'Ah, there's lots more than that, though: this'll be news to you as well. We had a return visit from Andy Martin last night'
Yet again, the big DCI was caught off guard. 'How come?' he asked.
'A bit of inter-force co-operation. You know Andy has a friend who owns a disco, or club, or whatever?'
'Spike Thomson? Sure.'
'Okay, and do you know a guy called Charlie Bell?'
'Jingle? Yes, I know him. He used to be a runner for Tony Manson, then for Dougie Terry; got scared and left town after Dougie got done. Strictly small change.'
'Not quite so small now. Bell and a minder called Richard Cable… Do you know him?'
McIlhenney frowned. 'Richard Cable? Is that his real name?'
'It was the name on his driving licence and his credit cards.'
'Not one I've heard, then. Has he got previous?'
'None that anybody can trace so far. Anyway, Jingle, with him backing him up, started moving drugs through Andy's mate's club a couple of weeks back; they told him that unless he kept his eyes and his mouth shut he'd never be able to open them again. The guy. .'
'Spike?'
'Called Andy straight away and reported it to him. Andy came to the DCC and told him, on the quiet; Bob brought me in on it because he was up to his balls in the papal visit, and asked me to brief Bandit Mackenzie. He's new in town, so we guessed right that Bell wouldn't know him. Bandit staged a couple of buys last week, just to test the ground, then went back last night. Got a result; lifted them both.'
'Did you say Andy was there?'
Haggerty smiled and nodded. 'He asked me if it was okay: I told him to be our guest. While Bandit and Mavis MacDougall were in lifting Bell, Andy took care of Cable. The eejit pulled a knife on him; he actually cut his leather jacket. He got his nose smashed for his trouble as well.'
McIlhenney chuckled. 'He's lucky that's all he got burst. Andy loves that jacket: it's the only uniform he ever liked wearing.'
'He might be a happy boy, then,' Haggerty grunted. 'Maybe he won't be stuck in one at Tayside for too much longer.'
'What do you mean?'
The ACC tapped his nose. 'Just a feeling I've got,' he chuckled. 'I don't see Andy as a long-term Dundonian, that's all.'
'Thank you, sir. Is that all this visit was about: to wind me up about things I don't know?'
'Not quite. The chief had another call this morning, and he asked me to tell you about it. We're having a visit tomorrow afternoon from friends in London, and he wants you in on it. Most important of all, they want Bob to be there; their top man insists on it, in fact.'
'Special Branch?'
'Of course not: they'd have called you direct. No, they're from MI5, the Security Service.'
'No point asking what it's about?'
'None. As per usual they won't tell us till we're all in a room that's been swept for listening devices.'
'Is that why you wanted to know where the DCC is?'
'Mainly, yes.'
'Let me guess: so does Sir James, and he told you to ask me.'
Haggerty looked sheepish.
'Silly games, sir. You weren't testing me, were you? Trying to ease me into telling you things I shouldn't?'
'Nothing was further from my mind,' said the ACC disingenuously.
'No, of course not: you wouldn't do that.' McIlhenney smiled, affably. 'Anyway you and the chief can relax. He should make the meeting. I had a call from him at half six this morning. He's flying back today from… where he's been; he gets into Glasgow tomorrow morning. I'm picking him up. He might be like a bear from the jet-lag, but he'll be there.'
Eight
Aileen de Marco liked her office. It looked out and down over the Old Town of Edinburgh, and if she got close to the window and leaned to the left, she could see the castle.
In her days as a Glasgow councillor, she had thought that its Victorian marble-lined City Chambers was the finest public building in the world. She had been as loyal a Glaswegian as there was, and had regarded Edinburgh as a pompous place, which looked down its civic nose at the rest of Scotland. Yet now that she was there, installed as a minister in Scotland's first home-based legislature in almost three hundred years, she had to admit that there was something about St Andrews House, for all its allegedly fascist architecture, that she liked even more.
It stood on the site of the old Calton jail… legend had it that its execution chamber was still in existence, used as a store deep in the cellars… and it had little of the opulence of its George Square counterpart, which had been built to emphasise Glasgow's proud position as the second city of the Empire. Yet it had its own aura, drawn from the city around it.
It was a cold winter day, and the view was hazy, as if the traffic-crippling fog of a few weeks before was threatening a come-back, but the great dome of the Bank of Scotland headquarters on the Mound, with the silver Christmas star on top, still stood out on the skyline, between the crest of St Giles Cathedral and the tall spire of the Assembly Hall that had given the Scottish Parliament its temporary shelter.
She would never give up this room without regret, she realised.
She had just settled into her chair, and was about to buzz for Lena McElhone, her private secretary, to bring in the morning's in-tray, when the unlisted phone on her desk rang. She wondered if it was Bob again, calling to make sure she had done nothing reckless, but then she realised that it was the middle of the night in Florida.
She picked up the receiver. 'Yes?'
'Ms de Marco?' a male voice asked. 'Lord Advocate for you, ma'am.'
'Put him through,' she said, icily.
'Aileen, how are you?' Milton Grassick began.
'Still here,' she replied. 'Are you surprised?'
'Relieved, actually. I wanted to talk to you about your meeting in Bute House yesterday, with Tommy. I gather it was hostile.'
'I don't think it was even as friendly as that.'
She could almost hear Grassick wince. 'You threatened resignation?'
'Was the First Minister smiling when he told you that?'
'I have to say that he didn't sound too concerned. I am, though.'
'Nice of you, Milton,' she said, casually. 'But isn't it a bit late for that?'
'You haven't…'
She paused for several seconds, letting the silence build. 'No,' she told him, at last.
His sigh of relief seemed to explode down the line. 'Thank goodness for that. Listen, Aileen, if anyone should go over this it's me. I had a call from Bob Skinner in the middle of the night; he made his feelings very clear and even threatened to embarrass me publicly. He's not a very nice man when he's angry, is Mr Skinner, but I rather think his view will be shared by most of the police service. It'll be difficult for me to work with him, and maybe with the chief constables, from now on. So I think I may well…'
'Tommy won't let you,' she told him, bluntly. 'Your resignation would be seen as a condemnation of his decision… or, rather, of his surrender of his powers to London.'
'He may have difficulty…' Suddenly Aileen was distracted by the sound of her door opening. Lena McElhone slipped into the room. 'Hold on, Milton. What is it, Lena?' she asked.
'The First Minister wants you,' her private secretary replied. 'Now, was what he said.'
'Okay.' She returned to the phone. 'Milton, I'll need to go. You-know-who's calling for me. Listen, don't you do
