‘Oh yes,’ I laughed. ‘Has the fall-out cleared or is the place still radioactive?’
He walked me up to the head of CID’s office. It hadn’t changed a bit since it was mine, save for the photo of Paula (and bump) on the desk and a couple of very classy landscapes on the walls.
I took a guess. ‘Your mother’s work?’
He nodded. ‘That’s what she retired to Italy to do. She gives them away, you know.’
‘Literally?’
‘Well, no,’ he conceded, ‘she’s still a Viareggio. No, she sells them through a gallery in her village, when they’re easily good enough for her to get them into an outlet in Firenze and make three times the money.’
‘How does she feel about being a granny?’ I asked.
‘Ecstatic. She’s talking about moving back to Scotland. I’m doing my best to talk her out of it, but I’ve never been any effing good at that.’ He frowned, suddenly. ‘Hey, by the way, I’m sorry about you and Karen. Haven’t seen you since it happened, but . . . You know, sorry.’
‘Yeah, thanks; appreciated. Now, brief me. Bob only gave me the bare bones yesterday. What am I here to do?’
‘He said that you don’t know Jock Varley . . . Inspector John Varley?’
‘No, I don’t in any personal sense of the word. I know who he is, obviously, but we have never actually met face to face, not that I can recall.’
‘And you would,’ he snorted, ‘given your legendary memory. You’re right; he’s spent virtually all his career in uniform, while you’ve been in CID. The situation is that he has an in-law called Freddy Welsh, whose name came up in an operation that the Torphichen Place team had under way. There was a meeting between him and our target, and Varley stopped it with a phone call.’
I asked the obvious. ‘How did he know about it?’
‘His niece told him. DC Alice Cowan.’
I did know her. ‘Special Branch Alice?’
‘Not any more, she got booted off SB about a year ago for tipping off Uncle Jock about something else he was involved in. Obviously you didn’t know that.’
Actually, I did. ‘Oh shit, yes, he was that guy.’ It came back to me. I’d been in a similar situation then, an outside force officer brought in from Tayside as an objective eye, but not too objective.
‘You got it. Varley was, very briefly, a suspect in a murder investigation, but he was exonerated.’ Indeed: I had come very close to meeting him at that time. ‘He was in Livingston then, and he was moved to Gayfield afterwards, diplomatically.’
‘How seriously are we taking this?’ I asked.
Mario stared at me; he was offended. ‘Very. We don’t want you to help us rubber-stamp a cover-up here. Nothing is off the table in terms of action as far as we’re concerned. If you say at the end of the day that we should hand the whole investigation to another force, or to your agency, we will do that.’
That was what I’d wanted to hear. ‘That’s good. You want me for just the one interview, then?’
‘That’s all it was going to be,’ he said, ‘but I’ve had a rethink overnight. I saw Alice myself yesterday; she said she’d co-operate and I suspended her, pending a full hearing. But I want us both to interview her as well, again so that you’re happy with the way I’m proceeding.’
‘Fine, but there’s another officer in the chain, as I understand it. What about him?’
Mario frowned. ‘He’s being dealt with separately; I’ve taken a statement from him and I’m satisfied that he’s guilty of no more than careless talk. But I don’t want to handle the discipline. He’ll be on Maggie’s carpet later on.’
‘But shouldn’t I interview him too,’ I wondered aloud, ‘as part of this process?’
‘That wouldn’t be appropriate, Andy. It’s DC Montell, and he has . . .’ He hesitated, and I knew why.
I nodded, and said it for him. ‘He has a history with Alex. You’re right; that disqualifies me. But let’s be clear; you’re satisfied that he hasn’t done anything that could possibly be seen as criminal.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Okay, that’s enough for me,’ I said. ‘Is he suspended too?’
‘Hell no! That would have emptied the Leith CID office; Sammy Pye would have done his nut.’ He paused, his face twisting into a grimace. ‘Would you believe, I called him “Stevie” the other day? At a meeting Maggie was at, too.’
