‘Guilty as charged.’ There was silence on the line for a moment. ‘Now that I’ve got you, though…’
‘Finally he gets to the point.’
‘Know what? That tone of voice is making me change my mind. Might be better taking it direct to your boss.’
‘I can give you his number.’
‘I don’t mean Sutherland.’
Fox’s brow furrowed. ‘Who then?’
‘Your boss at Major Crime, Assistant Chief Constable Jennifer Lyon.’
‘And what exactly is it you think she needs to know?’
‘Best done face to face, Malcolm. You know the address?’
‘I was there last night.’
‘I mean my home address. Half an hour–probably best make some excuse to Siobhan. Your boss would want it that way, trust me…’
Cafferty’s flat comprised the top three storeys of a contemporary glass-and-steel construction in what for a long time had been the grounds of the city’s main hospital, now rebranded as Quartermile. Fox was there within twenty minutes, having exited the police station without bothering to give a reason. He pressed the bell and was buzzed into the building, taking the lift to the penthouse. The door off the landing was open, Cafferty himself standing there, a tomato juice in his hand.
‘Come in, come in,’ he said by way of welcome, leading the way.
The hallway led to a vast open space with a mezzanine above. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave uninterrupted views across the Meadows towards Marchmont and the Pentland Hills beyond. To the east could be seen Arthur’s Seat and Salisbury Crags, the outlines of hardy tourists visible on the peak.
‘Not bad, eh?’
‘Crime pays, as the saying goes.’
Cafferty laughed, gesturing towards the kitchen area. ‘Coffee or anything?’ Fox shook his head.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ he said.
‘All brisk and businesslike–good man.’ Cafferty settled himself in a leather armchair, unsurprised that Fox stayed standing. ‘So here’s the thing…’ He broke off. ‘Sure I can’t get you a drink?’
‘Spit it out.’
Cafferty raised the glass he was holding. ‘I would, but it’s one of my five a day. Doctor says I’ve to take care of myself. Don’t want to end up like poor old Rebus, can’t even manage a flight of stairs.’ He gave a sigh when Fox remained mute and as still as a statue. ‘Here’s the thing then–your boss, ACC Lyon. Way I hear it, her career progression’s ongoing. Chief Constable will be put out to pasture in a year, maybe two at most. He’d be gone by now if he had his way, but they won’t let him. Poor bugger’s knackered, though, put body and soul into getting the organisation back on an even keel. Budget still needs sorting out, but I doubt that’ll ever change.’ He fixed Fox with a look, gave a wide smile. ‘As you can tell, Police Scotland has become a bit of a hobby.’
‘I’m still not hearing why I’m here.’
‘You’re here because Jennifer Lyon’s frictionless upward trajectory might be about to go into free fall.’ Cafferty’s free hand made a downward corkscrew motion. ‘Which would be a shame for her. And the irony is, it’s not even her fault, not exactly. It’s all because of her husband.’ He took a sip of his drink, eyes apparently on the view outside his window.
Fox slid his hands into his pockets; not much of a reaction, but a reaction nonetheless.
‘So here’s what you need to do, Malcolm…’ Cafferty broke off again. ‘Sure you don’t want a seat, by the way? You’ve gone a bit pale.’
‘Just tell me.’
He took another sip of his drink first, seeming to savour it. Then, when he was good and ready: ‘I can make it all go away–the photos and the video. Now, she may not want to hear that, so if you like, what you tell her is that you can make it all go away. My name doesn’t have to feature, if that’s the way you want to play it. What matters is that this is your fast track to promotion once she’s installed in the top job.’
Fox’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t going to give Cafferty the satisfaction of asking the obvious question. Cafferty smiled into his near-empty glass. The juice had left red stains around his mouth.
‘I still haven’t heard what it is you want,’ Fox said quietly.
‘The answer is: not much. And nothing illegal.’
‘So tell me.’
Cafferty made show of rising to his feet. ‘Maybe a wee top-up first…’
‘Fucking tell me!’
Cafferty eased himself back to sitting, a contented look on his face. Then he started to speak.
The Scottish Crime Campus was based at Gartcosh in Lanarkshire, purpose-built on the site of an old steelworks, the land around it still largely undeveloped. Nominally, Police Scotland’s HQ was at Tulliallan, but everyone knew Gartcosh was where the serious business got done.
ACC Jennifer Lyon always strode the corridors and open areas of Gartcosh with a sense of purpose. Fox had deduced long ago that this was more to do with deterring people from collaring her with a request than because she had anywhere she needed urgently to be. He’d been weighing up his opening gambits ever since starting the hour-long drive from Edinburgh. Even so, the sight of her walking towards him, multiple lanyards swinging from her neck, almost caused his mind to go blank. He was about to be the bearer of bad tidings, and recipients never forgot.
‘Malcolm,’ she said, by way of stony-faced greeting. ‘I take it there’s news?’
‘News?’
‘The murder case.’
‘Not as such, ma’am.’
She tilted her head slightly. Her hair was straw-blonde, no slivers of grey allowed, and cut to resemble a protective helmet cupping her skull.
‘Well then,’ she prompted.
Fox cleared his throat. ‘Best done in private, ma’am.’
She looked around at the huge open atrium. Staff shuffled past quietly, some whispering into phones, others glancing in the direction of the feared and powerful ACC.
‘Please tell me I’m not going to have to cover your arse for something.’ Fox shook his head. ‘Well, that’s a blessing.’ She started walking again, Fox maintaining a slight distance.
No one was waiting in the reception area attached to her office. Her assistant glanced
