‘The dogging community?’ Esson laughed at Sutherland’s phrase.
‘Circles the victim moved in, I wouldn’t have thought he had need of either. If he wanted drugs, plenty VIP clubs and friends’ drawing rooms. And as for sex…’
‘Was he sleeping with Issy Meiklejohn, do we think?’ Esson asked her question of the table at large. ‘Only she seems tight with this Italian guy, and as they say in detective training, cherchez la femme.’
Sutherland smiled and held his hands up. ‘This was supposed to be a bit of R&R, in case you’ve forgotten. Somebody change the subject, s’il vous plaît.’
There was silence around the table. They lifted their glasses, toyed with their drinks. Tess Leighton was the first to give a sigh. ‘I’ve got nothing.’
‘Ditto,’ Ogilvie added.
After they’d all stopped grinning, Sutherland suggested another round, but Esson shook her head.
‘Me and Siobhan better get going.’ She reached down to the floor to lift her bag. ‘See you all in the office tomorrow?’
‘I might stay for one more,’ Ogilvie was telling his boss. Fox looked sceptical, and Leighton, while nodding at the offer, had gone back to texting.
Clarke followed Esson out of the bar. It was still light, and would be for a few more hours. They were halfway to the car when her phone pinged. It was a message from Graham Sutherland.
Later tonight?
She hesitated. Decided not to reply straight away. She’d have to think about it.
The talk was being held at the Usher Hall. They’d parked on Grindlay Street and managed a main course at Dine.
‘Who knew?’ Clarke said, watching the crowd of people making their way into the talk.
‘It’s a sell-out,’ Esson informed her, rummaging in her bag for their tickets.
Clarke had another message from Sutherland.
Heading back to Glasgow soon if you don’t need me for anything.
He had a key to her flat, but she knew he would never presume.
If you’re okay on your own, head to mine. Don’t know what time I’ll be back though. She was about to press send when she had a thought. Anyone sticking around the pub? Malcolm gone home?
A moment later, two texts arrived in tandem.
Thanks. I’ll wait up.
He sloped off just after you.
Clarke stared at the screen. She knew exactly where Fox had sloped off to.
‘What’s up?’ Esson asked. Clarke realised she had been studying her.
‘Ach, it’s nothing.’
‘No, it’s definitely something. Somewhere else you need to be?’
‘I can’t seem to switch off.’
‘Don’t think I hadn’t noticed. At dinner it was like talking to a wall.’
Clarke gave a tired smile. ‘I wasn’t that bad, was I?’
Esson made a shooing gesture with one hand. ‘Go. Do what you feel you need to.’
‘You sure? I’ll pay you for the ticket.’
Esson checked the time. ‘Box office will probably take it if I hurry. I think I saw a returns queue.’
‘Thanks, Christine. I really am sorry.’
Esson made the shooing gesture again and headed in the direction of the box office. With a final smile of apology, Clarke turned towards Grindlay Street, then remembered they’d come in Esson’s car. Her own was still in Leith. She looked across Lothian Road to the taxi rank outside the Sheraton. Three cabs waited there. She dodged the traffic and climbed into the back of the one at the head of the queue.
‘Where are we off to tonight?’ the driver enquired.
‘Queen Charlotte Street–the police station.’
‘Turning yourself in, eh? Hard to live with a guilty conscience.’ The driver started the engine and switched on his meter.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Clarke answered, too softly for the man to hear.
‘Evening, Malcolm,’ she said, walking into the MIT office. Fox flinched slightly.
‘Made me jump,’ he said.
Clarke had stopped by his shoulder and was reading the screen of his monitor.
‘Friends and associates,’ he explained.
Clarke nodded. ‘Nothing that couldn’t wait till morning.’ She looked around the empty office.
‘Not much waiting for me at home,’ he explained. ‘Besides, I like having this place to myself.’
‘Means nobody interferes,’ Clarke seemed to agree, easing herself onto a chair so that they were facing one another.
‘You okay?’ he asked. ‘What happened to the talk?’
‘Found I wasn’t in the mood. You had anything to eat?’
‘Shouldn’t have had those crisps.’ He patted his stomach, then watched as Clarke reached over to lift the pad he’d been scribbling on. She flipped its pages.
‘Busy boy,’ she commented. ‘You’re almost a one-man Stewart Scoular fan club.’
‘We saw him with Meiklejohn and Morelli; stands to reason he knew the deceased too. And word on the street is he’s been known to sell a bit of coke to his pals.’
Clarke gave a thin smile. ‘And who is it exactly that you know on the street, Malcolm? Always thought of you as more of a desk jockey. You’re not even Edinburgh these days.’
Fox’s face reddened. ‘Doesn’t mean I don’t have sources, Siobhan. I’m Major Crime–we rely on intel.’
‘Give me a name then.’ But Clarke held up a hand. ‘No, let me guess first. How about Morris Gerald Cafferty? Is there any chance he could have turned snitch for Major Crime and DI Malcolm Fox?’
‘Okay, you’ve had your fun.’ Fox folded his arms. ‘I assume you tailed me earlier?’
‘Did you go to him or did he come to you?’
‘A bit of both.’
‘And he handed you Stewart Scoular, just like that?’
‘More or less.’
Clarke was shaking her head. ‘Things are never that simple where Cafferty’s concerned. What’s going on, Malcolm?’
‘I really can’t tell you, Siobhan–not yet.’
‘Does it have anything to do with that trip you took to Gartcosh?’
‘Just stop.’ He held up a hand, his palm towards her.
‘Does Cafferty know something about Scoular and Salman bin Mahmoud?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘So all he gave you was Scoular and a bit of coke-dealing? How does that tie in to the case we’re supposed to be working?’
A smile began to form on Malcolm Fox’s face. ‘I’m glad you asked me that.’
He signalled to the space next to him, so she sat down facing his computer screen, while he got busy with the
