in.’
Patterson’s office lay in perpetual twilight, the slatted blinds never fully opened. The main source of light came from a Tiffany lamp with a butterfly design, which cast a greenish glow onto an A3 blotter.
Patterson sat behind the desk, his attention focused on a document pressed flat to the blotter with his left hand.
Gilchrist watched him scan it with literary pride, then place his hands to his mouth in a fleshy steeple. In someone intellectual, that pose might suggest thought. Patterson looked as if he had frozen mid-clap.
‘You’re not popular with the press, Andy.’
‘I’m not trying to win any contests.’
‘I’m told the conference was a fiasco.’
‘Depends whose side you’re on.’
‘Not sure I would have recommended handling it the way you did. Restricting access like that.’
‘Who gave permission to break the barricade?’ Gilchrist asked, louder than intended.
‘I did.’
The arrogance of the man continued to amaze Gilchrist. He had tried to keep the press from infiltrating North Street and encumbering their enquiries. Why close the street to the public if the press could stroll its length?
‘You talked to McKinnon,’ Gilchrist said.
‘About what?’
‘Don’t play dumb with me, Mark.’
Patterson’s eyes flared for a moment then died. ‘How many’s that now?’ he asked.
‘How many’s what?’
‘Stabber murders, Andy.’
‘You know it’s six,’ he said.
Patterson pressed his steepled hands to the tip of his nose. ‘Six.’ He paused. ‘Is that it?’
‘Is that what?’
Patterson unsteepled his hands and placed them flat on the desk as if to examine his fingernails. ‘Is the tally going to reach seven?’ he asked. ‘Or a whole lot more? Are we just expected to sit back and watch you fuck up day after day?’ His face reddened as if something was squeezing his collar. ‘Would it be unreasonable of me to expect an answer?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Well, dammit, what do you have to say about your incompetence?’
‘The answer to your first question is that I hope the tally doesn’t—’
‘
Hope?
Good God, man, don’t tell me all we’ve got to go on now is
hope
.’
‘Would you like me to continue? Or would you prefer I wait until your blood pressure settles?’
Patterson let out his breath in an audible sigh then tried a quick smile. But he was asking too much of his nervous system. ‘That’s what I’ve always disliked about you, Andy. Your insolence. Your maverick contempt for authority.’
‘Depends on whose authority.’
‘Defiant to the last.’
Gilchrist did not like the sound of
last
, but said nothing.
‘Let me explain the gravity of the situation to—’
‘I know how serious—’
‘Shut up.’ A hand slapped the desk. Patterson’s face paled. ‘I’ve had Assistant Chief Constable McVicar on the phone. St James’s Palace has been in contact. In case it’s slipped your mind, Prince William attends university in this small town of ours.’
Gilchrist waited.
‘I have been advised that the Queen is concerned over her grandson’s safety. I’ve done my utmost to assure all concerned that the Prince is in no danger, but the Palace remains dubious over the lack of progress in the investigation. They’ve asked ...’ He sat back, studied his fingernails. ‘They’ve asked that you be replaced.’
Gilchrist had been anticipating this moment ever since Patterson got wind of his affair with Alyson Baird. But now it was here, he felt nothing.
‘I’ve agreed, of course. DCI Christian DeFiore of the Scottish Crime Squad is driving up from Edinburgh. He should be here in about an hour. I’ve told both McVicar and Chief Superintendent Greaves that you’ll give DeFiore full and uninhibited access to all files and matters of evidence, and that by tomorrow evening I expect you to be in a position to step aside and let him take full control.’ Patterson smirked. ‘Is that clear?’
Gilchrist stood up.
‘
Sit
. I’m not
Patterson’s office lay in perpetual twilight, the slatted blinds never fully opened. The main source of light came from a Tiffany lamp with a butterfly design, which cast a greenish glow onto an A3 blotter.
Patterson sat behind the desk, his attention focused on a document pressed flat to the blotter with his left hand.
Gilchrist watched him scan it with literary pride, then place his hands to his mouth in a fleshy steeple. In someone intellectual, that pose might suggest thought. Patterson looked as if he had frozen mid-clap.
‘You’re not popular with the press, Andy.’
‘I’m not trying to win any contests.’
‘I’m told the conference was a fiasco.’
‘Depends whose side you’re on.’
‘Not sure I would have recommended handling it the way you did. Restricting access like that.’
‘Who gave permission to break the barricade?’ Gilchrist asked, louder than intended.
‘I did.’
The arrogance of the man continued to amaze Gilchrist. He had tried to keep the press from infiltrating North Street and encumbering their enquiries. Why close the street to the public if the press could stroll its length?
‘You talked to McKinnon,’ Gilchrist said.
‘About what?’
‘Don’t play dumb with me, Mark.’
Patterson’s eyes flared for a moment then died. ‘How many’s that now?’ he asked.
‘How many’s what?’
‘Stabber murders, Andy.’
‘You know it’s six,’ he said.
Patterson pressed his steepled hands to the tip of his nose. ‘Six.’ He paused. ‘Is that it?’
‘Is that what?’
Patterson unsteepled his hands and placed them flat on the desk as if to examine his fingernails. ‘Is the tally going to reach seven?’ he asked. ‘Or a whole lot more? Are we just expected to sit back and watch you fuck up day after day?’ His face reddened as if something was squeezing his collar. ‘Would it be unreasonable of me to expect an answer?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Well, dammit, what do you have to say about your incompetence?’
‘The answer to your first question is that I hope the tally doesn’t—’
‘
Hope?
Good God, man, don’t tell me all we’ve got to go on now is
hope
.’
‘Would you like me to continue? Or would you prefer I wait until your blood pressure settles?’
Patterson let out his breath in an audible sigh then tried a quick smile. But he was asking too much of his nervous system. ‘That’s what I’ve always disliked about you, Andy. Your insolence. Your maverick contempt for authority.’
‘Depends on whose authority.’
‘Defiant to the last.’
Gilchrist did not like the sound of
last
, but said nothing.
‘Let me explain the gravity of the situation to—’
‘I know how serious—’
‘Shut up.’ A hand slapped the desk. Patterson’s face paled. ‘I’ve had Assistant Chief Constable McVicar on the phone. St James’s Palace has been in contact. In case it’s slipped your mind, Prince William attends university in this small town of ours.’
Gilchrist waited.
‘I have been advised that the Queen is concerned over her grandson’s safety. I’ve done my utmost to assure all concerned that the Prince is in no danger, but the Palace remains dubious over the lack of progress in the investigation. They’ve asked ...’ He sat back, studied his fingernails. ‘They’ve asked that you be replaced.’
Gilchrist had been anticipating this moment ever since Patterson got wind of his affair with Alyson Baird. But now it was here, he felt nothing.
‘I’ve agreed, of course. DCI Christian DeFiore of the Scottish Crime Squad is driving up from Edinburgh. He should be here in about an hour. I’ve told both McVicar and Chief Superintendent Greaves that you’ll give DeFiore full and uninhibited access to all files and matters of evidence, and that by tomorrow evening I expect you to be in a position to step aside and let him take full control.’ Patterson smirked. ‘Is that clear?’
Gilchrist stood up.
‘
Sit
. I’m not
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