‘Trying to influence the investigation, Inspector Fox?’ Giles was asking. ‘Barging in on the locus at your sister’s house?’

‘Her house isn’t a crime scene,’ Fox snapped back.

‘Until I say otherwise, that’s exactly what it is.’ The huge man’s voice was so calm, he could have been inhaling Prozac rather than oxygen.

‘That’s because you’re an arrogant prick.’ Fox decided a pause of his own was in order. ‘For the record,’ he concluded.

Giles took a few moments to shepherd his emotions back into the pen. ‘What were you doing when you were apprehended, Inspector?’

‘I was being a cop.’

‘You were in the office of the Oliver casino, viewing that venue’s CCTV footage for the night Vince Faulkner went missing.’

Fox could sense Jamie Breck’s disquiet at this news.

‘On whose authority did you go there?

‘Nobody’s.’

‘Did DS Breck tell you it would be all right? The pair of you had already been to that establishment not once, but twice.’ Giles sifted out another photo – Breck and Fox in daylight, standing beside Breck’s car just seconds before Joanna Broughton turned up.

‘This has nothing to do with DS Breck,’ Fox argued. ‘I went to Salamander Point on my own. It was coincidence he was there at the same time.’

Giles had turned his attention to Breck. ‘But you let the Inspector sit in on your interview with Mr Ronald Hendry?’

‘Yes,’ Breck admitted.

‘I outrank him,’ Fox began to explain. ‘I ordered him…’

‘Whether you did or you didn’t, here’s the thing…’ Giles opened the folder and produced a typed sheet. ‘DS Breck left that particular detail out of his account of the interview.’ Giles let the piece of paper fall on to the table. ‘And the night he came to your home – had you ordered him to put in an appearance?’ Giles allowed the silence to run its course. ‘Seems to me the two of you have become a bit too pally.’ He glared at Breck, while his finger stabbed in Fox’s direction. ‘He’s a suspect! You knew that! Since when do we get cosy with suspects?’

‘Glen Heaton did it often enough,’ Fox commented in an undertone.

Giles’s eyes were full of fire, his voice just about under control.

‘Listen to the hypocrisy of the man,’ he growled. Then he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders and neck. ‘None of this looks good. Time was, maybe the force would have dealt with it in its own way…’ He pretended a rueful sigh. ‘But with all the checks and balances these days, the need to be whiter than white…’ He was staring straight at Fox. ‘Well… you of all people, Inspector, you know how it is.’ And he offered a shrug. Almost on cue, there was a knock at the door. The woman officer opened it, and two men entered. One was Chief Inspector Bob McEwan. The other was in uniform, carrying his peaked hat tucked beneath one arm.

‘A bloody disgrace!’ were the man’s opening words. Giles had risen to his feet, as had Breck and Fox. It was what you did when the Deputy Chief Constable announced his presence. And he did have presence. He’d stuck it out at Lothian and Borders while rejecting the advances of other forces; stuck it out while several Chief Constables had been promoted over him or drafted in from outside. His name was Adam Traynor and he was ruddy-cheeked, steely-eyed, tall and barrel-chested. ‘A copper’s copper’ was the consensus; admired by the lower ranks as well as the higher-ups. Fox had met the man several times. Minor cases of misconduct could be dealt with by the DCC. Only the more serious cases had to go to the Procurator Fiscal.

‘Disgrace,’ Traynor was repeating to himself, while McEwan had eyes only for his errant employee. Fox remembered their conversation of that morning. Have things been quiet in my absence? McEwan had asked. As the grave, Fox had answered. Now Traynor’s attention turned to McEwan and Giles. ‘Your men,’ he was telling them, ‘will have to be suspended pending the outcome of the inquiry.’

‘Yes, sir,’ McEwan muttered.

‘Sir,’ Giles agreed.

‘Don’t fret,’ Traynor went on, half turning his head in the direction of Fox and Breck. ‘You’ll be on full pay.’

