‘Take a seat,’ he said, ‘and tell me what’s on your mind.’
‘I think you already know.’ Jones was breathing hard, powered by adrenalin.
‘Does your wife know you’re here?’
‘All she told me was that someone had footage. Had to come from here, so I did a bit of digging. Didn’t take much in the way of detective skills.’
‘And now here you are, so what exactly is it I can do for you?’
‘I won’t let you do this to her.’
‘Who?’
‘Jenni.’
‘I assume you mean Assistant Chief Constable Lyon? What did she say to you?’
‘Just that she was fixing it and I wasn’t to worry. But if fixing it means dealing with trash like you…’
‘You’d rather it was all made nice and public?’ Cafferty gave the beginnings of a chuckle, stopping as he saw Jones’s hands forming themselves into fists. ‘Don’t do anything radically more stupid than you already have. Now sit down while I tell you something I haven’t yet told your good lady.’
He bided his time until Jones bent to his will and slid onto the banquette.
‘The footage we caught of you here is tame stuff–a smooch and a snog, a bit of powder up the nose. You should see what sometimes goes on. But I pride myself on knowing who’s who. Your uni job didn’t interest me, but your life partner did.’ He paused. ‘Which is why I had someone keep an eye on you for a week or two. That country park near your place of work–a beautiful spot and woefully under-used. Car park’s often completely empty…’ He was watching the effect his words were having. Dennis Jones began visibly to deflate. ‘Bit reckless really, don’t you think? Though I did admire your friend’s agility. Must be all that badminton.’ He paused again. ‘I can’t be sure what you told the missus, but pictures like that on the front page of a red-top… well, that’s a marriage killer right there.’
He leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘This isn’t about you, Dennis. I doubt Jenni’s too bothered about you and your career. Hers, on the other hand…’ He leaned back again. ‘How do you think she’d react if she knew you’d come here? I’ll tell you: she’d be apoplectic, because you’re in danger of royally pissing me off. One call to the media, one email attachment, and she’s all over the papers. So while I can quite understand the macho posturing, it’s time for you to slope off home and leave your wife to deal with the shitty nappy you’ve left on her pristine floor.’
He opened the computer lid again, signalling the end of the meeting.
‘You’ve not heard the last of this,’ Jones blustered, getting to his feet.
‘You best hope I fucking well have,’ Cafferty responded with a glare before turning his attention to his screen.
He listened to the footsteps stomping back down the staircase, then slid out from his seat and checked over the balcony. His visitor had gone. Taking out his phone, he made a call.
‘Malcolm?’ he said when it was answered. ‘You still at your desk? Be downstairs in fifteen minutes…’
It was a large black Mercedes, its rear windows heavily tinted. As Fox exited Leith police station, the driver emerged, closing the door after him. Fox crossed the street. The driver wasn’t very tall, but he looked as if he could handle himself, all wired nerves and attitude, wrapped in a leather bomber jacket.
‘Back seat,’ he stated.
Fox got in next to Cafferty. The driver stayed on the pavement, lighting a cigarette and checking his phone.
‘Problem?’ Fox asked, skipping the pleasantries.
‘Just thought you ought to know I’ve had a visit from Casanova.’
‘I assume you mean Dennis Jones?’
‘My thinking is, he sees something’s not right, the way his missus is acting, and she eventually blurts it out.’
‘Telling him everything?’
‘Not quite–but he’s savvy enough to walk it back to me.’
‘And?’
‘And I don’t want that happening again. Only room for three in this relationship, Malcolm–you, me and your boss.’
‘It’s not a relationship.’
‘Can’t disagree with that, insofar as I’ve heard hee-haw from either of you.’
‘Trust me, we’re working on it.’
‘And?’
‘And we’re at the start of the jigsaw. Edges nearly finished but a lot still to fill in.’
‘So show me the outline.’
Fox was shaking his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Soon then?’
He half turned so he was facing Cafferty. ‘Is this to do with Salman bin Mahmoud? Dirty money mixing with clean? Golf resorts and landed gentry?’
‘Okay, so you’ve been busy,’ Cafferty accepted with a slow nod. ‘But I need those pieces filled in sooner rather than later.’
‘Keeping you company isn’t helping with that.’
‘You going to tell Lyon about her stoked-up husband?’
‘Looks like I might have to.’
‘Guy like that, impetuous and hot-blooded…’
‘What?’
‘He might need keeping an eye on. Who’s to say his straying days are behind him?’ Cafferty’s eyes were on Fox. ‘Got to admit, though, you’re a lot craftier than I gave you credit for.’
‘How’s that then?’
‘Look on his face when I mentioned the footage of him and the coke. He didn’t know I had it, which tells me his missus doesn’t know–and that means you kept that detail to yourself. Didn’t want her knowing more than she needed to, afraid she might take it out on you?’ He wagged a finger. ‘I should have known someone with the name Fox would have a bit of slyness about them. Now bugger off and get busy on Stewart Scoular. Clock’s ticking, Malcolm…’
Fox shoved open the door and got out. The driver was grinding what was left of his cigarette underfoot. He crossed the road and re-entered the station, passing through security and climbing the stairs. There was water damage to the ceiling above him, a pail readied on the top step for the next time it rained. The station had been built early in the nineteenth century as a courthouse, before becoming the home of Leith Council for a time. It was a solid stone edifice, but like many police stations of similar vintage, upkeep was prohibitive. He wondered how many more
