47
Sometimes it feels like they don’t want him to be successful. They want a result – not the right result. You can either chase statistics or you can be a proper copper. Only rarely and co-incidentally do those two styles of policing overlap. That’s Fisher’s belief, anyway. There’s a uniformed cop downstairs who got a commendation for the high number of arrests he made. Fisher loathes the boy. Not his fault that he got the pat on the head from the bosses, but look at the arrests. Most were very minor, some the sorts of things he shouldn’t have been wasting his time on. Sure, people like it when you arrest a vandal or a drunk-and-disorderly, but it makes little difference to the big scheme. The big scheme means taking dealers off the street. They can’t supply the junkies, who then don’t go breaking into houses and mugging people to pay for the habit. You go for the big fish so that they can’t corrupt further down the chain. That’s what he’s always tried to do. But they keep stopping him.
He’s going to explode soon, you wait and see. Someone’s going to say something that sets him off. It’ll be a brief flash of anger, it always is with Fisher. Nobody in the office cares much for that; it’s the couple of days of silent rage that follow that bothers them. There’s a bit of bustle around the place, people in and out. A woman’s been found dead in her house. Wasn’t raped or burgled, and her on-off boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Looks like the on-off boyfriend is going to be answering a lot of awkward questions when they catch up with him. That’s why there’s a bunch of cops buzzing all over that case. Of course they want to catch a dangerous man, but there’s ambition there, too. It should be an open-and-shut case. They want their name on it. They know this will resolve itself quickly, and they want to be associated with that. Nobody wants long-standing open cases with their name attached. Nobody wants a case that runs away from them and is taken out of their hands. Nobody wants to be where Fisher is right now. No new evidence to suggest that McClure didn’t kill Scott and then himself.
He was called into DCI Reid’s office. He was told that the Scott McClure investigation was being wound down. Not officially closed, but essentially abandoned. Too many men wasting valuable time on a dead investigation. Their skills, such as they are, required elsewhere. This is murder-suicide. Put it to a coroner, present the evidence and he’s going to record murder-suicide. Let him. End the active investigation; let the families put it behind them. Fisher didn’t point out that they seemed to have already done that. The lack of family interest in both dead men was horrible. Unusual, although not unheard of. You pick up bodies that have no family to care about them. You find the next of kin and you inform them. Their greatest concern is the expense of a funeral. It can be unpleasant. The families won’t care about this investigation shutting down. They’ll accept the murder-suicide, and they’ll get on with life. They won’t put pressure on for further investigation. Neither will the media. No headlines for a couple of street dealers. It would take outside pressures to get a case like this energized again.
It won’t get pressure from Fisher, either. Other priorities. Priorities like Frank MacLeod. The lying, cheating bastard Frank MacLeod. Fisher followed him. Followed him all the way to Peter Jamieson. A set-up, to either humiliate or endanger him. Or maybe old Frank is trying to keep all his options open. Play every string on the fiddle at once. That wouldn’t be a surprise, either. Not with a guy like Frank. There could still be a chance. He just has to make sure Frank knows that he only has one option. It helps if Frank likes him, but it’s not necessary. It helps if your contact wants to give you info, but forcing him is better than losing him. How do you play hard with a man like Frank? A man who’s seen every hard tactic in the book. Anyone can be scared. That’s the key. All those old guys are obsessed with holding on to life. The fear of losing it is the key. Make him believe that the only person who can keep him breathing is Fisher. Make yourself his only option.
He’s in his car, driving round to Frank’s house. No more sitting outside the house watching the hours rush away. He has to take action or see this all fall through his fingers. He’s not going to let another chance go. You spend years getting good results, doing your job the right way. You have a couple of failures, and people start to point the finger. They think you don’t have it any more. He’s been guilty of that himself in the past. He knows how it works. A cop getting older – you start to question their ability to close a case. Are they still in touch with modern crime and policing techniques? Do they still have the hunger? Some do lose it. They’ve done their bit, now they’re looking towards the end. He’s not that kind of cop. His ending will be forced on him, he knows it. The hunger’s still there, but nothing is falling his way.
Sitting outside Frank’s house. His car’s there, which suggests the old man’s still at home. Fisher’s looking up and down the street as he gets out of his car. Doesn’t seem to be anyone about. Nobody sitting in a car watching. Up to the front door, knocking. Takes about twenty seconds for Frank to open. His eyes have betrayed his shock.