Giles’s eyes were on Fox too, and Fox knew what his nemesis was thinking: Just like Glen Heaton…

‘Excuse me,’ the woman officer interrupted. ‘We’re still taping…’

‘Then switch it off!’ Traynor roared. She did so, having first informed the microphone that the interview was ending at two fifty-seven p.m.

‘Internal inquiry, sir?’ Bob McEwan was asking.

‘Bit late for that, Bob – Grampian have had your man under surveillance these past four days.’ Traynor was sifting through the photographs on the table. ‘They’ll be the ones sorting it all out, same as we’d do for them if the tables were turned.’

McEwan was frowning. ‘My officer has been under surveillance? ’

The Deputy Chief Constable silenced him with a glare. ‘Your man’s been misbehaving, Chief Inspector.’

‘And no one saw fit to inform me,’ McEwan stated.

‘A topic for later discussion.’ Traynor was glaring at McEwan, but McEwan’s attention was concentrated on Malcolm Fox, and there was an unspoken question there: what the hell is going on here?

‘Right,’ Traynor said, straightening up and running a thumb along the brim of his cap. ‘Is that all clear enough for you?’

‘I’ve got paperwork I could do with finishing,’ Breck said.

‘Not a chance,’ Traynor barked back at him. ‘Don’t want you trying to cook the books.’

The blood rose up Jamie Breck’s neck. ‘With all due respect, sir…’

But the Deputy Chief Constable was already in the process of leaving.

‘We’ll need your warrant cards and any pass keys,’ Billy Giles was stating, hand held out in preparation. ‘You walk out of here and you don’t go near either of your offices, even to pick up a jacket or bag. You go home and you stay home. Grampian Police will doubtless be in touch – you’ll know the protocol off by heart, Inspector Fox…’

McEwan had followed Traynor out of the room as if keen to collar the man, and without so much as a backward glance. But Fox trusted his boss. He’d be arguing Fox’s case, fighting his corner.

‘Warrant cards,’ Giles repeated, fingers twitching. ‘After which you’ll be escorted from the premises.’

‘The Federation has lawyers,’ the woman officer piped up. Giles gave her a hard stare.

‘Thanks, Annabel,’ Jamie Breck said, throwing his warrant card down well short of Billy Giles’s hand.

12

There was a pool hall on the corner, and that was their first stop, if only because they needed a place to sit and take it all in. Breck seemed to be known to the proprietor. A table by the window was wiped down for their use, and coffees arrived ‘on the house’.

‘No, we’ll pay for them,’ Breck insisted, producing a handful of coins from his pocket. ‘One man’s gift is another man’s bung.’ His eyes met Fox’s and the two men managed wary smiles.

‘Not exactly the most pressing of our worries,’ Fox offered. ‘Annabel was right, though – there are lawyers we could be consulting.’

Breck shrugged. ‘At least you were right when you said you were being tailed. Might explain that van outside my house…’

‘Yes,’ Fox commented, feeling suddenly awkward.

‘So what happens now? I’d say you’re the resident expert here.’

Fox didn’t answer immediately. He listened to the sounds around him – pool balls clacking against each other; mild cursing from the players; the low rumble of traffic outside. Now we’re in the same boat, he thought.

‘What was the last you heard about Brogan’s yacht?’ he asked.

Breck stared at him. ‘We’re not interested in any of that, Malcolm. We’re suspended from our jobs.’

‘Sure.’ Fox shrugged. ‘But you’ve got friends, right? Annabel – she’s one of them? That means you can keep tabs on what’s happening. ’

‘And if it gets back to Billy Giles?’

‘What’s the worst he can do? We’re Grampian’s problem from now on.’ Fox picked up the cup and blew across its surface. He knew it was going to be the cheapest brand of powdered instant; knew the cup wasn’t as clean as it could be. But he would remember the smell and the taste and the pattern on the saucer for the rest of his life.