The Unburied Dead (30 page)

'You know Ian Healy is wanted in connection with the murder of a woman and two police officers?'

He nods. Course he knows.

'We're just following up on all of his clients from the past couple of years. See what we can find.'

'Very thorough,' he says. Voice drips. What would I have to lose by punching this bloke in the face? Apart from, obviously, my job, and possibly my freedom for a few months?

'If all your affairs are handled by Harper, McCalliog and Brown, why did you go to a small time lawyer like Healy to deal with the rape charge?'

Stares down his nose at me.

'It was a delicate matter,' he says, voice thinner than cat gut. Looks at his watch.

'It was also a pretty big matter. A rape charge from one of your employees. Aren't Harper, McCalliog and Brown competent to deal with big matters?'

His teeth clenched behind pursed lips. Jaw pulses.

'The law may be black and white to you Sergeant, but there are some matters which you clearly don't understand.'

Right, that's it. Fuck this guy; fuck subtlety. Any more of that and I'm arresting the prick.

'Listen.' Lean forward. His head moves an inch or two back. 'I don't give a fuck about your sordid little rape. We know you raped the little fucker, we know you were arrested by Chief Inspector Crow, and we know you went to Healy because you found out he was a man who could deal with Crow. Money exchanged hands, Crow screwed up intentionally, and you walked.'

He starts to object, but I'm rolling.

'Fucking shut it. I don't care about your rape. I don't care about the pay off, about any of it. I'm worried about Healy. The guy's a murderer, we need to catch him. I just need from you everything you can tell me about him. That's it. Where you got his name, if you know why there's a connection between him and Crow. You can tell me now, or else there are certain people who can find out about your dodgy fucking dealing with serial killers.'

Say it all in about three seconds. Feels good. That's the thing about the police sometimes. You can let rip and they have to sit there and listen.

He fidgets. Fingers some papers which are lying on his desk. Toying with the idea, I suspect, of calling up some big cheese arsehole on the force that he plays bridge with on a Tuesday, and telling him to get the low-life cretin of a sergeant off his hands.

Fixes me with the look.

'I took it to Harper. He deals with my business.' That'll be Harper of Harper, McCalliog and Brown, presumably. Not Joe Harper, once of Aberdeen and Hibs. 'When he heard the name of the policeman involved, he said he had a reputation. That we might be able to deal with him. However, he didn't think it would be appropriate for Harper, McCalliog and Brown to get involved.' I bet he didn't. 'They mentioned the name of Ian Healy.'

'And you know why Healy and Crow were able to do business together? Was there a history?'

Looks smug. Not getting any more.

'Businesses trust me to run their affairs and to take care of their money, Sergeant. They don't need to know how I do it, or my relationship with others in the banking world. I don't see that lawyers and policemen are any different, do you?' Point taken, but he continues to spell it out because he likes the sound of his own voice. 'I know nothing of the way these men work. I paid the money, I was released from that ridiculous and wholly unfounded charge.'

Class dismissed. The look says it all.

'Did you deal with Ian Healy on any other matters?'

'No Sergeant, I did not, and I must say I'm finding all of this rather tiring. I am a busy man, Sergeant, so if you wouldn't mind taking your leave.'

Don't know how she knows, but the Germanic weightlifter in a skirt appears at the door and stands there waiting for the uninvited guest to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Have to accept defeat. I can't possibly arrest them both, no matter how much I'd like to. Stand up.

'Just don't think of going anywhere in case we need to speak to you again.'

His face starts to go red. With anger. Hit the mark.

'As it happens,' he says, and you can hear him struggling to control his voice, 'I'm taking my wife to Austria tomorrow night to spend New Year in Vienna.'

We stare each other down. Like in a movie. Man stuff, and a complete load of shite it is too. Decide against annoying him further and retreat slowly from the office.

Out into the freshness of afternoon. The snow in the centre of town has turned to slush, but it still lies on the roofs. Low cloud and cold. Looks like it might snow again.

Grab a burger, having had a totally unsatisfactory sandwich on the way there, then head back to the office. Some time after three when I walk in. Taylor's in his office, feet on the desk, staring at the ceiling. Wonder if he's found our man. Should know better.

'Hard at work?' I say as I walk in.

Takes his feet down, straightens up.

'You're a fucking idiot, aren't you, Hutton?'

'What'd I do now?'

Looks at me. I should know. Realisation kicks in. Didn't take the wanker long to get on the phone.

'Be subtle. Remember that instruction?'

'The guy was an arsehole. He was lucky I didn't… I don't know, kick fuck out him.'

'Nevertheless, even though you elected not to do that I still had Miller in here like a fucking tornado. Seemed to think it was my fault.'

'Well, if you can't control your staff,' I say, with that cheeky grin I nicked from Ally McCoist.

'Fuck off.'

Puts his feet back on the desk.

