‘Happy travels, DI Fox. Come see us again sometime.’
‘Bye, Siobhan.’ He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He was heading into Quartermile from Lauriston Place, having parked on a single yellow line. This time of the evening, he wasn’t going to get a ticket. (The one from outside the restaurant on Hanover Street was still in his glove box.) Quartermile was quiet, a few drinkers in the bar he passed, about half the tables filled in the Malaysian restaurant next door. Food-delivery drivers were coming and going while students hauled bags from the Sainsbury’s supermarket back to their digs.
Fox approached the tall glass box that Cafferty called home and pressed the intercom. He was buzzed in immediately, but stood in the vestibule a moment, gathering his thoughts before summoning the lift. He’d phoned and confirmed that Cafferty was able to see him. Cafferty had asked the reason of course, and all Fox had said was ‘Scoular’.
‘Good news, I hope, Malky.’
Well, that depended on your viewpoint.
Cafferty was waiting at the penthouse door for him, dressed in an open-necked white shirt and jogging bottoms, his feet bare. He padded back into the open-plan living area and snatched up a glass half filled with red wine.
‘Can I tempt you, Malcolm?’
‘Not a cat in hell’s chance.’
Cafferty sat down in his favourite chair and waited, unsurprised when Fox stayed standing.
‘About Scoular,’ Fox began.
‘Yes?’
‘We’ve dug and dug again, and there’s nothing there.’
‘Is that right?’ The apparent good humour vanished from Cafferty’s face.
‘Doesn’t matter, though, does it? What matters to you is getting me and especially my boss working on your behalf. Because once you’ve done that – and you’ve got it on tape – you reckon you own us. Isn’t that the truth?’ Cafferty opened his mouth to answer, but Fox wasn’t finished. ‘But it’s not the whole truth – the whole truth would have to include your raging jealousy of the man.’
‘Oh aye?’
Fox started counting on his fingers. ‘He’s younger than you, a lot better-looking than you. Rubs shoulders with the great and the good rather than the scumbags you’re stuck with on a daily basis. You see him with his friends at your club and you know there’s a wall between you and them that you can’t seem to scale, and Christ knows you’ve tried. Call it a class thing, or just snobbery – they look down on you when you know they should be looking up. And meantime Scoular sells his wee bits and pieces of coke to his pals, keeps them sweet, fixes people up with each other – a real mover and shaker. And yes, there’s probably dodgy money in the mix somewhere, yet he remains completely non-stick. That’s why he got to you, and that’s why you started us digging. And here I am telling you there’s sweet FA to show for it. He’s still Stewart Scoular, property developer and darling of the society pages, and you’re still you.’
He broke off. ‘I might grab a glass of water.’ As he walked over to the sink and lifted a clean glass from the draining board, he heard Cafferty clapping his hands slowly.
‘Wee speech over and done with?’ Cafferty asked once he’d finished the round of mock applause. ‘Feel better for getting all that off your chest? If so, drink your drink and get your fat arse out of here. I’ve got calls to make and some juicy wee bits of video to send out into the world.’
Fox took his time draining the glass, placing it in the sink after. He checked the time on his wristwatch.
‘Somewhere else you need to be, Malcolm?’
Fox shook his head. ‘Something you need to see.’ He had activated his phone and was tapping in keystrokes. ‘It’s being streamed on the Scotsman website. They got the exclusive, but it’ll be everywhere tomorrow. Your eyesight up to a screen this size?’
Cafferty had risen slowly to his feet. Fox turned the volume all the way up and held the phone away from him. Dennis Jones was seated on a sofa, his wife Jennifer Lyon next to him. The interview had already started, but they were getting to the meat of it. Jones and Lyon held hands, as had been arranged. The questions had been vetted. The interviewer was Laura Smith. While not exactly the tamest inquisitor, she had been warned about what gaining an exclusive meant.
‘So I want to apologise publicly and profoundly to my wife especially,’ Jones was saying, ‘but also to everyone else involved in this sorry episode – a mess entirely of my own making. I can only hope that Jenni will be able to forgive me. I know I will work tirelessly to regain some level of trust. I’ve certainly never stopped loving her and I never shall. I will, of course, be resigning with immediate effect from my university post, and will be seeking counselling … ’
Fox watched Cafferty as Cafferty watched the scene play out. ‘The ACC thinks she can ride out the storm,’ he explained while Laura Smith asked one of her prepared questions. ‘She’s assembled a team of PR people and lawyers, so do what you like with those tapes. Story’s already been broken, and my boss is controlling it. All you’ve done is make yourself a target. Every agency based at the Scottish Crime Campus is going to move your name to the top of their wanted list.’ He shifted his attention to the window overlooking the Meadows. ‘Enjoy the uninterrupted view while you can.’
He switched off the live feed and pocketed the phone, walked to the door in silence and let himself out. Waiting for the lift, he half expected Cafferty to emerge, ready to vent. But the lift came and Fox stepped into it, turning to face the doors as they closed. He pressed G for ground floor. Halfway down, he released the breath he’d been holding. He would give Jennifer Lyon an hour before calling her,