‘Hello, Frank.’
‘Come in,’ Frank’s saying. There’s a roughness in his voice. That betrays him, too. He doesn’t want anyone seeing him meet the copper. Doesn’t want Jamieson knowing that they’ve met. This suggests that it isn’t a set-up, that Frank really is on the outside. He’s meeting people to check his options. Now there’s a real chance of landing him.
Frank’s led him through to the living room. Fisher’s taking a seat without waiting for an invite to do so. Frank’s watching him, obviously trying to pick his words.
‘Can I ask why you’re here?’ he’s asking, sitting opposite Fisher. Always so polite. That’s rather old-school, a charming generational difference. These days, most people would curse Fisher for turning up unannounced.
‘I want to talk to you,’ Fisher’s saying.
‘I thought I made it clear that I wasn’t going to talk to you.’ A slightly harsher tone this time. Making it clear that he doesn’t appreciate the visit. He doesn’t need to come out and say it, though. Fisher’s not dumb; he knows the risk for Frank. Frank understands what this is. Lives at risk; pressure being piled upon pressure.
‘I want to make it clear that you need to talk to me. I think you’re out of options. You may not realize it, but you are. I’m the last show in town. I may not be much, but I’m it. You can go running to other people if you want. Try and ingratiate yourself with a new bunch of crooks. Maybe try and cling on to Jamieson, like some pathetic love-struck teenager. How do you think any of them would react if they knew about our meetings?’
Frank’s laughing. Sitting there and laughing in Fisher’s face. Not the response the detective was expecting.
‘I didn’t realize I was quite so funny,’ Fisher’s saying, looking for an explanation.
‘Oh, you are. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here. This is your last roll of the dice. You’re desperate, so you’re putting the pressure on. Coming here to lean on me. You’re the police equivalent of muscle. You really think I can’t see how desperate you are?’ The laughter has gone from his voice now. More serious, more challenging.
Fisher’s frowning back at him. Nobody wants to be told how desperate they are, even if it’s true. A cop like him can’t afford to have it be so obvious to others. ‘This isn’t a question of me. This is a question of you. I’m beginning to wonder if you realize the situation you’re in.’
Frank’s laughing at him again. ‘You think I don’t know where I am? I know. Trust me, I know. It doesn’t look good for me. I understand that. You want me to think that you’re the only person who can save me.’
This is becoming pointless. Fisher’s standing up. ‘Listen,’ he’s saying. ‘I want you to understand what I’m going to do. I’m not letting you off the hook, no way. Not after everything you’ve done with your life. You have two days to call me and tell me that you want to get on board. You do that, and I protect you. I find you somewhere safe to live; I make sure you don’t get prosecuted. You don’t do that, and I make a few phone calls. I know I can’t get you for myself. I’d love to put you in the dock, but that’s not going to happen. Thing is, people like Peter Jamieson don’t need the same weight of evidence I do. He can find you guilty on a whim. One call from me, and I’m pretty sure he will.’
Fisher’s walking to the door, letting himself out. He feels like shit. He feels like a criminal. Threatening a man with murder. Doesn’t matter what the man’s done, who he is. You start lowering yourself to this level and you’ve lost. Maybe he’s already lost. The Scott McClure case has withered and died in quick time. Frank’s going to escape him, he knows it. He’s going to lose again.
Frank’s standing at the living-room window, watching Fisher drive away. Didn’t think the little bastard had it in him. Ballsy thing for any cop to do. Desperate, though. Pathetically desperate. Fisher looks less and less like a man to be afraid of. The man to be afraid of is Jamieson. Maybe Fisher will call him, but Frank doubts it. Not that kind of cop. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
The meeting with Jamieson has been on his mind constantly. It almost doesn’t matter how much Jamieson knows. Their conversation was so awkward. It was more like two old enemies than two old friends. Frank’s seen it before. Seen most things before. Never been on the receiving end, though. It’s the talk you have when you’re so far on the outside that you become a threat. The old employee who knows too much. Who has to be silenced. Seen that before. Done the silencing. He’s been kidding himself, pretending that this wouldn’t happen to him. That his relationship with Peter Jamieson was different from the rest. It was always going to happen. Gunmen don’t get happy retirements. Nobody gets to walk away.