I shrugged. ‘Come on, they worked together. It’s an easy mistake to make. Plus it would show her he’s remembered.’
‘That’s what Maggie said; it didn’t stop me looking for a hole to hide in, though.’ He stood. ‘You ready to go?’
‘Sure. Downstairs?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve had Varley held overnight, down at Leith. We’ll go there.’
Bob had said no half measures when he’d asked for my help, but that took me by surprise. ‘You serious? He’s a cop and you’ve held him in custody?’
‘I’ve got grounds,’ he insisted. ‘If he wasn’t a cop, what would I have done, or what would you?’
He was right; I don’t take prisoners either.
Mario drove us down to Leith, since I’d walked the ten minutes from my place to Fettes. There are no attractive police offices in Edinburgh, damn few anywhere for that matter, but at least the building on the corner of Constitution Street and Queen Charlotte Street has the benefit of being old. It has an impressive pillared entrance and if the stone was cleaned up it wouldn’t look bad, not the best piece of architecture in the city, but the most distinguished nick, and certainly more attractive than Torphichen Place; to my eyes that’s always managed to combine age and ugliness.
We paid a courtesy call on Detective Inspector Sammy Pye as soon as we arrived. He hadn’t expected me, but he seemed pleased to see me nonetheless. He and I, and Alice Cowan for that matter, go way back, to our days in uniform in East Lothian, when I was on sabbatical from CID. He met us at the top of the stairs and led us straight into his office. Through the glass I could see the back and shoulders of Detective Constable Griffin Montell, hunched over his desk with the phone to his ear.
Yes, he did have a history with Alex (they lived next door to each other for a while) but she’d told me that it had never been serious with either of them, and that the physical side of it had ended for good when she’d discovered that he had an ex-wife and two kids in South Africa that he’d neglected to mention. However, he did once get her out of a very nasty situation, which had earned him so many bonus points with her dad . . . and with me for that matter, though I barely knew him . . . that it would take him a long time to run through them.
‘How is Griff?’ Mario asked Pye, as the DI handed him a mug of coffee.
‘He’s a mess; he’s angry, he’s feeling guilty and he’s resentful, all at the same time. He’s angry that Alice let him down, yet he blames himself for putting her in a position where she felt she had to warn her uncle; all that aside, I get the impression he’s thinking that she’s being too harshly treated.’
‘And how do you feel about that?’
Sammy frowned at me. ‘Feel about Alice? I don’t want her back here under any circumstances, not even out front in a uniform. I’m sorry if that seems hard, but . . .’
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘That was the right answer . . . not that my question was a trap. How do you feel about Montell?’
‘I’m sorry for him. I talk to my wife, don’t you?’ Words spoken can’t be recalled, as many a TV pundit has found out after thinking that his mike wasn’t live. ‘Ouch,’ he hissed.
‘That’s okay, Sam. I did,’ I acknowledged, ‘in the certain knowledge that what I said wouldn’t be all over the supermarket checkout queue next morning.’ I turned to Mario. ‘Where is Alice?’
He checked his watch. ‘She should be downstairs. She was told to report here at ten o’clock sharp.’ He drained his mug, laid it on the desk and smoothed down the lapels of his immaculate jacket. ‘Let’s go.’
I followed him out and
down to the foyer. ‘Is DC Cowan here yet?’ he asked the desk sergeant.
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied. ‘She’s waiting in interview room two, as DI Pye requested.’ I sensed a vibe coming off her. Inevitably, the suspension must have become public knowledge in the office, and the absence of detail would have led to speculation. Sides would be taken, until the full story was known, and probably afterwards. I guessed that the sergeant was leaning towards another female officer.
If Mario picked it up too, he didn’t react, not even when she added, ‘She has a Fed rep with her.’
He led the way out of reception and through to the interview rooms. He knew the place better than I did, so I tagged along like his nee’bur, as they say sometimes in Strathclyde.
