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‘Shite, too many cameras for us. Let’s get out of shot,’ said Ross, darting to one side as the Chief approached a microphone stand, bathed in harsh lights from the cameras.
Ross and the team all hustled to the side and joined the group of onlookers watching the proceedings.
The Chief cleared his throat and spoke.
‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Today’s conviction marks the end of a complex and wide-ranging investigation into the activities of former Crown Agent Finn Townsend. The weight of evidence gathered by my officers was of such a high quality that he was met with no alternative but to plead guilty to these most serious of offences, and the weight and severity of the sentence imposed by Her Ladyship will leave nobody in any doubt that Police Scotland will not tolerate corrupt practice by those in positions of power. Finn Townsend will remain in prison for very many years. I hope that this serves as a warning to those who abuse positions of trust that the Crown will be relentless in its pursuit of justice. We will use all the tactics atour disposal to bring you down, and will devote all the expertise of my officers to make Scotland and beyond a hostile environment for your activities. We also make it clear that we never stop investigating murders, and we will never give up on those that go missing …’
‘Fuck me, I like the Chief, but he can be a right corporate bastard, can’t he? Shall we piss off to the pub and let the backslapping carry on without us?’ said Ross, in a hoarse whisper that was probably almost audible in Edinburgh.
‘Funny that they didn’t mention Malky Douglas. I knew it would be old paratroopers sticking together. Did he ever clear up the link?’ said Janie.
‘Aye. Malky went full hands-up early on, and it turns out that they did some bad shit together in Northern Ireland back in the day, and Droopy used it as a sword of Damocles over his head. Crown Agent is the headline, pal. They don’t want to detract from that. Come on, let’s piss off.’ Ross looked at the phalanx of reporters and shook his head.
‘What, you don’t fancy talking to the press?’ said Norma.
‘Do I fuck. Face for radio, come on. Whistler on the Green is just around the corner, and I’m buying.’
‘What really?’ said Max.
‘Aye, I can stand you a cranberry juice, but I can’t listen to this shite. Let’s go.’ Ross turned and stomped off, his scuffed shoes clicking on the pavement.
‘Good work, team,’ said Ross as they all clinked glasses in the small pub, just a few minutes away from the court.
‘I must say, I wasn’t expecting a guilty plea,’ said Max as he sipped his cranberry juice.
‘Me neither. I thought they’d attack the search of the old Hardie place. Let’s face it, it was a little rushed,’ said Janie, drinking a gin and tonic.
‘Nah. This way he has a shot at getting out one day. Plead not guilty and he’d be screwed, and I suspect he’s not going to have the best time in there, is he?’ said Ross.
‘Happen he’ll have a miserable time. Can’t say I feel bad for the bent bugger. Nice beer by the way, cheers, Ross,’ said Barney, raising his dark beer.
‘Aye well, don’t get used to me buying you drinks. You’ve had enough largesse from Police Scotland with your free flat for four months.’
‘Aye, right comfy in there. Shame he wants it back, but weather’s getting better, so no big deal.’
‘How’s Frankie?’ said Norma, who was sitting on a bar stool, eating a bag of crisps.
‘He’s happy. Settled into Castle Huntly, and isn’t getting any grief from any of the other cons. Seems that sinking the Crown Agent has actually made him popular. He’s working at a nearby wood shop and seems to be enjoying it,’ said Janie.
‘He’ll not last. He’s a Hardie, and one day the lure of the underworld will drag him back,’ said Ross.
‘You think?’ said Max, draining his juice.
‘Aye. Once a Hardie, always a Hardie. Want another squash?’ said Ross, nodding at Max’s glass.
‘No, thanks, places to go, people to see.’ Max placed his glass down on the bar and nodded. ‘Great work, everyone.’ He smiled at the team and left the bar to cries of ‘boring bugger’.
83
MAX GOT INTOhis car in the nearby car park and was securing the seatbelt when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. Looking at the screen, he saw a familiar series of numbers and characters. He smiled and answered the call.
‘Hello, Bruce,’ he said as he put the phone into the cradle on the dash.
‘Max, am I getting obvious?’
‘Maybe a bit. I hope you have no bad news, as I’ve places to be.’ Max started the car, engaged the gears and moved away, the phone transferring into the hands-free facility.
‘None. I’ve been monitoring Frankie, as you’d expect, and I have nothing. He’s working hard, seems to have made a friend in a woman from his wood shop and all his reports are of someone wanting to do his bird easily. He’s even studying for a degree in history,’ said Bruce.
