But he’s got a lot of money for the best lawyer and, worse, he’s got connections

McLean looked at the old woman. She’d been living in the groundfloor flat when he’d moved in. She’d probably been there all her life. He’d never met Mr McCutcheon, and assumed the man had died some years earlier. Truth was, he didn’t really know very much about her other than she was old, liked to know what was going on, and was beginning to look very frail indeed.

“Don’t worry about it, Mrs M,” he said, trying to calm her down. “All that’s really important is that someone came round in the early hours of yesterday morning. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

The old lady nodded.

“And you saw him? You saw his face?” She nodded again.

“Do you think you might recognise him from a photograph?”

Mrs McCutcheon paused, her normally cheerful and positive self replaced by an older, more uncertain one.

“I’m no’ sure I could leave the hoose for very long,” she said after a while. “The cats . . .”

McLean knew that the cats were perfectly capable of looking after themselves, but he wasn’t about to say so.

“Perhaps I can bring the photographs to you, Mrs M. But it would be really helpful if you could identify this man for me.”

Orders

“I can’t let you bring McReadie in again. Not unless you’ve got something specific you can charge him with.”

McLean stood just inside Jayne McIntyre’s office, not trusting himself to get any closer. His first action on arriving at the station had been to ask the duty sergeant to arrange for McReadie to be brought in for questioning.

He probably shouldn’t have shouted at Pete when he’d refused, the poor man was only following orders from the boss, after all.

“He stole Bertie Farquhar’s cufflink. I need to know what else he took from there.”

“No, Tony. You don’t.”

McIntyre remained seated behind her desk. Annoyingly calm and logical, damn her.

“You know where he got it from, and besides, as I understand it, you’d identified who the cufflink belonged to anyway. That was good work, going to the jewellers.”

“He’s been hanging around my flat.”

“You don’t know that. You’ve just the word of a confused old woman that someone who may or may not have been McReadie came looking for you.”

“But I need –” He needed to ask him if he planted a kilo of cocaine in his grandmother’s house. What he left at his flat that he’d not been able to find.

“You need to leave him alone, is what you need.” McIntyre pulled off her reading spectacles and rubbed at her eyes. Perhaps she’d had no sleep either.

“We’ve got him bang to rights now. Caught redhanded and with a stash of stolen goods in his home.

“But he’s already filed an official complaint against you for using undue force, and his lawyer’s been picking at the terms of the search warrant, too.”

“He –” McLean’s brain caught up with his mouth. “He’s what?”

“If he can make either stick then we’ve got a very thin case indeed. The PF might even decide to go with receiving stolen goods. Bloke like him, that’s a suspended sentence.”

“But he can’t do that. The little b ***** d broke into my gran’s house.”

“I know, Tony. And if I could have my way, he’d be stewing in remand until he came to trial.

Pressure

“But he’s got a lot of money for the best lawyer and, worse, he’s got connections. You wouldn’t believe how high up the pressure’s coming from.”

“He’s not getting away with this. You’re not going to cut a deal.”

McIntyre grimaced. “Not a bloody chance. I do not like being dictated to by suits. But I can’t have you riding roughshod over this one just because McReadie’s annoyed.

“That’s precisely what he wants and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.”

“But . . .”

“No buts, Tony. It’s not even your case any more. You’re the victim, for God’s sake. You can’t be involved.

“Get on with your other cases, why don”t you? You’ve not even been to see that occult expert I told you about yet, have you.”

B **** r. And the worst of it was she was right. McLean knew damned well he shouldn’t even have interviewed McReadie the first time. It should have been handed over to someone not directly involved.

“Please tell me you’re not going to give it to Duguid.” It sounded like a pitiful, spiteful whinge.

“Actually I thought Bob Laird would be better suited.”

McIntyre slid her spectacles back up her nose with a little smirk. “You can tell him yourself.”

McLean met Constable Kydd on his way down to the incident room. She had a heavy load of box files and a heavier expression of dread on her face.

Headed in the direction of the incident room, recently cleared of the Barnaby Smythe investigation and now being hastily refilled, as Detective Chief Inspector Charles Duguid rose once more to the challenge of royally messing things up.

“Let me guess, Dagwood’s got every able-bodied person in the station seconded to his team?”

Constable Kydd bobbed her head in unhappy agreement. “There’s a lot of pressure from high up.”

“There’s always a lot of pressure from high up.” But, of course, there really would be for someone like Carstairs.

Same as Smythe. Important men had important friends. It was just a shame the little people couldn’t get such support.

Influential

Like the poor girl mutilated in the basement of some rich and influential man, part of some sick fantasy ritual.

“You’re photo-fit trained, aren’t you, constable?” McLean asked, dredging up the information from a conversation half remembered.

“Um, aye.” Constable Kydd offered the confirmation with great reluctance.

“How would you fancy doing a bit of detective work then? I heard you were studying for the exams.”

Well, McIntyre wouldn’t let him interrogate McReadie without good reason.

What could be better than proving the man had been sniffing around McLean’s tenement just hours after being released on bail?

“I’m a wee bit busy, sir.” Kydd hefted the box files, an unhappy gloom settling on her features.

“Don’t worry. I’ll square it with Dagwood. I’ve got some other stuff to do this morning anyway, but if you can sign out a laptop with photo-ID software on it, maybe rustle up some random mugshots too.

“And chuck in the ones we took of Fergus McReadie when he came in the other night. I’ll get a car sorted for two.”

“I –”

“I know the chief super said I wasn’t to hassle him.” Christ, had she told everyone in the station? How impetuous did she think he was?

“I’m not going anywhere near him. Trust me.”