‘When can we go there?’

  ‘In the summer,’ she replied, ‘I told you.’

  ‘Why not Easter?’

  ‘We’ve been through this, son. This is your last year at primary. Next year you’ll be at high school. It’s a whole different level and we want you to be completely prepared for it. In our view that means staying home and doing some schoolwork right through the holidays. You know your maths aren’t great; we have extra tuition arranged for the holiday period.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Mum!’ the boy exploded. ‘It’s only maths! I want to be a soldier. Maths isn’t important.’

  ‘Jazz,’ Sarah gasped, laying down the knife she had been using to slice vegetables. ‘That language doesn’t come into this house.’

  ‘Tell Dad that!’

  ‘Enough!’

  ‘Sorry, but it’s true. Maths isn’t that important.’

  ‘Sorry, but it is. Do you want to be a leader or a follower?’

  ‘I want to be an officer,’ he muttered.

  ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘there are academic requirements, whether you apply for the Sandhurst military academy straight from school or go with a university degree. Either way, I think you’ll find that maths is important.’

  ‘How would you know?’ her son challenged

  ‘When I was in med school in the US I had a boyfriend who was going to West Point, the American equivalent of Sandhurst, after he graduated. He was doing a maths degree. It’ll be much the same here.’ She paused. ‘Jazz, what’s with the attitude?’ she asked. ‘This isn’t you.’

  ‘Who am I then?’ he shot back.

  She reached out and ruffled his hair. He made a half-hearted effort to push her hand away. ‘You’re my boy,’ she whispered. ‘But a version of him I haven’t seen before. What’s wrong, kid?’

  ‘I want to go to Spain for Easter. I could go on my own. I could take the train even if I couldn’t fly.’

  ‘You know none of that’s going to happen. Come on now, what’s up?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum,’ he sighed. ‘I just feel . . . strange? Mum, the man in the wood: do you know who he was yet?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ve done my part. I’ve sent bone samples off to the police lab; they’ll try to build a DNA profile. Once they’ve done that it’ll be run through all the available databases to see if there’s a match.’

  ‘Will they be able to do that?’ Jazz asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ his mother admitted. ‘The thing is, he’s been there for so long that it might predate the earliest DNA data storage. We’re at the fingers-crossed stage, I’m afraid.’

  ‘If you can’t get a match, is there any other way of identifying him?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The crime-scene team are still looking at the site, going over it inch by inch, but last I heard they hadn’t found anything that’ll help.’

  ‘So we might never know who he was?’

  ‘It’s possible.’ She gazed at him. ‘Jazz, is that what’s getting to you? Seeing the remains? I know, son, you’re very young for something like that.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I’m not. Bones are bones, that’s all. But the thought of him having been somebody once, then being left there for so long that he’s become nobody. That’s not right, Mum. It makes me angry. And I don’t like being angry.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. When I’m angry, it’s like I’m somebody I don’t know. And I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all. I hope they catch whoever buried that man, and stick him in the ground for thirty years, until people forget who he ever was. See how he likes it!’

  Sarah looked at her son, standing eye to eye with her even though he was still short of his teens, a smaller but fast-growing version of another, and a frisson of fear ran through her. ‘Like father . . .’ she whispered.

  Thirty-One

  ‘This is a bit of a change from London,’ Becky Stallings observed, ‘but I suppose the location for command-rank officers makes sense: midway between Glasgow and Edinburgh.’

  ‘But still a long way from Aberdeen and Inverness,’ Deputy Chief Constable Mario McGuire countered. ‘The first chief constable of the national force made the choice. He didn’t hang around too long but the rest of us have been living with it ever since.’

  ‘You don’t like being here?’

  ‘I don’t mind it. The majority of the assistant chiefs live in Glasgow, and the new chief’s wife fell in love with a massive apartment overlooking the River Tay in Perth, so there’s no groundswell demanding change.’

  ‘What if Bob Skinner had been the first chief constable?’ Stallings asked.

