Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(59)

As DI Valentine closed the back door of the car on Gerald Fallon he made his way around the vehicle, where he was met by DS McCormack. The former MP’s large home sat defiantly behind them, a looming presence that seemed to disapprove of their actions. As Valentine tried to step around the DS, she stopped him with the flat of her hand and drew out a sour look that made the detective retreat a few steps.

‘What’s all this?’ said Valentine.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ said McCormack. ‘Are you actually on the lookout for trouble now?’

‘Oh come on, Sylvia. Fallon’s dicking us around and you know it as well as I do.’

She gripped the leather strap of her bag. ‘I’m thinking about the outcome, boss.’

‘So am I. We could spend all day playing footsie under the table with him in the hope that he deigns to give us something.’

‘And this is going to get us a result faster, is it?’

‘Yes. Because I intend to rip it out of him.’ Valentine walked around the DS, lunging for the door handle on the car.

They didn’t speak again until they reached the station. As the car passed the front door, Valentine spotted a group of press photographers sitting on the steps. He checked in the rear-view mirror to see that Fallon had seen them too. He had, his face hardening as he glanced over the high bridge of his nose. He sat in silence until the car was parked at the back entrance.

Valentine opened the car door for Fallon, but the retired MP waited, straightening his cuff and fanning a lapel before he emerged. As he readied himself for what was to come, a truculent gleam entered his eye. ‘You’re opening a can of worms, Detective.’

The DI declined to respond. ‘Get Mr Fallon booked into an interview room, DS McCormack.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ll be with you shortly.’

Valentine didn’t look back as he headed through the entrance and up the stairs to the incident room. He had a niggling feeling that the chief super might be nosing about and that she would scupper his plans to grill Fallon.

Upstairs, his mind ran a program of responses he might give to Martin, but she wasn’t there. The DI approached Donnelly. ‘No sign of Dino?’

‘She was in earlier, throwing the newspapers about and grumbling. How did the Fallon visit go?’

‘About as well as expected.’ He picked up an empty file and started to fill it with papers and photographs. ‘I see we have a three-ring media circus camped out on the front steps.’

‘Colleen’s doing her nut in the press office, says the phone hasn’t stopped.’

Valentine groaned audibly. ‘And it’s only going to get worse.’

‘How come?’

‘Just trust me on that.’ He tucked the folder under his arm and tapped down the stray contents. ‘No sign of Den Rennie yet?’

‘I’m afraid not, boss.’

‘Well, keep at it. As soon as you get hold of him, call him in. I don’t care if we have to pick up taxi fare from bloody Kelso.’

The DI made his way back downstairs. At the custody counter the desk sergeant’s eyes twitched over the pages of the Daily Record newspaper. He seemed engrossed in the report, his head clamped at a tight angle to the two-page spread. He didn’t look up as Valentine appeared.

‘What room’s DS McCormack in?’

‘Oh, sorry, sir . . . number three.’

‘Thanks.’

The officer indicated the newspaper. ‘Those two wee boys, just shocking.’

Valentine nodded – avoiding comment – and made for the interview room. DS McCormack was seated inside facing Fallon. He was straight-backed but seemed impatient, his fingernails chamfering at the edge of the table.

The DI put down the folder and removed his chair. When he sat he let his fingers rest on the papers. ‘Tell me again about your association with Garry Keirns please.’

‘I told you already, he was a constituent of mine.’ Fallon’s voice was edged with condescension.

‘Indulge me with the details.’

Fallon sighed. ‘He was very active in the community, lots of groups and so on. I believe that’s how he first came to my attention.’

‘How close did you become?’

‘What? We didn’t become close at all.’

Valentine reached into the blue folder and placed a piece of paper in front of Fallon. ‘Do you recognise this?’

‘It looks like a reference. It’s not from my office.’

‘Your predecessor, Andrew Lucas.’

Fallon pushed away the paper. ‘I’m not accountable for Andy Lucas.’

‘I’m not suggesting you are. Can you read the reference and let me know if it corresponds to your opinion of Garry Keirns?’

Fallon removed a thin case from his pocket containing reading glasses and picked up the paper once more. ‘It looks a little over the top, a little la-di-da . . . Andy was like that.’

‘So you don’t agree with Mr Lucas’s impression of Keirns?’

‘What does my opinion matter? I’m not either man’s keeper.’

‘I’m trying to establish what kind of a relationship you had with Mr Keirns, who happens to be a person of interest in our murder investigation, and with whom you appear sufficiently acquainted to invite into your home late at night to avail himself of your media contacts.’