‘So that’s it, sir?’ said McAlister.
‘Hardly. We go back to the station and leave the donkey work to the donkeys. We can be grateful for one thing though – this little incident has thrown up a very interesting set of possibilities. Not least being what in the name of Christ is Garry Keirns doing supping malt with Gerald Fallon?’
‘I was wondering that myself, sir.’
‘Well let’s do some digging and find out because that’s two MPs that Keirns has managed to get very pally with. One I could almost believe was a strange act of chance, but two makes me think the absolute worst.’
Back at the station Valentine made straight for his office and checked his desk for memos. There was the usual smattering of junk, like CS Martin’s call for overtime figures, and a missed call from Colleen in the press office just five minutes ago, but the one item of any interest was the memo from the lab.
‘Shit,’ said Valentine.
‘Good news, sir?’ said DS McCormack, entering the office and placing a folder on his desk.
‘It’s from the boffins. The bookie’s pens are clean, not a single print.’
‘Ouch. Guess we won’t be hauling Keirns back in tonight then.’
‘The night is young, Sylvia.’ He pointed to the folder she’d just dropped. ‘What’s that?’
‘The enlargement of the headless man’s signet ring.’
Valentine opened the folder and peered inside. He closed it over just as quickly. ‘When are we going to get a bloody break?’
‘It’s a stone, looks like garnet, might be a ruby,’ said McCormack. ‘It was probably too much to expect it to be initials, and even if it was it’s unlikely they’d have been decipherable at this resolution.’
Valentine bit into the knuckles of his clenched fist. ‘Let’s try and be more optimistic. We have tonight’s new lead to go on.’
DS Donnelly and DS McCormack walked into the room. McAlister informed them of the latest developments.
‘So where do we go from here, sir?’ said McAlister.
Valentine had swapped the knuckle of his right hand for a scalloped fingernail. He eased himself backwards to rest on the rim of his desk. ‘Phil, keep chasing Den Rennie. What a bloody time to take a holiday.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And, Ally, I want you to run our esteemed friend Fallon through the mill. Any connection to Keirns or Columba in the members’ interests, let me know. Trail all the usual sources too. If he cut a bloody ribbon for either of them I want to know. But most importantly I want to know where the late Andy Lucas fits in to all of this.’
‘Lucas, sir?’
‘Yes, by all accounts he just about walked away from his Cumnock seat at the height of his popularity. Why? And who, apart from Fallon, benefited from that? Means. Motive. Opportunity. Think about it. Rattle a few cages. With any luck the dirt on the bottom will land on someone we’re after.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The DI was pacing towards DS McCormack when he spotted the door of the incident room being pushed open.
‘That’s not a good sign.’
The detectives turned to face the oncoming figure of the station press officer.
‘Colleen, isn’t this a bit late for you?’ said Valentine.
‘Do you never check your messages?’
Valentine raised his hand in a gesture of surrender.
‘If you did,’ said Colleen, ‘you’d know I’ve been trying to get you. My own phone has been ringing off the hook with national reporters asking about the bodies of two young boys you uncovered in Cumnock.’
‘I don’t understand. We haven’t released any information.’
Colleen dumped her bag on Valentine’s desk and started to remove her jacket. ‘I know that, because it would have come through me.’
‘Then who?’ said McCormack.
‘Well fortunately I still have a few friends on the news desks, and I can confirm the source as a certain Freddie Gowan.’
‘Gowan, the bastard!’ said McAlister.
‘A fair-enough assessment,’ said Colleen. ‘You could preface bastard with disgruntled going on the comments he’s given reporters for tomorrow’s papers.’
Valentine was breathing through widened nostrils. ‘I should have known the minute he started complaining about losing money.’
Colleen folded her jacket over her arm and collected her bag from the desk. She was heading for the door when she spoke again. ‘Right, hope none of you have any plans. This is going to be our war room for the next twenty-four hours . . . maybe longer.’
34