  McGuire grinned. ‘In that unlikely event, he’d still be in post and we’d all be in Edinburgh, either in the Fettes office that was the HQ of the old force or in another building, acquired and refurbished for the purpose. Bob would have insisted that if he wanted to see the First Minister, he shouldn’t need to leave the city to do it. That’s to say, that would have been his excuse. He loves Gullane too much ever to leave it. If he did, the primary school would probably collapse.’

  ‘His wife’s not pregnant again, is she?’

  ‘Not that I know of, but wee Dawn, their youngest, is still in nappies.’

  ‘Did you know it was her older brother that found the remains at Black Shield Lodge on Sunday?’

  ‘No, I did not,’ the DCC exclaimed. ‘He told me they were having a party up there for Ignacio’s twenty-first but I didn’t know the date. Which older brother are we talking about? Nacho? Mark?’

  ‘Neither. James Andrew. He was in the process of showing Haddock a clean pair of heels on a morning run, when he came upon it.’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me. Jazz is a growing boy. Bob told me he struggles to keep up with him himself. Was he running?’

  ‘Only in that he had fifty quid on the youngster to be home first,’ Stallings said. ‘Anyway, Mario, that’s how Sauce came to be involved in the inquiry, until it was decided that he should step aside. He was on the scene, so he had to take charge.’

  ‘I might have left him in charge,’ McGuire murmured.

  ‘But he has a personal connection to the crime scene. He raised the issue himself.’

  ‘Yes, because he was honour-bound to point it out. But the connection is actually Cheeky’s and even then the estate’s being run by Cameron’s widow. He could have stayed on as SIO.’

  Stallings pursed her lips, frowning at him. ‘McClair’s perfectly competent. I’ve read her HR file; it’s impressive.’

  ‘Sure, but she’s . . . It’s maybe not the time to give her that kind of exposure. That’s my concern.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because she’s been through the emotional wringer over the last year or so; the business with her ex-husband and her boyfriend. Then . . .’ He paused. ‘This thing you’re bringing to me now. The texts that she and Bob’s mate Xavi have had, and the thought that they might be from Matthew Reid. Look, you were scarcely in the door from the Met when that stuff was happening, and because of that both Sauce and Lottie Mann were reporting directly to me, so you weren’t to know this, but Noele and Matthew Reid were friends. In fact, on one recent occasion they were more than friends. When he disappeared and we were uncertain about his status . . . had he drowned himself or was he alive? . . . she disclosed the fact to Sauce. That’s how he was able to get hold of Reid’s DNA after he’d made a determined effort to eradicate all traces before he disappeared. The only people who know that are Noele, Sauce, me, the nurse who took the intimate samples for testing, and Arthur Dorward.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Mario,’ Stallings exclaimed. ‘Even so, though, that doesn’t connect to Black Shield Lodge in any way.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t,’ McGuire agreed. ‘But she is still vulnerable, and maybe not right for an SIO role. I’m sorry, Becky, this is down to me. You’re her line manager and I should have told you.’

  ‘What should I do about the texts?’

  ‘Treat the second one in the same way that Noele handled hers, and from what you’ve told me Sauce has done that already. Since he’s not involved in the Perthshire inquiry he can take over these mystery texts and find out who’s behind them, that’s assuming they are connected and not just a big coincidence. In the meantime, put the brakes on Lottie before she winds up the National Crime Agency by asking for arrest warrants. Let’s keep this strictly in-house for now.’

  ‘Do you want me to take McClair off Black Shield Lodge?’

  ‘Not unless Matthew Reid turns up as a suspect there too.’ He paused, gazing at her eyebrows raised. ‘For the avoidance of doubt,’ he said, ‘that was a joke!’

  Thirty-Two

  ‘How much longer will we have to stay here?’ Jackie Wright asked.

  Noele McClair smiled as she glanced around the suite. ‘Are you missing the comforts of home?’

  ‘A one-bedroom flat in Polwarth? Not exactly, but I don’t see that there’s much more we can do here.’

  ‘You’re probably right. Until we have an identification, we don’t really have a victim, and until we have a victim, we don’t really have an investigation. There is no starting point. We could all spend the rest of the year reading back issues of the Courier and the Perthshire Advertiser and get no further.’

