A Taste of Ashes (DI Bob Valentine Book 2) (23 page)

‘Now look Mr Valentine, I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing.’ Brogan’s look spelled out his perplexity.

Valentine laughed aloud. ‘I bloody well bet you are.’

‘I wasn’t trying to be wide with you, just y’know, having a bit of patter.’

‘Oh, was that it? I see now. You’ll have to forgive me, because the way I heard you say pass it on to
my wee pal
, I thought you must be …’ he paused, then roared, ‘assuming I was one of the bent coppers you’re so familiar with.’

Brogan looked away. His Adam’s apple rode up and down in his thin throat. He appeared to have lost some layers of skin, only an exposed and desperate soul was left.

‘I’m not wrong, I see.’ Valentine reached out for Brogan’s vest and raised him from the sofa, his hands were two tight fists pressing on the thin man’s chin.

‘You’re hurting my face.’

‘Get used to it, the place you’re going will make a sore face your best mate, you’ll be begging for it just to get a break from having your arse split in two. Now I’m not messing here, Brogan, I’ve already told you this is a double murder investigation and I will run you in for it if you don’t give me whatever it is you’re holding, starting with the name of
my wee pal
on the force.’

‘I can’t … I told you everything I know.’

‘That bullshit about the punch-up round the back of the Meat Hangers? How much bloody use is that going to be to me? I already have Tulloch and Finnie on my radar and I know why they were booted out the army so that amounts to squat all in my book.’

‘Mr Valentine, you don’t understand, this is bigger than me, I’d be on your books too if I say any more. I shouldn’t even know what I do.’

The DI drew back a fist, he seemed ready to use it but McCormack stepped in, grabbing his arm. ‘Let me take him down, sir. He might see sense in the cells.’

Valentine threw Brogan onto the sofa and stepped away, running his fingers through his hair like it might calm him down.

McCormack spoke: ‘I’m guessing you had a visit from us after the Meat Hangers was stood over?’

‘Aye. You know that.’

‘I’m guessing it was one of Eddy Harris’s team that came to see you?’

Valentine burst in. ‘We bloody know who it was, we just need to hear him say it.’

‘Aye and you’ve said that, what’s in it for me, though?’ said Brogan. ‘I mean, if I stick my neck out you need to make it worth my while.’

‘Am I hearing this? Are you seriously going on the make, here?’ said Valentine. ‘Because if you are, Brogan, I’ll add that to the list of things I’m going to throw at you.’

‘I’m saying, it’s not easy, I’m in a position here …’

‘He’s scared, sir.’

‘He should be. But not of Norrie Leask or Eddy Harris, their days are over. Brogan, when I walk out that door, you’re walking in front of me with your hands cuffed behind your back. Now, believe it or not, that’s the facts. You’re going down with all the rest of them, whether I decide to play up or play down your involvement is entirely up to you. You have one card, you’re holding it, are you going to play it or are you going away for something like thirty years with the big boys.’

‘I’m not one of the big boys, Mr Valentine.’

‘I know that, Brogan, you’re a scrote. A bottom feeder. A recidivist of low intelligence and lower character but if you run with the big dogs you’re going to get some bloody big fleas. Now this is your last chance, Brogan, get onside with me and spare your mangy arse, or keep running with the pack that put you here.’

He stared at the television, his eyes widening and moistening. The options as Valentine had presented them appeared to have had an effect. Brogan slumped further into the sofa, his shoulders drooping towards the floor making his thin frame seem more rounded than it was. His breathing slowed, his thin lips and fragile mouth started to twitch at first, and then formed words. ‘It was Eddy Harris. I’ll make a statement if you want.’

Valentine caught McCormack smiling. He walked towards Brogan. ‘When did he call?’

‘I don’t know, last week, after the break in some time.’

‘You sound like he’s a familiar face.’

‘He’s been around the club for years.’ Brogan found a spark of energy, sat upright. ‘I hope this is going in my favour.’

‘Of course,’ said Valentine. ‘What do you mean Harris was around the club for years?’

‘I don’t know …’

‘Come on, Brogan, you’ve only just started talking, don’t ruin it for yourself.’

‘I mean, I only know what I hear. Harris was always about the club, there’d been a bit of bother with dealers in the early days but Leask got them seen to by Harris. Leask had his own dealers who paid him a kickback, they were looked after by Harris and the others got punted.’

