‘Just the main man to start with. But we’re looking at his various businesses, especially workshops and scrapyards.’
‘Team’s stretched as it is.’
‘Nevertheless.’ Milligan squared his shoulders.
Laidlaw leaned in towards him. ‘Every decision you make is being scrutinised upstairs. Any mistake, it’s your name in red. You might try kicking the blame a rung or two down the ladder, but that won’t wash with the people who count. My guess is, right now the newspapers, the council and all the local MPs are lining up to give the Commander a barracking, asking why the investigation’s going nowhere while the city burns.’
‘That’s why I’ll be ordering Cam Colvin to cease hostilities.’ Milligan paused. ‘What if I told you John Rhodes and Spanner Thomson were seen sharing a car this morning?’ When Laidlaw seemed stymied for an answer, Milligan couldn’t help but look pleased. ‘So while you’re stuck in some sordid little investigation into the deceased’s love life, the rest of us are focusing on the main event.’ He paused. ‘Might bring Archie Love in afterwards, though, just to get the measure of him.’
‘I don’t think he knew about his daughter and Carter,’ Laidlaw warned.
‘Well, telling him now’s not going to make much difference, is it? It’s not like he can go round the guy’s house and give him a battering.’
‘Won’t make the daughter’s life any easier, though.’
‘I’ve always said you were too soft. Your head might be hard but your heart isn’t.’ Milligan was being signalled to from across the room. ‘Looks like Cam Colvin’s shown up.’
‘Want me in there with you when you question him?’ Milligan gave a snort and turned away.
‘Thanks for considering it anyway,’ Laidlaw muttered. There was a throbbing behind his temples. It had been there for the best part of an hour, growing steadily more insistent. ‘Not now, migraine,’ he told it. ‘I’ll give you my full attention after work, I promise, but right now, I need to visit the Fourth Estate.’
‘Nice to see you’ve come tooled up, Cam,’ Milligan said as he entered the interview room.
The lawyer seated next to Cam Colvin wore a double-breasted pinstripe suit and a burgundy-coloured silk tie. Slender red veins suffused his nose and cheeks. His name was Bryce Mundell, and Milligan had had plenty of dealings with him in the past. Bobby Carter’s branch of the law was commercial, Mundell’s criminal. If you were bent and could afford his fees, he was the man you went to. Yesterday he had been representing Spanner Thomson. It was no surprise to Milligan to be facing him again across the interview room table.
‘The stink in here constitutes a health hazard,’ the lawyer complained, making show of unfurling a voluminous white cotton handkerchief and holding it to his nose and mouth.
‘I wasn’t aware of any smell until your client walked in,’ Milligan countered, getting comfortable.
‘You’re a regular Merry Mac fun page,’ Colvin told the detective.
‘I like to brighten the gloom,’ Milligan agreed. ‘That’s why I’ve got officers shining torches over each and every inch of real estate connected to you.’
‘I’ve been in touch with Commander Frederick about that,’ Mundell broke in, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘I’m far from convinced that proper procedures were followed before these searches commenced.’
Milligan ignored this. His attention was on Colvin. ‘Setting light to the Gay Laddie is one sure way of bringing John Rhodes running. That what you want, Cam? Smacking two of his boys to the extent that both needed a hospital visit — still a wise move in hindsight?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Colvin had folded his arms, head cocked to one side. He was peering at Milligan as though examining him on a slab. Milligan felt it was time for a bit of provocation. He opened the folder he’d brought with him. It was mostly for show, but he studied the topmost handwritten sheet while he counted off fifteen seconds. The solicitor was clicking his pen, indicating impatience. Not that he would be impatient, not when he billed by the quarter-hour.
‘Was the meeting between Spanner and John Rhodes your idea?’ Milligan asked, keeping his tone casual.
‘What meeting?’
‘Just over an hour ago.’
Colvin shifted slightly in his chair. If his arms hadn’t already been folded, Milligan reckoned the man would be crossing them now, unsettled and playing for time while the cogs turned.
‘Spanner driving,’ Milligan continued into the silence, ‘Rhodes in the passenger seat, a nice chinwag going on. Not exactly subtle either — driving down Castle Street in the morning rush hour. Spotted by several witnesses, so you can take it from me that it happened. I’m just interested to know if it was done with your blessing. You spend half the night attacking Rhodes, then send Spanner — Spanner Thomson of all people — along for a parley.’ He broke off while he reconsidered. ‘Except that doesn’t make sense, does it? They were driving into town from Balornock, meaning it was Rhodes who paid a call rather than the other way round. Even took the Jag and a driver with him so he could bail out before Spanner pushed too far into your neck of the woods.’
He closed the folder again and tapped a finger against it. ‘Any comment, Cam?’
Mundell cleared his throat. ‘You’re offering us nothing but hearsay, DI Milligan. My client has nothing to add.’
Milligan opened the folder again and lifted out the front page of the previous day’s evening paper. ‘This isn’t exactly helpful.’
Colvin studied the picture taken outside the Parlour. It was hard to tell if his attention was more on the widow or himself.
‘In the absence of a press conference organised by the police,’ Mundell drawled in his expensively educated tones, ‘the victim’s family decided to take matters into their own hands. Has any information been forthcoming as a result?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘Yesterday my client Mr Thomson was shown a photofit relating to a person of possible interest seen near where the knife was discovered. Has there been any progress in identifying that individual?’
‘We’re not here about Spanner Thomson.’
‘Which begs the question, why are we here?’ Mundell was glaring at Milligan.
‘We’re here because your client — today’s client, I mean — could be in grave danger of starting a fairly messy war on the streets of my city. I need him to be aware of the consequences.’
‘It’s John Rhodes you should be slapping down,’ Cam Colvin said.
‘How about a meeting brokered between the two of you?’
‘With a cop in the room, we’d have nothing to say.’ Colvin’s eyes drilled into Milligan’s. ‘And you’d want to be in that room, wouldn’t you? No bragging rights otherwise. If Rhodes wants to talk, he knows where to find me. So far there’s not been as much as a phone call or a card of condolence.’ He leaned back a little in his chair. ‘I hear tell Rhodes often stands a round or two of drinks at the Top Spot, including when Ben Finlay retired. Maybe that’s your problem right there.’
‘Might my client have a point, DI Milligan?’ Bryce Mundell chipped in. ‘Mr Colvin here has lost a good friend and business associate. It’s odd that you’re spending so much time harassing him and his colleagues while John Rhodes is allowed free rein. It almost smacks of favouritism. I’m quite sure you wouldn’t want that allegation bandied about in the wider public sphere. Mud has a way of sticking, does it not?’