  ‘It’s your call, boss. Should we stay or should we go?’ Wright sang, delving into her extensive musical reservoir.

  ‘Any more of that and we’re definitely going,’ the DI sighed. ‘Okay, unless the situation develops during today, we move back to Edinburgh tomorrow morning.’

  ‘In the meantime, back to the Courier and the PA for Tiggy and me?’ She glanced across at DC Benjamin, who was silent in her window seat.

  ‘No,’ McClair said, ‘for all three of us. If I stay here, all I’ll be able to do is watch the cadaver dogs at work. So far all they’ve turned up is a dead badger. Jackie, you do Perth; we’ll do Dundee. But first,’ she declared, ‘let’s grab some more of the complimentary coffees.’ She crossed to the Nespresso machine, selected three capsules, then waited as they were dispensed into clear glass cups. Adding milk to hers and Benjamin’s she joined her seated colleagues. ‘Don’t get used to me making the coffee,’ she warned. ‘Exceptional occasion, exceptional circumstances.’

  The trio sat for a few moments, until Wright broke the silence. ‘How long have you been a cop, Noele?’ she asked, quietly.

  McClair frowned as she made the calculation. ‘Thirteen years. Why?’

  ‘I’ve been eleven. When you joined what do you reckon the odds were against three female CID officers being sat together like this, DI, DS, DC, the only ones in the team?’

  The reply was immediate. ‘I can only speak for the Strathclyde force, but they’d have been astronomical. In fact, there wouldn’t have been odds, cos it just wouldn’t have happened. But that was Glasgow, the last male bastion. Was it different in Edinburgh?’

  ‘Not at all. When I was a new plod, I can only remember Maggie Steele in CID, Maggie McGuire as she was then, when she was married to big Mario.’

  ‘You mean the DCC?’ Benjamin exclaimed. ‘He was married to the last chief? I never knew that. What happened?’

  ‘It didn’t work,’ Wright replied. ‘That was all. At the time some said it was proof you couldn’t have two detectives in the same marri—’ She stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Oh my,’ she gulped. ‘I forgot, you and Terry were, Noele.’

  ‘Yes, but we were living proof of that theory. We didn’t work either.’

  ‘But only after he’d left the job,’ Wright pointed out.

  ‘That’s a technicality. Detective Inspector Coats was a cheating shit, and I should have binned him years before I did. Yes, there is truth in that belief, Jackie.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ she conceded, ‘but I heard later that big Mario sleeping with his cousin, Paula Viareggio, drove the final nail into the coffin that the marriage was buried in. And remember that Maggie went on to marry Stevie Steele.’

  ‘Who?’ Benjamin asked.

  ‘Detective Inspector Steven Steele,’ Wright replied.

  ‘What happened to that marriage?’

  ‘It proved the theory in a different way. An IED behind a door, poor sod,’ McClair murmured. ‘Even I know that story, and I’m a newcomer. Here’s another example,’ she continued. ‘Lottie Mann in Glasgow was married to a cop. That one didn’t end well either.’

  ‘Isn’t Lottie with her old DS now?’ Wright asked.

  ‘Dan Provan? Yes,’ McClair confirmed, ‘but she’s got more sense than to marry him.’

  ‘Mmm,’ the young DC volunteered. ‘I’m going out with a security guard in the new shopping complex in Edinburgh. Do you think I should be wary of him?’

  Wright frowned at her. ‘Does he have a dick?’

  She blushed. ‘I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Well, if you find out that he does, yes, you be wary.’

  ‘How about you, Jackie?’ Benjamin ventured.

  ‘No, I don’t have one of those. Neither does my girlfriend. Although . . .’

  The DI grinned. ‘Too much information, ladies.’ She drained her cup and stood. ‘Let’s go and chase wild geese.’

  She was reaching for her bag when the suite’s phone rang. She crossed to the desk and picked it up. ‘McClair,’ she announced.

  ‘ACC Stallings, Detective Inspector.’

  She frowned. ‘I’ve got nothing to report that you don’t know already, I’m afraid, ma’am.’

