a night a few years earlier, when he and Skinner were celebrating the arrest of a fugitive killer in a hotel in Monaco.
‘You know, Mario,’ the chief had said, after a few drinks. ‘The traffic has to flow safely, people must be protected against yobbery and anti-social behaviour in general, and our towns and cities must be peaceful places. Ensuring all of that is part of my job; I do it as best I can. But there’s one part that drives me on and always has done. We dress it up in fancy terms but when it comes down to it, mate, we are in the retribution business. We are the fucking equalisers, make no mistake. When we nail someone like the bastard we’ve just locked up, so help me God, I love it.’
Could the man exist without that purpose in his life? McGuire was far from certain.
He was halfway to the police station entrance when his phone sounded. He took it out and smiled as he looked at the caller ID. ‘Hello, Bob,’ he said as he answered. ‘Has Sammy not been back to you with an update?’
‘No, but I wouldn’t expect him to, not yet, not unless he’s got lucky and wrapped it up within an hour or two. This is something else.’
‘Oh yes?’ The DCC was intrigued by the urgency in Skinner’s voice.
‘I’ve just had lunch with Alison Higgins’ brother, Eden. I don’t think you ever met him, but you know who he is and what he does.’
‘I know very well, he’s a very successful man, the furniture king, turned business angel and general entrepreneur; a couple of years ago, he made an offer for a controlling interest in our family business. My lovely Paula turned him down politely, but he kept at it, wouldn’t take no for an answer, until finally she stopped being polite and he got the message.’
‘That’s the man. He’s got a problem, and he’s asked for my help. Just over four months ago, his boat was stolen from the Gareloch: five million quid’s worth of boat. My old force handled the inquiry and got nowhere. It was run out of Dumbarton by a DI called McGarry. I knew nothing about it or I’d have given it a hell of a lot more clout than that.
‘Now, after all that wasted time, Eden’s been told that the inquiry’s been wound down. He’s not happy, nor are his insurers. Together they’ve asked me to review the investigation, and I’ve agreed. I’d like a copy of the police report, so that I can see what’s been done and what should have been done but hasn’t.’
McGuire had stopped, outside the Hawick station entrance. ‘You want to review a police investigation, as a civilian?’ he asked.
‘That’s what I’ve been hired to do. I could start from scratch, but that might be pointless. The chances are that all I’ll be able to tell Eden is that McGarry did a competent job and that his boat’s history. If I give the security of his mooring a clean bill of health as well, the insurers will probably pay full value and that’ll be the end of the matter.’
‘Fine,’ McGuire murmured, ‘but if you’re not satisfied that the thing was handled properly, what will you do?’
‘I’ll go proactive. I’ll make my own inquiries, fill in the blanks in the report and see where it takes me.’
The DCC made a decision. ‘I’ll need to clear it with Andy, but in principle, yes. If you do find any holes in what’s been done, we might want to take the investigation back, but we’ll cross that bridge if we reach it. One thing,’ he added. ‘McGarry’s not a DI any longer. He’s back in uniform, in Glasgow. His clear-up rates were crap, so he got culled. Okay, Bob, if the chief approves, I’ll give you the file. Hell, I might even have a look at it myself.’
McGuire heard him chuckle. ‘Do you want me to cut you in on my fee, Mario?’ Skinner joked.
‘They’re paying you?’ he exclaimed.
‘Two hundred and fifty an hour, plus expenses, plus success bonus.’
‘Bloody hell! Is the private sector that lucrative?’
‘It’s the going rate for the job these people want done. I make a lot more than that working for InterMedia. And you know what? I don’t give a shit. It’s only money. If I could choose between getting a result for my new client and coming face to face with whoever put that little girl in that car, she’d win