other car joins him there.’ He noticed that Clarke was staring at him. ‘What?’
‘That’s properly impressive. You’re wasted at Gartcosh.’
‘We do detective work there too, you know.’
‘But not very much of it.’
‘So I hand this over to tech support in the morning?’
Clarke nodded. ‘Meantime, what make of car do you reckon? Looks pretty generic.’
‘Could be any one of half a dozen,’ Fox agreed. His phone was vibrating. He lifted it from the desk, checking the caller’s name and then answering.
‘Yes?’ was all he said. Then, after listening to whatever the caller was saying: ‘Okay, two minutes.’
‘Cafferty?’ Clarke guessed as the call ended. ‘Downstairs waiting?’
‘I need to do this alone,’ Fox said, putting his jacket on.
‘No you don’t.’
He gave her a look that was almost imploring. ‘Siobhan, please … ’ As he made for the door, he turned his head, checking she was staying put.
Clarke walked over to the window. Large black car as before; driver on the pavement, his phone illuminating his face. She held up her own phone, selecting camera and zooming in as far as possible. She snapped a picture of the driver, peering at it. Too grainy to be of any use in putting a name to him.
‘Pity,’ she said to herself.
It always helped to know your enemies.
Fox got into the back seat next to Cafferty, the armrest lowered between them.
‘I’m trying to be patient, Malcolm,’ Cafferty drawled. ‘But it goes against my nature.’
Fox opened his mouth to speak, but then noticed that Cafferty’s focus had shifted. He was looking at something through the window. Turning, Fox spotted Clarke crossing the road.
‘She doesn’t know about the tapes or the ACC,’ he managed to tell Cafferty. ‘Let me deal with her … ’
The front passenger door opened and Clarke threw herself onto the seat. The driver was moving towards the car, but Cafferty slid his window down.
‘It’s okay, Benny,’ he said.
‘Does Benny have a surname?’ Clarke asked.
‘I assume so. Nice of you to join us, Siobhan.’
‘Shouldn’t you be holding court at your club?’
‘I’m after a progress report, that’s all. You know Malcolm’s been doing a bit of work for me?’
‘I know he’s been looking at Stewart Scoular, yes.’
‘I feel I’ve not been getting my money’s worth – not that money has changed hands.’
‘I’m here to tell you he’s not been slacking.’
‘Might help,’ Fox added, eyes on Cafferty, ‘if I knew what exactly it is you think I’m going to find.’
Rather than answer, Cafferty kept his focus on Clarke. He even leaned his head forward a little into the gap between the back seats and the front.
‘So Malcolm’s been holding out on you, Siobhan? Hasn’t