Alice was standing when we walked into the room, in earnest conversation with her Police Federation representative. God, but she had changed since the last time we’d met. She’d been a fairly conservative dresser in those days, and even in CID she’d managed to make her civilian clothes look like a uniform. Her hair had been dark and simply styled, hanging down to her shoulders. She’d also been fairly well upholstered, not fat, I wouldn’t put it that way, but solidly built, if that’s not politically incorrect . . . although it shouldn’t be, since I’d say the same about a guy.
The Alice who turned to look at me was clad in what I’m told are called distressed denim jeans and a white, knitted, sleeveless top that emphasised her tanned skin, and the slimness of her arms and shoulders. Her hair was bleached blond, cut short, probably done at home from the look of it, and gathered into spiky clumps, that I guessed were held in place by gel.
The rep stuck his chin out aggressively as he stepped up alongside her. I’d seen his sort before; confrontational by instinct. He was well into his forties, and his face was familiar to me. Mario put a name to it. ‘Sergeant Gahagan,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised to see you here.’
That helped me place him; a capable officer frustrated because his career had stalled at sergeant, and who became active in the Federation as a way of gaining a little more influence, a little more authority. There are a few like him in every professional body.
The Scottish Police Federation isn’t a union as such; indeed by definition it isn’t. It was created by statute in 1919 by the same act that banned the police from membership of trade unions, to give them an acceptable . . . to the establishment of the day . . . means of voicing concerns about their welfare. It looks after all ranks below super-intendent and it’s run by serving officers, elected to full-time posts. There’s a branch structure as well and within that each force chooses a full-time local representative. Gahagan is Edinburgh’s; why they picked him, given the bag of chips on his shoulder, heaven only knows.
‘Don’t know why you should be,’ he snapped. He thought his position entitled him to leave out the ‘sir’. ‘Detective Constable Cowan is entitled to Federation support, and I’m entitled to sit in on this interview, which I fully intend to do, otherwise it won’t take place.’
Inwardly, I moaned. The idiot was waving a red flag in the face of the bull that is Mario McGuire. He might have thought he was armed with the sword of justice, but it was going to be as much use to him as a strand of wet linguine, cooked just past al dente. I decided to save him.
‘That would be the case,’ I told him, ‘if this was purely a disciplinary matter. But it isn’t. You know who I am, Sergeant?’
‘Yes, Mr Martin,’ he replied.
‘And that I’m now a senior officer in an outside agency?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what . . . Sergeant?’ I murmured.
His body language altered, subtly; his posture became just a little defensive. ‘Yes, sir,’ he grunted. He resembled a man crossing a lively stream on stepping stones, not sure if he was going to reach the next one or take a dip.
‘The fact that I’m here, and that I’ve been asked by the chief constable to be here, should indicate to you that this isn’t an ordinary disciplinary hearing. It’s part of a wider inquiry into a crime that may have been committed and DC Cowan is a potential witness. I can understand why she asked you to be here . . .’ I paused as a possibility ran itself past me. ‘You did ask Sergeant Gahagan to attend, Alice?’
‘Actually, sir,’ she replied, ‘I didn’t; he volunteered. I think it was Griff who called him.’
I’ll swear I heard a hungry growl from McGuire, beside me. ‘Do you want him to remain?’ I went on. ‘Even though he’s got no locus here, I’d be prepared to allow it, provided that he says nothing without invitation, and agrees not to reveal anything he may hear.’
‘No, sir,’ she declared firmly. ‘Since I’m going to be talking about my uncle, I’d rather he wasn’t here. That’s what I was saying to him when you came in. Besides . . .’ She peered into the bag that was slung over her shoulder, then withdrew a white envelope and handed it to Mario. I looked in her eyes; they were clear and calm.
‘What’s this?’ he asked as he took it. I glanced at it and noticed that the letter ‘R’ was printed on it.
‘It’s my resignation. I reckon I should beat the system to the punch, if you’ll accept it, that is. I’ve got some pension accrued, and I’d like to keep it.’
‘I understand,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry, Alice. I’ll take this, but whether it’s accepted or not . . . that’ll be the chief constable’s decision.’
