his head, eyed Gilchrist over the rim of some imaginary specs. “What have you done to the man, for God’s sake? Skipped your round? Buy him a pint. Buy him a dozen. Just get him off our backs.”
“Not as simple as that.”
“Quite.” Greaves picked up a newspaper folded open to the photograph of Gilchrist stepping from the Dunvegan Hotel. He smacked the image with the back of his hand, as if clipping Gilchrist around the ears. “This does not present a good image of Fife Constabulary, Andy. I have to tell you that.”
“I was interviewing Tam Dunn again.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“It was eleven thirty at night, and I wasn’t exactly celebrating.”
“That’s not the point. The public doesn’t expect to opentheir newspapers at the breakfast table and be confronted with photographs of Senior Investigating Officers looking like they’re out on the town when we’ve got such a bloody gruesome case to solve. Makes us look like the Keystone Cops, for God’s sake.”
“I really don’t—”
Greaves held up his hand, as if stopping traffic head on. “I don’t want excuses, Andy. I want results. And I want results now .”
Gilchrist eyed Greaves. They were getting down to it, and he did not like where it was heading.
“And we can’t have you and Watt bloody well squabbling in public.”
Greaves was referring to an incident at the University yesterday where Gilchrist had grabbed Watt’s arm and pulled him back from a heated interview with a student. The depth of Watt’s anger had surprised him.
“Are you any further forward?” Greaves demanded.
“I would be lying if I said yes.”
“Bloody hell, Andy. McVicar’s been on the phone twice today. Heat’s been turned up. Bloody flame’s turned from orange to blue, and aimed in my direction. I don’t like it, let me tell you.” He leaned forward. “Tell me something I want to hear, Andy. Give me something to calm the man down.”
Big Archie McVicar, Fife Constabulary’s Assistant Chief Constable, was a staunch supporter of Gilchrist. But there had to be a limit to the man’s patience. Gilchrist needed more than a pair of amputated hands and an army of police officers scouring the countryside. Like Greaves, he needed a result.
“Anything?” Greaves tried.
Gilchrist grimaced. Fabricating nonsense would help no one. “Nothing,” he said.
“What the hell am I supposed to tell him, Andy?”
“That we’re looking to increase manpower?”
“We’ve no one else to put on the bloody thing, for God’s sake. We’re stretched to the bloody limit as it is.”
“Chloe Fullerton lived within the jurisdiction of Strathclyde Police. I would think a call from the ACC—”
“Don’t,” snapped Greaves. “The answer’s an emphatic No.”
Gilchrist had anticipated no support on the touchy subject of requesting assistance from outside sources. He had tried the back door himself. But even Dainty had given him a body-swerve, saying he was up to his oxters in alligators of his own. Police units throughout the nation had their own tight budgets to meet. “We’re doing what we can,” he said, “but without the rest of the body we can’t expect much.”
“Well, do something, Andy.”
It was on the tip of Gilchrist’s tongue to ask for Watt to be replaced, but he thought better of it. “We’re widening our search,” he said, “but the body’s nowhere near here.”
“Where then?”
Where indeed? “Glasgow,” he said.
“You have proof?”
Gilchrist shook his head. “Just a hunch.”
“For God’s sake, Andy. I need more than just a hunch. I need evidence. I need results. I need.… Oh for God’s sake, just get bloody well on with it, will you? I’ll think of something to tell Archie.”
Gilchrist felt his face flush as Greaves reached for his phone.
The meeting was over.
Outside, an easterly chill swept in from the sea and seemed to funnel its way along North Street. Overhead, gulls fought with the night storm,
“Not as simple as that.”
“Quite.” Greaves picked up a newspaper folded open to the photograph of Gilchrist stepping from the Dunvegan Hotel. He smacked the image with the back of his hand, as if clipping Gilchrist around the ears. “This does not present a good image of Fife Constabulary, Andy. I have to tell you that.”
“I was interviewing Tam Dunn again.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“It was eleven thirty at night, and I wasn’t exactly celebrating.”
“That’s not the point. The public doesn’t expect to opentheir newspapers at the breakfast table and be confronted with photographs of Senior Investigating Officers looking like they’re out on the town when we’ve got such a bloody gruesome case to solve. Makes us look like the Keystone Cops, for God’s sake.”
“I really don’t—”
Greaves held up his hand, as if stopping traffic head on. “I don’t want excuses, Andy. I want results. And I want results now .”
Gilchrist eyed Greaves. They were getting down to it, and he did not like where it was heading.
“And we can’t have you and Watt bloody well squabbling in public.”
Greaves was referring to an incident at the University yesterday where Gilchrist had grabbed Watt’s arm and pulled him back from a heated interview with a student. The depth of Watt’s anger had surprised him.
“Are you any further forward?” Greaves demanded.
“I would be lying if I said yes.”
“Bloody hell, Andy. McVicar’s been on the phone twice today. Heat’s been turned up. Bloody flame’s turned from orange to blue, and aimed in my direction. I don’t like it, let me tell you.” He leaned forward. “Tell me something I want to hear, Andy. Give me something to calm the man down.”
Big Archie McVicar, Fife Constabulary’s Assistant Chief Constable, was a staunch supporter of Gilchrist. But there had to be a limit to the man’s patience. Gilchrist needed more than a pair of amputated hands and an army of police officers scouring the countryside. Like Greaves, he needed a result.
“Anything?” Greaves tried.
Gilchrist grimaced. Fabricating nonsense would help no one. “Nothing,” he said.
“What the hell am I supposed to tell him, Andy?”
“That we’re looking to increase manpower?”
“We’ve no one else to put on the bloody thing, for God’s sake. We’re stretched to the bloody limit as it is.”
“Chloe Fullerton lived within the jurisdiction of Strathclyde Police. I would think a call from the ACC—”
“Don’t,” snapped Greaves. “The answer’s an emphatic No.”
Gilchrist had anticipated no support on the touchy subject of requesting assistance from outside sources. He had tried the back door himself. But even Dainty had given him a body-swerve, saying he was up to his oxters in alligators of his own. Police units throughout the nation had their own tight budgets to meet. “We’re doing what we can,” he said, “but without the rest of the body we can’t expect much.”
“Well, do something, Andy.”
It was on the tip of Gilchrist’s tongue to ask for Watt to be replaced, but he thought better of it. “We’re widening our search,” he said, “but the body’s nowhere near here.”
“Where then?”
Where indeed? “Glasgow,” he said.
“You have proof?”
Gilchrist shook his head. “Just a hunch.”
“For God’s sake, Andy. I need more than just a hunch. I need evidence. I need results. I need.… Oh for God’s sake, just get bloody well on with it, will you? I’ll think of something to tell Archie.”
Gilchrist felt his face flush as Greaves reached for his phone.
The meeting was over.
Outside, an easterly chill swept in from the sea and seemed to funnel its way along North Street. Overhead, gulls fought with the night storm,
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