‘Recordings made at your club?’
‘And elsewhere.’ Cafferty glanced in Fox’s direction and grinned. ‘Didn’t know that, did you, Malky boy? I’m laying all my cards on the table right here. And I want Siobhan in the loop, because it seems to me you’ve been unwilling to trust her.’
‘You want me in the loop,’ Clarke corrected him, ‘because you’re trying to cause a rift between me and Malcolm – and that’s not going to happen.’
The grin this time was aimed at the front seat. ‘She’s sharp, isn’t she, Malky?’
‘His name is Fox – Detective Inspector Fox to the likes of you.’
‘It’s that sort of attitude that can turn a concerned citizen against the powers of law and order and send them to the internet or the media with their little explosive package of recordings.’
‘If you want Scoular so badly,’ Clarke retorted, ‘go after him yourself.’
‘In fact,’ Fox said, pulling back his shoulders, ‘maybe we should go have a word with Mr Scoular. I’m sure he’d be tickled to know of your interest in him.’
‘And one other thing,’ Clarke added. ‘These tapes – I’m guessing you told Malcolm that releasing them would end ACC Lyon’s career. But that’s hardly a result for you, is it? Far better to hang onto them in the expectation that she’ll soon be Chief Constable. Think of the extra leverage you’d have on her then.’ She was shaking her head slowly. ‘You never planned to release them, did you? It’s all just talk – you’re all just talk.’
‘That’s a gamble you’re willing to take?’ Cafferty’s eyes were on Fox now. ‘Yes or no, DI Fox? Or hadn’t you better check with your boss first, see what she wants you to do?’
Fox’s mouth opened a fraction, but no words formed. Clarke had opened the car door and was swivelling her legs out onto the roadway. Cafferty’s hand clamped around Fox’s forearm.
‘Think very carefully, DI Fox.’ He nodded towards Clarke’s back. ‘This isn’t your future – Gartcosh is; Jennifer Lyon is; a seat at the top table is.’
Fox shook his arm free and opened the door. ‘My future, my decision,’ he said, climbing out.
‘Absolutely.’ Cafferty was laughing lightly as Fox slammed the door closed. Clarke, having given up asking Benny for his surname, was on her way back to the station’s main door. Fox caught her up.
‘Lyon knows all about this?’ she asked in an undertone.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s the armour you were talking about?’ Fox nodded. ‘In which case, he’ll think he’s already won.’
‘How do you make that out?’
‘Even if you give him nothing, he can say you did his bidding, and Lyon knew about it and sanctioned it.’
‘So?’
‘So the pair of you might have to go on record and deny it – in other words, lie to whoever is asking.’
‘And?’
She stopped just short of the door, turning so she was face to face with him. ‘He tapes everything that happens in his club, Malcolm. What makes you think he stops there?’
‘The car?’
‘All it takes is for him to switch on his phone’s voice memo app. Plus you’ve been in his penthouse. Chances are everything you said there has been recorded.’
Fox couldn’t help looking over his shoulder at the car. It was starting to move, but Cafferty had left the rear window open, his eyes on the two detectives as he passed.
‘He’s won,’ Fox said quietly, statement rather than question. ‘I feel a bit sick.’
‘I hope it wasn’t the fish,’ Clarke replied, making show of pressing her hand to her stomach.
‘How can you joke about this?’
She considered for a moment and then shrugged. ‘Thinking he’s won doesn’t mean he has. It’s not over yet, Malcolm.’ She watched the car glide away from them into the night. ‘Not nearly over … ’
As Benny drove to the Jenever Club, Cafferty phoned Cole Burnett.
‘It’s your Uncle Morris, Cole. How are things at your end?’
The teenager’s voice was nasal and ever-so-slightly slurred. ‘It’s all good, all good.’
‘Got an address or two for me?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well, let’s not say any more until we meet face to face. You know my place on the Cowgate? I’ll see you there in an hour.’
‘Okay.’
‘Cheer up, son – future’s full of good things coming your way. Just trust your Uncle Morris.’ He ended the call and placed his phone on the seat next to him.
‘You really think he’s got the makings?’ Benny asked from the driver’s seat, eyes meeting Cafferty’s in the rear-view mirror.
‘If he hasn’t, he’s all yours.’ Cafferty turned his head to watch the city slide past. Leith had changed – fine dining, craft beer and artisan bread – but it was still Leith. Like an old band coaxed out on the road again, smack was making a comeback. Coke had stopped being available only to the wealthy. Crack and methadone and benzos were everywhere.
Money was being made.
But the people at the top always wanted a bigger slice. If Cafferty didn’t fortify his territory, others might think he was vulnerable. He’d had meetings in Glasgow and Aberdeen, just to make sure everyone knew where things stood. Not Dundee, though – because the people shipping the drugs from Manchester hadn’t wanted it. Message enough to Cafferty’s mind: they’d be coming for him soon. And when they came, they would take out the street dealers first, making things nice and clear to him. That was why over the past few months he’d been bringing losers like Cole Burnett aboard. Let the marauders think they were taking out his best guys, his whole army. They would reckon it an easy win.
Then they would begin to relax. And their guard would come down …
‘Want some music or anything, boss?’ Benny was asking.
‘I’m fine, Benjamin, thanks. Big Ger Cafferty is absolutely
