Иэн Рэнкин - In a House of Lies

‘Police issue?’ He watched as she gave the slightest of shrugs. ‘You think cops were involved?’

‘That’s one of the things I want you to think about. Reporting back directly to me. I’ll clear it with the officer in charge. The last thing we need right now is any more crap being tossed in our direction. Media and politicians have more or less scooped the latrine dry.’ When she stopped speaking, Fox saw it suddenly in her eyes: the fatigue from having fought too many bouts, the hope that someone would deal with this and make it all go away.

‘Leave it to me,’ he said.

There was no nod of acknowledgement or smile of thanks. Lyon just got to her feet and strode off towards the relative safety of her own office. Fox sat for a moment longer, then took his phone out and checked the news. The body had been found in Poretoun Woods, south-east of Edinburgh. That meant the MIT’s base would probably be Leith — there were only so many rooms across the country set aside for such operations. His eyes flickered over the story, taking in names and details. If Complaints had been involved, it would have been under the aegis of his predecessor, Ray Hungerford. Ray was still in the land of the living; Fox saw him at retirement parties and funerals. He checked his list of contacts, but there was no number for him.

Lowering the phone, he found himself staring at the door to the Major Crime office. They would be waiting for him to come back, ready for him to tell them he’d had a word with the boss. Instead of which, Fox stood up, pocketed his phone and headed in the direction of the outside world.

It took Fox only a few phone calls to track down Ray Hungerford. He was driving a black taxi these days, apparently, and Fox ordered the cab company to keep him where he was, on a rank on Lothian Road. The drive back into Edinburgh was slowed by roadworks on the M8 and one accident at the junction with a slip road. Fox kept the radio news on, but the media didn’t have much as yet. He listened as Stuart Bloom’s mother was interviewed. She implored anyone with information to come forward. Fox didn’t doubt many would respond to her plea, the vast majority of them attention-seekers or cranks. Some would do it with the best intentions, swamping the inquiry before it had had a chance to establish itself. He couldn’t see the major incident team welcoming him with anything other than impatience and irritation.

‘Just like the old days in the Complaints,’ he muttered to himself as the congestion ahead began to ease. Edinburgh loomed ahead, the castle on its raised volcanic platform visible for miles. Fox felt himself relax a little; he understood the city better than he did Gartcosh. He knew how it worked.

There were three taxis lined up outside the Sheraton Hotel, but one had reversed to the very back of the rank, its flashers on, hire light switched off. Fox pulled up in front of it and got out of his car. As he neared the cab, its passenger-side window slid down.

‘Keeping busy, Ray?’ he enquired.

‘You’ve put on a bit of weight, Malcolm.’

‘Okay if we talk?’

‘What about.’

‘Maybe join me in the back?’

Hungerford kept the engine running so there’d be some heating inside the cab. He settled next to Fox and the two men exchanged a handshake.

‘I’ve turned down three fares, you know,’ Hungerford complained.

‘I appreciate that. Pension not keeping you afloat?’

‘It’s my son’s cab. I’m just in charge while he’s on holiday. Gets me out of the house. You can’t still be Complaints, surely?’

‘Gartcosh these days, Major Crime.’

‘The new Big House, eh?’

‘They’ve got me looking at the Stuart Bloom case,’ Fox revealed.

‘That old chestnut. So it really is him in those woods?’

‘Looks like. The original inquiry wasn’t without its difficulties.’

Hungerford gave him a hard look. ‘Are you working as a diplomat now or something? I was always a fan of plain speaking myself.’

‘Okay then, the original case was pretty much a fuck-up from the start.’

‘There was a good man in charge,’ Hungerford countered. ‘Never heard a bad word about Bill Rawlston.’

‘The officers under him, though...?’

Hungerford puckered his mouth. ‘A prize collection of pricks, incompetents and chancers.’

‘An assessment included in your report, I don’t doubt?’

‘There wasn’t much of a report; everything was hearsay. A handful of officers probably were homophobic. Christ, it used to almost be mandatory. Friends of Bloom’s from the gay scene were hauled in for questioning and not exactly treated with kid gloves. Meantime, you had a good cop in Glasgow who wanted his son kept out of it, even though that son had to be treated as a suspect.’ Hungerford puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. ‘The two moguls meantime...’

‘Jackie Ness and Adrian Brand?’

Hungerford nodded. ‘Usual cock-measuring going on there. They had lawyers crying foul at every opportunity, journalists eager to buy drinks for anyone who might have a story to tell...’

‘Including officers from the investigation?’

‘Undoubtedly. I dare say you’ve done something similar in your time; I know I have. Guy stands you a few nice malts, maybe you start to like him and decide he merits something in return. Some cops used to get off on it — the thrill of seeing a piece in the paper that they’d had a hand in.’

‘Any names in particular.’

Hungerford considered for a few seconds. ‘All this archaeology just because the body’s been found?’

‘High hiedyins want to be confident no zombies are going to start appearing among the skeletons.’

‘And they’ve given it to you because you used to be Complaints?’

‘That’s about the size of it.’

Hungerford nodded while he contemplated. ‘All we really did was dig into the case files and then ask a few questions. It was obvious that mistakes had been made, our own lot negligent or obstructive. Not for the first time, and by no means the last.’

‘You made recommendations?’

‘There were a couple of officers we could have come down hard on if we tried. Steele, one of them was called.’

‘Let me guess — the other was Edwards.’

‘You know them?’

‘They work for ACU these days, based at Gartcosh.’

‘Well, they were just uniforms back then, but playing all sorts of games.’

‘Such as?’

‘They had spare-time jobs, mostly as security. They’d even been part of Adrian Brand’s bodyguard detail.’

‘He needed bodyguards?’

‘Rumours he’d taken money from an Irish gangster connected to the paramilitaries. There’d been a falling-out.’

‘Nothing ever came of it?’

‘Not that I know of. There was definitely something about Steele and Edwards, though — they owned top-of-the-line cars, took expensive holidays. Always the best clothes, designer watches...’

‘All on a copper’s salary.’

‘But like I say, we never quite got to them.’

‘Were they being protected?’

Hungerford offered a shrug. ‘Brand bought tables at a lot of charity dinners, wined and dined his fair share of top brass and MPs.’

Fox grew thoughtful. ‘And after you’d finished with the files...?’

‘They were sent to CCU for a look-see. Nothing came of that, so they went into storage. Whoever’s in charge now, they’ll probably be poring over them, don’t you think?’

‘If they’re on the ball.’

‘Not always the case, is it?’ Hungerford chuckled.

‘Steele and Edwards apart, anyone else of note?’

‘Bloody hell, Malc, my memory’s not what it was.’ Hungerford rubbed his jaw. ‘Mary Skelton — she was all right actually; bit of a looker and very pleasant with it. Doug Newsome — most you could say of him was he was lazy; didn’t always write his reports up with a degree of rigour.’ He paused and smiled. ‘And then there was John Rebus, of course.’