Cause of Death Read online

  Introduced into a world of brawn, Macallan’s brain meant she’d been grabbed by SB almost as soon as she was out of her probation. Her flight through the ranks of the Branch had been spectacular for the time, and for a force that had still not come to terms with equality, being a woman had brought some problems. Her rapid promotions hadn’t always made her popular, but no one had doubted her ability.

  Physically, she’d been on the heavy side as a young woman and the regulation police diet designed for only the strongest arteries hadn’t helped. One morning after a heavy-duty retirement party she’d woken up with the hangover from hell and a half-eaten pizza on the pillow next to her. It had been an all-day hangover, and when she’d stared at her reflection in the mirror she’d known it was time for a change in lifestyle. She’d started running the next day and became addicted, and twenty pounds lighter, she looked athletic, her face more angular. She didn’t have the looks of a model, but her intelligence showed in her expressive sea-green eyes, and she was often described as ‘bookish’. She rarely troubled herself with make-up, and her short copper hair usually left to its own devices, which suited her fine – being a woman with looks in a job knee-deep in testosterone just meant spending your time fighting off unwelcome advances.

  Macallan had become a rated agent handler and expert on covert operations against the paramilitaries – covert work her life and her drug. She could hold her head up and know that she’d gained rank through her own efforts rather than by giving it all to the right boss. She’d experienced that kind of proposition and dealt with it by phoning his wife and asking her if it was okay to take up her husband’s offer. He’d never troubled her again, and once the story hit the grapevine neither had any of the marrieds.

  3

  She sipped a bitter black coffee and watched the citizens coming and going in the street outside the cafe almost opposite the HQ building. It confirmed the description she’d had of the area – moneyed and upwardly mobile, for the young smart set. It was a flashy ghetto fifteen minutes’ walk from the once drug-wasted schemes on the coastal area of the town that had inspired Irvine Welsh’s work.

  On time, she walked through the glass doors of Lothian and Borders HQ and entered her new career. She felt a long way from Belfast and its memories as a young, fresh-faced staff officer ferried her along to the Chief Constable’s floor. She knew the type. Set aside from the street, kept well away from the bad guys so he could fly up the ladder, train in business speak and talk the same crap as all the other chief officers being churned out of the sausage machine that was command training. She couldn’t really blame him – she was pretty ambitious herself but reassured that at least she’d decided to do it the hard way.

  The DCC was on his feet when she entered and did his best to impress her with coffee and a choice between Kit Kats or digestive biscuits. She hated them both but for appearance’s sake chose the Kit Kat, and realised she really wasn’t that different from the staff officer.

  The DCC offered her a seat and she noted how pleasant it was compared with the depressing boxes that passed for office accommodation in Belfast HQ.

  ‘Have you had a chance to look round the city, Grace?’ he asked.

  She realised she would have to do the pleasantries and indulged the deputy, who was only doing his job. He had an open face, an easy smile and had worked the streets as a detective (and the story was that he was a good one), before deciding he wanted to shoot for the top rather than wreck his liver in investigation. That was fine by her and she warmed to him, but she was waiting for the crucial point, which was where she was going to be placed in the force. Given what had happened in Belfast, she thought they might stick her in a nice, safe administration job and keep her away from problems, but he managed to surprise her.

  ‘You’re probably anxious to know where you’re going. Well, I’ll be frank with you – I know you had a difficult time before you left Belfast.’

  She nodded. Difficult, she thought. Is he fucking kidding?

  ‘What matters to us is that you have a brilliant record in covert operations, and, in relation to the incident in Belfast, you acted with complete integrity. I know it would have been easier for you to keep quiet, but you did the right thing. We’ve just formed a new major crime team that incorporates all the elements required to take on the top organised groups.’

  Macallan found it hard to believe it was that easy and waited for the punchline – but it didn’t come. ‘It has the full backing of the executive and will be led by Superintendent O’Connor, who’s on his way back from a foreign posting in Germany. He’s been working as a liaison officer with the BKA – very smart and better than good. He’s a big task to get this off the ground and start biting the legs of some of the criminals we’ve got now. Your work in Belfast will give us experience we don’t have, and you’ll work closely with Mr O’Connor. How does that sound?’

  She found it hard to hide her surprise, but her expression told him she was somewhere between astonished and wanting to give him a hug. She held back on the latter. ‘I’m more than happy, sir, and I’ll give it my best.’

  ‘I want nothing else. I’m going to put a detective sergeant on your shoulder for a while just to get you used to the native customs – call him an aide or advisor, just to get you into your stride. He’s a dinosaur, an absolute pain in the arse – treats everyone senior to him as probably incompetent, but he’s one of the best investigators this force has ever produced. He’s put more skulls inside than anyone I’ve ever come across. Don’t expect him to love you, but he’ll look after you, and just keep clear of him when he’s had more than four drinks.’ He offered her another Kit Kat but she refused this one. ‘His name is Mick Harkins and he’s waiting for you down in the main office. Listen to him. He’s got his fingers on the pulse of the troops at the front, can smell a problem three days before it ruins careers and the criminals take pride in being abused by him.’

