‘I did until you rearranged the kitchen.’
‘Always good to have a challenge, Shiv.’
In the time she took to shape her reply, Rebus had ended the call.
It was just after ten by the time she reached the MIT office. The room was buzzing with activity, Graham Sutherland leaning over Christine Esson’s desk as she explained to him whatever was on her computer screen. When he spotted Clarke, Sutherland broke off the conversation and sauntered in her direction.
‘Can’t seem to keep you away, DI Clarke,’ he said, folding his arms as he planted himself in front of her.
She gave a shrug and what she hoped was an endearing smile. ‘John’s headed out of town. I’ve literally got nothing else to do.’
‘But like I said, I’ve a full complement here.’ He gestured to the desks. Clarke recognised everyone: Esson and Ogilvie; DSs Tess Leighton and George Gamble, another DC called Phil Yeats. She’d worked with them before as part of Sutherland’s team. They all knew about her and the boss. Only Gamble ever gave her any stick.
‘No DI that I can see,’ she commented.
‘That would be me.’
She turned towards the doorway. Malcolm Fox had just entered, carrying a sheaf of paperwork.
‘You get around, Malcolm,’ Clarke said.
‘Major Crime Division are taking an interest,’ Sutherland explained, not sounding exactly thrilled about it. ‘They’ve loaned us DI Fox for the duration.’
‘Making daily reports to our elders and betters, I dare say.’
‘Above all else, I’m a team player, Siobhan – you know that.’
Clarke couldn’t help glancing in Tess Leighton’s direction. The look Leighton gave her signalled that the relationship she’d had with Fox hadn’t lasted.
‘I can be useful, sir,’ Clarke said, turning her attention back to Sutherland. ‘You know I can.’
Sutherland took his time considering. ‘It would mean sharing a desk with Malcolm.’
‘As long as he promises not to copy my classwork.’ Clarke knew what Sutherland was thinking – just as Fox would be keeping an eye on them and reporting back to his bosses, so she’d have an eye on him, keeping Sutherland in the loop.
Fox seemed ready to remonstrate, but decided on a resigned shrug instead. ‘Fine by me,’ he said. ‘Catching the killer is the priority.’
‘Well said. I’ll leave the two of you to find a spare chair from somewhere and then get reacquainted.’
They watched Sutherland retreat to his office. Fox held out a hand.
‘Welcome aboard.’
Clarke stared at the hand. ‘My town, my ship. You’re the passenger here.’ She heard Tess Leighton stifle a laugh. Fox’s face began to redden.
‘Same old Siobhan,’ he eventually said. ‘Light on charm, heavy on offensive. Almost like you learned from the master. Speaking of whom … ’
‘House move’s done and dusted.’
‘But his health’s okay? I mean, no worse than it was?’
‘Phone him sometime and ask.’
‘I gave up trying.’
Clarke was looking around, in search of a free chair.
‘Maybe the support office.’ Fox gestured towards the corridor. ‘I’ll do it if you like.’
Clarke nodded her agreement.
‘While you make us some tea.’ He made his exit quickly, before she could respond.
Clarke marched over to the kettle, checked it for water and switched it on.
‘There’s a kitty,’ George Gamble growled from behind his desk. ‘Five quid in the tin.’
‘And hello to you too, George.’ Gamble seemed to be wearing the same suit as ever – three-piece in too loud a check. His hair was still unruly, face blotchy, stomach straining against his waistcoat. Seated opposite him, Tess Leighton seemed a ghost by comparison – slender, pale-skinned, hollow-eyed. Both were good enough detectives in their different ways, even if Gamble seemed to be counting the days and hours until retirement. Clarke had only worked with them once before, and was better acquainted with Esson and Ogilvie, both of whom came from her team at Gayfield Square. Phil Yeats was another of Sutherland’s regulars, a fair-haired twenty-something who specialised in doing what he was ordered to do, no more and no less.
Esson had brought a mug to the kettle, ready for a refill.
‘What’s the story?’ she asked quietly.
‘John’s off north to see his daughter.’
‘Leaving you in the lurch.’
‘We’d pretty well finished the move. Just a few boxes left.’
‘Find anything interesting tucked away in his flat?’
‘No porn or dead bodies. Turns out he likes a Jack Reacher book, though.’
‘I’m more of a Karin Slaughter girl. They’re both coming to Edinburgh if you—’
‘Christine,’ Clarke broke in, ‘when exactly were you planning to tell me about Fox?’
‘What’s to tell? Far as I knew, you were on leave.’
‘So when I dropped by yesterday … ?’
‘I thought it might annoy you ever so slightly.’
‘I’m not annoyed – I just like to be apprised.’
Esson puckered her mouth for a moment. ‘See anything of DCI Sutherland last night?’
Clarke glared at her. ‘What if I did?’
‘He didn’t spill the beans either – same reasoning, I’m guessing. We just wanted you to unwind. DI Fox tends to have the opposite effect.’
The kettle had finished boiling. Clarke lifted it too high as she poured, scalding liquid slopping from the first mug. She cursed under her breath.
‘Break’s obviously done you a power of good,’ Esson teased, watching Fox carry what looked like an interview-room chair into the office.
Clarke ignored her, finished making the tea and carried both mugs to Fox’s desk. He was moving his things to one side – laptop, stationery, phone charger – with all the delicacy a man of his proportions could muster. Clarke tried to get comfortable on the chair. Fox hefted his mug in what looked like a toast before taking a sip.
‘So where are we?’ Clarke asked.
‘To start with, we’re treating it as homicide,’ Fox obliged. ‘No weapon recovered as yet, and nothing substantive from CCTV – though we’re still looking. Victim was an overseas student and there have been a few attacks recently.’
‘Oh?’
‘Mostly in St Andrews actually – rich kids hounded by local idiots. But there have been a couple of incidents around the Meadows. Students have organised themselves so no one needs to be out there at night on their own. Then there’s the race angle