‘So Eddy Harris was on Leask’s payroll?’

‘That’s what they say. I mean, I’m sure he was, but not just for the stuff with the dealers. He was around a lot, too much, in the end. It was like Eddy had invested in the club or something, I don’t know, he was in taking free drinks all the time and larging it up in the VIP suite. I don’t know any more than that, I really don’t, but I bet if you do some digging around you’ll find more.’

‘One last thing, Brogan, the night of the fight with Tulloch and Fin, was Eddy Harris around then?’

‘Aye, I think he was. Yeah, I remember seeing him. I’m pretty sure he went upstairs with Leask and the others when the fight got stopped. But why do you ask?’

‘I’m asking the questions, don’t get above yourself.’ Valentine nodded to McCormack. ‘Get the bracelets on him, we need to get back to the station and sort this out.’

McCormack cuffed Brogan and sat him back on the sofa. Valentine was standing before the television, poised to switch it off as she approached. ‘Sir, you don’t really think Eddy’s involved in this murder malarkey?

‘Don’t I?’

‘Come on, he’s just a bit flash, just a bent copper.’

‘Sylvia, throughout this case the one thing I’ve consistently heard is
he’s just
 … he’s just a scrote, he’s just a squaddie, he’s just a local hood. Let me tell you, there’s something bigger than all of them going on here, it’s gotten out of hand and made them all greater than the sum of their parts. Eddy Harris is involved, I don’t know how but I will find out and when I do I’ll hang him out to dry.’

Valentine reached forward to switch off the television.

‘Hang on,’ said McCormack.

‘What?’

‘Look, there on the news. It’s the chief super.’

CS Marion Martin stood on the steps of King Street station with Major Rutherford and DI Eddy Harris. There was a sprinkling of uniform and some of the murder squad behind her, in front of her was a sheet of white paper which she prepared to read from, and the television cameras.

CS Martin spoke: ‘Following the results of forensic testing today a woman has been arrested in relation to the murder of James Tulloch in his Ayrshire home. A report has been sent to the procurator fiscal detailing the evidence against Sandra Millar who is currently remanded in custody.’

‘Am I hearing right? We’ve put Sandra Millar on a murder charge.’

Martin continued reading from her script a little while longer but the words became meaningless to Valentine. When she finished she dismissed the cameras with a brief ‘no more questions’ and was ushered inside by a fawning Major Rutherford.

‘We’ve been screwed, Sylvia,’ said Valentine. ‘Bloody seriously screwed, and by our own side, too.’

As Valentine and McCormack arrived at King Street station the television staff were packing cameras into vans, winding up cables and collapsing tripods. Newspaper reporters called in their stories by phone whilst a few stray members of the public hovered about. It was an event for Ayr, if not one the town could be proud of.

Desk sergeant Jim Prentice looked up as Valentine entered the front foyer. ‘Christ almighty, Bob, leave it on its hinges, eh!’ he roared. ‘Why are you barging in here leaving Incredible Hulk shapes in the door?’

Before he had a chance to respond DS McCormack arrived with Kyle Brogan in handcuffs, she presented him at the front desk and asked Jim to book him in.

‘And what have you been up to this time, Brogan? Depriving toddlers of their lollipops again?’

‘It’s a stitch-up. I’ve done nowt.’

Valentine intervened, put an end to the speculation. ‘Accessary to robbery, for now. If he pisses me off any more you can up it to accessory to murder.’

Brogan shook his head and kicked at the counter, his temper rising with his imminent confinement. ‘You said you’d look after me.’

The desk sergeant spluttered a laugh. ‘I hope you got that in writing, Brogan. Bob’s got a tendency to let his mouth run away from him sometimes.’

‘No he’s right, Jim. I said I’d look after him, so will you put a cup of that dishwater we call tea in the cell with him.’

‘You bastard!’ yelled Brogan, but Valentine and McCormack had already moved off.

As the heavy fire door to the stairs clanged behind them Valentine imagined Jim cursing him once again, it was strange how proprietorial desk sergeants became towards the station, a form of institutionalisation no doubt. Days spent scribbling in a ledger and relaying the chief super’s demands to officers she was too lazy to contact herself was no way to spend your life.

Climbing the stairs, the DI was certain he was about to put his job on the line. So what might his next role be? It might not even be on the force. Right now, that appealed to him.