  ‘I didn’t expect that you would have,’ the assistant chief said. ‘This is a pastoral call, no more than that. How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine,’ McClair replied, warily. ‘We’re making no progress, I’m afraid, just doing what we can until we get a report from the lab one way or another.’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect any more. No, I’m just concerned that you don’t feel you’ve been dropped in it. I know that things haven’t been exactly plain sailing for you recently, and now you’ve been handed a task that’s probably going to be thankless at the end of the day. If you tell me that you’d rather pass it on to somebody else, I can facilitate that. There would be no problem at all. Also, let me assure you, there would be no reflection on you either.’

  I should fucking hope not, McClair thought. ‘That’s very . . . thoughtful of you, ma’am.’ She came close to saying ‘kind’, but was stopped by her suspicion that kindness was not behind the call. ‘I am quite happy, I assure you. I have a good team here. DS Wright and I are used to working together and it’s giving DC Benjamin the chance to get her teeth into her first field investigation. By the end of the day, I hope to have an idea of the way forward, that’s if there is one.’

  ‘That’s good to hear, er, Noele,’ Stallings said. ‘I’ll let you get on with it. Let me know personally if you need any additional support. Is there anything I can do now?’

  You could tell the lab to get the finger out, she thought, but decided that nothing connected in any way to Arthur Dorward should be poked with any size of stick.

  ‘No, ma’am. We’re fine, thanks.’

  ‘Mother hen?’ Wright asked as she hung up.

  ‘The same. “A pastoral call,” she said. Anything we need, it’s mine for the asking.’

  ‘That’s good of her. I wish all the executive level staff were like that.’

  ‘So do I,’ McClair said. ‘Including ACC Stallings. Call me a cynic, but she doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who’s likely to be struck by an overnight burst of compassion. She didn’t feel like my shepherdess when she made me SIO. The impression she gave me was, “Here’s your chance, get on with it and don’t screw it up.” No, I sense someone else behind that call. I reckon the DCC’s been bending her ear. Since the thing happened with Terry, and with Griff, in the way that it did, he’s been looking after me . . . him and Maggie Steele until she resigned as chief constable.’

  ‘Is that a good or a bad thing, being under Mario McGuire’s wing?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jackie,’ she confessed, ‘I really don’t know. All I can say is that if I ever find out that it’s holding me back, I won’t like that at all. To be frank, and Tiggy here knows this, I gave up a really cushy number in uniform to get back into CID, but I did it to be a player, not a spectator.’

  Thirty-Three

  ‘I’ve got a result, Gaffer,’ Sauce Haddock said. ‘As we expected, your friend’s text came from a pay-as-you-go SIM card. We’ve traced its purchase too, the day after that Barcelona one, in a supermarket called Auchun in a place called Porte d’Espagne in Perpignan. There’s no record of a card on the transaction so we can assume it was a cash buy, like the one in Spain that Noele’s message came from.’

  ‘I know that place,’ Bob Skinner told him. ‘I’ve shopped there myself in fact. It’s fucking enormous. It will be a big ask to get an image of the buyer.’

  ‘Yes, and even if they did, almost certainly it would be a proxy, like the kid in Barcelona.’

  ‘What kid in Barcelona?’ Skinner, puzzled, exclaimed. ‘What the fuck’s Barcelona got to do with anything? And what’s this about Noele anyway?’

  He heard a breath being drawn. ‘Ah, I didn’t tell you about that, Gaffer. Mr Aislado isn’t the only one who’s had a peculiar text. Noele McClair had one too. She didn’t report it to me, though, not straight away. She asked Karen Neville to check it out through her network.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’

  ‘Because the wording of the message made her think it was from Matthew Reid, and, of course, he and Karen are linked. He was her Uncle Matthew, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Sorry, why would Matthew be texting Noele?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that,’ Haddock said, ‘not without her permission. But you don’t really need to know why. He’s a possible sender of the text as he is with the one your pal got. That’s enough.’

  ‘If you say so, Sauce,’ Skinner murmured. ‘This kid in Barcelona. Are you saying he bought the phone Noele’s text came from?’