‘Hold on a minute,’ Gahagan protested. ‘There’s no need for that, Constable Cowan.’
She turned on him. ‘Of course there is,’ she snapped. ‘I know it and you know it, or you would if you were halfway to being a decent cop. Now please go away.’
Gahagan picked up his briefcase from the table. ‘I won’t forget this,’ he muttered, glaring at McGuire.
‘Neither will I,’ the big guy promised. ‘You won’t always be a full-time Fed rep, Sergeant, so be very careful who you try to threaten from now on.’
Silence followed him to the door, but it didn’t end with his departure. Cowan stood, backlit by the sun streaming through the small window behind her, with her eyes on me at first, then switching to Mario, then back to me. She wasn’t quite sure who was taking the lead, and at that moment, neither were we.
McGuire ended the impasse by walking round behind her and adjusting the venetian blind to give us complete privacy. ‘Sit down, please,’ he said, drawing a chair out from the table and offering it to her.
She made herself comfortable, and he and I settled down opposite her. There was a dual deck recorder on Mario’s right, with two blank CDs still in their boxes. He unwrapped each one and loaded the machine. ‘Ready?’
‘No.’
‘What’s the problem? Would you like water, a coffee? A lawyer, even?’
She smiled, as if he’d said something funny. ‘None of the above, thanks.’ She delved into her bag once more and produced a second envelope, marked ‘S’. ‘That’s my written statement,’ she announced, pushing it across the desk and leaning forward, shoulders hunched.
‘It’s all I’m prepared to say on the record, so I thought I’d save us all some time by getting it down in advance. It says that DC Montell told me on Wednesday evening, at his flat, that he had to go out for a while. He said that he was sitting in on an operation as a substitute for DS McGurk, who had an important personal appointment. I asked him what it involved, casually, with no specific interest. He said that he and Sauce Haddock were staking out a meeting in a pub between a man called Kenny Bass, and another called Freddy Welsh. Both names were known to me. Bass had been mentioned in connection with another inquiry, about six months ago, but he wasn’t involved, so I never had cause to meet him. But I had met Welsh, socially, several times over the years, most recently at a party in my Uncle Jock’s house a year or so back. He’s a relation of my Aunt Ella, Jock’s wife.’
‘And you phoned your uncle,’ I said. I needn’t have interrupted her, but I wanted to remind her that she was in an interview situation whether she thought so or
not, and to exercise a degree of control.
‘Yes, sir, I did.’
Mario stepped in. ‘Why?’
‘My written statement explains that. I had no idea that Inspector Varley would act on what I told him. I passed it on as a piece of family gossip, no more. Obviously, I’m now sorry I did it. The statement includes an apology to the team involved in the Bass operation and also to the chief constable for bringing the force into disrepute. I know that won’t save my job, but I feel it should be there.’
‘You’re right on both counts, DC Cowan,’ I told her. ‘Now, what do you want to say to us off the record?’
Still hunched forward, forearms on the desk, she looked up at me, eyes hooded. ‘What makes you think I do?’
‘I know you, Alice. And so does Mr McGuire. You’re not the sort who gossips.’
‘I did once.’
‘Yes,’ Mario snapped, ‘and Neil McIlhenney and I booted you off Special Branch as a result. You’re not stupid, so please don’t imagine that I am. I don’t buy the notion of you making the same mistake again, on the basis that it was family gossip. It was more than that last time, so come on. We’ll do this off the record for now, if you like, but we do it. Otherwise I hand you back your letter of resignation and you go down the full formal dismissal route, plus I rip up your statement, we caution you formally and I switch the recorder on.’
She sighed and sat back in her chair, running her fingers through her spiky hair. ‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘Off the record.’
‘That’s better. So, why did you call Jock?’
‘I wanted to tell him about Freddy Welsh. The truth is, I didn’t want him to have any nasty surprises if Griff and Sauce wound up lifting his wife’s cousin. I expected him to warn Auntie Ella, not bloody Welsh.’
Funeral Note Page 9