  She saw the humour crinkling at the corners of his eyes and decided she liked him.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’ve a feeling I know the type. Every force seems to have one.’

  He extended his hand. ‘Good luck, Grace. Do us proud.’

  She left the office and the deputy leaned back in his seat with the feeling that he’d just been in conversation with someone special. She’d said next to nothing but he’d seen what all the fuss was about, looked again at her record and shook his head. She’d done more in her years in Northern Ireland than most would do in ten careers. He’d often wondered how so many of those Northern Ireland officers had kept sane during the Troubles but knew enough of them to understand that they’d paid in alcoholism, broken marriages and too many suicides. He wondered what had made Macallan bypass Strathclyde and opt for the extreme dangers she’d faced in Belfast.

  He put her file into his out tray and hoped he’d done the right thing sending her to Major Crime and Mick Harkins.

  4

  After managing to walk into the wrong office and collecting glares from a couple of computer operators eating lunch, Macallan found the new office for the MCT. It stank of fresh but cheap paint and looked about half-finished given the desks being humped into place. The windows were wide open and she guessed the scruff gnawing a mince pie and gulping a full-strength Coca-Cola was Mick Harkins. She wondered whether these guys were all descended from the same primitive form of life and smiled at the thought. The truth was that they were the backbone in an investigation and seemed to be allowed slightly more leeway than the rest of the gang.

  He looked up and then back at his racing section, although he must have guessed who she was or he wasn’t the detective described by the deputy. ‘Sorry, love, the Family Protection Unit’s along the corridor,’ he said.

  She realised that in this man’s universe the Family Protection Unit wasn’t part of the real police world and might as well have been staffed by social workers. Macallan knew she was going to like him – it took class to act that well – but she decided to let him do h
is thing. ‘Please don’t feel sorry. I’m DCI Macallan and I wondered whether there were any police officers about – but I’ll leave you to get on with the furniture removals.’

  He looked up and the inside edges of his eyebrows pulled together in a sentiment which, if spoken, might have been, ‘I do the cynical fucking jokes, dear.’ No apologies, but he did manage to stand up and put the pie and Coke down. ‘I’m DS Harkins and thought you might be having a bit of lunch with the deputy.’

  ‘I’ve seen him, Sergeant, and was just keen to get on with it. Is there somewhere we can sit or do I have an office?’

  She started to note the small details on the man and thought he must have been quite a looker at one time, but the years, untipped cigarettes and spending too much time in darkened bars had roughed up his face. Still, he had a full head of hair that was thick, short and heavily flecked with silver, and the dark brown eyes with a touch of the hangdog in their angle reminded her of John Hurt – minus a few million wrinkles.

  ‘Your office is only half done, but there’s a couple of chairs in there, and I’ll get us some tea.’

  She was pleased that he seemed to have dropped the old cynic act so quickly, and she hoped they wouldn’t need to do the nose-to-nose thing to confirm who was boss.

  Her office was small but looked onto playing fields, and she had to admit that she’d worked in a lot worse. She imagined getting the room into shape with her own mementos gathered over the years and could see her awards, plaques and pictures making the best of the thin white paint underneath. Some people called that kind of decoration an ‘ego wall’ but it would make the room feel like hers in this new, and still strange, world. She started to relax and realised that she could survive at least this first day.

  Harkins handed her a steaming cup of leather-strong tea and she wondered how long it had been since the cup had been washed. There was a touch of lipstick round the edges and she tried to ignore the other stains.

  ‘Can I call you Mick?’ He nodded and waited for her to speak. ‘Just brief me as best you can. I know this is all up in the air at the moment but tell me what we’ve got, what we’re getting and whatever you think I need to know. While we’re at it, I need you to tell me when I’m about to walk into a cupboard rather than finding the way out.’

  He smiled. It was a tired but good smile and, having heard the stories of what this woman had been through, meant giving her a break. He was wise enough to know that whatever her sins, few of the men and women he knew could have taken her journey. That didn’t mean he would go easy on her. Fuck that, he thought, I’m not changing the habits of a lifetime.

  Macallan hardly spoke for the next hour as Harkins gave her more than she could have asked for, delivered by someone who knew exactly what he was talking about, with not the slightest hint of bullshit. There was no pretence, no self-promotion, just a man doing what was asked. She realised that the deputy had known exactly what he was doing pairing them up, and although there would be a few tussles along the way with Harkins, it would be a price worth paying.

  He looked at his cup and asked her if she needed a refill. She decided that her immune system didn’t deserve whatever was lurking in her mug but told him to go ahead. She knew he’d be a smoker, would be ready for a blow, and told him to take the break. ‘See you back here when you’re ready, Mick.’

  He’d given her enough to get on with, and when he came back she would take a chance and get the cards on the table early, as she guessed Harkins would just want to get to plain talking as soon as possible. She headed for the ladies and wondered if they would be as bad as the tea mugs. She hoped not.

  When Harkins returned, she leaned forward and looked at the floor before trying to fix eye contact with him. ‘Tell me about yourself. No crap.’

