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‘Crystal, ma’am.’
‘Good, I’ll need something in writing with as much detail as you can muster by end of play today, okay?’ She lowered her eyes to her computer that sat on her desk, indicating that the meeting was over.
Wakefield stood, nodded and left the office, feeling the Deputy Chief’s eyes burning into his back as he exited. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled.
‘That was quick, Miles,’ said Leo Hamilton.
‘We’re on. Craigie and his team are out of the picture, when’s your man ready to talk?’
‘As soon as you can get someone into Shotts. It’ll need to be totally under the radar, and I have to be there.’
‘When can he give us some more details?’
‘Once we have a deal signed and delivered.’
‘Leo, you’re being unreasonable here. No way will the Crown Office sign off on an immunity deal without knowing what the evidence is likely to be.’
Leo guffawed. ‘Worth a try, old man. Look, he’ll be ready as soon as it can be arranged. But remember, no Craigie, and no one associated with him. My client doesn’t trust him. He’ll be able to take you to thedeposit site, and once the body’s found you’ll know that he’s playing with a straight bat. From there, we can start to talk about the deal, and how my client protects his interests before he gives the evidence. Incontrovertible proof of who ordered the killing, and who enacted that order.’
‘Do you know who, Leo?’ said Wakefield, his voice even.
‘Being honest, no, I don’t. Davie trusts nobody, and that pretty much includes me. Once his agreement is signed and sealed, he’ll tell all. When can you get the first visit done?’
‘Two days.’
‘Who are you going to send?’
‘DS Lenny Maxwell and DC Ann Laithwaite, both very good cops. They’re used to doing complex debriefs, supergrasses and things like that.’
‘I’ve encountered DS Maxwell, he’s a sharp operator. Two days it is, which by my watch makes it Wednesday. I’ll clear my diary.’
Wakefield smirked. ‘Way I hear it, Leo, your diary is pretty empty at the moment.’
‘Well, when your biggest clients either get locked up, or mysteriously disappear from a boat in the North Sea having been sprung from jail, it does tend to affect one’s workload a tad.’ The lawyer’s voice was tight and without humour.
‘So, this is manna from heaven for you then, Leo, eh?’ Wakefield felt a smile stretch across his face, as Leo’s work had dried up since the Hardies were taken out of the picture. It was always likely that he’d be seen as toxic.
‘Not complaining. Makes a change from chasing ambulances and sorting out wills. Tell me as soon as you have a plan, but you’ll have to find a way of doing this on the downlow. Davie isn’t as influential as he once was, and you know how prisoners feel about snitches?’ Leo chuckled. ‘Snitches get stitches, or more likely in Shotts, they get a jug of boiling water laced with sugar in the puss.’
4
IT WAS Acold, crisp winter morning when Janie pulled up in the car park on the parade square at Tulliallan Police College. Max stifled a yawn as Janie silenced the strange pounding beat and weird repetitive bassline of some music that was blasting out of the big car’s speakers.
‘Thank God for that. What a bloody racket, what was it?’ said Max, looking at the pale and tired face of his work partner of the last few years.
‘Philistine. The Fall, “Eat Y’Self Fitter”. Classic stuff, didn’t you find the bassline almost hypnotic?’
‘I found it utterly shite.’
‘Yeah, but you like Radiohead, so your opinion is questionable.’
‘What’s wrong with Radiohead? You look knackered, by the way. Eyes like pish-holes in the snow.’
‘Have you looked in the mirror, sergeant? Of course I’m knackered, we’ve just spent a week with basically no sleep as our bumptious and permanently angry leader wanted us doing surveillance on a suspected bent cop, who turned out to just be bone-idle as opposed to corrupt. Anyway, to finish the music critique, Radiohead are pretentious and predictable, and did you know that both David Cameron and Nick Clegg chose Radiohead tracks for their Desert Island Discs?’ She turned to look at Max, her lassitude dissipating at the prospect of a discussion on the merits of various music genres, of which she was a self-proclaimed expert.
‘Funnily enough, no.’
‘So, your musical taste mimics dodgy Tory MPs, which practically proves you’re a Tory.’ She nodded almost in satisfaction.