‘Slow down, sir,’ said McCormack. ‘You’ll be too out of puff to speak your mind at this rate.’

‘You’re kidding aren’t you? Dino’s office could be on the top of Ben Nevis, I’d still be spewing by the time I got there.’ He continued to pound the stairs, the slap of shoe-leather on the hard surface echoing loudly around him.

‘Think about your heart,’ yelled McCormack. ‘You’re not supposed to get overexcited.’

‘Over excited, she can count herself lucky if I don’t go off like a bloody Exocet missile.’

McCormack reached out and grabbed the detective by the hand. ‘Bob, please, I’m saying this for you, calm down.’

Valentine looked at his hand, held tight in McCormack’s, and jerked it away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her to touch him, but that he was shocked by the sentiment, the obvious concern on show.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ said McCormack.

‘It’s not that. I’m just more used to my warnings being shouted at me.’

‘Shouting isn’t going to solve anything.’

‘That sounds like something I’d say to you.’ He leaned against the wall and tugged at his tie, unbuttoned his collar. ‘Look at me, getting all worked up.’

‘You’re the one that also told me Dino doesn’t take confrontation well. I’m thinking about the case, too.’

‘I’m sorry, Sylvia, I know everyone’s put a lot of work in, it’s just that you and I both know Sandra Millar didn’t kill Tulloch.’

A brisk nod. ‘It suits Dino, though, helps her clean-up rate and keeps the army sweet, avoids a whole bunch of trouble.’

‘Ah, well …’

McCormack stepped back, steadied herself on the banister. ‘Oh, Christ, you haven’t told her about Phil and Ally’s informant, have you?’

‘I was going to do it today, after we’d seen Brogan. I didn’t bloody well expect her to call a press conference the moment I stepped out the office.’

She rolled her gaze to the ceiling. ‘Oh, God, it’s going to be worse than I thought.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Just keep my back, all right?’

‘I’ve always got your back.’

The DI proceeded to the chief super’s office, his jaw clenched tight. There was a burning sensation rising from his stomach into his chest, like he’d tried to swallow something bitter, impossible to digest. As he reached the door and eyed the brassy nameplate, he halted and drew breath. His breathing was heavy now, he tried to find a steady pattern but it was impossible.

‘Want me to knock?’ said McCormack.

Valentine shook his head, raised his fist to the door, however before he got a chance to knock he heard peals of laughter on the other side – it was enough to prompt him to grab the handle and enter unannounced.

‘Oh, hello, Bob.’ CS Martin managed to attain her most smarmy demeanour in only three words. She didn’t rise from behind her desk.

As Valentine gazed around the office he saw Major Rutherford sitting in front of Martin, a glass of something was perched on his knee, the ice inside rattled annoyingly. Eddy Harris sat nearby, looking a lot cockier than when Valentine had left him with a list of chores this morning. As the DI caught Harris’s glare he nodded and spoke, raised a glass. ‘Hello, Bob.’

Valentine withdrew his gaze but didn’t reply, instead he approached the chief super’s desk and leaned into her face. ‘Sorry to interrupt your wee soirée but I think we should have a talk, in private.’

Martin’s smile grew. ‘I’m presuming you caught the lunchtime news, Bob.’

‘You’ve made a very big mistake. Sandra Millar never killed anyone.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, Bob, we have the forensic evidence.’ She reached for a blue folder on the edge of her desk. ‘Read it and weep.’

‘I don’t care what it says, she didn’t do it.’

Martin snatched back the folder, ‘Look, the boffins found blood and tissue beneath the knife’s handle, and some of it’s Tulloch’s. And they’ve successfully matched a partial print from the same handle to Sandra Millar, that sounds like a closed case to me, Bob.’

‘Some of it? Are you saying Sandra Millar’s isn’t the only DNA on there?’

‘It’s enough to convict.’

‘Well, maybe that’s so, but I have specific evidence tying Tulloch to another suspect and testimony of police malpractice that I’d really like to raise with you in private, now, if you please.’

Martin’s face changed shape, the smile slipped away. She peered over Valentine’s shoulder towards DS McCormack. ‘Are you in on this, Sylvia?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘I had you down for a smart lassie as well,’ said Martin. ‘That doesn’t require a reply … And neither does your statement, Bob. Now, what exactly are you on about?’