Someone had left a sandwich from the Tesco Express on his desk. There had once been some kind of ham salad between the slabs of brown bread, but now it was withered and shrunken; he was glad he had no appetite as he slid the offering towards the waste bin to clear the way for the case files. Valentine didn’t know how long he had stared at the files, hoping for some illumination to come from the pages, but he did know when it was time to concede his efforts were proving fruitless.
On his way towards the interview rooms Valentine peered in the small reinforced-glass windows and noted where his interviewees were situated. Both Keirns and Gowan appeared agitated, stalking the confines of their small spaces and showing all the signs of impatience and indignation the DI would expect.
‘Good,’ said Valentine, under his breath. ‘The edgier the better.’
He spotted DS McCormack and DS Donnelly waiting for him at the far end of the corridor. They were standing chatting between the custody sergeant’s desk and a mop and bucket that was propped against the wall.
‘How did it go?’ said the DI to the detectives.
‘Oh, hello, boss,’ said McCormack. ‘Gowan came quietly, no real fuss at all. There was some shock when he saw the red and white, though. I don’t think it had really registered with him how serious matters were before then.’
‘You were probably too polite. I should have sent Ally – he’d know how to noise him up.’
The officers laughed. ‘Oh, he would that,’ said Phil.
‘And what about Keirns?’ said Valentine.
‘Huffed and puffed a bit, if truth be told,’ said Donnelly.
‘Before or after you cuffed him?’
‘Both. Though there was a monumental kick-off when the cuffs went on. You know, he thinks he’s bulletproof for some reason.’
‘He might think that, Phil. But rest assured he’ll soon be dispossessed of that notion . . . Did Keirns and Gowan see each other on the way in?’
‘Yes indeed. Booked them in one after the other. It was a bit like that scene in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. You know the one, when Clint’s watching the spurs at the door and the ugly one comes in through the window.’
Valentine grinned. He was content that, so far anyway, things had gone to plan. ‘I hope Garry Keirns got the surprise of his life.’
‘To be honest, sir, I couldn’t tell whether he was surprised, stunned or just bloody furious. He’s a chancy customer, that one.’
‘All the more reason to be careful. We need to keep our wits about us because if Keirns senses any weakness, he’ll exploit it.’
‘Like a rat in a maze, he’s too dumb to know he’s in a maze but just smart enough to sniff his way out, given half a chance.’
‘Then we don’t give him the chance,’ said the DI. ‘Right, let’s go to work. Phil, you and Sylvia can get the rundown on the farm purchase from Gowan. I want any statement signed and sworn and admissible in court, so explain the laws of perjury very clearly to him. When DS McAlister appears, we’ll make a start on the rat.’
26
Garry Keirns sat with his arms stretched out in front of him, his fingers drumming on the tabletop. When DI Bob Valentine and DS McAlister entered the interview room Keirns started to raise his hands, rubbing his wrists in animated fashion.
‘I should be doing you for police brutality,’ he bleated.
‘Shut it, Garry. I’m in no mood to listen to any more of your pissing and whining.’
Keirns’s features slumped into his face like he had been hit by a sudden gale. The fingers on his hands balled into fists and sunk beneath the line of the table. He was staring at the melamine surface when the DI slapped down a piece of white A4 paper composed of dense, closely typed words. ‘Read it,’ said Valentine.
Keirns eased himself forward and perched over the paper; he read only a few lines before sinking back in his chair.
‘I’ve read it before.’
‘Oh, you recognise your glowing reference, do you? I didn’t.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean what I say, Garry. I might have thought you’d written it for yourself if I didn’t know you struggled with joined-up writing, never mind typing.’
He shook his head. ‘It’s a genuine reference, I can assure you of that.’
‘I’m sure it is. A genuine reference on genuine headed notepaper, by a genuine Member of Parliament. The only thing that’s not genuine is the substance. I know you, Garry, and you’re a dodgy wee scrote – nothing like the pillar of the community described in this letter.’ Valentine snatched back the paper and proceeded to roam the room, reading and grinning to himself.
Keirns sat silently, breathing slowly through his gaping mouth.
‘Nothing to say for yourself, Garry?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like how you came by the support of an MP? And remember I’ve seen your rap sheet.’
‘What does it matter, the MP’s dead now.’
‘I know Andy Lucas is dead. I checked the guy out, or should say I’m still in the process of checking him out, but what I have found out makes for some interesting reading.’