does.' As he explained the powers that the new measure would confer upon the First Minister, he watched Greatorix's expression become more and more sombre.
'Surely he's not going to use them,' he argued. 'When he says they're only for extreme situations, shouldn't we believe him?'
'Rod, when this becomes law, all promotion short-lists at assistant chief rank will be referred to him automatically. If he's not going to look at them as a matter of course, why do it at all? The betting is that he will use the powers. He's already made one private threat to a senior officer who crossed him. You were here before Tommy Murtagh, and you were in a position to watch him operate as a councillor. You tell me that he can be trusted with overall command of the police.'
The chief superintendent sat silent for a while, gazing through the window at the grey day. The snowfall of the previous evening looked to be on the point of returning. Finally, he gave a great sigh. 'I can't tell you that, Andy. The fact is that he's one of the last men I'd trust in that position.'
'When he was a councillor, was he ever under investigation?' asked Martin.
'Informally, yes. A council employee once came to a colleague of mine, a guy who's retired now, and complained that Herbert Groves Construction had insider knowledge in three successive contracts. He pointed out that their bids were submitted last, in each case, and that they were lowest, in each case, by only a few hundred pounds.'
'Who signed them?'
'Brindsley Groves.'
'And the investigation?'
'I didn't involve myself, but it was abortive,' said Greatorix, wearily. 'My colleague had a quiet word with the chief executive, behind Tommy's back, but there was absolutely no evidence of a fiddle.' He paused. 'Listen, Andy, if you're looking to dig up dirt on Murtagh, you're not going to find it in the council. In fact, I don't think you're going to find it at all. I've never seen anyone who can cover his tracks better than him.'
'What about Groves?'
'If you want my advice, be very careful around him.'
'Funny,' Martin mused. 'The chief told me to be careful as well.'
'Take heed, then. Brindsley's smart, and if he twigs what you're up to he'll be on to Tommy like a shot.'
'What sort of a man is he?'
'Dynamic would be a good word for him. He's not a bit like his father, young Herbert, was.'
'Young Herbert?'
'Aye, he was the second generation. His father founded the firm and he was named after him. The business was solid, but getting stagnant, until Brindsley took over control. When he was at university, he used to work on projects in his vacation. He studied every trade, until he could judge the quality of every piece of work on a job. After he graduated, he went into management straight away; in theory he was assistant to his dad, but after only a couple of years he persuaded him to take a back seat. He took accountancy in his degree, and one of the first things he did was to retire the finance director, and replace him with someone who knew what he was doing. By the time he was thirty, he'd taken Herbert Groves Construction from being a cosy wee Dundee company, and turned it into one of the most successful building contractors in Scotland.'
'And somewhere along the line, he took Tommy Murtagh under his wing.'
Greatorix smiled. 'Who else have you talked to about this?'
'Diana Meikle.'
The smile became a chuckle. 'She'll have marked your card, then. She hated Brindsley from the off. She reckoned that he supported Labour for business purposes, and that he sponsored Tommy for the same reason. She was bloody right, of course. I suppose she'll have told you about Brindsley and Rachel Murtagh too.'
'Yes, and about their daughter.'
'Ouch! That was naughty of her.'
'You seem to know a hell of a lot about Brindsley Groves,' said Martin.
'I should do,' Greatorix murmured. 'He's married to my sister.'
The deputy chief constable gasped in amazement. 'Jesus, Rod,' he exploded, 'you might have told me that earlier.'
'And spoil my big moment? Never!' He chuckled. 'Don't worry, Andy. None of this'll get back to him. I'm as worried as you at the idea of wee Tommy with all that power over the police.'
'I guess that when Graham warned me to be careful, he meant in speaking to you.'
'I guess; he probably assumed you'd know that Brindsley and I are related. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised that you've never met him. He's a pretty noticeable guy in Dundee. It's time I fixed that for you: come with me to the golf club tonight when we finish. He's always in the bar with his pals from about five thirty on; I'll introduce you.'
'You're on. I'm curious to meet this guy now. Tell me, does he still have Murtagh in his pocket?'
'He never did,' said Greatorix. 'Their relationship benefited them both. It wasn't just a case of Tommy using him as a ladder. As far as I can tell that's all in the past. Each one's served his purpose for the other, so they don't see each other at all now, or at least hardly ever.'
'And what about Cleo, the daughter? Where is she now?'
'I don't know, Andy, and I don't want to. I don't believe that my sister has any idea of her existence, and I want it to stay that way. She left Dundee long ago, and I've no idea what happened to her.'
'Did Brindsley acknowledge her at all?'
'From what I heard, he did; he provided for her, sent her to a good school and then to university. I wish he'd been as kind to my niece and nephew. Young Herbie can't stand him and Rowena couldn't leave home fast enough.'
'From the sound of things, you're not all that keen on your brother-in-law.'
'Frankly I'm not: to me, he was always a cold fish, and he's got worse in recent years. I think that Rachel Murtagh was maybe the only person he ever really loved.'
Forty-six
Paula Viareggio usually lunched alone, in her office, so Mario's call suggesting that they meet in a restaurant near his office had taken her by surprise. The place had looked unimpressive from the outside, but the food, if not delightful as its name suggested, had been good, and value for money too.
'So what prompted this?' she asked, as they sipped the incredibly strong Turkish coffee.
'Nothing,' her cousin-lover replied. 'Somebody at work mentioned it, and I thought it was time we gave it a try, that's all.'
'Who owns it?'
Unobtrusively he pointed a finger at a bald, stocky man standing behind a tiny bar in the far corner of the dining room. 'He does, or so I'm told.'
Paula glanced around her. 'It's just as well his kitchen's better than his decor,' she muttered. The restaurant's predominant colour was red, with garish flock wallpaper that might have come from the seventies, and a thick acrylic-fibre carpet. Even the two overworked waiters wore red ties and aprons.
'You should offer to give him a make-over.' He chuckled. Paula had been mulling over the idea of backing an ambitious young designer in the start-up of an interiors business.
'Ah, but could he afford us? The place is busy, sure, but he's not making much from the lunch trade. Still, I suppose the idea is to entice people like us into coming back at night.'
'Which we're not going to do; I was curious about it, but I won't rush back for a proper meal.' Mario finished his coffee and signalled for the bill. 'Don't base your business plan on it, love,' he advised her. 'Whatever your bright girl advised him, he'll always want this place looking like a harem.'
'You're still not sold on the new venture, are you?'
'If you've got your heart set on it,' he told her, 'I'll go along with it, but it's against my instincts, and Alex Skinner's advice. It's not a natural expansion for the Viareggio group, in that it bears no relation to our existing
