‘You flatter yourself,’ he retorted. ‘I wasn’t checking up on DI Mann, I was checking up on you. So, are you going to tell me what you would have told her, if I hadn’t forbidden her to have any more to do with you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’ll only speak to Lottie, for it’s none of your fucking business really. All you need to do is bask in the glory of the clear-up rate; it isn’t your job to create it.’
‘Effectively,’ he laughed, bitterly, ‘you’re telling me to apologise to her.’
‘Yes I bloody am,’ I snapped. ‘Don’t you think you owe her one?’
‘Probably,’ he retorted, ‘because I shouldn’t have created a situation where she felt she had two masters.’
‘Over to you, then,’ I told him. ‘Just one final piece of advice: do it yourself, don’t get your exec to make the call.’
Finally, I did hang up on him. I was feeling bad about Lottie Mann, but I was feeling worse about the future of the service to which I’d devoted too much of my life, putting it too often before the people I love.
One of my favourite sayings, one I will repeat at the drop of the smallest hat, is as follows, ‘The noblest of all dogs is the hot dog; it feeds the hand that bites it.’
I came upon it when studying the philosophy of a Canadian named Laurence Johnston Peter. The management theory that he defined is globally famous, yet he is not. Millions know of the ‘Peter Principle’, but most have forgotten the man after whom it was named.
Peter argued that anything that works will be used in progressively more challenging situations, until it fails. In human terms, he argued, the potential of a person for promotion is commonly based on their performance in their current position, leading to their rising to their highest level of competence and ultimately to the one beyond, the level of their own incompetence.
If I had spent more time studying management when it mattered, I would have realised much sooner that as a chief constable I was a classic example. I see it now, and with the benefit of that self-knowledge, I recognised that morning that so was Sir Andrew Martin.
That’s when I knew for sure that he’d never cut it as head of ScotServe.
I’d just been listening to a man who was out of his depth, and running out of the energy required to keep himself afloat. It was a matter of time before he drowned, or grabbed a lifebelt and was hauled out of there.
I hadn’t expected Lottie to call me, any more than I’d expected Andy to call her, so when she did ring, half an hour later, I reached a logical but erroneous conclusion.
‘He saw reason, did he?’ I asked.
‘Who?’ She sounded puzzled or a second. ‘You mean the chief?’ The pieces slotted together. ‘You know I’ve had a bollocking? He’s spoken to you?’
‘He’s spoken to me. We had a frank exchange of views. I told him he should apologise to you; I’m glad he’s taken my advice.’
‘He hasn’t,’ Lottie said. ‘My ears are still ringing from his one and only call.’
‘Then what the hell are you doing speaking to me?’ I exclaimed.
‘I’m not.’ She hesitated. ‘Well, I am, but I dialled a wrong number. These damn phones; it’s too easy to auto-redial by mistake. But if I was speaking to you, I might want to ask you . . .’
‘Lottie,’ I warned her, ‘this is career-threatening stuff. You’re working for a seriously insecure man.’
‘And I’ve got a seriously unstable murderer to catch. I’ve had a look at Hodgson’s phone, like you suggested.’
‘I know. Andy told me what was on it and what wasn’t.’
‘What do you take from it?’ she asked.
‘It satisfies me beyond any reasonable doubt that Jock Hodgson was involved in the theft of the Princess Alison. I don’t even need to see the images of the building that your chief mentioned to know that they show the interior of Eden Higgins’ private dock on the Gareloch where the boat was kept.’
‘I can send them to you,’ she offered.
‘No you can’t. This might be a misdialled call, but if you email me photos it’ll be sackable. I won’t put you at that risk. Let me think aloud for a while.’
‘Think away,’ she laughed.
‘Okay.’ I paused to get some things in a row, then continued. ‘If I was running the Hodgson investigation, I’d be assuming that the dead man sent those images, and maybe gave other assistance,