Стюарт Макбрайд - Now We Are Dead

‘Blah, blah, blah.’ She frowned. ‘Where’s everyone gone?’

The only person in the room was Tufty, with his stupid gauze and stupider black eye. He tossed a re-boxed phone into the crate marked ‘CAN’T UNLOCK’. ‘Harmsworth was moaning so much that Lund wheeched him off for a cup of tea and a Wagon Wheel. Barrett’s taking the latest batch of mobiles down to Lost-and-Found for collection. And I am working away like the brave little soldier I am.’

‘I mean, really, really, really urgent!’

She sighed. ‘Everyone with a pip on their shoulder says it’s urgent. Whatever they want, they want it now. Does them good to wait for it every now and then.’ She pointed at Tufty. ‘Did Barrett leave his Blessed Clipboard of all Knowledge?’

Tufty nodded. ‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘Good: grab it and follow me. You can pretend to know what you’re talking about when the DCI starts asking questions about all the mobile phones we’ve returned.’

The nervous, sweaty, wee PC’s bottom lip was trembling. ‘Please?’

‘All right, all right, I’m coming.’ She shoved him towards the door. ‘Honestly, you’re panicking over nothing. It’s just a wee meeting. Nothing to worry about.’

Nothing to worry about at all.

The sweaty wee PC opened the meeting room door and Roberta sauntered in, hands in her pockets. Be nice to get a pat on the back for a...

She stopped.

Sodding cockwombling hell.

Jack Wallace was in here, sitting at the oval meeting table right next to Hissing Sid. The lawyer’s suit probably cost more than Roberta made in a month, grey and well cut, a scarlet hankie poking out of the top pocket, matching silk tie. Grey hair swept back from a high forehead. A nose that never really went straight again after getting broken.

Which, incidentally, was a magnificent highlight of an otherwise miserable year. And all caught on camera too.

Wonder if the footage was still on her hard drive somewhere? Hadn’t watched it in ages .

Anyway... What the hell were Tweedle Rape and Tweedle Sleaze doing here?

DCI Rutherford had the head of the table, jaw clenched, little twitchy bit going at the side of one eye. No’ a happy Weeble. The dick Vine was in the seat beside him, looking smug and vindictive all at the same time.

Sod.

She slumped down into one of the spare chairs. ‘Sorry we’re late, Boss, Constable Quirrel had a bit of a dizzy turn, but he’s all right now. Aren’t you, Tufty?’

Tufty nodded, retreating behind Barrett’s clipboard as if that would save him. ‘Yes, Sarge. Thank you, Sarge.’

Rutherford didn’t even look at him. ‘Mr Wallace is here with his legal representative. But then you know Mr Moir-Farquharson, don’t you, Sergeant?’

She gave Hissing Sid a wee wave. ‘Sandy. You here to get this raping scumbag off?’

That got her a thin smile. ‘I don’t remember you being quite so hostile when I was representing you, Sergeant Steel.’ He held up a hand. ‘If we can take the righteous indignation and acerbic banter as read, please, some of us have other appointments.’

Dirty wee fudgemonkey.

‘Now: to business.’ He took the top off a fountain pen and laid it next to a leather-bound notebook. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Rutherford, my client is aware that a number of your officers erroneously consider the unfortunate attack on that young lady in Victoria Park yesterday to be his fault. He is here to assure you that it was not .’

The raping wee scumbag shook his head. ‘Wasn’t me.’

‘And, as your officers have a rather unsavoury track record when it comes to framing my client for crimes he didn’t commit, we’re rather keen to make sure that doesn’t happen in this instance.’

Wallace did his best to look sympathetic. It was like watching a dog hump a pillow. ‘When was this poor woman raped? Between nine and midnight, wasn’t it?’

Silence.

He shrugged. ‘Cos I was at the pictures with friends.’

‘Oh aye?’ Roberta gave him the ‘that’ll be shining’ stare. ‘And you can prove that, can you?’

Hissing Sid opened his briefcase. ‘Indeed we can, Sergeant.’ He pulled out a slimline laptop that bing ed into life at the press of a button. Twisted it around so the screen faced out into the room. Then reached over and pressed a key.

The screen filled with four sets of security camera footage — all different views of a shopping centre. Union Square from the look of it. No sound, just pictures.

Window Number One: upper level of the car park. Wallace and two blokes were getting out of a Range Rover, laughing. One of them, the fat bald one, pointed a fist at the car and the lights flashed.

They walked towards the exit.

But Wallace stopped, turned, looked right into the security camera and waved.

A line of text at the bottom of the window displayed yesterday’s date and a timestamp that ticked through the seconds as the footage played, ‘18:28:40’.

Window Number Two: upper concourse. The same three men wandered past a line of restaurants and into the cinema. More laughter. Wallace waved at the camera again.

‘18:30:16’.

Window Number Three: cinema lobby. They walked up to a man standing at a wee podium in front of the doors to the screens and handed over their tickets. Then disappeared through the doors. A small pause, then Wallace popped back into the lobby, smiled and waved at the camera. ‘18:31:25’.

Window Number Four: the same view as Number Three, only this time the timestamp read ‘21:55:04’. A crowd of people surged out through the double doors: laughing, shoving. Wallace stopped right in the middle of the flow, forcing people to walk around him. He looked right at the camera again, smiled and waved.

Hissing Sid pressed a key, freezing all the windows. ‘As you can see from the timestamps, my client was nowhere near Victoria Park at the time of the attack. You are, of course, welcome to examine the footage for yourselves. It will only confirm what we’ve told you.’

DI Vine poked a finger at his notes. ‘I’ve looked into it and the Union Square footage is correct. We’ve got witnesses confirming that Mr Wallace remained in the cinema for the duration of the film—’

A nod from Wallace. ‘All three hours of it.’

‘—and then went to Frankie and Benny’s for several drinks and dinner. They left when it closed at eleven and went to the Secret Service gentlemen’s club on Windmill Brae till one a.m.’

‘Yeah, and I went home with one of the dancers, didn’t I? Kept me up all night. Haven’t got any CCTV of that though.’ He winked at Roberta. ‘Sorry. Know you’ve got a thing for dirty pictures.’

Hissing Sid placed a sheet of paper on the table. ‘I have here a sworn statement from the young lady in question, a Miss Strawberry Jane.’

Vine poked his notes again. Dick. ‘Do you understand, Detective Sergeant Steel?’

Ooh... It was like squeezing out a pineapple suppository.

She gritted her teeth and pushed. ‘Yes, Guv.’

‘Good.’ Wallace spread his hands on the table, leaning forward. Oh, look at me, I’m so concerned. ‘I have nothing but sympathy for this poor woman. I hope you do everything in your power to catch the monster who did this.’

And how the hell were they supposed to do that when the monster was sitting right there in front of them with an airtight alibi?

Yeah, that wasn’t awkward, was it? Watching Steel eating a dirty big jobbie sandwich and having to pretend it tasted lovely. No prizes for guessing who she’d take it out on either. Him. Muggins. Alas, poor Tufty! I knew him, Horatio...

He huffed out a breath.