Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(36)

‘How do you mean?’

His father put down the dishcloth. ‘The town made Lucas. He had the biggest majority in the country. He was backed by every striking miner in the place because he was seen as our man, he was Labour like, but he let us all down badly when he walked away after the strike was lost.’

‘Why did he walk away?’

‘You tell me. Like I say he had the biggest majority in the country in that seat – he could have been sitting pretty for the rest of his days, but he ditched us all’ – he started to wring the dishtowel in his hands – ‘and look who we got in his place – bloody Gerry Fallon. It took a lot more to knock that bastard off the gravy train.’

‘He’s retired now, Fallon, isn’t he?’

‘Oh, aye, he was one of the New Labour mob. They’re all retired now, aren’t they? With their gilt-edged pensions and their investment-bank jobs. Make you bloody sick.’

The door from the living room opened up. ‘I don’t see much impact being made on those dishes,’ said Clare.

‘Och, we’re gabbin’, as usual!’ said the older man.

‘Well when you’re finished, a cup of tea would be nice.’

Valentine nodded. ‘Yes, dear. Any more orders just fire away.’





22

Jim Prentice was sorting out the mail when Valentine appeared at the door of King Street station.

‘Morning, Bob,’ Prentice called out, summoning the DI with a conspiratorial wink.

‘How do, Jim?’

‘I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about.’

Valentine leaned on the counter. ‘Oh, aye . . .’

‘Your new team player isn’t a player at all.’

‘What?’

‘Charlotte Stubbs. I checked her out with the Edinburgh craft.’

‘Jesus, Jim, I thought you were going to keep it under your hat.’

‘Those boys are sound as a pound. Anyway, she’s not on the team so to speak, but she’s got no shortage of supporters among the top brass. Her media experience is precisely zip from what I can go on. She was a lawyer, but for some reason she gets flown about a lot.’

‘I bloody knew it. So she’s snooping on us?’

‘Looks that way,’ said Prentice, fastening a stray shirt button. ‘Any ideas why?’

‘No – well none more than the usual. I’ve had too many loose canons on my squad lately.’

‘Might be related, might not. Could it be Greavsie’s got the jitters?’

‘About what? I’m working a cold case that’s thirty-two years old. Hardly anything there likely to come and bite him on the arse.’

‘You never know. Look, take it easy anyway, eh . . . I can see this news has rattled you.’

‘It’s not that, Jim. I’ve not been myself since the stabbing, and Clare’s been at me to ease up. We had a lovely family evening last night, dinner together, sat in front of the telly.’ He looked up from his memory. ‘You see where I’m coming from, don’t you?’

‘You put in more hours than Big Ben. I’m surprised this hasn’t occurred to you before.’

Valentine stepped back from the counter. ‘Catch you later, Jim.’

On his way up the stairs the DI felt his promising mood evaporate to be replaced by a burning temper. He had got as far as closing the door of Incident Room One when it was flung open again by the chief super. He still had one arm in his jacket as she approached with a bellicose glower beaming from her eyes.

‘What the hell are you doing with the Cumnock site?’ She levelled her voice, but it was still louder than usual.

‘Excuse me?’ said Valentine.

‘I’m just off the phone to some arsehole called Gowan . . .’

‘Ah, Freddie Gowan. He’s an arsehole all right.’ The DI hung up his coat and headed for his office at the other end of the long room.

‘And why is he calling me at this hour, ranting and raving about time being money and calling in his lawyers?’

Valentine sat behind his desk and booted up his computer. ‘He won’t get far, chief. He’s trying to build a road over my murder site. Last time I checked we were within our rights to shut him down pending an investigation.’

The chief super folded her arms before the desk; her tone had lowered in volume, if not in its intensity. She had not picked a good day to mount her attack on DI Valentine. ‘And you thought that was wise, did you? Especially after our chat with the chief constable.’

‘Wisdom didn’t come into it. It’s procedure, and I’d shut down Gowan’s roadworks before we spoke.’

A long red fingernail was drawn in front of the DI and pointed, threateningly. ‘I’m not sure I like your tone, Bob.’

‘I’m not sure I care. I have two dead boys, mummified in a bloody barrel. If you have another detective inspector you think is better qualified than me to deal with that, and who’d be happy to have the chief constable’s Mata Hari seconded to his team, then by all means let’s talk about my transfer.’

The chief super withdrew her finger and refolded her arms. ‘Am I hearing right, Bob?’

‘Yesterday my wife told me she was leaving me if I didn’t ask for a move from the murder squad. I was on my way to your office to ask just that when you presented me with the chief constable’s press manoeuvre.’