'Well, before you offended the delicate banker, did he tell you anything?'

'Nothing much. He was put onto Healy by his solicitors, Harper, McCalliog and Brown.' Taylor raises his eyebrows at the name. 'Said that he was known as someone who would do business with the police. But that's it. Or at least, that was all he was saying. Waste of time, I suppose. Still, I enjoyed annoying him.'

'Great, Hutton. Well, you can go and annoy Miller now, 'cause she wanted to see you when you got in.' Looks across the desk at me. 'You've been in there a few times in the last week. You're not shagging her are you?'

'I am as a matter of fact.'

He snorts. 'Aye, you fucking wish.' Stares at the floor, runs a hand through tired hair. 'Might have a go at it myself,' he says, 'now I've no reason not to.'

Quick change of subject.

'What about Bloonsbury,' I ask. 'You see him?'

'Aye, I did,' he says.

'And?'

'Don't know. He was drunk.'

'You ask him about Crow?'

'Aye. Got nowhere. Just started muttering about him being a useless bastard. The usual drunken ravings.'

'And the Addison case. You mentioned we knew about that?'

'Told me to fuck off and mind my own business,' he says, shaking his head. 'Don't know what the hell we can do. Maybe bring him in, lock him up and deprive him of drink for a couple of days. But it's Jonah Bloonsbury, for God's sake. Don't think Miller would go for it.'

'You're in charge of the investigation.'

'I'm sure there's a line in the sand, Sergeant, and arresting Jonah Bloonsbury'll be some way on the other side. We're just going to have to get our information from other sources.' He rubs his hand across his forehead. Looks tired. 'Right, Hutton, away and take Charlotte across her desk, or whatever it is the two of you do in there.'

'Right,' I say. 'See what I can do.'

He smiles as I walk out the room. Across the office, nod at Morrow, knee deep in documents. Wonder what Taylor's got him looking at now. Knock on Miller's door, walk in. She looks up, doesn't offer me a seat.

'Just had Jonathan Montague on the phone,' she says. Tongue coiled. About to unleash. Make a snap decision.

'Why didn't you wake me up today?'

'What?' she says, surprised. Annoyed at me for talking back. Like I'm in primary school.

'You left me sleeping and came into work. Knew I'd be late. What the hell d'you do that for? And putting my phone on silent? What the fuck was that?'

Doesn't answer. Stares back across the office. See her look behind me to make sure the door's closed.

'You do not go into the offices of people like Jonathan Montague and start mouthing off,' she says eventually. Ignoring me. Daring me. 'Especially not on ridiculous charges like the one you took to him.'

Feel stupid, but have to fight anger at the same time.

'And what was all that about DCI Crow?' she says.

'It's still not right,' I say, choosing to employ her tactic of ignoring an awkward question. 'You may have put Taylor in charge, but you're not volunteering the information on you and Constable Bathurst…'

'You're not volunteering what makes you think that,' she fires back.

What can I say to that? That I drove down to her house on Friday night like a lovesick little puppy. It's bad enough feeling pathetic, never mind everyone else knowing about it.

'I thought so,' she says to my next bout of silence. 'Don't think you're getting any special favours, Sergeant,' she adds with bite, 'there's plenty more where you came from.'

Won't have to open the door when I leave. Just crawl under it.

Stare each other down for a few seconds more. Another binge of testosterone pumping – just this time there's a lot more of it in her than in me. Nothing else to be said. Turn to go. Wonder if she'll say something to my back, but she doesn't. Open the door and out into the freedom of the main office. Breathe the fresh air. Like stepping from a lift you've been trapped in for ten hours. Escaping a straitjacket.

Walk back to my desk wondering what other no-hope lead I can follow up, and why it is that Charlotte Miller has so quickly turned against me? Look at the watch. Less than twelve hours since she was glad I'd been around the past few days.

Part of the game. And if she called up tonight and ordered my attendance at her bedside, would I have the guts to refuse?

Tuesday evening, on my way out the office. Contemplate leaving without checking in with Taylor, but decide I'd better. Find him in the ops room, leaning back against a desk, staring at the photographs on the wall of Herrod, Ann Keller and Evelyn Bathurst.

There's nothing to say. I stand beside him for a while, looking at the pictures in companionable and grotesque silence. The door is closed, we can't hear anything of what is going on outside. Absurdly, it feels peaceful.

'I need to get some sleep,' I say eventually.

He nods. Still nothing to say. Engrossed, but acknowledging that it's all right for me to leave.

'You should too,' I say, and he doesn't reply.

I almost pat him on the shoulder, but then remember that it's not my place, then head towards the door.

'On your way home can you call in and see Sergeant Harrison?'

He turns to look at me as I'm at the door. He reads the look on my face.

'She phoned in this morning,' he says. 'It was definitely her, so I don't think there's anything happened to her.'

I give him the
what the actual fuck?
look.