  That tired smile again as he started to tell the story he wore as a badge of honour. ‘I guess the deputy will have told you something, and it’ll be along the lines that I’m a problem.’

  She stopped him.

  ‘He told me that you were a pain in the arse but one of the best investigators the force has ever produced.’

  ‘One of the best? That ungrateful bastard should have said the best!’

  They both smiled.

  ‘You came from a tough force, so you’ll know someone like me. I was a young star, promoted to detective sergeant in front of a line of great detectives, and I thought I was the Messiah. I was just too good, it came easy to me and I just loved mixing it with the bad guys, so played it hard but loved it. Ruined a few relationships and ignored the advice of a few older heads. I could have climbed right to the top, but I’m basically bolshie just for the sake of it. You’ll hear the legends from others, but it became an annual event that at some function or Christmas drinks I’d make a point of collaring whoever was the most senior officer and telling them exactly what I thought. As I was always pissed at those things, it was normally a load of shite. I’d wake up in the morning and realise that the next promotion was moving further and further towards the horizon. I still do it, and with only a year to go I’m definitely not going to be chief constable now. That kind of sums me up, but you’ll hear more versions from other people. I would say that about half of the stories about me are true and I suppose that’s bad enough. You could call me an underachiever in some ways.’ He looked straight at her and shrugged.

  ‘Okay, and thanks for being frank. I’ll learn the rest as we go along, but please be gentle with me if we go for a drink.’

  ‘No chance, Chief Inspector. I’ve a reputation to maintain.’

  They both smiled again and realised they could work together with a bit of forgiveness on both sides. Macallan relaxed and asked the question.

  ‘What’s the reaction to me then? I know you’ll have checked me out and would expect nothing else. I want this to work and won’t hide behind the desk.’

  He looked at her and saw the small premature lines at the corners of her eyes. ‘Look, these guys have heard the stories and like all good policemen are making up a load that never happened. Some will just tar you with sticking in another cop, but they live in the now. If you do the business then they’ll soon forget, and you know that’s how it is in this job. We all deal with too much shite to ignore something that’s good. You do the job, and you’ll get them behind you. You can’t hurt me because I’m too close to the winning post, and believe me, if you fuck up, I’ll be the first one knocking at the door. It’s easy: just don’t fuck up, or if you do, make sure you’ve fucked up for the right reasons.’

  ‘What about O’Connor?’

  He took his time, considering whether it would stay in the room. She knew what was going on, and with good reason. These conversations rarely stayed in confidence and tended to be thrown in someone’s face during a battle of egos. It was how the job worked. Finally he said, ‘Repeat this and I’ll use all my dark powers against you.’

  She raised her hands and smiled. ‘You have it, Mick. I’ve heard some of the stories you’ve not disclosed to me, such as you eat criminal’s babies.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s only partly true, like most of the stories about me. O’Connor is seriously smart. Academic background, and when he talks he knows his subject. I’ve done quite a few jobs for him in the past, and he tends only to have success. He’s a deep one, though, and tends not to mix off-duty. As you well know, that’s not the norm for criminal investigation. It confuses the troops, so as always they make up what they don’t know. He’s not married and has never tried it on with a woman in the job, which has to be one for the Guinness Book of Records. Of course, for a few guys this is evidence enough that he’s gay, but like some of the stories about me, it’s crap. I know he keeps his love life away from the job and has had a few short, meaningless relationships that went absolutely nowhere. My guess is the guy just wants the job and there’s no real time for anything else. He’s ambitious, and apart from the force he’s done all these high-profile secondments to the Met, the UN in the Balkans and now this
job in Germany with the BKA. He’s not used to anyone being anywhere near as smart as he is, so you’ll be a challenge for him. I like him, and if there’s a problem, it’s that I’ve not seen him deal with a case that isn’t getting solved. He might be fine, but that’s how I think the great ones prove themselves. There’s no test in the easy cases. Will that do you?’

  ‘Last question. Why do they call him JJ?’

  ‘Just one of those things. He used to be John O’Connor, then when people realised that he liked jazz, he became Jazz O’Connor and then they joined it all up and he became JJ. I should have mentioned that I see that as a problem, because, to be quite frank, who the fuck likes jazz in criminal investigation?’

  Macallan nodded. ‘I’m with you there.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘We should have a drink, and I can bore you with some war stories about why I’m actually the best detective this force has ever produced.’

  Macallan nodded, trying to buy time, assessing whether it was a bad idea when she was just in the door. ‘Okay, Mick, but don’t think it buys you any favours and you’re on the bell.’

  Harkins grinned, pulling on his jacket. ‘Let’s do it. I know the very place.’

  Macallan opened the door of her rented flat after four drinks with Harkins, then remembered the advice she’d received from the deputy. She was knackered. It was a mixture of the adrenaline crash after her morning nerves and her introduction to 80-shilling ale. She didn’t even drink beer and wondered how Harkins had managed to convince her to try it. But she felt relaxed for the first time in weeks and realised she had a chance to make a new life, when that had seemed such an impossible dream only months before.